The Highlander’s
Bride Trouble
Scottish Highlands, 1487
“Ye may be dismissed for the night.”
Abigail Ross, the Earl of Ross’s daughter, didn’t really look at her maid, Nareen Grant. She was too busy breaking the wax seal on the letter she’d just received. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled as she unfolded the parchment. Its crinkling echoed loudly in the quiet chamber. She was well past the blush of youth, but it was clear affection had no time limit. Even in her late twenties, Abigail was excited by her love letter.
Although, perhaps “liaison letter” might be a more appropriate description. Abigail enjoyed her lovers, and she enjoyed knowing she didn’t owe them the obedience a wife would.
“Go on, Nareen. I know ye like yer sleep.”
Abigail drew out the word sleep. She looked up for a brief moment, making it clear she knew what Nareen would be doing under the veil of night.
Abigail knew Nareen’s weaknesses too. It was the only reason Nareen served her, so she might enjoy freedom as well.
“The moon is full,” Abigail muttered before looking back at the letter. There was a subtle warning in her tone, indicating she would turn a blind eye only if Nareen returned the favor.
Nareen inclined her head before leaving the bedchamber. Once she passed through the arched doorway that separated the bedchamber from the receiving chamber, she allowed her pace to increase.
She wasn’t interested in sleeping, and luckily, her mistress didn’t have any issues with her nighttime rides. Of course, in return, Nareen was expected to ignore the unmarried lady’s lovers. So it wasn’t luck, it was an agreement. One Nareen enjoyed benefits from as well.
She shuddered, a tingle of fear rising from the dark abyss where Nareen had banished several memories she never wanted to think about again. Sometimes it was very hard to forget her cousin Ruth and the horrors Nareen had suffered while with her kinswoman.
Yes, the arrangement made it possible for Nareen to escape being under the care of her kin, and the unsavory plans Ruth had been making for her.
Nareen turned her attention to the moon. She could see it glowing through the seam in the window shutters. Just a faint sliver of yellow light, it was like a beacon, drawing her toward joyful abandon. The whisper of chilly night air coming through didn’t bother her a bit. In fact, it was invigorating.
Outside, she didn’t have to worry about being trapped within stone walls.
Nareen steeled her expression as she went through the doors that led to the stairs. Two Ross retainers stood there, making sure the earl’s daughter was well guarded throughout the night. They each held a five-foot-tall wooden staff topped with a wicked and deadly looking spear top. The metal gleamed in the moist Highland air. Their gazes followed Nareen as she left, and they stiffly pulled on the corners of their knitted caps.
No one really spared her much attention as she made her way through the partially lit passageways. Several of the torches had been blown out by the vigorous wind.
Nareen skipped down the stone steps, making the three stories to the ground floor in a flash. Abigail would be traveling again soon, if the letter held an invitation. That meant Nareen would be on a tighter leash once the highborn lady found a way to wheedle her father into granting her permission to return to court. The earl had sworn he wouldn’t allow it, but Nareen knew he’d soften. Once the wine began to flow, the Earl of Ross lost his will. Abigail always exploited her father’s weakness to suit her whims.
So tonight, Nareen would ride.
Many would tell her it was the demons causing the gusts of wind. Nareen scoffed at them. There were legends that went back farther than the Church. Tales of Celtic lore that were still told around the winter fires. She preferred the stories that told of strength and daring, to the Church’s teachings that tried to convince her to fear the witching hours.
Nareen pulled her arisaid up from where the length of Grant tartan draped down her back, and laid it over her head. During the day, the piece of wool was secured at her waist, and of little use except to make it clear she was proud to be a Grant. But at night, it would shield her from rain and keep her warm. She pulled it around to cover her shoulders before venturing into the yard. Most of the Ross retainers taking their ease in the yard looked her way, but they returned to whatever they were doing once they recognized the Grant colors.
She was just the mistress’s attendant.
That position suited Nareen well. She didn’t regret leaving her cousin’s keeping, not even when it reduced her to being a personal servant. At least she need not worry about Ruth selling Nareen’s maidenhead.
Nareen shuddered. The woman held no power over her now. Nareen had seen to that.
The horses greeted her when she entered the stable. Her mood improved as she reminded herself that she was free of Ruth and her unsavory plans.
Her mare tossed its mane in greeting. Nareen murmured softly to it in Gaelic as she eased the bridle on. Her mare pawed at the ground, eager to stretch her legs.
