Thirty-one

T he wine they had at supper had left Ellen feeling drowsy, for which she was grateful, for she had not, in the ten days or so she had been at Talla Dileas, recovered fully from her fever. The heat had left her, but the burn in her heart was ever present, burning the hole in her heart from missing him so.

She saw Natalie to bed, deflecting the questions that were coming with more regularity: Might we stay here forever? Mared is not a real princess, but she'll be a lady someday, which is really almost the same. Do you think the laird likes us very much? I think he does, and I think he should like us to stay forever. Will Captain Lockhart ever come home? Perhaps Griffin will go and look for him, because he doesn't seem very happy here. He said it was far away from the rest of the world. If Griffin goes to look for him, may we stay here in his place?

When she was at last certain that Natalie had fallen into a deep slumber, Ellen walked through the door adjoining their rooms and quietly closed it behind her, so she could pace in peace. That had become her ritual, pacing in front of the cold hearth, her hands clasped behind her back, thinking, thinking , trying to come up with a new strategy, a reasonable course for her and Natalie. The only problem was, she couldn't seem to come up with a bloody thing. It was almost as if reaching Talla Dileas had taken everything from her. But she had to think what to do if Liam did not come home straightaway—she'd been here more than a week since his last letter had come, and still there was nothing. She could not continue to exist off the kindness of the Lockharts any longer, and in truth, she and Natalie had already overstayed their welcome—it was clear the Lockharts were struggling, too.

That was all well and good, but she had managed to get herself here without any hope of leaving. Without any income whatsoever, she had no hope of getting past Aberfoyle. Aberfoyle! If she could only think of a way to return to Glasgow without incurring the outrageous cost of ten pounds for the privilege. But if she reached Glasgow, perhaps she could find employment….

"Of course you won't find employment, you ninny!" she angrily chided herself. Who would want you? And for what? Do you think you might pass yourself off as a governess? You have no references! A housekeeper, then? As if you know the first thing about managing a large household!

Which left her, of course, with absolutely nowhere to go. Her only option—and it was scarcely an option—was to write her father. Or Eva. Or Judith.

Oh God.

Ellen paused in her pacing to laugh derisively at the ceiling. Oh, yes, her father would send for her, wouldn't he? Never, not in her lifetime, not in a million years. And Eva? Eva might send her a few pounds, but she'd never defy their father by taking her in. Then there was Judith, dear Judith, the only true friend she had ever had. But needless to say, she had irreparably harmed that friendship. She was certain neither Judith nor Richard would be terribly eager to aid her now.

Her pacing ended as it always did—with no solutions, no answers, nothing but more anxiety to strangle her sleep. And as she lay in the massive four-poster bed, those troubling thoughts chased about her mind. The last thing she remembered before drifting off completely was Liam. It was always Liam.

She dreamed of him again, the same dream, Liam running from her, putting distance between them as she called out to him and begged him to come back. But he disappeared into blackness, and Ellen was once again in her father's house, in her old room, in an old, lumpy bed. Then the bed changed into the large four-poster bed at Talla Dileas, and Liam was standing at the foot of it, his arms folded across his chest, calmly observing her at her toilette. In her dream Ellen was brushing her hair, one long stroke after the other, slowly, languidly, as Liam watched her. Then he moved toward her, silently and cautiously, reaching for the brush. With a smile, Ellen handed it to him, and he began to brush her hair, but then the brush disappeared, and his hand was on her neck, his fingers resting lightly on her pulse. He leaned down, touched her ear with his lip, and then, and then…

His hand drifted across her mouth, and he pressed down, silencing her. Silencing her.

A shudder of fear awakened her; Ellen screamed against his hand, but Liam smiled down at her as he grabbed her flailing arm, twisted it behind her back, and forced her onto her side by pressing his weight against her, holding her down so that she could not move. His mouth drifted across her ear, breathing into her, its warmth frightening. "Ah, Ellie," he whispered. "What a wicked lass ye are."

