“Well now, she’s nae a timid thing. I’d wager her brother didna give her leave to ride out.”

That posed a very good question, one Gordon felt beginning to burn in his mind. Was the lass truly so foolish as to ride out on her own without considering that the night held dangers? Her sister-in-law had fled across the border, so maybe Englishwomen were being reared in ignorance these days.

He hoped not.

He’d thought the lass spirited, not foolish. The last thing he needed was a marzipan bride—a woman who was nothing but pride and pretty features. He needed a woman who could use her wits when the time called for it.

“It seems that ye have gotten yer wish to meet the lass after all.” Beacon offered him a slight nod of his head. “So I’ll bid ye good luck, Laird.”

Luck indeed. Gordon frowned because his hope was strangling on a rope made of facts. He’d allowed his fascination to lead him astray. A bride was chosen for her family connection and gain it brought to the clan. Not because he’d become infatuated with an idea spun from his own imagination.

It would be better to not see the lass again.

He ground his teeth together and lost the battle to resist the urge to discover exactly what sort of female she was. Girl or woman? God help him if she was the woman he’d imagined her to be.

Because he didn’t think he’d be able to give up such a prize now that he’d managed to bring it home.

Jemma sat still, listening to the sounds of the tower. It was strange and yet familiar. Ula had left her while muttering about fetching warmed porridge. Jemma found herself scanning the room and noticing where the glow of the lantern ended and the shadows took control. The shapes of the walls were different, but the feeling of the stone around her one that she was accustomed to.

Or should be.

Yet she still felt ill at ease. Standing up, she paced to the end of the large chamber, stopping when she reached a window. The shutters were still open, allowing in the night breeze. The air smelled fresh and full of winter. But what she felt most of all was the presence of the master of the castle. Gordon Dwyre, Laird Barras. Her rescuer and captor. It was truly a strange combination, one her mind toyed with while she turned to pace back across the floor.

She gasped, her heart freezing when she discovered him standing behind her, without a sound, as though he’d been summoned by her own thoughts. Sensation rippled across her skin, leaving gooseflesh behind.

“Evening, lass. I trust ye are comfortable in me castle.”

Chapter Three

The man moved too silently; there had to be something unnatural about him.

Jemma felt frustrated with her own thoughts, finding them too somber for her liking. Men such as Gordon Dwyre were still only men; she’d felt his heart beat and his breath filling his chest. He was as real as she.

Instead of comforting her, that thought only blew across the coals of longing that were left from being pressed up against him.

Her gaze swept the Scot from head to toe, picking out all the details that made him so silent when he moved. Strength was etched into his body, proving that he was more a man of action than words. He still wore his kilt, but the pommel of his sword was no longer sitting above his right shoulder. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking that he was now less dangerous.

The man embodied the idea. It was in the way he moved and the manner that he held his arms. Ever so slightly away from his body, his fingers hooked into the wide leather belt he wore. A simple wool doublet was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. A little ripple of awareness crossed her skin, and she bit her lower lip to dispel it.

“Ula knows her craft well. She’ll not leave ye wanting beneath me roof.”

Jemma realized that she’d been struck silent by her desire to look at him. That annoyed her because such had never happened before. It shouldn’t be troubling her now, especially when she needed her wits to convince the burly Scot to return her home. She had freedom of choice there. Here she was subject to Gordon’s will, and that knowledge sat uneasy on her. For all that her life had been a simple country one, she realized that she had never lacked freedom.

“Yes, Ula was most kind.”

He stepped farther into the room, his kilt swaying slightly. She noticed the garment because it was so different from everything she was accustomed to. In fact, Gordon Dwyre was unlike anything she knew, which must explain why she had difficulty mastering her thoughts when he was near.

Of course. That made sense, and understanding would lead her to logical thinking. That was what she needed.

“I shall remember her fondly.”

A soft chuckle filled the room. Gordon closed more of the gap between them. “Are ye in a hurry to depart, lass? The sun will nae be rising for some time.”

