dinsdag 18 oktober 2011

Cliamed by the Highlander by Julianne Maclean

                                                          


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five
                                                     
Chapter Six

















                                                        Chapter Seven
 
The next morning, Gwendolen woke to bright sunshine beaming in through her window. It was no surprise that she had slept late, for she'd been awake half the night recovering from Angus's presence in her bed, and all the different ways he had touched her, and the shock of how pliant she'd become in his arms. It was quite a stroke of luck that he had left the room when he did, otherwise she might very well be an experienced woman this morning.

Stretching her arms over her head, she sat up and reached for her robe, then hurried to her dressing room, for there was something important she had to do that morning, before the women of the kitchen left for the village market.

She was going to attempt to send word to Fort William, the nearest English garrison, to inform them of yesterday's attack. The governor at the fort was obligated to report all Jacobite activities to the Crown, and surely he would wish to know that the son of a Jacobite rebel had just taken over a castle of Hanoverians and declared himself chief. It was information the governor would value, and perhaps he would recognize the threat to England and send assistance.

She considered going to Gordon MacEwen, the castle steward, to share her plan with him, but decided against it, for she was not sure who could be trusted. He had been manipulated by her mother in recent weeks, so it was obvious that he was easily seduced. And God only knew how long that affair had been going on. Her mother was no saint.

Gwendolen washed up and donned a striped skirt with a blue bodice, and quickly braided her hair. She hurried down the curved stone staircase and made her way through the vaulted passageways to the kitchen, where the smell of bread baking in the ovens caused her mouth to water.
"Good morning, Miss MacEwen."

She whirled around, realizing how very taut her nerves had become."Mary. You surprised me. Good morning to you, too. You're just the person I was looking for. Are you going to the village market this morning?"


"Aye. Last night's feast drained us dry. We're in need of everything." She gave a sigh of annoyance."I'll have to take two wagons, and I may make a few of those hungry MacDonald clansmen get in the harness instead of the mules, because they're the ones who cleaned us out, and they certainly have full bellies this morning."
"That's a perfect idea."

Gwendolen glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then took Mary by the hand and led her into a dark corner of the kitchen, out of sight. "Can you do something for me?"
"I'll do anything for you, Miss MacEwen. You know that."
 
 
"Aye. It's why I came to you." Gwendolen reached into her stays and pulled out a sealed letter. "Can you see that this is delivered to Marcus MacEwen, the winemaker, and tell him to give it to his brother, John. They'll know what to do with it." She slipped the note into Mary's hand.
"I cannot read, lassie, so you know I won't pry into your personal affairs, but can you tell me what it's about?"

"No, Mary, it's best if you do not know. The only thing you must do is keep it secret and make sure no one sees you handing it over, and make sure it's well hidden when you leave the castle, in case you are searched."
Mary stuffed it into the depths of her generous bosom and patted down her frizzy hair. "You can trust me to do your bidding, Miss MacEwen. The winemaker and I go way back. He'll be more than happy to accept the message. I'll lead him behind a haystack and take a few naughty thrills for myself while he searches my underthings."

Gwendolen touched Mary's arm. "You are a very good friend. I appreciate your sacrifice, but please be careful."

She returned to the busy kitchen, where the others were kneading balls of dough on worktables."May I have some breakfast? I am famished."

Mary directed her to the tray of oatcakes, fresh out of the oven, and a bowl of fresh cream.
A short time later, Gwendolen was passing through the Great Hall on her way to her mother's chamber, when she heard her name called out from the head table.

Angus's deep voice echoed off the ceiling timbers, stopping her in her tracks. She shut her eyes, took a breath, then turned around to face him. He was seated at the table alone, eating his breakfast.
"Here I sit," he said, spreading his arms wide, "in my father's chair again." He leaned back casually. "And I have no one to talk to but that little bird overhead."

His eyes lifted, and he gestured toward the swallow, perched on a beam over the door.
Gwendolen looked up. "She's still here. After yesterday, I thought we might never see her again. Clearly she is unaware of her peril."

He inclined his head. "Now why would you say such a hurtful thing, lass? Do you think I am such a monster, that I would prey on a small, defenseless creature such as that?"

"You have preyed on my entire clan, and me as well. In the dead of night, may I remind you?"
"Your clan is hardly small," he replied."And you are hardly defenseless neither by day, or night. Do you forget the knife you held at my throat?" His shrewd eyes raked over her from head to foot, then he wiped his mouth with a napkin, tossed it lightly onto the table, and stood.