Shivering with fright, Ellen could only nod her complete agreement.

"Ach," he breathed, the tip of his tongue dipping furtively into her ear. "Then ye'll admit ye are a wicked one."

Ellen nodded again; she could smell him, could smell the road he'd traveled, the hell he had gone through to come here.

"I donna know what to do with ye, Ellie, on me word. Shall I kill ye? Bind ye and punish ye, slowly and surely? Or leave ye unbound and begging for me mercy?"

Kill me. Punish me. Let me beg for mercy. All of it. Ellen closed her eyes and felt a tear slide from the corner onto the goose-down pillow. She was frightened of him, frightened of his anger. Yet at the same time she relished the familiar feel of his callused hand against her lips, her face.

The sound of his quiet laugh was ominous, though, and sent another raw shiver down her spine. His mouth grazed her temple, her ear, her jaw. "No, I donna think I would kill ye, no' yet," he murmured as he kissed her cheek, then the corner of her eye. "What will it be, then? Unbound?" He kissed her neck, then abruptly shoved her onto her back, straddling her. She could barely see him by the glow of the brazier, but she could see his eyes, dark green and ablaze with fury, roaming her face. His hair was wildly mussed, his shirt stained dark from perspiration. He looked as if he had just crawled out of the woods. And he was grinning, a wild, mad grin that sharpened her fear. "Unbound? No. I rather like this, I do."

Ellie tried to speak, tried to tell him that he could do whatever he pleased to her and it still would not be enough, but he just chuckled and shook his head. "Hush… be still and let me have a look at ye, then. Ah, what a beauty ye are, Ellie. 'Tis the only thing that remains constant about ye, eh?" Her sight was blurring with the tears of her fright and regret; Liam leaned over, whispered in her ear, "When I remove me hand from yer mouth, ye willna cry out, and ye willna speak, will ye now? "

She shook her head.

"Do ye think I might trust yer promise at least on this?" he asked, smiling menacingly at his own jest. Slowly, Ellen nodded. His hand slid from her mouth, and still straddling her, he leaned back, his powerful thighs pinning her still beneath him. Ellen opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but he quickly shook his head, and frowning darkly, pressed a finger to her lips. "No!"

She obeyed him.

He smiled that dark, unnatural smile again, and reached for her hand. He held it in his own, caressed her fingers, threaded them through his, then lowered her hand and pushed it between his thigh and her body so that she could not move it. Then he took the other arm, caressed her wrist, kissed the soft inside of her elbow, and slowly raised her arm up and away from her body. With the other hand, he reached behind his back, took something from his belt, and before she realized what was happening, he began to tie her to the bedpost.

"Liam—"

"Ach, but I told ye no' to speak, did I no'?" he asked patiently, as if chastising a child. From his pocket, he withdrew what looked like a kerchief. "Lift yer head, then," he said amicably as he wound a dirty kerchief into a long strip. When Ellen did not move to do so, he lifted it for her, forced the kerchief between her teeth, and tied it loosely at the back of her head, enough to keep her from speaking. Carefully, he lowered her head, reached around his back, and took another strip of cloth or rope, and taking the hand he held captive, raised it, too.

Ellen attempted to pull free, but he was much stronger, and moreover, she had lost the will to fight. Let him do to her what he would—she deserved it and more. He bound her other arm by the wrist to the opposite bedpost so that she was stretched across the bed, unable to move, gagged so that she could not speak.

Liam smiled as his gaze wandered over her body. "Have ye any idea how long I've wanted ye like this? Trussed up so that ye couldna move and at me complete mercy?"

Oh, yes, she knew. She knew almost to the moment, and locking her gaze with his, nodded solemnly.

Liam cocked a brow. "Do ye, indeed? Then ye must also know all the things I thought to do to ye, eh?" he asked, his brows dipping into a vee.

Do anything. Hurt me. Make the guilt go away.

