Her Enemy Highlander. Nicole Locke

held just as still as before, with his arms at his sides. But he flexed his left thumb and his eyes no longer looked through her.

      They consumed her. Wrath, heat and frustration warred in the weight of his grey-green gaze.

      She felt his eyes, everywhere. They trailed up her legs, slowly, so slowly that her skin flushed. She’d swear his eyes tore through her gown, sought under her chemise—

      Her chemise. Oh, the window. Of course she felt his eyes; her worn chemise hadn’t covered her. Not when she stood in front of the window. The light would have made the thinning fabric transparent. She had not been covered at all. Just outlined and bared to him.

      He hadn’t turned around like she’d asked; neither did he lower his eyes.

      She tried to calm her tangled emotions, but the gown, too tight by far, constricted her breathing. And he dared to be angry with her?

      ‘Doona watch next time,’ she scorned.

      She picked up and threw his tunic as hard as she could at him. It billowed to the floor slowly, which didn’t help her mood.

      He snatched up the fabric at his feet, removing his gaze and releasing its hold on her. ‘Doona want to ever look at a Buchanan.’ Without turning around, he unwrapped his belt. ‘Tell the truth and you can leave my sight.’

      His animosity seared her, but she wouldn’t cower before him. No, she would turn the tables. Since he hadn’t turned his eyes whilst she dressed, she wasn’t turning hers.

      But she wished she had. Oh, she truly wished she had because the moment Caird reached for his tunic and began to put it on, her stomach changed places with her knees and she felt the need to sit.

      As she watched, shock and something she didn’t want to guess at flushed her skin.

      She knew he roughly pulled on the tunic. However, to her, it seemed agonisingly slow as he raised the soft fabric above his head, and his arms, lithe and corded, flexed as he bent each one into the sleeves. But worse, and an instant hindrance to her ability to breathe, was when he stretched those muscled arms, and the chiseled planes of his stomach rippled and contracted.

      It wasn’t fair such simple movements bared more flesh, more alluring strength, than one woman should be witness to.

      His chest couldn’t have been bared for more than a few breaths, yet the sight was almost as stunning as his kiss.

      Her stomach didn’t settle back in place until he lowered his head to wrap his belt around his tunic. Even when that was done she still felt unsteady.

      And ashamed.

      And angry, frustrated and incredulous. Had she hated him just moments before? Now, she hated herself.

      She desired a no-good arrogant red-headed Colquhoun!

      He lifted his head too soon for her to avert her eyes, so she narrowed them to hide her reaction.

      He reached behind him to open the door, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

      She felt like running out of the room, retreating and hiding, anything to avoid his all-too-knowing gaze. Instead, she pulled up whatever was left of her pride to confront him.

      ‘You expect me to follow you out of that door,’ she said.

      He stared, but there was nothing of his thoughts in his gaze now.

      ‘Is your silence supposed to be aye? Well, I won’t be going with you.’

      Caird’s frown deepened.

      She gestured with her arms in frustration. ‘Silence again. Silence still. Barely a word out of you this morning when last night...’ She didn’t want to think about last night, nor his words and the way they made her feel. ‘I can’t care. Whatever you’re thinking it isn’t true; the dagger is mine and I want it back. You can keep the gem. Just give me the dagger and you won’t see me again.’

      He tilted his head until his eyes met hers. ‘Nae.’

      Her fingers curled. ‘Because you Colquhouns believe we are without honour?’

      He sneered. ‘It doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.’

      ‘What result?’

      ‘You’ll be going where I go until this is over.’

      ‘Why?’

      He shrugged.

      ‘You doona need me. Why are you even involving yourself?’

      ‘You came to my room.’

      ‘It was a mistake. As if I’d want a Colquhoun involved.’

      ‘But I am.’

      ‘And that’s that?’

      He raised an eyebrow.

      Conceited. Arrogant. What evil fairy had her walking into a Colquhoun’s room? ‘What of these wedding games you’re to attend?’

      ‘You will be going.’

      ‘You said this was for your sister’s wedding. You’re taking me to her celebration games?’

      He merely blinked.

      Forget the fairy. It was the devil himself that had her entering his room. ‘Just where are these wedding games? The games begin tomorrow and Camron said you’re late. How is that?’

      He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter where. I need answers.’

      The devil have him. ‘You have all the answers you need! Cannot you get it through that thick head of yours? I’m not going anywhere with you!’

      He smiled and stepped aside so she could pass through the door. ‘Without your precious dagger?’

       Chapter Seven

      She couldn’t do this. She had to do this. What other choice did she have? It had been a fortnight since Ailbert had confessed he’d gambled again. In a fortnight, the debt became due. Neither her family nor her clan had the money he’d promised. The dagger was the only means to pay the debt. Her brother had died because of that dagger. Her family had earned the right to keep it.

      Instead, she was trapped and travelling north with a Colquhoun and his cousins. None of them would believe the dagger was hers. So she had to steal it, while there was still time to return home. Still time to avoid the humiliation her brother had brought to their family.

      A fissure of pain burned her heart. She couldn’t think of home. She had only to think of the Colquhoun and keep her anger.

      Which was easy because since they’d left the inn, the big oaf wouldn’t stop touching her.

      Not that he could help it, but she wasn’t about to forgive him his size. Or his breadth. Or his muscles and sun-warmed skin. Not when she rode on the same horse in front of him, with his arms brushing against her sides and his legs pressing hers against the horse.

      She’d already elbowed him several times, but he didn’t miss a breath when she did.

      Her elbows were her second-best weapon next to lying. When Ailbert teased too much, and words weren’t enough, she’d hit him. If he tackled her, she could dig her elbows in until he agreed to whatever she wanted, or pretend to give her what she wanted.

      He was a good brother. Ailbert.

      She squeezed her eyes together, but tears sprang forth. It was too much. She was even remembering him in the past now. It was all past.

      She wouldn’t cry. Not here, not in daylight, not while in the arms of the man taking her further away from her brother, from his burial, from her family.

      Keep her anger; get the dagger. She had no other choice. Pretending to sweep her hair