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cramped legs. Pressing sharp nails into her palms to remain alert, Averyl straightened
     away from her captor once more. But she could not avoid the hard thrust of his thighs
     cradling hers.
    As she fought to keep her heavy eyes open, his warmth lured her closer to his sheltering
     body, against all good sense. As if sensing her weariness, he touched an oddly gentle
     hand to her shoulder and settled her body against his before her heavy lids slid inexorably
     shut.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Averyl awoke, feeling a soft bed beneath her. The woodsy crackling of a fire penetrated
     her senses. How long had she slept?
    The clink of a goblet told her she was not alone. Fear chased away the vestiges of sleep.
    Her eyes sprang open, and she spotted a man—her captor—sitting on a scuffed wooden
     chair in an unfamiliar room. The golden light did naught to soften his features.
    Hazarding a glance about, her gaze took in the shabby brick walls of a small room
     seemingly that of an inn, though not necessarily a reputable one.
    The events of the night rushed her memory in an icy stream. Not only had he abducted
     her but he had not told her his plans now that he had her caged. Ransom her? Rape
     her? Kill her?
    Or all three?
    The glow of the fire thrust his hard, chiseled profile into stark relief. ’Twas clear
     the man had nothing soft about him, not in dress, face, or manner.
    Standing taller than Lord Dunollie or her father, he possessed massive shoulders and
     hands. If he planned to kill her, ’twould be no feat for him at all. How could she
     fend off a man of such size and strength?
    Suddenly, he turned to face her. Gasping, she willed herself to bolt, but he filled
     the small room as he stood and settled dark eyes upon her.
    “So, you have awakened.”
    “Who are you?” she demanded, realizing he had removed her gag. “What reason have you
     for abducting me?”
    Her militant tone was overshadowed by the ill-timed rumbling of her stomach. Averyl
     pretended not to notice.
    He peered silently as he turned to a table behind him. “We have a lengthy journey
     ahead of us. Eat, then we will talk.”
    Her captor handed her a flask of wine, a bit of bread, and a small piece of reddish-yellow
     fruit she had never seen. She bit into it and grimaced at the sour taste.
    Scowling, he grabbed the fruit from her. “You must peel this before you eat it.”
    “What is it?” she asked suspiciously, watching his deft fingers peel back the rind
     with ease.
    “Have you never seen an orange?”
    He pulled the last of the rind away, then handed the fruity orb to her. Not about
     to confess they’d never had the funds for such exotic frivolities at Abbotsford, Averyl
     broke off a section and gingerly took a bite. After all, she must keep her strength
     if she intended to escape.
    An unfamiliar tang burst in her mouth. A wonderful taste, sweet, sour and juicy at
     once. A droplet ran to the corner of her lips. Tilting her head back, she mopped the
     juice up with the tip of her tongue.
    With a sigh of pleasure, she lifted the flask to her mouth and found her captor’s
     gaze on her.
    If heat had an expression, his epitomized the word. He stared at her mouth. His dark
     eyes flared above the taut hollows of his cheeks. Time stopped. A heartbeat. Two.
     In silence.
    He looked at her like her father’s men looked at the beauteous Becca back home, as
     if he…desired her. Averyl drew in a shaky breath, feeling her own heartbeat answer.
    Then his look disappeared, replaced by an annoyed scowl that settled over his handsome
     face.
    Averyl felt herself flush at her foolishness. No man would pine for so homely a maid
     as she—and certainly not a man so fine of face as her captor.
    She took a self-conscious swallow of the sweet wine, then another, before she set
     the flask aside. “Take me back to Dunollie Castle.”
    Her words engendered no reaction. “Why should I?”
    She hadn’t expected that question. “I am to wed the MacDougall