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clenched teeth.
     “If ye willna let me ride my horse, then at least ye’ll let me see to him to make sure he’s all right,” she said. “Take me to him.”
    He was unfazed by her anger, laboring not to crack a smile. “Polite requests will be granted. Demands will be ignored.”
    His calm statement only made her madder. Her fist-clenching grew more furious and her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of red. Creed had to bite his cheek to keep from erupting in laughter.
    “I’ll not beg ye,” she seethed.
    “Since when is a polite request begging?”
    Her little jaw ticked furiously, the emerald eyes blazing at him. They just stared at each other.  Creed could feel the heat from her gaze, all of the pent up anger and frustration and fear that she was feeling.  He could also see that she was not used to being denied her wishes. As a laird’s daughter, she most always got her way.  It was difficult for her to comprehend that things were going to change.
    “I want to see my horse,” she said with forced politeness.
    “Please?”
    Her lips twitched. “Ye arrogant swine, I’ll not have ye teaching me how to ask a question. I already asked. I want to see my horse!”
    He could not help it; he did smile. And he snorted for good measure.  Carington saw the laughter and it lit a fire within her the likes of which she’d rarely experienced. He was laughing at her.  Her little hand came up, opened palmed, prepared to slap him across his supercilious cheek. But Creed saw the movement and he blocked her strike before she could make contact.  He held her wrist in a vice-like grip, all of the humor gone from his expression.
    “That,” he said slowly, “would have been a stupid move on your part.”
    She tried to yank her hand away but he would not let go. “Release me,” she grunted, struggling. “Ye’re hurting me.”
    He did not let go. “I will not release you unless you promise me that you will not attempt to strike me again.”
    She grunted and struggled, trying to peel his fingers away, but they would not budge.  Creed tightened his grip, not enough to hurt but enough to get her attention.  His dusky blue eyes focused on her.
    “Listen to me and listen well, lady,” he lowered his voice into something deep and hazardous. “We have been attempting to explain to you for the better part of two days that you are a hostage for a reason. Your father and Lord Richard have made this so. All of the fighting, screaming, slapping and biting in the world will not change this. You cannot resist and you cannot refuse. And your time with us will be what you make of it; if you are disagreeable and violent, you will be met in kind. If you are pleasant and cooperative, it will make your stay far more agreeable.  You might even come to enjoy the experience, as it is Lord Richard’s and Lady Anne’s intention to treat you like an honored guest.  Do you comprehend?”
    Somewhere towards the end of his speech she stopped struggling, gazing up at him with those liquid emerald eyes.  But there was still fire in the depths.
    “I willna surrender if that is what ye are asking,” she said defiantly.
    “That is not what I am asking. Do you not see that I am trying to help you?”
    She did. He had been trying to help her since nearly the moment they had met. But she did not want his help.  She hated him and everything about him.
    “Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth.
    He did, immediately. Carington rubbed her wrist where he had squeezed, glaring daggers at him.  Creed merely gazed back with his customary cool.
    “You will answer my question. Do you understand that proper behavior will gain you far more than resistance?”
    “I understand that ye are trying to subdue me.”
    “Are you so dense? No one said anything about subdue.”
    “Dunna call me dense, Sassenach,” she snapped. “Ye are trying to force me into submission by taking my horse and my freedom.”
    “Your freedom has already been taken. What