Chapter Two
Kenna watched her father-in-law leave, more relieved than when her husband had left her alone in his room. She had fully expected to be a heap on the floor by now, but thus far he had been benevolent and undemanding.
What was this game he played at? What new level of torment did he have planned?
In the few hours since his return, she had already seen the change in the household. Where everyone normally tiptoed around him, afraid of drawing his wrath, the atmosphere remained much the same as it had been for the past five years since he departed. Had everyone forgotten the vile, evil lord who struck fear into the hearts of his charges?
He might have his people fooled, but not her. She saw through the false smiles, the gentle look in his eye, to the devil beneath. She knew him for the monster he was and reminded herself to stay on guard.
The castle was quiet as she made her way down the stairs and through the corridors to Isla's room. She was determined to shield her from her father, but knew she could not keep them apart indefinitely.
She pushed open the door and froze. Isla sat on the floor, playing with her favorite doll. Across from her sat Ty.
Kenna's heart jumped to her throat. The scene was as non-threatening as it could be, yet the sight of her most feared enemy sitting alone with the person she cherished most in the world almost sent her into a fit of sheer panic.
She forced herself to remain calm. With deliberate steps, she crossed to where Isla sat cross legged on the floor and stood behind her. Isla ignored her, enraptured as she was of her father. She had asked about him often, and Kenna had done her best not to instill fear in her, always hopeful that Ty would never return.
Yet return he had. And now he sat on the floor, completely entranced by the doll Isla held out to him. He was the picture of a doting father.
"Pleased to meet you, Ester."
Isla giggled. "Not Ester. Estrild."
He grinned at her. "Ah. Beg yer pardon, milady."
Kenna leaned over and plucked the doll from his grasp. She handed it to Isla and scooped the little girl up in her arms. Hugging her close and pressing a kiss to her temple, Kenna carried her to the door. "Go find Mrs. Dingwell and have her get yer supper." She set Isla down and nudged her across the threshold.
With a wave at the mountain of man filling the room, she scampered off, clutching her doll and calling for the housekeeper.
Kenna turned back to find him looming over her. Would there ever come a time when she did not feel terrified by his attention?
"She is the most beautiful child I have ever seen," he said. His voice was soft and held a hint of sincerity that would have fooled anyone else. She forced herself not to flinch when he reached out to cup her cheek in one massive hand. "She looks just like you."
Her heart fluttered. He had never said a kind word to her before today. She wanted desperately to believe he had changed, that the man standing before her was no longer the tyrant she had married. But it would take more than a kind word to erase the terror of her wedding night.
Still, she knew better than to refuse him, so she stood still as he caressed her lips with the pad of his thumb. She took a deep breath to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. His touch ignited something within her that made Kenna question her sanity. Her insides quivered, not out of fear but something else. Something that made her want more. Something that made her want him to touch her all over. A slow burn started in the pit of her stomach and spread to the center of her body.
When he took her in his arms and clamped his mouth over hers, she actually leaned into him. She told herself she was only trying not to provoke his anger. He slipped his tongue between her lips, tangling with hers. A moan escaped her, an involuntary reaction to a swell of longing that left her completely baffled.
She hated this man like no other. So why did the possessive crush of his arms, the power of his chest against her hard nipples, the manly scent of him make her want to shed her clothes and feel her naked skin against his?
He kneaded her backside, pressing her throbbing core against the hardness of his shaft. Through the fog of desire clouding her head, she marveled at the size of him, fearing the agony that would come when he took her.
More alarms struck the part of her brain that should be questioning the change in him. The loss of her maidenhead had been excruciating. But the pain had been due to his brutal treatment of her innocence, not the size of his cock.
Doubt fled as he lowered his hand to the juncture of her thighs. The feel of his fingers massaging her through the coarse wool of her skirt drove away all but the most animalistic of thoughts.
The intensity of his kiss doubled. He fumbled with her clothes, dragging the hem up to gain better access to her most intimate spot. He moved her undergarments aside with the deftness of a man well familiar with the workings of a woman's attire. When the calloused tips of his fingers met her naked folds, Kenna exploded in a rush of sensations that made her wrench her mouth from his. She let her head drop back as a cry of exquisite pleasure flooded over her.
