Chapter 4

4

" Y e have lost yer mind," the hellion said as Adam held her tightly to his chest.

He didn't want her to run away again. The water from her skirts was soaking through his kilt. She must be cold, but she hadn't said a word about it.

"Am I so much worse than James Stewart?"

"Ye are the same."

Adam glowered at her. "Ye watch yer tongue."

"Or what?" she asked sharply. "I have nay reason to trust ye. Ye're just a man who interrupted me weddin' and took me captive. Ye are nay better than him."

"Ye'll learn to trust me, lass, but ye need to do as I say for the time bein'."

As Adam adjusted his grip on Buck's reins, the horse stepped forward, and he felt his hoof slip out from under him. Buck snorted as his leg sank into a deep hole in the ground, and his front legs tipped forward violently.

"For the love of peat!" Adam shouted as the hellion jumped forward over the horse's head, landing deep into the water again. She waded away just as slowly as before.

It was becoming a real nuisance, having to follow her, but as he watched, he was alarmed to see her find her footing only a few feet further ahead and start sprinting wildly across the moors.

Why is she actin' like a demon when we have the same goal?

It took precious seconds for Buck to free himself. The mud was thick and gelatinous, and his hoof caught in it so fast that Adam had to hop down, soiling his own boots, to free him.

Once Buck was free, Adam leaped back into the saddle and pursued the lass. He was impressed by her determination. She'd even had the good sense to go toward a makeshift path in the distance, but the ground wasn't made for running, and she still wore that ridiculous dress. The back of it was black with mud.

He couldn't help running his eyes over her figure as he followed her at a canter. Her long, dark hair fell almost to her hips. She was small in stature and very petite, but her body was a pleasing hourglass shape. Adam had enjoyed having her pressed against him on the horse.

Speaking of Buck, he appeared to be just as eager to get to the hellion as Adam was. The horse had clearly taken a liking to her, and as they came alongside her, he snorted happily.

She was tired now. The constant pull of the mud wasn't helping her, and there were spots of it flecked over her face. She had a lovely complexion, skin like white marble. Her hair was wild and curling about her head now, her wide green eyes staring ahead of her, resolutely not looking up at him as he came level with her.

She looked like a goddess drowning in mud, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Come here, ye devil woman!" He leaned down from the saddle and heaved her up with one arm, pulling her forcibly out of the mud and tugging her legs across him.

Adam pulled her roughly against his body, holding her tightly as she gasped for breath. His back was tense as his arm wrapped around her, and he looked down into her fearful gaze.

"Ye will be silent and sit where I put ye, is that understood?"

The journey through the mud had clearly tired her, and she seemed to have lost some of her fire. All he received in response was a silent nod. He kept his arm tight around her nevertheless and gathered her skirts into his fist.

Looking out over the horizon, he knew that they had a long journey ahead of them, and he couldn't have her pinned to his side like a prisoner the whole way. They would need to find a compromise off the horse, or else she would be jumping into the marshlands every few feet.

"We'll stop in a while," he growled. "Ye jump down again and ye'll meet me dirk the next time."

The alarm on her face was evident, and Adam was content that at least, for now, the threat would keep her where she was. His gut clenched at the thought of following through on it, and he frowned at the strange feeling.

When he and his man-at-arms had first discussed interrupting James Stewart's wedding, they had planned to injure the bride and take her captive. Looking down at the woman in his arms, he felt ashamed of the idea. He had seen the fear in her eyes—she was surviving on luck and courage.

Despite his warnings, a fierce wish to protect her rose within him. He had felt it even as he'd lifted her over his shoulder in the kirk. There was a vulnerability about her that intrigued him. It didn't surprise him that James Stewart had dragged her to the altar with threats.

No woman would willingly take that bastard for a husband.

She began to struggle again, even as he gripped her so tightly that she must have been in pain from the pressure. The urge to protect her was still uppermost in his mind, but she was making it damn difficult.

Those emerald-green eyes flashed at him as her hands came up to push at his arm. They were almost too large in her face, too wide—a blend of deep greens with golden flecks. They were almost otherworldly.

Had he captured the Nicneven? She certainly looked like a goddess to him—a very angry goddess .

"I told ye to let me go!"

"Calm down, lass," he said with a sigh. "It's nae what ye think. I'll explain. Stop fightin' me."

She twisted sideways as her knee shot toward his crotch, and with a final cry of frustration, he flipped her over the saddle so she was hanging face down like a prize goose.

The new position seemed to confuse her so much that she stopped struggling.

"I did say I would do this if ye didnae cooperate," he stated firmly, putting a hand on her lower back to steady her. "Now, do ye want to stay in this position all the way back, or will ye behave?"

