The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(41)

She hated how weak she felt. How much she wanted to say yes. How easily he could make her forget herself.

Kenneth Sutherland wielded a power over her that was far more dangerous than the girlish infatuation she’d felt for her husband. The desire she felt for him was that of a woman, a woman who had learned exactly what he could do to her, and how it felt to experience the pleasure of passion.

But no matter how badly she wanted him, she would not let this control her. She would not let him control her. This too-handsome, too-arrogant warrior who didn’t think she could resist him. Who couldn’t even trouble himself to ask her to marry him but just assumed she would jump at the chance. Why wouldn’t she? Look at her. An unexpected blast of heat pricked her eyes.

For once she didn’t have to think about what her sister would do. She pushed back. “Let go of me!” Surprisingly, he released her. “How dare you manhandle me like that! I will not be bullied by you or anyone else into a marriage I do not want. I told you before I don’t want a husband, and as difficult as it is for you to understand, that includes you. Especially you.”

A glint of steel sparked in his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if I were ever to marry again, which I certainly have no intention of doing, it wouldn’t be to a profligate with a penchant for taking women in stables or storerooms.”

Though his expression betrayed nothing, she could feel the fury radiating from him in hot, pulsing waves. “I think you mean libraries.”

She flushed. “Be that as it may, we wouldn’t suit.”

“On the contrary, I think we suit quite well.”

The heat of his gaze left no doubt as to what he meant. He was right. Even now, the attraction snapped and crackled between them like wildfire.

But it wasn’t enough. “As you pointed out last night, what does that have to do with marriage?”

She forced herself not to wither under the intensity of his gaze. His voice when he spoke was deceptively calm, but she sensed he was one hair’s breadth away from snapping. “Are you saying you would be my mistress but not my wife?”

She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m saying I will be neither. I’m returning to England, and that is the end of it.”

She turned away, but not before seeing the dangerous white lines tightening around his mouth. He was struggling to control his temper, and she knew her dismissiveness was testing the limits of that control. She suspected it had been a very long time since someone had refused Kenneth Sutherland anything, and coming from a pinched sparrow of a woman past her youth, she wagered it stung. But she knew it was better this way. He was a fighter, and showing any weakness or vulnerability would give him a place to attack.

“And the king?” he said. “Have you informed Bruce of your intentions?”

“Robert understands my position. He knows I have no wish to marry anyone—Scot or English. Nothing has changed that.” When he looked as if he might challenge that point, she added, “He will not learn of anything else from me, and even were he to discover what happened, such interludes are hardly uncommon.”

His teeth clenched so tightly, she could almost hear them grinding. “Aye, I believe you’ve pointed that out.”

Something in his voice made her uneasy. If she weren’t certain it was his pride speaking, she might think her refusal had genuinely hurt him.

She picked up the veil that was lying on her bed like an albatross and carefully folded it. “Now, if you will excuse me. I need to finish packing.” She peeked out at him from under the edge of her lashes. From the way his muscles were bunched up at his shoulders and his fists were clenching and reclenching, she thought he might argue with her. Her heart raced; she needed a way to be rid of him. “Don’t you have a competition to win?” She glanced out the window at the stands, which even now were beginning to fill. “It looks like they will be starting soon.”

He took a step toward her, and she held her breath when he reached out as if to take her arm again. But he glanced out the tower window behind her and let it drop.

For a long moment he stared at her as if he wanted to say something. Say quite a lot of something, actually. But then, he seemed to think better of it. He gave her a mocking bow. “My lady.”

And in one hard tug of a heartbeat, he was gone.

She thought she should feel relieved, but standing there alone, the room suddenly empty, she felt a loss that didn’t make sense. Nor could she escape the feeling that she’d just made a terrible mistake.

Eight

Kenneth tried to keep his mind clear, but all he could see was red. His temper was running loose, and the heat of battle was only making it run hotter. He grabbed the fist that was heading for his face and twisted it behind his opponent’s back, hearing a satisfying pop.

Not in the market for a husband, damn it!

With a cut of his foot behind the heel of the man now howling in pain from a dislocated arm, Kenneth knocked the other warrior to the ground, pinned him with his foot (which wasn’t necessary, as he wasn’t intending to get up), and claimed his victory—the third of the long morning.

All she’d wanted was a quick tumble in the hay. He didn’t know why it was angering him so much, but he kept seeing those big eyes looking at him wide and unflinchingly. Knowingly.

Profligate? Bloody hell!