Her knees buckled, every muscle melting inside her skin. Ty took the tender flesh of her ear between his teeth and nibbled her softly. He held her upright as spasm after spasm threatened to overwhelm her. "What is happening to me?" Her words came out a ragged whisper as she could hardly breathe. Was she dying?
"I've got you, a ghrá."
His voice, gruff and husky with desire penetrated her thoughts. Slowly, Kenna came back to herself. Desire fled as memories of his hands on her small body came rushing to mind. She was alone again, a virtual slave to this man who had caused her so much harm. Something akin to a sob bubbled up in her throat. She pressed her palms to his chest. "Please, don't."
She regretted her words immediately. She had fallen into his trap. He thrived on her pleas for mercy. Kenna fully expected his tender caress to turn into the blows of submission she knew he enjoyed.
She swallowed her fear and braced herself.
***
Ty released her. One thing he had learned over the years was that when a woman said no, no is what she meant. It made little difference what her body was saying.
Already he missed Kenna's wee form against his. Despite the difference in their sizes, she fit him perfectly. He stared down at her terrified face. His heart melted at her fear. It would take time, he knew, to chase away the memories she harbored of the man she thought him to be.
"I am sorry, a ghrá, for the way I have mistreated ye. I doona ken exactly what happened between us…before I left." She flinched when he lifted his hand, but he ignored it, rubbing his fingertips against his forehead, as if trying to remember. "War betimes does that to a man, takes away his memories, especially those he would rather forget."
He forced himself not to smile at the look of sheer and utter shock on her face, but to savor the notion that she would forgive him, bury the past and welcome him into her bed. His heart flared in his chest. He cupped her face in his hand, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Ye need never fear me again, a ghrá. I swear t' ye. I'll not force ye against yer will. I promise."
She relaxed a little, uncertainty and mistrust glowing in her eyes. She let them close, parted her lips.
Her mouth beckoned him to kiss her again. Her breathing increased. The heat of her soft skin warmed his palm. Ty's cock surged with desire. Kenna Cleary was a passionate woman. She just needed the right man to coax that passion from her.
He was that man. And he would savor every moment. The longer it took him to seduce her, the sweeter their lovemaking would be. Then she would be his in more than name only. His wife, his beloved, the mother of his child.
His child. He still could not believe it. The precious wee bairn might not have been born of his seed, but he had fallen in love with Isla the moment he set eyes on her. Her slight frame, her mass of curly brown hair, the hint of color in her cheeks. She was the image of her mother. Two women he would protect with his own life and cherish until his last day.
He dropped his hand, surprising her further, and straightened his blasted clothes. The kilt had not been a part of his attire growing up. A simple pair of ragged trews, made of coarse wool that chaffed a man and not the plaid of the highlands, a dingy shirt and the occasional pair of boots riddled with holes had been the extent of his wardrobe. He still struggled to dress himself without drawing suspicion.
"'Tis late," he said. "Mrs. Dingwell promised me supper. I think I shall go and track her down." He glanced around his daughter's room, as awkward as an untried lad with his first whore. "Where do ye sleep?" Except for the days before her husband left, he doubted she had stepped foot inside that bed chamber before today.
Her eyes flitted between him and the door. "I sleep here, with Isla."
He nodded, disappointed. "Verra well. We will ride out in the morning, you and I. I wish to…reacquaint myself with my tenants." He waved a hand at her look of protest. "No rent collecting, mind ye. Just a survey of the land. Five years is a long time."
He moved to the door but turned back to her before leaving. "If ye change yer mind about where to sleep, a ghrá," he flashed his most amiable smile, "ye ken where to find me." He gave her a wink so slight she would wonder if she had imagined it and left her gaping after him.
***
They rode out shortly after dawn. The hills were covered in a mist so thick, Kenna could barely see her horse's ears through the fog. The mare shied often at the close proximity of Ty's stallion. The beast, as dark and menacing as his master, snorted and pawed the ground whenever they stopped.
