But her hands were bound. A blessing, mayhap, for she could ill afford to fall foul of these ridiculous thoughts. The steady throb of desire seemed to hum between them, barely disguised by the anger simmering off his being. What had she done wrong?
“H-have ye sent word to my da?” she forced out.
“Aye. No doubt we’ll be hearing from him soon.”
“When he’s at yer walls, threatening war, ye mean?”
Morgann gave a decisive shake of his head. “He’ll no’ be threatening war, ye just wait and see, lass.”
“I dinnae know how ye can be so confident. Ye will have angered him and my da has a temper.”
He distractedly curled a hand around his forearm, covering the spot where the scar was. “Aye, I know.”
“So what do ye intend to do with me in the meantime?” The pressure around her wrist was slowly turning her hands tingly and she really needed to relieve herself.
His expression changed. The anger making his body stiff slowly gave way. She noted the softening of his shoulders but it was the change in his eyes that captured her attention. Once dark with annoyance, a carnality resounded in them as he let his gaze settle on her lips.
She opened them, trying to suck in enough heated air to clear her confused mind. It was as if he knew what she’d been dreaming. And her own gaze did the same, lingering on his firm lips as they pulled into the faintest hint of a smile. Was he considering what other things he may do with her just as she was with him? The fire behind her thoughts should have frightened her but there was something instinctual and primitive behind them, as if it was always intended for her to feel this way about Morgann.
The discomfort in her body nagged at her once more and she wriggled and coughed, effectively breaking the moment. Morgann raised his gaze to her eyes and crossed his arms, the warrior slipping back into place.
“I havenae decided what to do with ye, yet,” he told her coolly. “I doubt very much I can trust ye to behave.”
“Well ye need to at least release me. There’s little I can do now.”
He studied her silently for a moment and Alana fought the need to squirm under his frank appraisal. “I think mayhap I should keep ye here until yer da comes for ye. ‘Tis nae often I have my enemy’s daughter tied up in my chambers.”
“Ye cannae keep me tied up! How will I… relieve myself?”
Morgann laughed. “I’ll no’ fall for that one again!”
“I’ve been tied up all night! Ye must at least let me use the garderobes. Yer enemy’s daughter I may be, but I am still a lady. Ye cannae expect me to remain like this.” His countenance remained taciturn and unyielding and Alana’s hope dwindled away. How did one argue with a man so callous? “Ye never used to be so cold hearted, Morgann,” she added softly. The man she once knew still existed, surely? Mayhap she could appeal to him.
“All right,” he muttered. “I’ll take ye to the garderobes but yer hands will stay bound. I’ll no’ have ye making a fool of me again.”
“But how shall I change?” Or relieve myself? Her cheeks warmed. She wasn’t sure how to handle her skirts with hands still tied.
He shrugged as he strolled over to the bedpost and began to untie the sheets. “I care not.”
“Ach, ye’ll care when ye hand me over still caked in filth and Da calls ye out.”
“Mayhap I should help dress ye then.” A wicked glint illuminated his gaze as he fisted the sheets in his hand and came to stand before her. With a slight tug, he had her on her feet, using the bedding tied around her wrist like a leash.
Alana frowned, chest tight. The endless sides to Morgann MacRae baffled her. The faintest hint of the playful lad she’d known lay under that deadly gleam but it was smothered by more intense emotions.
“Ye tease me?”
“Mayhap.” He gave a little yank and she stumbled forward, smacking into his chest.
Before she could react, rough fingers pressed under her hair, teasing across the skin of her neck, down to the top of the lacing on her gown. He gave the ribbon the lightest of tugs, making her breath hitch.
“Morgann, pray cease,” she managed to whisper.
He froze, cursing quietly as he took a step back. With a wry laugh, he tapped a finger under her chin—the gesture returning her to a time when they had nothing to worry about. He always used to do that to her. Whenever she took life too seriously, whenever she got over-emotional. It was his way of drawing her out of it. Was she taking him too seriously? Was it some twisted game?
“Will ye promise not to get yerself into any more trouble if I release ye?”