“Put these on,” he said. “You need to learn a lesson or two, so you’re coming with me.” He backed away and waited for her to dress in front of him.
For a moment, she considered her options, and thought it might be best to obey him, if only to buy more time. But when she imagined stepping into the skirt and lacing herself up in front of him—so that he could steal her away to the mountains and do Lord knows what with her—she could not do it. She would rather be beaten to a pulp.
Amelia squared her shoulders. She was terrified by this man, there was no denying it, but the intensity of her fury somehow overpowered her fear. Before she could truly contemplate the consequences of what she was doing, she had flung the clothes on the floor.
“No. Iwillnot put these on, norwillI leave this fort with you.
You are welcome to try and force me, but I told you before that I would scream if you touched me. So if you do not get out of my bedchamber this instant, Iwilldo it. I promise Iwillscream and youwillsoon be dead.”
For what seemed an eternity, he glared at her, clearly surprised and baffled by her rebel ion. Then his expression changed. He took a slow step forward, and their bodies touched.
“So you’re Winslowe’s daughter,” he said in a deep and quiet voice. “The famous English war hero.”
She felt the Butcher’s warm breath at her temple, and his tartan brushed against the front of her shift.
Her heart trembled at the nearness of him. He was like some kind of living, breathing mountain of muscle. She could barely think or breathe through the heady effect of his presence, so overwhelmingly close. “Yes.”
“You’re fearless, like him. I like fearless women.” The Butcher took a lock of her hair in his hand, rubbed it between his fingers, then lifted it to his nose and closed his eyes. He seemed to drink in her scent; then he touched his lips lightly to her cheek and whispered, “And yousmellgood.”
Amelia gave no reply. She couldn’t think.allher senses were shivering with flames of terror and confusion. The heat was making her dizzy.
“Now take off your shift,” he quietly said, “and do it now, or Iwillcut it off of you myself.”
At last, she found her voice and reached for one last shred of courage. She lifted her eyes and regarded him steadily.
“No, sir, Iwillnot.”
“Are you testing me, lass?”
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes; then he looked down at her breasts. She felt a curious sensation in herbellyand tried topullaway, but he took hold of her arm and held her against him. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke.
“This is your last warning. I said take it off—and if you continue to defy me, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you next.”
Amelia looked up at him and shook her head. “And I’llsay it a hundred times if I have to. The answer isstillno.”
Chapter Two
Amelia would never forget the gut-wrenching sound of the fabric ripping in two, not as long as she lived. The torn garment dropped to the floor, and thechillynight air assaulted her bared flesh. She quickly hugged herself to cover her breasts.
“You should’ve done what I asked,” he said, glancing briefly at her state of undress as he picked up the torn fabric, placed it between his teeth, and ripped it to shreds before her eyes.
He moved behind her and gagged her with a torn strip of linen, then tied a knot at the back of her head. His warm hands came to rest on the tops of her shoulders, and he spoke reassuringly in her ear. “I’llnot harm you, lass, as long as you do as you’re told. Can you do that for me?”
Clinging to thesmallsuggestion of clemency she thought she heard in his voice, she nodded.
He crossed to the wardrobe,pulledout a clean shift, and handed it to her. “Now put this on, unless you want me to haul you out of here naked.”
This time she obeyed. She quicklypulledthe shift on over her head, then stepped into the drawers and donned the stays. Without a word, the Butcher stood behind her and laced her up tight.
After shepulledon a skirt and bodice, he used the strips of her torn shift to bind her wrists behind her back. “Where are your shoes?” he asked, glancing about the room.
She tossed her head to gesture at the farwall, where she had placed them before retiring for the night. Under the portrait of King George.
The Butcher went to fetch them, glanced briefly up at the picture, then returned and knelt down before her. Setting his axe on the floor at her feet, he reached under her skirt and cupped her bare calf. The shocking warmth of his hand on her leg made her lose her balance, and she had to lean on his shoulder.
He lifted her leg and slid her foot into the shoe, then took hold of her other ankle and slipped the second shoe on, grabbed his axe, and stood. Itallhappened very quickly, without a single thought for stockings, and it left her shaken and distressed. She had never been naked in front of a man before, nor had a man ever put his hands under her skirt.
