Love Wild and Fair by Bertrice Small

not for what he had done to her, but for the fact that he had bested her.
    He pulled her into his arms again and began to play with her breasts.
    “No!” she protested.
    He paid no attention to her, but instead crushed the softness in his hand. “God,” he murmured against her, “God, but ye’ve got the sweetest little tits I’ve ever known.” His lips caressed her fluttering belly, but when he went to move farther down she cried out.
    “No! Not again!”
    Laughing softly, he raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His hand forced itself between her legs, and his fingers played. “Didn’t ye like lesson one, sweetheart?”
    She tried to squirm away. “When I tell my father how ye’ve raped me, he’ll kill ye!”
    “Nay, hinny. He gave me his blessing to do wi ye as I pleased. He knows that in the end I will honor our betrothal agreement and wed wi ye. That’s all he wants.”
    Cat knew Patrick was right, and it infuriated her.
    He pulled her under him and kissed her bruised mouth until she cried with hurt His lips turned soft, the touch of his swollen penis against her thighs spread them as her hips arched hungrily to meet his downward thrust.
    Patrick Leslie laughed softly. “By God, Cat yer a hungry little bitch! I wonder if Fiona’s as hot as ye are.”
    Her fists beat against his smooth chest. He laughed again, and then slowly went about the task of reducing her resistance to compliance. At last he fell into a deep sleep. Since there was no way she could escape him at that point she fell into a sleep of her own.
    In the early hours of the morning he woke her and took her again. Her young body ached from the un-accustomed activity. Understanding this, he lugged a tall oak-and-iron tub into the bedroom and placed it before the fire. While she watched, astonished, he carried up caldrons of hot water until the tub was full. From somewhere he produced a cake of sweet-scented soap. Picking her up, he put her into the water.
    “Ye smell like a brothel,” he commented.
    “Then ye should be right at home!” she shot back.
    He stripped the bed, threw the sheets out into the hallway, and remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented linens. Then he disappeared and returned a few minutes later bearing a goblet. She was out of the tub, sitting before the fire wrapped in a towel.
    “Drink this.”
    “What is it?”
    “Sweet red wine, a beaten egg, and some herbs.”
    It was delicious. Taking the damp towel from her, he picked her up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her naked body into the cool sheets and down coverlet.
    “Go to sleep, hinny. It’s been a long night for ye.” He bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
    “Where are ye going?” she asked. Before he could answer, she was asleep.
    Patrick Leslie gazed down at the sleeping girl and thought how much he loved her, and how frightened he had been—imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to her—when she fled him. He wasn’t going to give her another chance to run, and he certainly would not tell her of his feelings towards her. Women were better off unsure. Too, he couldn’t bear it again if she said she hated him.
    He bathed, dressed himself, and went down to the kitchen. Conall rose from the trestle.
    “Sit down, man,” commanded the earl. “Ellen love, gie me a bowl of that oatmeal your brother’s enjoying so.” She placed one before him. “Conall, I want ye to ride down to Glenkirk today, and fetch some clothes for Mistress Cat and myself. We’ll be staying here for several weeks. Ellen, ye’ll tell me what she needs, and I’ll write it down.”
    “I can both read and write, my lord,” said Ellen frostily. “If ye dinna mind, I’d prefer to write to Lady Hay myself.”
    “Very well, Ellen.” He smiled at her. “Dinna disapprove, chuck. I do love her, ye know.”
    “Did ye beat her, my lord?”
    “Ten strokes on her saucy bottom. I’ll be master in my own house, Ellen.”
    “Only ten?”
    “Only