Cormac. Come back to me, Cormac.
Her fingers were numb from the grip she had on the front of her cloak. She definitely didn't want these men seeing her in the trews, which felt suddenly, scandalously too tight. “And what do you know of smugglers?” she challenged. “Do you know of men in these parts who… smuggle people?” The men laughed. “Smuggle people?”
The voice of a third rose dark and menacing over the others. “What's a wee thing like you want to know about smuggling people?”
Terror prickled up the backs of her legs. Three men. How many more were there? She felt like a piece of raw meat that'd been tossed into a pit of dogs. The scent of blood was in the air, and there'd be no stopping the rush.
She poured her whole self into staring at Cormac, willing him to look at her. And look he did. He instantly stiffened, seeing the gathering around her. He said some final thing to the man on the boat and strode directly toward her. He rested a hand on his sword, and though the gesture was nonchalant, it was loaded with meaning.
She fought crumpling with relief.
“And who's this, then?” one of the men wondered, spotting him coming up the pier.
Worry slithered cold up her spine. What had she gotten them into? Surely these men had knives or even guns.
Cormac was armed, but how would he fare against three men? They'd kill him and then take her.
Smuggling people indeed. Cormac's words came back to her, something about a lass getting her own self snatched from the docks.
Could she not do anything right? Because of her, Aidan had been taken. Would Cormac be killed because of her, too? She fisted her hands even tighter in her cloak.
“Seems we're not the only ones interested in our fine lass here. But she's so quiet. ” Someone tugged the bonnet from her head. Waves of long, light-brown hair spilled out, and they all laughed. “Such a fine thing you are, I might just smuggle you away myself. Why so quiet, luwie? You won't be so quiet when I get you under me. ” C
ormac walked straight to her. His face was a mask of barely checked rage, and she knew a flicker of hope. They just might manage a way out of there. Their eyes locked, and he seemed to be trying to communicate something.
“Gentlemen,” he said in a low, tight voice. He didn't take his eyes from her. “I see you've discovered our little secret. ”
The cold menace in his voice made her tremble. Shaking his head imperceptibly, he mouthed, “Hush. ”
“Who are you?” one of the men demanded.
“Aye, perhaps we'd like a wee cut of what you're about,” another added with a nod toward the smuggler's boat.
“What we're about?” Cormac's voice was steady and calm. “Lass, are you ready to tell them what we're about?” Her every muscle vibrated with tension. She didn't understand what he was trying to tell her.
There was a scraping of steel as one of the men unsheathed a blade.
“Are you ready?” Cormac asked her again quietly.
Ready? What could he possibly mean, ready?
The man with the rasping voice stepped just behind her. Marjorie shot him a backward glance. He looked mean, with black hair and murder in his eyes. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I said, who are you?” Stricken with terror, she looked back to Cormac. The blue-gray of his stormy eyes grew eerily tranquil. They didn't waver from her. “Ready, Ree?” he asked in the barest whisper.
And then he winked.
She fought not to gape, wondering who this stranger before her really was. He'd disarmed her, and her voice cracked, “Aye, I'm rea—”
“Duck. ”
Chapter 9
Marjorie's knees buckled instinctively, and in the space
of a heartbeat, Cormac's calm transformed into
something else, something feral and raging.
She'd ducked, leaving Cormac facing the man who'd been standing behind her. A sword appeared in Cormac's hand, and in one stroke, he slashed the man's throat and swung around to thrust at another.