“I feel ridiculous,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of her skirts and holding them up. “These are blue.”

“Yes, and?” Connor walked behind her, taking one of her curls and wrapping it around his finger. He stared at her speculatively, like she was a prized pastry he was presenting to the king. She pulled herself away from him, gesturing to her outfit sharply.

“This is not my color! I told you that gray was the best, and—and this makes me look too…too... I don’t know. Highlanders like women who are curvy, like Blaine. Look at me! I’m as thin as a stick, Connor. This a terrible idea. I do not see the point of dressing up. You’re acting as though I am going to court!”

Connor rolled his eyes, reaching forward to swipe his thumb under her lip. She stuck her tongue out, licking it. He yanked his hand way from her, wiping his thumb on his sleeve. He frowned at her.

“That is disgusting.”

She hmph’ed, crossing her arms over her chest. His eyes dropped to her cleavage, and he grinned.

“That is disgusting,” she muttered. Connor only shook his head, reaching out to adjust another curl.

“I have a question, actually.”

She raised a brow. “Aye?”

“Does that…” He waved a hand toward her bosom. She started to blush. “Does that not hurt? To have them bound when you pretend to be a boy?”

“I... It is hard to breathe sometimes, but the overly large shirt helps disguise them if I do not tighten the binding as much as I should.”

Connor nodded slowly, taking that in with a dubious look.

“Well, in any case, you look wonderful,” he said, stepping away from her. He sounded like her mother had whenever Blaine would show off a dress. “He’s going to faint at your feet!”

“You keep saying that, but the laird does not seem like one to faint at a woman’s feet. He’s more likely to impale her with his claymore, or whatever it is he uses in battle.”

“What kind of battle are you talking about?” Connor asked, snickering. She didn’t understand what he—oh.

“That is disgusting! There will be no impaling of that sort.” She closed her eyes, sighing. She wondered what the laird was doing now. Was he as nervous as she was? She could have laughed at her own question if she weren’t beginning to feel sick.

Connor pinched her cheeks. She gasped, pulling away from him.

“You look a bit pale,” he said, chuckling. Then he started to pull her to the door. “Come, he’s waiting.”

“What—how do you know? Oh, Lord,” she whispered, her face losing the color Connor had tried to force into it. “What if Blaine sees me? I completely forgot!”

He rolled his eyes. “Who cares if she does?”

“I do! I’ll never hear the end of it if she sees me cavorting with Lord Shaw like some lady of the night. She will hate me!” She moved away from the door, shaking her head. “I cannot do this, Connor. I simply can’t. This feels—”

“Do not say it feels wrong,” he warned her, waving a finger in her face. “This is most definitely not wrong. This is right, and this is perfect. Blaine will not see you—she’s out in the gardens or in the village, like always. Either way, you’re safe. And if you’re not, and she sees you? What does it matter?”

“She’ll get on me about my cover being blown—”

“Saeran,” he said, giving her a flat look. “You are more naive than I thought if you think your cover won’t be blown. Now! The laird awaits.”

* * *

The laird was indeed waiting. Connor shoved her into the hall, right in front of the mountain of a man. She realized that he’d thrown her to the lion, like a piece of meat to be devoured. She turned around, desperate to follow him in his escape, but the laird’s sharp intake held her back.

Slowly, heart sinking with every movement, she turned around. He knew—he recognized her as Saeran. Her ruse was up, and she was going to die by his sword.

Though the fear was so intense that her heart was climbing up her throat, she managed to meet his eyes... And everything stilled.

He was breathtaking. He’d cleaned up since that morning. His hair was still wild, long, and mussed like he had just woken from a nap. His jaw still held the stubble that had grown overnight, and his eyes were filled with a look she didn’t understand.

All she knew was that he made her face turn pink and her body tremble.

“I was beginning to think ye’ were no’ going to show,” he grunted. The look left his eyes, and he came forward, until he was standing in front of her. That was all he did. Stand there. Staring down at her. No bow or any other sort of greeting.

She smiled weakly, forcing her nerves down.

It didn’t seem like her cover had been blown. He hadn’t noticed, she realized with a start. She didn’t know what his gasp had been for, but it wasn’t because he’d realized who she was. A rush of relief ran through her.

“I was beginning to hope I wouldn’t have to,” she replied. His eyes widened. Just barely, but enough for her to know she had spoken out of turn. “I did not mean it like—”

He bowed his head to her, but not before she saw the flash of white when he smiled. “I’m going to take that as ye’ didn’t want me to agree to eat with Blaine, and no’ that yer going to dread my company.”

“I’m so sorry for—”

“Nay, lass. Donna fash yerself.” He started walking away from her, towards the kitchens. Saeran watched him go, her feet glued to the ground. Blaine could be in there. If her sister saw her— “Are ye’ coming?”

She looked between him and the direction he’d been going, biting her lip.

He turned to her fully, raising a brow. “I’ll only dine with Blaine if ye’ go with me, lass. That is the deal. Do ye’ not want me to sup with her?”

I don’t know what I want you to do, she thought, worrying her hands in front of her.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, flashing that same smile and coming to take her hand. He twined his fingers through hers, ignoring her shocked gasp, and began pulling her to the doors.

“Where are we going?” she demanded, trying to pull her hand away from him. He held fast, continuing to pull her. She would have fought harder had she not realized how big his hand was around hers, how utterly masculine this beast of a man was compared to her willowy daintiness. She was entranced into silence, simply by his presence, when she should have been anything but.

“Out. I need to check the fences near the MacLeod border to see if they’ll hold up for the next storm, and yer coming with me.” He held the door open for her, then gestured her inside. Her heart nearly stopped with the relief she felt when she saw that Blaine wasn’t near—nor could she hear her voice coming from the open door that lead to the training grounds.

