Page 53 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
Alexandra stormed toward him, her eyes flashing with fury, skirts hiked up just enough to clear her boots. Her cheeks were flushed, and the moment she reached him, she didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“How can ye allow such foolishness?” she snapped, voice sharp and clear enough for those nearby to fall silent. “There’s music and dancin’ and laughter while Erica is still in the hands of that monster!”
Nicholas straightened slowly in his chair. His eyes narrowed as he met her glare. “Ye think I should starve me men of joy and order silence in the halls? That I should put down the pipes and give them only grief for supper?”
“Aye!” she barked. “At the very least, a bit of somber dignity! I cannae bear the sound of joy when she could be sufferin’. She gave herself up for me, and here ye sit with venison in yer teeth!”
He rose from the chair, his own temper flaring now as eyes around the hall turned toward them. “Do ye ken what keeps a guard’s sword sharp? What keeps his spirit from crackin’? ’Tis nae sorrow and silence—it’s meat in his belly and a reel in his feet.”
“This is nae just about yer guards, Nicholas!” Alexandra hissed. “This is about…decency!”
“And I’m tryin’ to hold together a clan!” he growled back. “Every soul in this hall is lookin’ to me nae just as a man, but as a laird, and ye shame me before them!”
With a cry of frustration, Alexandra spun on her heel and stomped out of the hall, her boots clapping against the stone.
Nicholas stood frozen for a moment, chest heaving, then cursed under his breath and followed her. "Damn her stubbornness."
He caught her in the corridor, the dim torches casting her in gold and shadow. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. “How dare ye undermine me in front of me people?”
Her breath hitched as she tried to yank free. “Unhand me!”
“Must I remind ye,” he growled, voice low, “that ye are still me captive?”
The words struck the air like lightning, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Her chest rose and fell, and her lips parted as her eyes locked on his. There was fury in her gaze—fury and something else. Her skin burned beneath his hand, and his own restraint snapped like a bowstring.
Without thought, without plan, he pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was fierce, bruising—born of rage, sorrow, and something deeper. He noticed that she didn’t pull away, not at first. Her hands fisted in the front of his tunic, and she kissed him back with a fire that startled him. When she did finally break away, her breath came in gasps.
He stared at her, stunned by her boldness. She stared back, shaken. Silence fell between them, heavy and unspoken. The corridor felt suddenly colder.
She stepped back, eyes wide and unreadable. “I… I need air.”
Then she turned and fled, leaving Nicholas standing alone, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Alexandra wandered the stone corridors of Castle O’Donnell with no direction, her skirts whispering against the cold floor. Servants passed her with lowered heads, their footsteps brisk, their voices hushed. But she heard nothing—only the echo of her own anger. Every turn of the castle felt lonelier now, every room colder without her dearest friend.
And Nicholas dared to have a merry supper?
Her footsteps slowed as her thoughts turned toward Nicholas' words, and a fresh wave of frustration flooded her.
Ye’re still me captive.
The gall of him—to speak so coldly and then… to kiss her like that. Her fists clenched at her sides as heat flushed her cheeks.
I should’ve slapped the heat from his cheek.
Instead, her knees had gone soft, her lips answering his like a woman possessed. She hated herself for enjoying it, hated the traitorous thrum it sent through her when she remembered the press of his mouth and the warmth of his touch.
“Fool,” she whispered under her breath, shaking her head. But no matter how she scolded herself, she couldn’t stop remembering how his hands had felt on her skin—or the fire he left behind.
She pushed open the door into the cool night air and into the gardens. She found a bench and sat down, trying to calm her overheated reaction to Nicholas.
Her throat tightened as the weight in her chest returned, heavy and sharp. Tears welled in her eyes and began to fall, one by one, sliding down her cheeks in silence.
