Highland Obsession by Dawn Halliday

flashed in Alan’s mind. Cam forcing Sorcha onto her back. She was naked, her pale skin stark against his darker flesh. Black hair against black hair . . . tears streaming down her face as he held her down . . .
    Alan made a final attempt to lunge to his feet, but the guards held him firmly down.
    Duncan’s kindly face swam before him. “Use your head, Alan MacDonald. Go to her father—he has a history with his lordship.”
    So did Alan—his past with Cam was more extensive than any of the surrounding men could imagine—but what good was that to him right now? Alan blinked. Duncan was telling him to leave? He shook his head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve injured men in Cam’s—his lordship’s—service. And Sorcha”—his voice cracked—“my wife . . .”
    He’d kill Cam for this.
    He struggled against the men who held him. “Let me go to her, damn you.”
    Duncan leaned toward him and spoke in low tones. “They understand, lad. Go home now, and there’ll be no more bloodshed. If ye persist, they’ll either have ye in chains or dead by night’s end.”
    “I can’t—” Alan’s lungs constricted. He could scarcely breathe. Could he turn his back on Sorcha . . . allow Cam to have his way with her?
    What would she do? From what he’d seen of her tonight, she was no helpless chit. She had fire within her. Was she still fighting him? Alan squeezed his eyes shut.
    “Ye’ll be no good to her dead,” Duncan said gently. “Go, lad. Go to Stewart. He’ll help ye.”
    He was no good to her defeated, either. Mustering all his strength, he lunged forward again, breaking away from the men who held him down. He sprinted to the iron gate and rammed his shoulder against it. The hinges groaned, giving slightly under the force of his blow.
    But someone shouted, something slammed into the back of his head, and everything faded to black.
     
    Cam was too fast for Sorcha. He leaped to his feet as she flung open the door, and he sprinted forward, catching her arm and jerking her around as she ran into the hallway.
    She screamed, and though the noise was loud enough to wake half of Scotland, nobody ran to her rescue.
    Cam hauled her up against him, wrapping a hand around her lower back. She fought him. Writhing in his embrace, she again sank her teeth into his arm as she scored his face with her nails, all the while screaming bloody murder. “Let me go. Let me go, damn you! I hate you! You bastard!”
    His biceps stinging from her bites, he locked her wrists in one of his hands and dragged her back into his bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. Once he reached the bed, he tossed her onto it. She flipped her body over and made to scramble away, but he jumped beside her. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him. He swung his leg over her, straddling her hips, holding her down with his weight and pinning her arms overhead.
    Blast it, he didn’t hurt women. He hoped to God he wasn’t hurting her. By the twisted look of rage on her face, she wasn’t feeling it if he was.
    He shook her. “Stop it, Sorcha. Do you hear me? Stop! Have you gone mad?”
    “Have you?” she spat. “Do you think I’ll just lie here while you rape me? Make a cuckold of my husband as I simper in approval?”
    “You will come to me on your own accord,” he said flatly, though he was beginning to wonder. Her vehemence shocked him.
    Didn’t she love him?
    “I’d rather rot in hell.” She tugged her arms as if to test his strength, then held still, staring up at him. Hostility flared in her green eyes.
    Then again, what had he expected from her? Thankfulness? Perhaps from a lass less spirited, less honor bound than Sorcha. He was foolish to have thought Sorcha would fall into his arms, despite what they had once shared. She was a married woman, and he had forgotten how indomitable the bonds of marriage were to Highlanders.
    Yes, she had cared for him once. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d made love to her. Hell,