Chapter Two #2
He rearranged her skirts back over her legs and settled her on the opposite banquette and stared at her with a hungry, feral light in his eyes. He lifted his fingers and sniffed. Slowly, one by one, he drew them into his mouth and sucked them dry.
And then he offered her a mocking smirk.
He was a beast. A horrible, awful, hideous beast. And she hated him.
––––––––
Ach.
He shouldn’t have done that.
But Ewan couldn’t dredge up a shred of regret.
He hadn’t intended to go so far, only to pull her onto his lap and frighten her a little, let her experience a fraction of the terror he’d felt on account of her betrayal.
But then she’d been in his arms, so soft and prickly, wriggling against his cock, an armful of fragrant woman. And he’d lost the reins.
And holy fuck! How responsive she had been.
Oh, certainly, she’d fought him. What lady of Quality would not? But her body had responded. Her nipples had firmed after a single pass. And swelled exquisitely as he continued to torment them. And hell. Her sheath had been dripping wet. Dripping. Wet.
And how she’d come. Moaning and weeping and heaving in his lap.
She’d come so beautifully.
But he shouldn’t have done that.
Because now his cock was aching. He wouldn’t be able to expunge the memory from his mind.
And fucking Violet Wyeth was not part of the plan.
He was going to marry Kaitlin MacAllister.
He needed to. He was desperate to finally attach some semblance of respectability to his name.
Without it, his sister Sophia would never make a decent match.
Ewan had been working toward that end for years and now he was very close. He would not alter the plan. Could not.
So he probably shouldn’t have done that.
Because now he only wanted more.
It was dark when the carriage finally rolled to a halt.
Violet had been dozing, propped awkwardly against the side of the cab, not allowing herself to drift off completely, but now she jerked to full awareness.
The carriage rocked as her captor descended.
A rumble of voices drifted toward her as he conversed with the driver but she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
She peered out the window but saw little but the shadows of trees.
The lap of waves and the salty tang of sea air sent a skirl of dread through her.
They were on the coast. Surely he wasn’t taking her on a ship.
She shivered. She hated the water. Always had.
The door flew open and her captor—the Beast, as she had named him—peered in. His features were limned in the muted light of the moon, softening him, making him appear almost civilized. Violet knew better.
“Come along, darling.” He lifted her out as though she weighed no more than a church mouse.
“It’s time to go.” She tried to fight him but only succeeded in knocking her head against the doorjamb.
“Stop that,” he grunted. And when she didn’t stop struggling, he hefted her over his shoulder and smacked her behind. She squealed in outrage.
He chortled evilly and headed for the shore. Violet stilled.
“Are ye sure you doona want me to come with you?” The driver, an enormous hulk of a man, followed behind.
From her ignominious position, Violet peered up at him—and her breath stalled.
If ever a man should look like a heinous criminal, he would look like this.
His face was a mangled mess of scars and rumpled skin.
His brows were crooked and bushy and his nose was a bulbous knob that seemed about to fall off.
A thick, unkempt beard covered his face.
No. Please. Please don’t come with us, she thought.
“Tomorrow will do. We’ll move operations to the keep.
” Unceremoniously, McCloud dropped Violet onto a hard wooden plank—that moved.
It rocked alarmingly from side to side with the whisper of the waves.
With blinding dismay, Violet realized it was a boat.
And not a very big one. She sat up and glanced out over the water and saw the rising shadow of an island.
Terror clutched her heart.
No. Surely they weren’t going there. In this rickety contraption.
But they were. The McCloud stepped into the boat—making it wobble most perilously—and then the driver unlashed the moorings and pushed them off, watching, hands to his sides, as they floated out into the water.
The water.
Panic flared. Despite the thrashing it caused, Violet stood, braced herself and leapt from the boat into the water. It was only ankle deep but it was cold. Frigid tongues seeped into her slippers but Violet didn’t hesitate. She slogged through the water and made a dash for the tree line.
Both men hollered. One because her flight had caused the stupid little punt to sway wildly and the other in an attempt to halt her escape. When yelling for her to stop didn’t work, the enormous driver lumbered after her.
He caught her. He caught her before she made it five steps down the beach.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her back to the boat.
He tried to angle her back in, but she kicked and flailed.
Finally, her captor grasped one ankle and then the other.
Between the two of them, they forced her into that death trap.
Mercilessly the McCloud wound a coil of rope around her feet. “Stupid girl.”
To her horror, he set her on the damp bottom of the boat and lashed her to the seat for good measure. She struggled against these bonds but it was hopeless. She was well and truly tied.
To a boat. A tiny, flimsy, rocking boat.
Glaring horror whipped through her.
Again, the driver pushed the boat into the water. It wobbled and bobbed alarmingly.
Violet screamed into the gag. Tears tracked her cheeks. She couldn’t catch her breath. This was her worst nightmare—worse than the worst. To be in a boat—on the water—was bad enough. But to be tied, helpless, unable to try to save herself should the vessel capsize, was appalling.
A clammy fist clenched her heart. She was going to die. Die the way she’d always feared—in the cold grip of an uncaring sea. She fought frantically against her bonds.
“Hold still.”
She barely heard the gruff voice at the end of the boat. Barely felt the smooth, rhythmic glide as he began to row to the far shore. She was tangled in a memory, one she never let herself remember. And now it overcame her. Strangled her.
A girl—a stupid girl—walking on the ice.
A boy calls from the shore. She turns. Smiles. Waves.
A sharp crack echoes.
Shock washes over his features, even as the ice gives way beneath her.
And darkness. A wet, cold, airless eternity of hell. Of panic. Of horror.
A certainty of death.
With a whimper, Violet closed her eyes and let the darkness take her again.