Gwendolen's stomach clenched tight as he hopped down from the dais and approached her. She couldn't keep from backing away from him, which set a certain tone for their encounter. He was the predator, she the nervous prey.

In a belated attempt to assert herself, she halted on the spot and straightened her posture.
"Tell me, lass," he said, as he reached her with brooding curiosity. "What are you up to this morning? You look rather...sly."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Sly? What is that supposed to mean? I have no idea what you are referring to."
He cupped her chin in a big hand, lifted her face slightly to examine it from all angles."Now you're blushing. Your cheeks are turning red."
"Maybe that's because I don't like your hands on me."
He pondered that. "Nay, that's not it."
"It most certainly is!

Letting go of her chin, he leaned his golden head closer. She felt his hot, moist breath on her cheek. "I think you like my hands on you very much, and that's what has you so desperate to dash out of this hall right now, praying that you'll be rescued before the grand thrill of our wedding night."
"That's not true," she said.

She sensed the tiniest hint of a grin on his face and turned her head quickly to look at him, wishing she could catch it, but it was too late. He stepped back, looking dangerous again.
"I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude," he said.
"Good Lord, for what?" She couldn't begin to imagine.
"For not butchering me last night. Part of me wanted you to, and I might have let you, if you'd put more effort into it"
 
She studied his pale blue eyes. "Why would you want that? You just achieved a great victory and reclaimed your father's castle. One would think you'd have reason to celebrate."
"One would think so... if I was a happy sort of man." He turned from her and headed for the door.
"Wait!"

He paused and faced her. She wanted to ask him why he was unhappy, but something about that question seemed too personal, too caring, and she did not wish to care for him.
"Nothing," she said.
 
He stared at her for a tense moment that seemed to go on forever, then returned to her, as if he had peered into her soul and heard every private thought and emotion, and wanted to interrogate her further about why she looked so sly.

"We'll dine in the hall again tonight," he said."It's important that the clans feel united. You'll see to the arrangements?" He eyed her expectantly.
"Of course." Heaven help her her heart was slapping uncontrollably against her rib cage.
"And don't wear that ugly frock you wore last night," he said. "Wear something colorful. This place needs a bit more cheer."

"Then you might try smiling once in a while."
His eyes narrowed, then he took a step closer. "Would you like that, lass? Would it help you warm to me?"
She thought carefully about how to answer that, then decided that this time, she would be the one to walk away first. She turned around and headed for the door. "No. It would take considerably more than a smile to warm my heart where you are concerned."
She was distinctly aware that he remained where he stood, watching her cross the vast distance of the hall. It brought a tiny smile of satisfaction to her face.

                                                                ***


Angus found Lachlan in the bailey, supervising the rebuilding of the front gate, which they'd smashed to bits during the invasion the previous morning. The crack of hammers pounding on wooden pegs echoed off the castle walls, while a number of clansmen worked together to saw through fresh timbers and carry heavy planks of wood to the bridge outside the tower.
 
"Mornin'," Lachlan said to Angus, while leaving a crew of three men to continue about their work. "Did you sleep well, back in your own bed at last?"
"I didn't sleep a wink," Angus replied, "for it's my father's bed I must occupy, not my own and I swear that his ghost was pacing about the room, shouting at me."
Lachlan chuckled. "And what did his cranky spirit say?"
"He told me I disobeyed him by coming home, and he slapped the back of my head with a book."
Lachlan scoffed. "That's bluidy ridiculous, Angus," he said. "Your father hated reading."
"Aye, but the MacEwen chief left a novel on the bedside table."

"Maybe it was his ghost who whacked you in the head. That would make more sense, would it not?"
Angus looked up at the bright blue sky, then let his gaze travel along the battlements from one corner tower to another. "Have someone keep an eye on the comings and goings out of the kitchen today, but be discreet about it."

"Anyone in particular you're concerned about?"
He regarded his cousin coolly. "I'm concerned that my food will be poisoned, for one thing. Replace the head cook with a MacDonald, but leave the rest of them where they are. And make sure a MacDonald goes along to market today. Send someone observant."

"Understood."
Angus turned to go.
"Where are you off to now?" Lachlan asked.

"To the treasury. I need to examine the records and find another, less influential position for that puppet steward, Gordon MacEwen. I'll need a MacDonald there as well." He strode with purpose toward the entrance to the hall, but shouted one last important order over his shoulder. "Keep working on the gate, Lachlan, and make it stronger than before."
"Why? Are we expecting company?"
Angus merely waved a hand.

