“You…you…what do you mean, you want me?” Bernadine stuttered at him, her face the picture of confusion. She looked at him as though he spoke a different language to her, the strange syllables unintelligible to her ears.
“I want ye, lass. Yer body, yer mind, yer heart. I want it all. And I ken that you’ll never give it to me, that I am nothing but a cold, kidnappin’ brute to ye. But I want ye all the same. That’s why I havenae let ye go, Bernadine.
“I cannot stand to be without ye, even if it means bearin’ yer hatred and yer insults. I’d rather bear those the rest of me life than go without ye, wrong as I ken the feelin’ is,” he told her, his voice a mere whisper as he spoke the words in his heart.
He was gratified at least to see that her face was not curling into a frown of disgust as he spoke. But neither was he happy to see the lass look so confused. Surely, he had been plain enough with his words? They might not be the pretty platitudes of a poet, but they were clear enough, were they not? Could she really not understand of what he spoke? Was she that obtuse and he that unschooled in the syllables of love?
Unable to bear another moment searching her face for answers, Donnan looked away. His eyes fell on the lamb and ewe, who had fallen asleep curled against each other, their flanks rising and falling softly with their breaths. They were the picture of calm contentment, and Donnan found himself, not for the first time in his life, thoroughly jealous of the animal kingdom.
He wished for the simplicity of their life, which was not complicated with love, lust, and other similarly troubling emotions. They were born, they ate, rutted and, eventually died. Far preferable than getting your heart slowly sliced open by a Sassenach virgin, to be sure.
“I…I do not know what to say,” Bernadine whispered a few minutes later, when the silence was, at least in Donnan’s opinion, beginning to grow truly unbearable.
“Ye dinnae have to say anythin’, lass,” Donnan told her on a sigh. “It’s obvious to me that ye dinnae feel the same.” He got to his feet, the lamb and ewe following him with a raise of their heads, as though they might be worried for his welfare. At least someone, or something, cares, he thought to himself as he turned around.
How pathetic, though, that it was a sheep. He heard Bernadine clear her throat, no doubt about to respond in some way that would leave him smarting, but Donnan did not wait for her speech. He simply walked out of the barn, back into the castle, and went straight to his office, where he worked his way through an entire bottle of whiskey in a truly, remarkably short amount of time.
The fiery liquid did little to dull the pain in his heart, but it numbed the chatter of his mind, and that was enough. For now. Later, he would worry about just how he was going to keep the pain at bay for a lifetime, for that was how long Bernadine Nibley would stay in his heart.
* * *
Well, that was rather unexpected, Bernadine thought as she made her way back to the castle a few hours later, when the sun was beginning to sink down in the sky, lending a soft afternoon light to the grounds ahead of her. After Donnan had left the barn, she gave the ewe and lamb a few pats and then went on a long walk about the fields, trying to exercise the warring confusion and frustration from her mind.
It had started raining at some point, and though Bernadine knew she should have made her way back to the castle, she just couldn’t bear it. She let the rain soak through her fine, plaid cotton dress, not caring if she caught a cold, if the frock’s dye ran, ruining the whole thing and leaving her a blue and green-stained, sodden mess. It would be no more than she deserved.
And besides, she would much rather be outside than in the castle, where the chances of running into the Laird were very good indeed. Bernadine couldn’t bear seeing Donnan after what he had declared to her. It was the very opposite of what she had expected to happen when he had walked into the barn that morning.
What she had expected was for him to make idle small talk, to perhaps ask her to go for another ride with him, or to join him in some other activity he supposed she might enjoy. To be, in short, the amiable captor she had known him to be thus far. She had not expected him to bear his soul to her, to lay himself open completely before her. It was rather disconcerting to see a man so strong, so formidable, willingly being so sensitive.
It does rather expedite my plan, had been her first thought upon hearing his words. She hated herself for being so calculating, but after days spent planning her escape, she supposed it made sense that her mind went immediately to how she could use the confession for her own gain.
And it was rather perfect, what Donnan had told her. After all, hadn’t she been aiming to create affection between the two of them? Hadn’t she hoped to distract Donnan with her feminine wiles, to seduce him into a false state of safety and comfort that she might capitalize on? How much easier would that affection be to develop, now that she knew of his desire for her?
But though Bernadine was calculating, she was not cold-hearted. She could not use his confession against him, not in that moment. She did not have the heart, not when he looked so vulnerable, so sincere in his affections.
Donnan Young, it was clear, was not the man she had thought him. She had seen the look in his eye when he confessed to her. It was the same look her father often got when he spoke about Bernadine’s mother, an honest look of love, respect, and reverence.
Bernadine had always supposed that she would never be the recipient of such looks, but that moment that she had, she should admit to herself that it was rather a heady feeling, even coming from a man she thought she hated.
