Page 27 of Highlander’s Captive

Aye, well, both reasons were strong enough.

“But I can never marry a MacDougall,” Craig growled. “’Tis a sure way to be betrayed.”

“And ye dinna think she can help ye with the household as yer wife?”

Craig studied Amy’s profile in the distance. Aye, she was probably trained to run a noble house, so he could give her some of the tasks. He’d already seen her with the horses—cleaning them, talking to them, feeding them. She seemed to know what she was doing. She’d also cooked a simple soup once. But she should know how to organize a working kitchen and cleaners even if he gave her warriors to command and not servants. He’d assign her men, and she’d be the one to manage them.

There was something else he liked about the idea.

As her husband, he’d have the right to kiss her and bed her, hold that long-legged body in his arms, inhaling her scent. That would be an advantage on top of everything else… He’d never force himself on her, of course. But if she was willing, he wouldn’t say no to her. More than that.

He wanted her.

“But she’s a MacDougall,” he said, again. “A treacherous, despicable MacDougall. I canna imagine binding my life to one forever.”

“Ye dinna have to bind yerself forever,” Owen said. “Just long enough to hold the castle and break up her marriage with the Earl of Ross. Then let her go.”

Craig straightened and studied Owen, trying to understand if his brother was secretly a genius. “Handfasting?” Craig asked.

The ancient Celtic tradition of a trial marriage for a year and a day.

“Aye, handfasting,” Owen said.

“I like the idea more and more,” Craig muttered. “I can just imagine the face of John MacDougall when he would find out that his daughter was now marrit to a Cambel.”

Aye, Craig hoped that the man would wonder what Craig was doing to his Amy. If she was safe. If she was unharmed.

If she was held against her will and suffered.

Because that was exactly what Craig, his father, his brothers, and every clansman had wondered and feared with Marjorie. Only in Craig’s case, their worst fears had come true.

Craig clapped his brother on the shoulder, nodded, and marched towards Amy. She looked up, and her serene expression changed into a tense mask. She straightened and met him with her chin high.

* * *

Amy studied Craig’s handsome face. In this light, his eyes were like September leaves, still green but with fall’s brown already touching them. They were a little slanted, she noticed, and framed with thick black eyelashes.

And there was something in them, something she didn’t like one bit. A spiteful decisiveness. Whatever he’d decided, she wouldn’t let him take away her freedom again.