The First Meeting Part 2

Instead, I inclined my head in the polite acknowledgment I'd been taught since childhood. "Lord MacAllister. Thank you for... for your hospitality."

Hospitality. Such a civilized word for whatever this arrangement actually was. But what else could I call it? Captivity seemed too harsh when I stood in a hall that spoke of luxury rather than imprisonment. Purchase felt too crude when he was treating me with apparent courtesy rather than as property acquired.

Debt settlement, my mind supplied with uncomfortable accuracy. That's what this is. Payment rendered for services received.

Kieran stepped closer, moving with a fluid grace that suggested strength held in careful check. The torchlight played across his features, highlighting details that made my breath catch—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the predatory elegance with which he closed the distance between us.

"There's no need for such formality," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed at odds with the calculating intelligence in those golden eyes. "We're to be... companions, after all."

Companions. Another careful word that danced around the true nature of our arrangement. I wondered how many euphemisms we'd employ before acknowledging what we both knew—that I was here because my father had traded me for gold, and I would remain because the alternative was worse than whatever this man might require of me.

"Your father spoke of your circumstances," Kieran continued, stopping just outside the range where social convention would demand I step back. "The losses your family has suffered. I hope my assistance has proven... adequate to your needs."

Adequate. As if the fortune he'd bestowed on Father was a casual gesture rather than the difference between survival and ruin. But something in his tone suggested he knew exactly how significant his generosity had been—and exactly how thoroughly it bound us to his will.

"It was most generous," I said carefully. "My family is... grateful for your kindness."

Grateful. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. How could gratitude coexist with resentment? How could I feel thankful for aid that came with such a price attached?

But Kieran's smile suggested he understood the complexity of my position perfectly. "Gratitude is a burden I would not place on you," he said. "What exists between us now is simply... an arrangement. One that I hope will prove beneficial to us both."

Beneficial to us both. The phrase implied equality, mutual advantage, as if I were entering a business partnership rather than fulfilling a debt. But what could I possibly offer that would benefit a man who lived in a castle that defied architectural possibility and commanded wealth beyond imagining?

Myself, whispered the uncomfortable voice in my head. You can offer yourself.

The thought sent heat flooding through my veins that had nothing to do with the warmth from the torches. Because looking at Kieran MacAllister—at the way he moved, the way his eyes tracked every subtle shift in my posture, the way his presence seemed to fill the vast hall—I could imagine exactly what kind of companionship he might require.

No. I forced the thought away before it could take root. He said nothing improper. Father assured me my virtue would remain intact.

But Father had also looked terrified every time he spoke of this man, and terror rarely accompanied arrangements that were purely innocent.

"You must be tired," Kieran said, his voice gentling in a way that made my pulse skip. "The journey through the forest can be... taxing for those unaccustomed to its peculiarities."

Peculiarities. Such a mild word for lights that danced without source and mist that parted on command and horses that appeared exactly when needed. But then, everything about this conversation was wrapped in careful language that avoided naming harder truths.

"A little," I admitted. "Though your forest is... remarkable. Unlike anything I've seen before."

Something flickered in those golden eyes—surprise, perhaps, or approval. "Most visitors find it unsettling rather than remarkable."

Most visitors. The phrase suggested I wasn't the first person to travel this path, to stand in this hall, to face whatever arrangement he had in mind. The thought was both comforting and disturbing—comforting because it implied survival was possible, disturbing because it raised questions about what had happened to those who came before me.

"I found it beautiful," I said honestly. "Strange, certainly, but beautiful nonetheless."

Beautiful. Like the man standing before me, radiating power and danger in equal measure while maintaining the facade of civilized courtesy. Beautiful like a blade that caught light while it cut.

Kieran's smile deepened, and for the first time since he'd appeared, it reached his eyes. "Beauty," he said softly, "is not always safe to appreciate."

The words carried weight beyond their literal meaning—a warning, perhaps, or a test. Are you brave enough to find beauty in dangerous things? Are you wise enough to understand what that choice might cost?

"Perhaps not," I replied, holding his gaze despite the way it made my heart race. "But a life without beauty seems hardly worth living."

Truth, those golden eyes seemed to say. Finally, something real instead of careful politeness.

He stepped closer then, close enough that I could smell something that wasn't quite cologne and wasn't quite natural—something wild and clean that made me think of winter storms and moonlit forests. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

Close enough that every instinct I possessed was screaming contradictory messages about danger and desire.