Page 45 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“What did you say?” Marjorie pulled her hands from his.

“I said . . . Ree . . .” Cormac raked a hand through his hair, fumbling for words.

She tamped down a surge of angry impatience. Now was not the time for the man to return to his silent ways. “Do you mean, we’re going to destroy the Oliphant in a different way?”

“No,” he said, his voice flat. “We’ll not be destroying anything.”

“Help me understand, love.” Surely he didn’t mean what he’d just said. He’d made her a promise. “Is it that you’ve found a different way to save the men?”

He shook his head mutely.

“Just tell me what you mean. What are you planning to do?” Her heart began to pound in her ears. Cormac just stood there, grappling for words. She read the regret on his face, and it spoke volumes.

The truth of it hit her: he wasn’t going to do anything.

“There are men still on board,” she said, incredulous. “ Scotsmen , imprisoned. We’ll save them, right? You must agree.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Ree.” He reached for her hands.

“Sorry?” She pulled away from him, feeling numb, unreal. “Are you saying you’ll do nothing?”

“Aye, Ree. I’m sorry.”

Frustrated, she shot him a look. “Stop saying sorry. Tell the men in shackles, Cormac. Tell the men imprisoned on that boat, who’ll never see Scotland or their families again, tell them you’re sorry.”

He stood silently, buffeted by her angry words. It only piqued her anger more. That he didn’t argue back meant he wasn’t going to do anything to help.

“I thought we were of the same mind,” she said, edging away.

He stepped closer to her. “We are of the same mind.”

“Then why?” She paced to the hearth, staring blindly at the fire burning in the grate.

“Don’t you have any explanation? More than no, Ree, sorry ?

” Her voice rose, anger, confusion, and betrayal all roiling inside her.

He was completely closed off from her. “Has it become impossible? I’d understand, Cormac, just give me a reason. ”

“I think . . . I think we should investigate further . . .”

“Investigate? Investigate what ? The Oliphant has a load of prisoners in her hull, their only crime that they’re too poor to matter. They’ll set sail any day. What more do you need to know? Just give me a reason why.”

“I can’t. I just . . . I no longer want to destroy it, Ree. That’s all I can say.” He came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

His touch was tentative, and she was too numb to move away. “You promised me,” she said bleakly. “I should’ve done it myself. I’ll need to do it myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said, outrage in his voice.

She spun to face him, galled that he’d use such a tone with her. “You can’t order me about.”

“I’m sorry, Ree,” he said, and the look on his face was one of helpless anguish.

Men. She was the one who was helpless, she the wronged one. Men were such inexplicably foreign animals. She’d prick his male pride, she decided, and perhaps that would get at the truth. “I don’t understand,” she said coldly. “Help me understand. Is it that you’re unable to do it? Afraid, even?”

“Of course I’m able . It’s just that . . .” He hesitated, perhaps realizing he’d just admitted he could help her if he wished.

The breath whooshed out of her, as another answer occurred to her. “It’s because you don’t love me enough.”

“That is not the reason,” he said vehemently. “Not nearly. I want us to be married.”

“You want to marry me instead of destroying the slave ship?” She put her hands on her hips, trying to discern truth from invention. “Is that a marriage proposal?”

“Aye, Ree, it is.” He opened his arms before him as though entreating her.

She no longer knew what to believe. “Are you asking me to marry you because you feel guilty you won’t do this for me? Or perhaps it’s simply to divert my attention.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly.

He was acting guilty, and her stomach turned. “Do you speak of marriage because you feel guilty you’ve taken my virginity? Is that it? Is this proposal merely your mislaid sense of duty?”

The truth of things came to her in a rush of clarity.

Cormac had never told her he loved her. She’d been the one to speak the words.

What he felt was simple attraction—his passion for her didn’t extend from his body to his heart.

He’d surrendered to his passions, and now he acted merely from a sense of duty.

Horror and embarrassment overwhelmed her. She was an obligation to be minded.

She’d fooled herself all this time—she’d never be his.

She could accept his proposal, make Cormac lawfully hers.

Unutterable sadness filled her—she ached with it—because she knew she couldn’t say yes.

She’d always dreamed of being Cormac’s wife, but she had her pride.

She needed to be the bride of his heart, not simply his bride in name. “No, Cormac. I cannot marry you.”

“But I love you,” he said, and his voice cracked.

She wavered for a moment, wanting it so badly. Wanting his words to be true. But she couldn’t trust them. His promise had proven untrue. How could he love her when he didn’t care enough even to pretend to help her?

