“Jane! Dinnae!”
She looked back in shock and slipped off of the stool. She grabbed at the branch, screeching in fear and hanging on.
Two strong arms grabbed her and promptly lifted her back in.
“What in God's name are ye thinkin'?” Darach screamed. “Are ye so interested in challenging death?”
Why must he always meddle?
Fury filled her head, and she launched her curled fist towards his face. He stumbled backward and hit the ground, but he reached out and pulled at her shift before she could run.
There was a slight rip at the shoulder as she landed on top of him, twisting and kicking. Her hand snaked between their writhing bodies, quickly tugging his dagger out of its sheath.
She knew she'd infuriated him. He lunged up off the ground, lifting her with him. Not ready to give in easily, Jane wrestled like a hellcat. Her golden locks whirled around them as she twisted her arms and legs. She kicked, bit, punched, and swiped at him with a candle she'd grabbed. But Darach was stronger. He caught hold of the fist, clutching the blade's hilt, and slammed it to the wall above her head, gripping her wrist so hard the pain rattled through her, and she cried out.
He pinned her to the wall with his entire body, and she dangled half a foot in the air, their faces pressed together, cheek to cheek, until she stilled her writhing.
Jane gazed into his eyes and saw them blur with fury. He was dark and beautiful, with his dark brows arcing over his intelligent eyes. He reached over to wrench the candle out of her grip and then tossed it to the ground behind him, the light snuffing out on the way down and dimming the room further. A flame started to lick through her spine that had nothing to do with fury.
She watched as he inhaled slowly and knew he was forcing himself to calm down. He held her like that for a moment, her body pinned between his and the wall. Jane considered kicking his shins, but she knew she would hurt herself far more than him.
So, she stayed still.
He pulled back a few inches and let her feet drop to the ground. Breathing fast, she flung her head, spraying hair across her face.
“If ye were a man, I would kill ye right now,” he said in a low, angry voice.
Jane knew he was waiting for her response. Everything now was a test, every moment a potential tipping point. He wanted to see if she would react or be wise and retreat, apologize, surrender, or run scared.
Jane smiled and shifted the only thing he didn’t have restrained, her left hand, and laid what turned out to be the cold edge of a blade against the side of his throat.
“If I were a man, my laird,” she whispered back, “ye would already be dead.”
She could see the shock in his eyes as he realized she was willing to actually cut him.
He blinked, his eyes flashing with admiration. A rush went through her, hot and intense.
“Ye are left-handed,” he observed grimly.
“When I need tae be.”
There was no fear in his eyes, and small wisps of his long dark hair had loosened from his usual bond and brushed the side of his mouth. His tongue came out to lick his lips quickly, and a buzz danced in her spine.
She focused on his parted, wet lips. His eyebrows were lifted in a questioning mockery, and his hard body was pressed tightly against hers. She could feel the hard chest rub her through the ordinary night shift she had on.
His gaze fixed on her face, and Jane could feel the heat from him searing through her.
“Surely ye dinnae think it wise tae walk home in just a night shift and a pair of walking shoes, my lady.” He leaned closer until his mouth was an inch from hers.
She pushed the blade forward until he felt his own blade's honed edge indent the flesh of his throat. And then she smiled sweetly at him. “I would watch who I call a fool if I had my own knife against my throat, my laird, particularly if I was a warrior just bested by a lady.”
“Ah, I'd take that, lass,” he whispered. “The only times I'd imagined ladies besting me, I'd have thought it wouldnae be in a quaint chamber and definitely not by a woman in a night shift.”
His gaze dropped down as he looked at her, and he gasped.
“Who is the bastard that hurt ye?”
Darach's unbridled anger instilled deep fear in herfor the first time. She followed his eyesto the ripped top of her nightgown, revealingthe top of her breasts and herunsightly scar. She flushed bright red and quickly covered it up.