“Because I know this crafty lass,” the Highlander ground out, struggling awkwardly to sit up. “And she’s a nasty, vengeful witch.”
Catherine sucked in a breath at the cold insult to her honor just as her cousin swung back a heavy boot, kicked her attacker in the head, and knocked him out cold.
Chapter Two
Lachlan woke to the burning agony of a red-hot branding iron searing the flesh on his upper arm. Eyes flying open, he thrashed about with violence but could not strike back, for he was strapped down to a table. He bellowed a few vile profanities, but a balled-up rag had been stuffed into his mouth, so nothing resonated quite as he intended.
The sound of his skin sizzling like bacon inflamed his anger to dangerous levels, and he spit out the rag. He roared savagely while the smell of his smoldering flesh churned in his guts.
A second later, it was over. The hot iron came away. Lachlan lowered his head onto the table, panting with rage, while he brooded over the fact that he was still cursed and Raonaid had won.Again.
What the devil had happened back there at the stone circle? How could he have failed so miserably after all the months planning and conniving, imagining his freedom at last from this hellish torture?
Bloody hell, he knew the answer, and it lit his existing frustrations into an even bigger inferno of rancor.
After three years of celibacy, the mere act of touching a woman—even Raonaid—had provoked him to such a state of desire, he’d lost sight of his goal.
He could barely comprehend how quickly it had happened. How could he have so strongly desired the woman he despised? As soon as he put his hands on her body, a fire exploded in his veins and all he wanted to do was take her, without preliminaries, up against that rock. It was not what he’d expected.
And now here he was, tied down, yet again.…
Letting out a sharp breath of annoyance and needing to get a handle on his bearings, he lifted his head and glanced around. He was being held in a stable tack room, surrounded by leather bridles, harnesses, and whips, all hanging from the walls. A fire blazed in a hot forge, and when he turned his head to the side, he saw an anvil and a bucket of hammers, chisels, and tongs. All useful weapons, if he could get to them.
“Unfortunately it was just a surface wound,” a voice said.
Lachlan flashed a threatening glare at the Earl of Drumloch, who stepped into view as he moved around the side of the table.
“Untie me,” Lachlan snarled.“Now.”
The earl was a large man, but not a handsome one. His cheeks were pockmarked, his eyes set too close together on a greasy face that was pudgy like the rest of him. He wore a long dark curly wig and an embroidered waistcoat over a white shirt with a full cravat. His riding jacket was tossed over a nearby chair.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Drumloch replied. “I cannot take the risk that you might strike out at me, or flee back to the Highlands. The magistrate is on his way, you should know. I sent a lad to report what you did to Lady Catherine.”
Lachlan shut his eyes and spoke through tightly clenched teeth. “I told you before, she’s not who you think she is.”
The earl leaned over him. “And why should I believe you? You’re nothing but a foul, rutting savage. If not for my cousin’s delicate sensibilities, I would have shot you dead when I had the chance.”
Rutting savage, indeed. Hestillwanted to rut her. Good and hard.
Raonaid stepped into the doorway just then. She wore the same rich green gown of plush velvet and silk, with a low neckline that showed off her opulent bosom and deep cleavage to fine advantage.
Her fiery red hair, swept into a curled pageant of elegance on top of her head, was tousled from their brawl in the stone circle, and the dishevelled look of it—along with the memory of how it got to be that way—quickened Lachlan’s blood and stirred his loins to an irritating, unmanageable degree.
Again he kicked and thrashed against the bonds, wondering how the cold-blooded oracle he once knew had transformed herself into this. Though beautiful, Raonaid had always been impoverished, and coarse in behavior. Clearly she’d put some effort into improving her manners in order to pass herself off as the Drumloch heiress.
And pretending to have lost all her memories… That was pure genius.
But had this powerful Scottish family truly been duped? How could they not see that she was an imposter?
Raonaid moved forward and touched her cousin’s arm, as she had done before, when he held the pistol. The earl met her eyes, glanced at the hot branding iron still clutched in his hand, then set it down, hissing and sputtering, into a tub of water.
“I must speak with this man,” she said, “before the magistrate arrives. He claims to know me. Perhaps he can help us solve the mystery of my disappearance, and explain where I was and what I have been doing for the past five years.”
“Untie me,” Lachlan demanded again, “or I’ll tell ye nothin’.”
“You’ll bloody well talk if I reach for that branding iron again, you disgusting, miserable piece of—”
Raonaid spoke firmly. “Please, John, that is quite enough. Perhaps weshoulduntie him.”
