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Craig studied Amy. She sat at the end of the bed, the bowl in her lap, the spoon in her hand. Her beautiful blue eyes glared at him, shiny and big.
Aye, Hamish was right that the lass hadn’t done what her family did. But with a straight back like that, with those eyes telling him she wouldn’t budge, she was every inch a MacDougall. Which meant she wasn’t all that innocent.
“Ye can stay, Hamish,” Craig said. “Ye speak the truth. I need a strong warrior like ye. But ye shouldna become friendly with the enemy clan. Ye dinna ken what information she might fish out of ye.”
“Aye, but she—”
“Hamish,” Craig said. “Please, leave us.”
Hamish looked at Amy, as though to make sure she would be all right alone with Craig, gave a polite nod and left.
When the door closed behind him, Craig turned to Amy and spread his hands. “Ye demanded to see me. So here I am.”
She put the bowl on the bed and stood up as well, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood with her feet wide apart, her legs long and sculpted and there for him to appreciate. Her long, wavy red hair spread across her shoulders. Her full lips flattened, anger flaring in her eyes.
“I want out of this room,” she said. “You said you’d ask your questions and then let me have my freedom. So. Let me out of this damn room. I would like to walk about the castle. I want fresh air.”
Oh, she was amusing. A chief’s daughter, making demands when she had no place to make them.
“Ye want, ye want…” He walked towards her and stopped, admiring her pretty mouth. “And yet ye fail to keep yer side of the bargain. Ye lie. Ye hide something.”
She pursed her lips, and they wrinkled a little—so pretty. He had the sudden urge to run his thumb along her bottom lip. She swallowed, and he looked up, their eyes locking again. He could sink in those eyes, as blue as deep lochs, with long lashes the color of the mountains in autumn.
“I just want freedom. I’ll drive you crazy if you keep me here a day longer. I’ll bang on the door every day, I’ll break things, I’ll make your guards hate their job.”
An eyelash lay on her cheek, and he raised his hand and gently touched it with his finger. It came away on his fingertip, so delicate and long and beautiful.
Flushed, she watched him with something that resembled his burning need to touch her. To kiss her. To feel the softness of her hair, the silkiness of her skin.
He gently blew on the eyelash and it disappeared from his fingertip.
“Aye, I understand the desire, lass,” he said.
Her eyes brightened and a smile began spreading on her lips. “You do?”
“Aye, of course I do.”
“Well. Thank you. Because I’d love to leave this room and go around the castle freely—”
“Are ye ready to talk then? Answer my questions?”
He saw her lips close and her throat moving as she swallowed. She was nervous.
“Yes,” she said, her voice jumping. “I was ready the last time.”
He let her go, and she frowned at him.
“If ye mean when ye answered me with yer lies, that didna count.”
She glared at him, angry, scared, red-faced, eyes burning.
“So you’re not letting me out of here?”
“Nae, ye may go out. I am nae monster. But ye will have a guard with ye at all times.”
And before he could forget his anger because of how pretty she looked right now and taste her lush lips, he walked out.
Chapter 8
