Page 6 of A Highland Healer Captured
“Aye,” Zander said, low and steady. “I ken it too well. That’s why I willnae waste another breath arguing with ye.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes flashing in the storm. “Ye think ye can decide who lives and who waits? Because ye’re a laird of yer cursed keep? Because ye’ve broad shoulders and a voice that rumbles like thunder?”
Zander almost laughed. Almost. Her voice shook with outrage, it was righteous and blistering.
Saints, she best be worth all this irritation.
Even pinned across his saddle, dripping wet, she dared him with every word.
“Aye,” he answered simply. “That’s exactly why. Because I’m laird. Because I’ve a dying son, and nay power on earth matters to me more than that.”
She wriggled against him then, her cloak sodden and heavy, her curves moving with each sharp thrust of her hips as she tried to break free. Heat jolted through him like lightning. He tightened his grip, grinding his jaw to anchor himself.
“Enough, lass. Struggle all ye like, but ye’ll only wear yerself out. Ye’re coming with me.”
Her gasp was sharp, indignant. “This is madness. I amnaeyer prisoner.”
“Ye are until me son lives,” he said flatly.
Her mouth dropped open, fury sparking brighter than the storm around them. “Ye cannae just pluck me off the road like some hen for market and claim me life for yer cause!”
Zander’s lips curved, a humorless grin. “And yet here ye sit, warm and furious on me saddle. It seems I can.”
She sputtered, caught between rage and disbelief, and then finally managed, “Ye— ye barbarian!”
“Aye,” he said, entirely unashamed. “But that’ll be enough of yer barkin’ and ravin’. Ye are a lady, are ye nae?”
“I’llcurseye when me cousin’s buried,” she shot back, voice cracking with fury and something like fear.
Zander glanced down at her, rain dripping from her lashes, her jaw clenched stubborn as any warrior he’d ever faced. He could read her like a map. Her healer’s soul already bent toward his young son, even as her heart pulled her toward her kin.
She caught him watching her and whipped her head away, as if she’d rather stare into the storm than let him see her struggle.
“Daenae look at me like that,” she muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like ye’ve won,” she said, shoulders stiff. “This is nay victory. I’ll nae forgive ye.”
“I’ve nae asked forgiveness.” His voice dropped, rougher than he intended. “I’m fightin’ for me son’s life.”
That silenced her for a long moment. The mare’s hooves splashed through the muck ahead of them, the storm howled on, and Zander held her close, feeling the furious pound of her heart against his ribs. He wondered if she realized how much she betrayed herself with each quickened breath.
At last, she swallowed hard and said, “If I had kent of him, I would have come.”
Zander gave a short, harsh laugh. “By the time ye set out, Grayson might already be cold in the ground. Nay, lass. I couldnae risk it.”
Her lips thinned, but she didn’t deny it.
“So this is it, then?” she asked, bitterness sharp in her tone. “Ye’ll just drag me to yer keep, bar me from me own family, and chain me to yer son’s sickbed until ye’ve had what ye want?”
Zander leaned close, so close his beard brushed her temple. “If that’s what it takes. It didnae look like ye were away with yer faither’s approval anyway. No sane man would let his daughter brave this storm. Would ye even be missed? Should I even send word?”
“Ofcourseme faither kens —”
“Daenae lie. Nae to me,” he stated firmly. Eyes locking on hers, gripping her somehow tighter.
She shivered, and he knew it wasn’t the cold.
