Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Leith
I watch the way her eyes grow distant and wonder briefly if the woman’s brain’s fucking addled. Is she here with me now, or somewhere else? She’s got a faraway look in her eyes.
Though I hold her face between my hands, her gaze isn’t focused on mine. It’s fucking disturbing.
She responded to my touch. She responded to my kiss even more. I swear to God if I hadn’t held her in my arms her knees would’ve buckled and she’d have fallen to the floor.
Has the woman ever been kissed before? Her wide-eyed look shows either surprise or innocence. Time will tell which it is.
Perhaps both?
Why won’t the lass tell me her name?
She saw me murder a man with my bare hands in the graveyard. Is she ignorant to the ways of my men? Does she have any idea who we are?
“I asked you a question,” I say again, my words laced with anger fueled by her defiance. Doesn’t she know I have the power to hurt her? She’s smaller than I am, and in my home. I took her from a graveyard and could’ve left her for dead.
I shake her shoulders. “Tell me your fucking name.”
She shakes her head, her eyes unfocused as if she’s not even paying attention. I spin her around, swing her out, and smack my palm against her arse.
Not a sound.
Not a squeal or yelp or even a gasp. Her whole body flinches, and her back arcs like a bowstring, but she doesn’t make a sound.
“Your name.”
Silence.
I smack her again, my palm stinging from the punishing spank.
It’s the type of punishment one might give an errant child, not a woman, and certainly not a prisoner or enemy.
She deserves at the very least the wicked tawse that hangs in my closet, and goddammit, the very thought of taking the leather to her makes my mouth go dry.
How would she respond to being punished?
How is she responding now?
I swing her around to look back at me, and grab her chin in my hand. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her eyes are filled with tears. It only angers me, though. Why is she so fucking stubborn?
I look around the room, and prepare to restrain her. We’ve guest rooms on the third floor, but this room in particular’s reserved for moments such as these. I’ve handcuffs and chains, rope, and a variety of restraints at my disposal.
My phone rings.
Goddammit.
It’s my father’s fucking ringtone, one of the few I’ll answer this time of night, no matter what.
I decide to test her obedience. Is her reluctance to speak intentional? “Go sit on the bed,” I order, giving her a wee shove in that direction. She stumbles a little, but does what she’s told and steps right over to the bed. She folds herself onto the edge and looks up at me with curious eyes.
Not fully defiant, then.
I answer the phone. “Yes?”
“What happened tonight, son? Come speak to me?”
“Aye, Dad, I’ll be down straight away.”
I may be Clan Captain, but he’ll have a say in the leadership of our Clan until the day he draws his last breath. I frown at her as I hang up the phone.
I look around the room and quickly gather what I need. Soft restraints, blankets, a simple white sheath suited for prisoners.
Time for another test.
“Off with your clothes.” I toss the sheath to the bed. “Dress in this.”
Her hands tremble on the edge of her blouse as she lifts it, but she doesn’t hesitate to obey me. In fact, it seems likely she’s actually moving quicker to obey me than is necessary. Is she eager to show me she’s not fully disobedient, then? What an interesting lass she is.
In less than a minute, she’s stripped to nothing but a skimpy pair of knickers, too small and faded, better suited for a child than a woman.
And Jesus, is she a woman. My errand to my father seems to lack urgency as I take in every detail. Pale, pale skin that hasn’t seen sunlight in ages. A wee mole on her collarbone and another just above her left breast. I want to connect the little marks with my tongue.
Her body’s soft and curvy but slight, a model of perfection with her silky hills and valleys, and a little dimple by her belly. Her flat belly is gently curved, her hips slim but feminine, though as pale as the rest of her. There’s another little birthmark on her upper left leg.
I swallow hard.
She watches me with a cool, interested expression, as if she wonders what I’ll do to her, but isn’t terribly afraid. Either she’s ignorant or jaded. Maybe both.
“Lie on your back.”
Still watching me, her gaze grows a bit more guarded as she obeys. She lies back, her hands placed gently on her belly. Her eyes never leave mine.
“Hands above your head.”
My words ring out in the stillness like the gonging of a bell. The only sound once my voice fades is her slow, steady breathing.
Why has she obeyed every fucking instruction I’ve given her but one?
I don’t have time to question her further but I certainly will.
She’ll be fine for the night while I make my plan.
I kneel beside her as I fasten her restraints.
I watch the thin blue veins on her inner wrists throb as I draw nearer to her.
