Page 8 of When the Laird Claims
“So, I am to be used for blackmail? Bait? Hm, my lord?”
The man’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Laird.”
The man mounted the horse behind her, leaving no room for her to maintain modesty or personal space as she was wedged between the pommel of the saddle and the man’s massive,muscled torso… as well as his loins, which pressed flush against the swell of her backside. Did he truly have to be so close and so warm? Certainly, it was indecent for her to even be able to know that about him.
“Just… Arran,” he continued. “Ye can call me Arran.”
She squirmed, attempting once more to put space between herself and the man behind her as her face started to feel like it was absolutely on fire. She had never been this close to any man other than Charles, and those had not exactly been good memories for her. Experiences that she would have much preferred to forget entirely.
“And what do you plan on doing,Arran?” she muttered. “This is immodest! I demand a carriage, or at the very least my own horse!”
Arran chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. “This will be far easier to keep ye in line.”
“I–”
“Daenae fash, lass; nay harm will come to ye.” He leaned down until his warm breath tickled the curve of her neck. She was trapped, could not even wiggle in the cage of his arms without risking touching him more than she already was. “But ye will be coming with me.”
4
“You are making quite a mistake, my—I mean, Arran,” Victoria warned.
She attempted to summon every bit of bravado that she did not truly possess in hopes that it might convince him to let her go. The reality that he clearly had no intention of doing so was starting to settle in, and the panic in her chest was starting to build. Was this going to be the sort of situation where the Earl would actually be the preferable choice? She did not think that this would ever have been possible.
“I daenae think so,” Arran said, smirking.
It was still strange to address the man by his first name when they were in no way on friendly terms for her to do so. She could not think of a single gentleman in thetonwhom she called by their first name; it simply was not appropriate. Then again, these Scottish men did not seem to put much credence in propriety.
“You will be sorry when the Earl finds out what you have done!” Victoria insisted.
She was not sure of much, but she did know that the Earl was not going to surrender her easily. He thought of her as a prize. She was very certain that he wanted nothing more than to parade her around as an adornment to his arm, something that he brought out to impress his guests at parties, smug that he had managed to secure her hand in marriage over all of her other suitors.
“He will come for me,” she said, in equal parts hope and dread.
“Aye, I rather hope that he will,” Arran answered, and it almost looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Why do ye sound so eager for it? Ye didnae before.”
“I am not!” she insisted. “I just… hope you know what you are doing.”
The man smirked, irreverence in his eyes. “I do, lass, I assure ye.”
With that, he spurred his horse into motion, and she had no choice but to hold tightly to him so that she did not fall off. The beast moved far too quickly for her to slip off without being injured.
“But I willnae let him touch ye,” Arran added, his lips so close to her ear that his breath sent a pleasant little shiver down the backof her neck. Not that she would have admitted to the sensation, not on her life.
“What I meant was, I hope you know what you are doing and that you will leave me out of it! I have no reason to trust you. It appears that I am merely going from one kidnapper to the next!” she bit out harshly, elbowing his chest in an attempt to put some distance between them, for she could not breathe with him as close as he was, murmuring like that into her ear.
I will not be one who swoons over a bloody kidnapper!
Immediate regret struck her, the shock down her forearm and the ensuing jolt from the sharp pain only further irritating her already inflamed, raw wrists.
“Daenae compare me to that bastard,” Arran snapped right back. He turned his head and spat over the side of his horse as if he could get the very notion of being compared to him out of his mouth.
He barely even glanced down at her as she hit him again, risking the pain, until the embarrassment of gaining no response prompted her to huff and fold her arms over her chest.
“I cannot imagine what he must have done to cross you so, sir, and I am also more than certain that he deserves your wrath, but I do not. I have no desire to be in the middle of this. If you will drop me at the nearest tavern, I promise not to make any trouble.”
“Trouble? Ye?” Arran chuckled. “But ye are such a wee lass. What trouble can ye possibly make?”
It felt like a challenge, if she was being perfectly honest. She twisted as far around as she could and narrowed her eyes at him; she was at war with her obstinate streak and her self-preservation. “Where are you taking me?”
