Chapter 3
The room felt like a lion’s den, though Dougal would’ve preferred stepping into one. Hungry lions were predictable. Highlanders? Less so.
Whispers surrounded him. He found himself staring down several pairs of eyes, many of whom did not bother to look away.
Why would they, when they deemed him a murderer?
Stephen had warned him before he left, even though he had been the one to encourage him to go in the first place. Dougal had given him a look that told him he didn’t want to hear any more of it.
He knew exactly what to expect when he had arrived at the cèilidh. Dougal had only interacted with his staff, his mother, Lily, and Stephen. His self-imposed isolation had kept him away from society.
Until the pamphlet, he had seen little reason to break it. But that pamphlet was spreading from home to home. Those who were captivated by the mystery pointed fresh accusations at Dougal, claiming he was responsible for other troubles in the Highlands.
It soon became too much.
The room grew suffocating. He spun around and left without a word, the whispers following him. Several craned their heads to watch him leave, but he paid them no mind. After tonight, they would become nameless accusers, the same as the rest over the years.
He found a tree at the edge of the grounds, half-hidden, and leaned against it, letting the cold air clear his head. His mind drifted to her, the lass who’d defended him without knowing he could hear her. She was beautiful in a way that made him angry at himself for noticing.
Such a lovely thing.
The candlelight had caught one of the loose dark brown curls against her neck, the amber of her gown warm against her skin. For that one moment, he had forgotten to be the Lion and looked the way any man would look at a beautiful woman.
When their eyes had met, her cheeks flushed, and the woman next to her whispered something in her ear, making her blush deepen. But then he had been forced back into reality, the whispers and stares reaching him again.
Even the woman’s fierce defense had done nothing to sway the guests’ opinions. They had made up their minds about him, and nothing would change that.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps.
He sighed. “I cannae even even stand out here in peace.”
The footsteps came to a halt.
Curious, he looked up and saw the woman from earlier, his defender. She had followed him outside. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes holding his without the fear he’d grown used to seeing in everyone else’s.
It unsettled him more than the whispers ever had.
He began to notice things he had no business noticing: the curve of her mouth, her delicate hands, her slender neck. He had spent seven years training himself not to care how anyone looked at him, but she was undoing all his effort.
“Forgive me, me Laird.” She dipped into a small, awkward curtsy. “I only meant to apologize for how our guests treated ye tonight. It was quite rude of them to be so blatant about it. Me family expected better.”
“Ye’re the one who defended me.”
A statement, not a question.
He had heard her clearly across the room, her voice cutting through the whispers without a single doubt in it.
It had been a long while since anyone had spoken on his behalf without being asked to. His mother, bless her soul, didn’t count. Mothers were obligated by blood. The lass standing before him owed him nothing, and that made her defense of him strange.
Dougal briefly wondered what she expected to gain from it.
Certainly not attention. His attention would not be something she would want. He would have to keep talking to her to see what she truly wanted.
The lass blushed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I-I only said nothing was proven. It wasnae much.”
“And are ye nae afraid of me?” Dougal asked, tempted to take a step forward.
The lass looked startled at the question, but slowly shook her head. “Nay, I daenae fear ye.”
Dougal laughed, and the bitter sound made her flinch in surprise. “Then ye are even more foolish than I thought.”
She gasped. “What?”
“How can ye stand there and say ye daenae fear me when ye’ve surely heard I murdered me betrothed?” He let his voice drop low, testing her. “Surely, ye have heard the rumors.”
She blushed but didn’t look away. “If ye had done so, ye wouldnae speak of it so openly. That much I am sure of.”
Dougal smirked despite himself, tilting his face to the stars. “That still doesnae mean I have pure intentions towards ye.”
The way the lass tried to stammer out a response interested him more than it should have. He smirked, gazing into her eyes. She made no move to flee to the safety of her home and remained out here with him in the cool evening air.
He imagined the things he could do to her. It had been too long since he had felt the touch of a woman, longer still since one looked at him without flinching.
The thought alone was enough to remind him how dangerous it was to be out here, speaking with her.
He had no business wanting her the way he did. Quickly, he tried to push those thoughts out of his mind before they could take root. Yet here he stood, half hidden beneath the tree, still cataloging everything he could about her.
Her breath caught when his hand rose to her cheek, and she caught his wrist, her grip gentle but firm. “Wait. Ye might be innocent, but I must confess me wrongdoings.”
“Go on, then.” He was amused now. “What could a lass who blushes this hard have possibly done?”
“I write,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “The Lion of the Highlands.”
He went very still.
She lowered her gaze for a moment but then quickly looked back up, apologetic.
This young lass had written such a tale. It was the last thing Dougal had expected to hear, let alone from her. To be frank, he had never thought she would be capable of even thinking up such a story, let alone write it.
The anger was still there, but now his interest was piqued.
There is more to this lass than meets the eye.
“Ye.”
“I never meant for so many people to read it. I didnae think—” The lass broke off. “Me sister is the one who went behind me back and had it published. She thought it would be good for me, but I never intended for it to be read by the entire Highlands!”
Whether it was the lass’s sister who published the story or not, it was her writing. She had taken the time to write about his life, turning it into a recurring tale the Highlanders couldn’t wait to read.
He should feel nothing but anger, but surprisingly, the anger was hard to find. Anger often required a target and a villain who’d taken something from him. But there was nothing malicious in the way she stood before him, cheeks burning and hands twisting together.
She had written a story, and that was all she viewed it as. Nothing more and nothing less. It was he who was the villain, not the character she had made up.
“Do ye think I am capable of it, then?” His voice sharpened. “Seducing an innocent lass? Touching her”—Dougal stepped closer as his hand slid to the nape of her neck—“like this? Kissing her”—he leaned in, his lips hovering near her throat—“here?”
A tremor ran through her body, barely noticeable, but he was close enough that he felt it right away.
Her breath quickened. “I…”
“Well?” he prompted, his patience thinning.
Her pale cheeks flushed a dark pink, but she did not avert her gaze. She seemed determined to look him in the eyes.
“I was maybe… hoping ye were.”
Dougal hadn’t expected the words to land the way they did.
She wanted his hands on her. She’d said as much, plain as anything, and now he couldn’t look at her mouth without thinking about it.
His gaze dropped, just for a second, to where her pulse fluttered at her throat. He forced it back up. Filed the thought away. Told himself the bargain was still the point. She seemed determined to bring her story to an end, one way or another.
“And how do ye plan to end yer story?”
“I… I daenae ken. That’s why I followed ye out here, if I’m being honest. I thought maybe if I spoke to the real person…” she trailed off.
He pulled back, still gazing at her with that calculated expression. “Then let’s strike a bargain. Help me restore me reputation, and I’ll help ye finish yer story.”
She frowned, but he saw the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “How?”
“Be mine for a month, lass. Then walk away, alive, well, and with yer finale written.” A faint, bitter smile touched his mouth. “So everyone will see that at least one lass survived me.”