Page 22 of Kilty as Sin
“Because he's been married thrice before, and his wives have all died afore they could birth his bairns. He's a cruel man, one who neglects his people and hurts those he's supposed to protect.”
Aye, Barclay knew all about men like that. The man who'd sired him—who'd beaten his mother near to death when she'd gone to beg for help—had been one such man.
ButsurelyGrace was overreacting? Surely her father—who had worried enough, cared enough, to send to the King for help when she'd gone missing—wouldn't marry her to someone who would hurt her?
He blew out a breath, knowing 'twould do no good to remind her of her father's love, not if she was scared of her betrothed. Barclay had promised to keep her safe, and even though he believed this truly was the best course of action for her, he hated her fear.
Tossing the last of the rabbit meat into the fire, he wiped his hands on his plaid and moved closer to her. “Ye ken, lass,” he offered gently, putting one arm around her shoulders, “if ye ever need help, ye have only to send for me.”
In the twilight, he couldn't see the color of her eyes. But when she swung her gaze to him, they were wide and full of hope. “Really?”
Swallowing, Barclay nodded. The thought of seeing her again, after her marriage, was almost as painful as the thought of never seeing her again. “Really. Whenever. Whatever. Ye call for me, and I'll be there.”
Her gaze caressed his face—his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. He couldfeelit, as surely as he'd felt her fingertips on his skin yesterday. 'Twas a good thing he'd left the helmet off, after all.
He held his breath, waiting for her response...but finally, she sighed and looked back to the fire.
“Thank ye, Barclay, but...this is my future, what little of it is left. I'll no' drag ye into my hell.”
Hell? Was she being melodramatic?
Barclay thought of the delicately beautiful lass he'd watched stab her captor, and pull herself from a bog, and cause herself harm in order to savehimfrom rolling down a mountain... And had the uncomfortable thought that mayhap shewasn't.
They sat in silence a bit longer, until her head drooped sideways to rest on his shoulder. He didn't know if 'twas for comfort or support, but he was happy to give her what he could.
“Ye ken the worst of it?” she finally murmured as the last of the fire fell to embers. “This is my body. I should have a choice of what to do with it, aye? I mean, I ken my duty as a laird's daughter is to create an alliance, and I suppose I'll have to do that...but until I'm married, my body belongs tome.”
He wasn't certain what she was saying. “Aye?” he ventured.
“Yesterday...” She shifted closer, one arm falling from around her knees to rest against his thigh. “I've never been kissed. I've never been touched, norcharmed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Never beenpleasured.”
Good.
Christ.
Almighty.
Barclay groaned silently and dropped his head back to stare up at the clear stars above.
Aye, he understood now what she was saying.
And as much as he wanted to offer, he couldn't. “Lass...” he groaned.
She didn't stir, but her voice sounded sad when she interrupted him. “I ken. Ye're an honorable man, Barclay, and I'll no' take that from ye. Nae matter how much I wish...”
He shouldn't ask.
He wasn't going to ask.
He did.
“Wish?” he croaked.
“Wish I could experience pleasure,” she whispered. “Before I resign myself to a lifetime of pain, I wish I could have been with a man who would really cherish me for—forme.”
A sainthood? Barclay deservedthreesainthoods for this.
For not giving her what she wanted.
