Page 85 of Come the Morning

Teeth grating, she didn’t move. Her fists were clenched at her sides to keep them from flying. She couldn’t have moved had she tried.

He let out an oath of impatience. “Don’t you ever simply accept something that you want in silence and good grace?”

“Accept your kindness, in silence?” she queried. “You’re right that none of this is kindness or consideration. You’ve chosen not to believe or trust me—”

“Surely, you can see my point!”

“You think that I might be carrying another man’s child, and you will annul this marriage without blinking if it is so.”

He didn’t reply.

“Well, you didn’t wish to be married, did you? You have your mistress. God alone knows what other women. But tell me this, my great Laird Lion, what is to stop me from seeing other men in the future?”

He straightened from his stance against the table, ice as crystal as glass. He took a single step toward her, and she would have backed away from his menace had she time. He reached out and lifted her chin with a touch so forceful she nearly cried out. He lowered his lips nearly to hers and spoke in a controlled whisper that frightened and chilled her more than any shout could do. “The past, my lady, is the past; it is what has happened already, before I was in your life. I would not condemn you for it, indeed, I have, at times, almost felt sympathy for your longing to be free. But if I ever suspect you of a lover, m’lady, I promise you, he will be dead within the hour, and should you survive my wrath, you will live forever-more with all the independence and freedom you might desire—alone in a stone tower.”

She stood dead still, returning his stare, not fighting his grip. Perhaps he realized his own force. He released her and stepped back. She longed to leap forward in rage, rip into his face, pummel it into little bits and pieces. She was afraid to touch him. She clenched her jaw again until it hurt and controlled her fury.

“Well,” she murmured, “I shall revel then in the independence you have given me now, my laird husband. And naturally, sir, I do thank you for this time, and of course, for refusing to allow us to be entertainment for the king’s drunken guests.”

“Don’t thank me for refusing that spectacle. It was not so much a kindness to you; I simply didn’t intend on humiliating myself,” he said irritably. “Go to bed, get some sleep. I am anxious to reach Blue Isle.”

There were more things she might have said. She remained furious with the game he had played, and furious that he thought her a liar. But her anger was impotent. He had what he wanted.He was laird of Blue Isle. And he would have his children. But the children would wait, because he wanted to be certain she wasn’t carrying another man’s child. She wondered what had so convinced him that she’d been with another man, when she had sworn that she had not.He doesn’t trust me. That much is obvious. And painful, she thought suddenly.What a way to begin a new life.

And still, she tried to tell herself, it was, at the least, a respite. The thought didn’t soothe her; she simply felt empty. And he no longer seemed amused or pleased with his own quest for the evening. His temper seemed sharp, ragged as the edge of a saw. Perhaps it was time to retreat with a final word, if possible.

She stared at him coolly, determined not to show her fury, or any emotion regarding him whatsoever.

She smiled.

“Fine, m’laird. You’ve had your amusement. You’ve mocked and teased me, and taken revenge. Tormented me, when you knew the outcome of this evening from the beginning. As it happens, you’ve arranged the very marriage I wished, one in name only. Good night, Laird Waryk. Sleep well.”

She spun about, not bothering with her gown. She was furious, bizarrely hurt, and close to tears. But it was her turn to taunt his senses, if nothing more. He had taught her much in a matter of moments. She walked slowly through the doorway to the bedroom and straight to bed, swaying her hips confidently as she did so. He would not touch her again. Not tonight.

She lay upon the bed, closing her eyes tightly in the near darkness. She brought the furs around her then, as she shivered with the cold. She closed her eyes. She feigned sleep.She should have been so glad, happy enough to lie here gloating …

She wasn’t happy at all. She had gotten what she would have wanted most, had she been asked, but she felt strangely bereft, and she found herself wondering what it would have been likehad he been lying beside her, had she slept in his arms, felt his strength, his warmth, his protection. Far from pleased, she was keenly aware of being alone, cold, and wretched. He hadn’t wanted to marry her; he had done so because he was the king’s man, and because he wanted Blue Isle and the power and position that went with it. He had never lied.

She lay very still, and was more wretched when she heard him go out and whistle for Mercury. Sarah’s words came back to haunt her, and she wondered where he was going, and in whose bed he would spend his night.

When she was certain he was gone, she rose. A fur wrapped around her, she walked to the outer room. She moved the heavy skin that covered one of the window vents and looked out onto the moonlit night, wondering why she still felt so tumultuous, so wretchedly awake and unhappy.

She wasn’t alone, she saw. Good loyal Angus sat out by an old oak, chipped at a piece of wood. Was he protecting her from whatever dangers might lurk in the woods?

Or was he her prison keeper, seeing that she didn’t disappear into the forest, seek a different escape?

She silently returned to the bedroom, desperate to sleep.

Such sweet oblivion would not come.

She was still awake, hours later, when he returned, though she continued to pretend to sleep when she heard him cast off his sword and boots, and walk quietly to the bed to look over her.

She couldn’t see him. She felt him watching her. Felt his eyes. Felt the strange warmth that invaded her, and again, she could too vividly remember the taste of his kiss, the scent of the man, the vital heat of his body.

She nearly jumped when he touched her, his fingers light, moving down the length of her hair. Somehow, she remained still.

She didn’t dare breathe.

With a brush of his knuckles, he smoothed a lock of her hair from her face. And strangely, again that night, his touch was so gentle it might have been tender. She wished that she had curled more deeply beneath the covers. He watched her, and she didn’t know what he saw in her, and she wished that she could hide far more of her body, her mind, and her soul.