Page 9 of Jack (Highland Outlaws #1)

His body was strong and sleek. He smelled like the woods and exuded power. He was a man used to being obeyed—a dangerous, unpredictable man who made her feel deeply unsettled and who was clearly very unhappy that she was there.

At that moment, she decided cooperation was her best defense. Squaring her shoulders, she sat down, fanned out her soiled tunic, and crossed her ankles.

A glint of amusement lit his eyes. Then he gestured to the bread. “Eat,” he said again.

Her hand shook as she tore off a piece of bread and took a bite.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

Sweet Jesus, she wanted to run but her feet were rooted to the ground and all she could do was sit there while tension built between them until finally, he spoke, “What’s the question biting at yer tongue? ”

She jumped a little in her seat before swallowing her fear. “Are you going to kill me?”

He smiled. And then he threw his head back and laughed, showing white, even teeth. She scowled, quite certain there was nothing at all amusing in her question.

His laughter trailed off. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his disheveled black waves. “Let me put yer mind to rest, Princess. I have no wish to hurt ye. Earlier today, I would have taken yer last coin and all yer bonny jewels, but my brothers and I would never have harmed ye.”

“All those men are your brothers?” she asked. Her voice sounded small and soft, unrecognizable to her own ear. Sitting a little straighter, she imbued her posture with strength that she hoped would spread to her whole person.

He nodded in answer.

She took another bite of bread and worked up the courage to ask the other question that had been nagging her. As she met his dark gaze, she uttered the words, “Why did you save me?”

He simply shrugged, not giving an answer.

Indignant, she asked, “Have I wronged you somehow? Or are you merely angry because you did not get your chance to rob me?” Refusing to be intimidated by this highwayman any longer, she stood and lifted her chin high.

“I demand you return me to my father, or if you wish, you can take me on to my intended destination, my sister’s home at Ravensworth Castle. ”

His countenance remained unchanged. “Ye can keep yer orders to yerself, Princess,” he drawled before taking a sip of ale. “As I’ve said before, ye’re not going anywhere for now.”

She quickly removed her rings and laid them on the table in front of him. “Take these. ‘Tis only the beginning. If it is money you desire, then I assure you, my father will pay handsomely for my safe return.”

“I will bring ye home when I can ensure yer safety and my own,” he said coldly. Then he murmured, more to himself than to her, “The bishop will know what to do.”

She scowled, turning away. Sweat gathered on her brow. The heat and stress of the day were undeniable. She pulled a handkerchief from beneath the cuff of her sleeve and pressed it against her face.

His gaze raked over her figure. He shook his head in disapproval. “I’ll never ken a noble woman’s attire. Ye’re suffocating yerself in all that fuss.”

“You speak as if I had some say in what I wear.” She paused and blatantly passed her gaze over his homespun shirt and hose. “Like your own attire, my dress is befitting my station.”

For a moment, a sneer twisted his rugged features, and she feared she had pushed him too far. Her heart pounded. He stepped closer, as if he was going to retaliate, but his face softened.

He cupped her cheeks between his rough palms and leaned close.

“Why must convention cover a woman’s hair?

It is almost always her greatest beauty,” he murmured, his breath caressing her skin.

He was so close. His fingers slid under the edges of her wimple, and before she knew what was happening, he ripped the fabric, exposing her head and neck.

Her body betrayed her as a sigh of relief escaped her lips, having been released from her own personal prison.

“What is yer given name?” he asked softly while uncoiling her hair.

“Bella,” she breathed. “Is...Isabella.”

He laced his fingers through her long hair, and she wondered if he thought it was her greatest beauty.

She certainly didn’t think so. Her sable brown locks had always seemed plain to her at court— oh, for pity’s sake , she admonished herself.

What did it matter? She should have been fighting his presumptuous attention, not losing herself in it. He was a thief and her abductor.

But he was also her savior.

Confused, she met his gaze and was struck by the intensity she glimpsed in his black eyes.

He stirred something inside her that was both fearful and exhilarating.

God’s blood, if he had wished to unnerve her, he had succeeded; she felt vulnerable and exposed.

His hands suddenly dropped to his sides, and he turned his back to her.

Without his gaze holding her captive, her courage returned.

“If you were a gentleman, you would take me home!”

He whirled around and crushed her against him. “Never mistake me for a gentleman, Princess.” He kissed her hard on the lips. She pushed against his chest and struggled in protest, but he held her fast.

Then his lips softened. His embrace became tender. She ceased her struggle, lulled by his whispered caress.

An instant later, he tore his lips away.

He was as unpredictable as a summer storm. Without thinking, she drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side. She held her breath, thinking the end was nigh.

He rubbed his cheek. His lip tugged into a lazy sideways grin. “Ye’ve gumption, my lady,” he said before turning to leave. Then over his shoulder he said, “I like that in a woman.”