Three starving villages remained on Vass lands. Ty insisted the villagers would want to see their laird, returned home from defeating the English. They had visited each in turn. The arrival of the laird drew the ragged villagers from indoors, but if he expected a hero’s welcome, he would be disappointed. The tension in the air was thicker than the fog, each village worse than the one before it. By the time they reached the third, he did not even dismount.
He was cordial enough. His scowl of contempt did not seem directed at the villagers but at the squalor in which they lived. However, they did not know that. A glower from Laird Vass was enough to strike fear into the hearts of the most stout of men, regardless the cause.
She glanced over at him as he pulled his horse to a halt at the crest of a hill. Her heart tripped. Dare she hope that war had changed him? Was he right and truly a different man, or did he play some game to distract her, to lull her into relaxing her aegis? Then he would strike.
He stared off into the distance, beyond the grassy plain toward the border of his lands and her father’s. But his gaze was unfocused. Lines of worry creased the corner of his eye, his mouth. She had never known Ty Vass to worry about anything except his own pleasure. His raven-dark hair caught a breeze and swirled around him.
Kenna caught her breath. He had not seemed so handsome before, not when he was beating her, forcing himself on her. Those memories, nightmares she had relived again and again, began to fade. She saw the man he could be, a man she would be proud to call husband.
She gave herself a shake. Verra well. She would play along, see how his homecoming played out. Kenna wanted nothing so much as peace in her life. Peace between their clans, and peace within her own house…
…and heart.
"Come." She spurred her mare forward. "I have something to show you."
He did not speak, but Kenna sensed his stallion behind her. Her mare swished her tail overmuch, drawing strange sounds from Ty’s war horse. Soon enough she found herself scanning the brush, searching for an opening she had not seen in years. She had last come here on the eve of her wedding. It seemed a lifetime ago.
She paced her mare back and forth along the same gnarl of overgrown vines until she spotted it. "Here." She pulled her leg over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground. She knelt in the grass, still damp from the morning’s fog and coaxed the vines apart, revealing a wooden door, barely hanging on its hinges.
She grinned over her shoulder at him, but her smile fell instantly. He watched her with a look akin to lust. She hesitated, old fears skittering up her spine, but reminded herself of her vow to give him a chance. She would never trust him, never love him, but by God she would make peace. Besides, there was nothing he could do to her here that he could not do to her elsewhere.
She knew little of his upbringing, but what she did know was enough to turn the heart of any woman who had loved a child. Ty’s own mother had died birthing him, a feat his father found pleasing. To have sired such a braw laddie as could rip a woman asunder to take his place in the world. There was a son t’ be proud of.
Kenna shuddered to imagine the lessons Ty has been taught growing up. As bad as her husband was, his father was worse.
With a faint smile, she turned away and concentrated her efforts on opening the door. After struggling for several moments, she felt him behind her. His presence engulfed her, trapping her against the massive expanse of his chest.
He reached a beefy arm around her and gave the door a great shove, heaving it into the darkness.
Kenna was fully aware of what lay beyond and had no fear of the close interior. Daylight guided her to a small table where she found flint and a candle, enough to illuminate the inside of the small cottage.
Ty ducked and stepped through the door, filling the inside and staring around in surprise.
Kenna followed his gaze, fully aware that he stood between her and the door. She tried to ignore it, taking in the broken stool, the crockery piled in the corner, the cold hearth. She took calming breaths, using the wobbly table as support. She was trapped in close confinement with him, her grandfather’s hated enemy and the man she feared most.
Relief flooded her when he moved from in front of the door and further into the room. He is changed, she told herself. Please, God. Let it be so. The ice around her heart melted a little when he turned a wondrous smile on her.
"What is this place?"
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I discovered it as a child. It was my secret place." She plied him with a sad smile and shook her head. "I have not been in years."
He circled the room, no more than a few paces with his gigantic stride, until he stood beside her. The door was at her back, so she could still escape if needs be. This time she did not flinch when he lifted his hand.
***
"Thank ye for bringin’ me here." He cupped her face in his hand. His gut wrenched when she moved. Did she flinch from his touch or did she snuggle her cheek against his palm? Impossible to discern such a slight movement. He could only hope for the latter.
