Page 11 of Highlander of Steel
He shrugged and got to his feet. “Rest well, lass. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this further.”
“I have nothin’ more to say!” she insisted. “Indeed, unless it’s about the terms of me release,yehave nay more reason to speak to me either.”
“Rest well, lass,” he repeated, a flicker of something passing behind his eyes. “Daenae work yerself into a frenzy, or ye’ll never sleep. We’ll talk another time.”
He made for the door, unaware that she wasn’t yet done with him. Forgetting about the blankets, she grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his retreating back. It missed, but the thud of it on the floor made him turn.
“Ye’re never goin’ to let me go, are ye?” she asked, her blood roaring in her ears as if she were back on that cliff, the prospect almost as perilous. “Even if yer braither is released, ye’re still goin’ to keep me here, to use me to get revenge on me family.”
The ghost of a smirk lifted the corner of his full lips. “Are ye suggestin’ what I should do with ye?”
“What? Nay!” she gasped.
“That is a good idea,” he said. “Keepin’ ye indefinitely so yer family cannae make any alliances by marryin’ ye off. It has merit.”
She blinked at him, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. “That isnae what I meant.”
“Still, it’s somethin’ to think about.” He stared at her, his gaze wandering lower for a moment, reminding her of her state of undress. “Aye, plenty to think about.”
In a fluster, she pulled the blankets back up to her neck.
“Nay matter the reason why I brought ye here, lass, ye’re mine now,” he continued, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “And ye’ll stay mine for as long as I please.”
With an almost sarcastic dip of his head, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
He didn’t need to lock it; she had nowhere else to go, and if she tried to run, she did not doubt that he would catch her… and that she might pray he would.
After all, other than Skye, she had nothing to go back for.
And, somehow, Killian knew it.
4
What made her cry out like that?
Her breathy whimpers and strained pleas niggled at him, along with the image of her beautiful face twisting in pain. How she had grasped the bedlinens, writhing not in pleasure, but in some unknown agony.
At a glance, the two could be confused, and with eyes closed, the sounds she had made could have stirred a man’s desire. Instead, he was left with a burning fury.
Nightmares like that daenae come out of nowhere.
Bad dreams could be conjured from nothing, certainly, but such visceral nightmares… those were rooted in reality, which was what made them so frightening.
“Me Laird?”
The shy voice distracted him from his thoughts and his journey to his study, where he meant to draft a cutting letter to Laird Ainsley.
Killian halted as the maid hurried to catch up to him. The same one he had charged with Ailis’s care.
“What?” he asked curtly.
The maid curtseyed, her head bowed. “Did the lass drink the barley tea? I had Paisley add some herbs to soothe her, but I think she thought I poisoned it.”
Killian thought of the cup he had pressed into Ailis’s hands, the warmth of her soft skin against the roughness of his.
“Aye, she drank it.” He paused. “Why would she think ye’d poisoned it?”
“I wasnae very friendly,” the maid replied with a grimace. “I’ve felt so guilty ever since. Ye ken I daenae have a mean bone in me body, but I didnae ken if I was supposed to be nice or nae. Who is she, me Laird?”