"Aye," he said, as if responding to her thoughts, "I've dreamed of it all. Every wee thing a man could do to a woman, I've thought of it. But those dreams, they always come back to the same place."

Ellen cringed, not wanting to hear that place voiced aloud. But Liam laughed low, and with his finger, traced a line from the top of her forehead, between her eyes, and down to the tip of her nose. "I want ye to know the frustration, Ellie. I want to push ye headlong into that state of being unfulfilled, to know what it means to have life breathed into ye, golden and fresh, then have it knocked clean from yer lungs with one blow."

Ah, God, dear God, how he must despise her! She loved him—loved him so completely that she finally understood what endless love meant. It did not mean pining, did not mean aching, it meant no beginning and no end, and in her heart, there was only Liam. Liam. The man she had betrayed. Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and she expected the worst for her crime, tried to prepare herself for it, but Liam just sat there, straddled across her, looking down at her, half in awe, half in triumph. And then he hooked one finger in the tie of her sleeping gown and pulled it free.

She felt the garment slide open; Liam casually pushed the rest of it aside, baring her shoulder. He touched it. Gingerly, reverently. Then a caress, his rough hand moving like silk over her skin, the inconsonant sensation of it bringing a rush of tortured memories to her. She whimpered with regret and longing against the gag, but Liam ignored her, just gathered the hem of her sleeping gown and pushed it up, exposing her. There was a rush of cold air on her skin; her nipples tautening. Liam came off her then and stood by the side of the bed, gazing down at her naked torso. The look in his eye was mad, she thought, but he suddenly turned away, walked across the darkened room, rummaged about her dressing table. After a moment, he turned, holding one of her stockings. "I want ye to feel what ye did to me, every moment of it," he said, and leaned over her, draping the stocking across her eye.

He meant to blindfold her. Blind her, so that she could not see the revenge he exacted. Instinctively, she strained against the bindings, heard Liam's low laugh. Blindfolded, bound, and gagged, she lay naked before him, her gown bunched at her throat, and could feel her chest rising and falling with every tortured breath. His hand on her abdomen made her start; his low chuckle next to her ear was another surprise. And then his lips, so soft, on her shoulder, trailing down her side, his hand skimming her breast, kneading, rolling the stiffened tip between his fingers.

A warmth filled her, spreading between her legs, flooding her body. Ellen moved in response to his touch, but then suddenly, he was gone again. She froze, waiting—but there was no sound, no movement, and her first thought was that he had left her, left her bound to be discovered just as she had done to him. The very thought of being discovered like this was horrifying; she was suddenly straining against the bindings, turning her head, trying to see beneath the blindfold.

And then, just as suddenly, his hand was on her ankle, softly caressing, lightly trailing a path up to her thigh, brushing carelessly against the apex. Ellie shifted unthinkingly, closer or further away from him, she couldn't tell. His mouth was suddenly on her stomach, and she unthinkingly arched into it, heard the low moan as his lips left her skin again. "No, ye'll no' have it as easy as this, Ellie," he said, and without warning, he yanked the gag free of her mouth. Before she could take a breath, his lips were on hers, his tongue sweeping boldly into the recesses of her mouth, his teeth nipping at her lips, suckling them, kissing her with the passion she had felt at Peasedown Park, the crushing, bruising passion that was banging about her chest now. She wanted her arms free, wanted to hold him, and turned her head, breaking the kiss.

"Untie me," she whispered, but Liam just laughed against her throat, and was suddenly gone again. She waited for what seemed like an eternity before she felt his hand on her knee, pushing her leg aside, then the other, spreading her open. Ellen's body was on fire, every inch of her screaming with desire. She had expected to be punished, had expected to feel his wrath, but this… this was exquisite torture.

Something brushed against her sex, something light, something soft. There it is again . A feather. He was teasing her with a feather! Ellen strained with her body to find him, to touch him, but he had stepped away again. Panting, she waited.

