by Mariah Stone
Angus took in a deep breath. His jaws crunched together, and his teeth hurt from the force. He hated that she spoke so about Rogene. Rogene, for whom his heart ached and who’d occupied his mind and soul.
But he needed to set his anger aside and act rationally. The best thing he could do now was to give her a gracious way out. To set it up so that she could claim it had been her idea to break their engagement.
He looked at her from under his eyebrows.
“I wilna stop seeing her even after we’re marrit.”
The drumstick fell from her hand, the smug expression washed from her face. “What?”
The room fell completely silent, apart from the wind howling outside the slit windows.
Laomann shifted uncomfortably. “Angus…”
Angus ignored the shocked expression on Catrìona’s face. Forgive me, sister… He was exposing her to crude things that her tender ears were nae ready to hear.
“Ye asked,” he said, looking straight at Euphemia. “I’m telling ye. Ye need to ken. I wilna be faithful. I will have a concubine.”
Her eyelashes trembled and hurt crossed her face. Her eyes filled with tears as she wiped her fingers on a cloth.
“Ye’re a bastart, Angus Mackenzie,” she whispered hotly.
He did feel like a cruel bastart, and he hated hurting anyone, even someone like Euphemia, but he needed to resolve this without bloodshed.
“We’ll see about that.” She threw the cloth on the trencher she was eating from and rose. Her hair glistened pure gold, reflecting the light from the fires of the braziers.
“Do ye still want to marry me?” he asked. “Knowing that?”
“I can just have her beheaded,” she rasped.
“Nae. Ye will be my wife, and I wilna allow that on my land. Ye may do that on yer brother’s land with his permission. As yer lord and yer husband, I wilna permit ye to harm anyone. And if ye do, I will throw ye in prison. Understood?”
She gasped and opened her mouth several times in a state he’d never imagined: confused, lost, alarmed.
He held her gaze for a long time, feeling like a cliff standing strong against a raging sea. Finally, her face relaxed, and she straightened her shoulders. Something like a decision passed across her face. She licked her lips.
“Understood,” she said.
William stood, enraged. “What?” he said, glaring at her in indignation.
Hope flickered in Angus’s chest. Hope for freedom. Hope for happiness. Hope to spend time with Lady Rogene and persuade her to stay longer—mayhap even forever? He hadn’t thought of any solutions or planned out their future, but he knew that if he was free from Lady Euphemia, he had a chance to be with Lady Rogene.
Euphemia slowly turned to William and bestowed a freezing glare upon him. “I said, aye,” she said, punctuating every word as if he were a child.
“But what about the rest of the tribute? What about Kintail?” William growled.
“Aye,” Angus said. “What about it? Will ye attack?”
Wearing a cooler expression than a stone statue, she turned to him. If her blue eyes could cut flesh, he’d be dead. “Nae.”
The word released tension in his stomach. He felt lighter, the ground shifting under his feet.
“Truly?” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Truly. I wilna attack. I also wilna marry another cheater.”
He sighed out audibly. Both Laomann and Catrìona stared at him, huge-eyed. Catrìona, he knew, was relieved, only not sure if she could be happy for him just yet.
“I am sorry this didna work as ye wanted it to,” Angus said.
He knew he’d given her a way out that saved her pride, and though he felt like he’d gotten out of this too easily, he didn’t want to question it.
She kept staring at him as though wanting to pin him to the wall with her gaze. She cocked her head in acknowledgment. “My clan will be on our way tomorrow.”
Angus nodded. “Of course, my lady.”
Then, free and relieved and happy, he turned and went to his bedchamber. There, he undressed, slid into his bed, scooped Rogene into his arms, and slept the first restful sleep in as long as he could remember.
Strong arms enveloping her, a hard, solid body pressing against her back…
Angus, she knew immediately from the way her whole body tingled and sang from the mere touch of his skin. She’d felt his erection against her thigh and rubbed against him, but he’d only grunted and pressed against her and let out a long, satisfied, happy sigh. Then he’d muttered something that she couldn’t distinguish, and stilled, breathing deeply and evenly against her.
