“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 thelof 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.
Six
Lena woke from her dream in a cold sweat. Her eyes flew open, and she jolted up in bed, unsure where she was until a breath later when her sight grew accustomed to the darkness and she saw Alex.
