Good Lord, was she teasing him in turn? Feeling as if the world transformed into a bright new place, he escorted her from the room. She walked smoothly at his side, as if their bodies already moved in harmony, even if their souls remained in opposition.
Except tonight by some miracle, that didn't seem true any longer.
"Were ye pleased with your new serving maid?" he asked, as they descended the staircase.
"Aye, I was. Thank ye, Mackinnon."
Shock jolted him. It was the first time she’d said thank you and sounded natural. "You're welcome."
"I thought ye were afraid that we'd conspire against you if we were together."
All urge to smile evaporated as renewed guilt knotted his gut. "Better ye conspire than suffer torture under my roof."
She cast him another of those heart-stopping glances under her lashes. The lamps hanging from the walls turned her lovely hair to dark fire and transformed her into a creature of mystery. "A few pinches and a couple of insults hardly count as torture."
He hid a wince as he recalled the bruises mottling her skin. "I promised you'd come to nae harm. Those two wee besoms made a liar of me."
"They've been punished for it."
"Aye." At last, he asked the question that had tormented him since the afternoon. "Why the devil didnae ye tell me, Mhairi? Ye must have known I'd stop it."
She came to a halt on the landing, and this time her expression held no hint of coquetry. "I suppose I didnae think you'd care."
He'd felt sick when he saw the signs of her mistreatment. Nowhere near as sick as he felt at this moment. His arm dropped away from her hand as he stared at her aghast. "Lassie, I cannae believe ye mean that."
The dismissive sound she made hinted that she did indeed stand by that heinous accusation.
"Nae wonder ye hate me," he said grimly.
To his surprise, she shook her head. "I dinnae think I do hate ye anymore, Mackinnon." Before he could digest that astonishing statement, she went on. "Until this afternoon, I never thought ye had any particular care for me as Mhairi. My value to ye was only as the Drummond heiress, a pawn in your political aims."
This conversation became more troubling by the moment. "That was how it started out. I cannae lie to ye, lassie. But once we stopped being strangers, surely ye must ken I admire you as more than a means to an end."
She was far from just a means to an end, by heaven, but he was in no rush to hand her his heart on a plate. He didn’t trust her not to slice it up, purely for the pleasure of watching him bleed.
Another of those dismissive huffs. "Aye, ye set your sights on winning the Rose of Bruard. That's nothing special."
He shook his head. "Do ye imagine it's only your beauty I value?"
Self-derision turned her lips down. "That's how my worth has always been judged. Even my father, who loves me, wouldnae love me half so much if the glens werenae buzzing with praise of Bonny Mhairi Drummond."
He'd already noted that her extraordinary looks hadn't made her vain. Noted and liked. He drew her over to a stone bench carved into a niche under a window, even though the hall below was packed with people awaiting the laird’s arrival.
This was more important. For the first time, Mhairi spoke to him openly and without the anger that had seethed since he'd stolen her away.
With the grace that always snatched his breath, she sank onto the seat. When he took his place beside her, she didn't immediately try to create a greater distance between them.
He waited for her to pull free, but she didn't. Another miracle in a night of miracles.
"I won't lie to ye, lass," he said gently. He dared to reach out and take her hand. "I'm a man. Nae man could see ye without wanting you."
When she tried to tug her hand free, he kept hold of her. "Exactly," she said with a hint of bitterness.
"It's a good thing to be beautiful," he said in a neutral voice.
She ended her half-hearted attempt to shake off his touch, and the blue eyes she leveled on him were searching. "Is it?"
"Och, aye." He smiled at her. "Or at least it is from where I'm sitting."