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least until today, when she had suddenly lost control of her fate.
    Renewed anger heated Ellenor’s blood and her pulse began to pound violently. She had long ago vowed never to allow any man to control her life again, and she wasn’t about to let the overgrown Scot command her destiny. Ellenor narrowed her eyes and faced forward. She needed to think.
    She needed to regain her freedom.
     

    Over an hour later, Ellenor was desperate. Her attempts at convincing her Scottish captor to cut her bonds had all failed. Her seemingly brilliant plan hadn’t worked even once.
    The concept had seemed sound. Relax her grip, and then while pretending to fall, cry out for help. After a few times of catching her, she would blame her bonds and to avoid the process repeating itself, he would remove them.
    Unfortunately, each time she began to slide off the monstrous animal, the oaf had let her, forcing her to save herself barely in time. Only once had she waited too long and had been unable to break her fall.
    Fear had ripped through her as the horse’s legs pounded the earth, never easing from their deadly pace. Her hip had passed the animal’s massive fore flanks, evoking a real and terrified scream. Only then did a large hand come down, grab her in a bruising grip, and dump her in a mortifying manner back atop the horse.
    Humiliated, she decided her next solution would be something far less dangerous. Regrettably, it was also exceedingly more painful.
    Brilliant plan number two consisted of good behavior and silence. Why she had thought that would work would forever be a mystery even to her.
    For almost an hour, she had sat straight backed in mute defiance. Periodically, she would hint her desires by demonstratively twisting her bound wrists. As a result, her lower back was on fire and her rear end was sore from improperly sitting in the saddle.
    From him…nothing.
    Well, Scot, if you won’t free my bonds for my sake, then maybe you will for your own . She was down to her final idea. Talking. Slowly, though. Simple stuff, like who he was and where they were going. Trust was the key.
    Ellenor twisted around and stared at him, waiting to be acknowledged, even if just by a passing glance. The infuriating man ignored her. She took a deep breath, told herself to remain calm, and asked, “Do you remember my name?”
    Cole smiled to himself. She had lasted much longer than he had anticipated, but he had been right. Once silence had not worked, he had been sure she would try its opposite. He wondered which vocal tactic she would employ. Pleading? Crying? He hoped not. Both were annoying, and for a strange reason, he felt beneath her. Cole hoped the English lass would be more honest. “Aye.”
    “And?” Ellenor pushed.
    “There’s English and then there is abhorrently English. Your name falls in the latter category.”
    Ellenor blinked. She should have been insulted, but she was too shocked to muster the anger. The uncommunicative Scot had just answered her with more than a single word. In fact, his English had been eloquent.
    The damn man had surprised her again .
    “Well…good,” she stammered. “And how about you? Do you have a name? Are you by chance from a local clan?”
    Silence.
    Ellenor pursed her lips. “Perhaps a…MacInnes?”
    Her captor’s rigid face suddenly came to life and Ellenor felt a ray of hope shoot through her. It was unlikely Ainsley had reached out to his dead sister’s clan for assistance, but if he had, it was probably the one place in Scotland she would be willing to go. However, before true excitement could build, the contrary giant cocked a single brow and said, “Nay.”
    Ellenor waited for him to follow his answer with some clarification but none came. Pasting on a fake smile, she returned to face the front. “I didn’t think so,” she sighed. “Most of them are rather good looking…and long winded,” she added at the last moment, hoping to compel him into conversing with her.
    In truth, she