              
                                                              ***
 

Knowing it was important to carefully choose her battles with her future husband, Gwendolen decided to obey him in the small matter of her choice of gown for the evening. He had told her to wear something colorful, so she selected a crimson gown of silk and velvet, with gold trimmings across the brocade stomacher, and tiny sprays of white flowers along the hem of the skirt.

She entered the Great Hall and spent some time conversing with members of both clans, while going over in her mind what she had accomplished that day. She wondered how long it would take for her message to reach Fort William, and if the English army would even come. It seemed to be her only hope, for she had no idea if Murdoch even knew of their father's death, much less the MacDonald invasion. They'd had no word from him in over three months, and he could be dead for all she knew.

Her mother approached and fingered an errant lock of hair that fell across Gwendolen's forehead. "You look lovely this evening, darling, but do try to keep up a flawless appearance. Sloppiness will not do, now that you are the laird's wife."

"I am not yet his wife," Gwendolen reminded her.
"No, but you will be soon enough. You may as well start playing the part now. Why wait?"
Gwendolen frowned. "This is not a theater, Mother. If I am to be his wife, I will take my position seriously, and I will use it to serve my clan."

Onora glanced the other way. "Did you find out what his plans are for Kinloch? Does he intend to use it as a base for another Jacobite uprising?"
Gwendolen lowered her voice. "No. He says he has no interest in rebellion. He wants to live here in peace."
"And you believe him?"
"I'm not sure."

Onora shook her head. "Use your brains, Gwendolen. He is a warrior at heart. He won't know what to do with himself once the smell of battle wears off his shirt. He's a hot-blooded Highlander. He'll be looking for another fight."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps he's already experienced enough violence to last a lifetime."
Her mother shot her a frustrated look. "He's a man, Gwendolen. They thrive on violence. Even if they are quiet for a while, they will eventually feel the need to roar." She smiled at a MacDonald clansman who walked by. "Besides that, he could simply be lying to you. If he were planning something, he certainly wouldn't trust you with it. At least not yet. Which is why you must try harder to capture his heart."
"He is not capable of that sort of thing."

Her mother rolled her eyes."His lust, then. Whatever you wish to call it. I fear you are a very slow learner, Gwendolen. You have no concept of the power you could have over him, and others as well."
She sighed irritably. "I don't want power over my husband. All I ever wanted was love and respect. I wanted to be my husband's equal, his supporter, and perhaps occasionally his adviser."

Her mother cupped her daughter's chin in her hand. "Darling, you must get your head out of the clouds. We are women, and love will get us nothing. We're not the equals of men, therefore we must protect ourselves by being quietly cunning."

Gwendolen felt a great wave of melancholy move through her. "Sometimes I believe you speak the truth, Mother, but other times, I want something more. I want to have influence, but through honest means. I want to earn my husband's respect, so that he can rely on me. I do have an intelligent mind. I can offer insight."
They were quiet for a few minutes, then her mother's eyes softened with a show of sympathy. Gwendolen was surprised to feel the touch of her hand at her back. "Perhaps you are not such a slow learner after all. Perhaps you are faster and more ambitious than all of us. I am just not sure that you are realistic."
Her future husband entered the hall just then, and Gwendolen wondered if she was indeed a dreamer.

Of all the men in the world, this one was least likely to bend and allow anyone to wield power over him. He'd already told her in no uncertain terms that romantic love made a man weak, and that he wished to avoid it at all costs.

He seemed just as determined to avoid feminine manipulations of a sexual nature. When it came to the bedroom, she was the one who was seduced into a puddle of dazed surrender and that did not bode well for her future influence as Mistress of Kinloch.
                      
                                                                    ***
 
It was a fine night for a feast, Angus thought as he entered the Great Hall and was arrested on the spot by the sight of his future bride on the other side of the room, dressed in a bloodred velvet gown that accentuated the curve of her hips and heightened her full, luscious bosom. The gold trimming transformed her into a priceless trophy, and her purity somehow mixed sensuously with the red-hot color of the gown against her ivory skin and glossy black hair. It was hot sex and sweet innocence combined, all wrapped up in one tempting, pretty package, and it aroused a rough and unruly restlessness in his core.

Someone knocked into him and apologized, then engaged him in conversation. Yes, it was a fine night for a crowd. He needed the diversion, for he'd had trouble during the day concentrating on more important matters, like the management of Kinloch, now that he was chief.

