Five
Something was vexing Alex, and Lena had little doubt it was their impending marriage. The tense lines of his face revealed his displeasure, as did his halting words in the solar earlier. It was clear he felt forced to wed her. Anxiety knotted in her chest. She felt compelled, too, but what choice did she have, given the alternative of marriage to a Campbell?
She had hoped it had been her imagination earlier that had made Alex sound so reluctant to marry her, but there was no denying it now. She took a deep breath for courage and ran a smoothing hand over the gown that Bridgette and Marion had helped her don.
Iain stopped beside her and linked her arm with his. She glanced sideways at her brother, as he frowned down at her. “He will be good to ye. I vow it.”
She nodded and cleared her throat. “The king is forcing him to marry me,” she whispered so only her brother could hear.
The king, Father Murdock, and everyone who had been called to attend the wedding at this late hour stood near the dais at the front of the great hall. All her brothers and their wives were present, even Sorcha and Cameron. Lena felt terrible that their wedding night was being intruded upon, but Marion had told her the king had commanded all her siblings to be present. So the wedding celebration for her youngest brother and Sorcha had ended. The guilt snaked through her once more.
“Nay,” Iain assured her, as a loving, dutiful brother would.
“Aye. Ye ken it as well as I do,” she said in a low tone. “He looks vexed.”
“Ye look vexed, as well,” Iain said in about as gentle a tone as she’d ever heard him use. “Ye did nae wish to marry, either, but I vow the two of ye will rub along nicely. Alex is honorable and will defend ye with his life.”
He’d expect to join with her, too, she suddenly realized, the thought making her heart race in fear. But she just nodded, not wanting to worry Iain any further. “We should move forward,” she forced out. She was aware that everyone had turned to look at them, and Alex was now openly frowning, as was the king.
Iain nodded and led her down the middle of the great hall. Lena’s legs trembled as she walked toward Alex, and she could not help but think about the last time she had been ordered to marry. She certainly was not comparing Alex to her abusive deceased husband, but both marriages had been thrust upon her. She’d known from the moment she stopped in front of Findlay in the chapel, when he’d berated her for daring to look him in the face, that the marriage would not be a happy one. Had she known in that moment just how horrid the marriage would be, she would have attempted to flee and risk survival in the wild.
With the thoughts of that night swirling in her mind, she looked down at her slippers and kept her eyes there through the entire ceremony. She heard Alex say his vows. His voice, smooth as velvet, washed over her and soothed her, yet the past continued to pummel her so she kept her gaze down. When it was her turn to speak her vows, she started them, only to feel the lightest touch of a finger under her chin and then an upward nudge. She lifted her head and met Alex’s dark-brown eyes.
“I would see yer face as ye become my wife,” he said, his voice low but intense nonetheless. His words did not sound like a command, though. She’d been commanded enough to recognize the difference in the way the words fell on her ears. His was a request, gentle and almost beseeching. Her heart squeezed as she nodded. She quickly said her vows as instructed, with the king looking on from beside the priest and her family at her back.
When she was finished pledging herself to Alex, the priest pronounced her his wife, and her brother Lachlan called out, “Ye must kiss to seal the marriage with good fortune!”
Her eyes went wide as her breath caught in her chest. She was going to embarrass herself! She was already trembling, and her palms were damp. Alex’s gaze darted to the king, and the king nodded, as if commanding Alex to kiss her. It was plain to see that he did not want to do so, and it left her feeling as if she were floundering in the loch during a great storm. Alex’s jaw had tensed at the king’s nod. His earlier words of being drawn to her like a bee to honey mocked her. He must have been trying to make her feel less awkward by being kind, and it had worked. How very clever of him.
But now things were different. Now he was stuck with her as a wife. Her embarrassment suddenly turned to fury—not so much at Alex but at Findlay that he had made her such a sniveling creature. She didn’t want to be this way. She wanted to have the same spirit standing in front of a man that she had around women. She reminded herself of a scared hound, and it burned her gut and throat. Alex turned to her, his achingly beautiful face tilted down to hers. Aware the king was likely waiting for Alex to obey his command, her gaze darted toward him, but the sheer size of Alex’s massive shoulders and his towering height blocked her view of the king and Father Murdock.
