Chapter Thirteen

Bryce felt as if he’d been caught in a whirlwind. He’d kissed Dorie as a means of apology. As a way to let her know he was sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions.

To be honest, the only reason he’d been mad was because he’d felt weak for not giving her the brush and comb from the trunk right away. It had been selfish of him to withhold something she’d needed when he had it to offer. Worse, he wasn’t even certain he was still thinking of the blasted brush and comb.

He’d wanted Dorie to know he did care about her. At least as much as he was able to. But it hadn’t taken long for him to get caught up in the kiss, and he’d found himself removing her clothes and easing her back on their bed.

Now he was lying between her thighs, his cock lined up to her hot center as he prepared her to become his wife in every way.

He’d not felt like this since…Maggie. He could remember it now, at least. Though now was mayhap not the time he should remember such things. But he could think about what it had been like with Maggie and still enjoy kissing Dorie, knowing it was different.

Good. Better than good, but still different.

Dorie was tall, which meant she lined up with him perfectly. He could press himself against her warmth and look into her blue eyes at the same time. He hooked her legs around his waist and placed his forehead against hers in an effort to calm himself.

It wouldn’t do to rush the moment. There was no way to avoid hurting her briefly, but he could control himself so he didn’t make it worse than it needed to be.

He was shocked when she used her long legs to pull herself up, sinking him farther into her. She wiggled impatiently, driving him mad with wanting to plunge into her heat in one thrust.

The way she responded to every touch made him want to touch her more, just to see her reactions.

“There will be a bit of pain when I push into you all the way, but it will be over quickly. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

She looked at him with her wide blue eyes and he saw the trust there. She moved against him again.

He pulled away in preparation, and she made a noise of protest.

“I’m not going anywhere, lass.” He wouldn’t have been able to leave her if the castle were under attack.

“Before we go any further, I need something from you,” he said.

She looked up at him, waiting.

“I need you to speak to me. I need you to tell me you want this.”

She was quick to reach between them and make a cross over her heart. It was a valiant effort, but he shook his head. “Can you speak, love?”

She glanced away and then back to face him. She nodded.

“I’m sure there’s a reason you’ve chosen not to for all this time, but I’ll not have silence any longer between us. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she whispered. It was as if they were starting over with the first words she should have spoken at their wedding. Her voice was low and husky, either from lack of use or from passion. Whichever reason, hearing those two words made him burn.

He kissed her again, a reward for trusting him enough to break her silence. “I know you just started to use your voice, but I’m planning to have you scream with desire before the night is over,” he promised with a smile.

Her wide eyes went even wider as he nudged closer between her legs, but passion overtook her fear. She moaned and gripped him tighter.

Maggie had also been a virgin when he’d bedded her. At the time he’d thought it best to go slow, but later he’d thought maybe that wasn’t the best way. It had just taken longer to get past it.

He decided to go about things differently with Dorie. He waited for her to open her eyes and look at him. He smiled, hoping to reassure her.

“I’m going to make it quick.” He paused to clarify. “The painful part. Not the good part.”

She gave a slight nod and then a more determined, “Aye.”

He kissed her hard, at the same time pushing inside her the whole way, claiming her as his wife.

Softening the kiss, he held still to give her a moment to relax and took that time to caress her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers clutched his hair, holding him to her. But it was unnecessary. He had no plans to leave. Instead, he continued to kiss her until she shifted restlessly. He knew she was ready for more when she whimpered in frustration and pushed up from the bed as if to ease a need.

“Are you ready for the good part?” he asked, and she nodded.

When he waited, she swallowed and answered, “Please.” The yearning in her voice nearly did him in, but he’d promised it would be good.

He’d told her the good part wouldn’t be quick. Why had he made such a foolish promise? It had been so long since he’d lain with a woman he’d probably spend in less than a minute. She was so tight around him he could barely stand it.

He moved out of her, watching for any sign of pain. When he saw none, he pushed forward again. She groaned in pleasure, saying his name.

He murmured her name as well and was surprised when it didn’t bring the usual guilt and sadness with it. Building on the welcome freedom, he whispered other words of praise and encouragement. He told her how wonderful she felt under him, how lovely it sounded when she moaned. How he would never tire of hearing his name spoken in her sweet voice.

Her breathing came faster, and when she tensed in pleasure, he thrust deep inside her, feeling the pulses of her body drawing him to his own release. He hadn’t made it last all that long, but thankfully it had been long enough.

He collapsed next to her afterward, tossing his damp hair out of his face so he could watch her reaction to what had just happened between them. When she tilted her head to smile up at him, he allowed the joy he felt to pull his lips up into an answering smile.

Unfortunately, his happiness was short lived. It didn’t take long for the guilt and pain to return in a rush. He pulled her against him so she wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes.

