Page 8 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

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E rsie really didn’t want to follow him.

She stood there for a heartbeat, her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw locked. But her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her across the stone corridor after him.

Cursed sense of duty .

And she cursed her curiosity even more.

Keith Dunn moved with the same intensity he seemed to do everything—without hesitation, without a second glance, like the world bent to his will and that was that.

Well, she certainly had something to say about that. Not even her brother spoke to her in the way Keith dared to speak to her—without respect, as if she was a meek housemaid.

Of course, she remembered where the study was—Ersie had memorized the entire keep already. Even though he had tried to confuse her by weaving through the corridors, archways, and galleries to and from the dungeons the night before.

Her tight fists collided with the heavy door.

Moments later, Keith opened the door with the creak of iron hinges. His wild, green eyes raked over her with a fire she had not been prepared to feel. It made her skin tingle under her dark clothing.

Thank the Lord he cannae see through me clothes. That was…

“Do ye wish to stay out there, then?” his low voice rumbled in the space between them.

She narrowed her eyes but walked inside. The door closed behind her with a final thud.

And the air between them thickened.

“Ye arenae here to flirt with me braither,” Keith said without preamble.

Her eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me?”

He took a step closer. “Ye arenae here to do anything I dinnae approve of.”

She scoffed, stepping back as he advanced. “ Ye arenae me master. I dinnae bend to yer will.”

His gaze sharpened. “And yet ye are stayin’ in me castle. As long as ye are here, I am yer master, whether ye like it or nae. Unless ye prefer stayin’ in the dungeons—where I would happily allow ye to govern yerself.” He leaned in, his breath fanning her ear. “Ye will be a good lass and appease me, will ye nae?”

A shudder rippled through her.

Damn it.

Heat flared in her cheeks, and then anger quickly followed. She shoved at his chest with both hands. He didn’t budge.

Frustrated, she raised her hand to slap him.

He caught her wrist mid-air, his hand a steel trap.

“Ye truly think that would have landed?” he said, his voice roughened by something darker than amusement.

His fingers tightened around her wrist, not painful but firm enough to make her breath catch.

“Let go,” she spat, trying to wrench away.

She knew the move, but she wasn’t sure if he also knew it, so she remained still.

“I will,” he said, stepping closer, his breath fanning her cheek now. “But only if ye tell me why ye are truly here.”

“Ye already ken why . Besides the fact that ye brought me here,” she ground out. “To help find yer son’s killer.”

“Aye, that’s the tale, is it nae? But ye show up, bold as brass, sword drawn, nosin’ in me business, challengin’ me authority, and ask me to overlook it as a simple mistake. Then, ye flirt with me braither as if ye hadnae been carted in here yesterday.”

Her eyes flashed. “I wasnae flirtin’. Lucas was bein’ friendly. I returned every sentiment.”

“He was undressin’ ye with his eyes, and ye were lettin’ him.”

“Maybe I just enjoy bein’ looked at like a woman for once,” she snapped, before she could stop herself.

His grip loosened for a breath, her words hitting their mark.

“Is that what this is about? Ye wishin’ to be seen in all of this?”

They were toe to toe now, the tension so thick she could taste it on her tongue—or perhaps that was the tinge of blood on her tongue as she bit down on it hard.

“Ye lie like a soldier,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with his free hand. “Direct. Controlled. But still a lie.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears. “Ye think ye ken me, Keith Dunn? Ye have nay clue.”

“Nay,” he said, his lips a breath from hers. “That’s where ye are wrong.”

Silence stretched between them like a taut bowstring, and she knew if he moved a hair closer, she might even let him kiss her.

He released her wrist, stepping back like it cost him something. The look in his eyes was the most dangerous thing of all.

She blinked, unsure if the heat rolling under her skin was from fury or something far more dangerous. The bastard had a way of pressing all the right buttons—on purpose, no less.

“We’ll stick to work,” she said, her voice steadier this time, though the undercurrent of something else still clung to it.

She had let the heat of the moment distract her from her true purpose, but all of the training she had could never have prepared her for an opponent such as him.

His eyes narrowed, studying her. “Aye? Are ye always this elusive when ye are flustered?”

Her nostrils flared, but she kept her voice even. “I think ye are confusing confidence for somethin’ else.”

It feels like he’s settin’ me up for somethin’. A trap?

“Mayhap. Or mayhap ye dinnae realize just how much ye show when ye think ye are hidin’.”

She stood straighter, lifting her chin defiantly. “What else do ye ken about me?”

“I read people, Ersie Barcley. And ye, lassie, are like a sword held too close to a forge—blazin’ hot and beggin’ to be tested.”

Her pulse jumped, but she refused to let it show. “And what does that make ye, then? The smith or the flame?”

He stepped closer, his eyes sharp. “Depends.”

