Page 70 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Your heart, aye?” he said with a sigh. “Love does that to a lass…” He turned his gaze to the castle and whispered, as if to himself, “And a man.”
“No, my…” She bit her lip in shame. “My body.”
Shame warming her cheeks, she lowered her gaze, and he drew her into his arms.
“Ye’re in need of a friend,” he said. “Whatever ye may think of Master Murdo, he’ll see ye right.”
“I have no friends.”
“Ye’ve one right here,” he said. “Why don’t I take ye back inside? I’ll ask Joan to have a bathtub sent to yer chamber. Are ye…are ye bleeding, lass?”
She nodded, and he muttered something under his breath.
“Och, he should have been gentle yer first time. He’s so…”
The words hung in the air between them.
He’s so big.
“Do ye want me to speak to him?” he asked.
Clara shook her head. “No, you mustn’t tell my husband.”
“Tell him what?” a sneering voice said.
Duncan stiffened and released Clara. She turned to see the laird approaching, one hand curled around a cane, the deerhound following several paces behind.
“I might have known,” he said. “Have ye come fresh from my son’s bed to offer yerself to a servant? Ye’ll get no joy withhim,” he said, jabbing a finger at the ghillie. “Will she, Duncan?”
The ghillie withdrew from their embrace. “Master Angus, I was just comforting—”
“Ye’re not here tocomfortanyone,” the laird snarled, “though that doesn’t stop ye. Must ye taint my whole family? Or perhaps ye see yer kind in this little whore.”
The deerhound at the laird’s feet let out a whine, and he aimed a kick at it.
“Filthy beast!” he snarled. “Always whining and mewling. Just like a woman, but less easy to train into obedience.”
He raised his cane to strike the animal, and Clara dashed toward the creature and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck.
“Don’t touch him!”
“That beast is like a woman,” the laird said, “whining and nagging when it wants something. Ye both deserve a lashing if my son’s too weak to beat ye for carryin’ on with other men.”
“Is that what you do?” Clara said. “Beat those who dare to have minds of their own?”
“Aye, I’ll beat ye if my son’s too soft to do it himself. What kind of a man is he, bringing yer filth into my home?”
“And what kind of a man areyou?” she snapped. “You took what you wanted from my mother, and you condemn her for it. Did you beat her as well? Perhaps you beat your own wife—that is, when you weren’t betraying her in brothels.”
“Why ye little…” He raised the cane to strike her, but Duncan grasped the shaft.
“Ye don’t have the right to lay a finger on her, Master Angus,” he said. “Only Master Murdo has that right.”
Anger flashed in the laird’s eyes, and he lowered the cane.
“I’ll make sure my son knows where his duty lies.” He aimed another kick at the dog, but the animal scrambled out of the way. Then, shooting Clara a look of venom, he started toward the castle. “Buck! Come here, ye useless mutt.”
The dog made no effort to move.
