The Highlander's Defiant Captive (The Lairds Most Likely 4)

“I beg your pardon.” He clicked his tongue to urge Sigurn to walk toward the dunes. “Actually, madam, I’d like to know whose pardon I’m begging. Will ye nae tell me your name?”

She wriggled weakly until she could see him. Once again, he found himself transfixed by those striking eyes. She looked pale and tense and afraid.

“Mr. Mactavish…”

His grip tightened, before he recognized that clutching her closer wasn’t likely to soothe her unc

ertainty. He loosened his hold and lowered his voice, hoping sincerity might overcome her trepidation. “I ken I’m a stranger, and you have nae reason to trust me, but I’m only trying to help. Surely there can be nae danger in telling me who ye are. I’d like to be able to call ye something, and if I know your name, I can contact your family and arrange for them to come and fetch you. Ye have my word as a gentleman that I mean you nae harm.”

She stared searchingly at him, as if trying to pierce through his skin to his soul. To his dismay, the fear he read in her eyes didn’t ease. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for being hesitant to confide in him—they’d known each other less than an hour after all, and she’d been through a hell of an ordeal before he found her.

After a charged silence, those thick eyelashes fluttered down and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mactavish,” she said in a broken rush. “I wish I could tell you my name. But for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is.”