She’d fallen back to sleep, too, in the warmth and comfort of his arms.
Something awoke Rogene, and she stirred. A sound.
Go back to sleep…
There was a grunt, and a thud, and a sound like a sword being drawn from a sheath. When the warm body that lay next to her disappeared from her side, she opened her eyes. In the darkness, with only dim light coming through one slit window, she saw shadows of several people looming over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but a firm hand covered her mouth.
The hand smelled of blood and dirt, the filthy skin salty against her lips.
Still screaming into the hand, she saw two warriors holding Angus’s limp body. Horror struck her. She went as cold as ice. They were dragging him away, through the doorway. In the dim light, his body almost glowed white against the inky darkness of the walls.
Men held her against the bed as she thrashed and screamed, her muffled cries coming out in whimpers.
And then she saw her. The thin, willowy silhouette of a woman standing next to the door. She was staring right at Rogene. Her eyeballs were white, and her long, straight hair as silvery as a spiderweb.
Then Euphemia made a gesture with her hand and turned to walk to the door. One of the men drew back his fist, and pain burst in Rogene’s skull just before everything went black.
Chapter 22
For a moment, before she opened her eyes, Rogene had a sense that she was a little girl again, and that she slept in her bed in Atlanta. Her parents were still alive, and Mom was making crepes downstairs in the kitchen while Dad was probably feeding David, who was still a baby. If she opened her eyes, her window would be to her right, and her walk-in closet in front of the bed, and the door to her room would be open just a slit because she knew Mom had peeked in to check on her before she’d gone down to the kitchen.
But as her heavy eyelids lifted, and her head splintered into a thousand aching pieces, she knew she wasn’t a child anymore. Staring at the dark-wood canopy above her and the rough stone walls around her, she remembered right away where she was.
And when she was.
Then the image of Angus’s limp body being dragged away through the darkness slammed into her mind. Euphemia staring at her. She felt as if her heart had been pierced with a knife.
She sat up with a jolt, and a stab of pain went through her head. She was naked, with her dress gathered around her waist. With her hands shaking, she pushed her arms through the sleeves and pulled the edges of the dress up and over her shoulders. She found her shoes—the soft leather, pointy-toed medieval shoes Catrìona had lent her—and ran out of the room.
With her heart drumming, she flew into the great hall, panting. It was morning, and the Mackenzies and their men were eating their porridge. Catrìona looked up from her bowl, a frown on her face. Laomann glanced at her and kept eating. There was not a single person of clan Ross.
“Angus was kidnapped!” Rogene cried.
Every single face turned to her. Catrìona jumped up, spilling her porridge on the table. Laomann gave out a grunt.
“What?” he said.
Rogene hurried to their table that stood at the farther end of the hall. “Euphemia kidnapped Angus!” she cried as she ran. “We have to get him back…”
But even as she said that, she trailed off as realization dawned on her.
“Wait…why did she kidnap her own betrothed?” she said as she stopped in front of them. “Did something happen?”
“Ye dinna ken?” Catrìona said. “He broke off the engagement.”
Rogene had to grasp the edge of the table to steady herself. He broke off the engagement! The thought brought happiness to her heart, like a tired sail finally getting some wind to play with. But at the same time, dread for Angus filled her whole being.
“So he broke off the engagement,” Rogene said, “and in response, she kidnapped him and took him…back to Ross, I suppose?”
“Aye, they’re all gone,” Catrìona said. “But are ye sure he was kidnapped?”
“I’m sure. I saw them with my own eyes. They knocked me out.”
Catrìona turned to Laomann. “So, brother? Come on, command the men to get on their horses. We have to get him back.”
Laomann stared at her as though he had a toothache. “But they’re clan Ross. Our overlords.”
Catrìona widened her eyes. “Laomann, our brother’s in the hands of a woman who has a habit of beheading men.”