Alex drew closer, and her pulse sped up as his heat washed over her and a faint scent of pine tickled her nose. He raised his hands slowly, but even the care he was obviously taking did not stop the beat of her heart from taking to a gallop. But she clenched her teeth and fisted her hands, determined to stand still and not flinch when her husband—dear God above, this commanding man was her husband!—touched her.
Caution flickered in his eyes as he slid one of his hands around her waist to press his fingertips to the small of her back. She sucked in a sharp breath between her now parted lips, as his fingertips curved to her spine in a reassuring way. His touch was so exquisitely light and undemanding. It was nothing at all like Findlay’s had been. Still fear beat harshly in her breast put there by her past, but hope still threaded through it.
His other hand came to the nape of her neck, almost like a breeze against her skin, and then he leaned close, his lips barely grazing hers. Yet as the heat of his lips brushed across hers, something tugged deep within her belly and the blood pounding in her brain made her knees tremble. His mouth pressed near her ear, and he whispered, “Dunnae lose faith in me.”
He drew away before she could respond, but his urgent plea rang in her ears and sent worry rushing through her veins.
“I dunnae doubt ye disappoint yer bride with that kiss,” the king boomed, making Lena jerk at his words.
Alex’s nostrils flared as he cocked an eyebrow, an arrogant look sweeping his face. She frowned. She had never seen him appear pompous before, and she didn’t care for it.
“I did as I was ordered, did I nae?” he countered.
Lena gasped at his words, which both struck like a blow and made her worry about what the king—and his quick temper—might do.
“Alex!” Bridgette cried out.
He flicked his gaze to his sister momentarily and seemed to stiffen, but then he turned back to the king.
King David glowered at Alex. “I tire of yer insolence, MacLean. First ye argued with me over this marriage, and then ye offend the MacLeod with this show of distaste for his sister.”
The swell of pain mingled with shame put an ache in Lena’s breast.
“I’m certain,” Iain growled while moving from behind Lena to stand face-to-face with Alex, “that Alex is well pleased with his marriage to my sister. Are ye nae?” he demanded.
Iain’s dark look frightened, irritated, and embarrassed Lena. She refused to be thought of as a helpless woman her brothers needed to protect. “His kiss did nae disappoint me,” she said in as firm a voice as she could manage, hoping to end this conversation before any more was said. She stole a glimpse at Alex and found him staring at her with a look that she would vow was admiration. But that made little sense to her. He made little sense to her.
“I say the MacLean was insolent,” the king barked, “and for this insolence, I hereby strip ye of Cairnburgh Castle.”
“It’s the taking of land as ye please that’s brought a rebellion to yer feet,” Alex bit out. Lena’s jaw dropped at his flagrant defiance.
The king’s face turned a mottled red, and his hands fisted in front of him. “Leave me now, before I have yer head for yer disloyal tongue.”
“Sire,” Iain interrupted, but the king turned a narrowed gaze to Iain while holding up a silencing hand.
“I am king,” King David said, his voice lethal. “Unless ye are prepared to challenge me for my throne, keep yer silence.”
Lena’s heartbeat galloped in fear. Of course her brother did not want the throne, but she feared what angry words he might say. She could see his jaw tense, and she imagined him clenching his teeth in an effort to temper his response. Marion set a hand to her husband’s arm, and they exchanged a quick look. When he visibly relaxed, Lena exhaled with relief. Iain inclined his head in submission to the king, though her brother’s gaze wandered to her and settled there with obvious worry.
“When I call ye from Duart to return to me,” the king continued, clearly addressing Alex as he stared daggers at him, “be prepared to bend the knee and fill my chests with two bags of gold as repentance.”
“As ye command, Sire,” Alex bit out. Then, in a manner completely surprising and unmatched to the anger he was showing, he placed a gentle hand against Lena’s back, and said in a low tone, “Come, Lena. I’m sorry to say my banishment includes ye as my wife.”
His voice, so sincere and apologetic, confused her. Publicly, he was behaving as if he didn’t want to be wed to her at all, yet he took such care with her when he handled her and seemed genuinely concerned about her feelings.
“David,” Iain said, “surely ye will allow my sister to at least gather her things before ye send her away with Alex?”
“Yer sister is free to stay if she wishes,” the king announced, surprising Lena and clearly surprising Alex. His mouth parted briefly, and then a fierce look swept his face and his lips pressed into a thin line.