She smells as clean and fresh as the snow-capped mountains. I inhale her scent as I secure her. Everything about her is soft and gentle, and I want to crawl up in this bed beside her.
I haven’t had a woman that mattered in so long, I damn near forgot what being near the gentler sex is like.
There were plenty back before the accident, when we were younger and more carefree.
Then we took to the reclusive north. My brothers venture into town and some even have regular relationships. Not me, though.
In recent months, the only priority in my entire world has been assuming the weighty role of Clan Captain, and making sure that the Clan is taken care of. Everything else has been put on indefinite hold.
A folded blanket sits at the foot of the bed. It’s coarse, a deep red that resembles the soil outside our windows in the spring, but it’ll do. I reach for it and unfold it, then toss it over her nearly naked body. I tuck it in loosely around her shoulders.
“Tomorrow, you’ll tell me. Tonight, you’ll think about the punishment I have in store for you if you don’t.”
She looks away but doesn’t respond. I turn from her and walk to the door. My father waits.
I shut it behind me, my mind occupied with so many questions about her that I nearly collide into Islan.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” I mutter. “Damn near scared the hell out of me.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “I wanted to see where you took her.”
“Well, now you know, but you ought to know better than to snoop around these parts. Honest to God, Islan. I could’ve done things to her you’d not want to be privy to.” In fact, that’s exactly what I intend on doing.
She shakes her head. “Like I fucking care if you snog a woman, Leith.”
I stifle a groan. Snogging. Really, Islan, that’s the best you can come up with?
She looks over her shoulder. “I just wondered what she’s like. We haven’t had a woman here in so bloody long, it feels like—”
Ohh, no she doesn’t. I take her by the arm and wag my finger at her. “Now, look here, Islan. You fucking listen to me well.”
She tries to yank her arm away, but I don’t allow her to.
“Let me the fuck go,” she fumes, but I hold her tight.
“This woman saw me murder a fucking rival tonight. If she so much as breathes a word to the authorities, and they corroborate evidence, your bonnie wee home here’s fucked. Do you understand that?”
She blinks, still trying to tear her arm away. “Aye, of course.”
“You’re not to go in there. You’re not to speak to her. And so help me, if I catch you interfering in any way—”
Her eyes flash at me. “You’ll ground me to the house, then? Fucking keep me home like you threatened Paisley?”
“Precisely.”
She finally does tear herself away and storms off down the hall, rubbing her arm and muttering things to herself like, “can’t wait to move away,” and “thinks he’s the boss of me,” and “too fucking full of himself.”
I let her go and head downstairs to see my father. He’s waited long enough, and I know better than to leave him waiting. I pause at the landing. Listening. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Do I expect my silent captive to suddenly burst into song or something? Jesus.
My father’s waiting by the fire, a stout glass of whisky in one hand and a cigar in the other. My mother sits beside him, nursing a cold pint.
“Y’alright, Leith?” she asks. She smiles, though it doesn’t quiet reach her eyes.
“Aye, Mum. You?”
She looks back to the fire and slowly nods. “Oh, I’m fine. Heard you brought us a guest?”
I walk to the sideboard, take a glass, toss ice in it and pour myself a glass of whisky. I don’t reply until I’ve taken a good, cleansing pull from it.
“I’ve brought us a prisoner and witness, aye.”
“What’d she witness, son?”
Before I can respond, there’s a scuffle at the door outside the study, and a moment later, the dog we brought home comes bounding in.
“Get over here!” Islan yells. She stops short when she sees me. “He ran away.” I don’t reply, but watch as she chases him down and heads to the door. I have a sneaking suspicion she let him in here just so she could eavesdrop.
“Take him to your room for the evening, Islan. We’ll have to see about training him in the morning.”
“Training,” she mutters, scowling at me. “All he fucking talks about.”
“Islan!” Mum looks at her in astonishment. My father looks from me to Islan with mild interest, then takes another sip of his whisky and another pull from his cigar. His face is clouded behind a billow of smoke.
Islan leaves, but she lingers at the door. I take a step toward her and she runs.
Good lord, she’ll do my fucking head in.
“What did she witness, son?” he asks quietly.
I sit on the sofa beside him and tell him fucking everything. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t say a word until I bring him up to date. “So I brought her upstairs and she’s in the guest room until I can question her further in the morning.”
He’s silent for long moments. “Did Father MacGowen see you kill the Aitkens man?”
I shake my head. “No.”