The decision had been made and she felt better for it. Dagger was a formidable adversary, but mayhap this Scotsman was just as deadly. In fact... She watched his eyes. There was something there that spoke of her own demise. Mayhap his allure was more dangerous than Dagger's evil, for he tempted her—tempted her to tell the truth, to share herself. But she must not, for if her true identity was revealed her life would surely be forfeit. Still, she could not let MacAulay die—not if Christine Harrington loved him. There was naught she could do but assist Roman in his mission and hope to send him on his way.She rubbed her chin. It itched, as did her scalp where the brass pins dug into her flesh. She yanked them free.Tendrils of hair slipped from confinement. She sighed, searched out the last pin, and rubbed her scalp. He watched, seeming strangely distracted for a moment."Mayhap ye have hopes of ordering me ta me own death," he suggested, but his tone was casual, as if the idea held little interest for him.She paused from her chore of rubbing adhesive from her chin to look at him.
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