Page 60 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Papa Harcourt gave a cold smile. “The punishment I have in mind is best carried out while you still live. And I promise I’ll take immense pleasure from it.”
He released Murdo, then wiped his hand on his jacket.
“Sir, I—” Murdo began.
“There’s no need to speak, Mr. McTavish. I form opinions based on actions, not words. And, in contrast to your behavior to date,Ikeep my promises. Remember that and I might just leave you to live out your life unmolested.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Make sure you do.”
Papa withdrew, and Murdo bowed to Mama.
“Haveyeanything to say, Duchess?”
“My husband has said all that needs to be said.”
Murdo bowed again, then climbed into the carriage and closed the door, then Clara leaned out, fear curling inside her stomach.
“Write to me!” she said, as her family raised their hands in farewell.
Then the carriage lurched into motion. Clara memorized the image of her parents—the two people who loved her best in the world—as their figures receded into the distance. Then the carriage turned a corner and they disappeared.
She settled into her seat, rubbing the scar on her arm. Then she glanced up to see her husband staring at her.
“Does yer stepfather always speak for ye, lass—fight yer battles?”
“My father speaks for himself,” she retorted, “and though the blackened heart of a scoundrel may be a tempting target for acaring father with a pistol, his throat is also a tempting prospect for a woman with a knife.”
His cast his gaze over her body.
“Looking for a weapon?” she said. “You’ll never find it. The first time you see it will be when I plunge it into your chest.”
“Yer sharpest weapon’s yer tongue,wife.”
She flinched at his emphasis on that last word.
“I didn’t pledge to obey you,” she said.
“But ye must obey me by law, no matter what ye said in church. Like it or not, ye belong to my family, and ye must show me respect tonight before my family, whether ye like it or not.”
“Or what?” she challenged.
“Or I shall be forced to apply the law as I see fit.”
He settled back into his seat, a cocktail of determination and guilt in his expression. Then he closed his eyes, and they continued in silence, the carriage rocking to and fro.
Show me respect tonight…
What did he mean?
The air grew cold and Clara reached for a blanket, but he was sitting on the corner. When she tugged at it, his eyes flew open, and her heart skittered at the raw desire in them.
“What is it, lass?”
“I’m cold.”
She tugged again. The blanket came free and she placed it over her shoulders.
