‘I don’t have to sell my soul to get it,’ he mumbled, staring at her with a frown. ‘And it’s not much of a birthright anyway. Scarcross is cursed.’ The firelight licked across his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes, the smooth curve of his cheekbones. His expression twisted to sadness. It was as if Cullen Macaulay suddenly revealed part of himself.
But that moment was fleeting, and he went back to the fireplace, his hands resting on the mantel, staring at the flames as if he was looking into Hell. It was as if he could not bear to look at her.
Lowri had to decide. Endure or fight. Lie with Cullen Macaulay or forever have her friends’ blood on her hands. ‘If we don’t do as your father commands, my friends will die,’ she said.
‘The way you keep pushing me on the matter of consummating our union, one might almost believe you want me to press you down on that bed and have my way with you.’
‘You are wrong. Our hellish union is a means to survive and nothing more.’
‘Aye, we are both trying to survive my father, so in that we have something in common.’ Cullen turned to her and took a big swig of the whisky and thrust the flagon at her. Lowri shook her head. ‘Have you not wondered why my father did not just marry you to Allard? That bastard usually gets what he wants, and he has a mighty lust for you.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, the reason is this. He gave you a choice because he wanted to humiliate all three of us. My father enjoys his little games. He likes to play with people. You are humiliated by becoming a Macaulay slave. Allard was rejected for being an oaf, which he is. That would have hurt his pride no end. I must say, I enjoyed that part. And it is best that you rejected my half-brother, for Allard would have no conscience about consummating this marriage. It would be done by now, and brutally.’
‘And how are you humiliated, Cullen?’
He smiled when she used his name. ‘My father despises your clan, your entire bloodline. He does not want to waste Allard, his only legitimate male heir and favourite son, on a filthy Strachan.’
Cullen started to sway a little. He was getting drunker by the minute.
‘It is the Macaulays who are filthy,’ said Lowri.
‘Oh, have I pricked your womanly pride, lass? Do not fear. It is not that you are an unappealing bride. It’s just you have the worst of the bargain. I’ve no claim to greatness. I am a bastard, lass, nought but my father’s by blow. How do you like that?’
‘One bastard is much like another,’ she replied.
‘Thank you for your generosity.’ He bowed mockingly. ‘But know this, bonnie you may be, but you’re no gift either, lass. My father has given you to me as a punishment for defying him. And in answer to your question, I was humiliated by having to exercise my conscience, a virtue which my father has tried to stamp out many a time. And it is a cursed virtue, which means I will not have your blood on my hands. You are my burden to carry, my whipping, if you like. God knows, I’ve no desire to take a wife. I’ve turned down many a lass he’s thrust before me in the past, and most were more worthy than you.’
‘Then why agree to it?’ spat Lowri.
His brows knitted. ‘Because I didn’t want to see you hang or sent to a fate worse than death.’ His voice softened. ‘And trust me, he would have done it. He is ruthless to a fault.’
‘Is that a family trait?’
‘Aye, it is, and never doubt it.’ Cullen stared into her eyes from across the chamber and then rushed towards her. He loomed over here, taller than Lowri by a head. His eyes roamed over her face, searching for something.
Lowri found her voice. ‘What are you going to do?’ she gasped.
‘What do you think I am going to do?’ His tone was guarded.
‘Something horrible. You Macaulays are all cruel. You pretend to be my saviour, but you are just playing with me.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Do your worst and get it over with,’ she spat.
‘And what is that exactly?
Lowri’s eyes flicked to the bed before she could help herself.
Cullen’s followed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, lass,’ he growled. His quiet rage filled the chamber and was far worse than the blustering cruelty of Allard and Griffin. ‘What makes you think I want to touch you?’
‘Your father said…’
‘My father can burn in hell for all I care. What am I? Some stallion put to covering a mare? I’ll not have you, Lowri Strachan. Instead, I will just drink myself into oblivion as quickly as possible. I suggest you do the same.’
‘But then you won’t be able to do it.’
