Page 14 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

“Together,” he said.

They pushed. The door groaned. Dust fell from the lintel. Somewhere beyond it, something scraped across the floor.

Donaldina set her feet and pushed harder. With a sudden crack, the door opened inward. Cool, grain-scented air rushed toward them. Beyond lay the lower stores of Dun Ard, dim and silent, with sacks piled beneath the rafters and no guard in sight.

Donaldina crossed the threshold, finally inside. A wave of relief overwhelmed her, almost making her laugh. Instead, she looked toward Roy as he came out of the passage. He looked at the storeroom, then at her.

“Ye remembered correctly,” he said.

Donaldina raised the lantern between them. “I generally dae.”

“A useful quality.”

“Particularly when surrounded by men who doubt it.”

His gaze shifted toward the councilors climbing from the tunnel behind him.

“Aye,” he said. “I imagine they may learn.”

The words were simple, but something warm and dangerous unfolded beneath her ribs. Donaldina turned away before he could see it.

Above them, faint through beams and stone, came the sound of boots moving through the corridors of her home. Cormac believed her shut outside. He believed Dun Ard belonged to those willing to defend it.

Donaldina tightened her hand around the lantern.

At last, they agreed upon something.

CHAPTER FIVE

The first man Roy encountered inside Dun Ard was carrying a sack of oats. He came through the storeroom door with his head turned toward the corridor, complaining loudly that Cormac had ordered every entrance watched but neglected to say who was meant to finish preparing the funeral meal. He did not notice the armed men emerging from beneath the sea wall until Roy took the sack from his hands and placed it carefully upon the floor.

The clansman stared at him. Roy placed one finger to his lips. The man drew breath to shout. Hamish caught him neatly from behind and lowered him into unconsciousness with considerably less care than Roy had shown the oats.

Donaldina looked down at the fallen man. “Was that necessary?”

“He was about tae call the guard.”

“I meant the oats.”

Roy glanced at the sack, which stood unharmed beside the wall.

“I dislike waste.”

Something shifted near her mouth, though she turned away before he could determine whether it had been amusement or disapproval.

The councilors and loyal clansmen stepped out one after another from the tight passage, filling the lower rooms with the scent of damp wool, saltwater, and drawn steel. Their numbers made secrecy impossible to maintain for long. Boots scraped against the flagstones. A sword hit the side of a grain barrel with a muffled clang, then a whispered curse echoed.

Roy looked toward the stairway.

“MacNicol men first,” he ordered quietly. “Any guard who yields keeps his blood. Any man who raises steel against Lady Donaldina loses the privilege.”

The councilors exchanged glances. Donaldina did not. She stood beside the lantern with her wet skirts clinging darkly around her ankles and Cormac’s bruises already deepening upon her wrist. Her face was pale from cold and fatigue, yet there was nothing fragile in the way she held herself.

Roy had seen men twice her size enter battle with less composure. He did not find the comparison reassuring. He found himself wondering how often her courage had been mistaken for invulnerability and how many men had therefore allowed her to face danger alone. The thought displeased him.

“Stay behind us,” he told her.

Donaldina raised one brow. Roy reconsidered the prudence of issuing any command that relied upon her obedience.