"Ye are a blaggard!" she cried.

"Aye, and ye are a nuisance. Ye will follow me orders, make nay mistake. If ye had calmed down, this wouldnae have happened," he said, looking about for somewhere they could rest.

He noticed a more solid patch of ground near the path and guided Buck toward it. She flailed wildly, trying to find purchase on the saddle and failing.

"Now, if I let ye down, ye willnae run anywhere. Is that clear?"

She twisted back to look at him, her hair dangling down the horse's leg, but she finally nodded, seemingly resigned to her fate. He didn't trust her for a minute, but he pulled her up and over the saddle.

Adam lowered the goddess to a small stone protruding from the marshes, settling her on it carefully. He jumped down from the horse in the same motion and knelt before her, noting a thin line of blood that had trickled down to her ankle.

"Ye're bleedin', ye foolish creature," he said irritably.

Buck wandered up to her and shoved his nose against her face. She scratched him under his chin, and Adam rolled his eyes at him.

That horse will do anythin' for a pretty face.

He knelt on the tufted grass and lifted the fabric of her dress out of the way.

Emily stared at Laird MacNiall in amazement, suddenly nervous about their isolation. He raised her skirts higher up her calf, and she sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed against her skin. Her knee was bleeding. As his fingers touched her again, she slapped them away, trying to pull the fabric back into place.

"Be still," he said impatiently.

"We are in the middle of the Highlands, and ye're lifting me skirts without permission."

He scowled. "Ye ran away from me and got yerself hurt."

"I was runnin' away because ye kidnapped me!"

"I am tryin' to help ye."

"I dinnae need yer help!" she shouted in his face, her voice echoing around them.

Laird MacNiall rubbed his chin wearily. "If we dinnae wrap this wound, it'll nae stop bleedin'," he said slowly. "If it doesnae stop bleedin', it will turn black. If it turns black, ye will die. I dinnae wish to dig a grave with me bare hands. It's cold today."

Her lips twitched at his tone, and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking around her at the heather and wild grass swaying gently in the breeze.

"Ye could leave me body in the water. Nay need for a grave, after all."

His eyes were dancing with mirth now, but he did not smile. "Aye. I'll leave ye to the nymphs and the kelpies. They'd welcome ye as one of their own."

She scoffed, but when he didn't look away from her, she sighed. Her knee was hurting, and she had no clue what to do with an open wound. She eyed him suspiciously for a few more seconds and then finally lifted her skirt again.

The cut was jagged and painful. There was a steady flow of blood, and she watched it with something akin to fascination. She'd never injured herself like this before.

"Do I have yer permission to examine the wound now?"

She glanced up at him. "Aye, but ye only touch me leg."

"Dinnae ye worry, lass, I wouldnae wish to touch anythin' else," he said blithely.

She frowned at him, uncertain how she felt about that admission. His long fingers probed the wound bed, and she hissed.

"Stay here," he said firmly and stood up, clicking his tongue.

The horse came up to him immediately, and he went to the saddle bag. After much searching and muttering under his breath, his hand emerged, holding something she was not expecting. It was a thin, green ribbon that didn't look like it belonged in a laird's pack.

He returned, giving her a stern look as she raised her eyebrows.

"And why do ye have a ribbon in yer saddle bag, may I ask?" she asked.

Huffing irritably, he pulled his léine from his kilt, showing her a brief flash of toned, golden flesh. Unsheathing his knife, he cut two strips of fabric from his léine, bundling one into a ball and using it to wipe away the blood from her wound.

"Buck isnae me horse. He belongs to me sister Freya. She keeps a lot of silly things with her when she travels."

"And here I was thinkin' ye'd already barged in on another weddin' this mornin'. Ye could be collectin' brides all over the Highlands."

"One is quite enough," he said gruffly.

She watched him clean the wound as best as he could and wrap her knee tightly with the strip of cloth from his léine. Her breaths came faster as his fingers moved over her flesh. His blue eyes were narrowed in concentration, and his tongue kept darting out to lick his lips as he calculated what length of fabric he would need to bandage the wound.

Emily had never had another man's hands on her like that before. She had received hugs from her brother and father, but never anything like this—and they were entirely alone.

The wind whistled around them across the marshes, and she breathed in the salty scent of the sea. He could do anything he wanted with her here, yet she felt safe.

After he was satisfied with his work, he tied the ribbon around her knee to secure the ends of the bandage, and she could not help smiling.

"Is ribbon what ye use on the battlefield with yer men?" she asked in amusement. "It looks ever so pretty."

His gaze flicked up to hers, and his eyes were brooding and dark again.

