Page 16 of Marry the Highland Villain
Even so…
“’Tis nae my fault that ye were forced out of yer home in such a manner. I certainly didnae bring ye here. Yer anger toward me is misplaced in that regard.”
He refused to be held responsible for Laird Auchter’s discourtesy toward his own kin, no matter the events that had brought her to his home.
“But ye will keep me here, like a bird in a cage.” Her eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms, inadvertently pushing up her breasts and setting a different kind of fire in his blood.
If she raises her arms just a little bit, her breasts will likely spill out of her bodice. I cannae say I’d mind that much, butshe might. However, if she truly wants to win this argument… I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this now.
Conall forced his thoughts away from the crude fantasy, and the burgeoning ache in his midsection, grimacing at his wayward thoughts. A moment later, he realized how his expression must appear to Brigid and winced for an entirely different reason.
He must be looking at her as if he were about to rip her head off. And yet Brigid never flinched, despite his actions only candlemarks ago.
Normally, no one would dare provoke his temper this far, and Conall found his anger fading into admiration for her courage. He’d scarcely believed he would ever find a woman who would consent to wed him—he’d never thought he’d find one with the courage to stand up to him as well. And she did it without seeming like a harridan, which was even more impressive.
He’d thought her pretty enough when she had sat quietly and politely at his side. Engaging with her when her eyes flashed with that inner fire was almost mesmerizing. However, it wasn’t enough to sway him from his initial decision.
“Aye. For yer own safety as well as my clan’s. As I told ye earlier. Please dinnae make me repeat myself.”
He wouldn’t trust Auchter not to set an ambush on the road, on the off chance that he could have her killed, and claim that Clan MacKane had acted in bad faith. And, of course, there were always bandits and other dangers on the road.
Whether he trusted the lass or not—and he scarcely knew her well enough to trust her—he wouldn’t risk any chance that she might not be what she seemed, or that circumstances might conspire against him.
“Ye can send guards with me if ye are so concerned about my safety. I’m sure yer men will be quite capable of makin’ sure that I remain unharmed and that my destination is one ye approve of.”
Her voice was sharp, almost bitterly angry, and underneath the anger, he heard pain. It wasn’t the sort of tone that could be feigned, and he would have expected more tears and pleading, rather than anger, if it had been. His chest ached with the slightest pang of unexpected sympathy.
To have been ripped from her home, with nothing but the clothes she stood in… ’Tis unthinkable. Nay wonder the lass is upset.
But it still wasn’t enough to change his mind. He couldn’t allow a lass’s hurt feelings to sway him.
“Mayhap,” he said, his jaw set with resolve. “But nothing says I need to tak’ the chance, when a letter will serve yer needs just as well.”
“But—”
“A letter will tell yer kin ye’re safe, and when they come for the wedding they’ll see it for themselves.” Conall cut her off, tired of arguing the matter, and unwilling to keep debating his decision when she ought to have realized by now that nothing would change it.
“They can bring whatever ye desire from home.” His lip curled. “My clan has been at war, lass, and I’ve nay guarantee that Laird Auchter will keep his word. I’ll nae risk the lives of several men when one messenger will suffice.”
Brigid tossed her head, the motion sending firelight rippling along the silken strands of her hair. “And what of my sisters? Who will ensure their safety on the road? Or is that nae a consideration for ye?”
“I’m sure they can manage. I cannae picture Blackwood leavin’ his kin helpless.”
Especially not if her sisters were as hot-tempered as she seemed to be.
Brigid’s eyes flashed with anger and hurt, and he knew then that his words had struck a chord. “Ye have nay idea how my father left us, nor in what conditions my sisters and I have lived since his passing.”
Conall’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “He didnae leave ye starvin’ or without spirit, that’s for certain.”
Seeing the hurt on her face, he made an effort to soften his voice. It was hard—he’d scarcely had any cause to make such an effort, especially not since Devon had died. Soft words did not come easily to him.
“I understand ye are angry, lass,” he said. “But how ye came here wasnae of my doin’, and ye had better direct yer anger at Laird Auchter for that matter.”
“I kenthatwell enough. I’m nae a fool.”
She tilted her head to look up at him, her green eyes shining in the firelight and the heat of her unhappiness. As much anger as grief and frustration, he thought, and as much directed at her grandfather as at him.
“’Tis the way ye treat me now that I’m angry about.”