“Me thoughts exactly,” Nareen said as she slid onto the back of the animal. The gate watch raised the gate for her, but not without a stern look of disapproval.
Nareen didn’t bother to look back. She leaned low over the neck of her mare and let the animal have its freedom. The horse picked up speed, chilling Nareen’s cheeks as they raced across the open land that surrounded the Ross castle.
* * *
Saer MacLeod turned his head, listening to the night. He kicked dirt over the small fire he’d built to cook his dinner, and it died, leaving him in darkness.
It wasn’t that dark. He’d endured nights that were as black as a demon’s eyes, and this one wasn’t anywhere near that deep.
But there was something—someone—riding toward him. There was no way he was going to greet that stranger anywhere but on the back of his horse.
There was a whistle from his man. Baruch held up one finger.
Saer didn’t reach for the pommel of the sword strapped to his back. A lone rider wasn’t that much of a threat.
“I thinks it’s her…” Baruch rode up close to his laird’s side. “Just like the Ross lad told me, she’s riding by moonlight…”
“Good,” Saer muttered. He felt a surge of impending victory and savored it.
Nareen Grant had turned him down and dismissed him the last time he’d seen her.
He intended to make sure she knew he was not so easily brushed aside.
* * *
Nareen was sure her heart was beating as fast as her mare’s. The animal slowed, having spent its first burst of speed. Her arisaid had fallen back, baring her head, but she enjoyed the bite of the night air. She laughed, at ease for the first time all day. But her elation evaporated when her mare’s ears lifted. Nareen tightened her grip on the reins as she searched the shadows. “Who is there?” she demanded.
“Ye take a risk by riding out at night, lass.”
Her company emerged from the shadows cast by the edge of a woodland patch, where the forest trees thinned and gave way to the slope.
“But yer command of the mare is impressive, Nareen Grant.”
He was a large man. She could describe him as huge, but resisted the urge because there was already a chill tingling on her nape. If he knew her name, it was possible he was an enemy of the Grants. She tightened her knees, making ready to flee.
“Ye have naught to fear from me.” He nudged his horse farther away from the shadows. Her heart froze as the moonlight illuminated his hard body. There was no mistaking his prime condition, and his voice was deep and young enough to confirm she might be in true peril if he turned hostile.
“Name yer clan,” she stated boldly. She lifted her chin and stared straight at him. A weak plea would never do.
There was a husky chuckle from the stranger. “Are ye sure ye are in a position to demand things of me, lass? Most Highlanders do nae care for a lass who spits fire.”
“I do nae care for anyone who will nae speak the name of their clan without hesitation. Such actions mean ye have no honor.”
He rode a full stallion, the horse just as impressive as its master. The animal was prime quality, telling her he had coin in his purse, but that fact didn’t reassure her. Many times, noble lords were far more unscrupulous than a common villain. The law favored them in every way, and they took advantage of it.
He nudged the beast with his knees until it turned and the moonlight washed over his face. She gasped, recognizing him instantly. And a little too well for her liking. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks, for she had just accused a laird of having no honor.
“What are ye doing riding on Ross land in the dark of night, Saer MacLeod?”
He moved his horse closer to her mare and leaned down to pat the neck of the sturdy beast he rode. Her attention was drawn to his hand, fixating on the way he stroked the animal. There was a confidence in his motions that sent a tingle across her skin. He was more than bold, he was supremely at ease in the night—so much so, she envied him.
More heat teased her face, this time flowing down her body.
“This is hardly dark,” he said at last.
She jerked her gaze up to his face to find him grinning at her. She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, detesting the way he made her feel vulnerable. “Ye’re right, it is hardly dark, which is why I am enjoying it. Good-bye, Laird MacLeod.”
She tightened her grip on the reins and sent her mare in motion again. She wasn’t running away; it was simply a matter of doing what she pleased. Aye, indeed it was.
Abigail already told her what to do most of the day. Of course, it was far better than answering to a husband or to her cousin Ruth.
Her dark memories stirred again, so she leaned low over the neck of the horse and felt the wind pulling the shorter strands of her hair from her braid. The steady beat of the mare’s hooves filled her head, but there was something else too, a deeper pounding. She turned her head to find Saer MacLeod keeping pace with her, an amused grin on his lips.
