“Me Laird?” she tried again, louder this time.
Uncertainty crept in. Had she misread his signal? Was he even?—
A hand shot out of the darkness, wrapping around her wrist and yanking her sideways.
Leona’s scream caught in her throat as she was pulled against a hard body, her back hitting the solid wall of a man’s chest. An arm banded around her waist, holding her immobile, and panic spiked through her veins.
“It’s me,” a rough voice growled against her ear. “Christ, lass, ye shouldnae make such noise. The whole village will hear.”
Relief flooded through her so quickly that it left her dizzy.
“Murdock.” She sagged against him, her heart still racing. “Ye scared me half to death.”
“Did I?” His arm didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled her closer, his body a furnace against her back. “Ye followed me into the dark woods. What did ye think would happen?”
Good question. What had she thought? That they’d have a civilized conversation? That the tension crackling between them all day would somehow dissipate once they were alone?
She was an idiot.
“Ye could have warned me,” she managed, trying to turn in his arms.
But he held her still, his grip firm, his breath hot against her neck.
“And miss the way ye jumped? The little sound ye made?” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I think nae.”
Heat flooded through her, pooling low in her belly. “Did ye need a word, me Laird?”
“I did.” He finally released her, spinning her to face him.
In the scattered moonlight, his face was all hard angles and shadows. His eyes glittered, dark and intense, pinning her in place more effectively than his hands had.
“We need to discuss something,” he said, his voice carrying an edge that made her shiver. “Set some rules for our betrothal.”
“Rules?” Leona’s mind struggled to keep up, distracted by his proximity, by the way he loomed over her in the darkness.
“Aye. Rules.” He took a step closer, forcing her back until her shoulders hit a tree trunk. “Because watching ye out there, watching ye dance and laugh with other men, was really fucking annoying.”
The crude language should have shocked her. Instead, it sent a bolt of heat straight to her core.
“He’s just a lad,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly even as her pulse raced.
“He’s aman.” Murdock’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “A young man. Closer to yer age than me. Looking at ye like—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.
“Like what?” Leona pressed, emboldened by the darkness and the desire she could see burning in his eyes. “Looking at me like what, Murdock?”
“Like he wanted ye.” The words came out harsh, almost pained. “Like he was imagining what it would be like to touch ye. To kiss ye. To—” He broke off again, his breathing ragged.
Leona stared at him, her own breath coming faster. “So? Why would ye be mad about it, me Laird? It’s nae like this betrothal is real. It’s nae like ye have any claim on?—”
“Daenae.” The word came out sharp as a blade. “Daenae finish that sentence.”
“Why nae? It’s the truth, is it nae?” She knew she was poking a predator, knew it was dangerous, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Ye’re the one who said this changes nothin'. That it’s just business. Just?—”
“I ken what I said!” His fist slammed into the tree beside her head, making her jump. The violence should have frightened her, but instead it sent liquid heat through her veins. “I ken exactly what I said, and I was a goddamn fool.”
He seemed angry with himself more than her, his expression twisted with something that looked like self-loathing. His hands unclenched, then clenched again, over and over, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for her.
“Why?” Leona’s voice came out breathless. “Why were ye a fool?”
