Page 4 of Pretty in Plaid
“So he would risk your life then? Who are ye to him, and why should I care?”
“I’m Sorley MacLeod, lass.” He gave a mock bow, which only brought his face closer to hers. Lord, she smelled good, like sugary sweets and flowers all at once. “The clan calls me the retriever.”
“Like a dog?” She raised a brow of her own, managing somehow to look down her nose at him despite being over a foot shorter. Was that a hint of a laugh behind those disdainful eyes?
She was a feisty one. “I’m no’ a dog, and I’ll endeavor no’ to take offense to the insult. I find what needs finding, and I bring what needs bringing.”
She scoffed. “Well then, ye can bring this message to my uncle—I’m a human person, not a package or a treasure or whatever it is that needs retrieving.”
Sorley frowned and shook his head. He’d wasted enough time trying to placate her. “Afraid that’s no’ going to happen.”
“Och, or what? Ye’re going to just carry me out of here like a parcel?”
“Aye.” He reached for her, and she swung that dagger toward him, only a hair’s breadth from slicing into his palm. “Careful with that, lass. Ye’re liable to hurt someone, most likely yourself.”
She bared her teeth at him and then just as suddenly, smiled. The shift was shocking enough that Sorley stuttered in his movements.
Sweet as spring, she said, “Are ye my cousin, then?”
Sorley was confused by the sudden sweetness, the curiosity, as though she’d not just been wielding a knife toward his face. He cleared his throat, stumbling over his answer. “Nay, lass. The MacLeod found me wandering the woods as a lad, brought me home and put me into the care of one of his own.”
Her expression turned grave. “What happened to your family?”
“Killed by them.” He nodded his head toward the ballroom.
“Mine too.” Her eyelids dipped as she stared down for a moment, then slowly rose back up to meet his. That simple gesture showed how much had changed within a short exchange.
“’Haps that is why he sent me to fetch ye,” Sorley offered.
“Or because ye’re the hound.”
“Retriever.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “In any case, I’m afraid I dinna intend to go quietly.”
“I prefer quiet.” He shrugged too, reaching for her. “But if ye insist.”
2
He wouldn’t dare...
But Sorley was daring. Coming closer and closer.
Kenna arced her arm, ready to strike when he caught her around the wrist. His grip was firm but not so tight as to be painful. And was she going to cut him, anyway?
“Ye know if they come running in here and see me with ye and thanks to that bonnie gown ye’ve got on, they’ll no’ think ye innocent.” His wicked gaze raked her over, and suddenly Kenna felt very warm.
He had a point, and she hated that.
“Listen, your uncle said if ye didna believe me to show ye this.” He reached slowly into his sporran, keeping his grip still on her wrist, and pulled out a ring.
Kenna narrowed her eyes on the piece of jewelry, so familiar it brought an aching pang to her chest. A ring of gold and a carved bull’s head, their clan’s insignia, and at the center of the bull’s face an emerald. “That was my mother’s,” she whispered.
“Aye.”
She met his gaze. “Why now?”
“That is a question ye’ll have to take up with your uncle.”