Laomann looked at Mairead, who was holding Ualan close, her face in a deep frown.
“Laomann,” she said quietly, “I ken ye had to make hard decisions to avoid conflict for my and Ualan’s sakes…”
Rogene watched in astonishment how Laomann’s face lit up with love. The deep lines on his forehead smoothed; his dark eyes stopped jumping from object to object, face to face. They sparkled as he watched his wife and son.
“Mairead, dear,” he said, his voice deep and confident. Rogene wondered for a moment if this was his usual manner when he was alone with Mairead and Ualan. No judging eyes on him, no pressure, no decisions to make.
“But ye also have to protect yer brother,” Mairead finished.
Rogene was thinking hard. All her being was screaming at herself to demand the same as Catrìona, that they get the men, get the horses, and go save Angus. But then again, she would be interfering with the flow of history. Maybe this was how Angus was supposed to fall in love with Euphemia. Maybe he needed to see her strength and decisiveness to really open up to her, and then they’d get married and have Paul… She’d seen the marriage registration—it was in the museum in Edinburgh.
But her heart was screaming something else entirely. He was in danger. A deranged woman who wanted him but couldn’t have him had kidnapped him. Euphemia had a huge ego and she tended to get people killed when she was offended.
She could torture him for sport, keep him in her dungeon forever, even force herself on him…
Her whole body went cold.
To hell with history. If history was about making people she cared for suffer, she wanted none of that. To hell with the Stuart line. To hell with everything. She couldn’t allow Angus to get hurt.
“Yes, Lord,” she said. “Your wife is right. Please, command your men to go, and I’ll go, as well. Let’s get him back.”
Laomann swallowed hard but kept staring at her.
Was he really such a coward? Was he truly not going to stand up and protect the brother who’d taken beatings for him?
“Lord,” she said, “you can’t leave Angus in peril now, after everything he’s done for you. After he’s been a shield and a protector for you and your clan his whole life, how can you let him down now that he needs you to be his protector?”
Laomann swallowed and paled. Then he stood up and nodded, slamming his fist against the table. “Aye. Ye’re right, Lady Rogene. ’Tis time I had his back, too. I give ye a dozen of our best men. Go. Get Angus back.”
Rogene nodded.
Catrìona looked at him. “I’ll go, too.”
She walked around the table, hooked her arm through Rogene’s, and walked her towards the door. “My brother Raghnall is in Dornie, and he will want to go help Angus. Let’s get him back.”
As Rogene marched with Catrìona, she knew she’d do whatever it took. Even if she had to give up everything she loved or cared about, she would not let any harm come to Angus.
Chapter 23
Delny, Ross
A week later…
The door to the bedchamber opened and Euphemia slid into the room. Damn it. Angus jolted, and struggled to free himself from the handcuffs that were attached to the bed’s headboard. He was naked under the soft furs. It would have been better had she thrown him into a dungeon with no windows and with water dripping down ancient walls.
Instead, this was a rich bedchamber for the most important guests. Warm, thanks to the large fireplace, with two slit windows allowing plenty of light and even fur rugs by the foot of the large canopy bed. The mattress was filled with goose down, the bed linens clean, and the blanket warm. He’d never been so comfortable in his life, goddamn it.
He was drowsy and had slept for most of the journey, and he had a strong suspicion that he’d been given some sort of potion. Since yesterday, when they’d arrived, he’d been offered grilled boar, exquisite and rare French wine, and bread, the scent of which made his stomach growl. He’d refused everything, of course. He didn’t want to give the woman any sign that he was enjoying or accepting what she’d done.
She proceeded into the room with an angelic smile on her face. She wore a beautiful red dress with sophisticated embroidered patterns of flowers and leaves in golden thread. Her shiny hair cascaded down her shoulders and over her chest, and she’d done something to her lips and cheeks so that they appeared red.
She could be a beautiful sight—for another man. He knew what a selfish soul lay under that pretty appearance.
