"God’s blood, you're a wildcat." Admiration rang in his voice.
"Ye patronizing pig," she snarled, scrambling out of his hold.
She was panting for breath. His clearing vision settled on that heaving bosom. By heaven, Mhairi Drummond was a lot of woman, and his stirring interest firmed into a determination to win her and keep her and turn all that passion and spirit to his causes.
Callum lay where he was on the priceless carpet as he took stock of what had just happened. A careful turn of his aching head revealed the assault weapon. The metal bucket that had held peat to feed the fire blazing behind her.
Another careful turn of his head, and he encountered Mhairi’s glower. She'd staggered to her feet and stood glaring at him with an expression that told him his admiration wasn’t reciprocated. In fact, she looked like she wanted to carve out his gizzards and feed them to the crows.
The last thing he noticed – sign enough of how this extraordinary lassie turned his brain to porridge – was the small dirk clutched in her hand. It was familiar. He didn't need to check that his knife was missing from his belt.
"The devil, that was quick." She had clever hands. He hadn't even felt her steal it. He forced his imagination away from just what such clever hands could do to his body. "Give me back my dirk before ye do someone a mischief."
"I ken how to use this."
Watching her confidence burgeon, he sat up slowly. "I’m sure ye do."
As he worked out how best to deal with her insurrection, he studied her. He should have expected something like this. He'd allowed his optimism to lull him into a false sense of security when she responded so calmly, if negatively, to his plans for her. And Jean had told him she'd accepted the servants' help with cold politeness, but without causing trouble.
When he knew trouble was the very blood that flowed through her veins.
"Get up."
Callum didn't obey, but continued to regard her steadily from where he sat with his back against the door. When he'd brought her to Achnasheen, she'd looked tired and worn, despite her best efforts with his comb. Tired and worn, but unbowed.
A bath, a few hours of rest, and some hot food had restored her fire. She was dressed as befitted the lady of his lands, too, in a blue silk gown that belonged to his sister who was around her size. The vivid color made her skin look like rich cream.
His gaze dwelled on the voluptuous swell of he
r breasts above the low square-cut bodice. One hand made a nervous movement, and he knew she wanted to cover herself. Until pride came to her aid and she lifted her chin to shoot him a disdainful look.
He took in that imperious pointed chin. Great Jehovah, she was indomitable. The rich red hair was arranged away from her face and neck, revealing the pure line of her jaw. A jaw set with stalwart determination.
"I said get up." Her voice was hard and steady.
He arched his eyebrows. "Or what?"
"I am armed."
"Och, Blind Freddy can see that."
"You're going to come downstairs with me and escort me to the stables. You'll give me the swiftest horse ye have, and you'll tell your foul minions to open the gates to let me out."
"Will I indeed?"
When he didn’t immediately leap to obey her, uncertainty flashed in her eyes. "Aye."
"That's a gey powerful influence ye lend to yon wee bodkin, mistress."
"It might be wee, but it’s sharp enough to do ye damage, Black Callum."
"Nae doubt."
She took a step closer. "Move."
Callum raised one knee and rested his good arm on it. All the bumping and battling made the arm she’d already cut ache like hell. If this wooing went on too long, he’d be a physical wreck by the time he got this lass into bed.
He let himself smile, although his head still rang like a peal of bells. "Och, Mhairi, you're going to make a braw lady for Achnasheen."