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

Not for the first time, she cursed the accident of beauty. When she was a wee lassie, she'd preened to hear people call her bonny and to see her father's obvious pride in her. But with growing maturity, she'd come to recognize that beauty turned her into a challenge, a prize, and a threat. It affected her dealings with the world in a way she couldn't control.

Before the Mackinnon met her, he’d been set on making her his wife. Now he'd seen her, she could tell he'd never willingly relinquish her.

"Mistress Drummond, are ye ready for your bath now?"

Mhairi emerged from brooding to discover the three maids left in the room regarding her curiously. Curiously and with visible hostility. She could hardly blame them. A Mackinnon in the Drummond household would receive no warmer welcome.

She didn't attempt to smile, but she spoke courteously as befitted a lady. However much of a tatterdemalion she must appear to these women in their neat white blouses and plaid kirtles. "I'd like some privacy, if ye please."

The three women glanced at one another. "The Mackinnon wishes us to help ye to bathe and dress," the oldest said, a tall, spare lady with graying hair.

How Mhairi wished her captor had allowed Flossie to serve her. "Will ye wait outside, then?"

"We are to stay with ye, mistress. Those are our orders."

Mhairi’s lips tightened with impatience. Clearly not even the last trumpet would shift them when that great god, the chieftain of the clan, had spoken his will.

Meanwhile all that lovely hot water in the wooden tub went cold. The idea of soaking limbs stiff from hours on horseback was irresistible. Recognizing that she wasn't going to win, she sighed.

"What are your names?" She couldn't call them maid one, two, and three.

The older woman spoke again, indicating the other two girls. "Brigid and Sheena. And I'm Jean."

Mhairi stood impassive as the women removed her stained and torn clothing, cringing at the impression she must make. The night she’d spent hunkered down in the forest hadn't done her appearance any favors. The maids let down her thick red hair. She didn't react to the vicious pinches on her arms and legs. With all those hands upon her, she couldn't tell if it was one particular maid or all of them.

She blinked back stinging tears. No Drummond would cry in front of a Mackinnon. They could strip the flesh from her bones before she'd stoop to asking for mercy. But this treatment made her more aware than ever of how futile the Mackinnon's plan was. Centuries of hatred didn't end merely on one man’s say-so.

"Leave the shift." It was proper for a woman to bathe in her shift, so nobody would insist on her nakedness.

"Aye, my lady," Jean said.

As Mhairi sank into the tub and drew a deep breath redolent of the aromatic herbs sprinkled across the water, she closed her eyes and prayed that she did her clan proud through this ordeal. She also prayed that the Mackinnon saw sense and sent her back to her father before too long.

***

Shaved, wearing clean clothes, and with his long hair tied back in a queue, Callum paused outside the door to the tower bedroom. He’d come to fetch his unwilling captive so she could sup with his clan.

Self-doubt wasn't his usual state, but all day the memory of Mhairi’s stubborn resistance had troubled him. He'd imagined some kind treatment and a bit of charm might be enough to bring her around to the idea of marrying him. But then, he hadn't expected her to be such a formidable opponent. Her strength and resolve made him like her better, which was a good thing when marriage was inevitable. But in the shorter term, that defiance promised conflict.

He hadn't imagined that he’d start his wooing feeling the way he felt when he charged into battle. But as he knocked and pushed open the door, his shoulders were square and every sense was alert to trouble ahead.

The door opened silently, and he stepped inside. From the corner of his vision, something large and dark swung toward him. He had a second to release a grunt of shock, as he staggered under the blow to his head.

Pain shuddered through him. He'd barely registered what happened when another blow struck his temple. Seeing stars, he slumped back against the door.

"What the devil?" he grated out, instinctively reaching for his assailant.

Through reeling confusion, his hands closed on soft female flesh. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard a furious exhalation. When the girl wriggled to escape him, it was too much for his precarious balance. He tumbled to the floor, dragging his captive with him.

Something thudded to the ground near his pounding head as a slender body collapsed on top of him with another oof of furious breath.

His grip tightened as he forced his eyes open. "Lie still, plague take ye."

She wrenched far enough away for him to see brilliant blue eyes promising him injury. "Let me go."

Even in his extremity, Callum noticed how perfectly Mhairi Drummond's body fitted against his. Without thinking, he ran his hand down her back to shape the luscious curve of her arse. For one vibrant second, she remained still under his touch. Then she gave a disgusted exclamation and twisted to bring her knee up.

He gave a surprised exhalation and wrenched out from under her before she made his hopes of children an impossibility.