"Ye want me, lass," she heard him say from somewhere on her right, near the windows. "I can see that ye do." His hand, between her legs. "How does it feel, then?" he asked, this time from somewhere on the left of her, near the door. "How does it feel to want someone so completely, so thoroughly, and have that desire, that love so cruelly torn from yer breast?"

"Don't leave," she whispered hoarsely, panicking now.

"Ah, leannan, ye'll no' leave me sight again."

She felt her legs being pushed aside, his fingers on her thigh, and then— oh! —his mouth on her sex, lapping her up, devouring her, taking every part of her into his mouth, and what he could not have in him, filling with his tongue. Ellen writhed beneath him—this dark assault on her senses was overwhelming, and she felt it building between her thighs as he buried his face there. Her body began to respond with need, bucking and arching up to meet him…

And then he was gone.

She released her frustration with a cry in the dark; a hand immediately clapped over her mouth. "Be still… be still," he whispered, soothing her, caressing her neck and her cheek, leaving the scent of her own body behind.

"Liam, I love you," she moaned.

"Ye love me hands, me mouth," he whispered, seemingly from somewhere above her, and shoved his hand roughly between her legs again.

Ellen closed her thighs, holding him there. "You won't believe me, I know, and you have every right. But I was wrong, Liam, I was so wrong to have betrayed you! I came here to tell you so, I came here to beg you to forgive me!"

"Beg, then," he said coldly, jerking his hand from her thighs and moving again. "What a fool I've been, Ellie, for I thought ye couldna possibly love me and betray me as ye did."

"No, no," she moaned, shaking her head dumbly. His hand fell to her breast; she caught her breath and held it for a moment as he caressed it. "No," she sighed again. "I love you. I loved you from the beginning. I just…I thought it would never last, and I thought I had no choice, that Natalie would die in that place if I didn't do something—"

His hand drifting down her belly, to her sex.

She swallowed a long sigh, forced herself to keep talking. "I thought I could do it, I thought I could just walk away and know in my heart that I had done the right thing for my daughter. But then…" She gasped as his fingers slipped between her wet folds. "But then, you came to…to Peasedown, and I—"

"Ye what?" he breathed, massaging her now. "Ye what? Say it or I'll stop, I swear I will."

"I…" She tried to catch her breath, tried not to sink into the furious blaze of desire he had rekindled. "I wanted you," she breathed. "I wanted you so, wanted you just like this, your hands on me, your mouth on me. I wanted to show you that I thought only of you, dreamed only of you, that I loved only you. I wanted you, Liam—"

She caught a sob in her throat as he increased the pressure, pressing her home, to a naked release. And as she felt herself falling away, falling hard, he said, "Did ye want me like this, Ellie?"

"Yes!"

"And like this?" he said roughly, mounting her now, his body stretching the length of hers, sliding into her wet sheath until she shuddered with the emotion of it.

"I never wanted anything else," she whimpered into his ear as he began to stroke, long and smooth, gathering her tightly in his arms as he moved. "I wanted to crawl inside of you and stay there, I wanted to hold you in my arms and kiss you, I wanted to feel you, hard and hot inside me."

Liam moaned; his stroke lengthened, and he held her more tightly, his arms surrounding her. Ellen lifted her hips, let her head fall back with the glorious feel of him. His mouth fell to her throat, and she could scarcely talk, scarcely breathe, so divine was their joining. "I love you," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I shall always love you. With my last breath I shall love you," she moaned, feeling the pressure building again, building fast, in tune with Liam's frantic strokes. "So take all of me," she said, gulping, "take every inch of me, take me deep, take me hard and fast, I pray you, for I cannot endure a life without you, Liam, I cannot."

His cry of release, in time with hers, was muffled against her throat; he clung to her, his breathing ragged, until his body spasmed once more. And then they lay, panting, their bodies wet with the exertion of his revenge.

