The Lady's Protector (Highland Bodyguards #1) by Emma Prince

into the tower, but that didn’t mean the game was over.
    She stood and stepped toward her chamber’s door. With trembling fingers, she plucked the bejeweled dagger from her desk and took up her position. The dagger was ornamental, yet because it was never used, the blade was as sharp as ever.
    Time stretched as she waited. Ansel must be slowly and systematically sweeping the tower, small as it was. How long would it take him to reach her chamber? It was on the first landing up the stairs from the ground floor, yet he seemed to be taking his time.
    She nigh jumped out of her skin when her door rattled. He pulled and pushed for a moment, then cursed quietly in the stairwell on the other side of the thick door. Isolda pressed her lips together against the combination of anticipation and glee. He’d be realizing just now that her door didn’t have a lock, which meant that his key ring wouldn’t help him a whit.
    The solid oak beam across her door vibrated as he tried to ram his way through, but both the door and the beam didn’t budge.
    Just as smug satisfaction began curling her lips, the tip of his sword slid through the thin gap between the door and the wall. Slowly, the blade worked farther inside as he carefully threaded it in the narrow space.
    She almost cried out again as the blade abruptly jammed upward into the beam. The beam jostled but remained in place. Again, the sword whacked the slab of wood. After several more tries, the blade finally dislodged the oak beam, sending it tumbling to the stone floor.
    The door swung open slowly, but she’d positioned herself so that the wood now hid her from the rest of the room, casting her in shadow. She gripped her dagger, willing her heart to slow and her feet to stay rooted until the moment to strike arrived.
    At first, all she could see was Ansel’s blade, illuminated weakly by the beam of moonlight slicing into the chamber from the cracked shutters. As he stepped cautiously into the room, his hand and then his arm came into her line of sight. At last, his broad back filled her vision.
    “Ye can come out now, Lady Isolda,” he said softly, his gaze focused on her shadowy bed. She held her breath. He took another step closer to the bed, lowering his sword and re-sheathing it.
    “I hope this little exercise has shown ye just how helpless ye are here.”
    Still he didn’t turn toward her. Instead, he took another step toward the lumpy bed. She’d piled several pillows under the covers to make it appear as though she lay there. Her ruse had worked.
    With two swift, silent steps on slippered feet, she closed the distance between them. Raising the dagger, she thrust it forward until it pinned the material of his tunic to his back.
    Instantly, he tensed. She pressed the dagger ever so slightly harder.
    “Not entirely helpless,” she said, her voice swelling with triumph.
    Like lightning, he spun around, catching her wrist in his large hand. In one smooth move, he torqued her arm so that her elbow bent and the dagger slipped behind her. She collided into the hard wall of his chest, her wrist restrained behind her back and her body flush with his. He squeezed the hand that was wrapped around her wrist ever so slightly, and despite her resistance, the dagger was suddenly pinned against her lower back.
    All her triumph vaporized, to be replaced by a flood of hot panic. But it wasn’t fear for her safety that made her squirm in Ansel’s unyielding hold. Nay, it was the sudden and overwhelming contact with his body that turned her stomach into a scorching knot.
    Her free hand rose to shove at his chest, but he caught her other wrist as well and bent it behind her. Impossibly, he bound both of her wrists with just one large, warm hand. His other hand plucked the dagger from her grasp. He tossed it casually on the bed behind him.
    “Do ye intend to stand in hiding behind yer door while yer pillows take yer place in bed every night for the foreseeable future?” His voice