Their gazes locked, the tension between them a taut line ready to snap. She could feel the air shift, feel her skin prickle from his proximity.

Keith’s eyes darkened. “I wish ye would actually take me seriously for once.”

He’s definitely doin’ this on purpose.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and wrenched her hand free without so much as an ounce of resistance from him.

“This is nonsense,” she muttered, brushing past him.

Letting the fire settle in her chest, she hopped up and sat on the edge of his desk. Her fingers traced the grain, thinking about the way his breath had tickled her skin.

She knew she had no business being affected by Keith Dunn. No business thinking about the way his eyes burned through her every time they met hers.

But she did, and that made her mad.

He’s started this entire thing on purpose—nay better than… Well, obviously nay better than me. Cannae beat me at me own game.

“Can we nae just focus on finding this man instead of fightin’ each other?”

* * *

… should kiss her until she stops breathing…

His thoughts bounded from one extreme to the other.

… or kiss her until I stop breathing…

Ersie Barcley had become the biggest distraction he had ever had to face and yet one of the most welcome ones.

I need to launch meself out of this damned hellscape.

In one single heartbeat, he wished he could rid himself of her and bury himself inside her. And there she was, perched on the edge of his desk.

She’s doin’ this on purpose. She has to be.

She looked at him pointedly, waiting for a response, but he couldn’t form the words without the right degree of control he needed. This woman drove him mad.

So, he only exhaled through his nose and crossed to the far side of the room. He rifled through some parchment, gathering a stack of notes and loose papers, before returning.

Focus.

She was perched there like some goddess of temptation, her legs crossed, her arms folded as if she ruled the bloody room.

“So,” he said, his voice rougher than intended, “ye like pushin’ boundaries, do ye?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Only the ones that dare me to.”

Keith stepped forward, deliberately slow, his arms folded over his chest. “Is this how ye behave at yer braither’s keep? With a sharp tongue and shapely legs where they dinnae belong?”

Ersie’s grin was slow and wicked. “I’m usually too busy defendin’ the said keep to have time for leg placement discussions.”

“I’d wager yer mouth sees more use than yer sword,” he muttered.

Her eyes flared. “Ye dinnae want to make that wager, Laird MacAuley . ”

“On the contrary,” he said, his voice dropping, “I’d very much like to see ye try to prove me wrong.”

The air thickened between them, a battle of wills and heat. She was trying to manipulate the conversation, and he bloody well knew it.

Keith tilted his head, letting his eyes rake over her slowly. “Ye have a way of bendin’ conversation around yer blade, lass. I’ll give ye that. But let’s nae pretend this performance is accidental.”

Her smile faltered. “What performance?”

He took a step closer. “We’ve already established the performance, Ersie. But I ken that ye liked watchin’ me watch ye do it.”

She opened her mouth and then shut it.

Keith’s eyes narrowed, satisfied.

Got ye, lass.

He leaned in slightly. “Why?”

“Why what?” she whispered.

“Why dance so close to man ye dinnae ken? A madman. A stranger that ye despise.”

“I never said that I despised ye.”

Another step, close enough now that her knees brushed his thighs. “Ye just dinnae wish to admit what this is.”

She exhaled sharply, trying to move past him. But his hand landed on the desk beside her, trapping her there.

“Ye are smart. So, tell me,” he whispered in her ear. “What’s yer end game?”

Her voice was trembling, and he knew it wasn’t from fear. “I… wish to help.”

“Help,” he repeated flatly. “With seduction and manipulation?”

Her eyes shot to his, dark and burning. “With justice.”

They stared at each other for several taut seconds, the heat between them nearly tangible, crackling like a storm rolling off the loch. Every shallow breath only stoked the tension until the very air felt thick enough to cut with a blade.

Then, he pulled back just enough, his voice cold again. “Good. Because I’ve got a way to test just how far ye are willin’ to go for that justice.”

He turned and walked away, needing distance before he did something stupid—like kissing her until his lungs gave out. Or hers. His hands curled around a large stack of parchment.

But he’d bested her for now.

“This is what I’ve gathered,” he said gruffly, dropping a bundle beside her. “Statements. Bits of gossip. Rumors. Things folk saw or think they saw. Five years.”

She plucked the top sheet, her fingers brushing his.

Her breath caught. He heard it.

He turned away too quickly and walked to the far end of the study. His hand rested on the door; the warmth of her presence still pressed along his nerves. He’d seen warriors crumble under less pressure than what Ersie Barcley radiated just by breathing in the same space as him.

She had a way of baring her soul and hiding her every intention with each challenge she threw his way, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to smother that fire or feed it.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time, pinning her in place with the weight of his gaze.

“We will talk when ye have read through them.” Before she could answer, he wrenched the door open. “And never sit on me desk again.”

Then, he was gone.