"Has that mouth of yers ever got ye into trouble?" he asked darkly.

She shivered. "Many times, M'Laird. "

"Careful, lass."

That was all he said, but the two words had a surprising effect on her. She fell silent. Something in her wanted to please him—for him to be pleased with her. She pursed her lips in confusion.

What's the matter with me? Now that me knee is bandaged, I should run as fast as I can away from this man.

She stayed still, watching as he stepped back, surveying the injury and nodding in satisfaction.

"Ye should be more careful the next time ye jump off a runnin' horse."

"I wouldnae have been on a horse at all if it werenae for ye."

"Wherever ye go, I'll always catch ye."

The sky behind him was a brooding black mass of clouds now. The wind picked up, blowing through his long dark hair and ruffling the fur on his shoulders as though he were a wolf. He looked like the king of his lands, and Emily was mesmerized by him.

"Have ye eaten?"

The question surprised her.

"Nay," she admitted truthfully. "I couldnae eat before the weddin'… I didnae feel well."

He nodded once and went back to the saddle bag. He rummaged through it on the opposite side and pulled out some bread and something wrapped in paper.

He crouched down on the ground beside her feet, eyeing her warily.

"Now," he said, "ye can keep tryin' to hurt yerself and bein' a nuisance, or ye can have somethin' to eat. Afterward, I'll take ye back to me castle, and ye can wait for me to kill that idiot. Then ye'll be free to live yer life as though nothin' has happened."

He unwrapped the bundle, which turned out to be ham and cheese, and made an inelegant but tasty-looking sandwich, with slices of cheese sticking out at odd angles between the bread slices. He handed it to her without a word.

Emily looked down at it in confusion. "What about ye?" she asked.

"It'll be dark by the time we get there, and ye havenae had any food since this mornin'. Ye must be starvin'."

The insistent look in his eyes made her take the sandwich, and at the first bite, she realized how true that statement was. She was famished, and as she took the second bite, there was a look of satisfaction in his dark gaze.

As the wind picked up, she finished most of the bread, but then she handed the final few mouthfuls to him. He ate the whole thing in one bite, his gaze contemplative.

Feeling a little better, she pulled herself to her feet, and the wind whipped at her skirts as she regained her balance. Laird MacNiall rose too, much faster than she would have expected—he looked ready to chase her again.

"Ye said that I would have to marry ye. Have ye changed yer mind so fast?"

"Let's reach me castle and get some rest. I'll explain everythin' to ye then."

She shook her head. "If we waste time like this, me family will be in danger." Her voice cracked on the words, worry laced through every syllable.

"If he wants ye back in one piece, he willnae hurt them," he said dismissively.

She scoffed loudly. "Ye cannae possibly ken that."

But he was already walking toward Buck, his back to her.

She followed, limping a little and skirting over the tufts of grass, attempting not to fall back into the water. She was cold, and the wide landscape felt harsher than it had before.

"Are ye goin' to kill me?" she demanded.

"Nay," he said casually, as though discussing the weather. "But James Stewart doesnae ken that, does he?"

He winked at her as he reached the horse, holding out a hand to help her back into the saddle.

Emily stared at his hand, unsure what to do. She glanced around her one final time, looking for another escape from her predicament, but she knew he would simply catch her again. Without a horse, she had no chance of beating him on foot. A castle and a warm fire were better than spending a night in the marshes.

She sighed and walked to Buck. The horse nickered at her in a friendly way, and she patted his neck.

Placing her hands on the saddle, she attempted to haul herself up, but just as before, she was too small to find enough purchase. As she bent her knee, it throbbed painfully, and she moaned despite herself.

"Want me to give ye a leg up?"

She glowered at him, but after another failed attempt, he sighed, and strong hands encircled her waist. She was lifted onto the horse as though she weighed nothing at all. It was odd, to feel cared for by this man, but his strength made her feel grounded and settled her fractured nerves.

"Did I nae say yer knee would fall off if ye dinnae let it heal?" he asked.

"Ye said it would turn black."

"Which would ye prefer?"

"I'd prefer to be at home with me braither and faither."

The Laird swung himself up behind her in the saddle, and they began to walk forward slowly.

The clouds were gathering above their heads, and Laird MacNiall put a hand on her waist as she shifted in the saddle.

"I would appreciate it if ye didnae touch me so often," she said primly, aware she did not entirely mean the words.

He grunted in response, and Emily felt a rush of satisfaction at the sound.

Moving back, she squirmed experimentally, just to see what he would do. He grunted again, more audibly this time, and she smiled to herself.

"Sit still. We have a long journey ahead."