Page 18 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
It drove her mad—the way her body seemed to respond to this brute. He was a cold, callous man, and yet she could not deny it; there was a pull drawing her in more and more with each frustrating moment she spent near him.
She clenched her fists, willing herself to stay in control as she watched him. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that moved around the room, like spectators eager to get a closer look.
His eyes locked onto hers. “And I willnae allow this behavior again.”
His to command?
Her skin prickled, heat rising in her cheeks and chest at the words, though she tried to convince herself that it was something else simmering within her.
Freya lifted her chin, refusing to step down. “Ye willnae allow me to speak me mind?” Her voice came out sharper than she had intended, but she found she did not care.
He needed to know that she wasn’t some meek, obedient woman he could order about.
Doughall furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze intense as he studied her. “Is that what it was?” His voice dripped with condescension, almost mocking her. “To me, it looked more like ye just wanted to be a hellion, a fool.”
Freya’s temper flared again, her chest rising and falling.
“I dinnae want this any more than ye do,” he continued, his voice as cold as the stone walls around them. “But until we kill the last of yer attackers, we dinnae have much of a choice. If ye cannae see that, then ye’re twice the fool.”
His words hung in the air, reminding her that she was almost killed— and there was a chance that she was still in danger. Butthe way he said it, as if he was doing her a favor, only fueled her resentment.
“So what?” she hissed. “Am I to never speak another word again? Would ye prefer to gag me, to make it easier?”
Doughall’s gaze darkened, a shadow of something unspoken passing over his face. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, the space between them shrinking with each breath.
His voice was a dangerous murmur. “Dinnae tempt me.”
Her breath hitched at the response, her pulse quickening. She tried to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down her spine, the way her body betrayed her mind. Whatever this was between them, whatever he stirred within her, she hated it… and craved it all at once.
He was too close now; she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Be a good lass,” he said, his voice softening slightly, though the command did not waver. “And this month will pass quickly.”
“And if I disobey ye?”
His gaze burned into hers, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke. “Disobey me,” he said evenly, “and ye will be punished.”
Punished. The word sent a shiver—of fear or delight, she couldn’t be sure—through her.
Freya swallowed hard, willing herself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his mere words affected her. But her voice betrayed her, quivering slightly when she spoke. “Punished?”
“Aye,” he said. “And ye should pray I never have to.”
The weight of those words pressed down on her, heavier and heavier as they settled in her mind. She needed to regain control, at least over her heartbeat. He did not have that kind of power over her. He could not. She chose to be a lady, but she wasn’t some weak-willed woman who would be brought to her knees by a man’s command, no matter how imposing he might be.
For a moment, the tension between them seemed to break, and Freya took that chance to turn on her heel, moving for the door. She needed to leave, to get far away from him, from this room. She needed to breathe.
As she reached for the handle, she thought she heard something— something soft and low like a chuckle. She almost stopped, almost dared to look back over her shoulder at the man.
It could not have been Doughall. He did not smile, he did not laugh. There was no emotion in that man that wasn’t cruel, hard, or cold.
I must be hearing things.
Her heart was still racing as she made her way out and down the corridor, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.
Calm down, calm yerself.
Her skin was still flushed.
