She fought harder for a moment, thrashing in his hold. Her elbows dug into his chest with all of the force she could muster. As she attempted to wrench her arm free, she seemed to realize that she was truly outmatched here.
“Lass,” he said, his mouth close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Quit yer fightin’.”
She turned her head toward him then, her green eyes a raging thunderstorm. Her mouth opened, her lungs filling with air. A scream, louder than anything he’d heard before, left her body. It was her last defense, a wild and reckless attempt to get him to release her that would only serve to alert predators in the area to their location.
Reaching for a kerchief in his breast pocket, he tightened his grip, squeezing the rest of the wind from her. He shoved the fabric in her mouth, only partly because he wished to silence her. The last thing he wanted was to lose her because a wolf heard what it took to be an injured animal and came for an easy meal.
“Enough,” he said, adjusting his hold on her and spinning her around so he could look at her properly. “I’m nae lettin’ ye tear yerself apart nor get us killed by a beast.”
Her chest heaved, her mouth working as she attempted to wet the cloth with enough saliva to spit it out. The intensity of her gaze was even greater now. It was as if she were trying to set his entire being ablaze.
He watched her as her breathing slowly evened out. The tension didn’t leave her body, but it morphed into something less volatile. She looked less as if she were going to immediately run and more as though she were coiled for a fight.
“Will ye behave if I take it out?” he asked once he deemed her less of a risk.
The girl stared up at him, her eyes narrowing. Her mouth twisted into something as close to a scowl as she could muster with the gag, but finally, she gave a single nod, prompting him to pull the cloth free.
As soon as her mouth was empty, she spat in the dirt. Without trying to extract herself from his hold, she said, “I’m nae goin’ back there.”
“Ye’ll die out here,” he replied, the calmness in his voice only serving to infuriate her further.
“Better that than chains,” she snarled.
His hands shifted, grabbing hold of her biceps tightly. Beneath the sleeves of her gown, she felt warm. Alive. As he spoke, his eyes narrowed. “Nay one is chainin’ ye, lass.”
The girl threw her head back, letting loose a brittle, broken laugh. A bitter smile settled on her face, and she kept her face upturned. He waited for her to speak, but she stayed stubbornly silent.
“Do ye think that I dragged ye out of that tower to put ye in another cage?” he challenged.
“I ken it,” she replied with no hesitation, her breathing ragged from the struggle. “Men always find a reason.”
It wasn’t lost on him that he was still holding her captive. He shifted his grip to her wrists. Her pulse pounded wildly beneath his palm. His hands were holding her steady rather than the iron chains he’d found her in. The only difference to her was the temperature of her binds. And he could tell that the warmth didn’t matter to her.
* * *
Amelia bared her teeth at the man as he began to walk them toward the camp. He’d given up on arguing with her, it seemed, instead hauling her back. She wondered if he realized that he was proving her point. Or perhaps he was afraid that she’d try to dig her canines into his flesh.
“Ye need to ken this is me land,” he said, slowing his pace as he guided her over exposed, gnarled roots. “I decide which dangers enter.”
She huffed, her eyes focused on the ground in front of them. Was she not held captive on this land? His logic dictated that he’d allowed it.
“What happens to the dangers that are already here, then?” she asked finally, fallen leaves crunching under her toes.
“That,” he said, the grip he had on her wrist relaxing slightly, “depends entirely on whether or nae ye keep threatenin’ to bite me.”
Despite herself, Amelia snorted. When Darragh turned toward her, she snarled, flashing her teeth at him again. He scoffed at her before he continued leading her to the camp.
As soon as they were back in the village of canvas structures, he completely bypassed the tent that she’d been assigned. Another wave of panic surged through her. It seemed as if she’d no longer be allowed the small bit of freedom she’d been afforded when she first arrived.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she demanded, digging her heels into the ground.
“Clearly ye cannae stay in a tent,” he replied. “Ye’re too tempted to run free. Me men and I cannae watch ye properly in the open air.”
“So ye’re throwin’ me in a cell?” she exclaimed, yanking her arm back but not succeeding in freeing herself. “Ye said ye wouldnae throw me in another cage, yet that’s exactly what ye’re goin’ to do.”
“I dinnae say that ye’re bein’ thrown in a cell,” Laird Fraser said, continuing to drag her along. “I’m simply transportin’ ye somewhere that’s better suited to yer needs. Now, are ye goin’ to walk, or am I goin’ to have to carry ye?”
“Well, yer description sounded quite similar to a cell,” she complained, reluctantly following again to save herself the humiliation of being thrown over the man’s shoulder. “Actually, yer description might as well have been somewhere that I cannae run away.”
