He had already considered the possibility that his men had by now murdered her brother, and when Gwendolen learned of it, she would never forgive him for his treachery. She would despise him forever and wish terrible ills upon him.
He was no stranger to such outcomes, for he had once deceived his closest friend. This was all very familiar territory. Was he destined to always disappoint and drive away those who mattered most to him? He had lost the good opinion of his father—which he could never regain, for his father was dead. He had also lost Duncan—whom he had once believed to be the deceitful turncoat, but in the end, Duncan had been the one with greater wisdom and a higher sense of humanity.
“You’re obsessed with your guilt,” Raonaid said, reading him like a book. “You think you bring this on yourself, because of all the evils you’ve done.”
“But do I succeed in bringing it on myself?” he asked. “What is next to happen?”
He was determined not to openly provide her with information, for he didn’t need to hear what he already knew—that he was guilt-ridden. If she was a true oracle, she would tell him something more.
“You must let go of the past,” she said, “or you will not be able to focus on what matters.”
“And what is that?”
She spread her arms wide. “These walls of stone and mortar.”
His gaze traveled up the side of one wall, across the vaulted ceiling, then down the other, and then he recalled the words Lachlan had spoken on the day of the invasion:But what is Kinloch, if not for its people?
Angus gazed into the cool blue depths of Raonaid’s eyes. “What good am I as a leader if my people despise me? What is the point in having all this power if everyone wants me dead?”
“At least you will have achieved something,” she replied. “You reclaimed this great Scottish stronghold that once belonged to your father, but was stolen from your clan. Your fighting skills are unmatched. You have been invincible in battle. Your father would be proud, Angus, and wasn’t that what you always wanted? Wasn’t that why you returned to Kinloch? To redeem yourself in his eyes?”
“But my father is dead, Raonaid, and he didn’t banish me because I failed in battle. There was never any question that I was good with a sword.” Angus looked away, toward the bailey. “My skill as a warrior meant nothing to him in the end. All he saw was my heartlessness, and that was why he sent me away. He was ashamed of me. I was his son, yet he could not even look at me.”
He realized suddenly how his perspective on life and the people surrounding him had changed since those cold, lonely months in the Hebrides. All he’d cared about then was his bitterness.
It was all Raonaid had cared for as well. It was what had brought them together. It was the one thing they shared—a basic contempt for the world.
Now, since his return to Kinloch and the unexpected intimacy of his marriage, all he wanted was peace. Prosperity for those who had placed themselves in his care.
And to never again disappoint those who trusted him.
***
That night, nothing could keep Angus from Gwendolen’s bed. He’d spent the entire day going over all the possible directions his life could take from this day forward—everything from his own death to the loss of his wife’s affections because he had ordered the death of her brother.
He had always been very adept at disregarding his emotions. He had never been one for empathy or compassion. He did what was necessary to survive, without pause or regret. He killed men in battle. He lived for duty and patriotism alone.
But tonight, he felt uncertain. He had sent a basket of roses to Gwendolen’s room when she was still dressing for dinner, and now, after the meal, he was escorting her back to her chamber, not entirely sure where they stood. Had she seen his treachery in her dreams? Did she know that he was not worthy of her goodness?
When they entered her bedchamber, he took the liberty of dismissing her maid, for he wanted to assist her himself. He removed each article of clothing, piece by piece, and all the while, his hands shook with both arousal and uneasiness.
A short time later they slid beneath the heavy covers, where he laid a trail of kisses down her soft, quivering belly and wondered how it was possible that he could feel such apprehension at a time like this, when his body was aroused and he was passionately in the mood for sex. He had come here to make love to his wife and lose himself in her sweet, honeyed depths, but perhaps what he really needed to do was distract himself from everything else. For their future together was uncertain at best.
Would she betray him? he wondered, as he kissed her soft shoulders and relished the sweet sounds of her breathless moans.
Or would he simply disappoint her and lose her affections forever because of the thoughtless command he had given to Lachlan a month ago?
After a generous session of foreplay, he entered her with great sensitivity, and watched her expressions in the dim, flickering candlelight. She thrust her hips forward to meet each of his deep penetrations, and their bodies moved together in a physical harmony he had never imagined possible. It was magic, and he wanted it. Needed it. He would die for it.
He drove into her vigorously, again and again, and grew quite certain that the irresistible joy he was feeling was nothing but a house of cards built on a shaky table, and soon that house would collapse.
He held his climax at bay for as long as possible, and when it came, it was cataclysmic; hers was savage and intense. He felt the power of their passion in the sharp sting of her fingernails digging into his back.
“I love you,”she whispered, and he sucked in a breath of surprise.
“I love you, too.”
God in heaven…