She looked from Alex to her family. They stood clustered with tense looks on their faces. Her family represented safety but also unhappiness, for she was not truly happy at Dunvegan, nor was she whole. She did not have a real purpose here, though everyone kept assuring her she did. The silence stretched as she cast her gaze over her siblings and their wives, and then brought her focus to her husband, who looked dark and dangerous at the moment. They may not have wanted to wed each other, but they were married now. And while she still feared being touched, she could not deny that when Alex touched her, it inspired more than fear. That little bit of desire gave her hope, and she would choose hope, for without it, what was there to live for?
She swallowed as she kept her eyes locked with Alex’s. “My place,” she said slowly, “is with my husband.”
The moon was the only light in the sky as Alex gave the order for his men to begin rowing the birlinn that would ferry them home to Duart Castle. The Isle of Mull, where Duart stood, was off the west coast of Scotland and would take a fortnight to reach from Dunvegan. That meant he had a fortnight to hopefully ease some of Lena’s fears about being married to him, which required him to maintain absolute control over himself and distance from her when he slept. The latter would be difficult on the birlinn, but when he did take a bit of respite, he would do so away from her and have his clansman Donald stand guard to rouse him should the nightmares that often plagued him besiege him on the ship.
He trusted Donald completely. He had been his right hand since Alex had become the MacLean laird at fifteen summers when his father had died. Donald had been his father’s right hand, too. Donald was the only one who even knew Alex had nightmares. Not that Alex had told him. He shared his secrets with no one. He’d merely made the mistake of sleeping too near the man on a journey once, and had nearly choked Donald to death when he’d rolled into him.
Once Donald had managed to pry Alex’s hands from his neck and awaken him, Alex had steeled himself for Donald’s questions about the nightmare, but the man had never inquired. The only thing he’d ever said in reference to the nightmares that led Alex to believe he might have revealed more that night than he would ever wish, was when they had been at a feast with the Steward and he had mentioned his “honorable brother,” Gillis, who was long dead at the time. Donald had turned his head and spit toward the ground, a gesture they all used to show dislike of a dishonorable man, and then Donald had mumbled, May the sick bastard rot in Hell. Alex had seen and heard it, though no one else had. His eyes had locked with Donald’s, but Alex had not discovered pity or disgust in their depths. He saw nothing there but admiration, and their bond had grown stronger ever since.
The oars creaked as Alex’s men rowed away from shore, Dunvegan still large against the moonlit sky. The wind blew over his skin and cooled him from the heat of the work it had taken to prepare the ship on such short notice. The night was the coldest they had seen in a while. Summer was at an end, and fall was fast approaching. He looked toward the back of the birlinn to find Lena. She stood over Marsaili, who had offered to come with Lena to Alex’s home so Lena would have a friend. Marsaili retched over the side of the boat as Lena held her hair back. She helped her half sister to stand some moments later, before leading her to a pallet of blankets and aiding Marsaili in lying down. Seconds later, Lena strolled back to the back of the birlinn. She stood alone, her back to him—to them all—as she no doubt watched her home disappear.
A yearning to go to her, wrap his arms around her, and offer her comfort gripped him, stunned him. The tenderness she was able to bring out in him was strange and new. He was unsure how to handle it, given his past and hers, and he was uncertain if that tenderness could ever extend into the night and into his mind when he slept. His doubts pressed down on him, so he stood watching her from a distance.
He knew she was sad. He’d seen her lips tremble as she said farewell to her family, but she had not shed a tear. She possessed such bravery, though she often seemed timid around men. She had to be strong to have survived what she had. She was curious about him, too, and that gave him hope. He’d felt her watching him as he exchanged his own tense farewells with her brothers, who he knew were baffled by and angry about what had occurred with the king. He’d hoped to have a private moment with Iain to try to reassure his friend that he would take good care of Lena, but King David had ensured there was no time for Alex to draw Iain away. Moreover, the king had ordered one of his guards to stay by Alex’s side, which Alex suspected was because the king feared Alex might break his earlier vow to keep silent about their deceit.
David need not have worried. Though the desire to explain all to Iain and his brothers burned in Alex’s gut, he would never betray a vow to the king, who he had sworn to serve for the rest of his life. It vexed him to think those who knew him best might actually think he would forsake his king and his vows, and that he would ever treat Lena as anything other than the gentle creature she was.
