Chapter 10
“We need to talk, lassie,” Ryan said, his words sharp as he ignored her insult. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to joke around with her like he was earlier. “I need ye to tell me everythin’ ye ken about that man we saw in the village.”
His face was grim; she’d even go as far as to call the expression murderous. She didn’t think it was directed at her, but now that it was just the two of them, she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he was upset that she’d brought danger to his people and wanted to get rid of the source.
Margaret hesitated as that thought gripped her, worrying her bottom lip as her hands opened and closed at her sides.
She’d asked for his protection, and part of that was disclosing exactly who and what she needed protection from.
Still, she thought she had more time before something like this would happen.
And when Ryan found out who was after her and the kind of things they were capable of…
I should have thought about how to explain this to him. What do I say that isn’t going to make him turn all that anger on me?
He took a step toward her, his fingertips gripping her chin and tilting her face upward.
He was clearly tired of her stalling, and the pressure he was applying made that obvious.
Forced to look into his eyes, a shiver of fear ran through her.
Once again, she was faced with the knowledge that, despite the comfort he’d given her, he was still a Highlander.
Right now, he looks just as dangerous as the men my aunt told stories about. He’s not angry at me, though, at least I don’t think he is. I don’t need to be so scared.
“Who was he?” Ryan demanded, his hold tightening slightly. “Ye need to tell me. That’s the only way I’ll be able to help ye.”
“I…” she began, picking her words carefully.
Part of her wanted to make a joke, to do something to diffuse the suffocating tension.
She already knew that he wasn’t in the mood for that, though.
With a slight shake of her head, she continued.
“I don’t know who that man is exactly. But I know the man he works for.
He works for Duke Cunningham. At least… I think that he’s one of Cunningham’s men. He looked familiar.”
“Cunningham,” he repeated, the name dripping with poison. He turned away from her for a moment, his jaw working angrily. He looked back into her eyes. “The man you rejected.”
“Yes,” Margaret said, her body relaxing when the Laird dropped his hold on her chin though she found she missed the warmth of his touch. “That’s him.”
Ryan spun away from her, stalking across the room.
He stomped against the stone flooring, as if he were trying to take out some of his anger on the ground beneath him.
Every muscle in his body seemed to be held tight.
He was a thread pulled taut. Her fingers twitched, part of her wondering if she could soothe him.
No, he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d like that. I’d only make it worse, especially since I’m likely the reason for this frustration.
She worried that he might throw her out. Perhaps he hadn’t actually anticipated that she would be pursued. It wasn’t as though she’d given him many details. For all he knew, she had run off in a show of dramatics, not in a calculated move to take care of the only family she’d ever known.
“I ran from my home to protect my family,” Margaret said, deciding to get the whole story out before she was cast aside. “The only way to keep him from targeting them was to leave. He hunts people down if they don’t give him what he wants. He tortures them. That’s why I’m in Scotland.”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder. His expression had softened a bit, but he still had fire in his eyes. When he didn’t say anything, Margaret kept going, the words spilling from her mouth as though they were desperate to be heard.
“My family isn’t as powerful as Duke Cunningham’s,” she said, taking a deep gulp of air.
This shouldn’t have been so embarrassing to admit, yet it was.
She was being treated as some sort of prize rather than the person that she was.
“So, even though I don’t want to marry him, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. ”
“Bastard. That damn bastard,” the Laird growled, the harshness in his voice making her flinch. He saw the way she cowered and sighed. “Sorry. Should watch me mouth around a lady.”
“He is one, though,” Margaret said, managing a weak smile as she wrapped her arms around her body as if to protect herself from the reality of her situation.
She murmured, “He was going to blackmail my family to get me. It would have escalated. They wouldn’t have just handed me over, and that would have endangered all of them.
I couldn’t let them get hurt because of me. I couldn’t let them be killed.”
“So ye left,” he finished for her, walking past the plush bed that Margaret had slept so soundly in the night before. “Ye left to protect them.”
“Yes,” she whispered, watching the way that he paced.
It was methodical and soothing in a curious way.
It was almost as if he were doing it for her just as much as he was doing it for himself.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t know the man who was watching us in the village, but I’ve seen him with Cunningham. ”
Ryan grunted as he walked to the window. He rested his hands on the edge, leaning forward. Then, he glanced back at her, making another sound. Margaret took that as a signal to keep speaking.
