“Probably—but I am here. For better...or for worse.”
She rubbed her arms, thinking of the passion they had just shared. But she must not think about it, not now, not ever. No good could ever come of the desire that could so easily rage between them.
Instead, she must think about tomorrow, for it could bring a new beginning for her—one leading to Castle Fyne’s liberation and her freedom—if Sir Guy could defeat Alexander.
“I have to know what happens tomorrow,” she said, looking up at him. “If you were in my place, you would feel the same way. Can I watch the battle tomorrow?”
“Ye’ll stay here, under guard—far from any fighting, and any chance to escape.”
Did he know her so well?
“And Margaret? I will punish my men tomorrow, fer being such fools.”
She was instantly alarmed. “Don’t punish them. Punish me.”
“Ye should have thought about their fates when ye tricked them into thinking ye were Eilidh,” he said flatly.
“I could not bear it if you truly hurt them.”
“They were ordered to bring me Eilidh. By bringing ye, they risked yer life and limb.”
She hugged herself. Had she forgotten how ruthless he could be?
“Are ye still pleased to be here?” he asked bluntly.
“Do you think to teach them a lesson, or me?”
“Ye need a good lesson, lady, because I will not always be present to guard ye. Yer courage is admirable. But it is misplaced. The day will come where it will put ye in jeopardy.”
“Why do you care?”
“Ye need a protector, Lady Margaret.”
“You almost sound as if you think to be that man.”
His gaze held hers. “I want ye to be my mistress.”
She gasped. Had he truly just asked her to become his lover?
“Aye, we’re at war. Aye, we’re blood enemies—a MacDougall and a MacDonald. But my brother married Juliana MacDougall. Ye need a protector, Lady Margaret.”
She was stunned. “I cannot become your mistress!”
“Because of the war? Sir Guy? Buchan? Or because yer afraid that ye truly want me?”
She choked. “Yes,” she managed to answer. She could not become his mistress because of the war, Sir Guy, her family—and the attraction they shared.
“We could be enjoying this night together. I could be yer protector, in every way. I would protect ye from Buchan’s wrath and Sir Guy’s rage. Ye could be mistress of Castle Fyne.” His gaze had become searching. “And ye’d never have to become an Englishman’s wife.”
It was almost as if he was asking for marriage—which he was not. Not that she would consider marriage, which would be far worse than any lover’s affair. They were blood enemies; they were at war. She was his prisoner—and she was promised to another.
And even if she were not promised to Sir Guy, she would not sleep with the man who had taken Castle Fyne from her. She could not betray her family that way.
“I will find a pallet for myself—ye can use mine.” He picked up his mantle, throwing it over his shoulders. But at the hide door, he paused. “Ye ken I may have to kill him?”
She recoiled. “Why would you have to kill Sir Guy?”
His gaze narrowed. “He stands in my way.”
