Eight
Though the great hall was noisy at supper that night and conversation flowed around her upon the dais, Ada felt the moment William’s gaze landed upon her as surely as if he’d brushed his hand across her cheek. She looked up from the trencher of food she’d purposely been staring at, and when she gazed to the left, her eyes met William’s. Her belly tightened as his gaze darkened, but then Brothwell said something from William’s left, and he turned to her stepbrother.
She took a sip of her wine to calm her racing heart and order her thoughts. When he looked at her that way she almost believed he truly desiredher, the woman. William had professed to be here to serve Brothwell and the Steward, so why was she questioning him or his motives? Why could she not just accept that he was yet another man who had come with the hope of wedding her to curry favor with the Steward?. She still held hope, that’s why.
Music suddenly started, and Ada blinked in surprise as she glanced up once more from her trencher. She’d been so lost in thought that she had not even noticed that the tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the great hall to make room for dancing. Her stomach roiled as Laird Tidmore came to stand before her. “Lady Ada, I believe we each get to claim a dance with ye.”
Ada wanted to protest, but she knew it was hopeless. Brothwell would force it no matter what she wished. She inclined her head and started to stand, inadvertently glancing toward William. As she did, she stilled, held in place by his burning gaze. There, again, in the depths of his eyes, she thought she saw hunger. Her breath hitched as their gazes held. There was something else there, too, something that looked like possession.
“Lady Ada, are ye coming?” Laird Tidmore asked.
Ada forced herself to look away from William, and then she quickly descended the dais and took Lord Tidmore’s hand. The dance was as she had expected. Lord Tidmore spent the time showering her with ridiculous, untrue compliments.
The rest of the dances followed in much the same fashion until she was at the last laird she had to dance with, Laird Connor MacKinney. She had known him for years, but something had always seemed odd about him. He’d become bitter as the years passed and King David had taken some land from Connor’s family and given it to others. Connor hated the king for taking away what he considered his by birth.
“Lady Ada,” he said, offering a neat bow before her. When he came up, his dark eyes met hers. He was, by all rights, a handsome man with perfect lordly features. Many a lass would be thrilled to wed him, but she was not one of them. Not only did they believe different men should be king but her father had said time and again that the MacKinneys would kill their own bairns to get what they desired. She didn’t believe for one moment that he intended to wed her and then do as Brothwell bade. That in itself would not be a bad thing, but she suspected his plan for her could possibly be worse than anything Brothwell might do, and that turned her blood cold.
“Laird MacKinney,” she replied, taking hold of the hand he offered her.
“I’ve been wanting to get ye alone, Ada,” Connor said, his husky voice surprising her.
She was saved from responding by the dance, which took them in separate directions. She was spun around the room multiple times, forgetting her worries for a moment and actually laughing and enjoying the dance. Guilt immediately besieged her, given Esther and Maximilian were being kept prisoner because of her. She danced down the middle of the line, feeling as if someone was watching her, and when she came to the end of the dancers, Connor was there. He grabbed her around the waist, which was not at all part of the dance, and jerked her close, pressing their bodies together.
Her breath whooshed out of her, making her feel trapped and overpowered. “What are ye doing?” she hissed, pushing on his chest, but the man was large, muscled, and immoveable. He lifted her off her feet just enough so that she could not stop him but his actions would not be noted by others, and then he carried her backward into the thick crowd of laughing, boisterous dancers. People swirled around them, dancing and paying them no mind.
“I wanted one moment with ye, Ada, to speak in private,” he said, maneuvering them toward the outer edge of the dancers now, where she noted several of his men stood. His men parted, and he pushed her against the wall as the men closed around them in a semicircle, creating, she realized with fear, a shield so that no one could see her. How long before Brothwell noted her absence?
Gooseflesh swept her arms, but she refused to succumb to her fear. She cocked her head back to look at him and shoved, yet again, against his chest. “What is it ye wish to say, Connor?”
“Ye must wed me,” he said, his grip tightening on her.
“Ye kinnae compel me, Connor. I must be willing.”
“I’ve seen ye looking at the traitor, Ada. He is nae the man for ye.”
She blushed at that, her jaw clenching. Men always told women what to do, how to think, and she was tired of it. “And ye are?” she asked, incredulous.
“I am. The Steward is nae fit to be king, and together we will see that he is nae.”
She blinked in surprise. “Brothwell would kill ye for uttering such a thing.”
Connor frowned at her. “Are ye going to tell yer stepbrother? I was under the impression that ye hated him.”
She would not because Brothwell likelywouldkill Connor, and she did not want to be responsible for the man’s death. But instead of confessing that, she asked, “And who in yer mind should be king?”
“Me, of course,” he said with an air of pompousness that only a man born to privilege and whose life had been steeped in it could possess. He was so certain that she would wed him that she decided to let him think it, and then when the moment came to pick her husband, he’d most certainlynotbe her choice.
She smiled up at him sweetly. “If I wed ye, will ye make me queen?”
He grinned at her like the fool he was. “Aye, lass.”
“I dunnae see how I can possibly say nay to that,” she lied. “Just make certain to advance in the tournament so that I can choose ye to woo me. I best get back to Brothwell before he becomes aware ye have taken me away.”
Connor nodded eagerly, and his men parted at an indication from him. Ada’s blood coursed through her veins with irritation as she stepped out of the circle and into the even more congested crowd of dancers. She sidestepped one couple and then another, and that same feeling of being watched tickled her senses. She darted a glance over her shoulder, expecting to find Connor’s gaze on her, but he was nowhere to be seen. When she turned back around, she gasped. William stood in front of her with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
His gaze was riveted on her face and then moved slowly over her body before returning to her eyes. Heat pooled in her belly, and when his fingers found her arm and he said, “I’ve come to claim ye, Ada,” the heat in her belly moved swiftly to parts of her body she had not known could feel heat.
“Claim me?” she asked, her voice coming out in little more than a whisper. “For what?”
