Reid stared at the ceiling until the fire had burned to naught but coals. He resisted the urge to shift against the hard wooden planks beneath him. He’d endured far worse physical discomfort than sleeping on the floor—but never had he experienced a pain quite like the acute ache underneath his kilt at the moment.

Damn Corinne for making this so difficult. Reid didn’t know if he meant the journey to Eilean Donan, their impending marriage, or the unwanted need burning through his veins. Regardless, things were not going as planned.

A taunting voice in the back of his head whispered that he had naught to complain about. He found his future wife courageous, intriguing—and damned alluring.

Lust spiked in his gut as he remembered the brushing contact his thumb had made along the creamy skin of her slim shoulder. That skin had rippled with gooseflesh—had it been from the cold, or was she affected by his touch?

The firelight had teased against her chemise, giving him a maddeningly fleeting glimpse of her delicate curves underneath. Her hips, though on the trim side, had felt made for his hands when he’d steadied her. And damn it all if he hadn’t had the insane desire to pull her roughly against him, bury his nose in the riot of red hair brushing her neck, and let his hands drink their fill of her body.

Aye, what could be so wrong about desiring one’s soon-to-be wife? Reid ground his teeth in the darkness. Unfortunately, everything.

Desiring the lass was quickly turning an already tangled situation into an all-out disaster. His allies—the MacDonnell Laird especially—would be outraged when they learned of his marriage to an Englishwoman.

Assuming that the breakdown of a possible marriage alliance didn’t start a clan war with his allies, Reid would still have to deal with the likes of the MacVales, who plagued the MacDonnells’ eastern border and refused to form alliances of any kind. Serlon MacVale, Laird of the clan, seemed to relish remaining in isolation—and creating chaos amongst his neighbors as well. If a wedge of discontent formed between the MacDonnells and the Mackenzies, MacVale would no doubt take the opportunity to exploit it for his own gain.

And all that presumed he could wrangle his slippery wee English bride to the Highlands without further incident. She’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted naught to do with the Bruce’s arranged marriage. Desiring the chit was simply masochistic. How could Reid lust for a woman who would prefer the cold, drudging life of a nun?

As if prompted by his thoughts, he heard the bed creak softly. Reid kept his breathing slow and steady, but his ears pricked. Was the lass just rolling over? Nay, for he could hear Corinne’s breaths coming soft and short somewhere over him.

She was trying to look at him in the dark, he realized. He remained motionless, feigning sleep. What was the lass about?

From the soft rustling, he gathered that she’d pushed the covers aside. Then to his vexation, he heard her fumbling with the shutters over the bed.

Would she truly jump from a second-storey window in the middle of a dark, rainy night just to be away from him? The frustrating thought burned away the lingering lust warming Reid’s body. He was as displeased as she about the Bruce’s order—bloody hell, he had an entire clan legacy depending on a marriage alliance—but he would see his duty done.

She must have swung the shutters open, for the patter of rain outside grew louder in the blackened chamber. The clouds completely obscured the moon, leaving Corinne to move in the dark. A faint, light-colored smudge rose up from the bed—Corinne’s linen chemise.

He heard her take a deep breath and knew she was about to jump.

Surging up from the floor, he flung an arm out and snatched the first thing he came in contact with—Corinne’s ankle, judging from the delicate bones under smooth skin.

Corinne shrieked in surprise and fright. He yanked her ankle hard enough to send her thumping down onto the mattress. With one hand, he slammed the shutters against the blustering rain. Then he threw himself on top of her so that she couldn’t wriggle away.

“Let me go!” she cried frantically. She squirmed beneath him, but he caught her wrists and pressed them into the mattress. The weight of his torso and legs on top of hers was enough to render her nearly completely motionless.

“Must I tie ye to the bed, woman?” he barked, letting his anger—at the Bruce, at Corinne, at this whole damned situation—boil over. “How many times must ye be shown—there is no escaping this.”

She cried out wordlessly, struggling even though they both knew it was futile. Beneath him, he felt her begin to shake. Realization dawned—she was sobbing.

“Dinnae make me into a monster, Corinne,” he said roughly. He dragged in a breath, willing his anger in check. “Dinnae make it this way, when ye ken I am in the same bind ye are.”

“Then let me go!” she cried. “Release me. Let me take sanctuary in a church.”

“And tell the Bruce what?”

“That I got away. That you cannot violate the sanctuary of a religious house. The Bruce will have to accept—”

“Nay.” The word was as hard and flat as a lead anvil.

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice thick with emotion. “Are you so proud that you cannot let it appear that I bested you?”

“It is no’ a matter of pride,” Reid ground out, “but of duty. I pledged to serve Robert the Bruce as his loyal subject. I cannae disobey his order.”

She released a shaking breath. “Duty is a poor excuse.”

Reid stiffened. He thought of all the times he’d answered the Bruce’s request for aid, for warriors, for supplies during these harrowing years of war. He thought of all the Mackenzies who’d died for duty—to him as their Laird, and to their King and country. “Men have given their lives for it,” he growled.

“And now you would take my life to satisfy your duty,” she whispered.

“Ye think marrying me and dying are one and the same?” he snapped.

