Page 27 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
She wished she could light the fire. Her fingers were almost numb by the time she finished penning the short note, and she was just folding it in half when a heavy voice from the door made her jump about a foot in the air.
“I thought I told ye nae to write to yer faither,” Adam snarled as he entered the room.
He closed the door behind him with a loud bang, careless of the many people sleeping above them.
Adam wasn’t sure whether to be furious or impressed.
How the devil did she find her way to me study on her own at five o’clock in the damn mornin’?
As he looked at her shocked expression, remembering how her lips had tasted in the gardens, the heat of arousal shuddered down his spine again.
But she still needed to accept that he was in charge, and he intended to remind her.
“If ye are goin’ to be mine, then ye must learn toobey,” he commanded as he advanced on her.
“I didnae write to me faither,” she countered indignantly.
He came to stand before the desk, and there was a brief stalemate as they glared at each other.
“Why are ye awake?” she asked suddenly.
“I rarely sleep much these days,” he confessed. “And ye arenae helpin’ matters.”
Her robe had fallen open, and he could see her thin nightdress beneath it. His mind wandered to her taking off her sodden dress once she had gotten back to her room, and he felt himself harden beneath his kilt.
“Let’s see how obedient ye can be, oh bride of mine. Go to yer chambers.”
She rose, folding the letter and putting it in her pocket. He would have to get it from her later or have a servant steal it. He could not let any word about her situation reach Clan Orkney.
Emily rounded the desk and came to stand before him, glaring at him defiantly. He could see she was shivering from the cold air in the room, and the same protectiveness flared inside him. He glanced at the fire, which had long turned to ash in the grate. He needed to fix it, to make her warm. The need was almost overwhelming.
“Go to yer chambers,” he barked again.
“And what if I dinnae?” she challenged him.
“Do ye really wish to find out the consequences?” he asked, only too aware of their proximity.
She was inches from him, her porcelain skin almost touching his own. He was desperate to feel her lips on his again. He wanted to hear her moan—make her repeat the sound until they were both mad with lust.
He straightened, trying to get his thundering heart under control. “Give me the letter,” he commanded, and after a slight hesitation, he was pleased to see her comply.
She handed him the letter, watching him warily as he read her words. He raised his eyebrows, noting the lack of flowery prose and gushing emotion. Emily had stated everything bluntly and clearly—this Ceana was obviously someone she trusted and knew well.
He lowered the letter, their eyes meeting over the top of the paper.
“Is it to yer satisfaction? I havenae told her anythin’ important.”
“So I see. Barely worth writin’ at all.”
She pursed her lips and snatched the letter back. He itched to grab her again and command her to obey him, but he held back. Visibly gathering herself, she moved even further away from him. Tightening her robe around herself and still shivering from the cold, she finally fixed him with a rebellious glare.
“Good night, M’Laird,” she said softly. Her tone was so at odds with the fury in her expression that it quite surprised him.
She walked to the door, opening it softly and closing it behind her with a quiet click.
What new madness have I allowed into me life?
He realized he was disappointed she was gone and snarled in irritation. Walking to his desk, he poured himself a large measure of whisky and settled down to watch the dawn.