He'd spent many hours going over the record books in the treasury and had found everything in order perhaps even better managed than it had been when his father was laird. Revenues were up in all areas, and a number of useless, miscellaneous expenses had either been decreased or removed from the accounts entirely. As a result, he decided to allow Gordon MacEwen to keep his position as castle steward, with one of his own men to take on the role of assistant, and keep a watchful eye.

A chorus of laughter from the interior of the room drew his attention. He found Lachlan in the center of it and led him away to discuss the matter with him, but was again preoccupied by the attendance of his future wife, who was moving about the room with effortless charm and a smile more dazzling than the sun.
He realized at that moment that this political marriage was going to be a problem, for he was completely out of his element. He was an experienced warrior who faced lethal deathblows on the battlefield and struck back with ferocity. When he fought, he fought fearlessly, but he was not on a battlefield now. This was foreign territory, and he had no idea how to "conquer" a proper wife. She was not a woman of loose morals, like his usual sexual partners, who were more than happy to lift their skirts for the famous Scottish Lion. He certainly couldn't challenge her to a swordfight. Nor could he bed her against her will. Life experience prevented that sort of thing.

So if he could not take her by force, he would have to seduce her into wanting it which was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Because he did not wish to be intimate with her. Not now. Not ever. Love and intimacy made a man weak. It led him down a path that made him believe happiness was possible, and that he could forget all the evils in the world.
Angus could not afford to rely on someone else for his happiness. Nor could he forget certain evils. He simply could not let down his guard. He could not become weak.
                                                        
                                                            ***
 

"I find it odd," Gwendolen said to Onora that night after the feast, "that Angus has not forced himself upon me. He has had two opportunities, and it was hardly necessary for him to negotiate my terms of surrender. He simply could have bent me over the table in the hall and claimed me as his property, right then and there."
They moved through the torchlit corridor to her bedchamber. She unlocked her door, entered, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I learned something about him tonight," Onora said, as she removed her shoes and placed them together on the floor. "His cousin Lachlan is quite a charmer, and with a little persuading, he was willing to indulge me when I asked some delicate questions."
Gwendolen swiveled on the bed to face her mother. "What exactly did you learn?" She wasn't sure she had ever craved information with such fervor before.

Onora sat down on a chair. "He told me that Angus's younger sister was raped and killed by English soldiers a few years ago. It's part of the reason why he was banished. He went absolutely mad with vengeance against the English and betrayed a close friend who married an Englishwoman, and it was all very ugly in the end. Lachlan is not surprised that Angus is waiting until your wedding night before he beds you. He said Angus cannot bear to see any woman cry or plead, for it makes him think of his sister's final moments. It's why he has ordered his men to stay away from our MacEwen women. He wouldn't stand for any raping or pillaging."

Gwendolen pondered this with a rather morbid curiosity, and not without some sympathy. "And yet, he told me he wanted to kill that Englishwoman."

"But he didn't kill her, did he? And Lachlan said he had plenty of opportunities." Onora rose to her feet. "From what I understand of the situation, that friend he betrayed is now married to that woman, and they are very much in love. They have a son and another child on the way."

Gwendolen pulled the pins from her hair. "He told me about his friend, and that he betrayed him, but he didn't tell me why. I had no idea it was because of what happened to his sister."
Onora shrugged. "Well, at least it has given him reason to spare you for a week or so. You'll have time to prepare yourself for your first encounter. It won't be so terrible, darling. You'll see."

Rising from the bed to undress, Gwendolen wondered if she would ever truly be prepared for it. And despite everything her mother had just told her, she was still amazed that Angus had shown such mercy toward her and her clan. Bitter, brooding vengeance was blatantly visible in his eyes. His deep anger and contempt for the world was obvious, and it never ceased to unnerve her.
No, she was not yet ready to lie back and give herself over to him without fear. He was a dangerous man, and though he could be merciful in some ways, he did not seem capable of genuine tenderness or love. She was still very much afraid.
 
 
 
 
                                                           Chapter Eight
 
 
Angus lay in bed, tossing and turning. There was no point in visiting Gwendolen's bedchamber again, he told himself, over and over. He'd given his word that he would not bed her before marriage, and he'd drunk too much wine tonight. In his present mood, a single moment alone with her could turn him into a liar, or worse.
Nevertheless, when sleep continued to elude him, something compelled him to rise. He lit a candle, donned his shirt and tartan, and quietly ventured out of his father's chamber. He walked through the chilly castle corridors toward the East Tower and hesitated there. The torch at the bottom of the stairs had gone out, so he used his candle to light it again, climbed the twisting staircase, and stopped, disconcerted, outside Gwendolen's door.

