She gasped, her mouth falling open.
How dare he?
“Ye told us to stay away from the bonny lass, me Laird,” one of his men said. “Was that only because ye wanted her for yerself?”
“Shall we give ye both some privacy, me Laird?” another called out.
A roar of laughter followed.
Violet felt her cheeks flame with mortification, and angry tears filled her eyes. Through her blurry vision, she spotted even Logan whistling.
She lowered her head. This was what she hadn’t wanted—to be treated like the butt of a joke. And now even uncouth men like them would laugh at her expense and make such lewd comments.
“I willnae tolerate such talk about the lass!” the Laird barked, causing everyone to jump. “Ye are to respect her at all times. Anyone caught speakin’ such slander will face me wrath. Am I clear?”
“Aye, me Laird!” they chorused.
Violet didn’t want to feel gratitude towards this man who infuriated her at every turn, yet she found herself filled with an overwhelming need to thank him. It was his fault she had gotten insulted in the first place. After all, if he hadn’t insisted on her sleeping beside him, his men wouldn’t have made such jokes in the first place.
Never had anybody protected her so fiercely, and her heart swelled. But rather than say anything, she lay down on her furs and turned away from him. Her compliance would be the only gratitude she would show him.
She heard the men’s muttered apologies, but she closed her eyes, trying to force back the tears that threatened to fall.
She heard him lie down some minutes later, and her heart began to thud as the heat of him began to seep through her clothes, even though a few feet separated them.
She swallowed hard, stiffening in fear as she wondered if he would lay a hand on her. But for a long minute, she heard nothing but the rhythmic sound of his breathing as he drifted off to sleep.
She let out the breath she had been holding and settled into the furs as well, and soon her body succumbed to the bone-deep exhaustion she had felt all day.
3
The morning of the exchange found Violet shivering in the cold as they rode to the designated bridge crossing in Yorkshire.
She was sitting in front of the Laird as they rode his great stallion, her back aching and buttocks sore from sitting for so long, but the cold was the most pressing of her concerns.
She suppressed a shudder as a cold draft blew by, refusing to lean back into the Laird even though the warmth of his body called to her. He hadn’t spoken to her since they awoke, and even as he helped her mount. She was almost starting to think he was upset with her.
But why? She was the one freezing and uncomfortable in her tight dress. She was the one who had the right to be upset.
She felt herself lean back into him and straightened, adamant on enduring the discomfort until they dismounted.
She shuddered, wrapping an arm around herself. The bridge where the exchange was to take place loomed in the distance, and she looked forward to finally being home and out of her filthy garments.
A warm weight landed on her shoulders suddenly, startling her. She turned back to find the Laird staring ahead like he did nothing, yet the thick plaid on her shoulders spoke of the fact that he had noticed her plight.
Her heart thudded in her chest, but she turned away, pulling the fabric tighter around herself. She couldn’t continue letting him occupy her thoughts as he had in the previous days. Not when she had more interesting things to think about.
The sound of a carriage and horses in the distance filled her with excitement at the possibility of returning home.
Her list rang out clear in her mind now. The things she intended to do once she was back in London, and she had put Lord Westall and her father in their places.
One: Learn how to ride a horse.
Two: Dance with someone handsome.
Three: Learn how to swim.
Four: Have a tea party with friends.
