“No. I am fine,” she told him, until she thought better of it. “I beg your pardon. I wish to retract that. I am not fine. I am disgusted.”
He took a step forward and scoffed. “Disgusted? Byme?”
“Aye. Did you expect otherwise?”
He stared at her with threatening resolve. “It’s not the response I was anticipating, but it matters not. This castle is mine now. I’ve claimed you as my wife. Those are the facts.”
She inhaled slowly in order to gather her wits about her. He was disturbingly succinct and to the point, with no consideration for politeness.
“And what am I supposed to do with those facts?” she asked. “Call everyone in and prance about the hall with delight?”
“Nay, there won’t be any public prancing, lassie. Whether you like it or not, I’ll be having you in my bed tonight—andthatwe’ll do in private.”
She took a deep breath, working hard to calm her rising hostility. “So soon?”
“Not soon enough, if you must know. I didn’t expect to be wedding such a beauty.”
Gwendolen laughed. “You think to get what you want by flattering me?”
The corner of his mouth curled up into a sinister grin. “I already got what I wanted, lass. Don’t need to flatter anyone.”
“And what was it, exactly, that you wanted?”
“Was it not obvious when I broke down the castle gate? I wanted Kinloch, and now I have it.”
She swallowed hard. “Of course you do.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment or two. Gwendolen was fighting to maintain a semblance of composure and dignity, while he seemed quite unabashedly distracted by the curve of her breasts and hips.
“Did I not ask you to get down off there?” he repeated, while tilting his head to the side. “Or do I need to come up and haul you down like a sack of turnips? I’ll oblige you, if that’s what you wish, but I’m weary from battle and in no mood for hauling vegetables. So get down off there, woman. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Gwendolen took careful note of the threatening message of command in his voice, and approached the edge of the dais. She stepped down, squared her shoulders, and stared up at him. He looked her over from head to foot, then leaped up onto the dais and strolled from one side to the other, as if he were taking measurements.
Gwendolen remained silent while he seated himself in her father’s chair and lounged back comfortably, his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him. “Home at last,” he said.
Again, he looked up at the MacEwen heraldry. He sat without speaking, and she knew he was pondering the future. Or perhaps recalling the past.
She watched his face for some insight into his mood and intentions. Sitting there like a sprawling lion, he appeared in absolute control, with no doubt whatsoever in his mind that he was now Laird of Kinloch, and she was to be his obedient wife and servant.
He was in for a rude awakening.
“Where is your brother, Murdoch?” he asked. “Why is he not here to defend Kinloch and protect his people?”
“He traveled abroad to visit Rome and educate himself. He believed a strong leader should be enlightened and knowledgeable about the world—an aspiration which I doubtyouwould understand. He left before my father died.”
“But with your father’s death, why has he not returned?”
She regarded Angus with steady eyes. “I am not certain he knows of it. We have dispatched a letter to him, of course, but have no way of knowing if he has received it. I am hopeful, however, that he will return any day. Perhaps unexpectedly.”
It was an intentional strike at the Lion’s arrogance. She wished him to know that his victory this morning may have seemed effortless, but the MacEwens would not continue to be easy prey. He should be on his guard.
Angus rested an elbow on the arm of the chair. “Will he be difficult?”
“I hope so.”
He studied her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose the real question is whether or notyouwill be difficult.”
“Oh, definitely.”