Liam had no idea how long they lay there, but when he at last lifted his head, he saw Ellie, her head lolling back, blindfolded. Her body completely still, partially beneath him, the only evidence of life her heart pounding wildly against her chest. Slowly, he pushed himself up. He untied one of her arms, which fell limply to her side. He untied the other, watched it fall, too. Still she did not move, just lay there, as if all the life had bled out of her with that last, terrific climax. With his finger, he pushed her head to the side, removed the loosely tied blindfold, then slipped two fingers beneath her chin and turned her face so that he could look at her.

There were tears glistening in her eyes, tears that burned him; he thought that he had hurt her somehow, and that had not been his intent. But then Ellie smiled up at him, that charming, glorious smile of hers that he had kept in his heart, and she whispered, exhausted, "I do love you, Liam."

Mo creach, he loved her, too. More than he could have even realized. But gazing on her now, he still didn't know if he could trust her, or how he might keep her. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he couldn't be without her. Ever. Not for a moment, a single moment. It left him feeling as if there were several pieces of himself that didn't quite fit together.

That raw need, so strange, so unusual, flustered him, and he stood, walked around the bed to where he had tossed his clothing, and picked up the soiled buckskins. "I donna know if that is good enough, Ellie," he said gruffly. "In London I would have sworn on me mother's heart that ye loved me."

"I did!" she insisted, pushing up on her elbows, watching him. "I love you, Liam. I don't know what else to say except that I am sorry, so terribly sorry, and I beg your forgiveness for what I did."

"Aye, but should I give it to ye?" he asked the wall, pausing to rub his chin. "If ye love me, ye'll return the goddamn beastie—"

"Yes, well. As to that…" she said, looking away.

Liam stopped what he was doing and stared down at her. "As to that?"

"All right, then, will you please listen to me?" she asked frantically, and turned abruptly, clasping her hands together to plead with him. "I was so torn! I didn't know what to do, but then I came to my senses at last, and I realized that the statue did not belong to me, it belonged to you, and there is nothing I can say or think to justify taking it, nothing! And now, if you toss me out on my ear, or take me to the authorities, then so be it, I would not blame you, not at all!"

"Well, then? Where is it?" he asked sternly, his hands on his naked waist.

She winced. "I thought all these things, truly I did, and I felt them rather strongly…but I suppose I thought them a moment too late— "

"Too late?"

Cringing, Ellie drew her knees to her chest, hugged them tightly to her. "I had already sold it."

"Ye did what?" he asked weakly, disbelieving.

"But that is why I am here!" she said, brightening. "I brought the money to you. Every last farthing—well, except for your kilt—"

"Aye, ye butchered me kilt!"

"I sold it, too," she said, wincing again.

Would the cruel indignities ever cease? Liam groaned, covered his face with his hands.

"And used the proceeds to come here, to give you the money I got for the beastie. Don't you see? I am trying to make amends."

The loss of his kilt momentarily forgotten, Liam peeked up at her. All right, he had to figure out a way to see this as good news, didn't he? And in truth, he supposed that was exactly what his family had intended to do. Ellie had simply done that for them! Ah-ha! He grinned at her proudly. "Ellie, what a clever lass ye are! Did ye give it to me father, then?"

"Um…no."

"No?"

She shook her head and bit her lower lip.

Liam felt his heart sink a little. "Why?"

"Well, I wanted to give it to you, of course, so that you would know how sorry I am," she said, clasping her hands to her naked breast, and to which Liam nodded impatiently. "But…but it didn't bring quite what you had hoped, I think."

Mary Queen of Scots, was that all? He smiled with relief. "Lass, a few hundred pounds one way or the other—"

"Five hundred?"

"Aye, five hundred pounds less than what we hoped, 'tis still a pretty sum. "

"No—I mean, five hundred pounds for the beastie. In total, that is."

Liam blinked. Was certain he had misunderstood. "Ye mean five hundred less," he tried to help her.

