‘Don’t underestimate me, lass. I’ve been known to drink a whole tavern’s worth of ale and still send a lass on her way with a smile on her face.’
He held the whisky out to Lowri, and she snatched it and took a huge gulp to numb the horror of her plight.
‘You drink like a man,’ said Cullen.
‘I do a great many things like a man.’
He raised one eyebrow, making him look raffish. ‘Not everything, surely? Shall we find out?’ He reached for Lowri, and she leapt back.
‘You could set me free now, and my brother will reward you with coin, whatever you want. You know where Donnan and Rory are. Let them go.’
‘What? Turn against my family and my clan on your account? I do not know you. I’ve no loyalty to you.’
‘You seem to scarcely have any to your clan. Why?’
‘I owe you nothing, especially not my secrets, lass, so leave it alone.’
This Macaulay brute was impossible. Lowri’s impotent rage would not be silenced. ‘I wish you’d never spoken up for me.’
He glared. ‘I’ve saved you from a terrible fate I would not wish on a dog.’
‘There can be no worse fate than degrading myself in marriage to a drunken Macaulay bastard.’
Cullen grabbed Lowri’s arm and shook her. ‘You could have been degraded in far worse ways if the magistrate sent you to the colonies instead of hanging you. Do you know what a voyage to the Americas is like? If you did, you would thank God for my help. Do you think the sailors care a fig for your scruples? They would take turns with you, lass. And if you survived weeks at sea, then you would be sold like an animal. As an indentured servant, you would be little better than a plantation slave and treated accordingly – used as they pleased and worked until you dropped. I may be all kinds of villainy, but I am a good deal better than that.’
‘Let go of me,’ howled Lowri.
‘No. I’ll do as I please.’ His face twisted into a snarl. ‘Why the hell did you choose me, if I am so hateful?’
‘You are not so hateful as Allard.’
He sneered. ‘Tis far more dangerous to be wed to me than Allard. He is a grunting oaf of a man, and not a pretty one, but you might have had a dull, steady purgatory instead of a short, painful one with me.’
‘What do you mean, short? If you mean to kill me, do it now. Better dead than suffer you.’
‘I’ll not kill you, lass, though I could throttle you for choosing me as a husband. And don’t keep wishing yourself dead when you are young, with more beauty than you deserve. You have your whole life before you, so don’t curse it so easily.’
Lowri’s lip trembled as all her mistakes crashed in on her at once. ‘I have a worthless life before me. And save your begrudging flattery. What worth is beauty when you have no other virtues? I should die, for I am hateful. I have dishonoured my clan, my brother, everyone, by marrying you. My friends are suffering on my account, and I loathe myself.’
Cullen loomed over her. ‘So it seems you have a conscience too. Perhaps that’s your saving grace. And I give no flattery on your looks, though you seem not to know you are bonnie. I speak as I find.’ Cullen held up the bottle. ‘A few more of these and I might actually desire you.’ He shrugged. ‘Or maybe not, for in truth, I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, Lowri Strachan.’
He was so changeable, veering from threatening to lie with her, and then rejecting her. How drunk was he going to get?
Cullen stared down into Lowri Strachan’s eyes. By God, she was a sight to stir the loins. Some men liked soft, blonde lasses, quiet and biddable and sweet. Cullen had always liked the ones with fire in their blood, some fight in their bones. This lass was bonnie, dark and fiery, her eyes compelling, even as they spat their fury at him. But it was the last defiance of a cornered animal. Lowri was frightened out of her wits, fisting her hands in her skirts, trembling under his gaze and trying not to show it. Cullen took a step closer, his face in hers. She gasped and came up against the wall. Her mouth fell open.
The whisky had started to fog his senses and blunt his good sense. ‘I liked kissing you, and you are bonnie, whether you like it or not,’ he said.
‘Please,’ she gasped.
‘Please do it, or please don’t?’ he murmured.
‘I…I suppose we must, or Donnan and Rory’s suffering will be prolonged.’
‘Aye, your friends will suffer. But better them than you, lass, suffering my attentions.’
Cullen turned away, back to the fire’s warmth, for there was nothing but ice in the lass’s gaze and in her heart, for him, anyway. ‘Get into bed, lass. The fire is struggling, and it is warmer there.’ He took a last swig of the whisky, trying to wash away his bitterness.
He thought he heard a stifled sob, but Cullen would not look at the lass. When he turned around, Lowri was lying in the bed with the blankets over her. He finished the bottle and climbed in next to her. She lay rigid, staring up at the rafters, like a martyr finally at rest in her coffin. He didn’t owe this Strachan bitch anything. But if he took her now, she would go free, apart from dragging him through life as her husband. But a Strachan blade across his throat would probably take care of that soon enough, once Peyton Strachan found out.