What had he done? This was not at all what he’d planned for. He’d wanted the act to be cool and devoid of tender feelings. It had been anything but that.

Worse, all he could think of as he lay next to her was, what if he’d planted a babe in her belly? Of course he was aware of the possibility. It was the reason for the act in the first place. But he worried what would happen if Dorie had a child. It was unfair that he wasn’t able to love Dorie the way she deserved; he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he disappointed an innocent child as well.

He took a shaky breath and forced himself to calm down. He would decide how to handle the situation if it came to that. For now, he wanted to know more about the woman in his arms.

“Will you tell me why you chose not to speak?”

…

Despite Dorie’s exhaustion, she felt something stir in her core. How could she still want Bryce after all they’d done already? It was probably the way he looked at her while tracing his fingers down her arm. So…meltingly open and warm.

Her cheeks heated from the memories as she cleared her throat to answer his question.

It felt strange to speak so openly. She’d used her voice over the years, but never in front of anyone. Except her dog.

She didn’t want her husband to know what she’d done. She didn’t want him to hate her. But she was tired of carrying around this terrible secret. The weight of her guilt labored every breath she took. It was time to confess.

“The last time I spoke, I killed my mother,” she said quietly.

As expected, his face showed his shock and confusion.

She swallowed and explained. “I was nine when I overheard my mother and my aunt—her sister—talking one day. I’d been playing under a shrub and they didn’t know I was there. My aunt told my mother she could no longer send letters for her. That the affair had gone on long enough, and that nothing was ever to come of it. Of course, I had no idea what they were speaking about. But then my mother pointed toward the castle. And she said, aye, something had come of it. Me.”

Bryce sat up, looking at her more intently, but didn’t interrupt.

She couldn’t stop now. She had to get it out. She’d had it all bottled up inside of her for too long. She brushed tears aside and pressed on. “My aunt told my mother that it didn’t matter that I was Captain Dorien Sutherland’s daughter. No one could ever know. And there was no use in staying in contact with the man. He lived in London and was to marry another woman. My mother began to weep then, and even as a child I knew it was because she was brokenhearted.”

Bryce didn’t touch her; he simply sat there, silently listening.

She’d reached the hard part of the story. She looked him in the eyes and went on. “Later that same day my father—the McCurdy laird—scolded me. He took away my doll, and I was very upset with him.” As an adult she saw that punishment as nothing compared with what came later. “I opened my mouth and words flew out. Angry words.”

She twisted her fingers together, remembering the rage she’d felt.

“Go on,” Bryce urged quietly.

“I told him he wasn’t my father,” she blurted out. “I told him my real father was a brave captain and that my mother loved him and didn’t love the laird. I kept talking, spewing fantastical stories, as children often do. I told him my mother and I were going to move to London to be with my real father, and that he would buy me new dolls and never scold me.”

Bryce gazed at her with an expression torn between sympathy and horror.

She took in a deep breath, preparing herself for the final part of the awful tale.

“The laird was enraged. He hauled me up by the arm and dragged me to my room, tossing me roughly to the floor and locking me inside. I hammered my fists on the door, demanding to be let out. I only stopped when I heard my mother’s screams.”

Bryce reached for her, but she shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes and leaked out.

“Her cries went on for hours. It grew dark, and eventually they fell silent. The next morning, a maid came in to bring me food. I asked about my mother, and she told me she’d had an accident and had died.”

“It was no accident,” Bryce said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Nay. The laird had killed her because of my words. That’s when I vowed never to speak again. I wouldn’t risk saying something that could cause anyone pain or death ever again.”

Bryce brushed a finger across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “You were just a child. You didn’t know what you were saying. Or how he would respond. It wasn’t your fault.”

She appreciated his words, but she knew the truth of it. She’d spilled a secret that wasn’t hers to tell. She’d released a truth that never should have been told.

Her aunt had been wrong. The truth of who her father was had mattered.

It had mattered a great deal.

…

Bryce watched his wife as she wept bitterly over her part in her mother’s death. He knew well the weight of guilt, how exhausting it was to carry day after day. He also knew that the words of friends and family did nothing to ease it. He’d been told many times it wasn’t his fault that Maggie and Isabel had died. He was away doing his duty. They would have died even if he’d been there. And he might have died as well.

It didn’t matter. It made no difference if the words they spoke made sense. In his heart, he was to blame. He might have been able to do something if he’d been there. Even if only to make sure they hadn’t died alone and frightened.

He didn’t even know which of them had passed first. Had wee Isabel been abandoned and afraid, alone with her mother’s lifeless body? How many days had it taken?

He shook the thoughts away, knowing he’d never have answers, no matter how many sleepless nights he pondered their demise. He would always wonder if they’d hated him and blamed him in their final moments.