Even his own sister, who he had assumed would support him, had tried to box his ears and snapped at him, telling him he’d have the devil to pay from her if he hurt Lena. Of course, he knew well it looked as if he was being heartless and disloyal, and that pricked him something fierce. His da had always said that loyalty and honor made a man, and Alex always tried to live up to the high standards his da had set. Alex had done his best to watch over Bridgette and raise her well after their mother and father had died. At first, he’d thought to shelter her, knowing from experience the evil men that lurked just outside the safety of their home, but Bridgette had proven too headstrong and determined to be sheltered. He was glad of it, in retrospect. If she’d not been the brazen lass that she was, she’d never have survived the horrors she’d endured at the hands of Colin Campbell. Thoughts of Bridgette’s forced marriage and abuse from the Campbell clan turned Alex’s mind abruptly back to Lena.
He focused on her once more. Her shoulders were hunched forward, whether against the wind that had increased or out of sorrow, he didn’t know. He moved to go to her, to give in to the urge, but hesitated. Would she welcome his comfort or would it make things worse for her? He wanted to touch her, but he knew it scared her. She had shown some signs of finding his touch pleasing, though.
“Dunnae let yer demons put a divide between ye and yer new wife.”
Alex turned to find Donald standing behind him. The man was a few inches shorter than him, with silver hair and a silver beard. His sharp gray eyes studied Alex.
“It is nae just my demons, Auld Man,” Alex replied, using the teasing moniker he often did when speaking to Donald, who was fifteen summers his senior. It was one of friendship and not contempt.
Donald scrubbed a hand across his beard. “What happened to her?” he asked, jerking his head to indicate Lena, his deep voice almost a grumble.
Alex’s chest squeezed. “She was married to a man who abused her something fierce.”
“So was yer sister before Lachlan, and it did nae stop her from wanting to be near him once they were married. What makes ye believe yer new wife dunnae wish for yer company?”
Alex glanced around to ensure no one was near. All his men were concentrated on their assigned tasks on the ship, all the men except Broch MacLeod, that was. Iain had insisted Broch join them, no doubt because Iain was unsure what was going on in Alex’s head that made him behave so unlike himself. Alex wasn’t angry that Broch was there, even if the man was staring a hole through him. It was good he would be accompanying Lena to Alex’s home. It may be that he’d need to send Lena back to the safety of her brothers if anything went wrong once he went to the Steward’s home, and Broch could take her for him.
“Did ye hear my question?” Donald demanded, twisting his face with an impatient look.
Alex fought against a smile. He liked that his men were not afraid of him. He’d striven for it to be that way. One of the most valuable lessons he’d learned from his da—and that also played out before his eyes during his time as an apprentice to Gillis Stewart—was that fear did not earn true loyalty. Fear gave a man obedience until the men that feared him grew strong enough to defy him. Fear did not create bonds but severed them. His da’s men had been loyal through good and bad, certainty and uncertainty, because Da had been fair and just, and had treated them with respect. Gillis, however, had treated those he’d apprenticed as worthless animals who were there for his pleasure and bidding, and Gillis had died by the hands of one he sought to use.
“Alex?” Donald asked, concern threading his tone.
“She fears a man’s touch,” he finally answered, rubbing at the knots in the back of his neck.
“Ahh,” Donald said, drawing the word out. “Then touch her with care, but touch her ye must.”
Alex nodded. He knew it well. They were not bound in the eyes of the church nor the king until Alex joined with her, and if they were not true husband and wife, other men, such as the Campbells, could still try to lay claim to her. Though, they would have no way of proving Alex had not joined with her since she’d been with a man before. The reminder filled his mouth with the bitter taste of hatred for Findlay.
“I’ll make her my wife by God’s law, but nae tonight,” Alex said. “I fear she’d sooner throw herself into the loch than allow me to make her mine.”
Donald quirked his bushy eyebrows. “Sounds like ye need lessons on how to properly woo a lass, then,” he teased.
Alex chuckled, but then it suddenly occurred to him that he actually never had attempted to woo a lass. The longest relationship he’d had—though it was more of a torrid, repeated joining than a relationship—had been with Euphemia, Gillis’s widow and now the Steward’s wife. There had been no wooing between them, only a recognition of a mutual darkness and desire. The other women he had taken to his bed had come there not by wooing, but by seduction. To him, there was a distinct difference. Wooing seemed to inherently involve tender feelings, and he’d never had those emotions for a woman before. Dark carnal desire, yes, but the wish to kiss a lass gently, run his hands through her hair, or simply hold her hand had never been something he’d had thought to do. But now…
“Are ye contemplating how to woo yer wife?” Donald asked with his usual bluntness.
