Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(2)
He growled into her ear, “We could do this all night.”
She struggled in his arms, and he tightened his hold until her fight slowed. No matter how hard he squeezed her wrist though, she refused to drop the dagger. Rather than inflict damage for no purpose, he flicked a glance at Seamus then the dagger.
His man moved forward and plucked the weapon from her fingers.
She went wild in Robert’s arms again.
He sighed. He’d reluctantly agreed to risk an unforgiving storm to retrieve a damned tree—without explanation by Lady Isobel of what a Christmas tree actually was—knowing they couldn’t return to their hidden castle until the following day. Dealing with a hellion of a lass had not been in the bargain.
Women everywhere conspire to be the death of me.
He’d foresworn the intimate company of females not even a week ago when three scheming lasses had openly argued for rights to him. The young soldiers training in the courtyard had the wisdom to keep their mouths shut. After he snarled a conviction that no woman would ever have claim to him, the lasses paled and also went blissfully silent.
He should’ve known the peaceful respite would be too good to last.
Robert minutely tightened his grip on his struggling captive. When she calmed to a degree, he eased the pressure. “Seamus, fetch that ribbon in the tree.”
The lass renewed her efforts to break through his hold. “Nay! Let me go! You doona understand!”
Robert forced her wrists together, and Seamus wound the wide red fabric around them. The lass started to buck and kick within his unyielding arms before Seamus pulled the last knot tight.
Without warning, Robert stepped back. Her own aggressive force threw her backward and dumped her ass-first atop the snow. He chuckled at the intensity of her glare. Although she’d proven amusing when indignant, he thoroughly enjoyed the lass incensed.
She let out an escalating growl as an explosion of movement happened beneath the material of her cloak and gown. They watched a spectacle unfold as she struggled to get up from the snow. With each movement, she buried herself deeper until the only thing showing above the fluffy powder was the dangling end of a bright red ribbon marking its present below, her hands held stiff above the surface as if defiantly refusing to sink in defeat.
He snorted. “Go. Chop down the tree. I’ll see to the hellcat.”
Seamus chuckled. “Duncan, we must be blessed to earn the better of the two tasks.”
“Indeed.” Duncan clapped Robert’s shoulder. “May you fare well, Commander.”
“Does she sound a bit like Lady Isobel?” Seamus asked as they walked away, returning to their task.
“I doona think so,” Duncan replied. “But if she possesses half of Lady Isobel’s will, he’ll have his hands full.”
Deep chuckles from his men rose louder then faded off behind him as he considered the strangeness of the day. Fetching a pine tree for another of Lady Isobel’s “holiday events” seemed an odd request, but he never questioned his laird’s wife. Although she’d been brought here from the future by magick for Iain, their unconventional lady had saved Iain’s life. Therefore anything she wanted was already hers. That today’s peculiar errand also brought an unexpected woman, added another dimension to an already bewildering mission.
All the while, the infuriated lass fired off a string of incoherent curses from beneath the mound of white. He remained motionless—with the calm patience born of a true military strategist—until her movements ceased and her last sound was uttered.
At the exact moment he knew she’d settled into her circumstance, he took a step closer, allowing the crunch of snow under his boot to alert her. He stared down at the red ribbon. “Do you yield?”
Silence met his question. He knew she hadn’t gone unconscious because she still held her hands rigid above the snow. The ribbon began to tremble as she held fast in her obstinance.
“To your left,” Seamus called.
A heavy crunch of snow followed. Robert didn’t turn, but imagined the pine tree had finally succumbed to its fate. Duncan walked into his peripheral vision, gathering dead limbs from the dry, denser portions of the forest.
Robert waited. He watched his charge...as she waited. Neither was happy about the circumstances. Her misfortune in crossing their paths, however, had created a duty of protection for him—both to her and to his clan—which overrode either of their choices in the matter.
A low sound came from the mound of snow, but the message was muffled by the wind whipping around his ears.
“Louder. I dinna hear you.”
“Aye. I yield,” she growled out.
He smirked, closed a hand around her bound wrists, and dislodged her from the pile of snow. She looked a mess, wet snow clinging to every surface. Her hood had fallen off and snow filled the pouched material. The exposed skin of her chest and face flamed bright red from the cold, and likely, a bit from her anger. Big blue eyes stared up at him until they squinted, long, dark lashes hiding their beauty.
The poor lass had soaked herself through during her headstrong tirade, but he figured it had served a purpose: she’d think twice about threatening him or his men.
“Weel, come on with you.” On a final tug, he fully pulled her from the hole in the snow where she stood. Without a sound or ounce of resistance, she let him lead her to a fallen log under denser tree cover, a dozen paces from where their horses, and now her skittish mare, were tied to the lowest branches of an oak.