Page 19 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Damn him.
She did not want to admit it, but his words kept replaying in her mind. She could stillfeelhis presence, the way his hand had felt on her wrist. The way his voice, deep and commanding, made herwantto obey. She hated it.
When she finally reached her chambers, the warmth of the fire greeted her like an embrace. Freya slumped against the door, letting out the breath she had been holding. Her mind was racing with thoughts of him, of anger and frustration. And of something else.
It only took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t alone.
Standing in the corner, a basin between her hands, was the maid who had shown her to her room when they had arrived. They started, both surprised to see each other.
“What was yer name again?” Freya asked.
The maid blinked. “Ealasaid, M’Lady.”
The maid had introduced herself earlier, but in the haze of her arrival, Freya had forgotten quickly.
She straightened and offered the maid a small smile. “Would ye help me change? I am tired.”
She sighed. Shewastired, that much was true. The journey, the day, and the encounter with Doughall had worn her out.
Ealasaid helped her change into a nightdress, and even went so far as to brush and braid her hair, before leaving her for the night. Alone, at last, Freya found herself sprawled across an unfamiliar bed.
The room was larger than her own, though it was decorated rather plainly. There was a warmth to it. The simplicity had a charm that she found comforting. It would do, for now, until she could find herself back at MacNiall Castle—in her room, with her belongings.
“One month,” she told herself.
One month of being near him, of obeying his orders…
I dinnae ken if I can do this.
Sinking into the mattress, she stared up at the dark canopy above. The tension from the day coiled tightly inside her, refusing to unravel. She wanted to but could not stop thinking about Doughall—the way his eyes had darkened in the study, the unmistakable heat between them.
For a fleeting moment, there in the study, she had thought… no,hopedthat he would kiss her. The very idea made her stomach flip, and she rolled over, hoping the thought would vanish. But her cheeks burned once more, and all she could do was bury her face in a pillow.
He wouldnae.
Doughall was cold, a man with no time for anything other than inspiring fear and maintaining control. He wasn’t the kind of man to kiss her out of desire—he probably did not desire her at all.
And I dinnae want him to. It’s the fact that he saved me from death that’s muddlin’ me mind.
She groaned in frustration, rolling over again. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to quieten so she could fall asleep. The firelight flickered behind her lids, and his voice echoed from some dark part of her mind.
Ye are mine to command.
7
“Ah, there ye are, lad.” Flynn beamed as Doughall stepped into the small cellar.
The rich scent of aging barrels and the sharp tang of whiskey mingled in the air, filling his senses and calming him just a bit. But not much.
He had barely slept last night, his mind too occupied with thoughts of fiery red hair and a sharp tongue. Doughall was no stranger to sleepless nights, but it was rare for something… or someone… to affect him so much.
The distillery wasn’t large, by any means, but it was well known. Business, from the look of things, was good enough.
Doughall glanced down at his uncle. “How do ye feel?” he asked, eyeing the desk cluttered with papers before him.
Flynn did not rise from his seat, nor did Doughall expect him to. The man had a bad knee, and when it was damp—which seemed more often than not—it ached something fierce. There seemed to be one cure for such a pain, and Doughall watched as his uncle poured two glasses of it. Amber liquid swirled, glowing warmly in the dim morning light that crept through the small window.
“Ye ken me,” Flynn sighed. “I dinnae ken when to quit.”
