Page 21 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
“Elspeth,” Keane roared. “Stop right where ye are.”
But for her plan to work, the laird needed to believe she was truly trying to escape, and thus, she continued on, even though she could hear his heavy footfall closing in as he shortened the gap between them.
A few seconds later, she felt his huge arm grab her at the waist, lifting her entirely off her feet.
“Get off me,” she screamed, playing her part to perfection.
“Nae a chance,” he barked, spinning her around in mid-air.
It was exactly what she wanted, and with the berries crushed in her palms, she hammered her fists down on his solid chest. “Let me go, ye brute. Let me go this minute.”
Keane looked at her like she had lost her mind, which, she supposed, it appeared she had, but it was all part of it. So busy was he looking at her manic face, he had not yet noticed the purple splatters of juice now covering his ‘last clean shirt’.
When she finally felt his clothes were marred enough to look foolish, she slowly stopped fighting him, and settled, with him still holding her aloft in his arms.
“Are ye done?” he snarled.
Elsie heaved a huge dramatic sigh, and nodded her head.
Lowering her to the floor, he looked at her in disbelief. “Ye didnae really think ye were?—”
But he stopped speaking when he noticed the slow smirk growing on her lips. Following her eyes, he looked down at himself and gasped.
“Bloody hell,” he bellowed. He glared back and her, and then back at his completely ruined shirt. “Ye did this on purpose,” he roared.
“What are ye going tae dae?” Elsie smirked. “Put me over yer knee and beat me arse?”
His eyebrows shot up at her language, and then his eyes narrowed and he launched at her. Elsie’s heart leapt in her chest and she darted away. But she wasn’t quick enough. Grabbing herwrist, he spun her so her back faced him, and lifted his other hand, ready to strike.
“Ye lay one hand on me, and I swear, I’ll murder ye in yer sleep,” she hissed.
Keane stilled and glared at her. Elsie glared right back, panic searing her eyes, determination in her words, for nothing passing her lips had ever been truer. For a long moment, he stood there, her wrist in one hand, his other held in the air. And then taking a raking breath in, he slowly lowered it, spinning her round to face him.
“Keane,” Alisdair’s voice carried from somewhere behind.
Elsie imagined he was there to stop whatever might have occurred, but clearly, Keane had changed mind of his own volition.
“It’s fine,” Keane rasped. Turning to look at Elsie, he growled, “But ye’re coming with me.”
Keeping a tight hold on her wrist, he pulled her with him as he headed to the river.
“What are ye daeing?” Elsie cried, suddenly panicking.
“What dae ye think I’m daeing?” he growled, his tone now more frustrated than angry as they neared the bank. “I have tae washthis now. But if ye think I’m letting ye out o’ me sight, ye have another thing coming.”
As the panic of thinking he might throw her into the water dissipated, a secret delight rose in Elsie as she watched the laird fume.
Serves him right.
“What did ye say?” he growled, turning to her and finally letting go of her wrist.
“Naething,” she said.
She was certain she hadn’t spoken out loud, and yet, that was the second time he had spoken to her as though he could actually read her mind.
At the water’s edge, Keane tore at his shirt, swiftly yanking it off his body. Admittedly, as much as she delighted in his frustration and discomfort, Elsie could not help the widening of her eyes as she gazed upon his physique. As he pulled at his boots, and slipped his pants from beneath his plaid, muscles rippled everywhere, from his huge broad shoulders and thick upper arms, all the way down his back to his slender waist.
She was not surprised at his size, for even wearing clothes, it was obvious he was a strong and muscular man, but the simple fact was, she had not seen a man in such a state of undress before.
