Page 2 of A Temptress in Tartan

“I need your promise you will not leap.”

“I do not make promises to strangers.”

“Then I shall hold you until you do.” His roguish smile brought out a dimple in his right cheek. “Although the longer we remain like this, the more my thoughts drift to other things that could happen between a man and a woman alone in the wilds of Scotland.”

“You wouldn’t . . .” But even as she returned a defiant stare, she knew she was entirely at his mercy. This man was not like her clansmen who blindly followed her father’s lead. This man thought for himself and didn’t appear to be one to play by any rules but those of his own making. He was far stronger than she, and it appeared just as stubborn.

Elizabeth frowned. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she found him intriguing. There was something reckless about him that made her heart pound within her chest and sent her blood singing through her veins. She tried to pull away, but he held tight. “Why are you doing this? It does not concern you.”

“Today’s anxiety will only be a memory of a bad day tomorrow. Nothing in your life could be so bad that you would have to take your own life to avoid it.”

Her frown deepened. Was the stranger right? If she died, then Lachlan Douglas wouldn’t have to marry her either. And her father would no doubt blame her—but the feud would continue.

Elizabeth drew a thoughtful breath. Would it be better for her to live and force Lachlan to want to find a way out of their marriage instead? Could she stir up enough trouble until he would do anything to be rid of her? Or, she could always kill him instead. Her father would approve of that tactic. Elizabeth brought her gaze back to the man who held her and said the words he wanted her to say, “I promise not to harm myself.”

“That is a relief,” he breathed, then brought his hand up, winding an errant tendril of her brown hair around his finger.

Her pulse raced. “What are you doing?”

“Remembering you and this moment. Is that all right?”

“Nay.” She felt breathless, shaky, confused. She did not know this man, and yet something deep inside her felt as if she did.

He didn’t stop stroking her hair. In the silence, she heard their breathing as it mingled with the wind that ebbed and flowed around them. She heard the pounding of his heart, though it was probably only her own. He held her so close she could feel the heat of his body, and smell the musk of his skin.

Something dark and unreadable crossed his gaze as he released her hair and brought that same finger to stroke the skin of her cheek. “You are so beautiful. Whoever he was who sent you up here on the ledge should be strung up by his thumbs for making you feel so hopeless.”

His words ran over her like honey. She swallowed, suddenly hot and flushed and a little faint. “What makes you think a man is the cause of my troubles?”

“Isn’t it always a man behind a woman’s sadness?” His startling blue eyes connected with hers. There was some emotion in them, something uncertain and yearning. That emotion pulled at her, filling her with an overwhelming urge to move closer, to lift her face to his.

His eyes held her in watchful suspension as his head drifted lower, his lips nearing her own.

She held her breath. His hands drifted to the narrow indent of her waist and against her better judgment, she closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.

Instead, a sharp whistle vibrated in the air. She felt herself being lifted. Her eyes flew open as a white horse came to an immediate halt beside the man. The pressure of his hands increased as he lifted her higher, then unceremoniously settled her atop the horse. He took a half-step back. “This is for the best.”

A stab of regret pierced her chest. Before she could object, he slapped his hand across the horse’s flank. She jerked back in the saddle as the horse spirited her down the path at the edge of the cliff to safety below.

Once on the moorland, the horse did not stop. The beast continued racing toward Falkland Palace and her bridegroom awaiting her there. Why had she not met the stranger on the cliff before today? Perhaps then the two of them could have explored the palpable attraction between them without regret. Perhaps they still might if she could turn the horse around and go back to him and convince him otherwise.

Elizabeth leaned forward, trying to gather the loose reins in her hands, but failed as she was forced to hold on to the saddle itself to stay upright. Her skirts whipped around her legs and her cheeks were on fire at the memory of the stranger’s arms locked around her, his fingers in her hair. At least she would have the memory of her brief encounter with a stranger to hold in her heart as she married a man who could only ever be her enemy.

The sun was setting as the horse entered the palace gates as if knowing exactly where to return her. At the sight of her, a tall and lanky stable boy she recognized as one of her father’s own ran up to greet her. “Milady, ’tis good ye are returned,” Richie said, his brows drawn together with concern. “Yer father is in the palace, and he’s displeased that ye weren’t here tae greet him.” The lad caught the reins of her horse and brought her to a stop. “Ye best go inside now afore he works himself into one of his rages.” He offered her a hand down.

“My thanks, Richie,” Elizabeth said with a nod of appreciation before heading to the doorway that would take her to the great hall where her father no doubt waited to berate her for inconveniencing him. She hadn’t taken two steps before that feeling of fear she’d tried to escape returned. She drew a breath, forcing it back, as she had for the last three weeks since she’d learned about her betrothal to her enemy. Instead, she concentrated on the sound of her footfalls on the gravel in the drive as she made her way inside.

She looked about the chamber hoping and praying to see a familiar dark-haired man who had been gone from her life for months now, but her beloved Roland was nowhere in sight. Instead, as soon as she entered the great hall, her father turned toward her.

Donald Ruthven’s features hardened as he strode to her side. Anger sparked in his eyes. The man was not the clan leader, but he had been playing the role for many years. His brother left a son behind who would take control of the clan in the future, but at fifteen he was too young for such responsibility. Her father had only been too happy to lead the Ruthvens in the young laird’s stead. “Where have you been? Do you not know how dangerous it is for you to go outside this palace alone?”

At her hesitation, he stepped a hairsbreadth from her face, trying to intimidate her. “Answer me, foolish girl. Where have you been? They say you have been gone for hours.”

Elizabeth tensed, but held her ground. “I needed to clear my head, so I took a walk,” she answered a little more defiantly than she would have three weeks ago. He did not need to know how far she had walked or what her true purpose had been. Such knowledge would only make him angrier.

“A walk?” he sneered. “The Douglas bastards could’ve found you and killed you. Then where would we be? If you don’t get married, then we do not receive the money that’s been promised us.”

“Three weeks ago, you didn’t want me to marry the Douglas at all,” Elizabeth stated boldly. Something about her meeting with the stranger in the Lomond Hills suddenly gave her a strength she hadn’t possessed when she left the castle this morning.