Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tòrr kept his own breathing steady and deep, his eyes closed but his senses alert. Something had changed in the way she lay against him, the tension in her body had shifted from exhausted resignation to coiled readiness.
A soft rustle of fabric confirmed his suspicions as she moved slightly, testing his response. Her elbow brushed his arm in what could have been accidental contact, but Tòrr recognized it for what it was, a gentle probe to see if he was truly asleep.
He kept perfectly still, fighting the urge to tense his muscles. Let her think she'd fooled him. Let her believe she had a chance.
Minutes passed in careful silence. Then, so gradually he might have missed it if he hadn't been waiting, she began to ease away from his side. The movement was achingly slow, designed not to disturb the cloak or create any sound that might wake her captors.
Clever lass.
If he hadn't been expecting it, she might have managed it.
When she was clear of the dying fire's glow, Tòrr opened his eyes and watched her silhouette against the trees. She paused for a heartbeat, looking back toward the camp, then gathered her skirts and broke into a run.
He was on his feet before she'd gone beyond ten steps into the thick trees.
His boots made no sound as he pursued her, his longer stride and knowledge of the terrain giving him the advantage. She was quick, he'd give her that, and surprisingly sure-footed in the darkness. But desperation could only carry her so far.
He caught her at the edge of a small clearing, his hand closing around her arm and spinning her to face him. The sudden motion brought her up hard against his chest, their faces inches apart. She froze, breath colliding with his, eyes wide and startled.
“Goin’ somewhere, lass?”
His voice was low, rougher than he meant it to be. She jerked against his grip, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers. “Let go of me!”
“Nae likely.” His hold eased but didn’t release. “What did ye think ye were daein’?”
“What daes it look like I was daein’?” she shot back, breathless, defiant. “I was leavin’. Goin’ home.”
“Home?” His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. “Ye call that place home after what they did tae ye?”
For a moment neither moved, the forest around them utterly still. The heat between them felt alive, something neither of them knew how to name or stop.
She tried to pull free of his grip, her voice rising with frustration. "This was never me choice! None of this was ever me choice! I was dragged tae that auction, sold tae a stranger, and now I'm being held against me will by a man who thinks he owns me!"
"And it wasnae me choice either!" His own frustration finally breaking through his careful control.
She laughed bitterly. "Oh, aye, it must have been so difficult for ye, havin’ tae choose between all those lovely options. Which lass should I buy today? Which life should I destroy fer me own convenience?"
Her sarcasm cut deeper than it should have. "Ye think this is convenient fer me? Ye think I wanted tae saddle meself with a wife who despises me? Who looks at me like I'm some sort of monster?"
They stared at each other in the moonlight, both breathing hard, both frustrated by circumstances neither fully controlled.
"And what happens when ye walk back through those gates?” He continued, “Ye think yer faither will welcome ye with open arms?"
"Better his cruelty than yers!"
The words stung more than they should have. "Me cruelty? I've tended yer wounds, protected ye."
"Ye bought me!" Her voice rose to a near shout. "Ye purchased me like I was a horse at market and now ye're draggin’ me tae yer castle tae force me intae marriage! Dinnae pretend this is anythin’ but cruelty dressed up as civility!"
"And goin’ back tae Munro is somehow better?"
"At least with him I ken what tae expect!"
"Dae ye?" He stepped closer, noting how she instinctively backed away. "Ye ken what he'll dae now that his plans are ruined? Now that the alliance he wanted is broken?"
She was quiet for a moment, uncertainty flickering across her face.
"I'll take me chances," she said finally.
“Will ye? Even kennin’ he might sell ye again? Tae someone far worse?” "That's me risk tae take! I have tae go back," her voice smaller now. "Ye dinnae understand. I cannae just stay here."
"Ye cannae go back taenight," he said instead. "It's nae safe. The forest is full of dangers, and ye're nae equipped tae handle them alone."
"I'll manage."
"Will ye? With nay weapons, nay supplies, nay knowledge of which clans control which territories?" He shook his head. "Ye'd be dead or worse before dawn."
"That's me decision!"
Her passion was magnificent, even if her logic was flawed. Despite everything, he found himself impressed by her fierce loyalty.
Before he could respond, she spun away from him, chin lifted in stubborn defiance.
“Liliane,” he warned, his voice low, “I wouldnae walk that way if I were ye.”
She shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. “I dinnae need ye tellin’ me where tae step.”
He sighed, half exasperated, half amused. “Aye, ye dae.”
But in her agitation, she wasn’t watching where she stepped. The snare was perfectly placed, designed to catch unwary game in the darkness. Her foot hit the trigger mechanism, and before she could even gasp, she was jerked upward with a startled yelp as the rope tightened around her ankle.
Tòrr let out a quiet, unsurprised grunt. “That’s exactly why.”
"Ah!" Her startled cry echoed through the trees as she found herself dangling upside down, her skirts threatening to fall over her head.
Tòrr bit back a laugh as she struggled to maintain her modesty while trapped in the hunter's snare. "Well, that's one way tae end an argument."
"Dinnae just stand there!" she hissed, fighting to keep her skirts in place. "Get me down!"
"I'm thinkin’ about it."
"Thinkin’ about it?"
"Aye. Ye're much less likely tae run away while hangin’ from a tree."
"Tòrr MacDonald, cut me down this instant."
"Or ye'll what? Glare at me more fiercely?"
"I'll scream loud enough tae wake every wolf and bandit within ten miles!"
"Nay, ye willnae. Ye're too smart tae draw that kind of attention." He moved closer to examine the snare mechanism. "Besides, ye need me tae get ye down, which rather limits yer ability tae threaten me effectively."
