She whirled to face him and settled an uncompromising glare on him. "In that case, ye may as well send me straight back to my father. I'll never marry you."
He shouldn't be disappointed. The ride to Achnasheen had demonstrated that the Drummond heiress wasn’t about to accept him just for the asking. This was never going to be easy. But the fierce hatred he read in her eyes made him wonder if he could ever succeed.
With a sigh, he returned the untouched glasses of wine to the sideboard. "I hope you'll change your mind about that."
That statement summoned a huff of utter contempt. "A man can plant a feather and hope to grow a rooster, Mackinnon. It doesn't make it likely to happen. Why on earth have ye done this mad thing?"
He shook his head and gestured her toward the window seat. "Please sit down, mistress. Unless you’d rather wait. I’d planned on having this discussion once you'd had a chance to bathe and eat and rest."
Another of those disdainful looks. "I'm no’ your blasted guest, Mackinnon. I'm your prisoner."
"I hope ye willnae always feel like that."
"You’re planting those feathers again."
If he didn’t have so much at stake, he might almost laugh. He admired her invincible spirit. He had from the first. Although her strength of character promised to play merry hell with his plans. He’d never frighten this doughty lass into cooperation. The Mhairi Drummond he’d imagined had been someone altogether sweeter and more docile.
A lass you could cow into obedience, a disparaging voice said in his head.
He hid a wince. He wasn't entirely pure in all this, although his overall intentions were good. His conscience had always prickled at the prospect of harrying someone who hadn't harmed him into doing his bidding.
He surveyed the slender girl who stood a few feet away, glowering at him. He knew she was afraid. Although she’d done her best to hide her fear, he'd caught the signs since he'd snatched her. His assurances that she was safe had landed on stony ground.
"Please sit down."
"No. Tell me. Then send me back home."
Her effrontery made him laugh. "Och, no, my lady. You're here now, and here ye stay."
She folded her arms across her alluring bosom. He’d held her in his arms for hours. He’d become familiar with her delectable
shape. Mhairi Drummond was a luscious armful for any man to cuddle.
"I'll never marry ye, Mackinnon, so why burden your clan with an extra mouth to feed?"
His lips twitched. "So far ye havenae eaten enough to keep a mouse going. I think the castle stores will cope with any extra demands ye make on them."
Not a hint of amusement. "Stop mocking me."
"I asked your father for your hand, ye ken."
Surprise wiped away her hostility. But only for a mere second. "Why on earth would ye do that? The Mackinnons and the Drummonds have hated one another for centuries. My father would rather drown me in Loch Ersk then give me to a Mackinnon. And my father is awfu’ fond of me."
That was much the same answer the Drummond had given, although the old man had expressed himself more forcefully in response to Callum's letter. "Aye, so I hear."
She looked puzzled. "Ye dinnae appear unhinged."
He stifled another grunt of amusement. He didn't want her thinking he was laughing at her again. "I'm no’."
He saw she still stewed over the reasons behind his actions. "I dinnae remember meeting ye, and I'm sure I would have. Had ye seen me somewhere?"
"No. Until yesterday, I'd never laid eyes on ye."
"Then why in heaven's name did ye do this?"
"You're counted a prize."
"Aye, perhaps." Her expression indicated her contempt for that answer. "But a sensible laddie would rather sleep easy in his bed than worry about a wife more likely to stick a dirk between his ribs than whisper sweet words in his ear. Is there nae comely, empty-headed lassie in Achnasheen ye could marry and make miserable?"