Page 60 of It’s in his Highland Kiss

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked. “You really shouldn’t be nervous around me, dear Marion.”

“I’m not,” she lied. She kept the commander’s gaze, and in it, she saw that he was taking a twisted pleasure in her reaction.

Before she knew what was happening, she felt the commander’s lips against her own. With an indignant yelp, she leaped backwards, her hand coming up to strike the commander across the cheek.

“How dare you?” she yelled. In that moment, she didn’t care if the commander would take offense at her actions. She didn’t care about anything other than the fact that he had kissed her without her consent, and she was not about to let it slide. “You speak of marriage, you speak of talking to my parents, and then you do that? Perhaps that is why you’re not married yet, Commander Forbes.”

The commander laughed, a hand coming up to touch his cheek where Marion had slapped him, before his fingers trailed to his lips, brushing over them. It seemed to amuse him, knowing that Marion was so angry and flustered, and that only served to infuriate her even more.

“Come now, Marion,” the commander said. “We both know that you enjoy the attention. There is no need to be such a prude when you’re with me. I’ll have you, one way or another.”

Marion had never encountered a man as delusional and self-centred as the commander. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind and tell him what she truly thought about him, but instead, she decided to put as much distance between them as she could while he was drunk.

“If you wish to have me, as you say, then you’ll respect me,” she told him, as she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

Drunk as he was, the commander was unsteady on his feet, and Marion managed to move him to the side with ease. Once he was out of the way, she ran out of the tent, and then out of the camp, heading deeper into the woods.

She couldn’t leave; she knew that. She still had a duty, and besides, if she tried to make her way back to Scotland, then the commander would know, and he would follow her there. She could at least be away from him for a while though, and that was precisely what she did, sitting under a large oak and trying to catch a breath that she didn’t even know she had lost.

What a wretched man! One day, he’ll get what he deserves.

One day, Marion told herself. One day, he would be gone, and no other woman would have to put up with him. Until then, Marion would have to bear the burden.

She hoped that the commander would be there, fighting alongside his men when they attacked the MacLeod Castle. She hoped that Eiric would be the one to push a sword through his flesh.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The days passed slowly, excruciatingly so. Eiric woke up every day with the same thought in his mind, the same worry as always: what if something happened to Marion?

All he wanted was to find her and bring her back to Scotland, but healing turned out to be a slow process, much slower than he had anticipated. Every other time he had gotten hurt, he had no trouble being on a horse, sword in hand, within days. Then again, he had never been hurt so much before, and his body had never had to heal so many wounds at the same time.

He was restless. Even when he was in bed, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and when he did manage to sleep, he always had the same nightmare of Marion dead before he could save her. When he was not in bed, but rather up on his feet, trying to get back to his former self, his weakness frustrated him so terribly that he often gave up, going back to his room.

It was there where Edan found him, two days after he had last made an appearance. Eiric wasn’t expecting the other man to burst into his room as though he owned the place, but there he was, walking around and shoving the curtains open to let the light in, much to Eiric’ chagrin.

“What do ye want?” Eiric asked him. “I’d verra much like to be alone, so if ye dinna mind, there’s the door.”

“I’m nae lettin’ ye stay in here a day longer,” Edan said. “Ye’re nae even that hurt anymore. Come noo, stand up.”

Eiric threw an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the sun and pretending that he couldn’t see Edan at the same time. His limbs felt like lead, heavy and unmovable, and there was nothing that could move him from that bed.

Or so he thought, until Edan grabbed the covers off him and grabbed his legs, dragging him off the mattress. Before Eiric could even complain, he was on the floor, and he could either be stubborn and stay there or stand up.

He chose the latter. It didn’t become the son of the laird to lie on the floor and wallow in his misery.

“There ye are,” Edan said, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Was that so difficult?”

“More than ye may think,” Eiric said, a hand running through his hair, his fingers tangling through the knots in his strands. “What do ye want from me anyway? Dinna ye have an army to command?”

“Nay, ye have an army to command,” Edan said. “I said I’d take over while ye heal, and weel, ye’re all healed noo.”

Eiric couldn’t say that Edan was entirely in the wrong. He did feel much better, even though it had taken him longer than he would have liked, but even though his body was healing, his mind refused to catch up.

He wasn’t worried only about Marion. He was worried about himself, about everyone else. Marion may have managed to sneak him out of the camp, but he had seen and experienced the cruelty of the English first-hand.

Lynton wouldn’t stop until he had killed every Scot or until he, himself, was dead. And though Eiric had made it his personal mission to defeat Lynton—after finding Marion and bringing her home—there were dozens of men like him out there, all of them leading their own little armies of Englishmen.

There were only so many men who could fight in the castle. What would happen when hordes of Englishmen invaded their home?