But Donnan had not turned out to be the man she had thought, or rather, assumed he was. She ought to have realized that much sooner, she knew. After all, there were many signs: the way he forgave Freya for betraying him rather than releasing her from employment, the beautiful grey mare he had chosen for Bernadine on their morning ride, the way he had protected her from that boar.
And, of course, the way he was a few mornings ago, open and vulnerable and full of more pain that she would have thought a human capable of bearing, as he told her about his childhood, the loss of all but one member of his family.
She could not hate a man like that. Whatever he might have done to her, however dismissively he might have treated her for much of their acquaintance, it was clear that not only did Donnan care for Bernadine, but he also knew the detrimental effects his kidnapping was having on her.
He knew he was in the wrong. He had looked like he was at war with himself as he had left the stables that morning, no doubt struggling between his affection for her and his desire to keep her close, and what he knew to be the right thing to do–to let her go.
Bernadine realized that if she sought him out in the castle and asked for his permission to leave, he would grant her that wish. He would not keep her captive any longer. His eyes had told her that much, as had his words. He cared too much for her to keep her his captive any longer.
But though the idea of leaving should have excited Bernadine–after all, it was all she had been longing for these last few weeks–suddenly, it did not seem nearly so exciting. In fact, it tasted rather bittersweet. Bernadine had begun to rather look forward to the few nights she had planned to spend with Donnan, lowering his defences.
She had girded herself for the work she would have to put in order to execute her escape. And now that there was no need for that seduction, for any of that work, she found herself feeling disappointed. She still wanted to know what it was like to be loved for a night or three by a man, to be cherished. And she knew now, more than ever before, that Donnan was the perfect man to fulfil those desires.
If she went home before engaging in such fantasies, it meant dooming herself to a life completely devoid of passion. She knew enough of dynamics of most marriages in the English ton to know that what her mother and father had shared, the loving bond that had connected them, was extremely rare.
Most married men and women of her station shared a bed only long enough to sire an he
ir or two, before parting ways. The husbands found mistresses, the wives found various charities and other ways of passing time, and together they spent the rest of their lives spending only as much time together as was necessary to keep up societal appearances.
And Bernadine understood that at twenty, time was running out for her to find a husband. She knew she would most likely have to settle, that her best hope was to find a man kind enough to make a good father, but not nearly so enthralling as to stir the fires of her heart.
She was fairly certain, in fact, after much contemplation, that the only man who was capable of doing so was, though she was initially loath to admit it, Donnan Young. He challenged her, infuriated her, and yet he intrigued her beyond measure. Asking to leave now meant accepting a life without the affection he could give her, was more than willing to give her, or so it seemed. And this was affection she so desperately wanted.
She wanted to know, for a short time, at least, what the heroines she spent her days and nights reading about felt when in the arms of their beloved. She wanted to know what it was to be loved, body and soul.
But she could not. She needed her freedom more than she needed his touch, though she found herself craving them both in equal measure. She needed to be back with her family. They were far more important than her scandalous wishes and dreams.
Resolved now to the inevitable, her skin still sensitive to the touch after so much thought of desire, passion, and Donnan, Bernadine quickened her pace the rest of the way to the castle. She walked through the door that led into the main hall, which was blissfully empty, allowing her to skirt through the large space without anyone noticing the fierce blush gracing her cheeks, the wicked glint in her eyes.
She went immediately to her chambers and began looking through her wardrobe, wondering just what one wore to request her freedom from a Scottish captor. Perhaps plaid?
Chapter 14
Donnan was, sadly, nearly sober by the time night descended on the castle. He had worked his way through a bottle and a half of whisky. The combination of his naturally high tolerance, a gift passed down to the men in his family, and the rather large portion of beef and potato stew the cook had forced down his throat had helped him. His vision was clear and his head beginning to return to its early unsavoury patterns of thinking.
Patterns that all involved Bernadine, and the silence that had followed his declaration of affection to her. That silence would surely haunt his dreams. Which is why Donnan was avoiding sleep, choosing instead to sit in a chair by the hearth, warming his feet by the fire and trying to discern shapes in the flames.
He was so intently focused on the blaze before him that he almost didn’t hear the knock at his door when it came a few minutes later. If that is a servant with another portion of stew, I’ll throw it at her, he thought rather uncharitably as he got up slowly and shuffled toward the door.
She had sent up not one, but two bowls to him, encouraged by his traitorous assistant, who had no doubt alerted her to the Laird’s need for something hearty to soak up the liquid and sadness boiling inside him. Damn Camdyn. The boy might be scrawny for his age, but he was far too smart for his own good sometimes.
But when Donnan opened the door, his eyes did not meet with a servant’s or Camdyn’s eyes. They met with Bernadine’s, a sight that while preferable, was also rather shocking, since he had assumed she would rather not ever be in his presence again.
