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This time she didn't bother containing her disdainful amusement. "What do ye think, Mackinnon?"

His determined jaw set. He was stubborn. Well, so was she. "If I'd courted ye in the conventional manner…"

"If, if, if. If the moon was made of cake and the loch was full of claret. Ye didnae court me like a gentleman. You snatched me up like a thief, and now ye keep me at your will like a chained dog. Despite the fine clothes." Contempt dripped from her voice. "I'm no’ likely to think kindly of ye, am I?"

He shook his head. "It would be too much to ask. At least at first."

By God, he was obstinate. "Forever."

"I'd hate to think that's true, lassie."

She straightened and pulled away. From below, heads turned in their direction. His hand on her arm would only confirm that he'd bedded her.

"Let me go back to Bruard, Mackinnon. You're no’ a stupid man, even if you've done a stupid thing by kidnapping me. Ye cannae want to wed a woman who hates you. What happiness can we find together if we start out in such discord?"

As those eyes sharpened on her, a muscle flickered in his lean cheek. "I owe my clan peace. My personal happiness doesnae matter."

"Even if ye spend the rest of your life worried that your wife has put poison into your soup?"

One expressive brow rose. "Ye had the perfect chance to murder me tonight, lassie. Yet I'm still breathing."

"My mistake," she said grimly, although even now she shrank from the idea of killing him. Which was lunacy, given he was her enemy and her jailer. She should be slavering at the idea of spilling his blood.

"I ken the idea of ending all this bloodshed appeals to ye."

"No’ when I'm the sacrificial lamb."

"We’re born to lead our clans. That means offering ourselves up to unpalatable duty."

"I'm no’ offering myself up. You're dragging me there willy-nilly." Her voice was as remorseless as his. "Ye must ken that what you've done only makes more bloodshed inevitable. My father will arrive at your gates with an army. More good men will die on both sides."

"Ye can save them. Marry me now and write to your father to say ye want amity between the Mackinnons and the Drummonds."

"I’m never going to marry ye. Ye’ll never vanquish me, Mackinnon."

He gave a grunt of amusement. "I dinnae want to vanquish you, ye daft lassie. I admire your courage and spirit."

That astonished her, not least because that courage and spirit meant she resisted his plans for her. The men who had sought her out before this had all coveted her beauty. They hadn’t been interested in what she was like beyond a bonny face.

"Even when those qualities mean ye willnae win?"

"The game has just started, mistress. Too early to decide winners and losers."

Except she saw he was confident that the winner wouldn't be Mhairi Drummond. Male arrogance was very familiar.

When she didn’t reply, he went on. "I dinnae want a spineless weakling for a wife. I want a lady who can take her place at the head of both clans."

"My cousin John becomes chieftain after my father's death." It was a cause of bitter regret that, as a woman, she couldn't lead the Drummonds, but her clan needed a fighting man at the helm.

"You'll still be the Drummond's daughter. You’ll be a power in the glens until the day ye die."

For a moment, she had a vision of what it would be like to live in peace with the neighbors. All that wild Celtic energy focused on building prosperity instead of revenge. The idea was powerful. "How can ye expect me to forgive you for what you've done?" she asked with a touch of desperation.

"As ye said, lassie, I'm a hopeful man."

"Ye can hold me until I’m eighty, and I willnae willingly become your bride. Ye swore you wouldnae hurt me or force your way into my bed."

"I meant it."


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical