Page 79 of Dark Victory

Macleod noted the pail. Tabitha had brought him water. His displeasure increased. So did his resolve. “Tabitha.”

She did not hear him.

“Tabitha.”

She started, her eyes flying open and, when lucidity appeared in her gaze, she paled.

“Will ye come inside an’ dine?” he asked flatly.

She was breathing hard, trembling, and the fine gown he’d given her clung to her lush curves. Even as angry as he was, his body stirred. She did not answer, starting to rise. He reached to help her, but she flinched at his touch and jerked away. “Don’t.”

He truly tried to check his anger. “Ye begged fer my touch this dawn.”

A flush appeared. “Yes, I did.”

He hadn’t expected such an answer. “I can make ye beg again—right now—right here.” She would not be his enemy when she was weeping in pleasure and release.

“No, you can’t,” she warned.

He was tempted to show her that the attraction which raged between them, the desire which made him insatiable, remained.

She breathed hard and said, as if reading his mind, “No, Macleod. Don’t think it. It’s over now.”

“’Tisna over, Tabitha. ’Tis only ended when I say so.” And he meant it.

“I cannot allow you to abuse Coinneach, and I will not let you execute him.”

Didn’t she know how provocative those words were? “Yer courage amazes me. Ye dinna give the commands here.”

“What you are doing is wrong,” she said. “In my time, there are rules which govern the treatment of prisoners. Do you want to hear them?”

He was actually interested, but he shook his head. “I willna war with ye, and I willna allow ye to war with me.”

“The reason there are rules is not to protect the enemy’s soldiers as much as to protect your own soldiers. Of course, in my time, we value all human life.”

He stared at her. Coinneach’s mother was a witch, but he was certain that Coinneach was not evil or inhuman.

“Has it ever occurred to you that if you showed mercy to a MacDougall, they would show mercy to a Macleod?”

“O’ course,” he said, suddenly angry. “But there wasna mercy in 1201. I dinna start this feud.”

She inhaled. “I know. It was awful. I am so sorry!”

He was stunned. She still wanted to help him! She thought to free Coinneach and help him with his pain. He softened his tone. “Come down and dine before ye get sickened. We can converse about yer rules—an’ about the massacre.”

Her eyes widened. It took her a moment, but she said, “Are you trying to distract me? Because it won’t work.”

“So ye refuse to come to the hall with me?”

She hesitated and, grimly, she nodded.

“I canna free him,” he exclaimed, all patience gone. “He will return, an’ next time, mayhap he’ll put his dagger in my back while I sleep! Do ye wish me dead?”

“Of course not. But someone has to take the high road and stop this insane war.”

His tension soared. “This war will go on forever.” It was actually a dismal thought. “I’ll war until I die. I owe my father that much. Why canna ye comprehend my world?”

“I do comprehend your world. It is a world of violence, where might makes right—only the strong survive. It is a jungle, with no value for human life! What will it take to end this bloody feud? How many boys and men must die first? Isn’t it enough that evil claims so many innocent lives?”