Ellie dipped her gaze away from him. "I was desperate, Liam." Liam gasped with shock and was instantly beside her, holding her hand, beseeching her. "No, no, Ellie, say ye are jesting with me! Do no' say ye sold the beastie for a mere five hundred pounds!"

"All right, I won't say it," she said weakly, and he knew a glimmer of hope in that moment…until she added softly, "But it's true."

"Ah, Christ," he said, and slapping his forehead, he turned and slid to the floor, leaning against the bed on his haunches, covering his face with his hands. "Have ye any idea what ye've done, Ellie?" he cried angrily.

"Yes, I know," she said quickly. "Believe me, I know very well what I've done—"

"No, ye canna possibly understand. Ye've given away our one chance to keep Talla Dileas, the one bloody thing we had in hand!" he exclaimed, shaking his empty palm to the ceiling.

"I know," she said softly, and slid off the bed to sit next to him on the floor. "I know better than perhaps you how much this place means to all the Lockharts. I know how your mother walks the halls every morning, looking for things she might sell to put food on the table," she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chin. "I know how your father goes to Aberfoyle every other day and says he's gone calling on friends, when really, I suspect, he's gone to look for work. I know how Griffin wants to be free, to go and live the life of a gentleman, but how his conscience won't let him leave the family he loves so dearly. And I know how Mared walks to the top of Din Footh and looks over this valley and dreams of the day when her children will run on the grassy lawns and fish in the loch like you and she and Griffin did when you were children."

Liam looked at her then, saw the tears shimmering. "Ah, Ellie…"

"I know what I've done, Liam. I know very well and I beg God every day to forgive me."

He shook his head, felt the anger ebbing away.

"I'll do anything to make up for it," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'll do anything. I'll clean, I'll dig trenches, I'll learn how to hunt for food…"

Dig trenches, indeed. Liam sighed, looked heavenward, and smiled. He had known it, hadn't he, that he'd never know a moment's peace? He lowered his gaze, took her hand, and kissed her palm. "It must be true what they say about the beastie, eh? That it's English and will slip through the fingers of the Scot who tries to possess it."

"Liam… please forgive me," she asked earnestly.

"'Twill no' be so easy, lass," he said solemnly, and lifted his gaze to hers. "Ye'll pay for it all right, with yer very life, mo ghraid, for now ye must consent to marry me. I canna let ye out of me sight, clearly. And I canna live a moment with ye, so there ye have it. I've gone and fallen in love with a conniving little thief, the bonniest woman in all of Britain."

"Liam!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "Do you mean it? You'll not toss me out? You truly love me still, even after all I've done to you?"

"Aye," he said, his voice filled with bewilderment. "I donna understand it in the least, I swear it, and it will take the rest of yer days to repay the price of the beastie, I'd wager, though I'm bloody certain I'll be the one to pay for it many times over. But the truth is, I love ye, Ellie. Deeply and completely, I do. I'll forgive ye being English, and stealing from me— twice —and selling the beastie, if ye'll just say that ye and Natalie will be mine. "

"Oh, Liam," she sighed into his neck, and lifted her head as her hands slid from his neck to his chest. "How I love you! You've made me so happy," she exclaimed, her eyes shimmering with happiness now. "I promise not to disappoint you, I promise," she said, and put her arms around him, kissing him madly, passionately. Then abruptly, she stopped, her angel eyes still gleaming. "Let's go wake Natalie and tell her that her prince has come at last!"

Aye, and the princess was rescued from her tower and lived happily ever after.

Liam helped her up; they dressed quickly, and hand in hand, walked across the room to the adjoining door, where Ellie paused and peeked up at him. "Ah…Liam, pardon, but I didn't actually hear you say that you forgave me the kilt—"

"Now that," he said, "a man canna forgive. It will cost ye dearly, it will," and he gathered her in his arms, crushing her to him as he kissed her with all the promise of a happy life ever after.

Except that she would never so much as touch his kilt again. Never.