Unwilling (Highland Historical #2)

ire.
    She had to know that he didn’t just
need her, he wanted her. 
    Planting her wee fists on her slim
hips, she glared at him, the ice in her eyes at once turning to violet fire. 
“I refuse, Connor MacLauchlan, I refuse to be wed to a high-handed, mercenary,
overbearing, tyrannical brute with more strength than wits, so that you may become a more powerful berserker.”
    A sensation akin to hurt lit a fire
in his chest and anger thundered through the weaker emotion, ready to do
battle.  “When I found ye, ye were en route to marry Angus Mackay, the
villainous, pillaging murderer of the Highlands.” 
    “I had no choice in that,” she
spat.  “And I only have hearsay and your word to his character, which isn’t
much to me at this point.”
    “Aye?  And would ye rather me
deliver ye into his hands?  Perhaps then ye’d know the meaning of the
word ‘tyrant’.”  He advanced on her then, wanting to shake her until she came
to her senses.
    “The fact that you would even
threaten that validates my opinion of you.”  Lindsay stormed to the door and
threw it open.  “Get out!”
    Not a chance.  He was Laird of this
castle and he would be denied access to no corner of it.  The lass was daft if
she thought she would order him about.  She may have found that she wielded a
little more power in their damnable situation, but that didn’t mean he’d let
her lord it over him.
    Crossing his arms over his chest
and planting his feet, he towered over her, daring her to issue one more
command, to push his temper one more notch.
    “Very well,” her eyes showed no
fear, no hint of retreat.  “Enjoy your evening, my lord, alone .”  With
that, she stalked out in a pastel storm.  The breeze created by the slam of the
heavy door extinguished a preponderance of the candles, leaving his world
infinitely darker.  
    Instant regret smothered the fire
in his veins like a damp and weighty blanket.  He may not have given her any quarter,
but he certainly had not emerged the victor.  In fact, he lost ground this
night.  Lindsay wasn’t the only one who’d been forced into this situation, but,
he had to admit, his shackles were sweeter than hers.  He gained an exquisite,
hot-blooded mate and the powerful boost to his abilities that would grant an
abundance of safety and security to all those under his protection. 
    What did she get from the bargain? 
A fragmented and militant berserker with more growl than gentility.  Well,
there was a castle with plentiful coffers.  But, no doubt, her dowry was enough
to render that moot. 
    With a foul curse, Connor plucked
up the cask of wine before searching out his own chambers. 
     

Chapter
Ten
     
    The next night brought the first
successful week of harvest market to a close.  This was to be marked with
festivities that would have invoked Mabon himself.  Lindsay had strolled with
Evelyn through fire jugglers and acrobats, bards and puppeteers, amusing
herself despite the fact that she’d awoken to a dark mood.  Distraction seemed
to lift her spirits.
    They wandered with the crowd toward
the planks that had been assembled in a cleared field for dancing and carousing. 
The full harvest moon was bright enough to light their revelry and reflected
off Loch Fyne with glittering brilliance.  Long torches had been staked to the ground
and lanterns corded around the makeshift plank floor casting dancing shadows
about the night. 
    The evening was chilly, but hot
food and free-flowing ale warmed the cheeks and blood of the Lachlan clan.  Now
they gathered about, their merry voices drifting through the night as the cheerful
cacophony of tuning pipes, flutes, and fiddles rose in their midst.
    As though drawn by an innate
awareness, Lindsay immediately picked Connor out of the gathering crowd.   He
and Roderick stood at least a head taller than their kinsman who surrounded a
massive barrel of ale perched on an oak table.  Connor wielded a heavy mallet
while Roderick steadied a tap at the base of the enormous cask, pretending to
fear for the safety of his extremities.  Riotous laughter ensued as Connor
drove the tap home with a one-handed swing. 
    Lud! But his strength never ceased
to astonish her.   
    Were they not afraid, these fierce
highland warriors?  Did they not worry that Angus might, even now, be plotting
retribution?  A tremor stole through her.  What if she was the unwilling cause of
a deadly quarrel of clans?
    A brawny highlander handed