So if he could not take her by force, he would have to seduce her into wanting it—which was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. Because he did not wish to be intimate with her. Not now. Not ever. Love and intimacy made a man weak. It led him down a path that made him believe happiness was possible, and that he could forget all the evils in the world.
Angus could not afford to rely on someone else for his happiness. Nor could he forget certain evils. He simply could not let down his guard. He could not become weak.
***
“I find it odd,” Gwendolen said to Onora that night after the feast, “that Angus has not forced himself upon me. He has had two opportunities, and it was hardly necessary for him to negotiate my terms of surrender. He simply could have bent me over the table in the hall and claimed me as his property, right then and there.”
They moved through the torchlit corridor to her bedchamber. She unlocked her door, entered, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I learned something about him tonight,” Onora said, as she removed her shoes and placed them together on the floor. “His cousin Lachlan is quite a charmer, and with a little persuading, he was willing to indulge me when I asked some delicate questions.”
Gwendolen swiveled on the bed to face her mother. “What exactly did you learn?” She wasn’t sure she had ever craved information with such fervor before.
Onora sat down on a chair. “He told me that Angus’s younger sister was raped and killed by English soldiers a few years ago. It’s part of the reason why he was banished. He went absolutely mad with vengeance against the English and betrayed a close friend who married an Englishwoman, and it was all very ugly in the end. Lachlan is not surprised that Angus is waiting until your wedding night before he beds you. He said Angus cannot bear to see any woman cry or plead, for it makes him think of his sister’s final moments. It’s why he has ordered his men to stay away from our MacEwen women. He wouldn’t stand for any raping or pillaging.”
Gwendolen pondered this with a rather morbid curiosity, and not without some sympathy. “And yet, he told me he wanted to kill that Englishwoman.”
“But he didn’t kill her, did he? And Lachlan said he had plenty of opportunities.” Onora rose to her feet. “From what I understand of the situation, that friend he betrayed is now married to that woman, and they are very much in love. They have a son and another child on the way.”
Gwendolen pulled the pins from her hair. “He told me about his friend, and that he betrayed him, but he didn’t tell me why. I had no idea it was because of what happened to his sister.”
Onora shrugged. “Well, at least it has given him reason to spare you for a week or so. You’ll have time to prepare yourself for your first encounter. It won’t be so terrible, darling. You’ll see.”
Rising from the bed to undress, Gwendolen wondered if she would ever truly be prepared for it. And despite everything her mother had just told her, she was still amazed that Angus had shown such mercy toward her and her clan. Bitter, brooding vengeance was blatantly visible in his eyes. His deep anger and contempt for the world was obvious, and it never ceased to unnerve her.
No, she was not yet ready to lie back and give herself over to him without fear. He was a dangerous man, and though he could be merciful in some ways, he did not seem capable of genuine tenderness or love. She was still very much afraid.
Chapter Eight
Angus lay in bed, tossing and turning. There was no point in visiting Gwendolen’s bedchamber again, he told himself, over and over. He’d given his word that he would not bed her before marriage, and he’d drunk too much wine tonight. In his present mood, a single moment alone with her could turn him into a liar, or worse.
Nevertheless, when sleep continued to elude him, something compelled him to rise. He lit a candle, donned his shirt and tartan, and quietly ventured out of his father’s chamber. He walked through the chilly castle corridors toward the East Tower and hesitated there. The torch at the bottom of the stairs had gone out, so he used his candle to light it again, climbed the twisting staircase, and stopped, disconcerted, outside Gwendolen’s door.
He felt like a dog that had caught the scent of something juicy and couldn’t resist rummaging around. Reaching into his sporran for the key to her room, he inserted it into the lock, carefully turned it and entered, with the full intention of merely checking on her.
Moving closer to the bed, he raised the candle high over his head and observed her sleeping form. The flame cast a dim golden glow across the gentle curve of her body. She had pushed the covers aside and was stretched out on her belly with one leg bent, her shift tangled around her voluptuous hips and bum. Her hair was splayed out around her like rich ribbons of black silk. The soft ivory flesh of her thighs gleamed erotically in the candlelight.
His blood quickened, and he was forced to confront the uncomfortable truth that his capacity to be patient with her was fading fast. For two years, he had lived apart from society with the oracle, Raonaid—a beautiful but unfeeling woman, who was, in a way, his mirror image. There had been nothing innocent or vulnerable about her. She was not tender, and she regarded the world with antagonism and ill will.
For a time, he’d believed she was his perfect match, for she required very little from him. He could be distant and uncommunicative with her, and she offered no complaint, for she was just as distant in return. He really knew very little about her past, except for the fact that she had visions.
This woman, however—his future wife—was his opposite in every way, for she was innocent and pure of heart, noble and self-sacrificing. Some long-forgotten part of him wanted to touch that purity. A more familiar part of him wanted to pilfer and consume it—even when he knew he did not deserve to be in the same room with it. What he deserved was to rot in hell with a woman like Raonaid, who would not dare to judge him for his rancor, for she was the same.
Gwendolen breathed deeply and rolled to her side. She cupped the pillow in her arms, brought her knees to her chest. A chilly draft caused the candle’s flame to dance wildly on the wick, so he set the brass holder down on the table and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.
A moment later, she tossed the covers aside with agitation and rolled onto her back. The sweet-smelling perfume of her body touched his nostrils and awakened his senses, just as she opened her eyes and blinked up at him innocently.
A dangerous, passionate stirring of desire overwhelmed him. It was unlike any other desire he had ever felt for a woman. It was beyond sexual. He felt dazed, restless, and ravenous. In that moment, he was not sure he had the strength to keep the promise he had made to her, for he had never been a calm or patient man. He was a warrior at heart, and when he wanted something, he wanted it with violent, blinding fury.
And tonight—bargain or no bargain—he wantedher.
***
Gwendolen had been dreaming of the lion again, and when she opened her eyes and saw Angus standing over her bed like a beautiful creature of the wild, she wasn’t sure if she was awake or still floating in a mindless slumber.
A candle flickered in the room, and his enormous shadow loomed on the wall behind him. He smelled of musk and leather. His golden hair fell in blustery waves onto his broad shoulders—just like the lion’s mane in her dream—and her flesh tingled when his hungry gaze roamed over her body.
Wasshe still dreaming? Her body felt warm and languid, remarkably calm, as she squirmed lasciviously on the mattress.
