I should throw her over my shoulder and escort her back to Hawksridge. Instead, I made her sit. In the middle of a forest. At dusk.

What the fuck?

Nila sat by my feet smiling sadly as Bolly, the top foxhound, nuzzled into her naked side—his wet nose nudged against her breast as he whined for attention.

She sighed, hugging him close, pressing a kiss into the ruff of his neck. “You outted me, you rascal.” Her voice wobbled, even though a tight smile stayed locked on her face. “I want to hate you for it, but I can’t.”

Bolly yipped, hanging his head, almost as if he understood exactly what she jabbered on about.

I stood staring at the odd woman—the woman who, even now, surprised me.

Something twisted deep inside. Something I had no fucking intention of analysing.

Everywhere I looked, she was scratched and bruised. New bruises on top of old bruises, shallow lacerations that’d scabbed over and deeper ones still oozing blood. My eyes fell to her feet. They were covered in cuts with a puncture on the fleshy part of her large toe.

I waited for a twinge of guilt—for that humanness I told her I didn’t possess. The only emotion I got was annoyance at her hurting herself. She’d marred herself, and that reflected badly on me.

“You would rather slice yourself to pieces while running away from me, than suffer a few debts by my side?”

Her head snapped up, dark eyes arresting mine. “I would gladly hurt myself to gain my freedom.”

“And why is that pain any different from the pain I might give you?”

So much feeling existed in her gaze as she whispered, “Because it’s my choice.” She let Bolly go, dropping her hands into her naked lap. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along. You’ve stripped me of any rights. You’ve planted photographs ruining the only life I’ve ever known. You’ve destroyed—”

Something cold and angry slithered in my heart. “You talk of hurt and pain—as if I’ve treated you so unfairly.” Leaning over her, I hissed, “Tell me one instance in which I’ve hurt you.”

She frowned, her body neither flinching nor curling away from my encroachment. “Pain comes in many appearances, Jethro. Just because you haven’t raised your hand to me—apart from a slap in the dining room—doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt me more than anyone else before. You degraded me.”

“I’ve been nothing but civil. I wiped it all away for you. I did what I promised.”

She shook her head, sadness glassing her eyes. “You think that by taking me at the end, everything that happened is forgotten?” She laughed; it was full of brittle anger. “You say I belong to you—that I’m yours—custom-made and born for your torment.” A single tear fled her gaze. “Then why didn’t you stop them? Why let them have me if I’m meant to be yours?”

I stumbled backward. “That’s what hurt you the most? The fact that I let my father welcome you the way it’s always been done? That I’m obeying tradition? You’re hurt because I’m following the rules—the same rules which you don’t seem to comprehend?”

My brain hurt. I’d never talked so much in my life. Never argued a subject or tried to understand another’s point of view. That wasn’t my world.

Shut her up.

I hated her questions and accusations. They didn’t just stop at one but dragged a whole caravan of inquiry and slurs behind it. She made me second guess everything I knew and was.

I hated it. I hated her.

She said, “Those rules aren’t mine. I’m not yours or theirs. I’m telling you how wrong all of this is, yet you shut down the minute I see something normal inside you.”

Growling under my breath, I grabbed the saddlebag and turfed the supplies onto the blanket.

Bolly moved in front of Nila, sniffing at the items as if they were a danger to the woman he’d helped hunt down.

I was a hypocrite?

Look at the bloody dog.

Nila glanced at the packets strewn on the plaid. I shoved the damn dog out of the way, reaching for her.

She ducked, unable to disguise her flash of terror.

My stomach twisted. I bared my teeth. “What? You think I’m going to hurt you?” Breathing hard, I grabbed a blister packet and threw it at her. “I’m not going to hurt you, even though my whip would like to strike something more than just my horse after the issues you’ve caused.”

Her dark eyes met mine, rebellion bright. Then her eyebrow rose as she glanced at what I’d tossed her. “You—”

I snatched the packet and popped out two high-strength painkillers. Stealing her hand, I placed both into her palm. She cupped them instantly.

“You’re hurt. I told you I’m not a monster, Ms. Weaver. Would a beast give you something to mute your pain? The same pain, I might add, that you brought on by yourself?”

Her face went white, her fingers unlocking to peer at the two white tablets. Her face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and utter confusion.

Another dagger to my gut. There was something about her injuries and vulnerabilities that were the perfect chisel to my iron-clad resolve.

The resolve that’d saved me from myself. The lifestyle that I’d been taught when nothing else had worked.

Fuck.

Looking away, I tossed a water bottle at her. She caught it clumsily. Unscrewing the lid, she placed the tablets on her tongue, and drained the contents in three seconds flat. She wiped her mouth, eyeing up the bag by my feet.

Silence existed for a heartbeat. Then two.

Her eyes met mine, granting me something I hadn’t sought to gain. Her gratefulness. The fight and future was forgotten—her bodily needs overtaking everything else. And I was the one who could give her what she needed.

“If you’re looking for food, I have some.”

She swallowed hard.

I forced myself to shove aside my tangled emotions, grabbing my icy persona with both hands. “I need something from you first.”

She grabbed the damn dog again.

I hated how her arms lashed around him, seeking something else she needed—something I couldn’t give her.

I whistled.

Bolly instantly heeled, leaving Nila rejected on the tartan blanket.

She rolled her shoulders, looking longingly at the dog. Slowly, the strength I grew to recognise cloaked her; her eyes met mine. “Fine. What do you want?”