and introduced themselves, and of course all the names had sounded the same. She exhaled wearily. 'Mac- something.'
'An entire morning with the crew?' His tone was deceptively calm and all the more terrifying for it. 'They're no' a modest lot. Far from it. I bet you saw sights you'd never seen before.'
She felt her face flush, which seemed to make him even angrier. It wasn't as if she'd sought to watch brawny Highlanders without their shirts, sweating and fighting in the sun. But yes, she'd continued watching, even when one tripped another to the ground and she'd discovered that at least one Scot wore nothing beneath his kilt.
She'd watched not only out of dazed curiosity—she'd also been noting where and how they hit each other. 'I will concede that I saw…things a proper young lady should not.'
'A proper young lady, then?' he asked as he closed in on her. 'You've decided that I'm nothing but a lowly Scot and a brute, but I'm no' quite convinced what you are.' He grabbed her by the waist, making her cry out in surprise, then carried her to the table in the corner. When he dropped her on the edge, the wood snagged the material of the bath linen. 'Tell me, would a proper young lady kiss the first lowly Scot to come into her home?' He grasped her chin in between his thumb and forefinger. 'Would she clutch his shoulders so the brute would no' stop tasting her skin?' He put his lips directly by her ear. 'I doona believe she'd moan when he shoved himself between her legs and took her mouth.'
She turned away, humiliated, but he laid his coarse hands on her cheeks and forced her to look up at him. At length, she said, 'You are correct.'
His eyes narrowed. He had the devil's own eyes. And when his face was drawn like this, the deep starburst scar below his temple whitened. When he'd first come to her home, she'd run her fingers over it. Tenderly. She was not being treated tenderly in kind.
'I'm not the lady I strive to be. Clearly I'm flawed. I might even be so improper that I would welcome one of these men into my bed, though I was meant for better.' She pulled from his hands but still met his eyes. 'But it would never be you, MacCarrick. Mai en la meva vida!'
'Never in your life? But it would be Pascal? Did you let him kiss you?'
She shut her eyes to that.
'Did you? Did he touch you?'
'No, but he will! And I'd let him before you any day!'
'You've just sealed your fate.' His jaw tensed and his hands landed on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. 'Because he will no' before I do.'
He leaned forward against her pushing hands, and slanted his lips over hers. The kiss was punishing, forceful, the stubble on his chin scraping her skin until her eyes watered. 'No!' she said against his lips as she struck him with her balled hands.
When he drew back, heeding her, as somehow she'd known he would, she wiped her lips. He watched her, brows drawn, then slowly raised his hand as if to brush her stinging face. She flinched.
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling and confused and burdened with more hatred that she'd ever grappled with in her entire life.
Chapter Twelve
'I've heard you've been going to Llorente's room each night. What is this about?' Pascal demanded.
Olivia answered easily. 'When I can't sleep, I enjoy plaguing him.' Her face was cold.
He scrutinized her for a moment, then gave her a smile of relief. 'I'd worried. Some women might find him handsome.'
'He is weak. I could never see past that,' she said in a steady tone. She'd learned to be like this when her relatives first sent her to live with Pascal. She'd been ten and had just lost her mother, Ysobel Olivia, who had been her entire world.
Her relatives thought her an abomination, and treated her as one, frightening and confusing her because her gentle mother had adored her and showed her how much every day. Compared to them, Pascal hadn't seemed so bad once she learned that he wanted her to be like him.
She'd excelled, fooled everyone, fooled herself, until that one night last spring just before they were to leave for Andorra when she'd overheard the servants whispering about her mother. They'd talked of Pascal and his three favored soldiers riding into her mother's village, smelling of 'blood and evil.' Pascal had been instantly besotted with the beautiful widow Ysobel.
As ever, he'd taken what he desired….
'Perhaps you will refrain?' he asked Olivia, though they both knew it was an order.
She looked him in the eye, making her face like marble, her expression blank. He liked that about her. He'd never know the secrets her mind held. Like how she knew that the night he took her mother, he'd been feeling generous.
'Of course, Papa,' she said, though there was only a twenty-five percent chance that he was.
After a dinner where he ate little and drank nothing, Court joined Niall outside on the porch, sinking onto a rough-hewn bench. The night was cool and the moon cast light as if it were day. Shadows framed every corner and tree, making it impossible to relax.
'How's the lass?' Niall asked. 'Specifically, what state have you put her in?'
Court shrugged. She wouldn't even look at him when he brought her food, just sat on that unwieldy cot with her knees drawn up to her chest, body tense, and eyes glittering with fury. Her chin was scraped from his kiss.
She should be furious at him; he'd behaved like the beast she thought him and had no explanation for himself, much less for her. He'd never lost control like that.
She'd said Pascal hadn't touched her and he believed her, but had he kissed her? Had Pascal shown more restraint than Court had? Likely. And she'd chosen him over Court. She probably found the man attractive. He scowled at the thought, knowing every woman would find him so.
'Do you think she's planning something?' Niall asked.
'Count on it, after her stunt at the riverside.'
'You'd have done the same thing in her position.'
'Aye, but that does no' help me now. She'll keep trying. Do I go in there and force her to believe her brother is dead? I'm a bastard, but I doona know if I can shake that into her. Besides, Pascal and his daughter have her fooled.'
'Hell, Pascal fooled us.'
Court couldn't argue with that.
'Listen, your brothers'll flay me if I let anything happen to you.'
'No' again,' he snapped as he stood to lean against a splintery pillar.
'The curse, Court,' he said simply.
Walk with death or walk alone. They'd all heard it.
'You know you can never have a woman of your own. And still, sometimes you look at the lass as if you'd like nothing more than to keep her.'
'I doona plan to.'
'Things have a way of happening outside of our plans.'
'No' to me, they doona. Never in fact. And I've got a book to prove it.'
'Aye, the book. 'Death and torment to those caught in your wake,'' he quoted. 'Do you think the lass truly will be safe when we leave her in France?'
'Does no' matter, does it? I broke it and I'll fix it, then it's done. I dinna sign on to be her lifelong guardian.'
'The idea of leaving her behind is no' sitting well with the men. Both MacMungan brothers said they'd take her to wed right now, and more are on their way. Even Liam said he'd take her if we're just going to throw her away.'
Court's answer was a cruel laugh. Annalía, being so unusual and vivid, would wither like fruit on the vine among the dour MacMungan clan. Liam could never control her. 'The only reason they'd be infatuated is