“I need to speak with you,” she said without preamble, her voice hard. Donnan stared dumbly at her for a moment, unable to focus on her words, because she was wearing what, to his mind, was the single most seductive piece of clothing he had ever seen.
It was a long peach shift that brought out the pink in her skin and the gold in her hair. The dress ended just above her ankles, exposing the fine bones of her ankles and feet. The cut was slim, allowing Donnan to discern the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, as she stepped toward him.
Donnan could not take his eyes from the sight of her, speechless as he gazed upon her form. Bernadine, looking rather impatient, seemed to grow annoyed at his silence, and rolled her eyes, huffed, then pushed past him and into the room.
As she passed, Donnan noticed, and not for the first time, that she smelled faintly of lavender and wintergreen, a combination that while strange, was oddly fitting on her. She was warm and icy by turns, mercurial in her moods but nevertheless unfailingly attractive.
“Please, come in,” Donnan muttered finally as he shut the door behind her and turned, resolving to keep his eyes trained on her face for the time being. It was his only hope of carrying on a conversation with the lass, looking as she did.
“As I said, I need to speak with you,” she told him from where she was now perched by the window, peeking behind the drapes at the night-time scene beyond. Donnan could not help noticing that the position put her bosom to best advantage, squished slightly by her arm and creating a delicious crevasse in her chest that he would thoroughly love to dive into and never leave.
“What is it ye want, lass?” Donnan asked, his voice coming out hoarse as he dolefully drew his eyes back up to her face.
Where they belong, he reminded himself.
He hoped whatever it was, it required only a short conversation, for having the lass clothed as she was, mere feet from him, was the truest form of torture he knew. Though a part of him was more than happy to gaze upon her figure, to merely be in her presence, another part wanted her gone from his room, from his castle, from his life.
It was a truly humiliating prospect to confess your love for a lass knowing she would never reciprocate. Donnan had spent the last six hours trying very hard to forget that humiliation, but having Bernadine stand in front of him made his embarrassment spring anew, heating his cheeks and making him squirm in a rather un-masculine fashion before her.
“I want to leave,” she said simply, letting the curtain fall back into place as she turned to look at him. “I want you to grant me my freedom so that I might leave the castle tomorrow morning for England. I will be needing a horse, of course, but after what you have put me through, I am sure it is only a small bit of what I deserve as recompense.”
The words sliced through his heart like a sword, making Donnan wince as he walked to the side and collapsed back into his chair by the hearth, curling into himself so that his elbows rested on his knees, his head held in his hands. He scratched his fingers along his skull, barely feeling the pain of it. He knew she would ask this sooner or later, but God, he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He could not let her go, not yet.
“I see you are reticent to the idea,” she continued, walking away from the window and coming to stand in front of him, her back leaning against the mantle above the hearth. The light from the fire surrounded her, making her look almost like an angel from heaven, her blonde hair a halo. “However, do you not think it is time you release me from this prison? After all we’ve spoken of, it seemed as though you understood me. My need to be free from you and your power.”
“Me mind kens yer right, lass, but me heart willnae let me. I love ye, ye see.”
“You love me?” Bernadine whispered, clearly shocked. “That is impossible.”
“Is it, lass? For if so, then I am provin’ the impossible. Me heart beats for ye and only ye. I ‘ll let ye go, but I declare it’ll tear me heart in two. I love ye, and I willnae stop. Ever. It ‘ll break me, this love, but I cannae stop it like I cannae stop the wind from whistlin’, the sun from shining, the cocks from crowing.”
“Perhaps that is what you deserve, to be saddled with such agony, after what you have done to me,” Bernadine said, her voice teasing, but underneath it was a sincerity Donnan could not ignore.
Donnan nodded, knowing she was right. “Ay, mayhaps it is, lass. I havenae treated ye well, as ye well ken. Mayhaps lifelong heartbreak is me punishment. But if we’re to part, lass, if yer to go tomorrow at first light, which I’ll grant ye the right to do, I’ll need ye to ken somethin’.”
“And what is that?” Bernadine asked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow.
“I want ye, lass. For always. I want to ken yer body and yer mind in equal measure. I want ye to ken just how good ye are, how deservin’ of love and affection. Ye deserve all I can offer ye and more, Bernadine. I just wish ye’d let me give it to ye. Let me show ye how good I can be.”
Donnan was startled to see tears beginning to pool in Bernadine’s eyes. She reached up to swipe at them, but he caught her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and bestowing a kiss on the smooth center of her palm.
Her intake of breath was sharp and audible, a rasp that Donnan could feel in every part of him.
“Lass,” he whispered against her skin, watching as she took an infinitesimal step closer to him, as though she was drawn to him but feared his presence, his heat near her.
Bernadine shook her head, her eyes closing and a puff of air escaping her lips. “No,” she whispered, continuing to shake her head. “No,” she repeated. “I can’t.”
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