She bit her lip, not responding—she had nothing to say. But she recognized the heat in his eyes.
“I want you, Margaret, very much.”
“You want Castle Fyne.” The moment she spoke, she was horrified. But she could not stop. “And you have Castle Fyne.”
“I want Castle Fyne, and my bride.”
His thighs were rock-hard against hers. And she recognized the state he was in. Alexander had taught her that. “You are holding me too tightly,” she gasped.
“But if I let you go, you will flee—I am certain. You cannot elude the man you are to wed, Margaret.”
“You are hurting me,” she cried, when that was not quite true.
He eased his grip, his regard puzzled. “Why do I frighten you so? Why do I believe you intend to resist me?” he asked, stroking his thumb across the line of her jaw. Margaret knew he was about to kiss her and she stiffened.
His mouth covered hers, and as it did, he closed his other hand over her breast.
Margaret cried out in protest, jerking back frantically. He locked her in his arms, kissing her deeply, thoroughly. Margaret wanted to scream at him, but she could not push away and break the kiss in order to do so.
He finally straightened, breathing hard, his gray eyes heated with lust. But he did not release her. “Why must you play the virgin now? A union is in both of our best interests.”
“My brother could be dying. He needs me.”
“I need you,” he said harshly. “I need to consummate this union, immediately, so no man can dispute my rights here.” The lust was gone from his eyes. Determination burned there.
“There is no one disputing your claim tonight!” She thought frantically. “William is deathly ill, and Buchan wishes for us to have a public wedding, in an English church!”
“God, you are disputing me!” His stare became searching. “Buchan would agree—all has changed, Margaret. I would expect you to be as eager as I am to have our union consummated—and to have my claim here strengthened, by right as well as might, so no man, not even the Wolf, will ever think to take Castle Fyne from us.”
“I cannot think straight, with William so badly wounded! But I know I must obey my uncle, Sir Guy.” She trembled, trying to put a small distance between them—he would not allow it. “Perhaps you should send him a letter?” She hoped to merely delay what seemed inevitable now.
“I am not sending him a letter, Margaret.” He pulled her abruptly into his embrace. “You are here and we will be man and wife in a matter of minutes.” He locked his arms around her and began to kiss her, hard.
Margaret struggled. “I do not consent to this marriage!” she screamed, tearing her mouth from his.
His eyes widened in shock. His grip became bruising and brutal, as if he might break her waist. “You do not consent?”
She shook her head. “I cannot marry you. I do not know you, you are English—I will not!”
“So your professions of loyalty to Buchan were a ploy?” Fury covered his face. He shook her hard. “You will not thwart me!”
She was crying as he used his body to push her backward toward the bed. Margaret tried to hit him with her fists. He ignored her blows, driving her down onto the bed and coming down on top of her. He caught her by her hair so hard she froze. His stare was ruthless now.
“Is it MacDonald?” he asked softly.
He meant to hurt her anyway, but she was afraid of what he would do if she ever admitted her love for Alexander. “Do not force me,” she whispered.
His grasp on her hair tightened, he kneed her thighs apart, and she cringed. But she knew better than to provoke him. She closed her eyes tightly, so as not to look at his savage, ugly face.
Suddenly, Margaret heard racing footsteps coming up the stairs, beyond the closed door and the corridor. Sir Guy heard them as well, for his entire body went still.
The booted steps were louder now, rushing toward the door, urgency filling the sound. The door flew open, and one of his men stood at the threshold.
“Sir Guy! A messenger has come—from your brother!”
Sir Guy’s eyes widened.
Margaret was still—she was afraid to move.
