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kiss.”
    Before she had a chance to object, he pressed his mouth to hers, and the floor seemed to shift under her feet. She had never been kissed before, not once in her life. She had lived a virtuous existence, determined to evolve into a woman very different from her mother, who used sex as an instrument of power over men.
    But this was not the same as that. Not at all. Gwendolen had no power here. She was completely beguiled and could do nothing but bend and soften to the strength of his will.
    He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her close, and her head tilted back under the pressure of the kiss—so urgent and probing, it sent her body reeling. All at once, this artless, naïve pledge of hers felt like a promise of profound physicality and commitment. He was demanding her complete surrender and capitulation, here in this room, by the joining of their mouths and bodies, and she had no idea what to do, but to respond.
    He tipped his head to the side and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, parting her lips and sliding his tongue inside to mingle damply with hers. The kiss drew out an involuntary whimper of submission.
    Then—just as she was becoming acquainted with the sensation of their lips and tongues colliding gently—he drew back from the kiss and ran a finger across her flushed cheek.
    “I believe you will enjoy it, lass,” he said in a gruff voice, “when the time comes.”
    Gwendolen’s legs nearly buckled beneath her. “I most certainly will not.”
    He turned away and started toward the bailey.
    “Wait!” she said.
    He stopped, but did not turn.
    “There is one more thing.” Gwendolen strode forward tensely.
    He turned his head to the side.
    “I want my family’s heraldry to remain here in the hall, beside yours.”
    For the longest time, he stood with his back to her, refusing to speak. A knot of uncertainty tangled up inside her stomach.
    At last, he turned. “You were doing so well, lass. Why did you have to spoil it?”
    “Spoil what? I am only asking for what is rightfully ours. My father was granted possession of this castle by the King of Great Britain, and our name cannot simply be erased from its walls.”
    Another warrior entered the hall. He, too, was imposing like Angus, but his hair was black as night, his eyes dark as sin. He stood just inside the door.
    Angus spoke over his shoulder. “Lachlan, come here and escort my future bride to my bedchamber. She needs to be taught a lesson or two about the rules of war and the meaning of surrender. Lock her in and put a guard at the door.”
    “What?” Gwendolen’s heart began to pitch and roll. “I thought we had an agreement.”
    “We did, and I confess, I enjoyed the negotiations. But you shouldn’t have stepped over the line, lass. I told you, I have no interest in wedding a woman who does not know her place. It’s time you learned yours and understood the limits of my tolerance.” He frowned at her. “I am not a kind man.”
    “I didn’t step over any line. I only asked for one more thing.”
    “The negotiations were finished,” he said. “That’s the end of it. Now go with Lachlan, and wait for me in my bed.”
    The other warrior strode across the hall and took hold of her arm. “Don’t fight it, lass,” he said. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”
    “How can it possibly get any worse than this?” she asked.
    He chuckled softly. “You don’t know Angus.”

Chapter Three
     
    The instant the door slammed shut behind Gwendolen and the key turned in the lock, she squeezed her eyes shut. She had to fight against the overwhelming urge to scream her lungs out and pound her fists up against the door. She felt desperate enough to do it, but alas, she had never been the type of woman who succumbed to temper tantrums. They accomplished nothing.
    Besides, Angus the Lion hardly struck her as the sort of man who would be moved by such childish displays. In fact, she doubted he would be moved