Dark Side of the Laird (Highland Bound) (8 page)

“Ah, but ye see
…” I circled her, and judging by the way she shifted, I was making her uncomfortable. Good, it was about damn time. I stopped behind her and growled, “I also get what I want.”

“Appears not so in this case, though, I canna imagine why ye dinna want to marry me. I’m ten times the woman that simpering whore is.”

I gripped her by the arms and whirled her around, my fingers clenching tight to her chin, lifting her face up to mine. “Dinna ever speak about her in such a way. Ye and her could never compare. Never.”

“As I said,
” she retorted haughtily.

I laughed bitterly. “Nay, lass, ’tis as I say, and I’ll nay be marrying ye. Not now, nor ever.”

Isabella actually had the gall to step toward me this time, “And ye won’t be marrying her either.”

I had to restrain myself from grabbing hold of her and shaking her so hard her neck snapped. The bite in my voice said no less.
“That is not for ye to decide.”

She glowered up at me, and through her
impudence, her anger, I could see a hint of fear, as though she did dread failing in whatever she’d been tasked with. “Does it matter? The king has deemed it so. He has sworn to never allow ye to marry that whore.”

My stomach tightened.
I wrenched back my fist, reminding myself that punching a woman went against everything I stood for. Could it be true? Could it be so that he had already expressed such a thing? Not possible. She was bluffing. Playing her cards like the good MacDonald she was. Traitor.

“But ye see, the king has left without a contract written. Ye’re at my mercy.” I
circled her again, stopped behind her, leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Let us pray he doesn’t forget ye.”

She stiffened. Then turned quickly, our faces only an inch apart. I could see her interest rise, but my disgust did the same. I refused to back down. Refused to step away.

Isabella glanced toward the ground, then coyly back up at me. “My laird, I dinna want either of us to be uncomfortable here.”

“Ye mistake me. I’m nay uncomfortable.”

She shrugged and walked away, sauntering around the room, not looking at anything in particular which made me think she was stalling. The sudden change was jarring. Unsettling.

“Well, I’ll be honest.” She whirled. “I am.”

To say I was shocked was an understatement. I kept my mouth clamped firmly closed, afraid of how I might comment. I was ready to toss her out the window to be done with her games. Emma didn’t play games. She was clear and to the point.

Isabella
smiled, though it was rough around the edges. “Ye see, my laird, this is not what I want either. I was perfectly content at my family’s seat. Perfectly content to flirt with warriors and dance at feasts and walk the gardens of my mother’s home. But now I’m here. Told I must marry a man I know nothing about other than he’s a fierce and callous man and everyone seems to hate him.”

I narrowed my eyes, not trusting her sudden change in attitude. She walked to the window and stared out—almost longingly.
I wasn’t buying it.

“I dinna want to be here,” she whispered. “I dinna want to marry ye.”

“Then why did ye not tell the king?”

A sad smile formed on her thin lips. “’Tis not my choice. My uncle has deemed it so. My mother’s brother rules our house. And he petitioned the king who agreed. What am I to do? What am I to say? Nothing. I must comply.” She cast me a pitiful look. “Imagine when I arrived to find ye already in love how much further I sank into despair. I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused Lady Emma. ’Twas not because I have an evil soul, I swear it.”

All lies. The devil could take lessons from her. “Ye would have me believe that ye’re sincere?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at her hard, trying to see into the depths of her dark and cunning eyes.

“Aye. I pray ’tis so.”

I scowled, detesting the way she attempted to play me for a fool. “And what would ye have me do?”

She shrugged
and her dress slipped slightly off her shoulder. “I suppose ye’ll fight every step of the way not to marry me.”

I nodded.

“Then spare me the embarrassment of doing so and…”

“And what?”

Her eyes lit up as though she’d just come up with a grand scheme. “Handfast to me,” she said in a rush. “We’ll not lie together, and after the year ye can send me home on the grounds of never conceiving. Ye’ll need an heir. I won’t tell.”

I shook my head. “There is no plan that leaves ye here for a year that I’ll agree to.”

“Why?” she pouted.

“Ye’re not dense. I’m certain ye can figure that answer out.”

“My uncle,” she stated with a frown.

“For one.”

“Then what do ye suggest?”

“I will reason with the king.”

She nodded, looking off into the distance as if contemplating what he said. “Will he be reasoned with?”

I shrugged. Even if Hell froze over I wouldn’t discuss my p
olitical strategies with this she-devil.

“A drink, then,” she said. “Please.” Lady Isabella eyed the whisky. “Do not men bond over a drink?”