He felt like a dog that had caught the scent of something juicy and couldn't resist rummaging around. Reaching into his sporran for the key to her room, he inserted it into the lock, carefully turned it and entered, with the full intention of merely checking on her.

Moving closer to the bed, he raised the candle high over his head and observed her sleeping form. The flame cast a dim golden glow across the gentle curve of her body. She had pushed the covers aside and was stretched out on her belly with one leg bent, her shift tangled around her voluptuous hips and bum. Her hair was splayed out around her like rich ribbons of black silk. The soft ivory flesh of her thighs gleamed erotically in the candlelight.

His blood quickened, and he was forced to confront the uncomfortable truth that his capacity to be patient with her was fading fast. For two years, he had lived apart from society with the oracle, Raonaid a beautiful but unfeeling woman, who was, in a way, his mirror image. There had been nothing innocent or vulnerable about her. She was not tender, and she regarded the world with antagonism and ill will.
For a time, he'd believed she was his perfect match, for she required very little from him. He could be distant and uncommunicative with her, and she offered no complaint, for she was just as distant in return. He really knew very little about her past, except for the fact that she had visions.

This woman, however his future wife was his opposite in every way, for she was innocent and pure of heart, noble and self-sacrificing. Some long-forgotten part of him wanted to touch that purity. A more familiar part of him wanted to pilfer and consume it even when he knew he did not deserve to be in the same room with it. What he deserved was to rot in hell with a woman like Raonaid, who would not dare to judge him for his rancor, for she was the same.

Gwendolen breathed deeply and rolled to her side. She cupped the pillow in her arms, brought her knees to her chest. A chilly draft caused the candle's flame to dance wildly on the wick, so he set the brass holder down on the table and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

A moment later, she tossed the covers aside with agitation and rolled onto her back. The sweet-smelling perfume of her body touched his nostrils and awakened his senses, just as she opened her eyes and blinked up at him innocently.

A dangerous, passionate stirring of desire overwhelmed him. It was unlike any other desire he had ever felt for a woman. It was beyond sexual. He felt dazed, restless, and ravenous. In that moment, he was not sure he had the strength to keep the promise he had made to her, for he had never been a calm or patient man. He was a warrior at heart, and when he wanted something, he wanted it with violent, blinding fury.
And tonight bargain or no bargain he wanted her.
 
                                                                    ***
 

Gwendolen had been dreaming of the lion again, and when she opened her eyes and saw Angus standing over her bed like a beautiful creature of the wild, she wasn't sure if she was awake or still floating in a mindless slumber.

A candle flickered in the room, and his enormous shadow loomed on the wall behind him. He smelled of musk and leather. His golden hair fell in blustery waves onto his broad shoulders-just like the lion's mane in her dream and her flesh tingled when his hungry gaze roamed over her body.
Was she still dreaming? Her body felt warm and languid, remarkably calm, as she squirmed lasciviously on the mattress.

He crawled up onto the bed and positioned himself above her on all fours. His hair touched her cheek like the soft teasing tip of a feather, and she breathed deeply, realizing at last that he was not a figment of her imagination. He was true flesh and blood, and he had come to her bedchamber again, perhaps to break the promise he had made. Or perhaps he was here merely to explore and test the limits of her resistance.
Without uttering a word, he found her mouth in the hush of stillness between them, and her quivering lips parted instinctively. His tongue, constantly moving, circled around hers in a rush of damp heat, while her blood began to pulse through her body in a sweltering torrent of sensation.

His hand moved to her breast, and she gasped faintly at the light pressure of his thumb over her tingling nipple. She was surprised at herself that she was not fighting his advances but he had awakened her at the worst possible time, when she was aroused by the dream and did not feel so innocent.

Angus lowered his heavy body to hers. Her shift was bunched around her hips, for she had tugged it up during sleep, and she could feel the soft wool of his tartan against her bare inner thighs. His hands came to rest on her hip, while his tongue continued to swirl erotically around hers.

He had said nothing since the moment he entered the room, and she suspected that if she voiced even the smallest note of resistance, he would retreat, and for once, that was something she did not want. At least not yet.
His hands explored her body in smooth, graceful motions, and she grew bold enough to touch the corded muscles of his back through the fabric of his shirt. She gathered his tartan in her fists, desperate to squeeze and tug at his clothes.

