The Captive Heart

quickly, cruelly, then left me alone in that black chamber. And each time our coupling was swiftly accomplished so he might depart and return to the woman he loved. I am only fortunate I did not conceive his child.' Alix did not bother to tell the laird how her own father had protected her from that disaster. 'I found our time together unpleasant, and I did not like the coupling. My father told me that it is beautiful with someone you love, but I do not think I will take the chance of being hurt and degraded again. I don't want to be any man's wife again.'

Malcolm Scott nodded. The shock of what she had just told him actually hurt him. As he had previously thought, her husband was a fool. She was young, beautiful, and eager to be loved. The man's treatment of her had been nothing short of barbaric. 'I believe I might change your outlook of passion between a man and a woman,' he began slowly, 'but I should certainly not force myself upon you.'

'I know naught of passion, my lord,' Alix replied.

'And there is the tragedy,' he told her as he engaged her eyes with his. 'Can you give me your trust, Alix? Can you believe I will not harm you if I say it?'

'What do you want of me, my lord?' she asked him, realizing suddenly she was no longer afraid of him even though it was dangerous ground upon which they trod.

'To show you how sweet passion can be,' he said. Then, 'Give me your hand.'

Alix complied with the simple request, curious as to what he would do.

Malcolm Scott took the elegant little hand in his own big one. He admired it with his eyes. He raised it to his lips and slowly kissed the back of it with a warm kiss. Then he turned her hand over, exposing the palm, and placed his lips upon the open flesh moving with a lingering motion to the delicate skin of her wrist.

Alix's heart leaped within her chest at the touch of his lips upon her hand. She had never before experienced anything like it. Indeed it was startling to say the least.

His eyes met hers. 'And that, Alix, is but the beginning of passion,' the laird told her. 'I hope that you did not find it distasteful.'

She did not break his gaze, saying, 'Nay, I did not find is unpleasant, my lord.'

'Your husband had to have been a fool to have treated you so unkindly,' he said.

'I think he was more like a spoiled child,' Alix responded. 'He wanted what he wanted, and disdained whatever else was offered him.'

'With your permission I would like to introduce you to passion, Alix,' Malcolm Scott told her. 'I believe you will find everything I can offer you pleasant.'

'Ah, my lord, now I see you have not been deterred in your desire to seduce me,' Alix said. 'Is it so difficult to understand I never enjoyed the coupling?'

'There is more to passion than just coupling,' he replied. 'Let me show you. I will force nothing upon you, Alix, but I cannot allow someone as beautiful as you are, someone with such a warm nature and kind heart, to be denied the delights of passion. Your husband was cruel. I have never even used a whore as he used you.'

'But if I am to continue to educate your daughter, is it right that we should become lovers, my lord?' she asked him.

'My daughter must one day go to the marriage bed. Should it not be you who instructs her in its delights and pleasures so her lord will be well pleased? And how can you do that if all your memories are of a husband who hated and abused you?' he countered.

Alix had to laugh. 'It is an excellent argument you make in your wicked efforts, my lord. Have you studied the law, perhaps?'

Now it was the laird who laughed, but he grew sober again when she spoke.

'If I should allow you to demonstrate some of the aspects of passion to me, then you must do so discreetly. I will not have the servants gossiping, or Fiona distressed by what she might hear. I must continue to command respect in this hall or my usefulness to you, to your daughter, is finished. I am not certain this is a good idea, but since I can see you will not be satisfied until you have made your point, I will succumb to your blandishments provided that if I say nay, you will accept it.'

'Agreed!' he quickly answered her.

Alix arose from her place by the hearth. 'Then I will bid you good night, my lord,' she said curtsying to him.

He stood. 'Wait but a moment,' he said, reaching out with one hand to cup her face as he stepped near her. 'We must seal our bargain with a kiss, Alix.'

Her eyes widened. He gave her no time to think or even protest. His mouth descended upon hers in a deep, warm kiss that sent a shiver down her spine right to her toes. She had never been really kissed. Hayle's few attempts had been nasty, and his father's kiss repellent to her. This kiss was neither. Her eyes closed. Her lips softened as he plundered them tenderly. She felt his arm go about her waist and was grateful, for she wasn't certain she could stand on her own much longer. She sighed deeply as his kiss slowly concluded.

Then, as he put two firm hands upon her shoulders and gently pushed her back, Alix's green eyes flew open. 'I like your mouth,' he said softly.

'I did not know a kiss could be so delicious,' Alix told him honestly.

'Neither did I,' he admitted. The sweetness, the innocence of her, had surprised him. He could have kissed her again and taken her here before the fire, but he did not.

'Go to bed now, Alix,' he said. 'It is enough for today.'

She nodded, and turning, departed the hall. It had been enough for a lifetime, Alix thought as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. If she died in the night she knew now that his kiss would sustain her through eternity. She had not known! She had not known how wonderful a man's kiss could be. How good it felt to be held against a man's hard body and cherished tenderly. And she had learned that all with just one kiss! Flinging herself upon her bed, she wept with both happiness and sorrow. She was filled with sadness that her virginity had been so brutally squandered by Hayle Watteson. If a small kiss could bring about such emotions within her, what would giving herself to this Scotsman be like? Would it be heaven?

Alix sat up. Was she mad? Had the sweetness of his kiss wiped away her memories entirely? Nay, it had not! She shuddered as she recalled her husband mounting her without a word. Jamming his cock into her body with no care for the pain he caused her. She believed he enjoyed giving her pain, enjoyed punishing her for daring to be his wife when he had not wanted her. He had practically said as much one night as he thrust back and forth atop her while she pleaded with him to stop for he was truly hurting her. Her passage was dry, and his movement did nothing to improve it.

'Get yourself with child, you bitch,' he had snarled at her, 'and I shall gladly forgo your bed. But until you do I am bound to fuck you and waste my seed in your ugly body.' And he had renewed his efforts, putting his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries of pain when she could bear no more of him.

That was what she knew of coupling. Would being in the laird's bed be any different? And yet his kiss had been different. Alix swallowed hard. How could she ever consider coupling with a man after what her husband had done to her? The pain and the humiliation he had inflicted upon her. And yet if the kiss had been different, might not the other be as well? Still, to give herself to a man not her husband made her no better than a common whore. Yet the ladies of the court had dallied with men not their husbands. Wouldn't her sin be less for not deceiving a husband? She was a widow.

Alix took off her jersey gown, and taking the pitcher of water from the coals, she poured some into the little stone basin, washing her hands and face, cleaning her teeth with the little bristle brush that had been her father's last gift to her. After climbing into her bed, she said her prayers and then tossed restlessly before finally falling asleep. When the new day dawned she was no more near answers to all her questions than she had been the night before. What was she to do?

Fiona was excited with the longer days that were growing milder. Finally the laird gave his permission for them to ride outside the gates of the keep as the snow was almost all gone from the moors. He even decided to ride with them. Escorted by four men-at-arms they left the keep one midmorning. The laird's daughter was ecstatic when she was finally allowed to gallop her pony, her father's horse keeping pace with her. Her dark hair blew loose from its red ribbon, which blew across the moor, one of the laird's men cantering after it to retrieve it. He brought it to Alix and she thanked him.

Finally, as the horses all slowed to a gentle walk, they were approached by a small party of riders coming over a hill.

'God's nightshirt!' the laird swore softly. ' 'Tis my uncle the Ferguson of Drumcairn. He'll have another