Mary was too surprised to respond.
He said urgently, “Do you still love me?”
“Doug!”
“Mary—we can run away. We can run away tonight, to France. We can still be married, and I will rear the child as my own. ’Tis not too late.”
Mary stared.
“Just say yes,” Doug cried, “and I will get word to you this night. I have a plan, Mary, and we can succeed.”
“Doug,” Mary whispered, aghast. He still loved her enough to forgive her for her loss of virtue and to accept another man’s child, which was overwhelming enough, but the suggestion itself was even more shocking. “You must be mad! I cannot run away with you, I cannot!”
“Mary—think about it.”
“I do not have to think about it. It has been agreed, I am to wed with Stephen.”
Doug paled.
Mary knew, and she whirled.
Stephen smiled at them both, coldly.
Chapter 17
To Doug’s credit, he did not flinch despite the unwavering stare Stephen subjected him to.
Stephen said, “Do you subvert my bride, Mackinnon?”
Doug squared his shoulders. “She would not be your bride, de Warenne, had you not abducted her and raped her.”
Mary winced, as pale as Doug now, expecting Stephen to cruelly expose the truth of her participation in his seduction.
Stephen smiled again, unpleasantly. “But that is all the past, is it not? And tomorrow she will be my wife. So cleanse your mind, Mackinnon. Mary will have no suitors other than myself.”
Mary was terribly relieved that Stephen had spared her such humiliation. She dared not intervene, though. But that immediately proved to be a mistake.
Doug’s amber eyes flashed. “You can marry her, de Warenne, but you cannot take away what we share, she and I.”
Stephen was still. His eyes had become black. “And just what is that, Mackinnon?”
Doug smiled, and it was his turn to be cold, even triumphant. “Love.”
Mary closed her eyes, choking off a moan. Her heart twisted for Doug. He still loved her, and he thought that she still loved him. She was dismayed. She should have told him forthrightly that her heart now belonged to another. And she dreaded Stephen’s response, sure he would be frightening in his fury.
But he only laughed and shrugged. “Love is for fools like you, lad, not for a man like me.” He turned to Mary, his regard chilling her. “’Tis time for us to return to Graystone, demoiselle.”
Mary knew he was angry with her, without cause. Tears glinted in her eyes, as much for the unjustice as for poor Doug, and she touched Doug’s arm. “Tomorrow Stephen and I shall be wed, Doug, as our fathers have agreed. Please, please give us your blessing.”
Doug stared into her eyes, communicating silently with her, pleading with her. Mary’s heart sank. He still thought to persuade her to agree to his mad scheme to run away and elope. “Doug?”
“Do not ask the impossible of me, Mary,” he said stiffly. Clenching his fists, he turned and stalked away.
Stephen gripped her arm. “You surely must be overwrought by now.”
“Stephen …” Mary balked, facing him.
His smile was sardonic. “What are you going to say now, Mary, in order to appease me? That you do not love him? Do not delude yourself—you may love him. I do not care—not as long as it ismykeep you inhabit,mybed you warm, andmychildren that you bear.”
