Border Lord by Julia Templeton

dinner.”
    Was this how she would spend the rest of her life? Waiting for him to come to her? To make love to her? Maybe she should have tried to escape after all?
    She should have headed back to the priory to see if she could return to her own time now that Brochan had kidnapped her.
    Back to Elliott.
    To her horror she tried to conjure up her fiancé’s image but failed. All she could think of was the man before her. His green eyes watched her, his jaw clenched tight. Despite their intense attraction the fact remained he didn’t trust her…or perhaps he didn’t trust himself.
    She could tell in that look that he didn’t want to imprison her any more than she wanted to be locked in this solar.
    “I shall see you soon, Annabelle,” he said, a soft smile on his face, before he walked out the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
     
    Brochan watched his men from his vantage point beside the roaring fire.
    The winds had come, and blew with a force that sent embers flying from the giant hearth.
    “Even the weather celebrates the capture of MacLellan’s daughter,” his uncle said, taking a long drink from his leathertrencher. Ale fell onto his shirtfront, and he pressed a palm against it. Brochan looked away, disgusted. His uncle had never been known for his manners. His father’s younger brother, Hamish had always resented Brochan and even Tristan, his late younger brother. Since Hamish had never married, or had any children, Brochan had hoped his uncle would embrace him as his own child, particularly since Brochan had lost his father early on.
    But it would never be. Too much jealousy made it impossible.
    “Stories are circulating about you and the girl,” Hamish said, a slow smiling spreading across his weathered face. “You’ve bedded the wench, haven’t you?”
    Brochan felt a blush rush up his neck. He knew his behavior was uncalled-for. He had not expected to have this attraction toward Annabelle, or for it to be reciprocated. Already he had ravished her a handful of times in one day…and still it was not enough. He wondered if he would ever get her out of his blood.
    “They are merely stories, uncle.”
    Hamish snorted. “I do not blame you, nephew. She is a tempting piece, to be sure. I’d not mind giving her a tumble meself.”
    Brochan cracked his knuckles, right tempted to knock his uncle flat. “The girl will not be touched, uncle.” He tried to keep the anger from his voice but failed.
    The door opened, and Brochan looked up to find Fergus walking toward him. His friend could always make him smile, and he was in need of a good laugh right now.
    “Brochan, the girl is requesting a carafe of wine.”
    His uncle’s laughter burned in his ears. “She is a spitfire, that one. Mayhap Eva can befriend her.”
    Brochan tried hard to contain his growing temper. Eva, aseamstress who lived in the village, and who had been Brochan’s lover for the past few months since her husband’s death, would not take the news that he had found a new lover well.
    Though comely, Eva had a temper that had shocked him on occasion. He had visited her hut once a week, and she had satisfied his desires, his physical need, but that was before Annabelle had come into his life. With Annabelle it was more than just sex. They had a connection that went beyond the physical. “Mayhap ye can see that the wine is taken to the guards, uncle,” Brochan suggested, tired of his uncle’s smug expression.
    His uncle came to his feet, and finished off the rest of his ale. “I shall take the wine to the guards then.”
    Brochan rose, nearly upending his chair in his haste, and put a heavy hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Ye will leave Annabelle be, uncle. Hear me and hear me well. Ye are not to enter the solar or engage in conversation. Speak to the guards only.”
    The smile left his uncle’s face, and his brows furrowed. “Nephew, you mistake my meaning.”
    “I have said my piece and I will say no more,” Brochan