“Aye, here I sit,” she replied. “And if ye keep the ale coming, I willnae have reason to leave.”
A smirk flickered over his face. She could already feel the drink beginning to soften the edges of her wiseness, a dangerous place to find herself, but she could not help it.
“Is that how ye see it, aye?” he asked, his eyes flashing with something she could not quite read.
She shrugged, leaning forward. “Well, when ye’re married to a Laird with such little joy as ye," she shot back, daring. “I must find it where I can.”
“When yer wife takes such pleasure in defying ye,” he retorted, without missing a beat. “Ye cannae be blamed for lacking joy.”
Her eyes narrowed, sensing a thread to tug on, against her better judgement.
“Ye think I do all of this because I take pleasure in it, then?” she asked, sighing.
“I think ye’re perfectly capable of behaving yersel’, when ye want to,” he replied, voice dropping, clearly amused by her sudden change of tone. “But ye dinnae have any intention of doing that when ye ken that I’ll have to take ye in hand.”
“Take me in hand?” she laughed, her voice raising, attracting the attention of a few people seated on either side of them. “Ye speak of me as though I’m some wild horse?—”
“I’ve told ye, a horse I could tame,” he remarked.
“So ye’d rather have a horse than me?” she protested, her pride suddenly bruised.
There was something about the way he looked at her that seemed to pierce too close to the truth, as though he could tell that she had been spooked by something and was simply putting up a front to keep him at arm’s length. Whenever he punctured through it, she felt exposed, in danger, at risk of something she could not bear to admit to.
“Lower yer voice,” he told her, and she tossed her hands in the air.
“You think ye can just?—”
His hand reached for her leg beneath the table, gripping down roughly onto her knee and knocking the air from her in a single motion.
“I think I take as much pleasure in taming ye as any wild beast,” he murmured, his eyes darkening, his voice laced with suggestion.
The flutter in her heart rose once more, and she wished she could curse herself for reacting to him so easily, but she could not deny the power of his gaze, of his touch.
He rose to his feet before she could reply and held out his hand to her.
“Come. Ye need yer rest.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I havenae finished my ale yet.”
“Aye, and ye dinnae need to,” he replied, his voice edged with warning, offering her the chance to back away from this before she made more of a scene.
A few more people were looking over at them, no doubt committing every word exchanged between the two of them to memory, gossip so delicious it would keep them fed for days. She didn’t care. Let them judge, let them think what they wanted.
“I’m not going anywhere until I?—”
He laughed again. A low, deep sound that echoed through her bones and coursed through her body. She squeezed her fists in her lap, willing herself to contain this want for him, this need that seemed to push everything else from her mind.
“Ye can play at being defiant as much as ye want,” he murmured as he lowered himself in front of her, eyes not moving from hers. “But that willnae stop me from taking ye in my arms in a heartbeat, lass.”
And, with that, he did as he promised. He pulled her into his arms, straight from the seat she had been perched in, and carried her towards the narrow staircase that led to the rooms beyond. Her lips parted in surprise, and she thought for a moment of crying out in protest, but she was sure nobody would have come to her aid. Nor did she want them to, if she was to be honest.
“Ye cannae just?—”
“Then tell me to stop, lass,” he replied, as he planted her on her feet at the top of the stairs, next to the room that must have been theirs.
She gazed at him, willing herself to come up with something to undercut his sudden control of her, but she could not find it. She swallowed hard, and he moved towards her, hand on her waist, nose against her neck.
