Page 69 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
She nodded, shivering in his embrace. “Aye. Who doesnae?”
All of a sudden, he picked her up, one strong arm clamped around her waist. She gasped in surprise, the chilly breeze cooling the water that slicked her skin, making it feel twice as freezing.
“What are ye doin’?” she croaked. “Put me down!”
He ignored her, wading back through the water to the shore, surefooted and apparently unbothered that both of them were stark naked. She thought about hitting his back and thrashing, as she had done the night he rescued her, but whether it was the biting cold or the warm intimacy of his embrace, she did not struggle. In truth, she found she did not want to.
Instead, she longed to find out what he planned to do with her once they reached the shore.
27
“Icould toss ye back in the loch if ye like,” Doughall said as he led Freya through the woodland, ready to catch her if she stumbled over the twisting roots or snaring undergrowth.
She had not said a word since he had helped her back into her clothes and they had left the shore, heading deeper into the trees. If he did not know any better, he would have said that she seemed… disappointed.
Och, she’s nae goin’ to be too pleased about the weddin’ night then.
He resisted the sudden, overwhelming desire to smile. Of all the things that could have coaxed one to his lips, he had not thought it would be her sulking because he had put herbackinto her clothes.
He wondered if, perhaps, he had created a monster through their sporadic exploits into the realm of pleasure, raising her expectations too high.
Two monsters who’ve wound up together…
“What?” she muttered into the high neckline of her cloak, fogging the lenses of her spectacles.
“Seems ye’d be happier if I just threw ye back like a fish,” he replied, that smile still fighting to curve his lips.
She stared down at her feet, traipsing through the moss and fallen leaves. “I’m just tryin’ to warm up,” she replied. “I cannae expend any of me energy on talkin’ when I cannae feel me toes.”
“What were ye expectin’ when ye went swimmin’ naked at night?”
Her eyes widened, and in the glowing moonlight, her cheeks reddened. “I wouldnae be feelin’ the cold so much if I had the opportunity to actually swim. And I wouldnae have been naked if I’d kenned I was bein’ followed.”
“Ye should always conduct yerself as if yearebein’ followed,” he chided lightly, appalled by the thought that someone else might have accidentally seen the splendor of his bride.
His temper flared, remembering the rabbit thief who might still be out there in the woods. It would do his reputation no favors,but Doughall would not hesitate to blind any other man who had looked upon Freya’s creamy skin—the swell of her perfectly ripe breasts, the sensuous hourglass of her waist curving into shapely hips, the soft swell of her stomach, and the faint freckles that dotted her bare body—to be mapped by his hand alone.
“Iamto have nay freedom, then,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest, endearing in her momentary petulance.
“We have a pond in the gardens,” he said. “I can see it from me bedchamber window. Ye could swim naked there.”
She stared at him, aghast. “Doughall, if ye’re just goin’ to make me feel bad about wantin’ a moment alone in the loch, then perhaps ye should take me back to the castle.”
“A man cannae tease his bride?” Doughall replied in a flat voice.
Her stare became a squint of confusion. “Ye were… teasin’ me?” She paused, chewing on her lip in thought. “I didnae ken ye were capable of such a thing.”
Neither did I.
He shrugged and pressed on, weaving through the trees to their final destination. A place so secret that he had told no one, not even Ersie, about its existence. A place his mother had shown him when he was a boy.
As a younger man, he had visited often, but in recent years, he had been there less and less, occupied by too many other things to enjoy some peace and tranquility.
Freya seemed cheerier as they walked along, the gray clouds of her disappointment dispersing to reveal a sunnier disposition. He did not know what he had said exactly to bring a faint smile back to her lips and a shine to her eyes, but he was not going to risk the frown returning by asking outright.
Before long, Doughall spotted a familiar way-marker—a rock shaped like a cat that his mother had told him to look out for if he ever needed to find the secret place again. A horse chestnut tree stood above it, dropping conkers onto the forest floor, and faintly etched into the trunk of that tree was the arrow that he had carved there long ago.
“This way,” he said, resting his hand on the small of Freya’s back.
