"I can't believe you placed her in the chamber that adjoins Drustan's," Dageus said over his shoulder.
Silvan shrugged defensively. "She said his name last night, and besides, 'tis the third nicest in the castle. Yours and Drustan's are the only two more lavishly furnished."
"I'm not certain she should be sleeping so close to him."
"Where should I move her? Nearer to your chamber?" Silvan countered. "Drustan denies knowing her. You kissed her. Who poses more of a threat to her?"
Gwen flushed, grateful that Dageus didn't point out that she'd demanded he kiss her. He glanced at her side-wise and flashed her a seductive look. God, he was gorgeous, she thought, watching his glossy waist-length hair slide silkily as he angled his head to argue over his shoulder with Silvan. How could two such devastating men exist in one castle? Not that she was attracted to him, but she'd have to be dead not to appreciate his raw male virility.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked Silvan, nudging the conversation in a less disconcerting direction.
He smiled faintly. "Doona fash yourself over my motives, m'dear."
"You would be wise to fash yourself over his motives, lass," Dageus cautioned dryly. "When Da bothers to involve himself, he always has ulterior motives. Schemes within schemes. And inevitably, he knows more than he lets on."
"Do you?" She peered at the charming, grand-fatherly man.
"Innocent as a little lamb ambling the hillside, m'dear," Silvan said mildly.
Dageus shook his head at her. "Doona believe a word of it. But nor should you waste your breath trying to get more out of him. He's quiet as the grave with his little secrets."
"I'm not the only one who keeps secrets around here, lad," Silvan said with a sharp glance. Father and son battled with their gazes a few moments, then Dageus dropped his eyes and looked back out into the corridor.
An awkward silence reigned, and Gwen wondered what she was missing, what secrets a man like Dageus kept. Feeling like the perpetual outsider-looking-in, she changed the subject again. "Are you sure he won't listen? Are you certain we need to go to such extremes?" A pile of wood planks and bolts lay near the adjoining door, and the longer Gwen looked at it, the more nervous she became.
"M'dear, you accused him of taking your maidenhead. Nay, he'll not speak to you if he can avoid it."
Dageus nodded agreement. "He's coming," he warned them.
"Into the boudoir with you, m'dear," Silvan urged. "When you hear him enter his chamber, count to ten, then join him. I'll block this door and Dageus will take the other. We won't permit him to leave until you've had your say."
Squaring her shoulders, Gwen drew a deep breath and plunged into the boudoir. She listened intently for the sound of Drustan's door opening and realized to her chagrin that she was trembling.
She flinched when she heard the door open, and counted to ten slowly, giving Dageus time to sneak out of her chamber and blockade the door from the corridor.
Silvan had chuckled when he'd told her that if Drustan refused to listen, he and Dageus would do their best to bar him in from the outside by hammering a plank or two over the doors. God, she hoped it didn't come to that!
Time was up. She turned the handle and quietly opened the door.
His back was to her, and he was facing the fire, staring into it. He'd changed into snug leather pants, a billowy linen shirt, and boots. His silky black hair spilled unbound over his shoulders and down his back. He looked as if he'd stepped straight off the cover of one of those romance novels she ordered from Amazon.com so she didn't have to be embarrassed by some supercilious male clerk in the bookstore.
Ha, she thought. When she returned to her time, she was going to start buying them flagrantly, with no apologies. She'd never seen a man blush while buying Playboy.
But she had to survive the wrath of Drustan MacKeltar first.
Murmuring a silent prayer, she closed the door behind her.
He spun around the moment it clicked shut, and when he saw her, his silver eyes glittered dangerously.
Shaking a finger, he stalked toward her, and she skittered away from the door in case he planned to toss her out it again. He followed like a magnet to steel.
"Doona even think, English, that I'll be tolerating more of your lies," he said with silky menace. "And best you get out of my chamber, because I've had enough whisky that I'm of a mind to taste the crime of which I've been accused." His gaze drifted meaningfully to the massive bed, draped in silk and covered with velvet pillows.
Gwen's eyes widened. Indeed, his expression was a combination of fury and raw lust. The raw lust was perfectly wonderful; the anger she'd cheerfully do without.