Page 38 of Devil Black

“So I am naught but a…a breeding sow, am I?”

“A valuable sow, aye.” His eyes were on his cup, so he nearly missed it when she flew at him and aimed a blow with one hand. His instincts being what they were, however, he caught her wrist before the blow could connect, and glared into her eyes.

“Ah! I will not take abuse from you,” he snarled.

She refused to back down. “Yet I am fated to accept abuse from you?”

“How and when have I abused you, Wife?” He had been right; her anger inflamed him and made him want her more than ever. He now felt so hard he might burst. “By giving you my kisses, which you returned full well? By removing those garments you could not strip off quickly enough?”

“Curse you!” she spat.

He stared into her eyes. “Too late! I was accursed long before ever I met you.”

“Take your hands from me!” She strove to pull away from him.

For an instant he thought about holding her, kissing her as he had longed, feeling her melt against him into a pool of desire, as he knew she would. But no. He would not force her. Let her ask him for it.

He released her as if touching her burned—as it did. Turning away, he began stripping off his clothing—leather tunic, soft wool shirt, overly-tight trews and, finally, the kilt. When he’d finished, he turned toward her, flagrantly displaying his manhood, which surged to attention.

She looked her fill and swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”

“Going to bed, Wife. Surely that is permitted?”

“Here?”

“Have I not the right?”

“Yes, but—I thought you only stayed here when we… I warn you, I will not agree to accommodate you this night.”

He lifted a brow. “You complain when I stay only to ‘use’ you, and then you complain when I stay to sleep.”

She flushed again, the color staining her beautiful skin.

“Sleep where you will. I care not. I only want you to understand what will and will not happen this night.”

“Oh, aye, you have made yourself clear.” He climbed into the bed, taking up as much space as possible. He closed his eyes, feigning weariness. In truth, he felt anything but tired.

Isobel stood where she was for several moments, as if rooted, then went and sat in the chair by the fire.

Time slowly drew out, and Dougal’s body relaxed. The long miles ridden that day began to catch up with him, and his thoughts drifted toward sleep.

He nearly slept when he half heard, half felt Isobel move about the room. Peering between his lashes, he watched as his wife removed her clothes and donned her night rail, some of his drowsiness leaving him as a consequence. He knew that body of hers now, could declare the soft weight of those breasts, the silk of her long legs wrapped around him. Desire pricked at him like a fever.

She climbed into the bed, her long hair loose around her. Carefully, she strove to make herself small and assure her body avoided his.

He thought of the many mornings this fortnight past when he had waked to find her limbs twined with his, and the delectable feelings thus occasioned. He had only to reach for her now…

Yet he had vowed he would make no such move until she showed her desire—and a woman locked into a tight ball at the edge of the bed showed none such.

He was a grown man, was he not? A man who had endured tremendous pain in his life with stoic resistance. Surely he could endure this.

Yet he swore at himself bitterly before he closed his eyes again, and he had to force himself to form the mild, ironic words, “Good night, Wife—and be sure to sleep well.”

Chapter Seventeen

“MacNab is at the door with that accursed son of his in tow. They demand entry.”

Meg delivered the announcement with her back pressed against the closed door of the dining hall and her head high. The four of them had been at dinner. The hour being late and the weather continuing foul, the last thing Isobel expected was this kind of interruption.