Page 47 of Taken By the Highland Villain
“I cannae fail anyone the way I failed Kendra and my maither. I willnae. That’s why… that’s why I cannae marry ye.”
Valerie’s eyes were oddly blank, her tone measured and almost cold, and her expression far too composed when she spoke, “Then, in three days—five at most—I will…”
“Ye dinnae have to. I will write to Laird MacKane. If he enters into an alliance with me, then Laird MacOlley cannae threaten his clan, and ye’ll be safe to refuse his demands.”
Valerie shook her head. “Clan MacKane might be safe, but Brigid and their daughter? Conall himself? His braither Oliver, his wife, and their son? Nathan would kill one or all of them with sneak attacks, knives in the dark, poison in their food—whatever way he could to see them dead or suffering the loss of their loved ones. He’d do it without hesitation, for sheer spite, just to leave the daggers of their deaths in my heart.”
From what he knew of Nathan Cullen, she was right.
Jude stepped closer. “Then say the word, and I’ll kill him first.”
Valerie stared at him. “And why would ye do that?”
Jude frowned, confused by her flat tone and the shadows darkening her expressive green eyes. “To protect ye. To help ye, of course. I cannae marry ye, but that doesnae mean I cannae take care of ye.”
He had hoped to see warmth in her eyes, perhaps a look of relief, or a smile of gratitude. He had not been prepared for her lips to curl into a bitter smile, before a laugh as sharp and cold as a knife in winter spilled from her lips.
He willnae marry me because he cannae protect me, or himself, if aught goes awry, and yet with his next breath he offers to kill a man in my defense, as if I were some damsel in distress?
Valerie hadn’t intended to laugh at him, but the sound spilled out of her, driven by bitter frustration so sharp that it was as if she’d swallowed willowbark and nettles without steeping them in tea to milden the taste.
He doesnae understand me at all, for all he acts as if he cares for me. And even with all his words, he still cares for me less than he cares for protecting himself against his own fears—fears he cannae even see are foolish and contradictory to the words he speaks at other times, or even his actions.
“I’m serious, Valerie. Tell me to help ye, to defend ye, and I will…”
“Ye will do what, Laird MacFinn?” She saw when the formality of her words hit their mark. “Offer more words, or promises and compromises that ye cannae be sure ye can even keep, or dinnae intend to?”
His expression darkened. “I never said I wouldnae keep my word…”
“But ye offered to help perpetuate the falsehood of our betrothal—a betrothal ye dinnae intend to accept—by writing to my kin. It is close enough to the same thing. And even if it werenae, it doesnae bother me. I need nothing of the sort from ye.”
He stepped forward, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. “I’m tryin’ to help ye…”
Valerie tossed her mussed hair over her shoulder and straightened her back, tilting her chin up to look him right in the eye. “I need nay such help, Laird MacFinn. Ye forget, I was raised by Magnus Blackwood, and he didnae leave any of his daughters defenseless. Least of all me, who sailed the seas and bartered with the savages alongside him until he perished.”
“I…”
“I traveled with pirates for seasons—I can fight and bargain and see to my safety. I dinnae need ye to be lookin’ after me like somedamsel in need of rescue. I came here for a brief respite from my future, nae looking for a savior or some sort of hero. Nae even a husband, be it a real or false one.”
With that, she pushed past Jude and out the door, her heart pounding and throat aching, unshed tears pricking her eyes.
I willnae let him see me cry. I willnae—I will never—let him ken that, for a short time, I even dared to be foolish enough to hope there might be a future for me here. I willnae.
I will finish my work. And then… I shall deal with Laird MacOlley myself, however that may transpire. I dinnae need the help of anyone, especially nae a man, and certainly nae one who is so afraid of admitting his feelings even to himself.
Valerie knew she was being harsh, perhaps even unfair. Even so, she could not bring herself to take it back, not even in the privacy of her mind. Not when she thought of everything else that was between her and Jude.
He gave her pleasure such as she had never known, claimed her as his for the duration of her stay in his castle, and yet it did not escape her notice that he had not ‘claimed’ her, and had avoided making love to her fully.
She had no doubt it was some form of honorable behavior for him, not to sully her status as a maiden, since she had told him that she was one. But to her, it felt like yet another form of rejection.
The door to the gallery where she had been doing most of her work appeared, and she darted through it. She slammed it shut, then threw the bolt, locking it from the inside for good measure, in case Jude had tried to follow her. Only when it was tightly latched did she walk to the hearth and sink into a chair, tears swimming in her eyes.
A part of her hoped she would hear Jude outside, demanding entry or trying to talk to her. The silence that followed her—and the proof that he hadn’t—stung, and despite her best efforts, tears slid down her cheeks.
Before Jude, her only concern regarding any man’s desire for her had been escaping it as gracefully and as quickly as possible. The irony of her situation—that she desired a man who was determined to refuse her—was not lost on her, but it hurt like a knife to the heart.
I still have my work as a seamstress—I’ll nae be leavin’ for another four days at least. I can find solace in that.