Page 16 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Ye’ve learned nothin’, have ye? We’ll have to remedy that.
He held her gaze, saying nothing at first, before taking a long sip of his ale. He set the pewter cup down with deliberate slowness, soaking in the feeling of her annoyance. Then, without breaking eye contact, he stood up. His chair scraped across the floor, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room.
Once more, he extended his hand. The command in his posture was unmistakable.
Freya did not hesitate, rising gracefully and slipping her hand into his.
“Excuse us,” Doughall said to his aunt and uncle as he all but dragged her toward the door.
She did not struggle against him, instead allowing herself to be guided.
Behind them, he heard his uncle chuckle. “Ah, to be young.”
This was a mistake.
The door to his study closed behind them with a dull thud, the sound settling in the air like a warning. Doughall moved toward the window in an attempt to create some space between them. He did not say a word, but he couldfeelher fury, crackling in the room like a fire about to burst from its pretty hearth. But he did not care. He had made his decision, knowing full well how she would react.
Still, he could not ignore that small, unwelcome thought.
Leaning forward, his fingers gripped the edges of the windowsill as he stared out at the pitch-black beyond the pane. Freya’stemper intrigued him more than he dared to admit. It was… something unexpected, something he could not understand.
He wasn’t someone who was surprised easily, but she seemed almost… unpredictable. She wasn’t the demure woman he had expected, and despite himself, he was curious to know just how deep her fire could burn.
“Ye didnae prepare me for this,” she hissed from behind him.
He raised an eyebrow but did not turn back. Hehadprepared her—he had told her what she would need to do, that she would need to be convincing, to play the part. She had agreed, for the most part. What more could she expect from him?
Her footsteps grew louder as she moved toward him. “I havenae even spoken a word of this to me maither,” she admitted, her voice turning soft with worry. “How could ye expect me to be prepared when I havenae had the chance to?—”
“Would ye like me to tell her?” Doughall cut in, finally turning his head just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye.
The offer wasn’t genuine—he had no intention of telling Moira—but the challenge still hung in the air between them. He knew she would not want that.
“Ye wouldnae dare!”
“It’s only temporary, until yer braither returns,” he said, looking back outside.
There was nothing to see, but in the faint glow of the fire, he could make out her reflection.
She crossed her arms over her chest, turning her face away from him. “And what do ye get out of this?”
He did not bother hiding the truth. “There are some benefits to this… arrangement. Me uncle will stop throwin’ any lass he finds me way. And me council will stop pesterin’ me about findin’ a wife and producin’ an heir.” The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smirk. “I have nay doubt that ye will play the part well enough.”
“Does me braither ken?”
Doughall turned to face her, meeting her gaze. “Nay, nae yet.”
“And ye think he will see reason in it?” She furrowed her brow.
Doughall nodded. “Aye.”
Doughall did what was necessary, always. He expected Adam to understand that, eventually. Yes, her brother would be… disagreeable at first, but when he learned that no harm came to his sister, he would understand.
But Freya wasn’t convinced. She stepped closer to him, her eyes flashing with that fire he could not seem to look away from. “I should have had a say in this,” she said, her voice rising with frustration. “I should have been given a choice.”
“Ye lost the right to that when ye put yerself in danger and put yerself in me debt.”
Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling with each gulp of air. She was furious, and it showed in the way she glared up at him, her face flushed and her back rigid. He could not help but notice the freckles just below her collarbone, like a trail leading to her bosom. Perhaps lower.
