Samantha James (15 page)

“Adultery?” His jaw tightened. His smile vanished. “Our marriage remains unconsummated,” he pointed out coolly. “In truth, ours has yet to be a valid marriage. We could still have it annulled.”

“And perhaps we shall.”

“We will not,” he countered immediately. “As for
the reasons why, I do believe we’ve had this discussion before.”

Glenda glared. She could find no suitable retort. “You are a womanizing rogue, Egan. Never did I realize how much of one until now!”

So. She thought him a rogue, did she? He took a curious delight in knowing that her mood was surely foul, for he’d been feeling rather sorry for himself—sorry and neglected. Was the kiss responsible? Nay. Surely not. A part of him scoffed. She spurned him, ever and always. Just when he thought she would yield—surrender all—a shield of iron went up, a shield he had no hope of penetrating.

“It did not take you long to find a mistress, Egan. Or is Belinda already one of many, like the pretty maids you left behind at Dunthorpe?” Glenda’s anger overrode all pretense of control. “What was it you said yesterday in the orchard? Ah, yes, I remember. You said ’twould be a good thing, that a man should think only of his wife. But clearly you haven’t the slightest regard for your wife. Well, I tell you now, Egan, I will not let you make a fool of me!”

Egan’s eyes glittered. His hands shot out, winding around her wrists and snatching her against him. “What! You are the one who dares much, methinks! You refuse me outright. You scorn me as if I were the lowliest of men. And yet you would have me be a husband, when you refuse to be a wife! Nay, do not dare to chastise me, Glenda. Do not dare to take me to task, for you are not the one wronged here!”

His lips were ominously thin, his expression awful to behold. Deep inside alarm clamored within her, warning her that he was not a man to toy with, but
Glenda was beyond caution. She struggled to free herself, but his grip only tightened.

“Oh, but you are a knave! Niall would never have done what you have done. He would never have treated me the way you do!”

It was a mistake, the wrong thing to say. Glenda knew it the instant the words left her mouth, for she felt the rigid fury that invaded every part of him. His dark features froze. He stared down at her, his face a cold, hard mask.

“Niall. Niall!” he said fiercely. “I am sick of hearing his name, do you hear? ’Tis
me
you are wed to, Glenda, and I am not Niall. I am Egan!”

Her gaze flew wide. Whatever she might have said, his seething expression jammed it back in her throat. Too late she realized she’d pushed him too far. Nay, there was no escaping the determined glitter in his eyes. There was no time to react, no time for speech. His features filled her vision, dark and terrible.

And then his mouth crushed hers.

There was something dangerous about him just now, something reckless, almost ruthless. Seized fast in his embrace, she decided almost hysterically that she possessed a knack no one else did…the ability to rouse the demons of anger inside him.

Lean fingers threaded through the length of her hair; they burrowed against her scalp, keeping her mouth captive beneath his in searing fusion. The corded muscle of his thighs bulged against her own…and so did the burgeoning swell of his manhood.

On and on he kissed her. Hotly. He kissed her as she’d never been kissed. Madly. With ravaging intent, as if he were starved and she were the most bounteous of feasts. He kissed her until the world eroded and she clutched at him as the only solid object in a wildly spinning universe.

He released her mouth…but he did not release her.

“Tell me who I am,” came the hoarse rush of his voice against her ear. “Tell me I am your husband.”

Her lips still throbbed. “You—you are my husband,” she gasped.

“What is my name?” His head moved so that he stared down at her. His expression was implacable. She could read neither fury nor triumph in it, naught but the fiery demand she sensed he would not forswear.

She swallowed. A hot ache filled her throat, making it nearly impossible to speak.

Egan’s jaw locked. “Say it,” he ordered roughly. “Say my name.”

The breath she drew was deep and shuddering. “Egan,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You are…Egan.”

Something snapped inside him then. A tide of scalding possessiveness shot through him. In one swift move he captured her in his arms. Four steps took him into his chamber. He slammed the door shut with his heel. Carrying her to the bed, his big body followed her down.

His heart thundered. Heat streaked through him. His rod felt ready to burst, thick and pulsing, straining to be free. With his eyes he sampled what would soon be his, carving a deliberate pathway down her body—lingering on breasts, belly, and the place where her thighs met. By God, she
would
be his. He ached with the need to mold his shaft against her, thrust deep inside her clinging heat. Soon, he promised himself, he would have her naked and writhing in his arms.

Raising himself slightly, he ripped off his tunic and trews and flung them aside. A hand alongside her face, his thumb beneath her chin, he urged her lips to his. His mouth was devouring and consuming, a
stark testament to the tumultuous emotions gone wild and ungoverned within him.

It was then he tasted the salty warmth of tears. Locked in the throes of desire that tightened every part of his body, he wanted to deny it. To ignore it and tell himself they did not exist. But something caught at his conscience, something that made his head come up.

