His hands curled at his sides. “Dismount,” he ordered.
She did not. If anything, she remained exactly where she was, her chin lifted, her fingers curled loosely around the reins as if the command never reached her ears.
William’s jaw tightened.
Caelan cleared his throat, attempting politeness. “Me Laird?—”
But William didn’t have time for him. He didn’t even look at him. Did not acknowledge him, did not slow down. In one swift motion, he swung himself up behind Sorcha.
Sorcha sucked in a sharp breath and turned her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Do ye realize what ye’re doing?”
William said nothing. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her, securing her back to his chest. Until she found herself trapped in his infuriating presence.
Before anyone could speak, before reason could catch up, he urged the horse to move.
Instantly, they lurched forward, moving away from the blur of stunned faces and whispered shock.
William rode hard, so hard that her breathing quickened. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer until his breath tickled her neck.
When she tried to speak, the wind stole her voice.
“Slow down…” she tried breathlessly.
He did not.
“Slow down,” she tried again, her voice strained now.
William leaned in until his lips brushed her earlobe. “Isnae this what ye wanted?” he growled, his warm breath fanning her skin. “A fine horse ride?” He pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it faster. “I’m givin’ ye one.”
Sorcha let out a small, broken sound. It sounded like half protest, half something else. But she couldn’t even speak properly, because the quick motion of the horse stole her breath.
Suddenly, William’s hand left her waist. She barely had time to react before his fingers grabbed her chin. He turned her face to his, forcing her to look at him even as the wind lashed at them both.
His eyes burned. Furious. Dark. Unforgiving.
“Now, listen to me, me Lady,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “I warned ye about Keegan.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“And Gregor,” he continued, his grip steady.
His eyes searched her face, daring her to deny it.
“Daenae play silly games with me,” he said harshly. “Daenae involve men like that. I detest it.”
Despite the speed, despite the danger, despite the intensity of his gaze, she still managed one thing: a scoff.
“It seems,” she shot back stubbornly, “that ye daenae wantanyman near me.”
For a fraction of a second, he faltered. His lashes fluttered, only slightly. It was like a tiny crack in his armor. But then it was gone.
His face hardened again, his emotions locked away behind ruthless control.
“Do ye hear me?” he pressed.
Sorcha didn’t answer immediately. Rather, she stared at him defiantly.
“Perhaps I’m under a spell,” she snapped. “Perhaps I’m possessed by spirits!” Her breath came fast, her anger increasing tenfold. “And ye’ll have to fight every last one of them before I obey ye!”
