Arabella Sutherland jerked her face from his touch. “Let me go,” she said through her teeth. “I am just a weak, pitiful woman. Let me go, so I can hide away and weep in fear.”

There was absolutely nothing weak or pitiful about the Sutherland chief. The fear he’d glimpsed when he’d first caught up to her had faded. Now her angry gray eyes sparked with life and… Determination. Strength. She knew he had every right to crush her. This was war, she was losing, and she had ordered the killing of his father. Her life balanced on his benevolence, yet her gaze and tone held contempt.

“Nay,” he said slowly. “Ye will come with me to Girnigoe Castle.”

She blinked. Only the slight widening of her eyes hinted at dread. The hand he held lifted, and her free hand landed on his shoulder, the pressure of it almost making him look sideways at it. Her hand slid up to his hair at the back of his head, and she leaned in.

Cain’s life froze as her lips pressed into his. She stood there, her mouth against his, her eyes open with inexperience. There was no hesitation or dismay in the kiss. He inhaled her scent, heat and woman with the edge of something floral. It made his heartbeat thud deeply, and a warning flitted through the thickness suddenly clogging his head. What was she doing?

She slanted her face to deepen the kiss, opening her lips against his own. A river of lust surged up inside him to smother the warning, and he released her wrist to cup her face. Her skin was so soft, the strong curve of her jawline the perfect complement to the grace and courage of this warrior woman. The taste of her burrowed into his mind, spurring wild thoughts of them rolling together in the shadows of night under the stars.

She broke the kiss, breathing heavily. His hands curled over the limb separating them, wishing to tear it away to reach the beautifully curved body clothed in black leather. “Arabella,” he whispered.

She reached up, touching his cheek. She stared into his eyes, her breath coming deeply as if her heart pounded, too. Her hands slid down to hold his forearms. “I am called Ella,” she said, and he felt her breath touch his lips.

“Ella,” he repeated, as if tasting it on his tongue.

She stared at him, blinking as if waking from a dream. The unguarded look made her even more beautiful. God in Heaven, he wanted her.

Whack. Ella’s braid whipped him across the cheek as she spun away. He reached out to grab her, his hands catching only air. In an instant, she was gone.