He glanced quickly from one stormy blue eye to the other, discouraged not to find her innermost thoughts reflected there. She regarded him coolly, allowing him liberties he had every right to claim as her husband but prepared to flit away at the first hint of violence.
He let out his breath in a whoosh. How long before she looked at him with all the passion lurking behind her guarded gaze? He took a step back and surveyed the room. "You’ve not much in the way of furniture."
She followed his gaze and shrugged. "I saved what I could." She gave him a tentative, lop-sided grin that melted his heart. "I never brought company here before."
He pressed her with a smile intended to put her further at ease. "I am touched that ye would share it with me."
"Ye seemed so…sad earlier. I thought 'twould cheer ye. I used to come here when I was sad. I came just before we -" She stopped abruptly and dropped her gaze to the floor. "- married," she whispered.
Ty barked a laugh, startling her. Her gaze shot to his face. She gripped the table behind her but stayed put. "And did it help?"
"I am no longer sad, if that's what you mean."
He tilted his head, regarding her. She did not fidget under his perusal. Slowly, as if approaching an injured wildling, he took a step closer. Kenna squared her shoulders. "What are you now?" He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel her breath on his neck, but not touching.
Her voluptuous chest rose and fell with her deep breaths. "I have been - content at Vass Castle, before you -"
She bit down on whatever she had been about to say. Ty had a good inclination what that was. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, then the edge of her temple. He lifted her hair over her shoulder, pushing her sleeve down and pressing his lips to the naked skin at the base of her throat. "Before I came home," he whispered into her hair, finishing her thought.
He felt her swallow, a forced move that revealed her discomfort. Her pulse throbbed against his mouth. He trailed his lips along the curve of her shoulder before leaning back and giving her more space.
Her eyes were closed, her luscious lips parted. He let his gaze fall to the soft mounds of her breasts. Her bodice, laced tight on all four sides, pushed them together in a way that made him want to bury his face there and sleep for eternity.
He reached out and drew one finger across them, dipping into the crevice before rising over to trace a path across her creamy skin. She trembled at his touch. She parted her eyes just enough to watch him, ever watchful for sudden movement or a change in demeanor.
"Ye are so beautiful, a ghrá." He leaned forward just enough to touch is lips to hers. He made no other move on her, but waited for her breathing to slow, her shoulders to relax. Then he pulled away, tucking a finger beneath her chin and lifting her face up to his. "I cannae change the past, Kenna. I cannae say I'm sorry enough to undo the hurt I caused ye."
He kissed her again, working his mouth against her, hungry for her in a way that surprised him. Even with her staid indifference, he had never wanted a woman more. Finally, he forced himself pull away. "Ye can have a good life here, at Vass Castle. We have a beautiful little girl. We can make a home for Isla and all our other bairn, should be we so blessed."
She glared at him with a fire he had not seen before. His heart swelled with pride in her. She was no lowland mouse, cowering to her husband and letting the world walk over her. Not his highland lassie. She was a woman of substance, a true highlander and all that a man could ever want.
"'Tis hard to forget, m'laird."
Her last word held a hint of sarcasm, just to let him know how little respect she had for Ty Vass. He couldn't help but smile. Besides, every time he did, the expression in her eyes softened, opened for him just a little more.
She was so vibrant, despite her fear and hatred of him. His longing shocked him to his core. He wanted her naked and panting in his arms, crying out for him as she came. His need for her actually scared him, and he had never been scared of anything.
His entire body hardened urging him to taste those lips that teased but never invited him. He lowered his head to hers, brushing his lips across hers and causing a friction that set his mouth on fire. He growled like a wildling, his desire for her straining for release. Had he let it go unchecked, she might have been justified by her fear.
He cupped her face in his hands, deepening the kiss. Her scent washed over him, bathing him in sensations he rarely allowed himself to entertain. A woman like this could break a man, even one who had never been truly whole to begin with.
He squeezed his eyes tighter, swirling his tongue with hers, tasting her passion which only fueled his own. He ached in places he had never known a man could ache.
He pulled his lips away, just enough to whisper, "Let me help you forget, a ghrá."
