God, why did he let her infuriate him so? She was a spoiled child with no idea how anyone lived outside of her little world.
“I know enough to understand that you are not to be trusted, and I for one cannot wait until the king stretches your neck.”
“So be it.”
He would not waste one more breath trying to convince her otherwise. She was not worth it.
Angus rode as hard as he could then, and arrived at the inn just as the moon was rising. He dismounted and tied the horse to a post outside, near a trough. He whistled and a young boy came running. Angus flipped him a silver piece.
“Can you see to my horse?”
The boy’s eyes were wide pools as he inspected the coin. “Aye, m’lord.”
“Good. Brush him hard.”
Angus then grabbed her waist and pulled her from the horse, setting her down hard upon the ground. He took her hand and pulled her along with him inside the inn.
MacLean was already there, thankfully. Angus had given him fair warning on the way to Edinburgh that he may need assistance.
“I need a room for her,” he said, tossing a glance in her direction. “Something that locks from the outside.”
CHAPTER THREE
Annabella curled herself into a ball on the down-filled bed. This was not what she had expected. While the chamber was not exactly as lavish as the ones to which she was accustomed, it was quite comfortable.
Candles burned on wall sconces and the moonlight shone through the open shutters. A fire raged in the hearth and a kitchen wench—that’s the only word that could describe the buxom woman with the throaty laugh—had brought a steaming pot of stew with bread and ale a while ago.
Now that her comfort was seen to, Annabella tried to wrap her mind around what had occurred that day, and how to proceed. She was the prisoner of Angus MacDonald—a Highlander.
Her body was tense and achy. She rubbed the sides of her arms where he had wrapped his around her. She rolled over onto her back and spied the canopy above. The material had a criss-cross pattern of greys and blacks, and she supposed it was made of wool.
A shiver ran through her. Helpless and alone among strangers, what chance did she have with men who would rather slit a person’s throat than negotiate terms?
Joan had told her many stories of the horrors of clan feuds in the Highlands. Annabella swallowed hard.
Though the travel that day had been stressful, Annabella had noted the wild, unkempt land, and could not deny the untamed beauty of the place. She sat up and noticed a tear on the hem of her gown. It was made of heavy gold and crimson brocade and, while it was not exactly a delicate gown, it had not been intended for the journey she had endured.
She raked her fingers through her tresses to attempt to untangle the knots a day of riding had created. She must look a fright! With no brush to sort it, she did the best she could with her fingers, but gave up in frustration a short while later.
She was not interested in impressing any of these men, but she was still a lady and they could not take that away from her. She left the bed and sat in a chair near the hearth, its warmth offering little comfort.
Annabella mulled over her dilemma and her fate. MacDonald had said she would be used as a bargaining tool for his father. Could she trust his word that no harm would come to her?
And what of her cousin? Annabella got up and paced. Had Joan given birth yet?
What if there had been complications? What if the guards had not arrived in time? And the one called Graham, had he abandoned the queen as soon as she and MacDonald left?
Annabella wrapped her arms around her middle. Surely there must be some way for her to find out how her cousin fared. There must be some way for her to appeal to his sensibilities, if he even had any. What sort of gentleman would prohibit a lady from relieving herself? She had been in such a way that she’d feared soiling the saddle!
Fresh images of their bodies sharing the saddle flooded her mind. Her cheeks burned. She had much to be mortified over on the journey here. How on earth had she allowed him to kiss her like that? And then respond! She had acted like nothing better than a common wench, like the woman who had served her earlier.
Annabella looked down at her own bosom. She tugged down the bodice of her gown; the square neckline slid down across her breasts, resulting in exaggerated cleavage.
“I can do that, too,” she said to herself. “And now I am talking to myself.” She shook her head and turned toward the door. “You will drive me mad, Angus MacDonald!”
A heartbeat later, the door opened to reveal the man himself. Annabella’s breath caught in her throat. He did not wear the guard’s uniform anymore, but was now dressed in a tunic with a woollen plaid flung over his shoulder and secured at his waist with a belt. At his breast, he wore a large silver brooch with four glittering amethyst stones. His hair shone golden in the candlelight, and his green eyes sparkled. His lips were curled into a grin, and he resembled a wildcat about to pounce on its prey.
“To whom did you speak just now?” She stepped back.
