“Lastly, in regard to our marital union…” All at once, her belly swarmed with butterflies, and she had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady. “I request that you do not claim your husbandly rights until our wedding night.”
That one, oddly enough, was the only application that gave him pause—and soon after, his eyes smoldered with rising sexuality. “Are you a virgin, lass?”
“Of course,” she replied incredulously.
He studied her expression, then his gaze dipped lower. Time seemed to stand still as he lifted a hand and traced a slow finger along the line of her jaw, down the center of her throat to the valley of her cleavage, then along the breadth of her neckline from shoulder to shoulder, as if he were drawing a smile with his rough, callused fingertip.
Gwendolen shivered, for no man had ever touched her like that before, and this man was far more intimidating than most. He slanted a seductive glance at her, and all her bravado from moments ago poured out of her like water. Her skin seemed to burn with fever under his fingertip, and it made her head swim in churning circles.
She felt suddenly inept when it came to negotiating for anything. Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps she should simply be thanking him.
“That’s a considerable demand, lass. I’d venture to call it impudent, and I’ve no interest in wedding a woman who doesn’t know her place.”
“And what is my place, exactly?”
“Your place will be in my bed. Pleasing me.”
She was having a devil of a time getting air in and out of her lungs. “I understand,” she said shakily, “that if I am to be your wife, it will be my duty to provide you with an heir. I only ask that I have time to prepare myself for that…obligation.”
His eyes narrowed with dark, sensual resolve. “What’s the point in putting off the inevitable? One way or another, you’ll be on your back, and I’ll be having my way with you. You might even find you enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?” she scoffed. “I think not.”
His gaze lingered on her lips, and her insides seemed to melt into a big warm puddle of sensation as he cupped the side of her face in his hand and let his fingers play in the wisps of hair over her ear. “Since we’re negotiating the terms for your total and complete surrender to me,” he said, “I’ll agree to your blushing request on two conditions.”
“I am listening.” She struggled to banish the color from her cheeks.
“I’ll leave your sweet, luscious maidenhead intact, as long as you agree to be amiable toward me between now and then. Never again will you defy me in front of the clans like you did this morning, nor will you resist or dispute my authority over Kinloch. You will support my rule, both publicly and privately.”
Could she agree to that? she wondered uneasily.
Yes. She would agree to anything, if it meant he would not touch her like this, or attempt to take her this very night. And perhaps, before that moment arrived, if she was blessed with good fortune or mercy from above, her brother would arrive and save her from that fate.
“Fine. What is the second condition?” She worked hard to ignore the fact that his thumb was now gently brushing back and forth across her chin.
“When your brother returns like a hero on his white steed”—he said, as if he had read her mind—“which I am certain he will, your allegiance will be with me, your husband, and you will not betray that vow.”
“But what will become of my brother? This castle is his birthright, too. You cannot simply expect him to—”
A flash of anger burned in the Lion’s eyes. “It is not his birthright. It is mine. But your brother will have a choice. He can pledge an oath to me, and with that oath, he will be given land and a position of rank and stature. If he refuses, he will be free to leave.”
She paused, for she did not believe it. “Would you promise me—would you give me your word of honor as a Scotsman—that you will not kill him?”
Angus stepped back. “Nay. For if he raises his sword against me, or any other MacDonald, I will slice him in half without hesitation.”
Gwendolen looked down at the floor. She did not doubt his word in that regard, and for the first time, a true feeling of defeat swept through her. He was a powerful foe, and she was out of her depth.
“I will agree to those terms,” she said, consoling herself with the fact that she had at least attained some compensation for her people. And the Lion would not attempt to bed her that night. Perhaps, with any luck, her brother would arrive soon with an army of redcoats, and drag this Jacobite rebel off to the gallows for treason. She would try to get word to Murdoch about the urgency of their predicament, and cling to the hope that even after the forfeiture of her innocence, the castle could still be reclaimed. All hope was not lost.
It would be her sacrifice, she supposed. Her virtue in exchange for the eventual freedom of her clan.
Gwendolen looked up and found herself gazing into the unyielding blue depths of his eyes.
“Are we done now?” he asked. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Aye.” But she felt completely unraveled.
“Then seal the agreement. Prove to me that your word is true.”
