He didn’t know what to expect, but he was surprised by the animosity in the city. He walked through gossip and whispers, and most of it was about Adaira, about who she was and what the clan wanted to do about her. Some thought she had known who she was all along and had willingly fooled them. Some were sympathetic to her plight. Some thought she had been fraternizing with the enemy, beneath the guise of a trade, and should face a trial. Others thought she should abdicate her lairdship by sundown, but not before she ensured the safe return of the three girls.

Disconcerted, Jack went straight to Adaira’s quarters by way of the main corridor, only to discover that guards were stationed there. He didn’t know if they were present to protect her or keep her locked within. So Jack slipped into his chamber and used the secret passage to approach Adaira’s room.

He stood in the cobwebbed shadows, gently knocking on the panel.

“Adaira?”

There was silence. Jack’s hand was seeking the latch in the darkness when he heard the panel pop open. A thread of light spilled over him as Adaira opened the door.

She was wearing nothing more than a thin robe, and her hair was loose and damp, spilling across her shoulders. Jack stiffened; he could smell the fragrance of lavender and honey on her skin, and he glanced beyond her, to where a copper tub sat in the corner of the room.

“Am I interrupting you?” he whispered, lamenting his poor timing.

“I just finished. Come in, Jack.” Adaira shifted, welcoming him inside, and Jack stepped over the threshold.

As a moment of silence passed between them, Jack found himself unable to look away from her. There were many things he wanted to share with her tonight, yet the sight of her so undressed had surprised him. She stole his attention entirely as she walked to the fire. Her feet were bare, her face was flushed, and her wet hair had left diaphanous patches on the front of her robe. Adaira had yet to truly look at him, to speak to him. It was as though she was alone as she reached for the bottle of wine on a hearthside table and poured herself a glass.

She broke the silence before he could. “I suppose you want our handfast revoked. I’ll see to it first thing tomorrow.”

“And why would I want that?” Jack countered.

His sharp tone drew her eyes. She stared at him, at last noticing how nice he looked. He had come to her wearing his best. His wedding raiment. “You didn’t know you were marrying a Breccan,” she drawled.

“No,” he said gently. “I didn’t know.”