“Why didn’t you tell your parents, Egan or me?” His voice was heavy with anguish.
Phoebe shook her head. “I couldn’t. He threatened to kill my family, to wipe out my entire clan.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” He repeated, a cavernous groove forming between his brows, his expression haunted.
Phoebe looked away. The first day she’d seen Slade after it had happened, it had been ten in the morning and Slade had been bleary eyed and drunk. He’d been in a hell of his own, having just lost Sylvia. She might have decided not to add to his burdens then, but there was another reason she hadn’t told him.
“I was ashamed, felt dirty, and broken,” she whispered. The truth cut her like a dagger.
He shook his head at her words, yet she found solace in his eyes before he gently pulled her in for a hug. Phoebe’s cheek rested against his chest, and in his warmth, with his beating heart soothing her, a measure of peace settled on her.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of. You are a fighter Phoebe, a beautiful warrior Goddess, and a survivor. No one controls your emotions but you. No one has the power to make you ashamed, angry, sad, or feel less than you are worth, unless you allow them. And you, my love, are nothing short of extraordinary,” he said, his words quiet, but each landing with the strike of a gavel.
Her mind soaked up his words. And as her heart soared, a measure of serenity settled on her soul, as if she’d arrived home.
CHAPTER 58
As blissful as Phoebe was in Slade’s embrace, she pushed forward with the past.
“When I was younger, I disobeyed my father quite a bit. He reprimanded me on more than one occasion for going off on my own to the moors. At one point he even threatened to lock me up in a tower at Eileanach if I didn’t heed him. Of course, I didn’t. One day, I found myself on the moors alone riding, that was when I encountered Faye Ross. He’d been at Eileanach a few times before that, with Hamish and Broden, to see my father and mother, I know not what for. I can’t say why but whenever Faye Ross’s eyes landed on me, it was like spiders crawling under my skin. But I simply ignored him,” Phoebe said.
She had loved riding. One of the few freedoms and enjoyments she’d had after losing Alex. And in her innocence, she’d wanted to hold on to that enjoyment for as long as she could, despite her father’s warnings. It was all she had after Alex, after Slade had fallen in love with Sylvia and after Egan had taken on more clan responsibilities from their father. She never found enjoyment from planning dinners, sewing, crocheting, or any of the feminine things her mother pursued. She remembered thinking life had unfairly taken away herwonderful Alex, the least it could do in return was allow her these solitary rides on the moors.
Slade’s hands caressed her back soothingly as she spoke. She burrowed further into his arms and continued.
“When I encountered Faye Ross on the moors, I wanted to ride away, but then decided, out of courtesy, to stop and pay my respects. He told me I was rude for not stopping immediately. He said I was like all Scots, thinking themselves better than the English. I didn’t like him, his words or the way he was looking at me.”
Phoebe paused, when Slade’s embrace stiffened. Tension rolled from his tall, broad frame in waves. But she kept going, resolved to get it all out.
“By the time I realized his intentions, it was too late, I was all alone on the moors with this malevolent creature. I tried to get back on my horse, but he knocked me down and … and forced himself on me,” she said, her voice quivering
The last sentence was the most difficult. She’d never told another living soul except Falcon. She couldn’t continue. Her skin had gone cold, her stomach was nauseous, and her body was shaking. A final exorcism of her past, she thought.
Slade’s arms tightened around her, he was stroking her back and she realized he was also mummering. “Shhhhh … You are safe my love. I promise, you are always safe with me. And you will never have to worry about him ever again.”
If she’d had more presence of mind, she might have asked what he meant, but she found herself wanting to tell Slade why she hadn’t told anyone what had happened.
“After he was done with me, I dragged myself home. I hid from everyone. I blamed myself. It happened because I disobeyed my father and went riding alone on the moors, and I was so ashamed. It was my fault,” she said.
“The only person responsible for Ross’s actions, is Ross,” Slade said.
Phoebe’s gaze flickered to meet his. His eyes glinted fiercely. His body was as tense as a bow string. She questioned the wisdom of putting him through this. But he’d already known, hadn’t he.
“I wanted you to know what happened, before we went any further. I owed you that,” she said.
“This doesn’t make me want you any less, but it does make me love you more, for your bravery. You are a survivor and an extraordinary woman,” he whispered, just before he kissed her forehead.
When she looked up at him again, the intensity of emotion in his steady gaze struck her like a lance through the heart. It connected with her soul. He loved her. Energy thumped inside her stomach even as her own ardor and emotion pricked the backs of her eyes. Slade loved her. She savored the overpowering warmth of its reality. His acceptance and love rebuilt all her broken parts.
“I love you too,” she said.
She palmed his cheeks and her lips found his. It was a soothing, gentle and mouthwateringly sweet kiss. She had laid herself open and bare for him, and he had accepted her and her tainted past. And Phoebe would never stop counting her blessings.
Phoebe surrendered to the pull of the kiss, taking a long, deep, delicious drink of Slade’s mouth. His lips moved enticingly, slowly, and seductively over hers. She gave in to her desire, then the desire became hunger. And hunger became deprivation.
Phoebe kissed Slade as if her life depended on it, as if he was the air and she had been running for seven long years.
His lips became more demanding, and then as frantic as hers. He was firmly encircling her breast, then squeezing her buttocks. Phoebe’s body came alive in a blaze of heat, desire and need as his hands roved, and fondled her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she marveled at the enormous pleasure of their coming together. But there was also tremendous triumph there as well. Triumph that she had conquered her fears. That she had gone through hell seven years ago, and she had not only survived, she was thriving.
