“Don’t take offense,” he said, with a chuckle. “I’m just curious as to how you knew what to do.”
“I didn’t,” I murmured, squirming slightly against his legs, delighting in that he wasn’t entirely soft now. Wondering if I could make his erection grow again, and how it might offer me a release of my own. “I only did what I wanted to do.”
His hand caressed softly over my sore backside where his belt had left stripes of pain. He sighed, as if he were regretful for it. “I didn’t mean to spurt in your mouth that way—you didn’t have to swallow it.”
“To do otherwise would have seemed contemptuous,” I said, though that wasn’t the whole reason. “And I didn’t want to anger you.”
He scowled. “I must have seemed angry to you, but I assure you I wasn’t. If anything, I was holding back what’s in me. I only wanted to give you a glimpse, and I shouldn’t have shown you even that much.”
“You stopped when I pleaded with you,” I whispered.
“But I didn’t want to,” he said. “I wanted to put my knee in the small of your back, thrust you down, and make you sob in earnest, striking you until my arm hurt or until I was overcome by the need to take your maidenhood.”
“My maidenhood is yours to take, my laird,” I whispered.
I hoped he would do it sooner than later.
I knew he wanted to. His eyes met mine, reflecting longing to do just that. And then I watched him exert all his strength to wrestle it down.“You should give it to the man you marry.”
“You know that no man will marry me now.”
He winced as if I’d struck him. At length, he said, “Any man you fancy, you send to me. I’ll tell him the truth of your innocence.”
“But I’m not innocent, my laird. Not anymore.”
And that seemed to destroy him somehow.
“You were never meant for this. You’re a good, selfless girl. Rare and beautiful as a field of heather, whereas I’m more like a thistle, prickly with thorns. And I’ve corrupted you. Stay with me and I will indeed make a whore of you; which is why it’s time to let you go.”
No! That isn’t what I wanted him to say. Why was it only the savage beast in him wanted me with him, whereas the gentle man who treated me kindly only wanted me gone? Stinging acutely with a hurt I couldn’t name, I only shook my head and fought off tears of frustration.
“You’ll be your own woman, no longer at my beck and call.”
“Then I want to go home,” I said.
He slowly unwound me from his lap, setting me upon his knee. “That’s not wise, lass. There’s no telling what your father may do to you. At least here in the castle, you’re under my protection.”
I gave a miserable shake of my head, because it wasn’t his protection that I wanted. “I want to go home, my laird. I just want to go home.”
~~~
“I’m just curious about the price is all,” Davy said with a twinkle in his blue eyes, his pale and freckled legs expertly maneuvering the horse beneath him. “How much for me and Mal together? In our last fight with the Donalds, we came across a bawdy house and got a taste for sharing.”
The russet-haired Davy was a sunny highland warrior with a contagious laugh and I suppose it couldn’t be held against him that he was also a lecher. He meant no offense by it, I knew. Of all the laird’s men, Davy was the friendliest. He’d given me an apple from his own rations that morning and told me some jests to lighten my mood.
Still, I was grateful when Ian snapped, “Can we get this done with a minimum of chatter? The laird wants us to return the lass to her father and see no harm comes to her. Let’s get it done before someone sees us as lackwits not fit for any duty but squiring about the laird’s lady.”
I was no lady—especially not now—but I appreciated that Ian was willing to entertain the polite fiction, given how resentful he was of this mission. And I was also grateful to be riding on his horse, with his strong arms around me for fear the other men might have taken liberties with me I wasn’t willing to grant.
Ian, by contrast, could scarcely bring himself to brush against me as if for fear some part of the laird might wipe off on him. Single file, we rode across the footbridge away from the island castle of Eilean Donan, away from the murky loch, and up into the green-covered hills where sheep grazed.
When we finally came through the small wood to approach my father’s cottage, my heart pounded with anticipation of returning home to my birthplace, of being reunited with my family.
But in spite of my pounding pulse, I noticed right off the unnatural quiet. There ought to have been children playing in the yard. My father ought to have been shoveling peat or tending the farm animals. Instead, it looked as if the whole place had been shut up. Ian let me down from the horse and my feet echoed hard on the dirt.
“Hello?” I called, and the door to the cottage swung open.
My father stood in the doorway, pale and haggard, a scraggly beard upon his chin, shadows under his eyes. Crowded around his legs were crying little children, the youngest of whom called for me and was rewarded with my father’s backhand, sending the child sprawling upon the floor. Before I could hold out my arms to summon the little ones, my father barked, “You get away, you harlot. There’s no place for you here.”