“I’ll not get sotted like your guards.”

She laughed,
and let the dress slip a little more down her other shoulder as she headed toward the whisky. I did not appreciate her attempts to seduce me.

“I did find that to be rather out of sorts. But I promise I’m not asking for it. Simply a promise over a drink
,” she said.

“And what promise is that?”
I asked, guarded once more.

“That ye won’t…dispose of me in a way other than sending me back north.”

I frowned, incredulous. “Ye think I’d kill ye to be rid of ye?”

“Have ye not done so to others?”
She popped the cork on the whisky.

“I never kill when there is an easier solution.”

“Then promise me.” She held the decanter of whisky in the air, as if waiting for my agreement to pour.

I nodded. She took two
cups aside, and glancing up at me as she poured, I was surprised to see relief in her eyes. Did she truly think I would have her killed?

Isabella stepped around the desk and brought me the cup.
I decided in her case fear was a good thing.

“
Sláinte,” she said.

“Sl
áinte.” I took the cup and downed the contents.

What felt like seconds later I woke with a raging headache,
staring up at the ceiling of library. I was on the floor. The cold of the stones chilling my bare arse.

Bare arse…

“What in bloody…” I leaned up on an elbow, the light of the candles burning my eyes.

I was nude from the waist down, shirt tugged up nearly to my armpits, my plaid flung aside like a useless rag
. A smear of blood streaked down my cock.

What the
bloody hell happened?

Lady Isabella…

The last thing I recalled was her handing me the cup. Of me downing the whisky.

And then waking up like this. There was only one explanation and I was too much a fool to have seen it coming.

She’d drugged me. Same as she had the men. And…
Mo creach
… I stared down at my cock, at my naked abdomen and thighs. The woman couldn’t have…

She’d drugged me. Lain with me. If the blood was any indication, I’d deflowered her.
Fuck. If I’d not been drugged this would have never happened. Never in a million fucking years. How could I have let down my guard? How did she do it? I watched her pour the whisky for Christ’s sake!

I pushed myself up, anger slicing through my veins in painful ribbons of regret. I whirled toward my desk where the flask and cups sat, and with a fit of rage upended it. The desk crashed against the adjacent wall, all its contents
hurtling to the floor.

Traitorous bitch! I should have known better than to trust her. Should have refused a drink of truce. Set her on her way. Given her no choice but to leave Gealach. My idiocy caused me to betray the only woman I loved, the light in my forever darkness.

A painful stabbing gored my insides. Nausea from the poison and from what I’d done. I lifted my face toward the ceiling and let out a painful roar. Oh, God. I covered my hands with my face, feeling them shake over my stinging eyes. Emotions I’d never felt bombarded me, overwhelmed me. This couldn’t be happening.

I doubled over, u
nable to help upending the contents of my belly onto the floor.

I couldn’t tell
Emma. She’d never believe me.

And I didn’t even know what happened. I couldn’t tell her, because what would I say? I picked up the chair and threw it toward the hearth, watching the wood splinter against the stone.

’Twas time I sought an audience with the king. I’d leave at first light.

Chapter Eight

Emma

“
O
ver here with that, my lady,” Cook called.

The cellar smell
ed… I couldn’t quite describe the scent. Musty wasn’t the right word, it wasn’t damp, but cool and dry. Maybe earthy was a good word for it. I walked as gingerly as I could toward her, dodging women and men who helped us fill the cellar storeroom. Each of my arms was wrapped around a large sealed jug. We’d been preserving food all morning, an endeavor I’d never imagined before, but with winter coming, it was a task if not completed, the castle inhabitants could very well starve.

Then again… the amount of salt and brine we used in various jugs was giving me a serious case of salt-hate.

I stumbled, jerking forward, but righted myself before I dropped the jars. Cook leapt forward and grabbed one of them from me as I looked down to see what tripped me up. A large piece of cracked pottery. Someone must have dropped it and not cleaned it up. Free from one jug, I picked up the broken piece and put it on an empty shelf—which only made Cook glower at the spot. I’d have to remember to grab it on my way out.

“Careful, lass, wouldn’t want to drop the beets now.”

“Thank you.” And I wouldn’t want to. I’d only just discovered how much I liked them. We’d worked hours that morning pickling vegetables, salting fish and meat, hanging herbs and garlic to dry. We’d sliced up what was left of the fruit and preserved them in jars with honey. Baked a thousand oat cakes, and made strips of meat to be dried for jerky, and beans and peas were laid out to dry. Root vegetables and cabbages were all put in baskets with layers of burlap between. My fingers were raw, and my mind blown. All the work we’d done already still wouldn’t be enough. Cook said that preserving the food for winter would take a week with all hands on deck—and she had over two dozen clanswomen chipping in to help.

