Page 23 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“Ye shouldnae be in here.”
Doughall’s grip on his blade did not loosen. The blood rushing through his veins did not settle. It took him a moment to realize that she was alone, unharmed, and the only danger in the room was reflected in her eyes.
“Ye said I could go wherever I pleased within the?—”
“Aye, and locked doors are locked for a reason,” he spat.
She frowned. “It wasnae locked, Doughall. It was… wide open, and then I saw the books and?—”
“Ye think ye can lie to me?” He forced himself to take a deep breath, his knuckles white on the hilt of his dirk. “The door was locked.”
“And I’m tellin’ ye that it wasnae,” she urged in a shaky voice. “I… wouldnae have the first notion of how to… pick a lock.”
Doughall’s gaze swept over the room once more, noting the metal bucket and scrubbing broom that had been left by a careless hand in the corner.
Someone will pay for this.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself enough to speak in a more even voice.
“And ye thought ye could take what’s nae yers?” he gritted out, nodding toward the book in her hands.
Freya blinked, her surprise shifting to confusion, before indignation washed over her features. “I didnae take anythin’. I was readin’ right here,inthe room,” she stammered, her brow furrowed as her eyes flickered to the book, as if it might provide her with some kind of defense or excuse.
“Get out.” Doughall’s voice was sharp, his knuckles white as he gripped the dirk tighter, willing that strain to stamp down the tide of feeling that rose within him.
Freya frowned. “But… it’s a library. Why can I nae be here, doin’ what ye do in a library?”
“It doesnae matterwhy,” he seethed, his voice threatening to crack. “I said, get out.”
Whatever fear he had seen in her eyes had faded, and she took a step toward him, the book raised as she met his gaze. “If I am naemeant to be here, then perhaps ye should have mentioned that, rather than barge in like ye’ve gone mad.”
“There was nay need to mention it. Ye shouldnae have been able to get in.”
“And I didnae ken that, since the door was open,” she repeated fiercely.
Her tone—or perhaps it was the look in her eyes—ignited something within him. Doughall sheathed his blade, his gaze locked onto hers. He took a step toward her, then another, until he was inches from her face.
“I willnae say it again, lass. Get out of this room and never come here again, or ye’ll regret it.”
“Nay,” Freya said with more reckless courage than she had ever felt in her life. “I think I’ll finish this book first.”
She walked away from him, but she could feel his eyes on her, following every step, every sway of her hips. A part of her was certain she was making a terrible mistake, but the other part told her that she would not regret it.
The room had seemed like the perfect place to hide away, to escape the prying eyes of her mother and Doughall’s aunt. Shehad stumbled upon it after managing to escape the discussions about the feast.
There had been no dust, but no signs of life either. It was clear that the room was well taken care of—though rarely used, if at all. It seemed as if it had been locked away from the world, and he had just confirmed it. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls… more than she could count.
It was a haven in MacGordon Castle.
But now, with Doughall’s heavy gaze on her, all sense of escape vanished.
“Ye must leave this room,” he commanded once more, his voice almost a growl. “If it’s books ye want, ye can ask for ‘em, and they’ll be sent to yer chambers.”
Freya opened the book once more, pretending to read it. “But I cannae ken what I want to read without seein’ what is here, and ye still havenae given me a reason why I cannaebehere.”
Though the book was before her, she still watched him above the pages. His jaw clenched, his displeasure clear as day. She knew she should listen, should run while she still had the chance, but she was rooted to the spot.
“Ye’re trespassin’, and I am sayin’ ye must leave,” he seethed.
