A strange expression crossed his face, and not for the first time she wondered if there was something else behind that look. She studied his face, wishing she could see through stone. “Why did you really bring me here?”
He hesitated. “To get my castle back from your brother.”
“And to marry me?”
His gaze flickered over her face. “It seemed a good idea.”
Her instincts flared. He was clearly choosing his words with care. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Many reasons.”
“Such as?”
Her persistence was getting to him, and his annoyance was evident in the flex of his jaw and the white lines around his mouth. “What would you like me to say, Flora? I know how you feel about your situation as a marriage prize.”
She lifted her chin. “The truth.”I can take it. I hope.
He held her gaze. “You are beautiful, rich, powerfully connected, and”—he gestured to the amulet—“a symbol to my people as an end to an eighty-year curse. I’d be a fool not to want to marry you.”
She flinched. She’d asked for the truth, and he’d given it to her. But why did it have to sting so much?
He must have sensed the pain his frank words caused, because in the next instant she was in his arms. “Just because I recognize your value as a potential bride doesn’t mean I can’t want you for myself.”
She heard it in his voice: He was telling the truth. Her eyes flickered across his face, looking for signs, anything that would point her in the right direction. “And there is no other reason?”
Why did she always have to push him? Couldn’t she just leave well enough alone?
It was the question Lachlan didn’t want to answer. If there was ever a time to tell her the truth, this was it.
He felt as if he were being torn in opposite directions, forced to choose between two undesirable ends. He could tell Flora about his bargain with Argyll and risk his brother and clan if she refused him, or lie and tell her there was no other reason he wanted to marry her in the hope that it would impress her enough to accept his suit.
He knew she was wavering—warring with desire and her fear of being used like her mother. If he told her, it would only confirm those fears. He could guess how she would react. He was using her—for honorable ends—but using her nonetheless. And now that he knew her, he understood what that would do to her. She cared for him, of that he was certain; but would it be enough to forgive his manipulation? For that was how she would see it.
Who was he fooling? Any choice he had was illusory. He needed Argyll’s help, and he must do what was necessary to get it. He might be able to retake his castle by siege or subterfuge, but at what cost? He’d lost too many men already, and the fighting would only further infuriate a king who wanted an end to feuding. But then there was his brother, imprisoned at Blackness Castle—the king’s impenetrable stronghold. He’d never be able to secure his brother’s release from Blackness without Argyll’s influence, and attempting to break him out by force would be a suicide mission.
If only there were another way. Any attempt to free John would have to be undertaken with cunning and trickery, and thus far, Lachlan had been unable to think of a suitable plan—one that would not unduly risk more men.
He also realized that if he told her about his bargain with her cousin, he could very well lose her. And that was something he couldn’t risk. Once his brother was safe, he swore he would explain everything.
It was an untenable situation, one that he wanted to end.
He felt her scrutiny as she waited for his response. Scrutiny that only increased his frustration with the entire situation. “Why must you persist in denying what is between us?” he said almost angrily. “Are you so worried about ending up like your mother that you would rather end up alone?”
Flora recoiled as if he’d struck her. “Of course not. You don’t know what you are talking about.”
She started to spin away, but he grabbed her arm and swung her back toward him. Close enough to feel the flutter of her heart and inhale the intoxicating floral scent that surrounded her—taunting him. His body grew taut with anger and desire. “You know what I think, Flora? I think you are scared. Scared to take a chance. So scared you’ll make the wrong decision that you reject everyone who comes too close. Your brothers. Your sisters. Me. Your life has been as much a reaction against your mother’s life as it has been your own. You are too busy fighting everyone to recognize those who only want the best for you.”
Her cheeks flushed an angry red. “How dare you! You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he growled. He heard the fury in his voice, but damn it, she pushed him, prodding parts of him that had never before been exposed. “The moment you gave yourself to me, I earned that right. What does it matter other than I care for you and you care for me? Does it matter how it came to be? Or why I want you, other than the fact that I do?” He knew he was trying to convince himself, almost as much as he was trying to convince her, skating precariously close to the truth.
“It matters to me,” she said softly, her eyes bright.
She looked so proud and vulnerable at that moment, he wished he could take her in his arms and wipe away her fears with his mouth. “It shouldn’t. I would never hurt you, lass. Not intentionally. I want to protect you. Cherish you. Take care of you. Surely you know that?” It was the truth. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her—completely. Body and heart.
“I don’t know what to think.”
He buried his face in the warmth of her silky hair, nuzzling the baby soft skin of her neck, aroused to the breaking point by the erotic sensation of her responsive body pressed against his. “Maybe you are thinking too much.”
