Page 9 of Highland Ruse

His gaze narrowed, not with anger, or even irritation. He had expected her to decline.

Leasa sucked in a deep lungful of air, but before she could scream again, Delilah caught the woman’s hand. Leasa’s palm was sweaty, her pulse ticking wildly beneath Delilah’s thumb. The poor maid was frightened, an emotion Delilah herself had not felt in quite some time.

The Highlander’s gaze fell to their clasped hands. He had surprisingly long eyelashes for a man.

“I willna hurt ye so long as ye do as I say,” he said.

Delilah gave a stiff nod and kept her eyes wide. If he knew she was completely unafraid, everything could be ruined.

She would allow him to think her fearful, but not cowed.

There had been too many times in her life where she’d wilted beneath her emotions. She was stronger now.

No man would ever see her so weak again.

Leasa’s hand squeezed into a death grip around Delilah’s, and her breathless sobs filled the cabin. Delilah’s heart clenched for the young woman, and for her own role in Leasa’s misery. The maid had not been prepared for such risk and violence.

Delilah shifted to the seat beside her maid. “We will do as you say.” She kept her voice smooth. Perhaps she ought to have made it tremble, but she wanted to ease Leasa’s fear with her own strength, a difficult balance to strike.

The man stepped into the coach, setting it creaking and swaying. He eased himself into the seat she had occupied and closed the narrow door.

Leasa leapt and gave a little shriek.

Delilah angled herself slightly in front of Leasa. While there’d been no stopping the massacre of the guards, she could at least prevent the young maid from being injured.

But the Highlander did not attack them. He sat across from them, his large frame filling the seat where Delilah had only occupied half. He rested his elbows on his legs. The scent of leather and outdoors filled the confined cabin.

“I’ll take yer food.” He held out a large hand toward her.

Calluses showed rough on his palm at the base of his fingers and smudges of ink showed on his thumb and forefinger, but his nails were trimmed and clean.

He was no rogue highwayman.

“Please,” he offered.

No rogue highwayman indeed.

With a look toward Leasa to warn her silently to comply, Delilah lifted the bag of food they kept in the cabin. He could have it if he liked. They had more with the rest of their bags behind the coach, having stopped just the day before.

Delilah hefted the rough linen and thrust it toward the Highlander. He gave a subtle nod of thanks before accepting it and immediately rummaging through it.

He pulled a wrapped parcel out, sniffed it and set it aside before doing the same with two other items.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to adopt the indignant countenance of a courtier.

He sniffed another parcel before dropping it back in the bag. “Taking out the meat.”

An edge of unease scraped up her spine. Was he mad? “Whatever for?”

The Highlander opened the door, tied the bag off and tossed it into the road. “Wolves and other predators would smell it.”

Without further explanation, he smacked the top of the ceiling with his palm and the coach jumped forward.

The sudden lurch shoved Delilah back into her seat, but she immediately righted herself. “Why would you—?”

Movement outside the window caught her attention. Her guards and the coach driver were all tied together, their arms and legs bound in front of them and placed back-to-back with their legs jutting out like the spokes of a wheel.

They jostled and writhed against their bonds.