“When Hades freezes, woman.”
Chapter Four
Dear God, Alexander…Her heart clenched. What had started as a journey of absolution had turned tragic. She’d never considered seeing Alex again. He’d abandoned his home on the morning of her wedding. Sinking to her knees, Keely tried to forget the past, but couldn’t. On the eve before her wedding, Alex had sought her out in her bedchamber. Knowing the danger if they were caught together, she’d begged Alex to leave. Of course, he refused, barring the door and demanding answers.
“Do ye know what ye’re doing to me, lass?” he’d asked.
What about her own heart? Had he ever considered what she was feeling? Keely searched his face for the answer, but only found resentment in his eyes.
“Tis the only time I ever remember ye not being able to speak.”
“P-please go, Alex.”
“Are ye in such a hurry to be rid of me?” He scrubbed his stubbled chin. Usually clean shaven and dressed with care, the man standing before her resembled an outlaw, unkempt, his plaid a wrinkled mess. “A few nights ago, ye were in my arms, promising ye’d be mine—kissing me wildly, begging me to claim ye.” He advanced, backing her into the stone wall. “Give me hope, Keely—just a scrap of it and I’ll wait a lifetime for ye…”
Oh, that she could… But silence was the price of her future happiness, that and giving up the only man she’d ever love. “What lass wouldna beg for ye to claim her?” Keely asked. “The devil has blessed ye with charms hard to resist.”
He chuckled mercilessly, fingering a strand of her dark hair. “Then surrender to those charms, lassie—yer heart will follow after I’ve loved ye.”
Unable to escape, Keely hugged her middle protectively, a meager attempt to keep his roving gaze from noticing how hard her nipples were, wishing her nearly transparent chemise was a cloak of thick wool and fur. “I must go to yer brother’s bed a maiden.”
Alex seethed, pointing his finger at her. “Aye,” he confirmed, “Ye’ll go to his bed a virgin, but get a cold reception, for I’ll run my sword through his worthless heart.” Alex thumped his chest. “Ye betrayed me, lass. Sold yer soul to a man with a title, nothing more.”
Keely closed her eyes, grieving her loss, unable to tell him what she really wished to say. Suddenly she was being tugged away from the wall. Opening her eyes, she met Alex’s dark stare as his mouth slanted over hers, his strong hand cupped at her nape, forcing her to accept his kiss. A cruel kiss, meant to dominate and remind her of who she really belonged to.
Keely didn’t need reminding as their tongues swirled together in anger and desperation, his scent overwhelming her senses, his taste as pleasant as ever.
“That’s right, lass,” he whispered against her parted lips. “See how easily ye open up to me.” He pumped his hips, pressing his hard length against her belly. “Feel what ye do to me.”
She planted her palm on his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, she savored the hard muscles she felt through his shirt, unable to ignore the feel of his thundering heartbeat against her fingertips. This was what true love and passion was supposed to feel like. Tears stung her eyes then, but she swallowed her cry. Sacrifices must be made, sometimes, even if what she was expected to give up meant everything in the world to her.
She gazed up at Alex, wanting to commit his face to memory—from his brilliant green eyes, to his narrow, straight nose, to his full lips. No man had ever caught her attention the way Alex had. Nor had she ever desired another man. “Leave me.” It wasna a request.
As if something had suddenly come over him, Alex shoved her away, growling with anger. “Ye’re not worth the trouble,” he spat. “Ye reek of betrayal, the vile taste upon yer once sweet lips and tongue.”
She said nothing as Alex stormed toward the door and punched the wall.
“Curse ye, woman, and all who serve ye.”
Crushed by the five year-old-remembrance that felt as if it had only happened yesterday, Keely returned her attention to the present, to John. Using the edge of the table as leverage, she raised herself up, her legs still wobbly.
“I came here to beg forgiveness, John.” She stared down at his face, reaching for his cheek. Cold to the touch—her husband-in-name-only appeared to be sleeping, even though she well understood the finality of death. “I wish ye peace. Love. Happiness in the heavenly realm—for I know no other man who deserves it more than ye.”
Laird John MacKay had always been kind to her. Willing to let her wait to consummate their marriage. She bowed her head, remembering his words—the ones he’d spoken after he’d carried her to their bedchamber on their wedding night.
“Ye canna force love, lass. And I willna do so with ye, though every part of my being craves ye like a madman.”
She’d thanked him for his generous consideration and crawled into bed still wearing her gown and slippers, too afraid to undress in front of her new husband. Instead of joining her, John poured himself a cup of wine and sat in a chair in front of the hearth, drinking himself to sleep on what should have been one of the happiest nights of his young life.
Once his light snore was heard, Keely crept from their bedchamber. It had taken every bit of courage she could muster to leave what promised to be a union filled with mutual respect and admiration. For no other man in the Highlands would have given her the gift of time like John. Not even Alex—who she loved with all her heart. Nay, Alex would have claimed her, and she would have offered herself like a sacrificial lamb, married to him or not.
Easier than she thought it would be, she crept past the revelers in the great hall and ran to the stables. Not a squire or stable lad was in sight. Everyone had been invited to her wedding celebration, high and lowborn. She found her mare in a stall in the back of the stable, and with the skill of a seasoned soldier, saddled her mount, then secured her only bag before she climbed up.
Once she was outside, Keely pulled her hood up and looked about. Soldiers were always on patrol. She leaned forward and patted her mare’s neck. “If we doona leave now…” She heeled the beautiful horse her sire had bought her a year ago in the ribs. “Go.”
Once she finished with John, Keely approached the chancel, the sacred area of the kirk reserved for the priest. Sitting atop the wood altar was a gold cross. How she wanted to take it in her hands and weep. Considering herself unworthy of touching the holy relic, she simply admired it.
“Tell me what to do, Lord. Direct my hands. Speak to my heart. Please…”
