Page 14 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Anger erupted in Niamh’s chest. “Dae ye intend tae treat me like a prisoner?”

“Aye. If I must. I asked ye tae cease yer antics. Since ye willnae, I’ll dae whatever I have tae, in order tae make ye behave.” He placed the bridle and cinched the saddle again, then turned to Niamh and cupped her burning face in one hand. “I said I’d tolerate an angry wife, and so I will. I dinnae demand ye act like a proper lady, Niamh Cameron, but I’ll nae have ye acting like a senseless, spoiled bairn.”

Niamh wrenched away. “Touch me like that again, and I’ll bite ye.”

To her surprise, Alistair laughed, a low, almost mirthless sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “I dae believe ye would. Though I warn ye, ye’ll find riding a trial if ye dae.”

Before she could frame a reply, he caught the reins in one hand, the rope in the other, and proceeded to boost her into the saddle before swinging up behind her. Niamh swayed, unable to balance properly. Then Alistair’s arms were around her, bracing her in the saddle, and she found herself leaning into his shoulder to steady herself as she clutched the front of the saddle. Her cheeks felt hot as coals, and she was sure she must be blushing fit to rival her father’s roses.

Out in the courtyard, the other horses were laden with packs, though one had a spare saddle for her. Her father was also there, watching with a clenched jaw and unhappy eyes.

For a moment Niamh considered asking him for help. She even opened her mouth to protest Alistair’s treatment. Then she remembered what her father had planned.

He’s the one who summoned this brute tae be me husband. Likely as nae, havin’ traded me betrothal fer gold, he’d nae protest if I was dragged away in chains.

It was an unfair thought, and an unkind one, but that didn’t stop her from lifting her chin and looking away from him.

“Niamh. Daughter.” She heard him call her name, pleading for a word or a glance, any sort of farewell. She kept her face forward, anger turning cold as ice as she ignored the entreaty.

Alistair leaned forward. “Best say yer farewells now lass. ‘Tis a long journey we have tae make, and ‘twill be longer still afore ye see yer faither again.”

“I dinnae care. I have naething tae say tae him.” Niamh hissed the words through clenched teeth, and steadfastly refused to acknowledge the tightness in her throat, the ache in her chest, and the stinging in her eyes.

“Last chance.”

“Good. ‘Twill save me the trouble o’ refusin’ again.” The thought of parting without a farewell hurt, but her pride and her anger were too great to let her face her father.

“As ye will. I can only hope ye dinnae regret it.” A motion and a word from Alistair, and the horse stepped forward into a dignified walk.

Two minutes later, they were past the gates, riding down the main path from the castle with the rest of the horses following behind them on a lead line. Within half a candle-mark, Cameron Castle was a small structure barely visible to her when she craned her neck around. By the time a candle-mark had passed, it was gone from sight and the two of them were alone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Within a candle-mark of beginning the journey to his lands, Alistair decided that riding with a prisoner in his arms was a bit like trying to hold the sharpened section of an unsheathed blade with bare hands. Difficult, nerve-wracking, and likely to draw blood. Niamh might have the sense not to thrash and risk a fall, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Niamh Cameron was angry and not at all afraid to let him know it. Before long, his shins were bruised from her ‘accidental’ kicks, and his ears were aching from her ceaseless complaints.

After the third elbow to his ribs, he slid his arms under hers on either side so that his ribs were no longer where she could hit them. Niamh exploded into snarls of rage. “Ye brute! I didnae ever give ye permission tae touch me like that! Let go!”

“If I let go, ye’ll fall. And I’m in nay mind tae turn up at me own clan black and blue from yer elbows. Besides…” He let his voice drop to a low rumble. “’Tis only an arm around yer waist. Are ye protesting because I’m tae forward, or…” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “because I’m nae forward enough?”

“Ye’re a right knave and a shameless rake, MacDuff. Dinnae even think tae tak’ more liberties, or I’ll find a way tae stick a knife in yer ribs, bound hands or nae.” Her voice was venomous.

He smirked at her ire. “As ye will, me lady. But ye’ve only tae say the word if ye change yer mind.”

That earned him an extra hard kick to the shin, and Alistair’s smirk widened.

Niamh was well on her way to despising him, and that was all for the best. As long as she hated him, the curse he’d received after the death of his first beloved would remain dormant. As long as there was nothing between them save civility, there was nothing for either of them to fear.

It might not be the most comfortable journey, or the most comfortable marriage, but it would suffice.

The uneven ground altered the horse’s gait, and swayed Niamh’s weight back against him. Her slim form leaned against his chest, offering an illusion of trust and amiability. Alistair grimaced at the rush of blood to his groin. The leggings he wore for long rides hid his reaction from Niamh, but he couldn’t help shifting in discomfort.

“Dinnae even dare think o’ letting me fall.”

Alistair cursed in his head when he realized she’d felt his movement. He scowled at the petite figure in his arms. “I wouldnae consider it.”

Niamh managed to turn enough to glare at him. “And how am I tae ken that? Ye obviously dare many other actions a proper laird wouldnae consider.”