Page 33 of In the Highlander's Bed

She was overruled as the Scots burst into cheers. “She’ll learn her lesson now,” Thomas called out. He emphasized his meaning with one of the crudest gestures Constance had ever seen.

Her temper swept aside any fear she might have felt. No one spoke of a Cameron woman in that manner. They were descended from earls, and if they weren’t, she had learned a long time ago how to defend herself.

Gordon didn’t respond to the cheers or anyof the comments. Instead, he turned and began walking off, expecting her to docilely trail in his wake.

Well, he was in for a surprise, she thought, digging in her heels. She only had one moccasin on but an oak tree would move before she would.

But he’d tied her hands differently this time. The bonds tightened as he walked, painfully squeezing her wrists, and she had no choice but to follow, her first steps a stumbling skip to keep her from being pulled flat on her face.

The Scots roared with approval.

Constance hated them for that. Of course, she’d already been angry at the lot of them before attempting another escape. Her pride had been stung by Gordon’s callous passing her off to the Reivers as if she was of no consequence. It had felt like a betrayal, because she’d been cooperative. She’d even reconciled herself to the idea that she would miss theNovussailing. Yet then he’d handed her over, dismissed her as if she meantnothingto him.

And it was that last that had made her decide to run. Of course, she didn’t want to examine her motives too deeply. She wasn’t certain if she’d decided to try and reach Edinburgh because she was a captive or because Gordon had rejected her.

Butnowshe didn’t want anything to do with him.

Her fingers were turning red. The binds didn’t loosen just because she was forced to follow him. Then again, she thought, Gordon didn’t care. He hadn’t even glanced back.

Heexpectedher to follow. Just as Charlotte and Miranda expected her to do as they instructed. No one ever listened toher.

The memory of the kiss rose unbidden in her mind.

He’d completely humiliated her with it, and if he thought to do such a thing again, he was wrong. She’dnotgo to his quarters with him. Let him be the one made out to be the fool.

Constance resisted him one more time, throwing all her weight into refusing to take one more step, and it worked. She stopped him in his tracks.

The pain shooting through her hands from the tightening rope was excruciating, but she held back. Better that the rope sever her hands than he be allowed to best her one more time.

Gordon turned. Realizing that she had made him do that gave her courage.

His eyes met hers. The Scots had gone quiet, as if holding their collective breath.

Constance didn’t know if she could continue to hold out. Her hands had gone numb—

He took a step toward her, loosening the tension in the rope.

She’d won. The thrill of victory overrode any pain.

He had backed down first.

Gordon walked toward her, stopping when they were toe-to-toe. His fingers relaxed the tightness in the rope around her wrists. Constance could have cried out in triumph and relief.

However, her pleasure was short-lived, because without preamble, without completely untying her, he hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her through the crowd.

The Scots went wild with laughter. They danced with glee as they followed Gordon through the camp. Children skipped in front of them and the adults acted as if they were on their way to a fair.

Constance couldn’t look at them. She’d lost the will to fight. No matter what she did, how she resisted, he had superior strength, and he would use it.

She lowered her head, not wanting to see the jeering faces. “Send her back with a bairn” was the rudest and most oft-repeated suggestion.Their coarseness reminded her of the trappers and frontiersman back home, reminded her of what shehadn’tliked about the valley. Their father’s drinking and often violent temper had made herself and her sisters outcasts and prey to rough characters. But it also taught her how to hold her head high in the face of public scorn.

Gordon carried her to a tent, one that was little different from the others in the camp, and perhaps in some way a bit poorer. His huge dog had followed at his heels, and now, tail wagging, pushed aside the leather flap that served as a door and went inside. Gordon flipped back the same flap and ducked inside.

In one last act of defiance, Constance grabbed at the tent’s frame. It was a pitiful attempt and her fingers could not hold onto the canvas.

The crowd would have invited themselves inside except that before Gordon dropped the flap, he said to the dog, “Tad, guard.”

Tad dropped before the door, the length of his body from paw to tail blocking the entrance. Someone tried to peep in. Tad growled and the person quickly backed away. Apparently the clan had a healthy respect for Gordon’s dog.