Page 37 of The Devil in Plaid
He had never been more confused. Mayhap, he should call for the healer. She was clearly unwell.
But then her tunic came over her head. She stood in her kirtle, her arms bare. Straightaway, he saw the bruises of which Julia had spoken. His fists clenched as anger pulsed through him. He didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her. In fact, he downright despised her, but no woman should be forced to bear the brunt of a man’s anger.
“When yer father arrives, I will make it clear that he is never to touch ye again!”
She froze and looked at him as if he were the one who was mad. Then she held out her wrists, lined with bruises.
“Ye did this.” A rush of tears flooded her eyes. She bared her teeth at him. “This is yer doing, none but yers.”
Her words tore through his flesh to his very soul and he saw her truth.
The events of the evening before pummeled his brain. His fury and grief had taken hold of him, leaving spite and prejudice to guide his actions. Certainly, she had erred as well, coming at him with a poker. But only a fraction of his strength was needed to subdue her.
“I didn’t realize…I…” Nay, he would make no excuses. He had meant to disarm her, to keep her from causing greater mischief, but he could have done so without hurting her. “When ye tried to run away—”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not try to run away. I was trying to escape after hearing the screams of that poor woman when we entered the keep, not to mention yer indifference to her suffering.”
His eyes flashed wide. “I did nothing to bring on her condition.”
“Nay, but ye didn’t stop her pain or interfere.”
“Birthing a baby is always painful, but ye’ll have to take that grievance up with God.”
“Aye, well…” her words trailed off. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “She was having a baby?” she said quietly.
“For the love of all things decent, what exactly did ye think was happening?”
She met his gaze. “I thought her husband was beating her.”
He threw his hands up. “Why the hell would ye assume that?”
She lifted her chin, defiantly. “Because he’s a MacLeod, and that’s what MacLeods do. They beat their wives!”
He stared at her, dumbstruck for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand…I would never.”
“Ye’d never what? Hurt a woman, then lock her away in the dark.”
He stepped toward her. Her eyes flashed wide. She scurried back. “Stay away from me.”
He slowly followed. “I’m not going to hurt ye,” he said, his voice gentle.
“Lies,” she shouted, blocking her ears. Her back hit the wall. She lashed out like a cornered animal. He had to get through to her. He gently seized her hands, careful not to grab her wrists.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried.
A pang of guilt cut through him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She struggled against him.
“Forgive me, Fiona,” he said softly in her ear. “Forgive me.”
She beat her fists against his chest, again and again. Slowly, her cries of protest softened. Then she softened, laying her head against his chest as quiet sobs racked her shoulders.
