In the time it took his ears to cease their ringing, she’d become a different woman. And if she’d been his enemy, he would have retreated at the look of determination and hatred in her eyes.
Even Macbeth had not looked so fierce in his last defiant moments.
That was it.
She’d seen defeat ahead of her, and she had decided to fight him to the death over it.
Not good. Not good at all. Perhaps retreat would be best for the moment. After all, he could hardly convince her that she’d lost her maidenhead if she’d only been kissed.
Slowly, he removed his leg.
When she tried to free her hands he said softly, “Stop.”
“No.”
“Trust me.”
“Never again. I will fight ye with my last breath, and then my maid’s story will be the truth. I will not be dishonored and then forced to face those men again.” She was gearing up to fight harder. He could see it coming. But there was something morethere. Something in her eyes he’d not seen in them before, and it was hatred…and pain…and…
It was sorrow.
God’s teeth, she was going to cry. Speaking to a woman was new to him. Speaking to a greetin’ woman was hard for any man. For him it would be impossible.
“Shhhh.” He moved closer and pressed his face to the side of her head. “Haud yer wheesht. There will be no dishonor here.”
She stiffened even more. “I will never believe you.”
“It is true,” he whispered in her ear, then breathed the scent of her deep into his lungs.
“Then we can join the others now.” Her breathing sped.
“Not yet.” He placed a kiss behind her ear, then backed away before she spooked. He would like to seduce each part of her body in turn, but this clearly would not be the time for it. “Ye scared the horses away.”
“What?”
The fight had left her voice. Had a mere kiss to her neck accomplished that? If so, perhaps it was the perfect time for it after all.
He took a strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. “The horses. Ye scared them away with yer screams. We’ll just wait here a wee while.” He let his fingers trace a trail down the side of her neck and she shivered.
“And just what are we to do while we wait?” she asked breathlessly.
“What we’re doin’ is fine with me.”
He had worked his way to her collarbone and wondered just how much pressure it would take to break the seams of her clothes, once she was willing. Her breathing was nearly frenzied. Was he such a fine hand at seducing that he could have her panting so quickly?
But she wasn’t panting. She was fuming. When he cared to look at her face the loathing was back.
“You are no better than the other. You will take because you can. You lie. You all lie. So you can take your honor and that of your king and?—”
“Hold yer tongue, woman.”
“No, you hold. I will kill you if I can. It will be fine practice for killing The MacPherson.”
And in that moment, he believed her more than capable. Rather than worry him, however, it enraged him. She was willing to give herself to any man just to kill another, but she could not stomach giving herself to him?
He’d see about that!
He squeezed her hands to gain her full attention. “Ye want so badly to see The MacPherson dead? Fine. I will take what ye were offerin’ at the fire last eve. In turn, I will ensure that Leith MacPherson is in his grave as soon as the King has come and gone.”
