Page 3 of Pretty in Plaid
“Nay, I will no’.”
“Say it, or I will.”
Kenna shook her head vehemently and stepped back up the stairs, stumbling on the hem of her skirt and planting her arse right on the step. She used her hands, scrambling being her for purchase, while he watched. The expression on his face was patient and only enraged her further.
Kenna jumped up, prepared to fight now, except her damn skirts kept getting in the way, and started to fall forward, grappling for a hold on the banister. She knew this dress was a bad idea. Strong arms came around her waist, holding her upright and entirely too close to his large, hard body. Though he stood on the stair below her, she was still gaping up into his striking face, the intensity of his gray eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught at his touch, his expression and the overwhelming feeling that he might just kiss her. She was curious enough to let him do it.
“Three,” he whispered. “Are ye going to scream now?”
“Aye.” Kenna opened her mouth and filled her lungs.
* * *
The wee wenchwas going to rat him out. Sorley MacLeod clamped his hand over her mouth before she could make good on her threat of screaming.
And then she bit him.
Sorley yanked his hand away from her mouth with a hiss. “What did ye do that for?”
“Dinna ever cover my mouth again.” She reached behind her and pulled—of all things—a small dagger from the mass of red curls piled on her head.
“Where the hell were ye hiding that?” Sorley raised a brow, impressed.
She jabbed it toward his chest, and he swayed away from her so as not to be swiped with it. “Careful, lass, ’tis sharp.”
“Ye think I dinna know that? That’s the whole point.” She frowned up at him with such ire that, it only made him smile.
Sorley held up his hands in surrender, unable to keep himself from grinning. “I’ll beg ye to listen a moment afore ye send me to my maker.”
The lass narrowed her eyes, keeping the dagger level. “I’ll no’ be counting to three this time, so spit it out. Someone is bound to come looking for me eventually, and then ye’re a dead man.”
“I came forye, Kenna Forbes.”
She paled visibly, the steady hand holding the dagger giving a tiny tremble. But despite those two obvious shows of fear, her gaze was still fierce, and her lips pinched in defiance.
“What do ye want with me?” She spoke through gritted teeth, and the tautness of her body charged the air between them.
Saints, but if this had been any other time and the enemy weren’t so close, he would have taken some time to calm the chit, even if the color in her cheeks was quite becoming. “Ye’re wanted by your uncle.”
“My uncle is in the ballroom, and he’d no’ have sent a rebel to get me.”
Sorley shook his head. “No’ that uncle. Your ma’s brother.”
“Laird MacLeod?” The shock made her eyes go wide, and the tightness fell from her lips.
“Aye, lass.”
“He didna want me afore. He let my Uncle Duncan take me in. Why should I believe he wants me now or that he sent ye to get me?”
Sorley smiled, hoping the small gesture would reassure her somewhat, but it only seemed to make her pricklier. “He’ll be pleased ye asked. Said if ye were truly his sister’s daughter that ye’d no’ be so willing to walk away with a stranger.”
Kenna’s shoulders straightened. “Any woman in her right mind wouldna walk away with a stranger.”
“True, I hadna thought of it that way.” Sorley shrugged. None of that mattered anyway. He simply needed her to leave with him, and soon.
She crossed her arms over her chest, the glint of the metal tip of the dagger pressed up against her arm, toward her shoulder. “Best be on your way. If the MacLeod wishes an audience, he can come and fetch me himself.”
“Och, lass, come now. Ye and I both know he canna come anywhere near your precious Uncle Duncan and his band of merry dragoons. It’ll be a death sentence. He’ll no’ be pleased with me if I dinna fetch ye myself.”