“Aye,” Alex admitted. “I do believe I’ll start now,” he murmured as he pushed away from the side of the ship and walked toward Lena.
She did not turn as he approached, so he cleared his throat in an effort to break into her thoughts but not scare her. She swiveled sharply, her eyes wide in the darkness. “I wondered if ye would come near me tonight,” she said clearly, surprising and pleasing him with her candor. He’d never had much use for subterfuge, which made his current assignment all the more ironic.
He frowned. “Why would ye believe I’d nae come to ye?”
She bit down on her lower lip as she tilted her head. “I ken ye felt ye had nary a choice but agree to marry me.”
“The words ye speak are true,” he said, wincing when she hissed in a breath. “But,” he rushed on, “I dunnae find ye displeasing, Lena. I—” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I dunnae feel I will be the best husband for ye.”
A half smirk twisted her lips. “And what sort of husband do ye feel would be best for me?”
“A gentle one,” he said immediately, relieved to have some of his fears out in the open. Some would always remain hidden, though. Never would he reveal his darkest secrets to her. He could imagine her horror, or even disgust, and he could not bear to see that on her face.
Her brows drew together, and she frowned. “Ye seem gentle to me,” she said softly.
Her admission didn’t surprise him. She knew not the demons that haunted him in the night. He needed to warn her, though. “Men are nae always what they appear, Lena.”
She shuddered as she moved a step away from him. “I ken that well, Alex. Or do ye forget I was married to Findlay? He could simper and fawn in front of others, but alone in his bedchamber—” She shook her head almost violently.
Driven by rage at Findlay and a need to make her understand he would never deliberately hurt her, Alex reached out and grabbed her arms to pull her near. She let out a guttural cry and drove her knee up toward his groin. Thank merciful God above that her heavy skirts hampered her speed. He stopped her from connecting with his manhood a whisper from his skin.
Holding her knee, he looked into his wife’s frightened eyes. “My bollocks just ran and hid for survival.”
Her lips parted, but then she snapped her jaw shut and turned her face from him. He gently released her, studying her stunning profile as she stared out at the loch. The water lapped against the birlinn, and the breeze gusted around them, a warning of turbulent weather to come. Seeing her shiver once more, he stripped off his plaid but did not dare lay it on her shoulders. He’d not been joking about his bollocks. They’d tightened painfully in defense of being struck, and he’d not chance fate again.
“I’m glad to see ye’re nae afraid to guard yerself,” he said as a way of breaking the silence and hopefully easing her embarrassment.
“I was nae ever afraid,” she said in a hard voice. “Just nae a clot-heid. I kenned well my limits against Findlay, and I learned when to simply submit to the abuse he wanted to heap on me.”
“If he were still alive, I’d rip out his heart with my bare hands,” Alex said matter-of-factly.
She turned to him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “That’s rather barbaric of ye, but I find I like that ye would do so. I wonder,” she said, “does that make me barbaric?”
“Nay. That makes ye long for justice. Lena?” he asked, when she looked away again.
“Aye?”
The one word was cold, and he could sense her withdrawing from him. “Look at me, please.”
Again, she slowly turned her face to him, and the sight of her filled him with wonder. She was exquisite in her vulnerability and her defiance as the two combated for dominance over her. He could see it in the stubborn tilt of her chin and the way she nibbled on her lower lip. “I will nae ever knowingly hurt ye. I vow this upon my life.”
She pursed her lips for a moment before speaking. “There’s hurting the heart and there’s hurting the body. Which are ye vowing to nae do knowingly?”
He smiled at his very exact wife. He had not known she possessed that trait until now, but he liked it very much. “Both,” he said. Yet as the word left his mouth, he knew it partially false. His mission for the king would hurt her, and he knew it. But he had no choice, and he could not tell her because of his vow. Somehow, he had to make her keep faith in him when the time came that she would surely lose it. Guilt washed over him, and he held up his plaid to both offer her warmth and garner time to decide how to proceed.
