Page 17 of The Laird's Secret Bairn

“I apologize for me braither,” she said once the door clicked shut behind him. “He means well. He’s only ever been protective. The same goes for me elder sister, Freya.”

“No need to apologize.” Dougal folded his arms, studying her with an unreadable expression. “Now, let’s discuss the terms of our little arrangement, since they’ll bind us for the better part of a month.”

“Terms?” She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought ye’d simply expect me to follow whatever ye said. Have I got it all wrong?”

“I’m nae quite that tyrannical, lass. Though I confess the thought has its appeal.”

Skye couldn’t stop herself from blushing. The man had a talent for flustering her, and a small part of him seemed to enjoy it.

“Go on, then. Tell me yer terms.”

“Ye’ll see things in me castle that might surprise ye. Things people whisper about, and rightly so in some cases.”

“Like the heads of yer enemies above yer fireplace?” Skye joked, despite the rumors swirling around him.

Dougal didn’t answer, but his mouth curved dangerously close to a smile. Closer than she’d seen it all evening at the cèilidh.

“Ye’ll give me yer word that ye’ll tell no one what ye see within me walls. And certainly nae write about it. It is all I ask.”

“I accept yer terms.” She studied him for a long moment, curiosity winning out over caution. “Though I must ask—if ye truly wanted a bride, why suggest a false betrothal? Me braither would never have refused ye outright. I wouldnae have been able to say no to ye, nae with the alliance at stake.”

“Do ye dream of a practical match, then? Land, title, security?”

“Nay.” She said it without hesitation. “I dream of love, foolish as that may sound to a man like ye.”

Skye had dreamed about it since she had come into her womanhood. To be wooed and swept off her feet by a man who adored her. It was her dream. An unreachable one, it seemed for so many.

Freya had warned her off having such dreams. They were, after all, just dreams.

“I daenae dream of it at all.” Dougal’s voice flattened, the humor draining out of it. “Love is messy, lass. It costs people things they cannae afford to lose. I need stability, nae emotions.”

“And yet no practical lass would come to ye willingly, given yer reputation,” Skye reluctantly pointed out.

She was not trying to wave the rumors that had persisted in his face, but it was the reality of his situation.

“Precisely. Which is why I’d never force a hand, even if I wanted one.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I’m still dragging ye back to me lair. I hope ye understand that.”

She felt the words more than heard them, a shiver she couldn’t entirely hide.

“Since this is fake,” she said, recovering her composure with effort, “I have a condition of me own to add to yers.”

“And what is that?”

“No kissing.”

Her cheeks burned as she spoke. Dougal seemed to take note of it, for he smirked, slow and infuriating. “All right. No kissing. Unless ye ask.Nicely. Then I’ll consider kissing ye, lass.”

Skye clasped her hand to her chest, gasping. “I’ll never ask, so ye had better get those thoughts out of yer head.”

“We’ll see, lass. We’ll see.” He turned toward the door.

“Nay, we willnae see,” Skye insisted, straightening up. “I hope ye understand that.”

He smirked. “Aye, I understand ye well, lass, but things change.”

Skye didn’t have a response to that, or rather chose not to.

“I’ll send the carriage in a week. Bring whatever ye need, ye’ll want for nothing at me castle but the freedom to walk out of it whenever ye please.”