Her cheeks were glistening and wet, her lips swollen and damp. Her chest heaved. Her breath came thin and shallow.

He bit back a scathing oath. “Why do you cry, Glenda?”

His tone was grimly demanding. Glenda sought to evade his regard—to evade him!—by turning her face aside. Egan’s grip on her chin tightened so that she could not.

“Tell me, Glenda.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I do not know,” she said faintly, and then it was a cry: “I do not know!” And indeed, she did not. In all truth, she didn’t know she wept until a tear leaked down to the shell of her ear. Lifting a hand, she dashed it away.

Egan’s jaw clenched. His regard was relentless, his temper unconcealed. “You want me,” he said fiercely. “You want me as much as I want you. Oh, you may claim differently, but I
know
differently. I’ve felt your lips part beneath mine. I’ve felt your very heart tumbling against mine! If it is not so, if you do not want me, if you feel nothing for me, then tell me—but tell me now!”

Time yawned, time with no end. The tension spi
raled ever higher as they stared into one another’s eyes.

“I cannot,” she said at last, her voice half-strangled, “for I do…feel something for you.” Her chest felt hollow and empty. She sought to rally the words, but none would come! “Don’t you see, I-I know not what to do!”

Oddly, Egan did understand. He knew then that he could not do this. He could not take her like this, not with anger and tears between them…and the shadow of Niall. She would hate him forever!

Then there was his promise to her. It was made in the heat of anger, but a promise nonetheless. He’d promised her that when he took her, she would want it as much as he.

Clearly she did not.

He was tired. Tired of losing. Tired of fighting a battle that could not be won. She did not want him. His lips twisted in self-derision. She would never want him, he thought blackly. Even as he told himself sternly he must accept it, he resented her bitterly for ever keeping him at bay.

Yet his desire remained unchecked…unquenched. His heart was pounding, roaring in his ears. His blood still rushed hot and scalding, pooling hot and heavy in his loins.

The taste of acrid bitterness was like some vile brew. “You know not what to do…well, I do, Glenda.
I do
. Ah, but I should have known what to expect. A woman reluctantly wed…will be bedded just as reluctantly! Deny me then. Deny me forever. But since you desist from giving as a wife should, then at least I will have this.”

He rolled to his side, bringing her with him, an arm about her back, even as strong fingers caught at hers. With unwavering intent she felt her palm dragged across the hair-roughened grid of his belly. He pulsed against her palm…into it. There was no withdrawing, for his hand clamped tight around hers, and hers tight around his burning shaft.

Her breath departed her lungs in a hiss. “Egan…”

His gaze cleaved into hers. “What! Do not be shocked, Glenda. Surely you know of such things! The night you first came to Dunthorpe…I wanted you then. Christ, all I could think of was you. All I wanted was you. But you were in Niall’s arms, in Niall’s bed! And so I did what a man must do when no other woman will do…when his body craves release…when he must gain his pleasure in the only way he can…”

The words were stark and raw. What he was doing was stark and raw. She was shocked to the core, stunned by what he’d said…by what he was doing…the way he moved her hand up and down his swollen, throbbing rod in a frenzied, shattering rhythm. His hips picked up the same frantic tempo…

“Christ,” he whispered. “Christ!”

His eyes squeezed shut. The cords in his neck stood out. His features were contorted, whether in pain or pleasure she couldn’t be sure. His breath harsh and scraping, all at once he reached for her hips, binding them tight against his own.

His back arched. A convulsive shudder wracked his body. Glenda buried her face against his neck, aware his passion had spent itself.

He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor in a jerky motion. Glenda sat up as well, pushing her heavy hair away from her face. She saw that the skin of his shoulders was covered with a damp sheen. Uncertain, she reached out and tentatively touched his forearm.

He jerked away from her. With a vile curse he was on his feet. In one swift move he donned his trews…and with them a stoic distance.

He strode to the door and flung it open. “Leave,” he said without looking at her. His voice was flat; it contained naught but a glacial calm.

Confused, Glenda stared at him, at the starkness of his profile etched in bitter reproof.

He swung back to her. “Dammit,” he said grittily, “is your hearing no better than Bernard’s? I want you to leave!”

Her heart constricted. There was a sharp, rending pain in her breast, but this time there was no hesitation. Smothering a jagged cry, she ran from the chamber to her own.

Though she longed to hide away in her chamber, Glenda did not. There was much to be seen to—the planning of tomorrow’s meals, beating the dust from the wall hangings, replacing the rushes with fresh ones from the marshes. Though she caught Nessa peering at her oddly once, the woman did not query her further. Indeed, what would she have said if she had! She got through the day by busying her hands that her mind would not dwell on…other things. She managed to steer clear of Egan, though late in the afternoon, she heard him shouting in the bailey.

It seemed his mood was little improved. With a feeling of dread coiling her middle, she went down to the evening meal.

Once again he was absent.

