She wanted to hurt him now, and she knew it. Perhaps it was not fair of her to bring up the matter of his failed union, but given what he was doing to her, she would not hold back and pretend that she did not see what nonsense this was.
His eyes seemed to be almost black as he glared back at her, not ceding the ground.
“You may steal my vows, Lachlan, but ye’ll never have me,” she warned him. “You may take my name, but I will never submit myself to you. You will never own me.”
He moved, swift as the shadows dancing in candlelight, hand locking around her wrist before she could pull back.
“I own every part of you, lass,” he rasped to her, composure forgotten at her defiance. “From the moment you set foot in this Keep, I’ve owned every inch of you, you understand?”
She parted her lips, a retort already on the tip of her tongue, but something in him seemed to break. Whatever composure he had been putting up for his men when she had first walked up to him was entirely forgotten. His other hand slid to the back of her neck, catching her and drawing her close, his mouth finding hers with a barely restrained need that seemed to have been growing from the instant he had laid eyes on her.
For a second, she was too stunned to respond, too shocked to think of pulling back or protesting. And, deep within her,everything she had tried to contain, all the emotions that she had wanted to keep under lock and key, suddenly broke the surface. Rage, longing, want—all of it melding together to form some impossible mass within her that ached for nothing more than the feel of his mouth against hers. He backed her towards the wall, hands on either side of her, scent heavy in her senses as their tongues came together.
He was the one who seemed to gather himself before she did. Drawing back, his breath harsh, he dragged his nose against her cheek, drinking in the scent of her for another moment before all of this was over with.
“I will take you as my bride tomorrow,” he told her, his words almost a hypnosis as he gathered himself. “And every inch of you, Innes…”
He trailed his hand along her waist, letting it settle there for a moment. His grip was firm, even now, and she could feel the roughness of his stubble against her jaw, leaving her craving more.
“… will be mine.”
And, with that, he drew back, stalking off down the corridor and leaving Innes in a helpless mess to gather herself as best she could. Her hand flew to her mouth, fingertips brushing over her lips, trying to make sense of whether that had truly happened.
His kiss felt impossible, like so much about him, like it must have belonged to someone else, someone different, someone capable of things that he could only dream of.
The Mad Laird.
The man who was soon to be her husband.
She was not sure she had entirely made sense of it yet, but, by this time tomorrow, she would have had to.
Because he was not going to take no for an answer in his quest for revenge.
Chapter Four
Innes could not sleep. Her mind had been racing from the moment she had retreated to her chambers once more, searching for a moment of respite amongst all the madness. Catrin had come to bring her some food, but it sat at the end of the bed, untouched. She could not muster an appetite, not after what had happened.
And not after how she had let herself react.
Nobody in her life had kissed her the way he had in that moment between them in the corridor. Nobody had even come close. How could they? She was nothing more than an innocent maiden, a woman who had yet to find the man she would share herself and her life with… until he had come storming in a day or so ago and turned all that upside-down.
And, at first, she had been able to convince herself that this was nothing more than a matter of revenge against her brother, an attempt to force Arthur into a corner that would push him to the point of no return. But that kiss…
Could he have kissed her that way if this was meant for nothing more than revenge? It didn’t seem possible. She had felt it all in his touch, exploding through him like he had sparked thewick on a candle; the anger, the desire, the ache for vengeance, all of it creating more of a mess than she knew what to do with.
She hated him for it.
For kissing her like that, stealing her affection so bluntly.
And she hated herself even more for the way that her body had responded to it, lighting up with the warmth of his touch as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers at the nape of her neck, his tongue against hers, his muscled body pinning her to the wall—she could remember every detail of it like it had been branded into the deepest, darkest parts of herself.
She stared at the slim window, where the light had begun to fade from grey to gold. Only a few hours now, and she would be a married woman, unless she could find some way out of her predicament. And she had turned it over and over in her mind, and she could see no way that she would be able to escape this, even if she tried. No, he had clearly gotten her exactly where he wanted her, and he had no intention of letting her slip through his fingers.
She had stared at the cold stone walls for long enough. She needed to taste the fresh air for the last time she would truly be free now that her nuptials were close at hand. She dressed quickly and quietly in one of the simple dresses and cloaks that had been left in her chambers and slipped down the stairs to the quiet of a Keep that had not yet roused to begin the day.
She turned in the opposite direction of the courtyard, where she had gone to confront Lachlan the day before, and instead traced her way towards the stables towards the back. She always found comfort around animals, and the horses, at least, would not have any plans for her.
But, as she picked her way across the cold ground, something caught her attention. The scent of lavender, deep and herbaceous and distinct. Was there a garden here? A smallflicker of hope rose in her chest before she could stop it. As foolish as she knew it was to allow herself to trust that there was anything here not meant to make her life worse.
