“Oh, my,” she stuttered, gnawing at her lip as she hid behind her hand.
Kieran smiled, the feeling of euphoria and utter bliss causing him to feel giddy. If he did not know better, he would have sworn his heart would explode at the sight of Vivien’s eyes shining with the love she clearly felt for him.
Kieran had no doubt as to what his own feelings for her were; he only needed to find a way to ensure that he could protect Vivien for the rest of her life and keep her by his side.
“I love ye, too,” Kieran said, taking the hand she held in front of her mouth in his and kissing her palm, before pulling her closer to him to kiss her deeply. It was a searing kiss, the kind that he knew was branding his soul.
He belonged to Vivien, and she belonged to him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vivien arrived back at Stone Castle a few hours later than she had hoped to be back.
After her admission and the return of Kieran’s love for her, she had been unable to resist spending the next few hours in his embrace, making love to him as though she were going home to die.
Vivien was in a daydream as she stabled her horse, walking into the castle humming to herself. She entered her private rooms, removing a glove as she walked in, only to stop dead, her eyes wide with terror.
Across the room, in the window seat she loved to sit in and stare at the Scottish countryside from, sat the only person she feared in her life.
Reginald.
His face was blood red, his expression unreadable.
Vivien attempted to recover herself, placing her shaking hands behind her back as she curtseyed quickly to him, hoping she had not betrayed herself in her moment of terror.
“My Lord, you are back early,” she said, hearing the tremor in her own voice. Vivien’s heart was thudding in her chest at a rate that made only made her feel more light-headed with fear that was rolling off her in waves.
Reginald stood up slowly, unfolding his long, lanky legs as he scrutinized her from top to toe.
Vivien felt herself flushing; she knew her face was bright red and her eyes far too wide open, but there was nothing she could do about it. She clenched her hands behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. She needed to remain calm; she needed to be level-headed.
Whatever Reginald was up to, surely he knew nothing of what she had done or where she had been?
He walked towards her slowly, pursing his lips as he came closer until he was just out of arms’ reach of her. He stood, his own hands clasped behind his back, towering over Vivien, his mouth pulled down at the corners.
The silence was unbearable as he stared her down, his gaze never wandering from her eyes. Vivien began to tremble and could only hope that he could not see her fear, as doubtful as she knew that was.
Like lightning before the storm, Reginald’s hand struck her across the face as he spat at her.
“You filthy whore,” he spat at her again, as Vivien’s hand flew to her face where he had stuck her. Her jaw dropped in utter horror; for all of his cruelty and vile behavior, Reginald had never hit her before.
The pain that lanced through her face was nothing compared to the horror and rage that bubbled through Vivien’s veins.
“You are a traitor; nothing more than a whore with your skirts around your ankles, you despicable woman,” Reginald sneered at her.
Vivien pulled back slightly, wanting to step backward but knowing that that would only land her in more trouble.
She shook her head slowly, unsure of what exactly Reginald was referring to.
“I am not –” she started, only for Reginald to cut her off.
“Oh, yes, you are. Do you think me a fool?” The question was clearly rhetorical; Vivien did not bother to answer him; she only returned his stare.
“I knew there was a mole in this household,” Reginald said, as he looked her up and down slowly, “I just never thought it would be my own wife.” The fury was evident in his bloodshot eyes; the stench of wine on his breath threatened to cause Vivien to gag.
She stood there, in mute silence, unwilling to say a thing. She needed to know what it was that Reginald knew before she would reply. To say anything would only implicate her further; to say anything at all was far too dangerous.
Vivien had learned it was better and safer to remain quiet when Reginald was attacking her than it was to try to defend herself.
