Chapter Three

When Bryce’s new wife smiled, she was beautiful. She was fairly pretty when not smiling, but he’d not noticed until the moment Dorie showed her pleasure at being able to keep her new four-legged friend.

It didn’t matter if he found her lovely or not; nothing would come of it. He’d already had a lovely, beautiful wife and lost her. He would not allow himself to get close to another woman. Even one he was now wed to. There was only one woman whose memory he kept in his broken heart.

Dorie wasn’t smiling as they packed mud on the flea-ridden mutt. Bryce wasn’t sure what kind of dog he was. Maybe a mixture of many kinds. His feet and ears were of a size. It made him look lanky and clumsy.

“Shall we name him Rags?” he asked.

Dorie was quick to shake her head. She pointed toward the castle and then to him. He didn’t understand. Apparently their ability to communicate had been short lived.

Just then the dog shook the mud and water all over them, spattering them with filth. “Be still, you wee rascal,” he commanded and, amazingly, the dog obeyed. At least for the moment.

Dorie grabbed his arm and nodded.

“What is it, lass?” he asked, as if she could explain herself.

In answer she pointed to his lips. Then tapped her own. For a moment he thought she was requesting he kiss her, but then she pointed to the dog.

Hmm. Something he’d just said? “Wee rascal?” he repeated, thinking that must be what she meant.

She nodded enthusiastically and pointed to the dog again. He finally understood, though how he did, he wasn’t sure.

“You want to call the dog Rascal?”

Another nod and another blasted smile that stirred something he’d thought had died years ago. He cleared his throat, trying to force down the lump that had formed there, then looked away from her.

“Very well, Rascal he is. At least until he flings mud all over us again. Then he’ll be called the late Rascal.”

At Dorie’s gasp, he tempered his words with a grin so she’d know he didn’t mean the dog any real harm. As if on cue, Rascal shook, spraying them again with mud and water. Bryce let out a curse and looked up at Dorie when she laughed.

She pointed at his face, no doubt spattered with mud, and laughed again. The sound made him smile, something he’d not done in so long it felt tight and unnatural on his lips.

When she covered her mouth to hide her laughter, she smeared mud across her face, which had him laughing and pointing at her. She splashed him with water, probably to clean the mud from his face. He splashed her back, his only intention to get her wet and make her squeal in protest.

She was quick to oblige and used both hands to throw water at him.

Before long they were both soaked, water dripping from the ends of her hair.

He’d been having fun, and when he realized it, the smile slid from his lips. His temporary giddiness faded back into solemnity. Nodding toward the blanket in the sun, he let out a breath.

“Enough. Let’s dry off. We’ll need to get back soon.” She gave a nod and he was sad to see the smile die from her face. Like the sun setting on a perfect day you didn’t want to end.

He’d had many perfect days in his life, but the sun had set, never to rise again.

…

When Rascal was bathed and they’d dried from the ordeal, Bryce looked up at the sky and let out a sigh. Dorie knew what he was going to say next and wished she could keep him from voicing their need to return. Here in their quiet piece of the world, it was easy to pretend things would be fine.

Bryce’s smile had faded and he was the serious man she’d married, but she trusted him already. Seeing the kindness he’d shown an animal told her the type of man he was. She was safe with him. She couldn’t be sure of the rest of the MacKinlays waiting back at the castle.

“It’s time we get home,” he said, sealing her fate.

She stiffened, knowing what awaited them. The McCurdys wouldn’t leave until the marriage was consummated with her blood. It was clear by the frown on her husband’s face that it wouldn’t be as fun as bathing the dog.

“I feel like maybe we’ve made some ground between us. I hope you can trust me. What I have to do now will not be pleasant, but it must be done.”

She remembered her brother’s words. Bloodying his sheets. She had no idea what he’d meant by that, but it sounded painful. She stood, ready to run if needed.

“I’ll not hurt you. You have my word.”

She settled, even when he pulled his dirk. He lifted his kilt enough to reveal a muscled thigh. He drew his blade across the flesh and hissed as blood welled along the line of the cut.

She gasped and stepped closer to stop him, but he’d already wiped the blade clean and sheathed it. Using a wet cloth, he smeared the blood around and wiped it on the blanket.

He looked at her. “Forgive me, but I need to mark you with blood. Your devil of a brother will probably check.”

She stood still as he lifted her skirt and smeared the blood on the inside of her thighs. And higher to the place between her legs. When she tensed, he apologized again and huffed. “Let’s get this over with.”

After cleaning his wound, he gathered the blanket and handed it to her so he could lift her to his horse. She was prepared for his hands on her waist, but not for the thrill she felt sizzle through her at his touch.

As they rode back, she held on to him tighter than before. She breathed in the scent of him. Earth, clean water, and sun. She probably smelled the same now since their time in the river.

The sway of the horse and the heat of his body nearly put her to sleep. She thought of the place he’d touched between her legs and the warmth that pooled there now. She’d never felt so at ease to be close to a man. She knew it wasn’t some huge change in her, but the difference between this man and the ones she knew.

At the castle, Rory winced as she dismounted from the horse and stumbled on shaky legs. The brow over his left eye—bisected by a scar she thought might have been her fault—rose and she noticed the glare he gave Bryce.

Her brother and Desmond came out to meet them, grumbling their displeasure over the delay.

“It took ye long enough,” Wallace spat as Bryce handed off his horse to a groom.

“Mayhap you McCurdys like to force yourselves on your women. We MacKinlays like to see to their pleasure,” Bryce taunted and took her hand. She didn’t understand the exchange, but it was clear his words irritated her brother, so she smiled. She was awestruck by the man beside her. The way he didn’t cower under her brother’s glare. The way he stood at her side as if ready to protect her, his hand casually resting on the sword at his side.

Any man who stood up to her family was a hero to her.

“Pleasure or no, I’ll see that it’s been done proper so we can take our fee and go.”

Bryce and Lach shared a look of unease. Lach cleared his throat. “Just remember that money is payment to book room for cargo on the next ship that comes to port. Make certain it gets back to the laird as part of our arrangement.”

“Aye. I remember. But there’ll be no agreement if he didn’t do the deed.”

Bryce handed over the soiled blanket. Wallace and Rory opened it to reveal the bloodstain.

Her brother turned to Bryce and nodded toward the binding on his wrist from the wedding. “I’ll see that your wounds haven’t been reopened.”

Glaring, Bryce unwound the cloth and held up his cut. Wallace turned on her and roughly tore her bandage off as well. Turning to the maid, he pointed to Dorie. “Check her. See that she’s no longer a virgin.”

When the maid reached for her skirt, Dorie pulled away. “Hold her,” her brother ordered. Desmond came forward, but Bryce held them off with a wave of his hand.

“I told you what would happen if you touched my wife again.” His words were low and filled with menace. Turning to her, he winked. “It’s okay. She’s just looking. She willna touch you.”

Dorie relaxed and the woman lifted her skirt high enough to see the blood Bryce had smeared on her thighs.

“It’s been done,” the woman announced.

Tension left the group and Wallace turned to Lachlan expectantly. The laird held out a leather purse, and her brother grabbed it up. “Let’s be away,” the man announced loudly.

“Someone will send word the next time a ship is expected so we can have goods ready to trade?” Lachlan said.

“Aye. We’ll let ye know.” They rode through the gate.

Rory waited a moment before mounting. “Goodbye, Dorie. I wish you well.”

She nodded and he was away. When they were gone, Dorie felt her body relax in a way it hadn’t since her mother had been alive.

She was free.