She kneed her mare, urging the animal to go faster. It was an impulse that irritated her because she was letting herself be goaded. There would be no responding to Saer MacLeod.
She pulled up, the mare settling into a slow walk, tossing her head as Nareen worried her lower lip. “I’m sure ye have important things to do, Laird MacLeod.”
He guided his stallion in step beside her mare. “Ensuring ye do nae get set upon by the MacKays is important. I hear they have no love for the Ross. They claim the earl killed their laird and have vowed vengeance.”
“I am a Grant.”
“But ye serve the earl’s daughter,” Saer countered. “There would be more than one man who would consider that enough to include ye in their feud.”
Her heart was beating faster. She drew in a deep, slow breath to calm herself. “I do nae need yer protection.” Her tone was far from smooth, further irritating her. She didn’t need the man hearing how he unsettled her.
He grinned more broadly in the face of her temper, a cocksure, arrogant, full curving of his lips that sent a tingle through her belly. She was amusing him and nothing else.
“I do nae need yer permission to ensure ye come to no harm, Nareen. Just as I did nae need yer brother’s consent to let me ride along with him to deal with yer cousin Ruth.”
She jerked, involuntarily pulling on the reins. The mare stopped, snorting with frustration. Saer reached out and stroked the animal’s neck again. The horse quieted immediately and made a soft sound of enjoyment.
Nareen’s mouth went dry at the way his touch pleased.
She wondered… “Let me mare be.”
Nareen tried to pull the horse away. Saer reached out and captured her hand to keep her from commanding the mare.
The contact was jarring, his warm flesh shocking her. Her own fingers were chilled from the pace of her ride, but his were warm and inviting. More than a warmth that chased away the night temperature, this was a heat that touched something deep inside her. She licked her lower lip because it was too dry, drawing his gaze to her mouth.
She jerked her hand away.
“I told ye at court, I want naught to do with ye.” At last, she’d grasped enough of her composure to say what she truly needed to.
“Aye, ye did.” He patted her mare’s neck, stroking the velvet surface of her skin with a long motion before answering. “Look at me, Nareen Grant, and tell me if ye see a man who is easily told what to do.”
His tone was soft and menacing, carrying a warning that even the mare sensed. A chill shot down Nareen’s back, her gaze locking with his. She was keenly aware of him, her lips tingling with anticipation. She felt like there was something inside him that was drawing her closer, some force that reached out to stroke her, entice her to do his will.
He jerked the reins right out of her slackened grip.
“What are ye doing?”
Saer didn’t answer her. He held the reins, and her mare began following his stallion as he sent the beast forward. Her only option was to drop down the side of the animal while it was in motion. One look at the ground warned her against such a rash action. Moonlight illuminated the rocky ground they rode across, promising her a rough landing.
But she was still tempted, because Saer’s back promised her something else. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and tied at his shoulder. She was as fascinated by his back as by his keen gaze. A long sword was strapped across his back at an angle so the pommel was behind his left shoulder and easy to reach with his right hand. There was nothing ornate about the weapon, just solid purpose. He was bastard-born and raised among the isles. The Highlanders called him a savage, and his actions proved he was exactly that.
He took what he wanted, just as he was taking her.
She looked at the ground again, but the sound of water drew her attention to where he was leading her. The noise grew until it was loud enough to drown out the steps of the horses. He guided them around a granite outcropping and down to where the moonlight shimmered off a river. It was swollen from rains farther up in the Highlands, the moonlight lighting the white peaks raised by the current.
There was a fire burning near the face of the outcropping they had just come around. It was completely hidden from the open space. Over six dozen horses and men were taking their ease near the fire, the scent of roasting rabbit floating in the air. The orange flicker from the fire showed her the colors of the MacLeod plaid in their kilts. They looked up, but turned their backs once they realized their laird had returned with a female.
“Ye would never see trouble coming, lass. The Ross have no idea we are on their land.”
Saer let out a whistle, which was answered in kind. She didn’t care how much truth there was in his words. He slid off his horse and handed the reins to a younger boy who had come up to serve his laird. Saer handed off the reins of her mare to another lad before dismounting.
“Will ye dismount, or shall I assist ye, lass?”
Nareen lifted her leg and slid to the ground. She did it too fast, and her ankle bent, but she recovered, welcoming the twinge of pain, because it gave her something to focus on besides his unsettling presence. Once on the ground, she battled the instinct to feel small next to Saer MacLeod.
