From Chapter Three of CAPTURED BY THE HIGHLANDER (By Julianne MacLean, published by St. Martin's Press, March 1, 2011):

Amelia sat on the floor of the cave, fighting against an overwhelming sense of defeat. No matter how hard she tugged and wrenched at the thin ropes binding her wrists, she could not free herself. She was trapped like a helpless fawn in a wolf’s den, and soon her captor would return and do what he’d wanted to do to her all along, since the moment he’d crept into her fiancé’s bedchamber.

Then suddenly he was there before her, kneeling down, pulling a knife from his boot. Terror exploded within her.

“Please,” she said, tugging harder and more desperately at the bonds.

“If you possess the smallest shred of humanity, you will let me go. You must.”

He raised the knife in the dim light, and just when she thought he was going to cut her throat, he sliced through her bonds instead. They dropped lightly to the ground.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” He took both her hands in his and held them up to inspect the undersides of her wrists. “I admire your tenacity, but look what you’ve done to yourself.”

A thin trail of blood was dripping down her arm. He reached for a cloth, dipped it into the pot of water that hung on a hook over the unlit fire, and touched it to her wrists. Gently, he washed the blood away.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, glancing uneasily at the sword he carried. “Because if I am to be put to death, I wish to know.”

He remained focused on what he was doing. “I’m not going to kill you.”

She was grateful for the information, certainly, but was still a far cry from feeling calm and reassured.

“What about the other Highlander?” she asked. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.” She glanced toward the mouth of the cave.

“You’re right. He detests the very ground you walk on.” The Butcher folded the cloth and continued to wipe her forearm with the cleaner side of it.

“Why? Because I am English? Or is it because I am engaged to Colonel Bennett?”

He paused. “I reckon both those things make him want to murder you where you stand.”

The cloth touched a tender spot, and Amelia snapped her hand back.

He looked at her intently, and somehow without a single word, he persuaded her with his eyes to endure the discomfort without complaint. She found herself responding, as if she were being lured into a comfortable obedience...