“Perhaps yearea faerie,” he mused, and Jeane found herself biting back a bitter laugh.
“If I were a faerie, daenae ye think I would have used me magic already to get away from ye?”
She could practically feel his smirk although she did not turn to face him as they rode.
“Nay, I daenae think ye would. I think ye like teasin’ me, little mouse.”
“Stop callin’ me that.”
“Well, I cannae rightly call ye by yer name, can I?”
She huffed out a breath and went quiet again.
Fergus groaned. “This has been the longest ride; ye dinnae speak at all.”
“It would have been shorter if ye dinnae talk so much,” she muttered.
Fergus grunted in response and kicked the sides of his horse, urging him forward faster.
Jeane felt weak and tired, exhausted, really, after being in the woods for days. She just wanted a warm bed, somewhere to rest her head, but something told her she would have work to do when they arrived at the castle.
Fergus continued to try to speak to her, trying to make conversation, teasing her about who she might be if she were a faerie.
But she did not respond. Did not say much at all.
She could not. Because if she did, she might reveal who she was… and he might take her home. She was scared to death of going back to the McKay castle, feeling like it could lead to her demise.
“Me Laird! Ye’re home!” one of the guards shouted, and Fergus’ response broke Jeane out of her thoughts.
“Aye, made it home,” Fergus grunted.
Two strong guards stood on either side of the gates, and slowly, they began to creak open as Fergus’ horse approached.
Jeane was shocked at how easily Fergus got off the horse, given his injuries. The cut across his stomach was deep and would require stitching when she finally got him alone.
A nearby stableboy walked toward them, and Fergus called for him.
“Take care of me horse,” he said, handing the reins to the boy.
She squeaked when Fergus lifted her by her waist, placing her on the ground in front of him.
Her hands shook as she braced herself on his shoulders. She pulled away from him quickly once she was on the ground, but he smirked down at her all the same.
“Ye cannae just touch me whenever and however ye want,” Jeane argued.
“Can’t I, little mouse?”
Fergus stepped closer, his mouth twisted in what could be a smirk or a snarl.
“Who, pray tell, is goin’ to stop me?”
He was infuriating, this Laird McCloud, but also intriguing. He had captured her against her will, but his hands were soft on her hips as he sat her down. He could be gentle, too.
She supposed she should not look a gift horse in the mouth, but she could not help being afraid. Her prayers had been answered, and she was well away from her father. Only, it was not exactly how she thought it would happen.
Yes, she had wanted to get away from her father, but she had not expected to run straight into the arms of a man who, for all she knew, might be just as bad or worse. He had said he would let her go after she tended to his sister, but who knew if he was telling the truth?
Fergus had not harmed her. He wanted her for her healing prowess, not her looks, and that was the only reason she had not kicked him in the bollocks and tried to escape.
