The Scotsman by Juliana Garnett Page B

imprisonment.” Though the telltale quiver of her lower lip betrayed apprehension, her chin jutted out with defiance.
    Goaded, Alex tossed aside the quill and closed the narrow space between them in a single stride, drawing a
sgian dhu
from his boot top as he did. He grabbed her by one wrist and swung her around when she would have turned away, holding the sharp dirk up so that she could see it.
    “Nay, lass—if you will not sign, I must have some way of assuring your father that I do indeed have you.”
    Her eyes widened, soaking up light from the window slit behind them. She flicked a glance at the gleamingblade of the dirk, then back at him. “Will you send him my head? Twill hardly convince him that you mean me no harm.”
    “Nay, but ’twould convince him he had best agree to my offer if he desires to see the rest of you.” His grip tightened when she tried to twist away, and he muttered under his breath, “Hold, you silly goose. Would I slay my only advantage? I am not so foolish.”
    Using his weight as leverage, he pinned her against the edge of the table. She leaned back and away from him, her breasts straining against the tattered velvet gown. He briefly glimpsed creamy skin, and he lifted his gaze from the tempting sight with determined indifference. He raised a silky loop of her bright hair in one hand, then deftly sliced it free with his dirk. She did not move as he held up the dangling lock of hair.
    “A token for your father, my lady. Pray he accepts my offer.”
    He stepped back from the table and looked down at her. She half sprawled on the table, palms behind her to prop herself up, her face a study of defiant fear. “I pray only for my deliverance from unholy men,” she whispered huskily.
    Insult battled with anger as Alex stared down at her. Curse her, she wore a face like a martyred saint! Did she think him so crude as to defile her? To send her back with a Scots bairn in her belly? Yet, leaning backward half atop the table as she was, her body draped almost seductively over the wooden surface, he found her infinitely enticing—and dangerous.
    He gestured with his dirk. “Now, my lady, perhaps you will be so good as to remove your garments for me.”
    Her ashen face paled even more. “I will not.”
    “Yea, you will, whether it be willing or no. ’Tis up to you if you do it, or I do it for you. But I warn you—I will not be gentle.”
    “I do not doubt that.” Her lower lip quivered slightly and quickly thinned to a harsh, straight line. “Yet I have no intention of disrobing for you, or for any other man.”
    A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I have told you, my fine lady, that I would not soil myself with your virgin’s blood, and I meant it. Do not fear that I mean to ravish you. I find your garments of much more value than I do your maidenhead.”
    Outrage flashed in her eyes, turning them from light violet to a deep purple. “If you mean, to insult me, you are far from the mark. I would sooner die than allow a vile Scots savage to put his hands upon me, and you are the—”
    Before she could finish, he put a harsh hand on her shoulder. “’Tis best for your continued good health that you leave your opinions of me unspoken. I want only your garments. Disrobe before I begin to think your protests are just coy flirtations.”
    There was another moment’s tension, then she twisted free of his hold and rolled gracefully from the table to stand beside it and gaze at him with disdain.
    “Very well. If ’tis my humiliation you think to gain, however, you will be disappointed.”
    “I think to gain only your garments.” Impatient, he indicated the gown with a raking sweep of his dirk. “’Tis of no matter to me if they are intact or in ribbons, so do you set to work before I do.”
    She bent her head, and the coppery fall of gleaming hair fell forward to hide her face from him. Alex smothered an involuntary spurt of sympathy. Her hands were slender and