Page 15

He had not expected her to throw a lantern at his head. He had not expected her to steal his plaid. And he had not expected to stand in MacKinnon Castle, feeling entertained.

Without a word, the lass grabbed his hand and set the ring on his palm. This time he took it. He watched it for a moment, gold against the calluses. “Come now, lass. Ye can see that it belongs to ye. Ye are me wife, whether ye daenae want to remember or nae.”

“Och, nay.” She recoiled from it as if it were hot. “Nay. Nay, we can pretend it never happened. It was a-a jest that went too far. Everyone was drunk. Nobody needs to ken. Ever. I daenae ever want anyone to ken that I was drunk out of me mind and married a stranger!”

“Nobody,” Evander repeated. “Except me and six men. And the priest. And the fiddler. And the entire inn, who cheered ye down the stairs this morning, I was told.”

Her mouth opened and closed.

He was going to convince her. He had to. She might not want to see reason at first, but all it would take was some quick convincing. He was quite good at that.

“Do ye want me to take offense, lass?” He said it mildly. “It’s only that a clan whose daughter marries a laird and then denies him in front of witnesses… that’s a thing people go to war over, historically speaking.”

The change in her was instant. The panic vanished from her face and was replaced with something harder, chin up, shoulders back.

The corners of his mouth dropped from the teasing lift they’d acquired without his quite meaning to. Her blue eyes were delightful when they were wide and panicked, but when they narrowed in thought, he saw a woman who could stand beside a laird. When they flashed at him, he felt like a blade sliding into its sheath.

“Are ye threatening me family?” Freya snapped.

That seemed to ignite her ire.

Was he threatening her family?

No. The Wolf had done far worse than that. But two hundred people were waiting on a hillside for a home, and he could not afford to let her walk away.

“I’m saying that people have done worse over a rejection.”

“That’s a threat.”

“It’s an observation. When did I ever make a threat against ye or yer family?”

She crossed her arms. It pushed her breasts up against the neckline of her gown, but he kept his eyes on her face.

“What do ye want?” she demanded. “I am sick of playing yer game, so tell me plainly what ye want, Evander. Ye clearly have something in mind, or ye wouldnae have followed me all the way to me sister’s home.”

There it was. The real question. He’d been turning the answer over since the crossroads, and it came out plain, because he didn’t know how else to say things.

He smiled.

Freya narrowed her eyes at him, not calmed one bit.

That was fine. Evander didn’t expect a smile to calm her. His smiles never quite reached his eyes anyway, always carrying a threat behind them. This time, there was no such threat, but it was hard to shake off a reputation that had followed him for years.

“I need a wife and an heir, soon, and I need them from a house that can stand beside mine. Ye’re Laird Muir’s sister and Laird MacKinnon’s sister-in-law, and ye have a right hook that could drop a stag.” He paused. “In exchange, ye’ll have me name, me protection, and the loyalty of me people, who arenae small in number. And ye’ll have the freedom to go where ye like, say what ye like, and spend what ye like. I’ll nae keep ye in a cage.”

Freya’s jaw dropped. “Ye’re asking me to trust ye after ye married me when I thought it was a jest, and threatened me family.”

“We were all a little drunk, lass. But ye kent it was a real priest. So, what do ye say? Be quick, I daenae have all day.” He said it lightly, but he didn’t look away.

He watched her think. It moved across her face plainly, the way weather crossed a hill: doubt, then temper, then something calculating behind it.

Her teeth caught her lower lip, and for a moment, she looked less like the fury who’d thrown a lantern at his head and more like a lass standing at the edge of a cold loch, working out how deep it went.

His gaze dropped to her lower lip, full and pink, and he forced it back up. Then her chin lifted, and he knew before she opened her mouth that she’d decided.

Wild.

It was still the only word he could use to describe her. She seemed less impressed by him, but he had impressed people—and women—with way less over the years.