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Chapter Eight
That presumptuous, pompous fool!
The same words echoed over and over in Nimue’s head and had done so for the better part of the night. She had not managed to get close to sleep, her fury bubbling over and making it impossible for her brain to quiet down.
Her heart was thumping in her chest at the mere thought of that kiss, sending jolts of anger through her with every heartbeat. Her hands shook with it, and her head pounded with thoughts of Chrisdean.
Why would he think that he could kiss her? How could he think that she would simply give in to his desires, as though she existed only to give him what he wanted?
But didna I like it?
The truth was that she had, at least at first. Chrisdean’s lips were soft against her own, and his hands had left a brand on her that she couldn’t wipe out of her mind. She could still feel them on her hips, gentle but insistent. Images of their kiss flashed in her head again and again, and with every reminder, the heat pooled in her belly, and her skin erupted in goose bumps. All it took was one thought of Chrisdean and of those lips for her to feel that strange, unfamiliar tingle between her legs.
The point was, though, that she shouldn’t have liked the kiss, she told herself. She didn’t love him, nor could she ever love him after what he had done to her.
She should have never listened to Mairi. She should have stayed away from him, no matter what it would have taken.
With a slam of her fists onto the mattress, she stood from her bed and made her way to her vanity, looking at herself in the small mirror. She had made her demands, and now it was up to Chrisdean to decide if he was going to be cruel enough to keep her as his prisoner or if he would return her to her home.
And yet, there was a spark inside her that she could neither ignore nor make sense of. It had all started when Chrisdean had kissed her, and it confused her, leaving her thoughts jumbled and her resolve crumbling.
Just because he kissed ye, lass, it doesna mean that ye’ll change yer mind. He might be the first man that kisses ye, but he’s far from the kind of man ye wish to have.
She did not like Chrisdean, she told herself. She didn’t want him, she didn’t feel anything for him, and whatever that spark was, it would soon fade. She refused to believe that her body and mind would be so traitorous as to fall for a man who had caused her nothing but misery, even if that man had a mane of blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight, blue eyes that pierced her with every look, and a set of muscles unlike anything she had ever seen on a man before.
She shook her head, trying to get such thoughts out of it. So what if he was good-looking? He was still a barbarian.
Hours passed with Nimue locked up in her chambers, waiting for Chrisdean to come to her with an answer. By noon, she found that she could no longer sit and do nothing, and so she crept out of the door, thinking that perhaps a well-planned chance encounter would force him to speak to her.
As she walked around the castle, Nimue truly took in her surroundings for the first time, from the old, stone walls to the rich tapestries that hung from them and from the paintings in their gilt frames to the windows that let in the sunlight and the fragrance of the flowers in the courtyard below.
Nimue stood in the corridor for a while, looking at those paintings, at the portraits that surely belonged to Chrisdean’s ancestors. When her eyes fell on a woman that bore a striking resemblance to him, she knew it was his late mother.
“Ach, ye’re out of yer room.”
Nimue jumped with a gasp, her hand coming up to her chest. Chrisdean seemed to have an unfortunate habit of sneaking up on her when she least expected it, startling and scaring her.
“Ye didna seem like ye’d come to me, so I thought I might find ye out here,” Nimue said. “What will it be?”
Chrisdean hesitated for a long time, to the point where Nimue thought that she would never get an answer from him. Just as she was about to turn away in frustration, though, he finally spoke.
“I must ask ye to forgive me,” he told her. “Ye were right, I shouldna have done what I did. Trust me when I tell ye that I will never do such a thing again.”
It wasn’t what Nimue had expected, but she appreciated the apology. At least it seemed like Chrisdean had realized his mistake, and that was more than Nimue had thought possible only moments prior.
“But I’m afraid I canna return ye to yer home,” he continued. “Nor will I keep ye as me prisoner. My offer still stands, and I want ye to accept it. I’ll do anythin’ it takes.”
Nimue, startled, blinked a few times in confusion as she watched Chrisdean with a careful gaze. Could he be serious? Could he still be trying, even after Nimue’s rejection?
“Why?” she asked. “Why me? Why . . . why all this? Why na marry the daughter of another Laird, someone who will want ye?”
“Na one is as powerful as yer faither in the Lowlands,” Chrisdean said. “And besides, he’s the one who supports the English more than anyone else. If I have him on me side, no one else will dare join them.”
Nimue knew that Chrisdean was right, but she still refused to marry him simply because her father refused to support Scotland. “I am opposed to his ideas,” she admitted. “And I have tried to convince him to abandon his alliance with the English several times. We fought about that very cause the day ye took me. But I told ye, I willna marry ye because of this. There must be a better way to persuade me faither to change his mind.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” Chrisdean said. “We all have. Yer faither is a stubborn man. He reminds me of someone . . . who could it be?”
The grin that Chrisdean gave Nimue was a maddening one. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, her brow pleated as she looked at him. “Ye think that me and me faither are stubborn? What about ye?” she asked. “Ye’re the one who willna take na for an answer!”