"Just... dinnae look!"
"Look at what?"
"Ye ken perfectly well what!"
He did indeed know, and was doing his best to keep his eyes focused on the rope and pulley system rather than the expanse of shapely leg visible beneath her struggling skirts.
"I cannae free ye if I cannae see what I'm daein’," he pointed out reasonably.
"Then close yer eyes and feel yer way through it!"
"Aye, that sounds like a brilliant plan. Cut ropes in the dark while ye're danglin’ above me. What could go wrong?"
She made a sound of pure frustration. "Ye're enjoyin’ this."
"I'm enjoyin’ the fact that ye cannae run away. The rest of it is..." He paused, studying the mechanism more carefully. "Actually, it's rather cleverly designed. Professional work."
"I dinnae care if it's a masterpiece of engineerin’! Just get me down!"
"I'm workin’ on it. But I'll need tae cut the rope, which means ye're goin’ tae fall."
"What?" Panic crept into her voice. "How far?"
"Nae far. I'll catch ye."
"Ye'll catch me?"
"Unless ye'd prefer tae hit the ground?"
"What if ye miss?"
"I willnae miss."
"How can ye be sure?"
"Because I'm very good at catchin’ things I dinnae want tae lose."
Something in his tone made her go still. "Ye dinnae want tae lose me?"
He looked up at her, meeting her wide eyes in the moonlight. "Nae ye lass, me coins."
“I cannae believe ye!”
Tòrr smirked and stepped into position below her. "I'm goin’ tae grab the rope on the other side tae steady ye, then cut it. When I say three, it'll give way. Trust me tae catch ye."
"Trust ye?"
"Aye."
"The man who cares more about his coins?"
"The man who's about tae keep ye from breakin’ yer neck." He gripped the rope firmly, his dirk ready in his other hand. "One."
"Tòrr."
"Two."
"Wait, I'm nae ready."
"Three."
The blade sliced through the rope with a clean cut, and suddenly she was falling. Tòrr dropped his dirk and caught her against his chest, staggering slightly as her weight hit him.
His left foot landed wrong on a hidden root, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his leg. He bit back a curse, not wanting to worry her, and managed to keep them both upright.
"Are ye hurt?" he asked, looking down at her face.
She was breathing hard, her hands clutched in his shirt, her body pressed against his from chest to thigh. The heat of him seeped into her, steady and unyielding. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, the forest holding its breath with them.
“I dinnae think so.” Her voice was unsteady, more from the closeness than the fall. “Are ye?”
“I’m fine.”
“Put me down,” she whispered, though the protest lacked its earlier bite.
“Yer leg hurts,” he said, already moving toward the camp. “So just keep quiet.”
Her fingers tightened slightly in his shirt before she forced herself to let go. She didn’t speak again after that, but she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and it unsettled her more than the snare had.
Good thing she kens when I'm serious.
They reached the camp with Aiden still sleeping, not knowing what was going on.
"Ye can put me down now."
He studied her face, trying to read her intentions. Finally, he set her carefully on her feet, though he kept his hands on her shoulders in case she tried to bolt.
“Look lass, me quarrel isnae with ye. It's with yer faither and the alliance he was tryin’ tae forge. Ye're caught in the middle of somethin’ larger than both of us."
"Then let me out of the middle."
"I cannae dae that."
"Because ye need me fer yer political games?"
"Because lettin’ ye go back tae yer faither willnae solve anythin’.”
She was quiet for a moment, considering this. "So what happens now?"
"Now ye accept that ye're goin’ tae be me wife whether ye like it or nae."
"And if I refuse?"
"Ye'll refuse anyway. But since ye tried tae escape once, I cannae risk ye tryin’ again."
"What daes that mean?"
Instead of answering, he brought out a rope from his little backpack. "I didnae want tae dae this lass, but ye give me nay choice."
"Dae ye carry ropes around? What are ye daein’ with that?" She backed away from him as he approached.
"Makin’ sure ye cannae slip away again while I'm sleepin’."
"Ye're goin’ tae tie me up?"
"Just our hands taegether. So I'll ken if ye move."
"Nay." She shook her head vehemently. "Nay, I willnae be bound like some hostage."
"It's nae about treatin’ ye like a hostage. It's about keepin’ ye safe."
"Safe? Or keepin’ me from inconveniencin’ ye?"
"Both."
His honesty seemed to catch her off guard. "I willnae dae it."
She tried to dodge around him, but he caught her wrist easily. "Please dinnae make this harder than it has tae be."
"Let go of me!"
"I will, once ye're secured fer the night."
She fought him as he tied the rope around her wrist, but gently, carefully, making sure the bonds were secure but not tight enough to cut off circulation or chafe her skin. She was strong for her size, but no match for his greater strength.
"This is how ye protect me?" she demanded as he finished the knots. "By treatin’ me like a prisoner?"
"This is how I keep ye from getting’ yerself killed in a misguided rescue attempt.
" He tied the other end around his own wrist, testing the length to make sure she'd have enough freedom to move comfortably.
"Ye're nae a prisoner, lass. Ye're a woman under me protection who happens tae have terrible judgment about her own safety. "
"Me judgment is perfectly fine!"
"Is it? Ye were about tae wander off intae Highland wilderness, at night."
"At least I was willin’ tae try!"
"At least I'm willin’ tae think before I act."
They glared at each other, both breathing hard from their struggle, connected now by three feet of rope that might as well have been a chain.
"I hate ye," she said quietly.
"I ken."
"I'll never fergive ye fer this."
"Then this is goin’ tae be a very unpleasant marriage."
"Probably."
But as he lay next tae her near their dying fire, Tòrr found himself hoping she was wrong.