When she nodded her consent, he stepped closer to her and slowly brought the plaid around her with one hand, using the other to situate it. Her silky hair slid against his fingers as he covered her delicate shoulders. He was acutely aware of every time his hands brushed against her, and his body responded with swift desire. Desire, he was painfully mindful, that could not be acted upon tonight. When his plaid was in place, she grasped each side and wrapped it more tightly around her.
He looked at her bundled in his plaid, her hair bunched up under the material, her eyes luminous, her lips parted, and the sculpted angles of her face shadowed by the night, and his heart tugged. He stilled with the feeling, unable to tear his gaze from her. This woman, this intelligent, proud, wary woman, was his wife. He was responsible for her happiness and her safety. He felt choked by the realization. He could not help but feel he’d been given a gift he did not deserve, yet she was his to keep and he intended to take as much care as possible with her.
Swallowing, he reached toward her. When he saw her flinch, he said, “I’m just going to release yer hair from being trapped under my plaid.”
She regarded him quizzically for a moment, but then she nodded.
“I feel like I’ve achieved a small victory,” he admitted with a smile, gently sweeping her hair out of his plaid.
When she looked up at him and smiled, warmth spread through him. “I dunnae mean to flinch,” she said, so low it was nearly a whisper. “I hope—” She started to turn her face away, but he caught her under the chin with a single finger.
“It would please me greatly if ye would look at me when ye talk to me,” he said taking care to temper his tone.
When she nodded again, he released her immediately. “I hope,” she said once more, “that someday I will nae flinch. It is nae ye. I believe ye when ye say ye would never deliberately harm me in body or heart.”
The guilt from moments before resurfaced like an enormous wall of water rising from a stormy ocean. “About that,” he said.
She frowned. “Aye?”
“I ken I may be harming ye soon in the heart,” he spit out, not seeing any delicate way of putting it.
“And how is it ye would be doing that?” Her hands came to her hips in an irritated gesture he recognized from his own spitfire sister. He didn’t mind it. He was actually glad to see some of the grit he knew was inside Lena finally being directed outward.
He could not offer her the truth, but he would get as close to it as he could. “I need to go see the Steward.”
“Why?” she fairly growled, but then her eyes popped wide. “Alex, surely ye are nae planning to take up with the Steward because King David took away yer castle. Ye kinnae do such a thing!”
“I’m nae taking up with the Steward. I vow it,” he assured her.
She looked at him with a distinctly suspicious look. “If ye are nae joining him, then why do ye need to go see him?” It was an accusation as much as a question.
“I kinnae tell ye the why of it, but ye must trust me.”
“Why, pray tell?” she demanded.
He opened his mouth to answer but realized he did not have a reason he himself would believe if it were given to him. Still, he needed her trust. “Because I ask it of ye as my wife,” he said simply.
“Do ye give yer trust so easily?” she asked, her words calm and steady.
“I have nae ever before, but to ye,” he said, struck by the certainty of what had come to him only now, “I will give all that I possibly can, whatever ye ask of me.”
“Ye have a clever tongue, Laird,” she said, rolling the l of his title in a way that made him want to tug her to him and slant his mouth over hers. He held himself in place by sheer will. “What say ye to that?”
“Some say I do,” he replied, as the notion to voice what pleasure he could bring her with his tongue danced at the edge of his self-control.
“I’ve heard the lasses talk about ye.” She gave him a worried look.
“And what did the lasses say?” he asked, certain he did not want to know but equally as certain he needed to discover what she had heard.
Gillis’s abuse had left Alex with such a deep feeling of being powerless that Alex had only ever joined with lasses who wanted him to have all the control in the bedchamber. The joining had often involved binds and submission to orders he gave, and always involved pleasure that danced on the edge of pain. He’d been careful with the lasses and chosen ones who he knew were above discreet. Even with them he had restrained himself, not taking the control as far as his tortured mind had screamed for him to.
Only with one woman, Euphemia—Gillis’s young wife at the time—had Alex fully unleashed the need to dominate that dwelled within him. He regretted it immensely, despite the fact that she was the very one who had first encouraged him to explore that need, telling him to bind her and not to be gentle with her. Flashes of the last time they were together years ago filled his head. She had begged him to whip her, and he had surrendered to her pleas. He flinched with horror at the memory.
