Page 34 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
“Ye were explainin’.”
“She hates Stewart. She’ll go along with it.”
Doughall put his feet up against the grate and grunted in satisfaction. “If ye say so.”
“Are ye plannin’ to have yer boots catch on fire?”
“Nae without a glass of whisky,” he said hopefully.
Adam scoffed as he went to the side table to pour him one. He was rather envious of his friend’s easy posture. Doughall might be an intimidating man, but he could cast off his worries without a second thought. Adam was always plagued by his next decision.
He drew up another chair and sat down so he was facing the large window behind his desk. The sun had come out, and it had turned into a beautiful day.
They nursed their drinks for some minutes, but Adam kept glancing repeatedly at his friend. Doughall’s chin was tipped down to his chest, the dancing flames reflected in his glittering eyes. He had something on his mind, Adam could tell.
“Speak yer mind, man.”
“It might have gotten Laura back,” Doughall said seriously, leveling him with a hard stare. “If ye’d killed the bride instead of takin’ her, Stewart would have seen ye were out for blood. He might have released yer sister to save himself. Men like him do anythin’ to protect their worthless hides.”
“But at what cost?” Adam asked viciously, thinking back to the first time he laid eyes on Emily. The thought of harming her sent a flare of panic through him.
Doughall appeared taken aback by Adam’s angry tone and fell silent.
What if I had never met her?What if I had simply sliced her in two on sight? I would never have kenned what her body felt like against mine, how she tasted—I’d never have witnessed all that fire inside of her…
“Ye trust her, then?”
Adam sighed. Doughall was like a dog with a bone when he wasn’t happy about something—he didn’t let it go.
“Aye. For her part.” Knocking back his whisky, Adam glared at his friend, who met his gaze wearily. “Are ye with me in this or nae?”
“Always.”
Doughall removed his boots, bending his toes to the fire, and groaned loudly.
“Make yerself at home.”
“Thank ye, I shall.” He settled even further back in his chair. “So, who else is comin’ to yer false weddin’? I’m assumin’ MacTristan. Yer cousin was always good at makin’ a nuisance of himself at family occasions.”
Adam was only half-listening. He had just spotted Emily and Freya walking in the gardens outside the window. They were speaking together quite easily, and he watched as Emily threw back her head and laughed at something his sister said. He took in her long, glistening hair, his hand twitching as he remembered gripping it, feeling her melt against him as he tugged down hard.
Doughall twisted in his seat to see where Adam’s gaze had drifted. He smirked, making Adam scowl even more.
“Why didnae ye tell me ye wanted the woman? That makes things simpler. It is hardly a bad thing to be lustin’ after yer future wife. She’s a beautiful little thing, and ye do need an heir.”
“Aye, but ye’re forgettin’ two things. We most likely arenae goin’ to marry. And even if it gets to that, I dinnae need a woman to influence me decisions. I willnae repeat me faither’s mistakes.”
“But sheisinfluencin’ yer decisions.” Doughall was watching him carefully, his gaze steady and grave. “Ye didnae even ken her at the time, but ye chose to save her instead of killin’ her. I think ye’re a fool if ye believe she willnae affect how ye choose to act.”
Adam watched Emily and Freya walk out of sight and then stared into the fire, trying to convince himself that his friend was wrong.
13
Adam and Doughall had finished their whisky by the time there was a knock on the door. Adam wasn’t expecting anyone, so naturally, he assumed it was his mother coming to bother him again.
Instead, he opened the door to find Lucas Moore, a relatively new addition to the MacNiall council, standing before him. He was a wiry man in his forties and had lowered the average age of the members by about thirty years.
“Lucas,” Adam said, looking down at him. He wasn’t much taller than Emily.
