She scoffed at his words and rolled her eyes, sparking anger.
‘If word gets out about you staying out all night, you will be shamed, and I turned to a cuckold,’ he growled.
‘Oh, is that what concerns you, that I will bring shame on you and the grand Cullan name?’
‘No,’ he bellowed, making her jump. ‘What concerns me is that you wilfully go off with no word of your whereabouts whilst there are evil men lurking in these glens who would do you harm. What concerns me is you stayed out all night like a common….’
‘Go on, say it. A common whore. That is what I will always be to you, isn’t it?’ Maren’s face crumpled into anguish. It gave Bryce pause, but was it all an act to make him pity her and pardon her indiscretion?
‘How else can I see you? A lady would not leave her husband to spend the night in the bed of another.’
‘And a good husband would not seduce another woman the moment she is gone.’
Bryce laughed. ‘So you go off all night with no explanation, and yet I am the guilty one for kissing Clara’s hand. Good God, woman, you have some cheek to accuse me of impropriety.’ Bryce banged his fist down on the nearby table. ‘Where were you, Maren?’
She jumped and shuddered, and there was fear on her face which dissolved his anger a little.
‘Just tell me what happened, lass. I swear I will not lay hands on you, no matter what you have done.’
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. ‘I did not shame you or myself, I swear, but I cannot say where I went. It was to warn an old friend of danger. That is the truth, as far as I can tell it. Please, Bryce, do not press me further and do not be angry. Forgive me. I cannot bear it if you are angry.’
Maren was frantic. She stared at Bryce, his handsome face contorted with anger. He was everything she craved but could not have – handsome, bold, stirring to her blood, and in his way, Bryce had shown kindness. And she wanted to reassure him, to have him hold her close and comfort her. Most of all, she wanted to be worthy of Bryce Cullan. But her past was like an anchor, snagging on the foundations of her new life, holding her back. She could never break free of it. One day, it would sink her.
Bryce hung his head, hands on hips, riven with frustration. There was a long pause when Maren could only stare at his golden hair and the frown lines creasing his face. His white-faced anger had now curdled into something worse – disappointment. He was pulling away from her, and so was his good opinion.
‘You went to him, didn’t you?’
Her breath caught. Did he know about Drayton? Could someone have seen?
‘What hold does that bearded bastard have over you?’
‘What?’
‘That man aboard the Jezebel. How fitting a name for the vessel, eh.’ Bryce rushed to Maren and took her face in his hands. He looked down into the warm depths of her heavy-lashed, soulful eyes. ‘What is he to you – lover, husband, master?’
Maren’s mouth fell open, and tears filled her eyes. ‘Bryce…I….’
‘I am your master,’ he hissed. ‘And you shall have no other but me.’
She pulled free. Her palm connected with his cheek with stinging force. ‘I have no master, not you nor any man,’ she yelled.
‘Slap me again, lass, and I'll show you who’s in command here. Remember I have been inside you while I stared into your eyes. You clung to me and cried my name into the night, so I know damn well I am your master.’
His face was in hers, their eyes locked in mortal combat. They stood at the brink of an explosion. Any other woman would have backed off from his anger, but Maren stoked it with another slap.
Bryce barely felt it connect. Instead, he grabbed her and planted a rough kiss on her angry, pout of a mouth. She squirmed and pushed at him, tugging his face away by his hair, but he refused to give up her mouth. Maren’s struggles faded away, and she grabbed onto him violently, fingers digging into flesh, her teeth connecting with his lips.
He spun Maren around, bent her over the bed, and within seconds he had lifted her skirts and entered her – warm, wet and gasping his name. She arched her back, reaching back her fingers to coil about his neck, digging her fingers in hard and pulling his head down to hers. He kissed her neck and tore down her bodice, groaning with unspent anger and desire as his hands fondled her breasts. They were heavy, hot and silky in his hands. It was the best and worst of lovemaking - hurried and rough and animalistic as though they were low peasants in a barn with no more restraint than beasts, yet passionate, ecstatic, unbridled - like two fiery souls burning up together.
It was all over quickly. Bryce was consumed by confusion and guilt, overlaid with indignation at her treatment of him. Had he shown her who was master, or had he just allowed Maren to confuse his righteous anger at her betrayal of his trust? Did she succumb to cool his temper, or could she not help herself? Had her need been as great as his? He had fooled himself into thinking that she was as carried away by her passion as he, but perhaps not.
Reluctantly he withdrew from her hot, welcoming body and pulled down her skirts so that her smooth round buttocks no longer had the power to tempt him from his path. He did up his breeches and cast a glance at Maren. Her hair had come down, framing her face, rendered glowing and pink from their savage union. Her nape bore the mark of his teeth. She cast him a strange, sad look, pulled her bodice up, and hung her head.
‘Look at me, lass.’
Maren raised her eyes. They were soft and bright, all the anger gone.
‘Don’t be the classic fool,’ he said to himself. There was no help for it. He put his hand on her cheek and stroked it.
