“I am not hiding behind your men,” Patrick gritted out.
“You will do as I command, in order to save your people’s lives,” Edwin countered. “This marriage will not be annulled.”
“Won’t it?” Patrick’s voice dropped to a low pitch, though Isabel recognized the contempt behind it.
“Let me go,” she murmured to her husband. “I don’t wish to hear any more of this.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Edwin said. “This marriage will be consummated now, and there will be no divorce.”
“Father, please,” Isabel begged. “This isn’t your concern.” With every word he spoke, he was destroying the fragile marriage she’d built. Her husband’s fury was palpable, and she didn’t know if she could mend the broken pieces ater this.
“It is my concern. This marriage will be binding or I will let the Pembroke’s men do whatever they like to these lands. They can slaughter the entire tribe, for all I care.”
Hot tears gathered in her eyes. Isabel sank down in the chair, wishing both of them would leave. Caught in the middle, she sensed that Patrick could not win this argument.
Patrick opened the door and glared at Edwin. “Get out.”
Her father held his ground. “It is your choice, MacEgan. I want to see the evidence of my daughter’s bedding. You won’t be ending this union. And my grandsons will be among the kings of Erin.”
While her husband forced her father to leave the room, Isabel could not stop the tears from falling. She had feared Edwin’s arrival, but she’d not expected him to go this far.
Patrick bolted the door and removed his cloak. He moved toward her like a predator, not a trace of mercy written on his face. “You heard his orders.”
“Don’t, please,” she whispered, lifting her face to meet his. “Not like this.”
He unlaced his tunic, revealing the carved muscles from his training. Only a few nights ago, she had desired to touch him, to feel his skin against hers. But now he had become the warrior once more, unreachable.
She turned away, tears burning her cheeks.
His hands touched her shoulders. “I am sorry,a stór.“ He moved her hair aside, drying her tears. Then he raised her to stand before him.
Powerful and sleek, her husband intimidated her with his strength. Her body trembled with the knowledge of what he must do. “Patrick,” she breathed.
His hand moved up her back, the lazy touch prickling across her skin beneath the thin layer of fabric.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said brusquely. Before she could say another word, his mouth came down upon hers in a fierce kiss. Isabel clutched at him for balance, her mind hardly able to think. The forbidden heat of his mouth, and his hands moving over her skin made her burn for more.
He lifted away her overdress, then continued to kiss her like a starving man. Isabel clung to him, trying to silence her fears. But when he lowered herléineand bared her skin, she tried to cover herself.
Patrick trapped her hands at her sides, looking upon her with intensity. Though she had wanted him to share her bed at the gathering, now she was afraid. This was a man trapped by duty, infuriated by her father’s will. Not a husband who wanted to touch her.
With his kiss, he conquered her, battling for control. He placed her hands upon his chest, and Isabel felt the violence of his heart beating. She moved her hands over the firm muscles, and then drew her hands lower to his hips.
His hard arousal rubbed against her, and her breath splintered, her womanhood responding by growing moist.
In a single motion, Patrick picked her up and lowered her onto the bed.
Theroaringdesirewaskilling him. Patrick wanted her; there was no question of that. But he resented being forced into this.
He caressed her hips, moving down her thighs, and she jerked. “Shh—“he whispered, opening her legs. With his hands, he teased her womanhood, stroking her until she shivered. He inserted a finger and felt the wetness that she was ready for him.
He removed his trews and covered her body with his own. Guilt and resentment flayed him, for he wanted to join with his wife. The baron’s command infuriated him, but worse, he craved touching Isabel. He didn’t deserve taking pleasure from this moment.
Patrick closed his eyes, steadying his willpower. He shouldn’t do this, for it would make it even more difficult to end the marriage. But instead, the softness of her silken skin, the sweetness of Isabel, invaded his mind and drove out all reason.
He poised at the entrance and slid himself inside, inch by inch until he felt the barrier of her maidenhead. Then he plunged inside her and broke the fragile membrane.
Her cry of shock caught him like a fist in the gut. Had he hurt her? Shame invaded, and he watched her face for signs of pain.
