Fin had assured them that he’d only done it to protect them—and that Eoin understood—but Margaret didn’t fully believe him. She sensed that Lady Rignach didn’t either but had chosen to make the best of the situation by pretending to do so.
The celebration was a stilted, awkward affair that was continuing late into the evening out of duty, not desire. Feeling the absence of her husband and finding it hard to hide her misery, Margaret slipped out of the stifling Hall into the stables to bring Dubh a special treat—an apple pilfered from the feast.
She didn’t realize she’d been followed.
“What are you doing out here?”
She startled at the sound of the voice behind her, and recognizing it as Fin’s, her heart immediately started to race. Racing that spurred when she glanced around and realized he’d cornered her in the small stall and gotten rid of the stable lad who’d been sitting near the door. The door that was now closed.
Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders to face him. “Giving Dubh a treat. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying to brush by him, “I told Tilda I’d be back in a moment.”
He caught her arm. “Not so fast. We have a few things to discuss, you and I.”
The pounding of her heart echoed in the growing pit in her stomach. She could smell the heavy scent of whisky on his breath, and his eyes were wild with a drunken haze. Every instinct in her body seemed to ring in alarm.
Being alone with Fin always made her nervous, but being alone with a drunken Fin made her terrified.
“How did you do it?” His eyes scanned her face, and then dropped to her breasts, where they lingered with an unmistakable glint of lust before returning to her mouth. “How did you beguile him into marrying you so quickly? You’re beautiful, but he’s never been distracted by a pretty face. It must be something else. Did you get on your knees? He’s always had a weakness for a lass who sucked his cock. But then what man doesn’t?” He laughed crudely.
Margaret gasped, so shocked and outraged she didn’t know what to say. Did women...?
She wrenched her arm away. “How dare you! When Eoin comes back—”
“Comes back?” He laughed harder—crueler. “Eoin’s not coming back. Haven’t you realized that yet? If he comes here, he’s a dead man. Hell, he’s probably a dead man already.”
Anger dulled some of her fear. She hated hearing her own fears echoed by this brute. “How can you say that? He’s your friend.”
Fin sobered just a little. “Aye, but he made his choice. I made mine. We’ll both have to live with them. I’m surprised you are still defending him, considering.”
“Considering w-what?” Margaret hoped her voice wasn’t shaking, but her heart was in her throat. He’d blocked the only exit to the stall with his body and was now backing her against the back wall.
He smiled, but it never reached his drink-crazed eyes. “Considering that he left you here unprotected.” He leaned down, and she shuddered as his whisky-laden breath crawled over her skin. “You are a beautiful woman. Many men would be tempted—”
“Then they would be fools,” she said, standing up straight, refusing to be cowed. “If my husband does not return to avenge my honor, I assure you my father and brothers will.”
That gave him pause. But then his eyes narrowed on her once more, like a hawk with its prey in sight. It seemed he was no longer biding his time. “Your father and brothers are a long way away, but perhaps if you look around there is someone closer to home whom you can rely on.”
“Who?”
“I might be persuaded. With the proper enticements.” If the look he swept over her body left her any doubt of what he meant, his next move did not. He reached for her, drawing her up so quickly she didn’t have time to react before his mouth was crushing hers.
He tasted of whisky and lust, and she would have gagged had she been able to breathe. He was just as big and muscular as her husband, and the assault of such a powerfully built man filled her with terror, but she was prepared. Vowing that she would repay her brothers if she had the chance for insisting she learn how to defend herself, Margaret lifted her knee between his legs. Hard.
He crumpled like a poppet of rags, crying out in pain. She didn’t waste time, but drew her eating knife from the scabbard at her waist and held it to his neck.
“If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll kill you.”
The lust was gone. It was pure hatred that glared in his eyes now. “You’ll regret that, bitch.”
She did not doubt he meant it. Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, she ran past him out of the stall. There was nothing to do: she had to go to Lady Rignach.
She would have—had she not run right into a stunned Marjory who was standing just outside the stall. From the stricken look on the girl’s face, if she hadn’t seen everything, she’d seen enough.
When she turned and ran, Margaret chased after her. “Wait,” she said, catching her at the bottom of the tower stairs. “Oh God, Marjory, I’m so sorry you had to see that. But maybe it’s better if you learn the truth now.”
“Learn what truth?” she repeated angrily. “That you’ve betrayed my brother and tried to seduce my betrothed? I saw you kiss him.” The facade of anger crumbled like a dry wall. “How could you?”
Seeing the devastation in the other woman’s eyes, Margaret fought for patience as she tried to calmly explain. Marjory was hurt, but there was no interpretation that could have construed the events that had just occurred as Margaret’s fault. “Fin attackedme, Marjory. He was drunk. When he tried to kiss me, I was forced to defend myself. You must have seen the knife?”
