distracted her.
"I—I—meant to talk, I've told you that. We were trying to help Alistair. But, I tell you, sir, in truth, I don't know—"
"You knew enough, and you brought about my damnation, Lady Shawna MacGinnis. And by God, you will be part and party to all that I require—nay, demand!—now!"
"You are mad if you think that you can demand anything of me, Laird Douglas! I will not—"
"You will not what?" he queried softly, leaning even closer, the flash of his teeth caught in the moonlight now, his smile like a satyr's grin.
"Just what is it that you would demand?" she asked.
"Everything, Lady MacGinnis. Everything. Flesh and blood and bone and more."
He was closer. So close that his lips hovered just above hers.
His fingers again brushed her cheek. They ran down the length of her like tendrils of a flame.
"I demand... you, milady," he said flatly. "Indeed, I have come back, and would begin again where I left off. I demand you. And how very damned convenient. Just what I want—so easily delivered to me. You are, after all, sleeping in my bed."
"I offer my heartiest apologies. By some miracle, you have returned. The bed is yours. I can most certainly leave it."
"I think not, Shawna. I think not. Most certainly, milady, I think not tonight."
"This is absurd. You don't understand—"
"You don't understand, my lady. I was set up. Attacked. Left for dead, yet somehow alive. Alive to reside in absolute hell. The guilty parties must be made to pay."
"But—"
"Tonight, my lady, paying begins. And it is your turn. You first. Oh, aye, you first. For others may be involved. Others must be discovered and proved. While you, my love—you are guilty as all hell."
"Damn you, I didn't—"
"Damn you, you did."
"I tell you—"
"I lay in this very room, Shawna, while you came to me in the moonlight, and beckoned me to hell. How quickly, how easily, you forget!"
"I did not forget!"
"Neither did I."
"David, I'm telling you, I don't know what happened, I don't know how you can be alive. I—"
"Well, we'll have to all discover the complete truth of the past then, won't we? But in the meantime, tonight, lady, you begin to pay."
She knew him; he was so familiar.
Yet he was a different man, and she feared she didn't know him at all.
He could very well mean that he was about to wind his fingers around her neck and slowly, surely, squeeze her life from her.
Her breath caught as she met his eyes in the nighttime play of light and shadow. No deep dark warmth of forest green met her stare, but a glitter as sharp as emerald gems, as cold as stones from within an icy depth of the earth. And still, she despaired to feel a searing of heat within her veins, her limbs; he was a stranger, but even after five years, he was a familiar stranger. Flesh, bone, and muscle, she knew him well, knew the man with her. The power in his eyes she knew, yet it was clear that whatever more gentle emotions he might once have felt toward her had indeed died that night. The sharp light in his eyes as they met hers came from the demon death had made of the man; his touch upon her was equally as cold. Yet that did not douse the fever that had possessed her, born of fear, and dread, and fury, and... anticipation.
She was the daughter of a people who had fought forever, she reminded herself. A people who had died for their rights, for their pride, for their beliefs. Whatever he sought, vengeance or murder, she would fight until she could fight no more....
"I'll not pay for what I haven't done!" she whispered heatedly. "You'll demand nothing from me. You'll—"
His finger fell against her lips and he spoke coldly and harshly, as if he hadn't heard a word of what she had said. "I shall tell you, my lady, what will and will not happen. You cry to me of your innocence while admitting your guilt."
"I was guilty only of—"
"You were the pawn, Shawna. The bait. Perhaps you didn't strike the blow. Someone did."
"I swear to you, I don't
"I—I—meant to talk, I've told you that. We were trying to help Alistair. But, I tell you, sir, in truth, I don't know—"
"You knew enough, and you brought about my damnation, Lady Shawna MacGinnis. And by God, you will be part and party to all that I require—nay, demand!—now!"
"You are mad if you think that you can demand anything of me, Laird Douglas! I will not—"
"You will not what?" he queried softly, leaning even closer, the flash of his teeth caught in the moonlight now, his smile like a satyr's grin.
"Just what is it that you would demand?" she asked.
"Everything, Lady MacGinnis. Everything. Flesh and blood and bone and more."
He was closer. So close that his lips hovered just above hers.
His fingers again brushed her cheek. They ran down the length of her like tendrils of a flame.
"I demand... you, milady," he said flatly. "Indeed, I have come back, and would begin again where I left off. I demand you. And how very damned convenient. Just what I want—so easily delivered to me. You are, after all, sleeping in my bed."
"I offer my heartiest apologies. By some miracle, you have returned. The bed is yours. I can most certainly leave it."
"I think not, Shawna. I think not. Most certainly, milady, I think not tonight."
"This is absurd. You don't understand—"
"You don't understand, my lady. I was set up. Attacked. Left for dead, yet somehow alive. Alive to reside in absolute hell. The guilty parties must be made to pay."
"But—"
"Tonight, my lady, paying begins. And it is your turn. You first. Oh, aye, you first. For others may be involved. Others must be discovered and proved. While you, my love—you are guilty as all hell."
"Damn you, I didn't—"
"Damn you, you did."
"I tell you—"
"I lay in this very room, Shawna, while you came to me in the moonlight, and beckoned me to hell. How quickly, how easily, you forget!"
"I did not forget!"
"Neither did I."
"David, I'm telling you, I don't know what happened, I don't know how you can be alive. I—"
"Well, we'll have to all discover the complete truth of the past then, won't we? But in the meantime, tonight, lady, you begin to pay."
She knew him; he was so familiar.
Yet he was a different man, and she feared she didn't know him at all.
He could very well mean that he was about to wind his fingers around her neck and slowly, surely, squeeze her life from her.
Her breath caught as she met his eyes in the nighttime play of light and shadow. No deep dark warmth of forest green met her stare, but a glitter as sharp as emerald gems, as cold as stones from within an icy depth of the earth. And still, she despaired to feel a searing of heat within her veins, her limbs; he was a stranger, but even after five years, he was a familiar stranger. Flesh, bone, and muscle, she knew him well, knew the man with her. The power in his eyes she knew, yet it was clear that whatever more gentle emotions he might once have felt toward her had indeed died that night. The sharp light in his eyes as they met hers came from the demon death had made of the man; his touch upon her was equally as cold. Yet that did not douse the fever that had possessed her, born of fear, and dread, and fury, and... anticipation.
She was the daughter of a people who had fought forever, she reminded herself. A people who had died for their rights, for their pride, for their beliefs. Whatever he sought, vengeance or murder, she would fight until she could fight no more....
"I'll not pay for what I haven't done!" she whispered heatedly. "You'll demand nothing from me. You'll—"
His finger fell against her lips and he spoke coldly and harshly, as if he hadn't heard a word of what she had said. "I shall tell you, my lady, what will and will not happen. You cry to me of your innocence while admitting your guilt."
"I was guilty only of—"
"You were the pawn, Shawna. The bait. Perhaps you didn't strike the blow. Someone did."
"I swear to you, I don't
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