“I will be forced to live a shadow life, just like my father and de Perroy intended, and that is as good as being dead.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Something seemed to break in her, for she went limp beneath him. A sob rose from her throat. “You don’t understand. You don’t know me at all.”

Reid stared down at her in the darkness. The sound of her tears was like a nail being driven into his chest. Damn it all, she was right. He didn’t understand what drove her with such unwavering determination to escape—not only him, but her father and her fiancé.

He eased off her slowly. As he shifted his weight to the side, she curled into a ball, muffling her sobs in her hands.

“I ken ye dinnae wish to wed me,” he said carefully, “but I am no’ like yer father and de Perroy. I’ll never raise a hand against ye.”

She continued to cry as if she hadn’t heard him. Mayhap now wasn’t the time for words. The lass was scared, alone, and cornered as surely as he was in this cursed union.

Gently, he looped an arm around her and drew her against him. She stiffened for a moment, but then she buried her face in his shoulder and let the tears come.

She felt so fragile in his arms, her body shaking as sobs wracked her. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck him—he was to marry this woman in a matter of days. She would be his to protect, to look after. To raise an heir with.

The weight of that responsibility hit him for the first time. He’d been so focused on alliances and enemies, on his legitimacy and lineage, that he’d hardly considered what it would mean to share a life with Corinne.

If her tears were any indication, she had considered what that would mean—and found him lacking. He couldn’t blame her—he’d kidnapped her, held her captive, dragged her to the Lowlands and now the Highlands, and next he would bind her to him for eternity. And all without her getting a sliver of choice in any of it.

Of course, he hadn’t had much choice either, but that didn’t make things any easier for her.

Once again, Reid felt like a complete arse.

“There now,” he said, awkwardly patting her back. What else could he say? That they would find their way? What if they didn’t? What if she hated him for giving her naught but a shadow life, as she’d put it, whatever that meant?

Reid cursed himself. He’d never been one for flowery words or eloquent turns of phrase. He led his clan with strength and decisiveness, not tenderness and charisma. Damn it all, he was only good at taking action.

He dragged in a breath, catching a faint whiff of lemons in Corinne’s hair. He knew the action he wanted to take at the moment, but he had no idea if it would help or make him more of a monster in her eyes.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Without thinking, he laced his fingers through her cropped hair and lifted her head away from his shoulder.

Just as another sob rose in her throat, he dipped his mouth to hers and kissed her.

She stilled, the sob catching on an inhale. Her lips tasted of salt from her tears, but they were lush as ripe fruit beneath his.

He waited for her to pull back, to shove against his chest, but to his surprise, she remained motionless. Experimentally, he angled his lips to capture her mouth more fully. She softened ever so slightly in his arms.

That small loosening of her coiled body was enough to send a surge of desire through him. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he was rewarded with a little gasp. At the parting of her lips, his tongue sought entrance.

Another wave of need hit him as he delved into the damp heat of her mouth. Unbidden, his manhood stirred, the ache from when he’d undressed her returning to his bollocks.

Hesitantly, she curled her hands in his shirt, opening to him. He took all she gave, caressing her velvety tongue with his.

The sudden urge to tighten his fist in her hair, to rip her thin chemise in two, to spread her legs and drive into her, nearly stole his breath. Never had he felt such an abrupt and fierce desire to possess a woman before—not even with Euna.

Corinne made a low noise in her throat, dragging him from his thoughts. She was meeting the strokes of his tongue now, following his lead. The urgency in her kiss matched his own. The realization—that need consumed her just as it did him—sent his cock straining rigidly under his kilt.

He yanked his mouth from hers, reveling in the desperate moan of dissatisfaction she gave at his departure. But just as quickly, his lips fell on her throat, and she sucked in a breath of surprise. He pushed her hair out of his way with his nose as he forged a path to her earlobe. When he took the lobe between his teeth, he was rewarded with yet another inhale.

By God, she was so responsive to his touch, like kindling primed for a spark. In that moment, he nearly lost his white-knuckled grasp on control. He nearly rolled her onto her back and shoved their clothing out of the way to claim her there and then.

But some last shred of sanity stopped him. Nay, this wasn’t the way to do this. As a man born in bastardry, he knew the costs of a rash act of passion all too well. The Mackenzie Lairdship needed a legitimate heir. He couldn’t put his people through more questions of legitimacy. Nor would he put Corinne—or any child borne of their union—through those same questions.

With every drop of willpower he possessed, Reid lifted his mouth from Corinne’s blazing skin. Panting, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Rest now,” he managed at last.

He could feel her questioning gaze on him, but she didn’t speak. Was she as astounded by what they’d just shared as he was? He longed to read her ocean eyes, but in the dark, her thoughts were shielded from him.

After a moment, she lowered her head to his shoulder once more, letting a long breath go. It fanned across his neck, sending a pulse of need through him.

She must have been exhausted, for after only a few minutes, she went soft against him, her breathing slow and deep.

Reid remained motionless, but he knew he would not be joining her in sleep. Not with her snuggled up against him, wearing naught but a chemise, her lemon-scented hair tickling his chin and her kiss branded on his lips.

Nay, several parts of him would remain very much awake this night.