“So far out?” She met his eyes over her shoulder when he stayed close behind her. “It’s quite a ride. It would take us several hours to get back. I fear that without a chaperone, I cannot let this happen.”

He chuckled. The sound was so deep and silky that it rolled down her back like hot water. A warm feeling settled in her stomach. She picked up her pace, struggling to ignore how affected she was by just a laugh.

“We have all the time in the world, lass, and ye’ have no need for a chaperone. I’m the host. I’m guardianship enough. Donna worry, ye’ll be well protected from any enemies we may cross.”

But who will protect me from you? she thought, shivering when his hand landed on the small of her back. He led her to the stables, seeming to miss her reaction to him. Thank lord for that.

“How well o’ a rider are ye’?” He handed her a rein to a horse that wasn’t the one she’d claimed as her own. Saeran peaked inside the stables and saw the poor beast looking at her with betrayal in her big brown eyes. She turned back to the laird.

“I’m proficient,” she lied, nervously patting the horse on the butt. The laird raised a brow.

“Something tells me yer lying to me, lass.”

She started to shake her head to deny him. Before she could speak, his hands were on her waist, her feet off the ground, and her breasts pressed against his chest.

Time stood still.

All she saw was the forest green flecks in his eyes. The animal he hid so well, lurking behind them, waited patiently at the edge of darkness. All she could smell was the woodsy, musky scent of him, and all she could hear was the beating of her own heart.

Saeran wanted to lose herself in the moment, but all too soon, it was over. The spell broke, and he tossed her onto the saddle. She blinked, then cautiously righted herself.

He mounted his horse with an ease that stole her breath—well, what was left of it, anyway.

“You know,” she said hesitantly, feeling compelled to talk to him, “I did not expect this when I agreed to your silly request.”

“It’s silly, is it?” he grunted, giving her a side-look as he took her rein. He brought them to a gallop, cutting off all conversation. They rode over hills, through trees, and past her creek. The ride felt long and gruesome, though she knew only a couple of minutes had passed. She didn’t take any joy in the ride until he let go of her reins, giving her horse a slap on its bum.

She went flying.

“How silly is that?” he shouted from behind her. The laughter in his voice only made her own bubble to the forefront, and soon, she was letting herself go. Her hair flew out behind her. Her face tilted to the sun, and the horse became pure power and energy underneath her.

I’d needed this, she thought vaguely, letting the sun warm her face. Fresh Highland air washed over and around her, cleansing her. She’d needed the freedom that came with open lands, with going as fast as one can go. She’d needed a break from the tyranny of her sister. Now that she had it, she was reluctant to let it go.

But she had to. Kane rode in front of her just as they came to a section of the fence, bringing her horse to a gradual stop. She couldn’t stop the laughter that was bursting from her lips, especially when she saw the long strands of his hair and how tangled they were.

“What are ye’ laughing at? That was meant to be a lesson. Ye’ donna insult the great laird,” he growled. The playful light in his eyes only made it worse.

“Your hair,” she said, pointing to it. He came close to her, close enough that she could fix the mess. “It’s...it’s quite a mess.”

He frowned at her. “Ye’ should see yer own hair! ‘Tis transformed into a golden mess as well.” Saeran knew he was teasing her, but the comment made her sober. This was wrong. This should be Blaine! She should be the one laughing, teasing, and riding with him.

Not Saeran.

“My lady?”

She looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. He was worried he’d offended her, she thought, unable to stop herself from smiling. Only a few moments in his presence, and he was turning out to be much more than just The Lion. The man didn’t seem to be a complete barbarian, she thought. But there was still time for that to change.

“How long are we going to be out here for?” she asked. The fence went on for as long as she could see.

“No’ long,” he said after a moment. The laird turned away from her, swinging himself to the ground. The horse ambled off, but he paid it no mind. He knelt in front of the fence, checked the wiring and the post, and then straightened. “The MacLeods are always complaining about our lands being separated, and then they come around and ruin the fence when they see fit. I have to check it every once in a while.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, frowning. “Why would you put up with that?”

He shrugged, gave her a smirk from over his shoulder, and went to work.

She paused, watching him. He appeared to be teasing, but something told her that he wasn’t. Kane Shaw might appear to be a laidback man to Alice, but underneath all of that, she saw him for what he was.

A ruthless man.

She knew it in her gut, could feel it with every sense she possessed. Watching him move, watching his muscles tense at the slightest sound and noticing the way his eyes scanned the area with trained precision, showed her a man she had every right to be terrified of.

Yet she wasn’t.

For Blaine, she told herself as she tried to find a way to get off the horse without falling on her face. She was here with this man for Blaine. She was only gauging his personality. Aye, all for Blaine.

She continued to tell herself that when she awkwardly tried to adjust herself on the saddle. She’d never ridden in a skirt before, nor had she ever dismounted with her legs constrained. Saeran muttered a small curse when her leg became caught.

Her head fell back in embarrassed frustration.

“Seems that someone is no’ as proficient as she claims to be,” the laird said from beside her. She bit her lip.

“You never asked whether I was good at dismounting, only if I could ride,” she said smartly, trying to keep an upper hand. Blaine would do that. She’d keep an upper hand. She would know what to say to not embarrass herself, as Saeran now was.

“Oh, aye,” he murmured, chuckling. “I’ll remember to be more precise with my questions.”

The laird reached up, ignoring her hands when she batted at him, and took her by the waist once again. This time, she was prepared—and felt the full force of his hands on her, holding her, supporting all of her weight. His hands were the only thing that kept her from falling to the ground. With her heart in her throat, she grabbed for his shoulders.