“To see what sort of woman runs from a wedding and lands a punch on a laird’s face before speakin’ three words.”
She flushed again.
He tilted his head slightly. “Most would’ve fainted.”
“I daenae faint,” she muttered.
“Aye,” he said. “I noticed.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Wind stirred the branches overhead, and a leaf drifted down and landed on her hair. She felt his eyes settle on it even before he reached up.
She flinched.
He looked straight at her. “Would ye relax?”
His fingers brushed her braid gently, plucked the leaf free, and let it fall to the ground between them.
Emma stared at him. “What now?”
“Now?” he said. “Ye breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Aye, ye are. Like a deer in a trap.”
She gritted her teeth. “Ye ken I can just turn around and run again?”
“I wouldnae advise that,” he drawled. “Because I would catch ye again.”
She said nothing.
“I am nae chasing ye, lass,” he added. “I’m only following because I want to ken what kind of woman would rather tear through thorns than marry me.”
Her lips parted, but she did not speak.
“I want to ken what kind of woman considers me a horrifying monster.”
A tense silence settled between them, and for the next minute, none of them spoke. He eventually sighed and broke the silence.
“If ye want to keep running, I willnae stop ye.”
Her eyebrows rose, eyes narrowing.
“But I will follow ye,” he continued. “And when ye’re too tired to run, I’ll still be there.”
She swallowed; her heart was still racing. Her dress was ruined, and her hands were scraped raw. But he wasn’t dragging her. He hadn’t shouted or struck back, and that terrified her more than anything else.
She exhaled as loudly as she could, realizing she still had one more trick up her sleeve. She just needed to make it convincing.
Sympathy worked most of the time. Hopefully, it did for her now.
“Will ye hurt me?” she asked, her voice low.
“What?”
“Is that why me uncle brought me to ye? So ye would hurt me?”
“Nay, lass.”
