“Ye’re a monster,” she breathed.
“So ye keep sayin’.” His arm tightened at her waist. “But I’m the monster who just saved ye from yer faither’s men. Think they’d have treated ye gently after cuttin’ me down?”
“They were me faither’s men!”
“Aye. And they drew blood from ye without a second thought. That’s the man ye’re defendin’.”
Her jaw clenched. “He was tryin’ tae get me back.”
“He was salvagin’ his pride. Ye were only the tool.”
“Ye dinnae ken anythin’ about me faither.”
“I ken enough,” he said coldly. “He sold ye like cattle. He set dogs on the man who outbid him. That tells me all I need tae ken.”
“I’ll run away,” she spat.
“Where? Back tae him?” Tòrr’s gaze hardened. “He’s the one who put ye on that platform. And he willnae want ye back now.”
“I’ll make a scene,” she snapped. “Scream. Fight. Whatever it takes.”
“Then ye’ll be screamin’ all the way tae Keppoch,” he said quietly. “But ye’re still comin’.”
"And if I refuse? If I make such a scene at the altar that even yer bought priest willnae perform the ceremony?"
"Then we'll keep tryin' until one will." His smile was cold. "I have all the time in the world, lass. Dae ye?"
She twisted to stare at him. "Ye've destroyed everythin’!"
"Have I? Or have I given ye somethin' better than what ye had?"
"Better? Ye call this better?"
Better than whatever bargain yer faither would’ve struck,” he replied evenly. “I’m younger, richer, and I willnae beat ye fer sport. That already puts me ahead of most Highland lairds.”
"Such high praise fer yerself."
"I'm the only ally ye have left in this world.”
She laughed bitterly. "Ally? Ye bought me at auction!"
“Aye, I did. And now ye’re under me protection instead of some laird’s fists, Campbell’s schemes, or whatever bargain yer faither would’ve struck.” His voice hardened. “Count yerself lucky.”
"Lucky," she repeated flatly.
"Aye. Lucky." He spurred his horse faster. "Now stop squirmin' or ye'll fall off and break yer neck. And then where would we be?"
"Ye'd be down two hundred pounds," she said acidly.
Tòrr tried to mask his amusement at her statement.
The lass has spirit.
They rode in tense silence as the forest gradually gave way to open moorland, predator and prey bound together by law and circumstance.
"We’ll camp here. It’s getting late, and besides, ye're shiverin’."
CHAPTER SIX
