Adair, returning with the supplies that would be needed, saw that Alpin Bruce’s eye was now blackened; a reddish purple bruise was beginning to show on his other cheek; and his nose and mouth were bleeding. She did not ask what had happened.
“Go to our bed,” the laird said in a hard voice. “I will take care of him.”
“Yes, my lord,” Adair replied, and left the hall.
The laird bent his cousin over and cleansed the wounds. Then he put a healing salve on them. “Stand up,” he said, and when his cousin faced him, Conal Bruce drove his fist into the man’s middle several times.
“She is mine! You will remember it,” he said, and, turning, departed the hall.
Gasping for breath, pain radiating through his entire body, Alpin Bruce crawled, whimpering, into the bed space. He could not sleep on his back; nor could he rest comfortably on his belly. Turning on his side, he silently cursed Conal Bruce as he attempted to find some rest.
In his bedchamber Conal Bruce faced Adair. “I cannot protect a mistress as well as I can protect a wife,” he said bluntly. “It’s past time I had one.”
“You championed me very well, I thought. Did you beat him after I left?” she asked him softly, reaching up to touch his face with her hand.
“A little,” he admitted. “Don’t you want to marry me?”
“Do you love me?” Adair asked him.
He looked totally befuddled by her question.
“Do you love me?” Adair repeated.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he answered her honestly. “I want to wed you.”
“Why?” she queried him.
“Why?” His tone was irritated. “Why?”
“Aye, why?” Adair repeated.
“So I can protect you,” he said.
“You protected me very well tonight, and I am not your wife,” Adair replied. “My first marriage was a fait accompli before I even knew it. I did not like him. My second marriage was arranged because it was believed a woman could not protect Stanton without a man; and that was certainly proved when Willie Douglas came raiding. I was fond of Andrew. I suppose I loved him after a fashion. He was a good man. But the next time I wed it will be because the man I marry loves me. Really and truly loves me. My uncle Dickon loved his wife devotedly. And that is what I want from my husband. Will I marry you? Nay, my lord, not unless you learn to loveme, and will say the words to my face. And I will know if you lie to me.”
He was astounded by her words. Every woman he had ever lain with wanted to wed him. What was the matter with her? “You are mine!” he growled, pulling her roughly into his embrace, looking down into her beautiful jewel-colored eyes.
“Yes, my lord,” Adair said, and her tone was just faintly amused.
“My name is Conal!” he almost shouted. “You have been with me seven months, and not once have I heard you say my name aloud.”
“You did not give me permission to do so,” Adair responded reasonably. “Remember, my lord, I am your slave. You paid a silver penny for me.” The violet eyes were now dancing mischievously.
“Say my name!” he ground out. She was mocking him, damn her!
“Conal,” she murmured against his lips. “Conal.
Conal. Conal.”
“I will probably kill you eventually,” he told her, kissing her a hard kiss.
“Why?” she asked him. “Am I not obedient to your will, Conal? Do I not keep your house well, and please you in your bed, Conal?”
“You will marry me,” he told her.
“Nay, I will not until you love me. The day after Michaelmas, Elsbeth and I will be, under both Scots and English law, free of our enslavement. If you do not love me, Conal, I may not remain. I will go back to Stanton,”
Adair told him. “You’ve made me your whore, but I do not have to remain your whore.”