She would not be made to feel anything by the man, and that was final.
“Ye have no authority over me, Laird MacLeod.” She reached for the reins of her mare, but the lad was leading the horse away. “I’ll be going where I please.”
“Go into the night, and I’ll follow ye.” His eyes flickered with a warning. “As much as I admire the wild streak in ye, it will nae protect ye from men set on feuding. Yer brother is me friend and ally. ’Tis me duty to see ye protected.” His tone was firm.
She bristled. “I do nae wish to be under yer protection,” she insisted. “I’ve made me own place. Ye may tell me brother I absolved ye of any responsibility.”
“I’ve clasped yer brother’s wrist and called him friend. Honor is not absolved by words.” He stepped closer. “But that is nae the only reason I will ride out after ye, Nareen Grant.”
His voice had deepened and his tone made her knees go weak. She detested the reaction, willing herself to ignore it. Yet it persisted, turning and twisting through her like some sort of dark suggestion she couldn’t ignore because it was inside her.
“I must return to me mistress.”
“Ye’re hiding in yer position,” he accused softly. “Ye are the daughter of an ennobled laird, nae a serving lass.”
“I made a place for meself when the one me noble family sent me to was sordid,” she defended.
“Something ye are to be admired for.” His expression changed, the hard set of his lips softening as he moved even closer. She lost the battle to ignore her response. He was too near to ignore completely; the soft night breeze carried the scent of his skin to her.
She stepped back. His lips parted, flashing his teeth as victory filled his eyes.
“Ye intrigue me, Nareen Grant. Ye are noble-born, yet ye did nae meekly accept yer plight with yer cousin.”
“Of course I did nae, I am a Grant,” she answered with pride. His dark eyes brightened with approval and something that looked like intent. “Do nae be intrigued.” She stepped to the side, to place more space between them. “For I am nae interested in ye a bit.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “I’m willing to wager I can change yer mind, lass.”
Her eyes widened, a sickening twist of nausea shooting through her belly. “I am nae something to be made sport of.”
And she couldn’t bear it. The need to retch was growing as she battled the image of him taking her on the ground while his men ignored them.
There was nothing to stop him. Once more, she had only her wits, and it shamed her to know that was by her own doing. Reckless choices often delivered harsh consequences. But she was nae going to submit easily.
“Ye claim me brother is yer friend,” she reminded him. “I believe he would nae care to know ye are trifling with me.”
His expression hardened. “Yer cousin Ruth has paid for her deeds, but I wonder if stripping her of her freedom and placing her and her entire estate under the guardianship of a trusted man was enough. She bred a fear in ye. For that, she has nae been punished enough.”
It was true, but she couldn’t share such a thing with him. Not with anyone.
“Ruth no longer rules her estate?”
Saer shook his head. “Her choices are limited to what fare she might enjoy from the kitchen and what dress she may wear.”
For a moment, Nareen recalled the gleam that always brightened her cousin’s eyes when she was laying out her plans. The staff lived in fear of being singled out by their mistress. “Ruth thrived on control. She’ll hate having none.”
“Then it was well done.”
His voice had a deep timbre that struck her as too familiar, too kind, too focused upon her. She recoiled from it, shaking her head because she didn’t want anything about Ruth to matter to her. “I do nae care what became of her. She means naught to me.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “’Tis a sad thing to see how hard yer feelings are. But there is naught more to fear, she’ll nae have the opportunity to inflict such ills again.”
Nareen jerked away from the contact. She even took a swipe at his hand, but he moved faster, withdrawing in time to avoid being struck. Someone chuckled from where his men clustered near the fires, but Saer was watching her from narrowed eyes.
“I am nae afraid of anything,” she assured him.
“Is that so?” Saer inquired in a silky-smooth tone.
Nareen nodded. Satisfaction began to fill her, but it was cut short as he reached out and stroked her face again. She jumped, completely unable to control her reaction.
“Ye are making sport of me in front of yer men, like a savage.”
His eyes glittered, but it wasn’t with the outrage Nareen had intended to provoke. Instead, there was an unmistakable pleased looked in those dark orbs.
“I am a savage, Nareen.” He stepped forward, placing himself within touching range again. “I do nae let words stand alone. If ye truly have no interest in me, there is no reason to avoid me touch. Stand steady and prove ye are nae moved. I have no taste for a frigid woman.”
