Page 72 of My Scot, My Surrender
God damn it all to Hades, what the hell had he been thinking, wandering around the fortress and grounds all day? He should have found her and made certain she was safe and still with Aisla. What kind of fool protector was he, to not keep an eye on his own charge? And here of all places, where Rodric ruled with an iron thumb.
“I’m not hurt, Brandt,” she answered, shaking her head.
He’d been so obsessed with everything Lady Glenross had divulged that morning, so torn about whether to stay and stake his claim, or leave and deliver Sorcha to the Brodie as promised, that he hadn’t even stopped tothink.
“Was it that warrior?” he asked, the dark-haired man from the training fields leaping to the forefront of his mind as his grip tightened on her shoulders.
Sorcha frowned. “Which warrior?”
“He put his arm around you,” Brandt answered, the hot sparks of a simmering frenzy igniting in his stomach. He’d find him. He’d thrash him to within an inch of his life. He’d break his bloody arms.
Her pinched expression smoothed out, and a smile touched her tense lips. “Youwerewatching.”
“I left too soon,” he replied, grating out the words. “What did the bastard do?”
“Nothing,” Sorcha answered, her smile now a full-fledged grin. She even laughed, the husky sound striking him right in the groin. “Not a thing.”
Brandt loosened his grasp. “Then why are you so eager to leave?” He took a glance around the room, the deep purple and blue shadows of dusk having crept in. “And why are you hiding in here?”
It would be time to go to the great hall soon, and he’d thought he’d find her getting ready. Her smile faded. The confidence and fire he’d come to expect and admire in her had paled. “It’s the duke, Rodric. I don’t trust him, Brandt.”
He peered at her, a new lance of guilt digging into his chest. “You saw him today.”
Brandt had not. He’d been told the laird would be away until sup and had been glad to hear it. Sorcha nodded.
“I angered him by bringing Aisla to the training fields.” Her lower lip quivered. “I fear he’s punished her.”
He released Sorcha’s arms to avoid leaving accidental bruises; he wanted to throttle the duke, not her.
“And you,” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Did he touch you?”
If he had, Rodric would suffer. On his life, Brandt would see the man dead before nightfall. Sorcha must have noticed the threat glowing in his eyes, too, because she swallowed hard and shook her head again. “No,” she answered. “I don’t believe he’ll harm me that way. It’s Malvern…what if Rodric has summoned him? There was something in his eyes today that made me nervous, Brandt. He looked all too pleased with himself.”
Brandt nodded slowly as he turned toward the window overlooking the fields. He’d wondered himself if Rodric was allied with Malvern, but the notion that he might have been off summoning him instead of riding out to Montgomery farms had not crossed his mind.
“You’re right to be wary of him. He’s dangerous,” he replied, and nearly laughed. It was an absurd understatement. “The man is a murderer.”
Behind him, Sorcha drew in a sharp breath. “Do you speak of the late Duke of Glenross?”
Brandt crossed his arms and turned away from the window, his eyes coming to rest on the inky-haired beauty who had become his unerring compass. All day he’d spent wandering, alone, lost in his own mind. Not ten minutes here with her now, and Brandt felt grounded to the very floor. Rooted to wherever she happened to be standing. He wanted to tell her everything, and so he did.
He unleashed it all—everything Lady Glenross had revealed that morning. All the while, Sorcha stared up at him, her lips parted in awe, her expression shifting with every new confession.
“I should have found you earlier,” he finally said, guilt wriggling back into place. “It was selfish of me to stay away, wrapped up in my own troubles.”
Her eyes flashed with temper. “Selfish? Don’t be an idiot.”
She reached for him then, her arms no longer limp with shock at her sides. The reprimand, paired with the gentle grip of her hands curling around his wrists, made him laugh. But Sorcha wasn’t in the least bit amused. Her stare remained unyielding.
“You are the true Montgomery laird,” she whispered. “The rightful Duke of Glenross.”
“Yes.”
The expression of fear he’d seen her wearing as he’d come into the bedchamber slammed down into place again.
“Mo Diah.” She blinked back sudden tears. “You’re going to challenge him.”
“He murdered my father,” Brandt said. “He would have killed me.”