***
What was wrong with her? He was evil and sadistic, hurtful and frightening, and the most lust-worthy man she had ever known. She wanted him to make her forget the man he had been, to prove to her that he was changed, a different man.
Misgiving niggled at the edge of her thoughts, but she had no time to ponder her suspicion as he twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her face up to his. He tilted her head and ravished her mouth with his silky tongue. He licked her lips, nudging them apart and snaking his way inside her.
Kenna rested her hands on his hips. She did not pull him closer, but neither did she push him away. Instead she kissed him back, marveling in the sensations she would never have expected to feel with this man.
Whoever he is.
Again, doubt plagued her, but this time she brushed it aside, preferring instead to remain in the little fantasy she had created inside her head. With him kissing her like this, it was not hard to do. He seemed to pour his entire soul into that kiss. Who was she to deny the attraction between them, the kernel of hope that they could have a pleasant life together?
He reached up and cupped her breast through her bodice. Her nipples hardened, remembering the mind shattering thrill she had experienced yesterday. Would he make that happen to her again? She certainly hoped so. Even now, she could feel the ache building in her core.
Pushing her back over the table, he tugged loose the laces of her bodice, pulling everything over her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her to the frigid air. Sparks popped behind her eyes as he closed his warm mouth over her painfully hard nipple.
Kenna arched her back, grinding her breast against him. Had she known it would be like this, she would surely have taken a lover by now. She stroked the silky strands of his pitch-dark hair, cradling him against her as she watched him suckle her. The image was nearly enough to send her over the edge.
She lifted his face back to hers. "Ty," she whispered, before kissing him with all the passion she had not known existed within her. He sought the hem of her gown, never taking his delicious mouth from hers. Kenna squeezed her eyes shut. If she looked at him, if she found the cruel expression she so feared, her passion would dissipate. She wanted to know what this was like, she wanted him to show her.
Kenna kicked her feet out of the tangle of her hem, rewarded when he tugged it up her leg. His cold fingers on the warmth of her calf, raised goose flesh all the way up to her shoulders. He gripped her thigh, pushing it off to the side, making it possible to wedge himself between her legs.
She silently praised the convenience of his clothing, but all thought was driven from her brain when he entered her. Pure ecstasy flooded her. She let out a soft sigh as he buried himself inside her. She clasped her ankles around his waist, holding him to her.
Ty dropped his head between his shoulders, his mane a shroud around them hiding them from the world. He pressed his forehead to hers. Kenna still dared not open her eyes. She held him, savored the feel of him, so much different than before. There was no pain, no fear, no humiliation. Only tenderness and longing.
And exquisite pleasure.
She let her head fall back when he began to move inside her, drawing the length from her, sucking out his essence, before plunging to the hilt yet again. Each time he filled her, Kenna opened her mouth to cry out. But each time she bit back her shameless display of wanton abandon.
He emptied into her just as her own world exploded. Kenna wrapped her arms around his chest, her face pressed into the crevice of his bulging muscles, holding on until they were both spent.
Too soon, cold set in. Kenna shivered as he stepped away from her. He pulled her skirt down and readjusted her clothing about her shoulders. She kept her eyes down, but she could not resist a peek when he refitted his kilt.
Nothing about this man repelled her. When she should be disgusted by his proximity, she longed for the comfort and safety of his arms. Where his vile touch should make her cringe, she tingled whenever he came near.
She watched his hands, fascinated at the way they fumbled with his sash. His fingers were strong, yet they made her skin spark and crawl in a pleasant way. His touch was possessive, yet gentle beyond reproach, as if he took pains to thwart her unease.
It was no mystery to Kenna that a man's countenance, his demeanor could grow over his life. That he could soften. Perhaps he had even found God.
But could a man change so much?
She could not stop herself from trying to peer beneath his plaid. She tried to recall the memories she had worked so hard to block out over the past five years. Her determination had paid off. She could hardly remember any details about her husband's physical appearance. Still, Ty Vass was hiding a lot more beneath his kilt that the man who had marched off to France.
What did they feed men in France that could make them…grow like that?