She laughed at him but stepped back again. “Then it seems we have a common ground, for I crave no man’s touch.”
His lips thinned. “Now that is something ye shall have to prove as well.”
“I will nae. Me word should be enough on the matter, if ye truly are me brother’s friend.” She didn’t care to hide behind her brother’s name, but the circumstances offered her few alternatives.
“As ye noted, I am a savage, and I always demand proof before I believe.”
This time, she was ready when he reached for her cheek. She stepped aside, avoiding him. She was just beginning to smile with her victory when he closed his hand around her wrist. He really was huge. His fingers closed easily around her smaller wrist, clasping it in an iron grip. She braced herself for pain, but there was none, only a secure hold that defied her attempt to break it.
“Release me.” Her voice had risen, and she shut her mouth before revealing any more of her unsettled state.
“Prove ye are unmoved, lass, and I shall be content to accept yer dismissal.” His tone had deepened, becoming something hypnotic.
“I am irritated.” And remaining still was proving too difficult. She twisted her hand, trying to break his hold again.
“Aye, ye are that.” He lifted her hand to his face and pressed a kiss on the delicate skin of her inner wrist. She shuddered, the touch intensely intimate. She’d never realized her skin might be so sensitive. The simple touch of his lips unleashed a bolt of sensation that shook her all the way down to her toes. His eyes filled with satisfaction.
“But ye are also affected.”
He released her, and she stumbled back a pace because she’d been resisting his hold so greatly. Laughter erupted from his men. Saer stiffened, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What?” she said. “Are ye trying to impress me by controlling yerself now that ye see yer men are enjoying the sport ye are making of me?”
“Aye, I am,” he answered darkly. “I am nae the one who chose this setting for our meeting, Nareen. Ye should nae have refused to see me again at court. That left me no choice but to chase ye.”
“Ye have no right to chase me, nor take me mare’s reins.”
He offered her only a slight tilt of his head. “Riding through the night hours is nae safe.”
“Ye were doing it,” she pointed out.
He reached back and grasped the pommel of the long sword that was strapped to his back. “I am more prepared than ye, lass.”
“So ye think,” she warned.
His eyes narrowed again, this time sweeping her from head to toe. He wouldn’t find her dagger. At least, not until it was too late.
“I can see to meself,” Nareen assured him, her confidence was high when it came to protecting herself. The knowledge restored her balance, and it was a relief.
She turned and made to go after her mare. She felt his gaze on her, but he didn’t try to stop her. The young lad who had taken her mare watched as she untied the knot that secured her bridle to the other horses. No one spoke a word, but they watched her, some of the retainers stroking their beards.
Nareen mounted and turned her mare toward the path that led away from the hidden campsite. She pressed her knees into the sides of the mare to get her moving.
Saer was no longer in sight. The urge to look around for the MacLeod laird was almost irresistible, but she lifted her chin and headed up the path. Her jaw was aching by the time she gained the high ground, because she was gritting her teeth.
But she was satisfied.
She was on her way, going where she wished.
Once out of the woods, her mare picked up speed, crossing the open space that allowed the Ross fortress to see invaders coming—the site for the castle had been chosen because of the natural clearing. The gate watch made her wait while they scanned the land. She glanced behind her, looking back toward the wooded area. For a moment, something moved, and Saer emerged for just a split second.
“Open the gate,” she called up.
“Ye’ll wait on the captain’s word,” a retainer called back down. “Do nae say the Grant leave their gates open in the dark of night.”
Of course they didn’t. No one did. The only reason she was allowed out was because the Ross truly did not care if she returned. A servant was replaceable, especially one from another clan. She’d taken solace in that fact, but now, she realized how foolish she had been.
Saer MacLeod could have kept her, and no one would have bothered to send out even a single rider to look for her. As much as she detested the facts of the world, she could not deny that the Grants had enemies—every clan did. Even on Ross land, she might find herself under attack from one of her brother’s enemies. If Saer could find her, so could others.
It was time to think about her circumstances.
“It’s clear,” the captain of the watch called from the top of the corner tower.
The portcullis was raised just enough for her to enter. But the moment the gate closed behind her, she realized she was there only because Saer had allowed it. His stallion was capable of running her mare to ground.
He’d allowed her to return.
