Page 9 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
She began to struggle again, even as he gripped her so tightly that she must have been in pain from the pressure. The urge to protect her was still uppermost in his mind, but she was making it damn difficult.
Those emerald-green eyes flashed at him as her hands came up to push at his arm. They were almost too large in her face, too wide—a blend of deep greens with golden flecks. They were almost otherworldly.
Had he captured the Nicneven? She certainly looked like a goddess to him—avery angrygoddess.
“I told ye to let me go!”
“Calm down, lass,” he said with a sigh. “It’s nae what ye think. I’ll explain. Stop fightin’ me.”
She twisted sideways as her knee shot toward his crotch, and with a final cry of frustration, he flipped her over the saddle so she was hanging face down like a prize goose.
The new position seemed to confuse her so much that she stopped struggling.
“I did say I would do this if ye didnae cooperate,” he stated firmly, putting a hand on her lower back to steady her. “Now, do ye want to stay in this position all the way back, or will ye behave?”
“Ye are a blaggard!” she cried.
“Aye, and ye are a nuisance. Yewillfollow me orders, make nay mistake. If ye had calmed down, this wouldnae have happened,” he said, looking about for somewhere they could rest.
He noticed a more solid patch of ground near the path and guided Buck toward it. She flailed wildly, trying to find purchase on the saddle and failing.
“Now, if I let ye down, ye willnae run anywhere. Is that clear?”
She twisted back to look at him, her hair dangling down the horse’s leg, but she finally nodded, seemingly resigned to her fate. He didn’t trust her for a minute, but he pulled her up and over the saddle.
Adam lowered the goddess to a small stone protruding from the marshes, settling her on it carefully. He jumped down from the horse in the same motion and knelt before her, noting a thin line of blood that had trickled down to her ankle.
“Ye’re bleedin’, ye foolish creature,” he said irritably.
Buck wandered up to her and shoved his nose against her face. She scratched him under his chin, and Adam rolled his eyes at him.
That horse will do anythin’ for a pretty face.
He knelt on the tufted grass and lifted the fabric of her dress out of the way.
Emily stared at Laird MacNiall in amazement, suddenly nervous about their isolation. He raised her skirts higher up her calf, and she sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed against her skin. Her knee was bleeding. As his fingers touched her again, she slapped them away, trying to pull the fabric back into place.
“Be still,” he said impatiently.
“We are in the middle of the Highlands, and ye’re lifting me skirts without permission.”
He scowled. “Ye ran away from me and got yerself hurt.”
“I was runnin’ away because ye kidnapped me!”
“I am tryin’ to help ye.”
“I dinnae need yer help!” she shouted in his face, her voice echoing around them.
Laird MacNiall rubbed his chin wearily. “If we dinnae wrap this wound, it’ll nae stop bleedin’,” he said slowly. “If it doesnae stop bleedin’, it will turn black. If it turns black, ye will die. I dinnae wish to dig a grave with me bare hands. It’s cold today.”
Her lips twitched at his tone, and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking around her at the heather and wild grass swaying gently in the breeze.
“Ye could leave me body in the water. Nay need for a grave, after all.”
His eyes were dancing with mirth now, but he did not smile. “Aye. I’ll leave ye to the nymphs and the kelpies. They’d welcome ye as one of their own.”
She scoffed, but when he didn’t look away from her, she sighed. Her knee was hurting, and she had no clue what to do with an open wound. She eyed him suspiciously for a few more seconds and then finally lifted her skirt again.