A moment later, he dragged his lips from her mouth and kissed the side of her neck, moaning softly, as if he were devouring something succulent. She moaned in response, and his hand slid up under her shift and found the throbbing ache between her legs. His mouth moved quickly to her breasts, while he pushed her collar out of the way to gain better access. Gwendolen found herself squirming under the twin pleasures of his fingers stroking her womanhood and his tongue caressing her sensitive, pebbled nipple.

His erection pressed against her thigh, and the room seemed to spin in circles. He would have her eventually, she knew, but somehow, full knowledge of his manhood at this moment seemed incidental to the overwhelming intensity of her emotions and her desire for more. Whether it happened now or later did not seem to matter. It was going to happen at some point. She could not stop it. She didn't want to stop it, at least not now.

Using the heel of his palm, he continued to stroke between her legs until she could barely endure the pleasure. Then he slid one long, slick finger inside her. She stiffened and bucked slightly at the shock of the invasion.

He paused, drawing his head back to look at her. "Am I hurting you?"
They were the first words spoken since he entered the room.
She shook her head, rather frantically.
"One finger won't make a difference," he whispered. "You'll still be a virgin in the morning."
He kissed her neck and breasts, as she lay panting, her chest heaving.
 
"You must think me a child," she said.
"Nay, I don't think that." He was still sliding his finger in and out of her with a slippery ease that made her shiver with delight. "You're all woman, and I'm surprised that you're mine."
"I'm not yours yet," she reminded him, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasures. They made her feel wild and out of control. "I could still change my mind."

He regarded her intently, then rolled to the side and rested a cheek on a hand, while still stroking her down below with the other. "Why would you say that now, when I'm doing everything I can to please you?"
"Because you invaded my home," she replied, feeling breathless and distracted, barely able to think through the violent flow of sensation.

"From what I heard," he said, leaning close to her ear and teasing her with his voice, "you almost put a bullet in my brain while I was completing the invasion. What stopped you?
"I couldn't get a clear shot." She bit her lower lip and arched her back, while he continued to study her face.
"Do you want me to stop talking?" he asked.

She could only nod, grateful for the opportunity to focus on the increasing flood of pleasure that was moving through her body.
He lay beside her with his cheek still resting on a hand, while he continued to plunge his finger in and out of her pulsing, scorching depths. She was impossibly wet down there, and the ever-increasing tension begged for release.

Needing to hold on to something, she grabbed his forearm, closed her hand around the firm bands of muscle, and thrust her hips upward to meet each of his deep, slick penetrations. At last, the tension seemed to burst out of her. Pleasure racked her brain, and she tossed her head on the pillow, feeling as wild as an animal. A moment later, her heart slowed its galloping pace, and she shuddered inwardly as each exhausted throb of relief vibrated through her.

He bent close to kiss her neck, lifted her shift and his kilt out of the way, and rolled on top of her. Her legs parted to accommodate him, and he swiveled his hips and touched the silky tip of his erection to the place where his hand had just been. The connection lit her on fire. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and wondered if he would claim her now.

"Why did you not resist me tonight?" he asked, rising up on both arms to look down at her in the candlelight.
"I don't know."
It was the honest truth. Though perhaps it had something to do with the dream.
"I'll need you to be willing when I make love to you."
"You're not going to do it now?"
He paused. "Nay."
"Why not?"
"Because I gave my word, and I can't expect you to keep yours, if I don't keep mine."
"I see." He wanted her loyalty. Especially when her brother came. If he came.
Angus drew himself away and sat back on his heels at the foot of the bed, looking at her.
She leaned up on her elbows. "You should know," she said, "that I understand why it's important to you that I am willing. I know about your sister."

He sat for a long time with his eyes downcast, then ran a hand through his hair. He climbed off the bed and fingered the brooch at his shoulder to straighten his tartan.
Gwendolen crawled across the mattress and hugged the corner bedpost. "I'm very sorry that such a thing happened to her."

He twisted slightly to arrange the belted section at the back. "I don't talk about it."
"Not ever?"
He shook his head. "Nay. I have to go now."
The candle flickered as he picked it up and carried it to the door. "Good night, Gwendolen."
"Good night," she replied, feeling rather bewildered by his swift, yet strangely polite exit.
There had been something very different about him tonight. He had treated her with a certain degree of courtesy, for one, and his hands had been surprisingly gentle. She was still reeling from the pleasure she had never expected to feel with him.

She watched the door close behind him, then flopped back onto the bed and strove to recover from her astonishment.

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