Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hamish’s semihard cock still twitched with need, as if his body could never get enough of the woman he’d claimed.
And how delicious had been the claiming! All the more for his having waited so long.
Then she pushed him away, as if his touch disgusted her. The fog of lust that throbbed with every heartbeat dissipated as he heard her cry.
“What have I done?”
He blinked and met her gaze.
Horror and disgust glowed in her hazel eyes. She lowered her skirts and slid off the cabinet. Then she backed away, fisting the material of her gown and rubbing at her legs as if to remove the very essence of him. He caught the sharp scent of rutting.
“Unclean…” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Lord save me—I’m ruined. All hope is gone.”
He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a cloth, which he handed to her. Wide-eyed, she stared at it.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“It’s to clean yerself with, lass—to wipe my seed from yer legs.”
“Your…seed?”
“I can smell it on ye.”
“Dear God!” she wailed. Then she snatched the cloth and backed away, colliding with the wall.
Why couldn’t he think of the right thing to say? She looked like an injured deer in a trap, almost mad with terror. But the way to calm a deer—grasp it by the back legs and pull it free—wouldn’t work on the terrified woman standing before him.
“Did I hurt ye, lass?”
She narrowed her eyes, and he recalled her sharp cry as he entered her before her body had pulsed with life around his cock and she’d screamed her pleasure.
“Hurt me?”
He gestured toward her skirts. “A woman’s first time is painful, and I’m not a small man.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and though he relished how the fear faded from her eyes, the cold contempt that replaced it stabbed at his heart.
“You think I know nothing of the act between a man and a woman?” she said, her voice tight. “I have studied anatomy and am well aware of the functions of the human body. And, I might add, the variation in size among men.”
Fuck.
He almost preferred the fear to the contempt.
She lowered her gaze to his groin, where his cock still twitched with need as if, now he’d had a taste of the finest venison, nothing else would satisfy his appetite.
“It’s a myth,” she said. “But given that you’re a man and therefore incapable of rational thought, I daresay you’ll continue to believe in it.”
“What myth?”
“That the size of a man’s”—she paused, her color heightening—“appendage is directly proportional to his virility. But it matters not. Yours was not so large compared to others.”
“I’ve not had any complaints before.”
He regretted the words almost before he uttered them, but rather than show hurt, she laughed.
“Have ye been with other men?” he said.
“You’ve stated it to be impossible, having recognized that this was my first time. But you’ve been with other women. Why, then, must I follow a higher standard than you?”
Jealousy surged and he stepped forward. “Have ye?”
She let out a snort. “What do you think I am, Hamish—your whore?”
“No!” he roared. “Ye’re my wife.”
She fisted her hands, and for a heartbeat he thought she might burst into tears. Then she spoke, coldly and calmly.
“I am not, and never will be, your wife,” she said. “You rejected me the moment I arrived, if you recall.”
“But it’s different now we have…now I have…”
“Now you’ve what?” she said. “Fucked me against the wall to mark your triumph over another man?”
“Devil’s ballocks, woman! Ye’ve an evil tongue on ye.”
“Better than a blackened soul,” she snarled. “Did you think I wanted this?”
“Ye screamed my name loud enough for Ma to hear it in the castle while I fucked ye.”
“And I shall regret that until the day I die!” she said. “Is this how you seek vengeance on me, by destroying my dreams?”
He wiped his forehead, but the ache behind his eyes still hammered at his skull.
“No, lass, I have no wish to destroy yer dreams. But now the marriage is consummated, we must—”
“No!” she cried, her eyes widening with fear once more.
Sweet devil’s cock—did the thought of being married to him strike such terror in her heart?
“No, please!” she said. “You want this marriage even less than I. You gave me hope, Hamish—hope that I could leave here with my fortune and pursue my dreams. Do you hate me so much that you wish to destroy that hope?”
“I dinnae hate ye, lass.”
“Then we must proceed as planned,” she said. “Nobody need know what happened here today.”
“But Murdoch—”
“You vowed him to silence. A-and he wasn’t to know that you’d force yourself on me as soon as you threw him out.” She clasped her hands together. “Yes,” she said. “I just need to clean myself, remove all trace of you. The river. I-I’ll go in the river…”
“Ye cannae, lass. Ye’ll freeze to yer death.”
“Better that than remain here.”
He caught his breath at the stab of hurt. Did she hate him that much?
“I’ll proceed with the vaccination plan,” she said, as if to herself. “That will remove me from here for a while, then I can make arrangements to go when I return.”
“But yer fortune, Mia—I’ve yet to raise the full amount.”
“I cannot stay here a moment longer!” she said. “Surely you must see that? We should proceed with the annulment as soon as possible. You must write to your solicitor tonight.”
“But what will ye do?” he said. “If ye decide to marry again, yer next husband will know—”
“I’ll never marry,” she said. “But if I do, I-I’ll tell him I was raped.”
Her words struck him as surely as if she’d slapped him across the face.
“Surely ye cannae—”
“It happens more often than people care to believe,” she said, coldly, “both in wedlock and outside. Of course, in wedlock, the man believes himself entitled to take his wife unwilling, but outside the law there is a higher principle.”
“Which is?” he said, the weight of defeat pressing on him.
“That of right and wrong.”
She spoke so quietly that her voice was almost a whisper, as if the cloak of despair covered her like a shroud. He met her gaze, and though she tilted her head up, as proud as a queen—or a laird’s wife—the sorrow in her eyes broke his heart.
“Then, lass,” he said, “if that’s how ye feel, I’ll leave ye be.”
“Please do,” she said. “I have no wish to set eyes on you again.”
“Mia, I—”
“It’s Miss Lucas to you, Lord MacLennan,” she said. “I trust you’ll respect my wishes, even if you were incapable of respecting my person.”
Defeated, Hamish bowed his head then exited the cottage, taking his leave with a promise that he’d send Rory to repair the door.
Then he retreated along the path and stopped in the shadow of the fir trees.
After a moment, she emerged from the cottage, and his soul ached at the soft crying—not the tears a woman sheds when she wishes to manipulate her man into giving her what she wants, but the subdued tears of despair when a woman has been betrayed by the man who gave her hope, then took it away.
She stumbled toward the river’s edge and Hamish tensed.
If he tried to prevent her, she’d only reject him, but he couldn’t leave her while she might be in danger.
So he watched, a silent sentinel, as he’d watched over her at the cottage unobserved so many times before, to ensure that she was left unmolested.
She lowered herself into the water and he heard her sharp cry.
Then she proceeded to scrub her legs, rubbing them with a frenzied motion.
At length, she rose from the water, her gown clinging to her form, revealing every curve.
He caught his breath at the sight of the dark nipples and delectable triangle of curls between her thighs where he’d buried himself only moments before.
She paused and looked in his direction, and he shrank back into the shadows.
Then she returned to the cottage. He continued to wait until, at length, the soft orange glow of the fire glimmered from the window and a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney.
Then, overcome with shame at what he had lost—or, perhaps, she had never been his to lose—he made his way back to the castle.
It seemed as if the one act that should have sealed their union forever had driven them apart irrevocably, at the very moment when he understood how much he loved her. And now, he had a chance to prove his love—by honoring her wish and letting her go.