“Of course I am eager to return home. I mean no insult by such. However grateful I am for your assistance, returning to Amber Hill is my first priority.”

His expression tightened. “Well now, lass, ye see there is our conflict. Returning ye to any place that can nae keep ye from harm.”

“I told you, it was my own doing.”

Laird Barras folded his arms over his chest. “I recall that very well, lass, which is why I hesitate to take ye back where ye are clearly able to work yer will over those who should be doing their duty to keep ye from harm.”

“I made a mistake in leaving so late in the day.”

“Ye did that, sure enough, and it nearly cost ye yer life.” There was no mistaking the judgment in his tone. Jemma bristled beneath its cutting edge.

“It is not my normal way to challenge the rules set down by my brother.”

“I disagree, lass. I’ve watched ye riding across that section of land too many times to count.”

Watched me riding?

Jemma twisted her hands in the fabric of her skirt while pacing a few steps away from him. Her belly twisted with sensation.

He’d watched her, too many times to count?

“You shouldn’t have done that.” There were only the candles on the table, and as she moved, she left their light behind her. The shadows felt more secure with their darkness to help conceal her emotions.

“Nae, lass, ye should not have been out where me men and I could watch ye.”

His voice rang with heavy judgment. It needled her pride, setting a spark to her temper.

“I am not your concern, sir, and I was always on my father’s land.”

He followed her, and she stood torn between the urge to retreat farther or stand fast to remain in the glow from the candles. Something flickered in his eyes that looked like approval.

“At the moment ye are, because it was my men that I just risked to save ye. Be very sure that I do nae place me men in jeopardy for just any reason, even if ye are too foolish to be allowed the freedom yer brother has given ye.”

Jemma gasped, caught somewhere between pride and astonishment that he would consider it his right to decide what was best for her. That desire struck her as oddly intimate, rippling over her skin like a caress.

“Making an offer for me does not grant you the right to dictate to me, sir.”

He uncrossed his arms and she shivered, her memory filling with how it felt to be pressed against him. A flicker of excitement returned to her so quickly she chewed on her lower lip, needing some outlet for all the churning sensations trapped within her.

“No, lass, pulling ye off the ground before ye were raped does.” His voice cut through the air like a hot knife. There was nothing friendly in his expression, only harsh judgment.

“I asked yer brother for the right to court ye only, I never offered for ye and I’m thinking that a wise thing at the moment. I do nae need a wife that has nae got the sense of a child.”

His rejection stung.

Jemma felt it traveling through her like a lash from a whip. She’d only felt leather bite into her flesh once and for the very same reason. Lack of attention to what was happening around her.

She had been a mere ten years old and walked into a section of the training yard she had no place being. A thick, braided leather whip sliced down across her back before the men noticed that their space had been invaded. It had been her mistake to go there, and her father had made that clear with a lecture witnessed by every man training in that yard. It had been her sire’s place to reprimand her. It was a lesson she had never forgotten until her father died.

That made Gordon Dwyre’s judgment sting even more. She was not perfect, but that did not mean she needed another man attempting to act as her parent.

“Well then, it seems we are in agreement. I do not belong here, Lord Barras.” She pronounced his title with an English accent to drive home just how different they were.

The man snorted at her.

One direct sound that communicated just how much he disagreed with her. Jemma felt her chin rise—just a tiny amount—but his attention lowered to it, noticing the stubborn motion. His eyes flashed with an equal amount of determination to see her accept his will.

Which she would not do.

“I will look forward to sunrise and my departure.”

He didn’t care for her telling him what would be. Jemma witnessed the flare of resistance that lit his eyes, but he drew in a sharp breath, battling against the urge to argue with her. Jemma turned her back on him. It was a bold thing to do, possibly as foolish as riding out of Amber Hill against Synclair’s wishes.

But the tension was becoming unbearable. She had to move, do something to force the moment to pass before she buckled beneath the strain.