He held Dorie close and let her cry. It was the only thing he could think to do.

He found it strange that some words held so much power—like the ones she’d spoken in anger to the man she’d thought was her father—while other words were meaningless. Like offering absolution to someone who vowed never to forgive him- or herself.

“I understand,” he said, knowing it was naught but more meaningless noise escaping his lips. He couldn’t understand her pain any more than she could understand his.

But perhaps that was what understanding was truly about. Knowing you couldn’t possibly know the other person’s sorrows, and yet feeling for them deeply.

“It is over and done,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do for your mother now by looking back and blaming yourself for her death. Would your mother have wanted you to carry this grief and guilt for years, or would she have demanded you let it go and be happy?” he asked.

A question he dared not think about too closely.

He wouldn’t ponder how much Maggie would have hated the way he still mourned for her. She would have snapped at him in irritation and told him to stop moping about.

“When I was a child locked in my room, I wished my real father would come to take me away,” she said in a shaky voice. “But I secretly feared it as well. Because when he found out what I’d done, he’d surely punish me even worse than Dougal McCurdy.”

“I was a father, and I can tell ye there is nothing I wouldn’t have forgiven my Isabel for. It’s just the way of fathers.”

“Is it the way of husbands and wives to forgive each other?” she asked softly.

At first he thought she wanted him to forgive her for something, but then he realized she was speaking of Maggie and how his first wife would have forgiven him for leaving her to face death alone.

“Aye. Sometimes,” he said with a sigh. “But not always.”

Some things were unforgivable.

…

As she had the day before and the day before that, Dorie sneaked out through the bailey gate while Bryce worked with his men in the bailey.

He’d asked her to stay inside the castle walls, but her dog was too large now to be content with that small area. He loved to run in the fields and hunt along the edge of the forest.

And she liked to visit Cam and Mari at their new house. It was still being constructed, but one wing was complete and they were able to live there. It made Dorie feel better to help Mari with curtains for her home after her friend had been so kind to take time to help with Dorie’s gowns.

It was no coincidence that Dorie timed her walks for when the women convened in the kitchen. Their lurid discussions had given her thoughts that frustrated her. They spoke of things she wished to do and feel with Bryce. But unfortunately, after their one splendid night of making love, he remained distant. Despite lying next to her each night, he hadn’t touched her again.

She thought he felt the same tension and longing she felt, but they didn’t talk of it. In fact, he hardly talked to her at all. He’d claimed what had happened to her mother was not her fault, but did he secretly despise her for causing it nonetheless?

Or mayhap he simply felt guilty over what they’d done. He still loved his first wife, and he probably thought making love with Dorie was wrong. But she had never felt so right in all her days.

The tension between them continued to grow night after night until Dorie thought she might explode.

Her only solace was being able to press up against him once he fell asleep. She enjoyed touching him until he pulled away in the mornings to go train with his men.

Slipping out through the gate today, she let out a breath and raised her face to the morning sun as Rascal tore off to expend his energy. She wished she could do the same—run across the meadow and plunge into the cool stream. Maybe it would help.

She had almost worked up to giving it a try when she heard a whoosh and was knocked to the ground. She found herself staring up at the sun again, only this time her view was obscured by a grouping of feathers at the end of an arrow that was sticking out of her chest. She choked in terror as fire burned through her body and darkness descended.

She woke in flashes, unable to move but able to hear.

A shadow fell over her as she gasped in shallow breaths. “She’s done for,” a familiar voice said. Wallace. “Finish her off.”

“I thought it was supposed to look like an accident,” Desmond complained.

“We haven’t had luck with that. We’ll just tell my father they killed her. We’ll not need to worry any longer about this truce.”

“Maybe if you’d just told the laird what you’d arranged, he would have gone along with it.”

“Then I would have had to give him the money the MacKinlay paid me.”

“You could have left that part out.”

“It would have come up eventually, you lout. Now cut her throat, and let’s go.”

Oh, God.

She tensed, expecting more pain and a terrible death. Instead, the sound of growling filled her ears, turning into a buzzing sound.

Pain, intense and overwhelming, brought her abruptly back to harsh reality. She wasn’t dead, but from the sound of her own screaming it was clear that she wished for it intensely.

“Be careful with her,” a woman’s anxious voice said in a cultured accent. Mari. “We need to get her back to the house. Send for Abagail and Kenna. I’ll need their help to remove the arrow. Be still, Dorie. You’re safe now.”

“Angus, bring the dog and send for Bryce,” Cam ordered.

Dorie whimpered and reached out, hitting a wall of muscled chest. “Shhh. Be still, lass,” she was told again before the voices around her faded.

This time she wasn’t able to bring them back into focus.