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Mal

Malcolm had just shut the door to his rooms behind him when a knock sounded softly against the wood. He frowned, turning and grabbing the latch. It couldnae be Lydia. He’d waited until he saw her shadowed form disappear back into the manor. He pulled the door open and—

“We need to talk, lad.” Porter pushed past him. A push that seemed a bit harder than necessary.

“Hullo, Port,” Malcolm said, following after his stable master with raised brows.

Porter pointed to the chair at Malcolm’s desk. “Sit.”

Malcolm sat. Heavily, since Porter also assisted with a shove to his shoulder.

“You are going to get yourself in terrible trouble, lad,” Porter hissed. “Where’s a bucket of ice water when one needs one? Because your leather-head needs a dunkin’!”

A deep chuckle rumbled from Malcolm’s chest. “Be at ease, Port. I’m not in any danger.”

“You think this is funny, do you? I saw you watching her sneak back to the manor, all disguised in her cloak. Bloody calf-eyed. She came from here. I know she did. What do you think you’re doing, son? Tupping the Earl’s wife !”

Malcolm grimaced. “Och. I suppose we werenae as careful as we thought we were. But trust me, Porter, there is no danger. And we’ll be more discreet going forward.”

“You’ll be more discreet going forward?”

Porter’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. Malcolm debated holding out his palms to catch them—just to be safe.

“Going forward!” he whisper-yelled, and Malcolm flinched.

Not a time for jesting. Even in his head.

His mentor took up pacing. “There shouldn’t be any going forward, lad.

Or there won’t be any going forward for you .

You’ll find yourself ruined. Out of work, without any positions open to you.

Men do not take kindly to other men stealing their women.

You’ll find yourself in a cell, a knife in your back, a bullet in your brain. ”

Malcolm stood and grasped Porter by the shoulders, forcing the man still. “Porter, look at me.” He waited until the man’s gaze finally made its way up to his. “I promise ye. There is. Nae. Danger.”

The man sagged beneath Malcolm’s hands. “How can you know that, lad? It’s foolish to think something like this will end well.”

“I know I have done some…foolish things in the past. Which you have rightfully set me right on. But this is not one of them. I cannae tell you the reasons why. ‘Tis not my place. But”—he squeezed Porter’s shoulders hard—“believe me when I say, there is nae danger of the Earl being angry.”

Confusion clouded his mentor’s dark eyes, even as all the fight left him. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, Mallie.”

“And I appreciate that. More than you know, Port. But there’s nothing that can go wrong here.”

“Oh, Mallie. Those are the sorts of words that fate delights in proving false.”