Euphemia had been abused by Gillis, as well, but it had not been until the day Alex had succumbed to her desire to be whipped that he realized she had enjoyed Gillis’s abuse—thrived on it almost. It had been that realization that had driven him to break off his relationship with her. Yet, his need to dominate in the bedchamber remained. It was not normal—he knew it in his heart and in his gut—and it was not acceptable. It didn’t matter that the lasses he had joined with all desired such submission.
Lena cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to the present. She looked down at her slippers, causing her thick hair to shield her face from his view like a russet blanket. “They said ye were verra wicked, but apparently, they loved yer wicked ways.” Her voice rang with her embarrassment. Still staring down, she said, “Do ye mean to continue to carry on with the lasses?”
His mouth parted at her words as he stared at her. She had her toe pointed in her slipper, and she was tracing it back and forth across the planks, clearly agitated. He had only himself to blame. That was the God’s honest truth. He’d asked her to tell him what she had heard, and there was a part of him that had known damn well it might be something exactly as she’d relayed. His dark appetite was already shadowing his marriage, though thankfully, she did not seem to have learned of any details. Perchance all she had really heard was idle gossip and not real facts. “Nay,” he said, his voice raw to his ears. “I vow it.”
She looked up, uncertainty twisting her lips. “And if I kinnae satisfy yer desires? Do ye vow to be true to me still?”
The idea of asking his wife, who had endured so much abuse, to submit to him in the bedchamber and to tread the edge of pain with him, was unspeakable. He would control himself with her always and give only tenderness. “The moment ye became my wife, Lena, ye became the only woman for me. There is nae anything ye can do that will ever change that. I will be true to ye always.”
She nodded. “And I to ye,” she said fervently, then gave him a crooked smile. “Though as fearful as I seem around men, I doubt ye have a concern that I will forsake ye.”
Without thought, he reached out and brushed her hair away from her face and over her shoulder. She stilled, but she did not flinch. He smiled at the small bit of progress. Gently, he cupped her face with his hands. Her breath hitched and her nostrils flared, yet she did not try to move away. His wife was a warrior on the inside, and he was going to help her release the fighter once more. She would need to be strong and have faith in herself if the people of his clan were to listen to her and obey her commands. He could order them to, but then she’d never have their respect, and if anything should ever happen to him or if he was simply away and she required their aid, they needed to see her as a leader.
“Ye are so verra beautiful, Lena. I will always fash that men will lust after ye, but I will nae ever fash that ye would nae be true. Nae because of yer fear but because of this.” He moved his hand from her right cheek to her heart. Beneath his fingertips, the frantic beat of her emotions thundered. Yet he pressed on with determination to forge a bond that would soon be tested to its limits. “Yer heart is pure.” Tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks, and he wiped them away. “Why do ye cry?”
“Fear and hope, I suppose,” she said with the candor he now knew to expect from her.
“Let us pray hope wins.” He released her and held out his hand. “Come,” he said, leaving his hand extended as if she had taken it a thousand times. “I imagine ye are hungry and tired.”
She glanced between his face and his hand and then slipped her smaller hand in his. An intense emotion he could not name flared through him. He looked down at her and closed his fingers firmly around hers. “I’m afraid what we have to sup on aboard the birlinn is rather meager.”
“Och!” She offered a dismissive gesture. “I once went a week eating only crickets and such when I was put in the dungeon. Meager fare dunnae frighten me.”
A hard knot of fury formed in his belly. She was giving him little clues to her past treatment that he needed in order to understand her. He did not want to make her feel embarrassed by revealing such things, yet he needed to know if the Campbell laird had been aware of how his son had treated her. And if the man had, he would suffer.
“I presume,” he said in as casual a voice as he could muster, “that it was Findlay who put ye in the dungeon.”
“Aye,” she said, anger threading her tone.
“When Findlay treated ye poorly, what did the Campbell laird say?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That man is evil,” she growled. “He encouraged Findlay’s cruelty, though that dunnae excuse Findlay’s behavior.”
“Nay,” Alex agreed, his mind turning on how he would make the Campbell laird suffer for his crimes against Lena. “It dunnae. The Campbell will be held accountable for his hand in how ye were treated.”
“I dunnae see how,” she said. “The king needs his men, so David demands action nae be taken. My brothers all want to kill him.”
“I will find a way,” he vowed and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He blinked in amazement when she responded with one of her own.