“I want ye to let me go.”
“What?”
“Let me go, please,” she repeated, her voice shaking. “If I marry ye, I’ll be miserable for the rest of me life.”
He stared down at her, at her hair, which still clung to her face almost like a final act of desperation. He could hear the tremor in her voice and the way it vibrated against him. He hated how that made him feel.
He had known women who wept to be spared. She was not one of them. Her fight made her dangerous and probably more alive than anyone he had met in years.
He drew a breath and pushed the thought away.
“Please.” Her voice cut through the damp air once more, almost like the final straw to break his resolve.
Slowly, he let go of her wrists and pushed himself upright, his boots leaving dents in the damp soil beside her.
“Fine,” he acquiesced. “We will return to the castle, and ye will go back to yer uncle.”
Her head snapped up. “Truly?”
“Aye. I cannae be the reason another woman is miserable in me castle. I cannae force ye to marry me.”
She sat up, brushing soil from her sleeve, her eyes searching his face for the lie that wasn’t there… or wasn’t thereyet.
“Thank ye,” she said, her breath still shaky.
He watched her without responding. The silence settled again, broken only by the rustle of the leaves around them. Her faith in his word flickered across her face.
She believed him.
Yer first mistake, lass.
He stood up and extended a hand toward her. She hesitated, then took it. Her palm was small and roughened with dirt as he pulled her to her feet. When she stepped back, he let her go without a word.
They began walking once again. The forest had grown darker, and all the light that remained fell in dull stripes through the trees. The smell of rain continued to linger even harder. Hopefully, they would make it back to the castle before the heavens opened.
“What about the alliance with me uncle?” she asked after a while, her voice quiet but sharp around the edges.
“So ye ken what ye’re getting into?” he asked, giving her a look.
“As much as it might be hard for ye to stomach, Laird MacLeod, I am nae a fool.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Never thought ye were.”
“Well?” she prompted, her eyes boring into him.
Jack exhaled. “Aye, it’ll stand.”
She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “How, if I’m nae yer wife?”
“Because ye will be.”
She stopped walking, the fear returning to her face again. “I thought ye were lettin’ me go.”
“I am,” he said softly.
She kept her eyes on him. “Then why say that?”
He met her gaze once again. “Because ye’ll come back on yer own. Ye’ll be mine one way or another, and by then, I willnae have to force ye to stay.”
