Then, as if he would prove it, his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a fierce savageness that stunned her. His kiss was hot and angry, demanding—nay, forcing—her response with the wicked stroke of his tongue. She tried to wrench free, but he only kissed her harder, with a raw hunger that would not be denied.
God, he’d never kissed her like this before.With passion that seemed almost dangerous. He held nothing back. This was the rough, uncivilized side of him that she’d always sensed lurking under the hard reserve. He was raw, primitive, and dominating.
The stubble of his beard scraped her skin. His hands held her tight, cupping her bottom hard against him. She could feel his erection throbbing against her.
The passionate haze blinded her. For a moment, she melted, succumbing to the erotic heat. Responding…
No. Tears of humiliation burned in her eyes from her body’s betrayal.
She jerked out of his grasp, panting from the loss of breath. All the conflicting emotions he’d aroused broke free. “My mother was right. You are nothing but a barbarian.” His face went white, but she was too angry to care. All she wanted to do was lash out and release some of the pain twisting inside her. “How dare you kiss me as if I were your whore! I can’t believe I convinced myself that education and refinement would not matter. But you are a brute. I see that now—” Her voice broke. “Keep your vile hands off me.”
She knew when he flinched that her arrow had found its mark. She fought the impulse to take back her hateful words. She wanted to hurt him. As he’d hurt her. If the bleak look in his eyes was any indication, she’d succeeded.
“I might be a barbarian,” he said roughly, “but you want me.” He let the truth of his words fall. “I’m also your husband. The sooner you realize that, the happier we both will be.”
“Never.”
“Never is a long time, Flora.” His piercing blue eyes bore into her. “I’ll leave you now, but do not try to deny me again. You are my wife.”
She didn’t say anything. He thought he’d won, but he was wrong. Very wrong.
He gave her one last long look and left her to her solitude. But Flora knew he’d be back. She hated him for what he’d done to her, but how much longer could she resist him if he pressed her? She wouldn’t let that happen. He had what he wanted; his brother’s life would be safe. He didn’t need her anymore.
The sun had just crested the western horizon when the towering shadow of Drimnin Castle came into view. The light reflected off the sound beyond, creating a magical backdrop of shimmering blue.
Despite the chilly layer of dew that blanketed the moors, Lachlan was hot and sweaty; they’d been riding all night.
He glanced at the man riding beside him—a lad no longer. Their mission had been a success, his brother had been returned to him. But it hadn’t taken long to realize that the experience had changed him. John would never be the carefree scamp with charm to spare that he’d been before his imprisonment.
He was thin and dirty, but the changes went far deeper. Behind the scratches and bruises he’d suffered from the failed escape attempt, new lines were etched across his youthful face. Eyes that used to twinkle with teasing now sparked with anger. John had hardened, and the change saddened him. Though he blamed the king, Lachlan knew he was as much to blame himself. He never should have sent John in his stead; he should have anticipated James’s treachery. His brother had suffered for his mistake.
And he wasn’t the only one. But one look at his brother as he emerged from the hellish pit was enough to convince Lachlan that he’d acted the only way he could. Flora would have to forgive him.
Flora. Hell. His thoughts turned to the bitter confrontation of the night before. He’d bungled things horribly, and the conversation had deteriorated from there. Considering the way he’d broken down the door, perhaps it was understandable. But he’d been furious by her stubborn refusal to listen to reason, that she would bar her door to him, but mostly that she wouldn’t understand.
But when she’d told him he would have to rape her, the force of his own reaction had shocked the hell out of him. How he’d ached to prove her wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed her like that. Passion, anger, and fear had converged inside him until all he could think about was forcing her to understand. For a moment, he’d been every inch the barbarian she thought him.
He was so furious, he hadn’t trusted himself. He knew he had to get out of there, before he did something that he would regret. So he’d joined his men to ride to Blackness Castle to retrieve his brother, giving them both time to cool their fiery tempers.
Her barbs had stung—much more than he would have thought possible. He knew she spoke only in anger, but he also knew there was some truth to what she said. Hadn’t he worried about as much himself?
Forcing the confrontation had been a mistake. He could see that now. He should have given her time. And as soon as he returned, he intended to tell her so. He would give her all the time she needed—he owed her that, at least.
But perhaps he owed her more.
He was painfully aware of the roll of parchment he carried in the leather pack attached to his saddle. It was Argyll’s letter to the parish minister to record their marriage, along with the fine for the irregular marriage. He’d intended to send one of his men with the missive, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Technically, he’d fulfilled his promise to Argyll. If she wanted to claim that their marriage had not been consummated, he would not stand in her way.
It would be like cutting himself in half, but if she wanted her freedom, he would give it to her. But he would do everything in his power to convince her otherwise.
John had been quiet most of the ride home, but suddenly Lachlan felt his eyes on him.
“You are truly married?” he asked.
For the time being. He nodded. “Yes.”
John shook his head. “I’m sorry that you had to sacrifice your freedom for mine. If only I’d realized what the king intended.” His voice teemed with bitterness and anger.
Lachlan fixed his brother with a piercing stare. “You are not to blame for what happened. I should have suspected the king’s treachery. If anyone is to blame, it is me.”
