Highlander Unchained (40 page)

The events of the day had taken their toll, and Flora had dozed off in the chair beside the fire as she’d waited. But the rattle of the door had woken her right up.

She stood up and smoothed her skirts, still wearing her wedding gown, a stunning combination of gold silk and velvet embroidered with gold beads and pearls. The shoes he’d given her lay untouched in their box. Instead, she’d worn a pair of simple silk slippers. She wondered if he’d noticed—not that she cared, she told herself.

She fingered the amulet at her neck. The amulet that she’d intended to give him tonight as a symbol of her love for him. Instead, it was an enduring reminder of her mother’s fate and of how wrong she’d been about him. The curse, it seemed, would not end with her.

He knocked again, louder this time. She heard the soft rasp of his voice brimming with anger. “Let me in, Flora,” he warned. “Now.”

Her hands balled into fists at her side. “No.”

He swore and jiggled the door harder. “Open it or I’ll break the damn thing down.”

The low fury in his voice gave her a moment’s pause, but she looked at the iron bar across the heavy wooden-planked door, and it bolstered her depleting courage. It would take a small army to knock down that door. “Go away,” she said boldly. “I have no wish to see you tonight…or any other night, for that matter.”

She heard him swear again, and then there was silence. She waited, not daring to move or even breathe. Time ticked slowly by. Finally she exhaled, surprised that it had been that easy.

All of a sudden, she heard a loud bang. She jumped back, startled, as the door came crashing open. Her eyes flew to the wall in stunned disbelief. The force of his kick had torn the latch right off.

Her confidence faltered as she gazed into the eyes of the furious man shadowed in the doorway. His face was a mask of harsh lines, from the taut pull of his mouth to the hard set of his jaw. His eyes blazed like sapphires in the candlelight.

She drew in her breath, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Don’t ever bar me from your room again.”

“You have no right—”

“I have every right,” he seethed. With three long strides, he stood before her. “You are my wife.”

“By coercion and deceit.”

The pulse in his neck throbbed ominously. “Don’t press me, Flora. I’m trying to be patient with you, but you are not making it easy. We took vows, and you will honor them.”

He was acting as though she were in the wrong, when it was he who’d tricked her into a marriage she did not want. She lifted her chin. “Did my cousin give you the writ to free your brother?”

“He did.”

“Well then, you have what you want. Now leave me alone.”

He grabbed her arm, his eyes boring into hers. “
You
are what I want.”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “You may have bartered and paid for me, but some things aren’t for sale.”

He stilled, every muscle in his body flexed. He was standing so close, she could smell him—the warm masculine scent a drug on her senses.

“What are you saying?”

Her chin jutted up. “You’ll have to force me because I’ll never come willingly to you again.”

His expression turned so dark, she thought he was going to explode. She gasped when he pulled her forcefully to him, her breasts crushed against the granite shield of his chest. He radiated heat. She could feel the force of his blood pounding through his body and the heavy beat of his heart. His breath was on her neck; her skin prickled with awareness. And God help her, she shivered.

“Are you so sure about that?” His voice was like velvet, deep and seductive, seeping into her bones.

She knew what he could do to her. He could make her beg for him, the wretched beast.

Then, as if he would prove it, his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a fierce savageness that stunned her. His kiss was hot and angry, demanding—nay, forcing—her response with the wicked stroke of his tongue. She tried to wrench free, but he only kissed her harder, with a raw hunger that would not be denied.

God, he’d never kissed her like this before.
With passion that seemed almost dangerous. He held nothing back. This was the rough, uncivilized side of him that she’d always sensed lurking under the hard reserve. He was raw, primitive, and dominating.

The stubble of his beard scraped her skin. His hands held her tight, cupping her bottom hard against him. She could feel his erection throbbing against her.

The passionate haze blinded her. For a moment, she melted, succumbing to the erotic heat. Responding…

No
. Tears of humiliation burned in her eyes from her body’s betrayal.

She jerked out of his grasp, panting from the loss of breath. All the conflicting emotions he’d aroused broke free. “My mother was right. You are nothing but a barbarian.” His face went white, but she was too angry to care. All she wanted to do was lash out and release some of the pain twisting inside her. “How dare you kiss me as if I were your whore! I can’t believe I convinced myself that education and refinement would not matter. But you are a brute. I see that now—” Her voice broke. “Keep your vile hands off me.”

She knew when he flinched that her arrow had found its mark. She fought the impulse to take back her hateful words. She wanted to hurt him. As he’d hurt her. If the bleak look in his eyes was any indication, she’d succeeded.

“I might be a barbarian,” he said roughly, “but you want me.” He let the truth of his words fall. “I’m also your husband. The sooner you realize that, the happier we both will be.”

“Never.”

“Never is a long time, Flora.” His piercing blue eyes bore into her. “I’ll leave you now, but do not try to deny me again. You are my wife.”

She didn’t say anything. He thought he’d won, but he was wrong. Very wrong.

He gave her one last long look and left her to her solitude. But Flora knew he’d be back. She hated him for what he’d done to her, but how much longer could she resist him if he pressed her? She wouldn’t let that happen. He had what he wanted; his brother’s life would be safe. He didn’t need her anymore.

The sun had just crested the western horizon when the towering shadow of Drimnin Castle came into view. The light reflected off the sound beyond, creating a magical backdrop of shimmering blue.

Despite the chilly layer of dew that blanketed the moors, Lachlan was hot and sweaty; they’d been riding all night.

