Page 65 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“It’s clan tradition when a bride is brought back.”
She shook her head. “What sort of a place is this where a man’s desire to watch a”—she gestured between them—“is justified byclan tradition?”
“That’s why I sent them outside, to spare ye the humiliation.”
“It’s a little late for that,” she said. “You expect me to”—she wrinkled her nose in distaste—“give myself to you while all those people wait outside?”
Murdo caught the whispering and muttering outside the door, and the occasional stifled giggle. He’d be damned if the party were witness to something his body had been yearning for since he met her. He tore a scrap of lace from his cuff with his teeth and stuffed it into the keyhole. A chorus of protests followed.
Then he reached for his belt, where he kept his dirk, and pulled it out. Holding the knife aloft, he advanced on Clara.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
He strode to the bed and drew back the furs. Then he pulled up his sleeve and pierced his arm with the blade.
Clara screamed, and a cheer came from outside, followed by applause.
Murdo fisted his hand until a red droplet formed where the tip of the knife had impaled the skin. He twisted the blade sideways, and the droplet swelled then splashed onto the bedsheet, followed by several more. Then he sheathed the knife.
“’Tis done,” he said, fighting his self-loathing.
Ithadto be done. To protect her. Only in giving a show of strength would he earn the clan’s respect. And if they respected him, they would respect her and, in time, grow to love her.
Asheloved her—even though she loathed him.
Murdo removed the bloodstained bedsheet then strode to the door and unbolted it to several leering faces, shiny with eagerness. He held the sheet to a raucous cheer.
“Ye’re a quick worker!” someone cried. “Takes after his da, aye?”
“Yer wife will be walking bow-legged for the rest of the week!”
Murdo forced a laugh. “Go back to yer women now ye know how a real man satisfies his wife!” he said.
The crowd dissipated, clattering down the stairs. The noise lessened to a dull rumble of far-off laughter that Murdo knew would last through the night and end with sore heads and bellies in the morning.
As for the night that lay before him…
The deed itself was still to be accomplished.
He held out his hand, and Clara stared at it.
“Come, lass,” he said gently. “We can now perform the act without an audience.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she said. “Why did you bleed on the sheet?”
“Did yer ma never tell ye about yer wedding night?”
She colored and looked away.
Of course!The brand on her arm—the mark of a pimper’s ownership. Doubtless she’d lost her maidenhead years ago.
“It matters not,” he said. “It was…a clan tradition.”
“So you’re going to lie with me?”
“Not if ye don’t wish to.”
“It’ll happen whether I wish it or not,” she said, sighing. “I’m not a debutante who’ll break at the slightest touch. I’d rather get the deed done.”