That knowledge unleashed several emotions she wanted to ignore. But as she returned her mare to her stall and rubbed her down, there was no way to hide from her own thoughts.
Saer MacLeod had allowed her to decide what she wished. His fellow Highlanders might call him a savage, but he was far more accommodating than she expected of a man.
It was what he wanted, no doubt. All men craved the same thing from women.
It was more than a word. The idea whispered through her thoughts and along her skin, raising goose bumps. She shivered, but realized she was actually trembling. She hissed, letting her temper flare in the hopes it would burn away the memory of his touch.
Another emotion teased her, warm as a flash of temper, but it wasn’t anger. She frowned as she failed to understand it. Even if she detested the man and everything about him, the memory of his lips against her wrist filled her thoughts, leaving behind a slight sting on her cheeks.
She shook her head and made her way toward her bed.
She would not think about his touch or the way it made her feel. There would be no lament over the choice she had made to reject him.
There would not be.
* * *
“I’m surprised ye let her go back into that fortress,” Saer’s captain remarked when he joined him at the edge of the clearing. “I do nae think she’ll be making it simple for ye to catch her again.”
“I hope not.”
Baruch chuckled. “Are ye sure ye want that one, Laird?”
Saer cut his captain a hard look. “That is what I’m here to discover. She intrigues me, and I confess I’ve never been impressed with a lass’s strength before.”
“Her brother agreed to yer suit,” Baruch reminded him. “It would be a lot simpler to learn what it is ye want to know if ye had kept her.”
Saer looked back at the Ross fortress. “If I did that, she’d be able to dismiss me the same as those her cousin allowed to make sport of her.” His tone betrayed his anger. “She will come to me.”
“And how do ye figure to make that happen?”
Saer turned his stallion to head back to the camp. “She craves freedom. Nae the inside of that fortress.”
Baruch slowly smiled. “And ye’ve cleverly made it so she is the one who has caged herself. Well played, Laird. Even a spitfire cannae claim ye forced her inside that gate.”
“She will not,” Saer confirmed. “Nareen Grant will notice exactly what I did. She is no simpleton.”
Baruch let out a low whistle. “Careful, Laird, a spitfire is often more trouble than she’s worth. Once the passion cools, ye’ll be stuck with a harpy for a wife. One that will have the care of yer daughters.”
“Or I might just have found a woman who is nae afraid of me.”
Which was what he truly craved. Now that he was Laird, there were offers of brides, but he didn’t have the stomach for a shivering woman in his bed. His father’s bride had been one of those, a daughter offered up by her father, and white as a ghost on the day of her wedding. His father had turned to Saer’s mother for passion when the years went by and his noble wife never warmed toward him.
Saer wanted nothing to do with a marriage like that.
Nareen trembled, but she also spat at him. What he really wanted to know was would she reach for him once she surrendered to passion?
It was a gamble, one that carried a large risk. Saer wasn’t blind to the facts. But he also couldn’t ignore the way Nareen blushed for him. Her cheeks had been hot, even in the cold night air, just as they’d been when he’d encountered her at court.
Every moment they’d shared was branded into his memory. If he was given to superstition, he’d suspect her of casting spells. Court ladies had reputations for bewitching men with their wiles.
He grinned, the burn of a challenge warming him. If Nareen had enchanted him, he was going to make sure she suffered the same fate.
“Where are ye going, Laird?” Baruch inquired.
“To introduce meself to the Earl of Ross,” Saer answered without looking over his shoulder. “It would be terribly rude of me to cross his land and nae clasp his hand. Such an action might start rumors about me lack of social graces.”
“Well now, we wouldn’t be wanting that,” Baruch agreed as he followed his laird toward the castle. “But ye know, ye do nae have to spend the night inside the fortress. The summer night is fine.”
“Aye.” Saer continued toward the gate.
Baruch snorted behind him and abandoned further argument. “She’s under yer skin,” he groused instead.
“Perhaps.” Saer ignored the temptation to wait until morning to enter the castle. There was one thing he disliked more than being surrounded by stone walls, and that was ignoring a challenge. “Since I plan to claim her, it matters not.”
“Aye,” Baruch answered.
Whether or not Nareen was teasing him was not the reason he moved closer to her refuge. He wanted to know why she invaded his dreams. He’d stand in her path until she faced him. The answer would be revealed only when she stopped running.