He glanced at the man riding beside him—a lad no longer. Their mission had been a success, his brother had been returned to him. But it hadn’t taken long to realize that the experience had changed him. John would never be the carefree scamp with charm to spare that he’d been before his imprisonment.

He was thin and dirty, but the changes went far deeper. Behind the scratches and bruises he’d suffered from the failed escape attempt, new lines were etched across his youthful face. Eyes that used to twinkle with teasing now sparked with anger. John had hardened, and the change saddened him. Though he blamed the king, Lachlan knew he was as much to blame himself. He never should have sent John in his stead; he should have anticipated James’s treachery. His brother had suffered for his mistake.

And he wasn’t the only one. But one look at his brother as he emerged from the hellish pit was enough to convince Lachlan that he’d acted the only way he could. Flora would have to forgive him.

Flora. Hell. His thoughts turned to the bitter confrontation of the night before. He’d bungled things horribly, and the conversation had deteriorated from there. Considering the way he’d broken down the door, perhaps it was understandable. But he’d been furious by her stubborn refusal to listen to reason, that she would bar her door to him, but mostly that she wouldn’t understand.

But when she’d told him he would have to rape her, the force of his own reaction had shocked the hell out of him. How he’d ached to prove her wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed her like that. Passion, anger, and fear had converged inside him until all he could think about was forcing her to understand. For a moment, he’d been every inch the barbarian she thought him.

He was so furious, he hadn’t trusted himself. He knew he had to get out of there, before he did something that he would regret. So he’d joined his men to ride to Blackness Castle to retrieve his brother, giving them both time to cool their fiery tempers.

Her barbs had stung—much more than he would have thought possible. He knew she spoke only in anger, but he also knew there was some truth to what she said. Hadn’t he worried about as much himself?

Forcing the confrontation had been a mistake. He could see that now. He should have given her time. And as soon as he returned, he intended to tell her so. He would give her all the time she needed—he owed her that, at least.

But perhaps he owed her more.

He was painfully aware of the roll of parchment he carried in the leather pack attached to his saddle. It was Argyll’s letter to the parish minister to record their marriage, along with the fine for the irregular marriage. He’d intended to send one of his men with the missive, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Technically, he’d fulfilled his promise to Argyll. If she wanted to claim that their marriage had not been consummated, he would not stand in her way.

It would be like cutting himself in half, but if she wanted her freedom, he would give it to her. But he would do everything in his power to convince her otherwise.

John had been quiet most of the ride home, but suddenly Lachlan felt his eyes on him.

“You are truly married?” he asked.

For the time being
. He nodded. “Yes.”

John shook his head. “I’m sorry that you had to sacrifice your freedom for mine. If only I’d realized what the king intended.” His voice teemed with bitterness and anger.

Lachlan fixed his brother with a piercing stare. “You are not to blame for what happened. I should have suspected the king’s treachery. If anyone is to blame, it is me.”

John looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he said, “At least we agree on the king.”

“And I assure you, marrying Flora was no sacrifice.”

John’s brow jumped. “Truly?” He smiled for the first time since they’d pulled him from the pit. “Then I can hardly wait to meet the lass who has bewitched my impenetrable brother.”

A wry smile turned his mouth. “You won’t have too long to wait,” he said with a nod to the bustling castle. Even from a distance, the signs of life were easy to make out. “It appears as if the entire keep has woken to greet us.”

With a laugh, John urged his mount faster, and they raced the last furlong to the castle, galloping through the gates in a pounding storm of hooves and dust.

But the flash of good humor fled when they entered the courtyard. From the general commotion and the presence of Rory organizing his men, it was clear that this was not a greeting party.

Mary and Gilly rushed forward, crushing John in their relieved embrace.

Lachlan barely had a chance to dismount before Rory stormed toward him—hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of his dirk.

“Give me one good reason why I should not kill you right here. What did you do to her?”

Lachlan looked around at the sea of faces before him. What the hell was happening? Even Argyll appeared in shock.

Before he could question Rory, Mary unwrapped herself from John and ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms. “Oh, Lachlan,” she cried. “She’s gone.”

Gone?
Disbelief stopped him cold. And then he knew a bone-crushing blow of utter despair.

Damn her. She’d run from him…again.

Chapter 20

As dawn broke, Flora began the last leg of her journey. The
birlinn
had docked at the seaside village of Arinagour on the Isle of Coll, giving her the first look at Lachlan’s baronial stronghold that was now in the possession of her brother.

The first thing she noticed was the wind. But as the sun grew in strength, she was able to make out the long stretches of sandy white beach and wide expanses of grassy moorland. Soft rocky crags rose in the distance. She gasped with delight, seeing a white seal scooting around on the beach. Though desolate, it was achingly lovely. Her heart tugged with longing. This place might have been her home.

Instead, it was a place of refuge. She’d run to the only person she could be sure didn’t have any interest in her marriage to Lachlan—her brother Hector.

From the moment she’d learned the truth, Flora had only one thought: escape. Just being near Lachlan was torture when every time she looked at him, the pain of what he’d done—and the yearning for what might have been—hit anew.

Their marriage was a mockery. Perhaps she might have forgiven Lachlan’s bargain with her cousin, but she would never forgive being forced into marriage. Once his brother was free, she was determined to find a way out of their marriage.

But after the confrontation in her bedchamber, the decision to leave had taken on a decided urgency. Any twinge of uncertainty she might have felt at leaving was banished by the humiliating betrayal of her body. If she stayed, she knew she would succumb eventually. And that she could not abide. All she could think of was getting out of there, no matter how much it hurt to leave or how much she would miss Gilly, Mary, and the others she’d come to care for.