“It’s well-known that he does all of Cunningham’s dirty deeds. I’ve only seen that man in person from afar,” she said. Then, with a wry chuckle, she added, “I believe that’s what you call a right-hand man.”
Swinging around to face her again, seeming every bit as wild as Margaret was raised to believe a Highlander was, Ryan growled as he stomped across the room. His fists moved with each heavy footfall. She had to fight the urge to hide herself from him.
This anger wasn’t meant for her.
“If Cunningham thinks he can take ye from me,” he said with vitriol, stopping within arm’s length of her, “he’ll meet the wrong end of me sword. I can promise ye that.”
“Cunningham is a powerful man,” Margaret said, her heart pounding.
She thought she should fear Ryan in this moment, but instead she feared for him.
She didn’t want anyone getting hurt on her behalf, not even this Highlander.
“He’s got so many resources, and he knows how to use them. He is dangerous.”
“Ye’re underestimatin’ me,” Ryan told her, leaning in so close she could feel his breath fanning over her face.
Gooseflesh erupted beneath the sleeves of her gown.
“Earlier, ye called me a beast. Ye werenae wrong to call me that. But ye daenae ken how dangerous a beast can become to protect what’s his. ”
He was so close to her now, taking up her entire field of vision. His hand found the crook of her elbow, holding onto her tightly. A blush, hot and undeniable, rose on her cheeks. She couldn’t expand her lungs fully.
The moment seemed to stretch between them. Margaret couldn’t move if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. Something inside of her was urging her to move even closer. She didn’t understand it, and she didn’t think she wanted to.
Ryan leaned in even closer, his eyes level with Margaret’s.
The tension grew to a crescendo, and the strange feeling that she first experienced in the great hall returned.
She felt herself being pulled completely into his space, as if some invisible force was urging her forward. She didn’t fight it.
“The moment ye showed up at me castle…” he said, his voice low, burrowing into her chest and wrapping around her like a warm blanket. His hand came up to her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “The moment ye agreed to be me wife, ye became mine.”
Her knees felt weak, as if she were going to collapse in front of him.
If it weren’t for the way that he was holding her, she was sure she’d have lost her balance by now.
The sensation in her stomach had spread, settling somewhere between her legs.
It felt heavy and almost as if it had a mind of its own.
“I willnae let anyone else try to claim ye,” he continued, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. She leaned into the contact, her breath stuttering. “Ye are mine.”
Time slowed down as his mouth met hers. They were suspended here in this room, and it didn’t matter what was happening just beyond the threshold. The pull between Margaret’s legs became more insistent.
She gasped, pulling in air through her nose. For a second, she struggled to find her footing here, her mind swirling like a drop of ink in a pool of water. Then, she recentered herself and leaned forward as if on instinct.
His lips moved against hers, filling her from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. She tried to match his pace, mirroring his movements. For a moment, the confusion cleared from her mind. The Laird would keep her safe. Of course, he would keep her safe.
When his hand found her hair, she was sure she would combust. Sensations burst over her skin. She shivered, swaying closer to him, feeling his body heat seep into her bones.
It was all-consuming. Her head spun like he was wine being injected directly into her veins. She liked it so much that she was almost afraid of her desire. Yet, it wrapped around her like a warm blanket—one she had no desire to tear off.
Then, his tongue swiped over her lips. It was hot and insistent. Margaret didn’t know what to do, how to respond to the attention that she was getting. She wanted to, though, even if she was unpracticed and inexperienced. Before she could try anything, Ryan pulled away.
“I’ll keep ye safe, Margaret,” he said, his voice somehow even deeper than before. He looked down at her, his eyes burning into hers. “Ye’re mine to protect. Ye daenae have to worry about Cunningham. I promise ye that. And ye daenae have to worry about me.”
When he let Margaret go and turned to leave, she wobbled on her feet. She nearly fell forward, off kilter from the intensity of the kiss they’d just shared. She was dazed, her entire body on fire. Her mind moved almost too slowly. It was as though she were swimming through molasses.
“Wait,” she called after Ryan, catching him before he was fully in the corridor outside. He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. She was still breathless, but this was important. She filled her lungs, and in a rush, she said, “I need to tell my cousin that I’m safe.”
Ryan nodded before continuing on his way. He didn’t even cast a look toward her. As he walked, already in the hallway, he called back, “I’ll send Cali up with a quill and some parchment.”
I’m going to have to tell her as much as I can, so she doesn’t send the cavalry after me. But how much of that should I tell her?