think?'
'Why did ye believe her over me?' he demanded. 'How
'Liar! I hate ye! Get out of my house!'
'Yer house? Yers? Nay, Cat. This house is part of the dowry your father gave me along wi ye. It belongs to me now, as ye belong to me.' He pushed her back onto the pillows and bent over her. 'Yer my possession, Cat, as is Glenkirk, as are my horses, and my dogs. Ye are something for my pleasure. A thing on which to breed my sons. Do ye understand me?'
She raised her arm. Catching a glitter, Patrick twisted aside as the arm moved down. He wrenched the little knife from her hand and slapped her face. 'A whore's trick, sweetheart! Is that what ye want? To be treated like a whore?'
'I'd be a whore before I'd be yer wife, Glenkirk! No man owns me! No man!'
He laughed. 'Brave words, lass. However, since ye've expressed an interest, I'll teach ye some whores' tricks. Ye've not begun to be facile in bed yet. Not enough practice. But I'll remedy that in the next few weeks.'
'What do ye mean?' Her heart was pounding uncontrollably.
'Why, my dear. Until I put my bairn in yer belly, ye'll nae go home to Glenkirk. I obviously canna trust ye to wed me till then. When ye ripen wi my son ye'll hae no other choice, will you?'
Standing, he swiftly pulled his trunk hose off, and then flung himself back on top of her. He found her angry mouth and kissed her cruelly. Sliding down between her legs, he pulled them over his shoulders and buried his head between her legs. Her cries of terror quickly became sounds of shamed desire as his velvet tongue stroked and probed her.
'Patrick! Patrick!' she cried. 'No! Please. Oh, my God. No.'
Desperately, she tried to escape the demanding mouth that sucked her, the insistent tongue that tortured her. His big hands held her round hips in an iron grip while he pleasured himself by sending waves of fire and pain through her. Sobbing, she tried to deny him the victory of her climax, but he forced her twice. Then, laughing, he mounted her and pushed deep within her to find his own release. She felt herself writhing eagerly beneath him. Finished, he rolled off her and said coldly, 'That my dear, was lesson number one.'
Crawling into a corner of the bed, she wept silently, her shoulders shaking with great sobs. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but Patrick Leslie was certain that the least sign of softening on his part would ruin everything. He didn't want to break her spirit, but he would be master of his own home.
For her part, Cat was too inexperienced to understand the subtle ways in which a woman can control her men without them knowing it. Patrick would have been surprised to know that her tears were not for what he had done to her, but for the fact that he had bested her.
He pulled her into his arms again and began to play with her breasts.
'No!' she protested.
He paid no attention to her, but instead crushed the softness in his hand. 'God,' he murmured against her, 'God, but ye've got the sweetest little tits I've ever known.' His lips caressed her fluttering belly, but when he went to move farther down she cried out.
'No! Not again!'
Laughing softly, he raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His hand forced itself between her legs, and his fingers played. 'Didn't ye like lesson one, sweetheart?'
She tried to squirm away. 'When I tell my father how ye've raped me, he'll kill ye!'
'Nay, hinny. He gave me his blessing to do wi ye as I pleased. He knows that in the end I will honor our betrothal agreement, and wed wi ye. That's all he wants.'
Cat knew Patrick was right, and it infuriated her.
He pulled her under him and kissed her bruised mouth until she cried with hurt. His lips turned soft, the touch of his swollen penis against her thighs spread them as her hips arched hungrily to meet his downward thrust.
Patrick Leslie laughed softly. 'By God, Cat, yer a hungry little bitch! I wonder if Fiona's as hot as ye are.'
Her fists beat against his smooth chest. He laughed again, and then slowly went about the task of reducing her resistance to compliance. At last he fell into a deep sleep. Since there was no way she could escape him at that point, she fell into a sleep of her own.
In the early hours of the morning he woke her and took her again. Her young body ached from the unaccustomed activity. Understanding this, he lugged a tall oak-and-iron tub into the bedroom and placed it before the fire. While she watched, astonished, he carried up caldrons of hot water until the tub was full. From somewhere he produced a cake of sweet-scented soap. Picking her up, he put her into the water.
'Ye smell like a brothel,' he commented.
'Then ye should be right at home!' she shot back.
He stripped the bed, threw the sheets out into the hallway, and remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented linens. Then he disappeared and returned a few minutes later bearing a goblet. She was out of the tub, sitting before the fire wrapped in a towel.
'Drink this.'
'What is it?'
'Sweet red wine, a beaten egg, and some herbs.'
It was delicious. Taking the damp towel from her, he picked her up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her naked body into the cool sheets and down coverlet.
'Go to sleep, hinny. It's been a long night for ye.' He bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
'Where are ye going?' she asked. Before he could answer, she was asleep.
Patrick Leslie gazed down at the sleeping girl and thought how much he loved her, and how frightened he had been-imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to her-when she fled him. He wasn't going to give her another chance to run, and he certainly would not tell her of his feelings towards her. Women were better off unsure. Too, he couldn't bear it again if she said she hated him.
He bathed, dressed himself, and went down to the kitchen. Conall rose from the trestle.
'Sit down, man,' commanded the earl. 'Ellen love, gie me a bowl of that oatmeal your brother's enjoying so.' She placed one before him. 'Conall, I want ye to ride down to
'I can both read and write, my lord,' said Ellen frostily. 'If ye dinna mind, I'd prefer to write to Lady Hay myself.'
'Very well, Ellen.' He smiled at her. 'Dinna disapprove, chuck. I do love her, ye know.'
'Did ye beat her, my lord?'
'Ten strokes on her saucy bottom. I'll be master in my own house, Ellen.'
'Only ten?'
'Only ten,' he replied. 'She deserved more, but I am a merciful man.'
'Aye,' agreed Ellen. 'She did deserve more. When she was a child, however, beating her did no good. She was always twice as defiant afterwards.' Ellen hoped he was paying attention.
'She's nae changed,' he chuckled.
Ellen wrote her message to Lady Hay and asked that she send several changes of undergarments, two soft linen shirts, half a dozen gossamer silk night garments from Cat's trousseau, a velvet dressing gown, slippers, and some cakes of sweet soap. Cat, fleeing Glenkirk, had thought to bring her comb and brush and the brush for cleaning teeth that her great-grandmother had taught them to use. She gave the list to the earl.
'It's not a great deal, but I'll be here to wash for her. This is easy to carry, and will nae weigh Conall down.'
'Good girl,' he said, and turned to Conall. 'Take Bana back to Glenkirk, and yer sister's mare also. The only horses I want here are our two.'
'Oh, my lord,' pleaded Ellen. 'Dinna take Bana from her. She loves so to ride.'
'She'll have her horse back when we return to Glenkirk. The more horses I leave here, the greater her chances of escaping me. I'll nae gie her that chance again. We stay here until she swells wi my child. Then I'll take her
