“Let me show you.” Her body glided over his, silken skin making a delicious friction, even as she began to worship him with her mouth. Hot kisses, followed by the ministrations of her tongue, trailed downward. Finnan knew he must remain in control, but his desire rose as helplessly and unpreventably as his manhood. Aye, and he must savor this—every motion—as justice, when he laid his final blow.
No sword needed for this—his only weapons lay between his legs and in his cruelty.
This will be the last time, he told himself even as she took him into her mouth, as he threw her on her back and suckled her deeply, as he entered her with a rush of hunger that set them both afire.
And after—after, when she lay still quivering in his arms, when her fingers that just could not seem to get enough whispered over him, when he knew he owned her body and soul, he said, “And so, Jeannie, do you regret giving yourself to me?”
“Regret?” she repeated, as if she knew not the meaning of the word. She reached up and kissed him softly, with such tenderness Finnan’s heart nearly quailed within him. “How can I regret anything that has happened between us? You must know how I feel for you.”
He dragged his fingers through her hair and drew her head back so he could gaze into her eyes in the dim light; he needed to witness her pain. “And how do you feel for me, Jeannie?”
Her lips quivered, as if she could barely find the words, before she spoke. “I love you, Finnan. My heart is yours.”
“Is it so? Have you given it to me? Do I hold it in my hands?”
“You do.”
He caused his voice to harden. “And how does it feel, Jeannie?”
“What?”
His fingers tensed. “How does it feel to present your heart and everything you are—all your hopes and needs—to someone on a plate, only to learn he does not care?”
“I—” He felt shock spear through her, felt pain replace it as the barb went deep into her most tender flesh. “I do not understand.”
“Och, I think you do—I believe that, at last, you understand completely. For I do not want you, Jeannie. I do not love you. I ha’ been using you all this while. And now you know how Geordie felt—you feel what he felt—when you refused the gift of his heart.”
He could not look into her eyes after all. He moved swiftly, violently, and got out of the bed while still she lay there unmoving like a woman struck to death. He donned his clothing, and she did not speak, did not stir. And she never called him back when he went out into the night.
Chapter Thirty-One
Finnan MacAllister stared into the pouring rain and told himself he should feel some measure of satisfaction. From the time he received Geordie’s final letter he had planned revenge against the scheming lowland wench who hurt him. Now he had that revenge in kind; the thing was over and done.
He needed it over and done so he could turn his eyes to the other matters that beset him: Rescuing Deirdre. Settling the Avries for good. Getting on with his life.
His life? What was left of it? Aye, well, there was this glen—place of his devotion, loyalty, and heart. But there seemed something wrong with his heart now. Ever since he left Jeannie MacWherter lying in the dark it had struggled to beat in his chest.
And why did his flesh still ache for her touch? That was over now. He had paid his debt to Geordie, the obligations of duty and brotherhood fulfilled.
It did not help his peace of mind that young Danny remained so persistently happy. Indeed, ever since Finnan had stalked from Rowan Cottage and met up with him at dawn, Danny had done nothing but prate about his Aggie. He went on about her even now, when the two of them crouched beneath a granite overhang trying to remain hidden and keep from the wet.
“I tell you, Master Finnan, I never thought any woman would want me. Me—with but the one arm. Yet when she came walking out to me last night, I could not mistake. A man does not mistake, does he, when a lass gives him her heart?”
Finnan grunted and cursed inwardly. Aggie had still been with Danny when Finnan came upon them in the half-dark. The lass had dressed swiftly and run off home, but not before Finnan saw her give Danny the kind of kiss that would have warmed him to his toes. And from what Danny had hinted, they had ample time before that to consummate their feelings.
“A priceless gift, a woman’s heart,” Danny went on, staring like Finnan into the rain with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Anyone’s heart,” Finnan asserted, trying to justify himself. How did Jeannie fare now? What had she done after he left? Stayed in the bed and wept? Hauled herself up on her dignity? Become angry? Cursed his name?
Had he destroyed her as he intended?
Aye, and now he must stop thinking of her. He must focus on Deirdre.
Danny said softly, “We ha’ pledged ourselves to one another. And you ken, Master Finnan, what that means. You and Master Geordie taught me what it is to make a vow and keep it.”
Aye, right, Finnan thought savagely—that was all he had done. Then why did he feel as if his own heart had been torn out by the roots?
“She is the one for me,” Danny went on devoutly.
