she turned away, miserably aware that no apology would suffice.
A strong hand grasped her arm, pulling her back. She looked up, to find Arran’s gaze on her.
“Breghan is my responsibility, McAllen.”
“No.” Jerking her arm free, Breghan glared up into his cool green eyes. After all that had been said and done, the boar still considered them betrothed. She’d already earned her father’s wrath, she may as well make it worth the while. “I will never be your wife.”
“Then ’tis as well I no longer offer marriage,” Arran returned roughly. The moment the words were out, an emptiness opened up inside him. He knew full well he couldn’t keep her. Breghan could never be his wife, the mother of his children. He’d only meant to bring her safely home before he went on his way.
He looked at Breghan for a long moment, trying to understand the hollow feeling.
Outrage flashed from within the blue depths of her stare. His gaze slid over the slender curves he’d been pressed against on their short ride here…not so short that he hadn’t been tempted to madness. She was already promised to him. Was she not the daughter of Lady McAllen, the woman who’d borne McAllen a dozen sons?
The madness passed.
He wouldn’t damn his soul more than it already was.
The time had come to leave.
Arran found he could not. He couldn’t keep her and he couldn’t give her up. Not yet.
“I’ve decided on a handfasting instead,” he informed Breghan.
“How dare you.” Her hand came up to deliver a furious slap.
Arran was quicker, grabbing her wrist before her palm connected with his cheek. He hauled her up against him with a sharp tug.
“Have a care,” he warned darkly. “My current mood doesna run to leniency.”
Breghan was beyond warnings as she stared at Arran incredulously, last night’s rejections tumbling to the forefront.
He hadn’t wanted her then and he didn’t want her now.
Then it came to her.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
“I deceived you,” she said hotly. “Last night I made a fool of you. This handfasting is an insult and a mockery and a thin veil for your revenge.”
“Handfasting is an honourable tradition.”
“For a cotter’s daughter when no priest is available.”
His fingers increased the pressure on her wrist. “Or when two people wish some time to see if they suit.”
“We both know the answer to that,” she scoffed, twisting her wrist futilely. “If you think to use me sorely for a year and toss me back, think again.”
“Perhaps I willna throw you back. A man may grow accustomed to anything given time, even a sharp nose, a small forehead and no chin at all.” He threw her wrist away from him and took a step back. His gaze travelled down the length of her, then slowly up again until the heat in her cheeks was only part anger. “With a strict diet of fish and greens, perhaps you willna run to fat for a good while yet. And a year may well be sufficient to tame your shrewish ways.”
“Why, you—you—” spluttered Breghan, and tried again. “You will never tame me.”
“Time will tell,” he drawled.
Was that amusement tugging down his lower lip?
Too late, Breghan realised he was using her own words from last night to fuel his vengeance now.
No wonder he was amused.
She took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes on him. “We both know you don’t need time for anything. Last night you said you didn’t care an ounce for your wife’s character or looks. You’d douse the candles and keep her quiet in bed and that’s as far as your marriage strategy extends.”
“That is enough, Breghan,” came a rasped rebuke from behind.
Breghan turned, having completely forgotten her father’s presence. His face had gone from red to purple and he breathed so heavily, she feared he was about to succumb to an apoplexy.
How much had he heard? How much had she said? “Papa, please, soothe yourself. Let me explain.”
“Learn to hold your tongue,” Arran whispered
A strong hand grasped her arm, pulling her back. She looked up, to find Arran’s gaze on her.
“Breghan is my responsibility, McAllen.”
“No.” Jerking her arm free, Breghan glared up into his cool green eyes. After all that had been said and done, the boar still considered them betrothed. She’d already earned her father’s wrath, she may as well make it worth the while. “I will never be your wife.”
“Then ’tis as well I no longer offer marriage,” Arran returned roughly. The moment the words were out, an emptiness opened up inside him. He knew full well he couldn’t keep her. Breghan could never be his wife, the mother of his children. He’d only meant to bring her safely home before he went on his way.
He looked at Breghan for a long moment, trying to understand the hollow feeling.
Outrage flashed from within the blue depths of her stare. His gaze slid over the slender curves he’d been pressed against on their short ride here…not so short that he hadn’t been tempted to madness. She was already promised to him. Was she not the daughter of Lady McAllen, the woman who’d borne McAllen a dozen sons?
The madness passed.
He wouldn’t damn his soul more than it already was.
The time had come to leave.
Arran found he could not. He couldn’t keep her and he couldn’t give her up. Not yet.
“I’ve decided on a handfasting instead,” he informed Breghan.
“How dare you.” Her hand came up to deliver a furious slap.
Arran was quicker, grabbing her wrist before her palm connected with his cheek. He hauled her up against him with a sharp tug.
“Have a care,” he warned darkly. “My current mood doesna run to leniency.”
Breghan was beyond warnings as she stared at Arran incredulously, last night’s rejections tumbling to the forefront.
He hadn’t wanted her then and he didn’t want her now.
Then it came to her.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
“I deceived you,” she said hotly. “Last night I made a fool of you. This handfasting is an insult and a mockery and a thin veil for your revenge.”
“Handfasting is an honourable tradition.”
“For a cotter’s daughter when no priest is available.”
His fingers increased the pressure on her wrist. “Or when two people wish some time to see if they suit.”
“We both know the answer to that,” she scoffed, twisting her wrist futilely. “If you think to use me sorely for a year and toss me back, think again.”
“Perhaps I willna throw you back. A man may grow accustomed to anything given time, even a sharp nose, a small forehead and no chin at all.” He threw her wrist away from him and took a step back. His gaze travelled down the length of her, then slowly up again until the heat in her cheeks was only part anger. “With a strict diet of fish and greens, perhaps you willna run to fat for a good while yet. And a year may well be sufficient to tame your shrewish ways.”
“Why, you—you—” spluttered Breghan, and tried again. “You will never tame me.”
“Time will tell,” he drawled.
Was that amusement tugging down his lower lip?
Too late, Breghan realised he was using her own words from last night to fuel his vengeance now.
No wonder he was amused.
She took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes on him. “We both know you don’t need time for anything. Last night you said you didn’t care an ounce for your wife’s character or looks. You’d douse the candles and keep her quiet in bed and that’s as far as your marriage strategy extends.”
“That is enough, Breghan,” came a rasped rebuke from behind.
Breghan turned, having completely forgotten her father’s presence. His face had gone from red to purple and he breathed so heavily, she feared he was about to succumb to an apoplexy.
How much had he heard? How much had she said? “Papa, please, soothe yourself. Let me explain.”
“Learn to hold your tongue,” Arran whispered
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