‘Aye, you are, which means you must obey my every command.’
She grinned, and not in a friendly way. ‘I could just make a run for it, you know, the minute your back is turned, or I could just stick a knife in it.’
‘Aye, and I am sure you’re very nimble and murderous when you need to be, but then you could not ease any coin from my pockets, and whores do love coin.’
Maren blinked rapidly and gazed up at him with shining brown eyes. Damned if they weren’t rather lovely, their gentleness offsetting the stubbornness of her chin and the angry clench of her full lips. He almost pitied her – cold, hard schemer that she was.
‘I told you I am not a whore, nor will I ever be,’ she snarled.
Damned shame that she wasn’t, for if she was, he could have indulged a strong urge to find a bed for the night and make use of her. Damping down his lust, for it would not serve him, Bryce said, ‘You may say whatever comforts you, Maren. Just as I may choose not to believe it. Come, we must make haste.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.
‘Why all the pretence?’ she cried. ‘Are you not man enough to say no to your father?’
Bryce’s pace quickened. ‘He thinks marriage will be the making of me, and I have past sins for which I must atone. Now I do not wish to be wed, and my father knows it full well. So I need to convince him that I have fallen helplessly in love. And you need to convince him that you are tempting enough for me to do just that.’ He stopped and turned to her. ‘Can you? Can you be tempting, obedient and loving, Maren, because if you cannot, then go, make your escape? I will not drag you back to prison. So be free of me if that is what you want.’
She yanked her fingers free and put her hands on her hips. ‘So are you expecting me to believe you will give me something and take nothing in return?’
‘Aye.’
She seemed perplexed. ‘Most men would marry and not give a fig if the woman they wed was happy or miserable. Most men just use women for their own ends. Why not you?’
‘I cannot spend a lifetime in a sham of a marriage, lass. I cannot inflict that on another person.’
‘Are you saying you are too kind to do that to a woman? That this is about sparing her feelings and not your own.’
He shook his head. ‘Aye. Maybe. Partly.’
Maren glanced away as if looking for her best means of escape, then she sighed, not meeting his eye. ‘Kindness is a weakness, you know.’
‘So is idiocy. This is your best chance to be free of whatever life you are mired in. I would see you right, Maren.’ To his surprise, Bryce found he meant it. He could take care of this fierce young woman. Perhaps he could be her saviour to atone for his past sins.
Maren squared her jaw and tilted her chin. ‘I need to get out of Balloch and lay low for a while. Marriage to you might accomplish that, I suppose. But I must say farewell to a friend before I go to my servitude.’
‘What friend?’
‘I will find him down at the wharf. It will not take long, but I have urgent business to conclude with him.’
‘What business?’
‘My own.’ She tilted her head and smiled flirtatiously. ‘Come now, we must have some secrets, Bryce Cullan,’ she said. ‘Go and get some horses and then come and find a ship at the dock called ‘The Jezebel’. I will be waiting.’
She hurried away, and Bryce was left to ponder if it was the last time he would see her bright brown eyes and graceful, pale neck - slender like a swan’s. He cursed all women and went in search of horses.
Chapter Eight
In no time at all, Bryce had acquired two horses - old nags to be sure, but better than walking home to Penhallion.
Balloch wharf was bustling and noisy, with folk loading and unloading cargo and sails flapping in the stiff wind blowing up the loch from the sea several miles south. The water was deep enough to carry ships with the longest of drafts. Two sizeable vessels were bumping against the dock. One was huge and called Retribution and was undoubtedly the one which would be heading to the colonies, spelling doom for its unwilling passengers. The other, at the far end of the wharf, must be the Jezebel, and Bryce rode quickly towards it.
As he approached, he spotted Maren’s brown hair flying out behind her in the wind. At first, he was relieved. She was standing aboard by the wheelhouse, conversing with a man of imposing bulk. He was almost as tall as Bryce and black-haired, with a thick beard shadowing his jaw. A ship’s captain, maybe, for he was well-dressed in a fine jacket. Their heads were close together, like lovers, and the man put his hands on Maren’s shoulders and stared down at her with tenderness. She kept shaking her head at what he was saying.
Relief that she had not run from him curdled to jealousy, savage and hot, deep in his belly. ‘You said you’d be mine, so why must I share you,’ Bryce muttered under his breath.
His horse whinnied as a man rolled a barrel perilously close, and Maren turned and spotted him. Her face fell, and she took the man’s hand and led him around the back of the wheelhouse where Bryce could not see her.
***
For some reason, Maren’s heart would not stop its gallop. Even though Bryce had looked so handsome in the saddle with his bright hair and broad shoulders, he was clearly angry. His hands had fisted, and his jaw worked. She wondered if he was capable of violence.
