Page 7 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Before it could spread like wildfire, she doused it with a deep, steadying breath. “Promise me. Promise me that ye will find Seileach.”
Doughall frowned. “I dinnae make promises.”
“Then I thank ye for yer help, but I will find me horse by meself,” she snapped, wrenching herself out of his grip.
Turning on her heel, she faced the loch. The surface reflected the moon, waves of silver shimmered and danced. She needed tothink, think of where her horse would have run off to.
I hope she’s all right…
Glancing over her shoulder, she was pleased to see Doughall moving toward his horse. Freya tried to bite back the smile that tugged at her lips, watching as he stood there and prepared his saddle. But the smirk spread across her lips anyway. She couldnot believe that she had won—he was giving up, and she was witnessing it.
However, that smirk, that feeling, quickly faded away.
The Devil turned to face her, holding a length of rope in his hands.
3
“Ye wouldnae dare.” Freya shook her head, taking a step back.
Doughall stood before her like a mountain, immovable, casting a shadow over her. He made no effort to hide the length of rope between his hands.
“Ye ken I would,” he replied, his voice as steady as stone.
Freya’s stomach twisted, and her heart lurched, her feet moving as she made to turn, to run, but Doughall was faster. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them, his hand like iron as it clamped around her arm. She struggled, twisting to free herself as she gasped, but he moved with an ease that made her blood boil. In seconds, he was tying the rope tightly around her wrists.
Her breaths came fast as she stared down at her bound hands, at the frayed rope that dug into her skin. Her rage simmered as she struggled uselessly against it.
“Ye will let go of me,” she snarled, barely able to catch her breath as he stepped away.
He held the other end of the rope in his hand, tethering her to him. Once more, she struggled against it, despite the burning pain in her wrists.
“I will scream,” she warned, drawing in a breath to ready herself.
Doughall gave a slight shrug. “Should I gag ye as well, Freya?”
She closed her mouth, pursing her lips as tears of frustration mingled with the feeling of embarrassment. “I willnae go, ye will have to drag me then.”
He tugged on the rope, testing the length between them. His eyes met hers, his expression carved of stone—there was no hint of emotion. He wasn’t an open book for her to read, yet a part of her was almost certain that he was enjoying this.
“So be it,” he said finally, pulling harder.
Freya gasped as she was jerked forward, her feet unsteady beneath her as she stumbled toward him. Her face was on fire.
“Ye truly are a beast, ye ken? A damned—” The words were stolen from her as she looked back up at him.
If he heard her insult, he made no effort to acknowledge it or care. His gaze was fixed on her, as if he was seeing through her.
And it infuriated her.
Freya yanked harder on the rope, testing his resolve. But he simply stared back, unmoved, his eyes intent in a way that made her shiver.
Curse him!
He pulled once more, sending her toppling forward, almost into his chest. She had to tilt her chin to the sky to meet his gaze. Before she could finish the insult still playing on her tongue, his hands found her ribs. She gasped as he lifted her, sweeping her off her feet as if she weighed nothing at all.
“Put me down!” she screamed, thrashing against him, bringing her bound hands down against his shoulder and kicking wildly.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured as he turned around, his voice almost mocking.