He wanted one woman. One woman who had been sent to him from the future by destiny.
Euphemia stood before the bed and her smile grew wider. “Lord, did ye rest?” she asked.
He glared at her. “What have ye done to Lady Rogene?”
Euphemia could beat and humiliate and try whatever she wanted with him. But all he really cared about was what she had done with Rogene, who’d been in the bedchamber when he was taken. Had they kidnapped her, too?
Euphemia’s smug smile fell. “If ye say her name one more time—”
“I’m nae afraid of ye,” he said.
“Oh. I ken. But ye will be.”
He swallowed hard. There was only one way she could scare him—by endangering his clan or the woman he was falling in love with…
In love? Was he mad? He hadn’t known her very long. How could she take such a big piece of his heart? Wasn’t he just desiring her? And what was the big issue with wanting a woman?
But he’d never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. Indeed, he wanted her so much that he’d betrayed everything he stood for: duty, honor, and clan. Had he truly let his cock guide him and endanger hundreds of people of his clan? Nae, he told himself. He wanted to be selfish—didn’t he deserve that? Couldn’t he put himself first just for once in his life?
Well. Look what it had led him to.
Euphemia had outsmarted him, and he was now paying for his selfishness. His father was right—all he was good for was fighting in battles.
As she sat on the edge of the mattress, he sucked in a breath and shifted away from her on an instinct. She reached out and gently pulled the edge of the blanket down, exposing his chest. Wanting to smack her hands away, he jerked, but the handcuffs rattled and cut angrily into his wrists.
“Get yer hands off me,” he said.
She cocked one brow as she studied his pecs. “Aw, Lord Angus,” she singsonged, and as her eyes met his, there was hurt in them—no doubt from his rejection and anger. “I’m nae playing by yer rules nae more. I’ve given ye everything ye wanted. I agreed to yer conditions. I came to Eilean Donan to be yer wife. I agreed nae to attack Kintail—for ye. All I wanted in return was a husband. A husband who’d make love to me. Who’d give me a son. How hard is it?”
She slowly traced a finger down his chest, her pupils dilating as she followed it with her gaze.
“Ye’re a strong, capable man,” sh
e continued. “In yer prime. Clearly, ye’re able to perform since ye’ve taken a lover to yer bed. Why is it that ye canna lie with me?”
Nails bit into Angus’s own palm. Because ye’re nae her… He couldn’t even think of any other woman than Rogene.
Euphemia took the blanket and threw it off him, exposing his body. He suppressed a low growl. As she lazily, slowly looked him over, his mouth curled in a snarl. Her eyes stopped and widened at his cock, and the smile on her face chilled his blood.
“Oh, I kent ye’d be worth every trouble I’m going through for ye,” she said, and when she looked into his eyes, there was nothing but triumph. “Ye’ll give me a wonderful son.”
She undid the brooch at the base of her neck and the cloak fell. She was completely naked underneath. Although, no doubt, she was beautiful, Angus turned his face away and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see her. The sight of her made him sick because he saw her for who she truly was inside.
“Angus, ye may resist this all ye want.” Settling herself so that she was straddling him, she purred. He felt her warm thighs around his and shifted up in a futile attempt to get away from her. “But ye will marry me.”
He looked at her. “What?”
Her eyes were half closed—a cat that had caught her mouse and wasn’t going to let it go.
Gliding her palms over his chest and stomach, she said, “Aye. I give ye a sennight to come to terms with this. But I do have a priest who, nae matter what ye say, will only hear ‘aye.’ So either ye agree on yer own, or the priest will agree for ye. Either way, we will get marrit.”
Sweat dripped down his neck. Suddenly the room wasn’t warm anymore but cold. The place where her thighs touched his stung, as if many small needles were stabbing him.
“’Tis nae a real marriage,” he said.
She bit her lip and watched her hands as they massaged and brushed against him. “Oh, it will be. In everyone’s eyes.”
“Nae in mine.” Angus thrust his hips to the side, attempting to throw her off.