If You Dare - Cole Kresley - Страница 24

• Предыдущая
• 24/68
• Следующая

She turned away, humiliated, but he laid his coarse hands on her cheeks and forced her to look up at him. At length, she said, "You are correct."

His eyes narrowed. He had the devil's own eyes. And when his face was drawn like this, the deep starburst scar below his temple whitened. When he'd first come to her home, she'd run her fingers over it. Tenderly. She was not being treated tenderly in kind.

"I'm not the lady I strive to be. Clearly I'm flawed. I might even be so improper that I would welcome one of these men into my bed, though I was meant for better." She pulled from his hands but still met his eyes. "But it would never be you, MacCarrick. Mai en la meva vida!"

"Never in your life? But it would be Pascal? Did you let him kiss you?"

She shut her eyes to that.

"Did you? Did he touch you?"

"No, but he will! And I'd let him before you any day!"

"You've just sealed your fate." His jaw tensed and his hands landed on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. "Because he will no' before I do."

He leaned forward against her pushing hands, and slanted his lips over hers. The kiss was punishing, forceful, the stubble on his chin scraping her skin until her eyes watered. "No!" she said against his lips as she struck him with her balled hands.

When he drew back, heeding her, as somehow she'd known he would, she wiped her lips. He watched her, brows drawn, then slowly raised his hand as if to brush her stinging face. She flinched.

Then he was gone, leaving her trembling and confused and burdened with more hatred that she'd ever grappled with in her entire life.

"I've heard you've been going to Llorente's room each night. What is this about?" Pascal demanded.

Olivia answered easily. "When I can't sleep, I enjoy plaguing him." Her face was cold.

He scrutinized her for a moment, then gave her a smile of relief. "I'd worried. Some women might find him handsome."

"He is weak. I could never see past that," she said in a steady tone. She'd learned to be like this when her relatives first sent her to live with Pascal. She'd been ten and had just lost her mother, Ysobel Olivia, who had been her entire world.

Her relatives thought her an abomination, and treated her as one, frightening and confusing her because her gentle mother had adored her and showed her how much every day. Compared to them, Pascal hadn't seemed so bad once she learned that he wanted her to be like him.

She'd excelled, fooled everyone, fooled herself, until that one night last spring just before they were to leave for Andorra when she'd overheard the servants whispering about her mother. They'd talked of Pascal and his three favored soldiers riding into her mother's village, smelling of "blood and evil." Pascal had been instantly besotted with the beautiful widow Ysobel.

As ever, he'd taken what he desired….

"Perhaps you will refrain?" he asked Olivia, though they both knew it was an order.

She looked him in the eye, making her face like marble, her expression blank. He liked that about her. He'd never know the secrets her mind held. Like how she knew that the night he took her mother, he'd been feeling generous.

"Of course, Papa," she said, though there was only a twenty-five percent chance that he was.

After a dinner where he ate little and drank nothing, Court joined Niall outside on the porch, sinking onto a rough-hewn bench. The night was cool and the moon cast light as if it were day. Shadows framed every corner and tree, making it impossible to relax.

"How's the lass?" Niall asked. "Specifically, what state have you put her in?"

Court shrugged. She wouldn't even look at him when he brought her food, just sat on that unwieldy cot with her knees drawn up to her chest, body tense, and eyes glittering with fury. Her chin was scraped from his kiss.

She should be furious at him; he'd behaved like the beast she thought him and had no explanation for himself, much less for her. He'd never lost control like that.

She'd said Pascal hadn't touched her and he believed her, but had he kissed her? Had Pascal shown more restraint than Court had? Likely. And she'd chosen him over Court. She probably found the man attractive. He scowled at the thought, knowing every woman would find him so.

"Do you think she's planning something?" Niall asked.

"Count on it, after her stunt at the riverside."

"You'd have done the same thing in her position."

"Aye, but that does no' help me now. She'll keep trying. Do I go in there and force her to believe her brother is dead? I'm a bastard, but I doona know if I can shake that into her. Besides, Pascal and his daughter have her fooled."

"Hell, Pascal fooled us."

Court couldn't argue with that.

"Listen, your brothers'll flay me if I let anything happen to you."

"No' again," he snapped as he stood to lean against a splintery pillar.

"The curse, Court," he said simply.

Walk with death or walk alone. They'd all heard it.

"You know you can never have a woman of your own. And still, sometimes you look at the lass as if you'd like nothing more than to keep her."

"I doona plan to."

"Things have a way of happening outside of our plans."

"No' to me, they doona. Never in fact. And I've got a book to prove it."

"Aye, the book. 'Death and torment to those caught in your wake,'" he quoted. "Do you think the lass truly will be safe when we leave her in France?"

"Does no' matter, does it? I broke it and I'll fix it, then it's done. I dinna sign on to be her lifelong guardian."

"The idea of leaving her behind is no' sitting well with the men. Both MacMungan brothers said they'd take her to wed right now, and more are on their way. Even Liam said he'd take her if we're just going to throw her away."

Court's answer was a cruel laugh. Annalia, being so unusual and vivid, would wither like fruit on the vine among the dour MacMungan clan. Liam could never control her. "The only reason they'd be infatuated is because they've never encountered anything like her before." He couldn't fault them for freeing her for a morning even as his ire grew just thinking about it. He was responsible for this—he'd brought a delicate foreign beauty among a band of coarse Highlanders. "I wonder if they ever considered her unbounded hatred of Scots?"

"Aye, she mistrusts us, and finds our ways strange, but her prejudice amuses the men. They know she's no' a spiteful lass, she just does no' know better. Hell, when they asked to touch her hand, she even shyly allowed it."

That made him gnash his teeth. "And how'd you find it, Niall?"

He hesitated. "Softer than I could conceive," he finally said. "But that's no' what's important. You ken she's never been treated like this, and if you'd be a wee bit more gentle in your dealings with her, she might no' be so quick to believe the things she's heard."

"Gentle? She was no' gentle when she bashed my head yesterday."

"She was afraid," he said, waving it away. "A woman like that needs to be cosseted, which she's no' been. I saw her face."

Court exhaled, then reluctantly admitted, "I doona want to be so with her." But everything about her made him crazed. Her feminine mannerisms, her accent, even the way she blushed all combined to drive him mad. In a low tone, he said, "I want to be different with her, but…I canna seem to."

"Then why do you no' just ride ahead to Toulouse? We can meet you at the posting house."

That thought infuriated him. "No."

"Why, Court?"

"Because I'm no' ready to be done with her yet."

"Christ, you can be a selfish bloody bastard. Sometimes I feel I doona even know you anymore."

"Of course, I can be. I'm still a mercenary and a killer. Hell, I'd sell my own sister. Is that no' what they say in the clan?"

• Предыдущая
• 24/68
• Следующая