Page 54 of The Iron Earl

The impish glint in her gold-green eyes said he’d been much worse than abrupt, but she shrugged as she picked up a hunk of bread and began to tear a piece off. “Domnall said you lacked charm. And I would not disagree with him.”

“I lack charm?”

“He…mmm…” She tapped her forefinger on the table next to her plate. “He said you’re direct with women. Straight to the business of the matter.” She motioned to the bed with her hand clutching a bite of the bread. “I had hoped that was the case. And it was. I didn’t want you to have to cajole me into bed.”

“So Idolack charm?”

“Oh, no.” She looked at him, her eyebrows drawing together. “I did not mean to imply—what happened was not awful as I expected it to be, Lachlan, and I…” A burst of dark terror flashed across her gold-green eyes and her words stopped.

“Why did you think it was to be an awful act?”

She shook her head, then shoved the chunk of bread into her mouth, her eyes avoiding him.

“Does it have to do with the man your father was to sell you off to?”

Her look flew up to him, her eyes round.

Lachlan sighed. “What the hell did that monster tell you of the act, Evalyn?”

She chewed the bite of bread several more times and had to take a sip of wine to force it down her throat.

She opened her mouth, but no words came forth. She took another sip of wine.

With a slight nod to herself, her look dipped to the main platter of food between them, her eyes glazing over. The tip of her head nodded to the bed. “I didn’t know it could be as easy as that—very little pain.”

Her lips drew inward for a long breath and Lachlan wasn’t sure she would continue. But then she met his eyes, opening her mouth, her voice tiny, wispy. “He told me there would be a blade involved. That he would carve my flesh as he drove into me. That he would smear the blood on my body. On my nipples. That he would bathe his…his…member with it and force it down my throat. That the fear in my eyes was exactly what was necessary and right. That he would tear me in two with his thrusts. That he would—”

“Stop.” Lachlan’s fist slammed down onto the table, making the platters jump. His plate of food flew off the table, clattering onto the floor. “Stop, Evalyn. Just stop. And wipe everything that brute ever said to you from your mind.” His words were a growl.

Her look skittered to the food on the floor and then jumped up to land on his fist, still clenched, still gripped in rage on the table. Her eyes fixated on his straining knuckles.

Fear gripped her face. She wanted to run. To escape.

With control he didn’t think he had, he managed to unclench his fingers and set his palm flat on the table.

With that one tiny motion, her look flickered up to his face, the need to escape almost instantly dissipating.

It helped ease the growl from his voice. “Did no one ever tell you what is supposed to happen between a man and a woman, Eva?”

A flush curled along the line of her cheekbones. “I—my maid, she was a year younger than me—she described a scene, but it didn’t make any sense. And what that troll said was so…so vicious in how he spoke of it. He knew what he was talking about, Lachlan. I never doubted it.”

He heaved a sigh, his hand running through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, making the wood creak under his form. “Then we need to start this all over. All over. You knew enough to get naked and that was good. But from there, you need to strike from your mind anything and everything that was ever uttered to you on the act—from your maid—and especially from that bastard.” He leaned forward, pinning her with his look. “Can you do that?”

For a long moment she hesitated and then offered him a skeptical nod. “I can try.”

He reached out, his fingers sliding around her hand that still clutched a piece of bread, smothering it. Slowly, he pulled back each finger until he could pry the mangled bread from her grasp. “Now, we start again. With bellies full. Our minds clear. Yes?”

Her look lifted to him, the gold-green of her eyes shining—almost in wonderment. A look so overflowing of innocence and timid trust that he almost smiled.

For all she refused to trust, refused to hope—her innate nature was winning out. She had taken a leap of faith in latching onto him at Wolfbridge Castle and—damn—he didn’t want to do anything to destroy that. He liked that look in her eyes. Liked that she looked at him as if he were the only man in the world.

And to her, maybe he was. She’d had one monstrosity of a man after another in her life. He wasn’t about to be the third.

He wanted another go at her.

He should wait. She would be sore. But his shaft had jumped back to life with the look on her face, the blasted appendage insistent after its earlier disappointment.

Lachlan wavered, trying to read her gold-green eyes and the answer became suddenly clear. He wanted—needed—to fulfill every drop of cautious hope she was allowing herself to have in that moment. That life could be different. That life could bring pleasure instead of pain. That life could reward hope rather than vanquish it.

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