CHAPTER 25
Sìleas wished to God she had never left Skye.
“If it is all the same to you, Laird Douglas…” She attempted to lean farther away from him, but she had nowhere to go. “I’ll withdraw my request for the queen’s assistance and be on my way.”
“Nonsense.” The Douglas took a loose curl at the side of her face between his fingers, pulled it straight, and smiled as he let it loose and watched it spring back. “Tell me, lass, are ye as wild as your hair?”
She didn’t like the way his eyes darkened when he said it.
“I’m a very proper lady.” If ever there was a time to stretch the truth, it was now.
“Judging from your rash decision to travel across half of Scotland with only a boy as your escort, I’m guessing ye are a wild one.”
Sìleas sucked in her breath to keep her chest from touching his as he leaned another inch closer. Sweat prickled down her back as she considered how unlikely she was to reach the dirk strapped to her thigh before he stopped her. In any case, lifting her gown seemed a foolish choice at present.
“You’ll find there are a great many benefits to being my mistress,” the Douglas said, easing his knee between her legs.
“I’m sure there are lasses who would appreciate the ‘benefits,’ but ye have nothing I want.”
She didn’t want to touch him, but when it appeared that he would not move away on his own, she pushed against his chest. He didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ll change your mind soon enough,” he said, so close his breath was hot on her face. “I know how to please a woman.”
Her heart pounded frantically in her chest as Douglas leaned toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed the same prayer she prayed when she was little.
Please God, send Ian.
“ ’Tis been a long time since I’ve had a virgin,” he said in low, rough voice. “I’m looking forward to teaching ye all I know.”
She flinched as the prickle of the Douglas’s mustache grazed her upper lip.
“That is my wife you’ve got your hands on, Douglas.”
By some miracle, Ian’s voice filled the room. Hope took hold of her. Very slowly, she opened her eyes, afraid she had imagined it.
Her breath caught when she looked over Douglas’s shoulder and saw the answer to her prayer filling the doorway. With his claymore drawn and murder in his eyes, Ian looked magnificent—and more dangerous than she had ever seen him.
“If ye will step away from her now,” Ian said, “I’ll assume ye did not know she is my wife—and let ye live.”
Archibald Douglas arched his eyebrows at her. For a moment, Sìleas wondered if Ian knew he was threatening the Earl of Angus, one of the most powerful men in Scotland—and the queen’s “special” friend besides. But of course he knew.
The Douglas spun around, taking her with him. He held her against him with one arm and the hilt of his sword in the other.
“Is this the husband ye want to be rid of?” Douglas said, an amused smile twitching at his lips. “The one ye say has left ye a virgin?”
“Make no mistake, that lass is my wife.” Ian’s voice was seething with such menace that the hairs on the back of Sìleas’s neck stood up. “And she will remain so as long as there is breath in my body.”
As long as there was breath in his body. Despite her precarious position, Ian’s words sent a thrill through her.
“So you are Ian MacDonald of the Sleat MacDonalds,” the Douglas said, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me, are ye as good a fighter as they say?”
“Better,” Ian said. “Now, I asked ye verra nicely to step away from my wife. I’ll no be so polite the next time.”
It startled her when Archibald Douglas threw his head back and laughed.
“I appreciate a man who is fearless to the point of foolishness,” the Douglas said. “I’ll need men like you fighting with me when I come to the Isles to put down this latest rebellion.”
“Ye won’t live to fight another day if ye don’t release my wife,” Ian said. “My patience is gone.”
“I’ll call on ye when the time comes.” The Douglas shoved her forward. “Take your bride, Ian MacDonald of Skye.”
Ian took her wrist in a firm grasp and pulled her behind him.
“But for God’s sake,” the Douglas said, “don’t leave her a virgin another night.”