Once they left the seamstress, Ian angled them toward the tavern for a bite and a drink before the long ride back. The building squatted at the edge of the village, smoke curling from its chimney, with open fields stretching wide behind it.
He was mid-sentence about ale when Arianna let out a sharp squeak. Before he understood why, she bolted toward the grass.
Ian cursed and took off after her, heart slamming as his hand went instinctively to the dirk at his belt.
“Arianna, come back!” he shouted, scanning the field for movement. He imagined a snake, a stray dog, something lurking low. When he reached her, breathing hard, he skidded to a stop in disbelief.
Arianna was crouched in the grass, laughing softly, a small brown bunny cradled against her chest.
“Look at it,” she murmured, eyes bright as she stroked its ears.
Ian stared, torn between relief and irritation. “Ye near gave me a panic for a rabbit,” he snapped, though his voice had lost its edge.
She looked up at him, clutching the bunny closer. “Can I keep it?” she asked, hopeful as a child.
Ian crossed his arms. “Nay,” he said flatly.
Her chin lifted at once. “That’s not fair, I’d feel more at home with it there,” she shot back, blue eyes flashing.
He stepped closer, looming without meaning to, his shadow falling over her.
“It’s a wild thing,” he said low, “and castle McGuire isnae a nursery.”
Arianna rose to her feet, still holding the bunny, and met his glare without flinching. “I daenae understand why ye will nae let me have this,” she fired back, her voice shaking with more than temper.
The air between them grew tight, charged, his frustration tangling with something darker and hotter. He noticed how close she was, how the wind lifted strands of her hair, how fiercely she held her ground.
“Ye argue like ye mean to win,” he muttered.
“Aye,” she said, breath quick, “and ye daenae like it when I do.”
The bunny wriggled free of Arianna’s arms and hopped a short distance away, nose twitching as it grazed on the sweet grass. Ian barely noticed the creature after that, for his attention had fixed itself entirely on her. She stood with her hands planted on her hips, breath still uneven from their argument, lips parted as if she meant to say something sharp and had forgotten the words. The sight of her like that struck him low and hard.
He had known she was stubborn, but seeing her defiance burn so bright in the open field stirred something fierce inside him. His gaze traced the tremble of her lips, the rise and fall of her bosom beneath the fitted bodice, the strength in her stance as she faced him without fear. Heat coiled in his gut, hot and unwelcome, dragging his thoughts to places he had sworn to keep locked away. Desire surged, raw and demanding, and it took all his will not to seize her at once.
“I warned ye,” he said roughly, stepping into her space, his voice low and edged, “that yer feistiness would get ye into trouble.”
Before she could retort, before sense could return, he bent and claimed her mouth. The kiss was meant to be a lesson, sharp and brief, but the moment his lips touched hers, something shifted. Instead of pulling away, she softened with a quiet sound, her body yielding against his.
The shock of it nearly stole his breath. Her mouth warmed beneath his, pliant and uncertain yet eager, and the faint taste of her made his head spin. He slid an arm around her without thinking, drawing her closer, feeling the press of her chest against his and the heat of her through layers of wool and linen. The world narrowed to the feel of her in his arms, to the way she fit far too well.
Her hands fisted in his tunic, not pushing him away but holding on, and the knowledge sent fire racing through him. His scars, his missing eye, the walls he kept built high, all seemed to vanish beneath the force of want. He kissed her deeper, slower, savoring the softness of her mouth and the quiet gasp she gave him. Blood roared in his ears, and for one wild heartbeat, he forgot every promise he had made.
With a harsh breath, Ian tore himself away. He stepped back as if burned, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.
She feels like heaven itself in me arms. If I daenae stop it now, I may never be able to. She has me under her spell?
“This ends now,” he said hoarsely, forcing steel back into his voice. “I’m nae touching ye again until our agreement is complete.”
Arianna stared at him, eyes dark and shining, her lips swollen from his, with confusion on her face. “I…Ian, what…?”
He turned from her before she could continue to speak, anger and restraint warring inside him, and strode toward the tavern. Each step felt like dragging himself from something vital, something he wanted more than he dared admit. He got several paces away before stopping short.
Without facing her, he growled, “And ye can keep the damn bunny.” The words felt like surrender, but he did not care. He heard her sharp squeal of delight behind him, light and bright as birdsong, and the sound twisted something deep in his chest. When he turned again, she was scooping up the rabbit, smiling as she hurried to follow him.
She fell into step beside him, clutching the bunny as if it were a treasure, her joy unmistakable. Ian set his jaw and kept his eyes forward, reminding himself with every breath that this woman was dangerous to him in ways no blade ever had been. Yet as they walked toward the tavern, her warmth close at his side, he knew with grim certainty that keeping his word would be far harder than he had imagined.
The tavern doors creaked open beneath Ian’s hand, and the low hum of voices within fell into sudden silence. Warmth rolled out to meet them, thick with the scent of peat smoke, ale,and roasting meat, and the room glowed amber with firelight. Villagers rose from benches and tables alike, bowing their heads in practiced respect as the Laird entered. Ian gave a brief nod in return, his presence commanding without a word.