The day’s work had to be lugged down to the cellar where it would
be stored in the cool room for all of winter. Looking around, everything appeared the same to me. There were no labels, and all the jars were identical. No printed pictures to tell us what was inside.

But I watched as cook tapped her finger along the top shelf until she seemed to find the spot she wanted and then put the pickled beets on top of it.
If the woman knew where everything went by counting shelves, than the clan would be in trouble if something happened to her. Without Cook, every meal would be a guessing game.

If Cook thought it odd that I’d never been involved in preparing food for winter, she said nothing. The fact that Logan gave me the title of lady probably helped with that as I was sure there were plenty of ladies who didn’t think it their place to do chores. One in particular who stalked the halls of Gealach. God
, how I hated her.

Amazing how the presence of one woman could totally destroy my confidence in my position here. There was no doubt in my mind that Logan still loved me, but I knew he
, too, struggled with how to deal with the situation, and now it was certain that she was spying, or something along those lines.

“How many more jars of beets?” Cook asked, readjusting the way I’d put my jar up.

“I think five more.”

I hoped she’d tell me that was it. I desperately wanted to
go back up to my room and tap on the door to see if Logan was next door. I wanted to search the halls until I found him and pull him into a darkened corner.

She nodded. “After that we’ll hang the herbs and garlic.”

Damn.

A loud thud, followed by the sound of several men cursing, had me whirling to see what they were about. Three men chased a rolling barrel that they must have lost hold of on their way down the stairs.

Cook ran after them, shouting and I stayed back in the shadows, wishing I could melt away. They cleaned up their mess and left the cellar and for the first time I was alone.

I swiped at the hair falling around my face from the bun I’d put it in, sweat soaking it an
d making loose tendrils stick to my temples. Sitting down on one of the barrels, I rubbed the back of my neck, stretched out my feet. I glanced around at the flickering torches. Only three had been lit, but it was enough to light the shelves we’d been filling, leaving the back of the cellar in shadows. I took several deep breaths, putting myself in that thinking place. The place where I liked to go when I had to figure out some of life’s great mysteries.

Before I could reach it, there was a sound from the darkened part of the cellar. A scuffling sound. My gaze shot to the spot, and I squinted, trying to make out what it was. I could only see shadows. Dark and short, wide and thin. The shelves, various boxes
and barrels, but my mind made the noise into every imaginable demon.

Another scuffle.

“Hello?”

There was no answer.

Of course.

T
hen I was reminded of the time I’d snuck down into the darkened secret room fifty feet below the castle. How when I’d reached the bottom, my candles had been blown out. I’d had to crawl in the dark, fear eating me from the inside out until I reached the stairs, and climbed. And climbed. And climbed. And then I’d fallen. Thought I was going over the edge of a cliff, but in reality I’d only tripped and tumbled to the floor.

There had been a ghost or demon or something there with me. Something evil that took away the light. Something dark that wanted me to stay buried.

Was it back?

Goosebumps prickled my skin and I rubbed my arms, standing and backing toward the stairs, suddenly sure that I wasn’t alone. I kept my eyes on the darkened shadows, half-expecting a demon to lunge from the dark corners and grab me by the throat.

My foot caught on something and I flailed backward. Strong arms wrapped around my middle and I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Like I’d been paralyzed and my voice stolen from me.

“Shh…”
someone whispered by my ear and a shiver stole over me.

T
hen a hard, warm body crashed against my back and I sank against it, instantly aware of Logan. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I leaned my head back against his shoulder, his masculine scent surrounding and intoxicating me.

“I am leaving
at first light,” he said, his voice harsher than his touch.

“To go where?” Panic made my voice sound shrill, and I worked to calm myself.

“I must seek out the king. This is what we both want, is it not?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded, relieved that he was going to speak with the king so soon
, but wondering at his sudden urgency.

“The thing is… I canna take Lady Isabella with me.” He frowned and looked off into the shadows, dark thoughts swirling in his eyes. “If I were to bring her, it only gives the king the upper hand to force me into marriage on the spot.”

“Then you must leave her here.”

Logan’s scowl was black and bitter. The interview with her must not have gone well at all.
“I dinna want to do that either.”

“Do you have another choice?”

