Page 11 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“Were ye injured?” His voice was flat, emotionless.
Is he concerned?
It was impossible to tell.
Freya slowly shook her head. “Some bruises, but nothin’ is broken.”
Now, I should thank him.
She opened her mouth, prepared to swallow whatever pride she had left, but he spoke before she could form the words.
“It seems ye cannae be left unattended.” His jaw tightened slightly, just subtly enough that if she were not so close, she would’ve missed it. “And it seems ye cannae be trusted either.”
Freya blinked. “I beg yer pardon?”
She was prepared to retort, sharp words jostling for a spot on her tongue, when he spoke again.
“Ye will come with me to MacGordon Castle,” he said, his voice cold and firm.
“Nay, I willnae,” she snapped.
The audacity of this…
Doughall raised an eyebrow, his face still a mask devoid of any emotion or hint of what he was thinking. The way he looked at her infuriated her to no end. He did not need to say anything, though—it seemed clear to her that she had little choice.
“What could ye possibly do at yer castle that ye cannae do here?” she said, refusing to relent withoutsomethingof a protest.
“Keep ye where I can see ye.”
“And ye cannae do that here?”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Nae the way I plan to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her throat constricted.
“Ye owe me a favor for savin’ yer skin, and I intend to make ye useful.”
“Useful?” She swallowed uncomfortably past the lump in her throat.
She did not like the sound of that. If she went there, to be his captive and him her keeper, she feared she might never return.
“Aye. While there,” he said, reaching for her hand and turning her arm over to eye the red bands around her wrists, “ye will convince everyone that ye are madly in love with me.”
For a moment, Freya stared up at him, numbed by the iciness in his gaze and the danger in his voice. She could not seem to process what he had just said to her. Then, a feeling rumbled in the pit of her stomach, and before she could steady herself, a burst of laughter escaped her.
Her laughter echoed, filling the hallway. She laughed so hard that her ribs began to protest, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain. Wincing, she placed a hand on her side and held her breath, knowing that if she did not, she would not stop laughing.
“I didnae ken ye had a sense of humor,” she wheezed.
Doughall did not laugh with her, nor did he so much as crack a smile. Her laughter faltered as she looked up at him, her amusement fading quickly. Realization washed over her.His expression was unchanged, his eyes still cold and almost… calculating.
He wasn’t joking.
“I could never do such a thing,” she said firmly. “I couldnae?—”
“Ye will learn how.” His voice was low. “And yewillbe convincin’.”
Freya’s chest tightened, panic rising in the back of her throat. “Nay,” she stated, shaking her head again, her brow furrowed. “I willnae do that.”
