“No.”
“Ye will do as I say,” he railed, struggling to sit up and find his balance and assert his dominance at the same time. It was quite impossible, and she laughed. His frown eased away, and when he took a look at himself, he laughed, too.
The thrill of his brogue was minute compared to the effect of his smile and his laughter. Her entire body submerged into a barrel of warm bubbles that raised every inch of her fleshand squeezed the air from her. That he gifted her with such an unguarded glimpse of himself brought tears to her eyes.
If I were free of my vow, I would live only to hear such a thing again.
She no longer told herself such a reaction was from the rarity of men in her life. There was something connecting her to Tearloch, something that gave him a power over her that had nothing to do with strength. How else could she explain the visceral effect of his every utterance?
Kenna would not be surprised to look down and find a lead running from her heart straight into his hand, so convinced was she of this connection. And in that instant, she knew something more important.
This man has the power to hurt me.
She sobered, and begged him with all sincerity. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Will you at least consider?—”
“No.”
“Why?” she whined. The strength to fight him was fading.
“What would ye do with yer freedom?” His curiosity sounded genuine. “Fall into the hands of someone like Struan Gowry? Or would ye make yer way to the city where ye can sell yer body to have a man killed?”
Kenna was shocked at the image unfolding in her mind. “Those are not my only choices.”
“Or will ye return to yer family so they can sell ye off to the next pig that offers for ye?”
“I will not go back. My maid will have told them…”
He grew very still. “Told them what?”
“Told them I was killed in the fighting.”
Tearloch grasped her hand with his free one. “Why?”
“I have my reasons. You must let me go.”
“No. Ye’ll have a better life if ye stay with me than ye will have anywhere else in this world, do ye hear? In the end, ye’ll have all the freedom ye could want. Ye only need to trust me.”
She shook her head. “Trust has little to do with this. Besides, it is my choice to make.”
“Nay. It is mine, and I choose to keep ye.” He was scowling again. “Now go and get Duncan.”
“I need time to think?—”
“Oh, no. That only begets more trouble.Duncan!”
“My Laird and Master,” she purred with a thick brogue of her own, “would ye like me to put a rag in yer mouth, or will ye stay quiet?”
Duncan appeared soon enough.
She smiled innocently. “Ah, good sir, have you a small cloth?”
“Aye, Milady.” He handed over a red but clean rag. She didn’t want to think about what had stained it that color as she stuffed it into Tearloch’s mouth.
She looked up at a bemused Duncan. “I owe you an apology—or two.”