She was not inclined to linger afterward, but made her excuses and sought her chamber. She was exhausted, both mentally and from the physical toils of the day, and sought refuge in sleep.

Sleep…there was none!

Hours later, as wide awake as ever, she flung off the covers and moved to the window. Throwing open the shutters, she watched as moonlight showered down from the sky, washing the distant hills in a pale, silvery glow.

The morning’s encounter crept into her mind. She winced, thinking about it…and then she could not stop.

She could still feel the sharpness of jealousy, like a falcon’s talon tearing into her skin. Had he lied to her? All at once she wanted desperately to believe him, to believe that Belinda meant nothing to him, that he had indeed meant only to comfort her. Besides, he’d said he wanted her…Glenda…And the passion in his flaming kisses had not lied…

Aye, it hurt to think of Egan with Belinda—it hurt unbearably!—with any other woman! That was why she’d been so incensed. Otherwise, if she cared nothing about him, it shouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest.

There. She’d admitted it. She was jealous.

Of Belinda. Of Patsy, the night of Daniel’s wedding at Dunthorpe. She cared about him. She could not help it, for it was just as she’d admitted the night
they had arrived here at Blackstone. She admired him. She respected him. His pride. His honor. His skill as a warrior. All of those things, and more…there was no man more loyal to the clan MacKay than Egan. No man more dependable, or trustworthy…no man more
worthy
of trust.

What was it he’d said?
The two of us…’tis not the same as before
. He was right, she confessed, her heart knocking crazily. When had it begun? she asked herself dazedly. Perhaps ’twas then, the night of Daniel’s wedding…that moment in the dance when they’d come face to face…

Oh, aye, she cared about him. Far more than she should have…

Her conscience lent her no ease. Even now, she could feel his anger all through her. Even as the encounter had unfolded, she told herself she’d been wronged. That she was furious he would dare to impose his will over hers. And why? Because she was afraid. Oh, not of him, not of his power and strength. Nay, she was afraid of the way he made her feel. Because he made her feel things she’d never thought to feel for another man…for a man other than Niall!

She couldn’t forget what he’d said this morn. His voice thrummed through her brain.

You refuse me…You scorn me…You would have me be a husband, when you refuse to be a wife…You desist from giving as a wife should
.

Glenda cringed inside. Each word was an angry, bruising blow. Shame poured through her like boiling oil. Always he had been there for her. On their journey to Blackstone, he’d rescued her from Robin’s
clutches. It was then that she had confided she was beholden to him.

And aye, she was.

For whether she willed it, whether she wanted it, he had rescued her from the earl’s demand. From marriage to Simon, a man she neither wanted nor trusted. What did it matter that Nessa asked him to stay? True, he had gained much. But now he had far more to lose. Yet still he dared to risk all…and how had she repaid him?

It was just as he had said. She’d scorned him. Refused him.

An odd little pain clamped about her heart. She could not blame him. He was right, she acknowledged piercingly. She did desire him. Why, then, did she deny him? Why did she deny herself?

She felt as if she were in the midst of some violent battle, and knew not which way to turn. Should she stand her ground? Or surrender? And what then? What if she should regret it?

For if she yielded her body, what if he should demand her heart and soul?

Yet one thing stood out above all others. The boundary between them was of her choosing—a boundary that was proving intolerable, no matter how much she might have wished otherwise. They could not go on like this, either of them. She sensed he was like a brittle twig that would snap with the slightest pressure. Nor could she live with the thickening tension that mounted with every passing day.

Her mind made up, Glenda summoned all her strength, banished the demons of fear which threatened to rise up and steal her courage.

She approached his door and knocked, her heart thudding so that she feared it would surely give her away.

There was no answer. Yet she knew he was within, for she could see the flickering candlelight from beneath the door. She knocked again, this time more firmly.

The door opened. He was clad as he’d been when she left him that morning, only in trews. His chest was bare, matted darkly with a dense pelt of hair. Her mouth went dry, but she did not avert her eyes.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled suddenly. There was no smile in his eyes, only a chill that nearly sent her running back to her chamber.

But no. She’d come this far. “May I come in?”

“No,” he said bluntly.

Her eyes flew wide when he made as if to close the door. “Egan, please!” Pleading eyes lifted to his. “There is something we need to discuss, you and I.”

“What?”

“Our marriage.” In the face of his coldness, she floundered. “About…what happened this morning.”

He wanted to refuse. She could see it in the way his mouth compressed. Yet in the end he relented. Wordlessly he held the door wide.

Glenda stepped within. The heavy oaken panel creaked shut behind her. Even as she spied several bottles of wine on the table near the hearth, she was assailed by a strong scent.

When she turned, he stood directly behind her. “You’ve been drinking,” she said without thinking.

“Drinking, aye. But I am not sotted.” Would that
he was, he thought darkly. Would that it would take away the pain in his breast.