Page 11 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander
“Dinnae play coy wit’ me,” he said. “Ye may be able to enchant other men wit’ yer beauty, but I’m nae like most men.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Astrid’s lips. “Ye find me beautiful?” she asked.
“Aye, well, it’s nae like ye dinnae ken. Nay matter how ratty yer hair is, ye have a handsome face, and ye ken it.”
“All too well,” Astrid mumbled as she took a sip of her whiskey, wishing the burn would ease the ache in her chest. She didn’t have to be reminded of her lot in life—it was one she had no choice over.
“I’ll nae ask ye again.”
“And what if I refuse? Are ye goin’ to take them by force then?” she asked as she moved around the study, her attention shifting to the fancy books that lined the shelves.
“I’ve taken ye down before, I think I can manage again. How’s yer ankle, by the way? I saw how ye landed on it. Surely the pain is?—”
“Manageable,” she answered as she realized that the throbbing in her ankle had turned into a dull ache.
“Aye, I’m sure it is. But I’m nae goin’ to tell ye again. Disarm yerself. Ye and yer daughter are safe here, I swear it.”
Astrid didn’t budge.
The Laird’s expression hardened slightly as he stepped closer to her. He closed the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes bored into hers.
“And how can ye be so sure? Ye dinnae have a clue what demons are hunting for me.”
Her heart fluttered as he leaned in. Their breaths mingled and filled the space between them. The warmth of the fire paled in comparison to the warmth of his body. For a moment, Astrid wondered if she imagined the flicker of intrigue in his eyes.
“They can wait out in the cold. Ye’re under me protection,” he said with such conviction that it left no room for doubt. “Ye’ll nae need yer blades here.”
“And how do ye ken what I need?” she challenged.
“Because…” he began, his voice a husky whisper that sent a shiver of desire down her spine. She stepped back only to have him follow her, keeping the distance between them to a minimum. “I’m givin’ ye a chance to do the right thing here.”
“Is that so?” Astrid teased as she felt the bookcase pressing against her back.
The Laird’s imposing figure cast a shadow over her. Her heart raced wildly in her chest, each beat echoing in the charged stillness of his study.
“Either ye remove the dagger, or I shall lift yer skirts and retrieve it meself.”
A shiver ran down her spine at the suggestion, her breath hitching as she considered the implications. His intense eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul, igniting a spark of rebellion within her.
With a sudden rush of determination, she lifted her skirts, baring her thigh to his scrutiny. The air was electric, and she watched as his eyes lingered on her bare flesh, stirring a fire within her that she had not expected to feel.
He stepped closer, his hands skillfully checking her for any other hidden weapons. She was shocked to find that, despite her vulnerability, she wasn’t afraid of him. There was something magnetic about him—a raw, untamed energy that both daunted and excited her.
As soon as he retrieved her dagger—a flash of silver in the firelight—he stepped back, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern.
“Why would ye even carry such a weapon?” he asked, a furrow forming between his eyebrows.
“Ye could say I’ve grown claws over the years and ken better than to trust anyone,” she answered as she glanced at the blade in his hand. “Includin’ a laird wit’ good intentions. Ye ken what they say, do ye nae? The road to hell is paved wit’ good intentions.”
“Aye,” he said as he stepped back and moved to his desk.
Astrid let out a heavy sigh. How the Laird managed to scramble her thoughts, she didn’t know. No other man had managed to confuse her. Yet, there she was, questioning the purpose of her presence in his study.
“The world is harsh. But a lass doesnae conceal her dagger unless she has enemies. So why dinnae ye tell me what is really goin’ on? The men on the way back here… ye kenned them, did ye nae?”
“The Laird has a very active imagination,” Astrid scoffed.
“Why do ye need a weapon?” the Laird pressed. His loud voice boomed through the room, rattling the paintings hanging on the wall.
