Chapter Six #2
That should have calmed him. Should have eased the disquiet in his soul.
It did not.
The look in Violet’s eyes, there in the great room, burned him.
He knew he shouldn’t go to her, try to explain, but he couldn’t help himself.
He would never sleep if he left things like this.
He flung back the warm covers, shuddering at the chill.
This damn keep was drafty as hell and the fire had burned down.
He quickly yanked on his braes and a shirt, grabbed a lamp and padded down the staircase to the hall.
Then down again, into the bowels of the castle.
He shivered as he descended into what had once been the Cloud’s dungeon. It was dank and musty. Frigid air licked at his toes. It smelled. Had he really banished her here?
Her chamber had been a storage room with an old wrought-iron lock, but Ewan’s skeleton key opened it with a creaky clank. The door swung open and he lifted the lamp. His heart lurched.
Violet lay on a narrow cot covered only by a thin blanket.
Her body was curled into a tight ball. Even from across the room, he could see her trembling.
And damn. It was freezing in here. Deep beneath the ground.
Not a lick of warmth. He raked his fingers through his hair and swore beneath his breath.
He was a beast, as she proclaimed. He was worse than a beast.
He quietly closed the door—though that would hardly keep out the chill—and made his way toward the cot, his gaze locked on her face.
It could have been the wan light from the lamp but was her face really that pale?
Did her lips have a slightly blue tinge?
The swelling had gone down a little on her cheek but it was still a nasty mottled color.
She seemed so frail, so fragile it made his chest hurt.
Why Sophia leapt into his mind at that moment, he didn’t know. His sister was safe and warm, tucked away in Hampshire at the best boarding school money could buy. But if—God forbid—any man ever treated her in this fashion, Ewan would kill him. String him up by his toes and gut him.
Yet he had done this. To a girl. A girl he’d once loved.
Mortification washed through him.
She detested him. But he deserved every bit of her hate.
Her lids fluttered. Her body stilled. He knew without a doubt she was awake. Her hand moved slowly, searching for something. She found it. Grasped it and then sprang up suddenly into a crouching position, wielding a sharp kitchen knife.
“Stay back,” she snarled. Apprehension laced her expression. It was threaded with desperation. And determination.
He realized she couldn’t see his face, didn’t know who he was. He raised the lamp. “It’s Ewan. Rest easy. I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes narrowed. She lifted the knife higher. It shook. “What do you want?”
“I couldna sleep.”
She put out a lip in mock sympathy. “Poor baby.”
“I wanted to talk to you. Make sure you were all right.”
She gaped at him. “All right?” Her tone made her meaning more than clear. She was not all right. Not by far.
He blew out a sigh and raked his hair again. No doubt it stood on end. “Violet...I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened with Craig. It won’t happen again.”
Her exquisite features twisted. “Won’t it? We both know all I accomplished tonight was making him angry.”
“Is that why...?” He nodded to the knife.
She glanced at it. Realized she was still holding it aloft and let it drop. “Yes.” She glared at him. “I’ll use it if I have to.”
“He willna bother you again.”
Her throat worked. “I’m glad you have so much faith in him.”
“Violet...” He took a step closer and she flinched. “I just want to look at your cheek.”
Carefully, he sat on the cot by her side. And winced. It was hard as a rock. He gently took her chin in his hold and turned her head to examine the bruise. His attention snagged on the curve of her long swanlike neck. Flawless white skin marked only with bruises shaped suspiciously like fingers.
A nasty worm curled in his belly. He fixed his attention on her cheek. It was bad. It must have been a vicious swipe. “Why did he hit you?”
His question infuriated her. He saw it in the tight lines of her face, felt it in the sudden humming tension engulfing her. “Because I wouldn’t let him rape me, I suppose.” This, she spat.
He cringed. Of course. “I’m so sorry, Violet. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Say good night. And leave me in peace.” She tried to jerk away but he tightened his hold. He shouldn’t have. She gasped in pain. But he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. Instead he lightened his touch and stroked her with his thumb.
God. Her skin was like silk. Soft and smooth. Irresistible. He hated that it had been marred. He bent his head and touched his lips to the bruises on her neck. Lightly. A whisper. Bussing one after another.
“I’m sorry,” he said after each kiss. “I’m sorry.” Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips, thrummed. But she held herself still. Didn’t move. He kissed the curve of her jaw where it met her ear and followed the line, over that hideous purple mass, to her lips.
He’d vowed he’d never kiss her again. Sworn he didn’t even want to. But when their lips met, when he tasted her, he knew it was a lie. He’d wanted this. He’d always wanted this.
She made a muffled sound as his mouth sealed hers, but she didn’t pull away. And more importantly, she didn’t poke him with her knife. She set her tiny hand to his chest as though she intended to push him back, but then she fisted it in his shirt.
He tried to be as gentle as he could. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had.
But when she responded, when she leaned in to him and opened to him, when her tongue met his in a tentative foray, he lost the thread of his control.
He eased her down onto the bed and covered her with his body.
He set a palm on her uninjured cheek and held her in place as he consumed her.
It was heaven. Like coming home. A tremendous rush of peace and rightness washed over him. Violet, his Violet, was back in his arms.
How had he ever hated her?
He changed his angle, deepened the kiss, infused it with all his hunger, all his desire, all his want. She stroked the nape of his neck. When he cupped her breast, nudged a puckered nipple, she gasped and her nails scored him.
“Aw, Violet,” he breathed.
She stilled and his heart gave a thud. Hell, had he reminded her where they were? Who he was? Determined to distract her, he returned his attention to her neck, reveling in the quivers his nibbles evoked.
“Ewan.” A whisper.
Ah. Much better. He sucked the velvety skin at her nape.
“Ewan.” She threaded her fingers into his hair...and tugged.
He, perforce, lifted his head. “What?”
“Someone’s there. At the door.”
He froze and a slight scratching from the hall floated toward him. He focused on the sound, willing his ears to hear more than rushing blood.
And he heard them. Whispers.
Like a cat, he leapt from the bed and tiptoed across the room, shivering as the stone floor kissed his bare feet. He hovered by the door and listened.
“You got it yet?”
“Not yet. Quiet. You’ll wake her.”
“Oh, I plans to wake her.”
Fuck. Rory and Tavish. Two of his youngest recruits. And they were trying to break in.
The idiots didn’t even realize the door wasn’t locked.
“I thought ye said ye snitched the right key from Morna.”
“I did.”
“Ye sure ye didn’t wake her?”
“She was snoring like a hound. Now shut up and let me work.”
Ewan could take no more. He flung open the door.
The men, hunkered down on the floor, gaped up at him. Their Adam’s apples bobbed in tandem.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” he boomed.
Rory fell on his behind. Tavish dropped the keys. “Uh, n-nothing, McCloud.”
A bold-faced lie. Ewan’s fury rose. “Did I or did I not give strict orders that no one was to come to the cellar?”
“I-I... H-he... W-we...” Rory’s lips flapped.
“Go.” And when they didn’t move quickly enough, again, this time a roar. “Go!”
They skittered up the stairs, not bothering to take their lamp.
Hell. Hell and damnation. She wasn’t safe. Not even here in the dungeon where he could lock her in.
The only place she would truly be safe was with him.
He glanced over his shoulder. Violet perched on the bed, ready to flee, with her threadbare blanket clutched at her neck, eyes wide, knuckles white. Her hair cascading in thick ropes over her shoulders. Her lips apart and trembling.
And he knew.
He knew.
She wasn’t safe with him either.