yet?
“Let the lass go. I am here.”
Suddenly, MacMakon shoved the child aside and grabbed Coira’s arm, pulling her close and laying the dirk’s blade against her neck. “Verra well. If the laird doesna want ye to go with me, then ye must be important enough to him to ensure he’ll do what I say.”
Time seemed to stop. Coira shoved aside her fear, took a breath and touched his wrist, as though seeking to defend herself, where his sleeve slid back to expose skin. She had braced against the flood of emotions, so she was able to maintain her composure, at least on the surface. She exhaled and slowed her breathing even further, seeking to regain the calm the touch of cold steel against her throat had disrupted. Calm, flat water. Not a hint of air moving over the dunes. Bright sunlight in a cloudless sky.
She and MacMakon stood that way for several minutes, until one of the lads Logen had sent for the horse ran back into the room. “’Tis ready, laird.”
“We can go,” Coira said, so softly she imagined only the man at her back could hear her. She met Logen’s worried gaze with a slight nod, careful of the sharp edge at her throat.
“Move yer men aside, laird,” MacMakon said. “Ye have the lass. And I have this one. Which one would ye have preferred to lose?”
Logen tensed and Coira didn’t need her new sense to know he was poised to answer MacMakon’s taunt with a refusal. If he did, MacMakon would likely kill her. Logen knew it. She held Logen’s gaze, not daring to narrow her eyes at him where others could see and react when he did nothing.
“We’re leaving.” MacMakon’s sudden statement startled her, but she fought for calm and breathed. At Logen’s gesture, the clan stepped to either side of the hall, opening an aisle through the middle. MacMakon lifted the blade from her skin and nudged her forward.
Nudged. Not shoved. Coira tamped down on her elation. She moved slowly, as if fearful of jostling the blade near her throat, buying time to judge how well her attempt was working. MacMakon did nothing to hurry her along. As they approached the spot where Logen stood by, she held his gaze and inclined her head ever so slightly. Did he understand what she’d done? He mirrored her slight movement. Aye, he did.
As she came abreast of him, Logen struck, first knocking the blade from MacMakon’s hand then delivering another blow that crumpled him to the floor, out cold. It had taken only seconds. Then Logen’s arms wrapped around her, speeding her heart. He pulled her out of the way as Darach and Ross surged forward to haul MacMakon to his feet and hustle him and his fellow conspirators to the dungeon.
“Ye brave lass!” A woman’s declaration pierced the low rumble of voices filling the hall as the men were led out. “Aye, she saved the bairn,” said another.
“Brave, aye. And foolish.” Logen’s voice in her ear was a balm to her senses as the rising tide of approval threatened to bring her to tears.
She hadn’t done this for the clan’s approval. She’d done it to atone for threatening another lass, not so long ago. But the people cheering for her now must never know that.
“Ye couldha been killed,” Logen scolded softly as the noise in the hall increased.
“Nay, I dinna think so.”
“Ye calmed him like ye did those women outside the garden, aye? Ye didna need me. Ye wouldha escaped him easily once ye got away from other people.” Logen’s simple statement thrilled her. Not only his acceptance of her ability but his confidence in her.
“Aye. It worked. He didna even try to defend himself against ye.”
Logen touched her arm and gestured to the side, then remained silent as a woman led the lass MacMakon had threatened to Coira.
“Thank the lady,” the woman told her.
“Thank ye, lady.”
Coira nearly lost the girl’s high, lilting voice in the din, but her confusion was clear. She dropped to her knees and hugged the child. “All is well, lass. What is yer
“Let the lass go. I am here.”
Suddenly, MacMakon shoved the child aside and grabbed Coira’s arm, pulling her close and laying the dirk’s blade against her neck. “Verra well. If the laird doesna want ye to go with me, then ye must be important enough to him to ensure he’ll do what I say.”
Time seemed to stop. Coira shoved aside her fear, took a breath and touched his wrist, as though seeking to defend herself, where his sleeve slid back to expose skin. She had braced against the flood of emotions, so she was able to maintain her composure, at least on the surface. She exhaled and slowed her breathing even further, seeking to regain the calm the touch of cold steel against her throat had disrupted. Calm, flat water. Not a hint of air moving over the dunes. Bright sunlight in a cloudless sky.
She and MacMakon stood that way for several minutes, until one of the lads Logen had sent for the horse ran back into the room. “’Tis ready, laird.”
“We can go,” Coira said, so softly she imagined only the man at her back could hear her. She met Logen’s worried gaze with a slight nod, careful of the sharp edge at her throat.
“Move yer men aside, laird,” MacMakon said. “Ye have the lass. And I have this one. Which one would ye have preferred to lose?”
Logen tensed and Coira didn’t need her new sense to know he was poised to answer MacMakon’s taunt with a refusal. If he did, MacMakon would likely kill her. Logen knew it. She held Logen’s gaze, not daring to narrow her eyes at him where others could see and react when he did nothing.
“We’re leaving.” MacMakon’s sudden statement startled her, but she fought for calm and breathed. At Logen’s gesture, the clan stepped to either side of the hall, opening an aisle through the middle. MacMakon lifted the blade from her skin and nudged her forward.
Nudged. Not shoved. Coira tamped down on her elation. She moved slowly, as if fearful of jostling the blade near her throat, buying time to judge how well her attempt was working. MacMakon did nothing to hurry her along. As they approached the spot where Logen stood by, she held his gaze and inclined her head ever so slightly. Did he understand what she’d done? He mirrored her slight movement. Aye, he did.
As she came abreast of him, Logen struck, first knocking the blade from MacMakon’s hand then delivering another blow that crumpled him to the floor, out cold. It had taken only seconds. Then Logen’s arms wrapped around her, speeding her heart. He pulled her out of the way as Darach and Ross surged forward to haul MacMakon to his feet and hustle him and his fellow conspirators to the dungeon.
“Ye brave lass!” A woman’s declaration pierced the low rumble of voices filling the hall as the men were led out. “Aye, she saved the bairn,” said another.
“Brave, aye. And foolish.” Logen’s voice in her ear was a balm to her senses as the rising tide of approval threatened to bring her to tears.
She hadn’t done this for the clan’s approval. She’d done it to atone for threatening another lass, not so long ago. But the people cheering for her now must never know that.
“Ye couldha been killed,” Logen scolded softly as the noise in the hall increased.
“Nay, I dinna think so.”
“Ye calmed him like ye did those women outside the garden, aye? Ye didna need me. Ye wouldha escaped him easily once ye got away from other people.” Logen’s simple statement thrilled her. Not only his acceptance of her ability but his confidence in her.
“Aye. It worked. He didna even try to defend himself against ye.”
Logen touched her arm and gestured to the side, then remained silent as a woman led the lass MacMakon had threatened to Coira.
“Thank the lady,” the woman told her.
“Thank ye, lady.”
Coira nearly lost the girl’s high, lilting voice in the din, but her confusion was clear. She dropped to her knees and hugged the child. “All is well, lass. What is yer
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