want her to see it. He was like every other man that looked at her with one thing on his mind. He just controlled it better.
Bella had been the subject of one man's frenzied lust already; she didn't need another. From the first, her lack of response had angered her husband. It was almost as if he thought he could force a response from her with his increasingly base demands. No matter what he asked of her, or what he did to her, she refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of shame.
Only later did Bella realize he'd actually thought he could force her to feel pleasure. When she didn't, he blamed her, accusing her of being unnatural and cold.
Ironically, one smoldering look from Lachlan MacRuairi had elicited more response from her than any of the things her husband had done to her.
As disconcerting as her reaction was to him, she was pleased to see that he seemed just as eager to ignore it as she was. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who couldn't wait for this journey to be over.
They rode for a few more hours, the men taking turns riding ahead and behind. They rode until she didn't think she could go on.
She shifted in the saddle. He must have been watching her again because he said, "We'll stop up ahead to water the horses. We should be on the outskirts of Scone in a few hours."
The relief that she felt on hearing that not only would they be stopping, but that her ordeal would soon be over, pushed aside everything else. Forgetting whom she was speaking to, she heaved a heavy sigh and smiled. "Thank God!"
He looked momentarily stunned, confused even.
It was the first time she'd ever smiled at him. Actually, it was the first time she'd ever looked at him with anything other than suspicion or anger.
She realized it at the same time he did.
Their eyes held for an instant too long before she looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious and extremely aware that they were alone.
His voice when he spoke seemed unusually cautious--as if he were taking care not to upset this tentative truce. "I think we will all be glad when this is over." His eyes found hers once more, and she felt that strange buzz go through her. His eyes were ... intense . Piercing, nay, riveting, they were so crystal clear, so vibrant in color that they didn't seem real. "You've held up well, my lady. I regret having to push you so hard, but if there is to be any chance of reaching Scone in time, it's necessary."
Bella was just as taken aback by his second apology as she had been by the first. Lachlan MacRuairi seemed to be the last man who would apologize for anything, and she didn't quite know what to make of it.
She didn't quite know what to make of him .
She was forced to admit that he was right about one thing. He'd saved her from having to make a horrible decision in choosing whether to leave her daughter. He'd still lied to her, and she knew better than to trust him, but maybe he wasn't quite the heartless brigand she'd first imagined him.
Heartless brigands didn't cover you with a plaid at night when you were sleeping in a dry cave while they spent hours in the cold rain. When she'd woken yesterday morning, warm and cozy, she'd recognized the dark blue and gray plaid right away as the one he wore around his shoulders. But it didn't explain how--or why--it had ended up on her.
It was also hard not to admire the cool efficiency with which he did his job. Except for short breaks, he'd taken the lion's share of the watch, sleeping little and spending hours on end in the cold and rain. When one of the horses had gotten loose and wandered into a bog, it had been Lachlan who'd gone in after it, spending over an hour in the bone-chilling, foul-smelling muck.
She wondered what had made him so cynical. Could he really care so little about everything? He was a mystery, and she couldn't help but feel mildly curious. She frowned. Nay, very curious.
"Do you think they'll wait?" she asked, returning to what she should be thinking
Bella had been the subject of one man's frenzied lust already; she didn't need another. From the first, her lack of response had angered her husband. It was almost as if he thought he could force a response from her with his increasingly base demands. No matter what he asked of her, or what he did to her, she refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of shame.
Only later did Bella realize he'd actually thought he could force her to feel pleasure. When she didn't, he blamed her, accusing her of being unnatural and cold.
Ironically, one smoldering look from Lachlan MacRuairi had elicited more response from her than any of the things her husband had done to her.
As disconcerting as her reaction was to him, she was pleased to see that he seemed just as eager to ignore it as she was. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who couldn't wait for this journey to be over.
They rode for a few more hours, the men taking turns riding ahead and behind. They rode until she didn't think she could go on.
She shifted in the saddle. He must have been watching her again because he said, "We'll stop up ahead to water the horses. We should be on the outskirts of Scone in a few hours."
The relief that she felt on hearing that not only would they be stopping, but that her ordeal would soon be over, pushed aside everything else. Forgetting whom she was speaking to, she heaved a heavy sigh and smiled. "Thank God!"
He looked momentarily stunned, confused even.
It was the first time she'd ever smiled at him. Actually, it was the first time she'd ever looked at him with anything other than suspicion or anger.
She realized it at the same time he did.
Their eyes held for an instant too long before she looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious and extremely aware that they were alone.
His voice when he spoke seemed unusually cautious--as if he were taking care not to upset this tentative truce. "I think we will all be glad when this is over." His eyes found hers once more, and she felt that strange buzz go through her. His eyes were ... intense . Piercing, nay, riveting, they were so crystal clear, so vibrant in color that they didn't seem real. "You've held up well, my lady. I regret having to push you so hard, but if there is to be any chance of reaching Scone in time, it's necessary."
Bella was just as taken aback by his second apology as she had been by the first. Lachlan MacRuairi seemed to be the last man who would apologize for anything, and she didn't quite know what to make of it.
She didn't quite know what to make of him .
She was forced to admit that he was right about one thing. He'd saved her from having to make a horrible decision in choosing whether to leave her daughter. He'd still lied to her, and she knew better than to trust him, but maybe he wasn't quite the heartless brigand she'd first imagined him.
Heartless brigands didn't cover you with a plaid at night when you were sleeping in a dry cave while they spent hours in the cold rain. When she'd woken yesterday morning, warm and cozy, she'd recognized the dark blue and gray plaid right away as the one he wore around his shoulders. But it didn't explain how--or why--it had ended up on her.
It was also hard not to admire the cool efficiency with which he did his job. Except for short breaks, he'd taken the lion's share of the watch, sleeping little and spending hours on end in the cold and rain. When one of the horses had gotten loose and wandered into a bog, it had been Lachlan who'd gone in after it, spending over an hour in the bone-chilling, foul-smelling muck.
She wondered what had made him so cynical. Could he really care so little about everything? He was a mystery, and she couldn't help but feel mildly curious. She frowned. Nay, very curious.
"Do you think they'll wait?" she asked, returning to what she should be thinking
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