My darling Allie, be brave. If the worst should happen, do not underestimate the power of a pretty and clever lass to bend a man’s will.
Your most affectionate brother,
George
Her life and the lives of her daughters were at stake, and her brothers advised her to “hold fast” and bat her eyelashes.
She pushed Wedderburn’s finger away and tried to gather herself. Because her brothers were too busy to protect them, she and her daughters had already lost their home. And now this glorified night raider would calculate their worth and demand a ransom. Fortunately, a ransom would not require her brothers to divert their precious warriors.
“My brothers do not place as high a value on me as I thought,” she said, her voice wobbling just a bit. “Nonetheless, they will pay a reasonable ransom. May I ask how much ye intend to demand for us?”
She prayed her brothers would not dither over the cost and leave her at the mercy of the murderous Humes for long.
“I’ll not seek a ransom,” Wedderburn said, his eyes never leaving her face.
“No ransom?” Alison blinked at him. “You’ll simply let us go?”
Hope soared in her heart. This ordeal would soon be over. She would pack at once. What would she be allowed to take with her? Not her jewels, but perhaps a few gowns. Beatrix and Margaret would weep bitterly if they had to leave their ponies. Was there any hope the Beast of Wedderburn would let the girls keep them?
“Nay.” Wedderburn’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
For a moment, she thought she must have spoken aloud and he was refusing her request. Her heart sank to her feet as she realized he was saying nay to more than the ponies.
“I cannot let ye go,” he said, his tone as unrelenting as the north wind.
“But why?” she asked. “If you’re not holding us for ransom, what other reason could ye have for…” Her voice trailed off as the only other possibility came to her.
She could not breathe. Nay, this could not be happening to her. Not again.
And yet Wedderburn was looking at her as if he thought he already owned her.
CHAPTER 8
“I’m taking ye for my wife,” David informed her, though he could see that she already understood.
“I willnotmarry you.” She stood and backed away from him with her hands clenched. “I refuse.”
David chastised himself again for his lack of foresight. Since the day of his father and uncle’s execution, he had planned every step that brought him here. Wedding the widow was always a part of his plan—the central piece. And yet he had failed to consider that she might be obstinate about accepting her situation.
Not that it made a damned bit of difference to the outcome, but he should have anticipated this complication.
“I cannot permit ye to refuse,” he said. “The wedding will take place as soon as my brothers arrive.”
“Brothers?” She looked horror-struck. “There are more like you?”
By the saints, David wished he’d refilled his flask with whisky before starting this conversation with her.
“My brothers should be here tomorrow,” he said between his teeth. “That gives ye a full day to accustom yourself to the notion of being my wife.”
“An entire day? How very considerate,” she said, folding her arms. “But I assure ye that a year and a day would not suffice.”
As irritating as he found her tone, he preferred her temper to the despair she had shown earlier. He hoped anger sharpened her wits, as it always did his, so that he could reason with her now.
“As there’s no avoiding this marriage,” he said, “I suggest ye reconcile yourself to it.”
“Reconcile myself to it?” she said, her voice rising. “I’d rather be boiled in oil.”
Now she was truly annoying him.