His jaw tightened, ticking in a rhythmic pattern. I wanted to reach out, to stroke that erratic muscle and tell him that all would be well, that the king would see the error of his ways, but I had no way of knowing myself, and so the words, so confident in my own ears, couldn’t find their way to my lips.

“I will leave my men with strict instructions that t
he castle is to be on lockdown,” he said firmly.

I nodded. “What does lockdown mean?”

“No one leaves. No one comes.”

“
That’s what I figured. How long will you be gone?”

He shook hi
s head. “I know not. The king has gone to Falkland Palace. If the weather cooperates, we could be there in three days, just on his heels. If not, could be as long as a week to reach it.”

“A week there and a week back, and how long to speak with the king.”
Already I was dreading the time he’d be away.

“He will see me right away. I could be there for two days, three at the maximum.”

I cringed at his timeline. “So three weeks at the most?”

“
Aye, but will likely be less.”

He appeared so cold. So hard. There was something wrong, I could feel it in my bones.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

He jerked his gaze back to me, eyes scrutinizing as he searched my face.

“What makes ye think there is something wrong?”

I shrugged. “I can tell. You are…” I looked at him, so stiff and straight, intense and awkward. “You’re not yourself.” Not even the man I’d first met who was extremely cautious around me.
This man was suffering greatly.

“’Tis nothing. I simply must seek out the king and straighten out this farce. We canna have Isabella here. I canna marry her. ’Tis preposterous.”

It did not go unnoticed by me that he didn’t lament about how he wanted to marry me. That he loved me. I could see his anger, a fury so intense it darkened his eyes to black. The man was possessed by it, and I tried not to take offense at his lack of sentimentality. After all, he was a warrior. I’d known that the moment, I met him. But I’d also seen the softer side. Been inside his heart and heard him declare his love and passion for me. But this man before me now was a man disturbed.

A man on a mission.

A man spurred on by something that greatly troubled him.

What had Isabella done?

Call it woman’s intuition, or just gut instinct. “Are you sure that’s all?”

He glowered down at me. “I’m positive.”

I forced myself to stand where I was, and not to take a step backward. Suddenly all of his intensity was pointing toward me, and my stomach did a little flip.

Logan reached up and grabbed hold of my face with one hand. A thumb on one side of my chin and his fingers on the other. He tugged me forward, his lips crashing on mine in a brutal, forceful kiss.

“Ye’re mine,” he growled, his teeth pulling at my lower lip. “And I’m yours. Yours alone.”

There it was. The declaration I’d been waiting for. I was his and he was mine.

“Yes, mine…” I murmured. “And yours.”

Wrapping my arms around
him, hands splayed on his lower back, I arched into him. Logan held my face with one hand and roughly gripped my hip with the other. He stroked my flesh, rubbing in circles, roaming over my buttocks and ribs, but never quite touching the parts that ached to be caressed. Teasing, taunting, always.

Logan liked to see me strung up tight. To feel m
e quiver with wanting, and to witness the way my body responded, wet and coiled. And I liked to show him how much I wanted him.

Cock pressed tight to the juncture of my thighs he walked me backward into the shadows. I clutched
to him. Mouth a tangle of frenzied licks and sucks. Hands stroking over his flesh, and his burning a path over mine. Minutes before I’d been running from the shadows, not wanting to discover what was within them. But now, with Logan pushing me past my fears, I eagerly retreated. Willingly, I walked without being able to see what was behind me, only in front. And before me was a powerful, sensual, wicked man. I wanted nothing more than to feel his hot rod of pleasure as it drove inside me.

Pressing me up against the wall, Logan dragged in a breath. “God, lass, ye drive me to the brink.” He skimmed his lips over my chin, burning a sizzling path, until he reached my ear. I was shaking with need as he spoke. “I’ve never wanted someone more in my life than I want ye. I’ve never needed someone as much as I need ye. I’ve never felt—”

But he cut himself off. The deep turmoil circulating in each word as it was expressed chilled me. He sounded vulnerable. Hurt. Aching. Tortured. The man was struggling inside, and even if he didn’t want to tell me what it was, I knew how to comfort him. Together we were powerful. Together we were freed from the demons that tormented us.

I slipped my hands into the waist of his belted kilt, running them around the back toward the front until I reached the warmed metal of the buckle.

“I love you, Logan,” I said, my lips pressed to the crook of his shoulder. I unhooked the belt, ran my hands up over his chest and plucked at the pin that held the layer of his plaid thrown over his shoulder, then listened as the fabric unraveled, falling with a muffled thud on the floor. “Together we’ll get through this.”