I stared at the ground, but his knuckles came to my chin, lifting so my glare collided with his mocking gaze.
His lips curved up. “You’re going to need more training. I can see your disdain for me clearly.” A moment later, he added, “You’re asking questions.”
My neck heated. Shit. “No, I’m not.”
He tilted his head. “Where am I sleeping? Why can’t we du Lacs come to Scotland?”
Those little snitches.
He grinned wide. “If you’re asking questions, you should ask me, Angel.”
“As if you’d answer my questions.”
He dragged my chin closer, lips heating mine. “Try me.”
My glare deepened. “Where are you sleeping?”
He flashed a crooked smile. “Do you want me in your bed?”
I ignored that. “Why can’t you go to Scotland?”
“Because this is Crowne territory.”
Crowne territory?
“Then why are you here?”
Something flickered in his eyes, but all he said was, “I already answered that, Angel. It’s the last place he’ll look for you. Any more questions?”
Why did you stop her from hitting me?
Why are you answering my questions?
Why are you nice sometimes?
“Shouldn’t you be with your fiancée?” I’d still yet to see her or hear any mention of her.
The humor in his eyes died. He blinked, and dropped me, standing to his feet. I watched him, curious, as he walked around my room, touching the bare accoutrements. He stopped at the window, fogged from the morning’s light rain.
“When will I meet her?” I prodded lightly.
He dragged his finger down the ancient glass, creating a clear line in the condensation to reveal dewy green.
“Do I know her?”
West laughed lightly. “It won’t work.”
“What won’t work?”
He turned, back to the glass, eyes narrowed on me. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the grounds? You told me this was where your uncle wanted you to be—” My brow furrowed. I did. “Maybe getting out of this room will show you why.”
I glared. It didn’t sound like an act of kindness, it sounded calculated. West wanted something, I just didn’t know what.
He shrugged. “I’m not going to force you, I just thought you might want to. There are many poems here. I know you shared your poetry with him.”
The first poem I ever shared with my uncle, was the first I ever wrote.
A poem I wrote and sent West.