“Thank you,” Circenn replied. “If you will excuse me, Renaud, my betrothed is feeling a bit faint. She grows swiftly overtaxed.” With a dismissive nod to Renaud, he whisked Lisa away from the crowd and pushed her into a corner of the hall, uncaring what anyone thought. For the moment, they were as alone as they could be in the crowded room.
“I do not grow swiftly overtaxed. I am the picture of calm, considering all I’ve been through. And I am not marrying you,” she said defiantly.
His response chilled her blood: “In three months’ time, lass, neither of us will have any choice. Now I will escort you to your room, and you will remain in it this time.”
Glibly informing the room at large that his wife-to-be was overexcited by the commotion—a fib that Lisa resented because it made her appear fragile—Circenn guided her abovestairs, his hand a steely vise on her arm. He stopped at her door and informed her that if she left the room, he would ensure that she had extreme cause to regret it.
She opened the door and began to step in, when he suddenly spun her around into his arms.
Without a word, he closed his mouth over hers brutally.
Too shocked to resist, Lisa stood motionless, her lips parting at the insistence of his tongue. He darted it between her lips in blatant mimicry of sexual play, probing firmly, receding, only to thrust again. She tipped back her head, her body sparking to life. He was angry, she could feel it in the bruising crush of his lips, and it fed her own anger.
Then it occurred to her that kissing was quite a useful and fascinating way to express anger, so she worked diligently at putting every bit of her irritation and displeasure into her response. She bit, she nipped, she fought his tongue with hers. When his tongue withdrew, she followed it with hers and sucked it hard back into her mouth, priding herself on how nicely she won that battle. When he kissed her so deeply she couldn’t breathe around it, she dropped her hands to his waist, then dipped lower, just to show him she was completely in control. Tight, muscled ass; the thought was accompanied by a surge of excitement as she imagined his powerful hips tensing in a timeless rhythm.
When his teeth nudged against hers, a moan blossomed in her throat. She brought up her hands and plunged them into his hair, sliding her fingers through black silk. Her fingers moved down the nape of his neck, then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back so uninhibitedly that he stiffened abruptly, stepped back, and gazed at her with a startled expression.
Briefly, he looked pleased, then his eyes narrowed swiftly. “I doona like you, and I will not tolerate you complicating my life.”
“Ditto,” she clipped through swollen lips.
“Then we understand each other,” he said.
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Perfectly.”
“Good.”
They stared at each other. She noticed that his lips were slightly fuller. She had done that. Her own lips felt tingly, warm, and most assuredly not finished expressing her anger.
“Doona forget who’s in control in this castle, lass,” he snarled before stalking off down the hallway.
If that was how he asserted his control, she might just have to challenge his authority more often.
What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
—Shakespeare, Sonnet 53
THE JOURNEY FROM DUNNOTTAR TO INVERNESS AND from there to Castle Brodie would live long in Lisa’s memory. With dismay she tallied each day of their journey that ticked by, knowing it was one more day she was losing in the future, and the thought made her miserable. She feared that the farther they rode from Dunnottar, the slimmer her chances became of returning home. She knew it probably wasn’t true, because if anything had the power to return her, it was the flask, and she suspected Circenn wouldn’t permit it out of his care. Still, each step she took deeper into his lush, wild land made her feel she was moving a step farther away from her own life, farther into a realm in which she had no control and might lose herself entirely.
Shortly after Circenn had deposited her in her room—or more accurately left her reeling in the hallway—he’d sent Duncan and Galan to whisk her out of the keep, and the three of them had ridden off ahead. Circenn and the rest of his entourage had joined them hours later. She was acutely aware that the knights studied her far too intently for her comfort. They were not men she wished to slip up around, so she spoke as little as possible, choosing her words with great caution.
The first night they journeyed across Scotland, a nearly full moon hung above the shadowy ridges and valleys, and the thunder of more than a hundred horses carrying packs and heavily muscled men was deafening. The ground trembled as they galloped the hills. Cold despite the thick plaid covering her gown, she was awed by the miles of untouched, open country. Although her body ached after riding only a few hours, she would have ridden all night to savor the untamed vista.