She shrugged. It was his guilt that spoke, not any love for her.

He mistook her shrug. Perhaps he thought it was assent, but he leaned down to kiss her tenderly on each cheek.

Her body hummed to life at his touch, and she despised herself for it. Was she so helpless to him? She felt tears burn in her throat. If she were ever to regain her dignity, she’d need to part from him.

He cradled her neck, and she clenched her eyes shut tight. There was such strength in those broad hands, and yet their touch was so gentle.

She couldn’t help opening herself to him, and his kisses grew fervent. Panic drove his passion, she decided, panic at the potential for duty denied.

When she pulled away, his blue-gray gaze was waiting for her. It was a gaze that made her heart break and her body ache with two very different kinds of wanting.

She couldn’t fight it. She’d enjoy this for what it was—physical passion—one last time. “Kiss me more.”

“I will, love,” Cormac said earnestly. “I will. I’ll kiss you again and again.” He swept her up and carried her to the bed where he laid her gently down. “But first tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll marry me.”

Her flesh had awoken, and she writhed against him, trying to pull his body over hers. One last time. Her throat ached with the knowledge it’d be their last time together. “Kiss me. I want you to be inside me.”

“Not until you say the words,” he said, his voice husky. “Not until you say you’ll be my wife.”

“I won’t say those words.” She pulled away from him as all her hurt and shame erupted to the surface.

She couldn’t do it, couldn’t lie to him, and making love would be a lie.

She couldn’t pretend she could experience passion without emotion.

“You broke your promise to me, and instead of giving me a reason, you think to distract me with a marriage proposal. You toy with my heart as though I’m still a girl of ten.

No, Cormac,” she said, cursing the crack in her voice.

“You’re just as they say. You are the devil. ”

He sat up, and the look he gave her was bleak. “Then you should’ve known better than to trust my black soul.”

They both startled at the banging on her door.

“What?” She bounded off the bed. Anything to get away from him.

Fiona spoke urgently from the other side of the door. “Sorry, mum. So sorry. But the—”

Marjorie flung it open.

“So sorry.” Fiona stared, wide-eyed, looking from Marjorie to Cormac and back again. “But I wanted to warn you. You told me to keep my ears open for talk of the bailie. But he’s here . Now. In the drawing room with your uncle.”

“The bailie is here?” Panic flared in her chest. If only Cormac would help her deal with the situation. And now it had appeared on her own doorstep. She prayed she wasn’t the one who’d led the bailie to her uncle’s. “What ever could he be doing here ?”

“He is a respectable man in society, Ree.”

Her focus shot to Cormac, seated at the edge of the bed, chin in hand. She glared at him, not particularly eager for his opinion at the moment.

Even though she knew he was right. It could be a matter of a simple explanation. “Did you hear him say why he was here?” she asked her maid.

“No mum, he just bustled in, him and that wife of his—”

“His wife?” Marjorie shuddered at the memory of rumbullion and hideous women in feather-plumed hats. “Adele is here, too?”

“Aye, and a nasty piece she is,” Fiona muttered, and then her jaw dropped, appearing shocked she’d spoken aloud.

She ignored Fiona’s comment. Her maid’s peculiar muttering was to be expected, and Marjorie had only one concern at the moment. “Did they ask for me, or are they here only for Humphrey? Tell me, Fiona, are the children safe?”

“Aye.” Fiona straightened proudly. “Archie came and took them all.”

“What?” Marjorie gasped, stumbling backward into the wall. She propped herself against it, her fingers feeling cold and drained of blood.

“He came to pay a visit. He told me he wanted to help, and took the lads with him back to Saint Machar.” She fiddled nervously with her apron. “I didn’t do wrong, did I?”

Cormac flew from the bed, strode by them to the door.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. A clammy chill prickled her skin all over. Archie had the boys, Archie took Davie. She forced herself to stand upright. She went to grab her wrap from where she’d tossed it on a chair. “I’m going with you.”

“You canna!” Fiona gasped. “It’s almost full dark outside.”

“Aye,” Cormac said, his voice steely. “Listen to the maid. You can’t leave. Lock yourself in. Open for none but me or Fiona.”

Their eyes caught, and time held still. The gravest of looks crossed his face, as though he’d come to a great decision.

“I’m going to make this right,” Cormac said, and he stormed from the room.

But Marjorie knew she wouldn’t be there when he returned.