Stephen sat up straighter. “You may leave us, Neale.”
Neale turned. Mary cried out. “Nae! Do na gae!” But Neale was already gone. She whirled to face Stephen, panicked, slim hands raised. “Do nae touch me!”
“Come here.”
She froze. His words were soft, but unquestionably a command. The kind of command one automatically obeyed, but her feet did not move, and now her mind was frozen, too.
“Woman, come here,now.”
Mary searched his countenance. There was no innuendo in his tone to confirm that her fate was about to be a violent rape—an act that, according to all she had just heard, would most likely murder her. Nevertheless, she was shaking.
Her gaze found his again; he had been studying her, too, with growing impatience. “What do yae want with me?” she managed.
“What do you think I want?” he gritted. “You are a woman. I am in pain. Come here and tend my leg properly, now.”
Mary started and then relief flooded her. “Is that all yae want?” She was incredulous.
His jaw flexed. “I am used to instant obedience, woman. Come here and do what you have been trained to do.”
Mary knew she must obey, for his rising temper was obvious, but if she did not reach an agreement with him now, while she had some tiny portion of power, she never would. “I will gladly tend ye, if ye promise tae release me unharmed after.”
He was openly incredulous. “I command—and you make demands?”
She knew she had pushed him as far as she should, that she should not push him any further, but despite herself, she said, “Aye, I do.”
He smiled. It was a cold and dangerous smile that did not reach his dark, glittering eyes, and it was infinitely frightening. “Very few men have dared to disobey me, and even fewer have survived to see the light of another day.”
Mary inhaled, unable to turn her regard away from his, unable to even blink. Whatever power he possessed consumed her. Her knees had turned soft, threatening to give way. And something dangerous and terrible in its potency seemed to reverberate between them. “Do yae threaten me?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Only your sex spares you.”
She had not a doubt that if she were a boy, she would now be dead. He was her single most hated enemy, the enemy of her people, of her family, of her father, the King. Her situation was dire, but she must not give in to her growing panic. Mary stiffened her spine. If ever was the time for heroics, it was now. “Sae do ye agree tae my terms?”
He stared. “I think you are either the most stupid lass I have yet to meet, or the bravest.”
She stared back, hardly complimented and too frightened to be furious.
“You heal me and you shall be released.”
Mary gasped. She had attained what she sought, but she was certain she could not trust him, not as far as her youngest brother could spit. She had no choice, however. Grimly Mary came forward, determined now to see to his injury, to tend to him as quickly as was possible, praying she would be freed as he had promised so she could immediately reveal all that she had so far learned to her father. She tried to ignore his brilliant gaze, which never left her person. Swallowing, she knelt by his side. “What happened tae ye?”
“A maddened boor. My horse broke its leg just before the kill, leaving me in the creature’s path. I slew it, of course, but not before this.”
She did not reply. Her gaze was on his hard, dark-skinned, naked thigh. The bandage was already stained crimson. The wound was high, perilously close to his privates. For a moment her glance was drawn there, where she had no business looking—at the dark shadow between his legs. Heat suffused her. Her hands shook, and she clenched the folds of her skirt.
She saw only a blur of movement, and his huge hand was clamped around her small wrist. A scant second later, she was lying flat on his rock-hard chest, chin to chin with him. When he spoke, his breath touched her lips. “Why do you wait?”
Her gaze left his mouth and flew to his eyes. For the first time she saw the stark pain there. Something twisted in her heart, compassion she refused to entertain. She must not think of this man as human, or as being hurt and suffering. She must only remember him as an inhuman monster, one capable of single-handedly and cold-bloodedly killing her people to suit his aggressive nature.
She nodded, unable to speak, the feel of him warm and solid and disturbing beneath her breasts. He released her. Mary scrambled onto her knees at his side. She touched the bandage. Cautiously she began to unwrap it.
She winced. The wound was open, bleeding and ugly, but not too deep. Water and lye soap had been brought to clean the injury. “Twill hurt.”
He met her gaze, saying nothing. In the dim light his eyes seemed as jet black as his hair, and this close, they were unquestionably beautiful. She pursed her mouth, refusing to dwell upon such thoughts.
As she worked over him, trying not to hurt him, she was aware of his black regard boring into her, making her terribly warm and uncomfortable. She felt small and vulnerable next to him, dwarfed by the power he exuded even while hurt and momentarily at her mercy. It was a ludicrous notion. A man like this even briefly at her or anyone else’s mercy. He would never submit to another’s domination, not even while wrenched with pain, and especially not a woman’s.
The wound was finally clean. Mary paused, wetting her dry lips, looking at him. “It needs tae be stitched.”
