The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(42)

If only the memories were so easy to push away.

He dropped her arm, something in her tone penetrating his icy fury. He was the one person left in this world to know exactly why a man’s forceful touch was so repugnant to her.

Trying to maintain as much of her dignity as she could, she resisted the urge to walk away and faced him. “Was there something you wanted?”

His eyes narrowed at her cool, indifferent tone. “I did not object when my sister seated you at the dais.” She tried not to flinch, but the cruel reminder of their different stations stung. His face darkened, oblivious or uncaring of the pain he caused her. “But I will not have my Hall turned into a bordello.”

She was so shocked, she didn’t know what to say. She could only stare at the handsome face of the man who now seemed a distorted stranger to her. What he insinuated wasn’t possible—not for the man she’d known.

How had it come to this? How had something so wonderful become so twisted?

Because she hadn’t given him what he wanted?

“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said stiffly, trying to hold on to the shreds of her flagging dignity. “I do not understand to what you refer!”

He leaned closer, his dark-blue eyes flashing with a dangerous emotion she didn’t recognize. “I refer to the way you conducted yourself with a guest in my house.”

It took her a moment. “Do you mean Gregor MacGregor?” she burst out in astonishment.

His mouth tightened.

A gurgle of laughter rose inside her. The idea was so ridiculous. MacGregor was a handsome rogue, and she’d been flattered by his attentions, but it had never crossed her mind—

She gasped, understanding striking like lightning. He’s jealous. This man who’d shredded her heart to pieces was jealous. That was why he was acting like this.

He was a fool. An arse and a fool.

She drew up all the hurt he’d caused her into a ball of disdain. He didn’t deserve another moment of her time. He’d made his choice, and she’d made hers. “Next time I shall be more circumspect.”

She turned, dismissing him, and started to walk away.

But he stopped her, latching her arm again. “You aren’t going to deny it?”

If she weren’t so angry, she would have laughed at his boyishly incredulous tone. Her heart pounded, but she refused to look down at the hand wrapped around her arm. Refused to let him know how much it affected her. How she could feel the imprint of his fingers burning into her skin. How the hairs on her arms stood on end. How with every fiber of her being she wanted to curl against his powerful chest and let those arms wrap around her one more time. How her lips burned with the memory of his kiss.

“I love you, Muriel.” She heard the voice in her head again, but shut it down.

“I do not believe I have to explain myself to you. You are not my chief, my father, or …” My husband. Her chest squeezed. She drew a deep, ragged breath. “I do not answer to you.”

She should have known better than to challenge the power of a powerful man. Sir William, Earl of Sutherland, didn’t like being denied. His eyes flared dangerously, not unlike his hot-tempered brother’s. “While you reside on my land, you will answer to me.” His voice was as unyielding as steel, with no room for disagreement.

“Is that what you are going to do, bend me to your will? Would it make you feel better to have me under your thumb where you can control me? I would not give you what you want, so now you will bully me and order me about?”

“Jesus.” He dropped her arm as if she’d scalded him. “Of course not.”

For a moment she saw a glimpse of self-loathing before the cold, imperious mask dropped back into place.

They stared at one another in the fading daylight. The powerful man who wasn’t used to being denied and the insignificant woman who’d dared to deny him.

“I do not want you spending so much time with my sister,” he said after a moment. “It is …” He stopped. “It might give her the wrong ideas.”

How easy it was for him to hurt her. He didn’t even have to try. A few carelessly uttered words and she was skewered. How could he claim to love her, if he didn’t respect her?

The strength left her. She sagged, the fight gone out of her. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Just because you think I’m a whore doesn’t make it true.”

He swore, his icy facade cracking like the surface of a pond in the spring. “God’s blood, Muriel, I don’t think you are a whore.”

“No, you just wanted me to be your leman. A home, jewels, a lifetime of security, isn’t that how you put it? Everything I could wish for.” Except for the one thing that mattered. She looked up at him, this time unable to blink back the tears that slid down her cheeks. “You know the irony, Will? You didn’t need to make me your whore, I would have given you everything you wanted for free.”

She’d loved him so much. He’d learned the worst, and miraculously, had returned that love. She’d never thought it was possible. She would have given him anything. But then he’d ruined it.

He stiffened. “I wouldn’t dishonor you—”

She laughed then. The reasoning of men was such an anathema to her. Taking what she offered of her own free will was dishonorable, but setting her up in the position of his leman was not? Could he not see how badly his offer had hurt her? He’d put a name on what they had together and made it ugly.