Page 29 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

“You’re a man. You can do what you want.”

He popped a strip of meat into his mouth and chewed meditatively. Pippia found her gaze drawn to his lips as he did so and dragged her gaze back up to his eyes with embarrassed horror. He didn’t seem to have noticed, at least.

For a moment, Pippia almost wished that Arran was an ugly, hard-hearted brute of a kidnapper who had no real care for her comfort or peace of mind. At least then he wouldn’t elicit these strange and uncomfortable feelings.

It couldn’t be natural to feel attracted to one’s kidnapper.

“You’d be surprised at how often that isn’t true.”

Pippia pursed her lips. “Look, it’s clear that you aren’t going to let me go.”

“I’m glad that you’ve finally got it. I don’t want to deal with bargaining all the way to where we’re going.”

“Will you at least answer some of my questions?”

Arran waited a heartbeat or two before answering. “You can ask your questions,” he said finally. “I can’t guarantee an answer, or at least not the answer you’re wanting. But there’s no harm in asking. I don’t see why you and I can’t rub along well enough together. We’ve a long way to go, and the time will drag if we don’t know at least a little about each other.”

That was good enough. Pippia carefully smothered the spark of hope—he’d agreed to possibly let her hear a little more information, not to take her home—and composed herself.

“Where are we?”

“I’m not rightly sure. In the forest somewhere. You know the forest that comes before the river? They call it Ach nan Seileach.”

“Yes, I know it.”

Pippia sighed. The forest was huge, spanning miles and miles of ground. It crossed the river at some point, encroaching onto Stewart land. All Pippia knew of her surroundings were gleaned from rough old maps spread out on the tables of Malcolm’s study. Unfortunately, lines of ink and circular blobs meant to indicate trees and forests did not translate well into real life.

Even so, Arran hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know. “How far have we traveled?”

Arran smiled. “Far enough.”

Damn. The man wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t about to let Pippia pinpoint her location.

“Well, how far do we have to go?”

“Oh, a good way yet.”

Again, a clever and evasive answer. Pippia glared at him. Arran was smiling sweetly at her, and she just knew that he was teasing her.

Why did that make her want to smile back? He’d certainly been kind and considerate until now, but he was still her kidnapper. She should want to stab him in his sleep, not kiss his smiling pink lips.

In an attempt to distract herself from this disastrous series of thoughts, Pippia hastily formed a new question.

“Will I be killed when we get to where we’re going?”

The smile vanished from Arran’s face. “No. Not if I’ve a say in it.”

She believed him. Why did she believe him? Pippia took a deep breath. “Once and for all, will you tell me where we’re going?”

Arran turned to look at the fire, which was little more than smoldering embers by now. “I can’t tell you exactly where you’re going, but I can tell you who sent me to get you.”

Pippia’s heart sped up. This is progress! This was real, tangible progress and something Arran never would have considered only a day ago.

“Alright. Go on.”

“My name is Arran Stewart of the Stewart clan. Laird James Stewart sent me to take you.”

Laird Stewart. Malcolm’s sworn enemy. A ruthless, coldhearted murderer who had killed more McTavie men than Pippia could remember. The man who would slaughter Malcolm—and Pippia herself—to end the McTavie line and win the feud by default. Pippia had never met the man, but she’d heard enough horror stories from her father and other McTavie warriors to ensure that she never wanted to.