He’d anticipated that smile all bloody afternoon.
Once they’d arrived back at the keep, the lass had been disappointingly absent, and Russell had informed him that she’d been seen running into the woods alone, as though chased by the reaper.
Ravencroft was generally a safe place, but peculiar and dangerous things had occurred lately, and he didn’t like the idea of a London lass in the Wester Ross woods alone. Concerned, Liam had taken it upon himself to go after her, as the hour began to grow late, and had barely set off when he’d heard the musical cadence of her laughter drift from the tree line.
She’d appeared, and not alone.
The smile in which Liam had meant to bask, she’d bestowed upon someone else. And not just anyone else, the very man who’d already betrayed him once before.
A familiar rage ignited inside him. Liam grasped onto that anger with both hands, calling forth the demon that had been forged in the inferno of his fury. It smothered the pain and suspicion with arrogance and superiority. He couldn’t allow himself to notice the soft give of her flesh beneath his rough hands as he held her. Nor could he glance down to see the wet skirts clinging to her legs, outlining every lush curve of her voluptuous body.
“Answer me, woman,” he growled. The image of her rolling beneath Gavin St. James in the waves sent a shock of murderous rage through him that lit his blood aflame. “What the bloody hell were ye doing in the forest with him?”
“I—I took a walk by the sea.” Her eyes searched for anywhere to land but his. “A pup almost drowned and I waded out to save it for poor Trixie, and Mr. St. James was likewise looking for his dog and he offered to escort me home and—um…” The words tumbled out of her in desperate chaos bereft of any of her characteristic eloquence.
“It is dangerous to lie to me,” he roared, giving her a firm shake.
Instead of offering more excuses, as he’d expected, the woman blanched a ghostly shade, and moisture welled to the rim of her lids as angst tightened her soft skin against her lovely features.
Confronted by what seemed to be guilt, Liam felt physically ill. “Is this how you conduct yourself? The second ye’re left alone, you run off to whore in the woods with a known scoundrel?”
Her chin snapped up, and her eyes locked onto his, brimming with something other than tears, something he’d never expected to see from such a timid creature.
Fearless defiance.
It turned her irises an intense shade of azure-green and flashed at him with the strength of a sea storm, as though she were Calypso herself readying to unleash her wrath.
“You will unhand me, sir.” She whispered the order, softly, slowly, as she twisted in his grip in such a way that Liam knew it would cause her pain if he didn’t let go.
So he released her, though his hands curled at his sides, aching with a sense of loss. With the need to touch her again.
She took a step backward, then another, brandishing her bouquet like a shield as her features became harder and colder with each careful retreat.
Conflicted, provoked, angry, and bemused, Liam advanced, which seemed to fuel her hostility.
“How dare you?” she spat, her voice almost a whisper, and somehow carrying the weight of a Viking’s cudgel. “How dare you cast such unfounded aspersions at me when I have given you no reason to draw such dreadful conclusions?”
Liam summoned his indignation to smother the shame he felt at handling her roughly. “What other conclusions do ye expect me to draw, Miss Lockhart?”
“Perhaps you should gather information before making wild and ridiculous accusations. Before calling me a whore.”
Would that she were a whore rather than a governess.
The errant wish shocked Liam so thoroughly that his next words escaped more harshly than intended. “Do ye deny that any of yer pretty London lords and ladies wouldn’t suspect the same after witnessing such behavior?”
“Wasn’t it you who informed me you were different than they are?” she accused.
Liam blinked, momentarily speechless. No one dared to speak to him like this, not in decades. He’d thought this wee lass a timid English mouse. And though her heart-shaped face was leached of color, her eyes burned with a lovely jade fire, fueled by her defensive indignation.
“Mr. St. James treated me with more respectful deference and gentlemanly conduct than you have since the day I arrived at your keep, my laird, and he kept his hands to himself.”
“How do I know that?”
She’d looked so guilty when he’d accused her of being a liar.
“You have my word as a lady.”
“I trust no one’s word.” Besides, she was no lady. Merely a governess.
“That’s no fault of mine,” she quipped. “What was it Shakespeare said? ‘Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.’”
Liam’s head snapped to the side, as though she’d slapped him. He couldn’t look at her for a moment, couldn’t see the fire in her eyes match the heat burning inside of him.
He’d not be responsible for what he would do next.
Gritting his teeth against his conflicting emotions, he pressed forward, forcing her to step back again, retreating toward the walls of the keep. His demon temper wanted her cornered. Wanted her helpless and trembling before him.
He wanted her to beg. Wanted her to kneel. He. Wanted …
Her.
Beneath him. Above him. He didn’t care. The thought of her with another man, with that man, caused his Mackenzie blood to simmer with dominance.
For such an intelligent lass, she wasn’t smart enough to fear him. He needed to change that, for her own good.
He was a monster, after all. A demon. And it was best for all involved that she stay out of his way.
Though … hadn’t he sought her out?
Pushing that troubling thought to the side, he gave her the look that had sent the most powerful of men to their knees. “If ye wish to retain yer position here, or if ye want Mr. St. James to live with his hands attached to his wrists, ye’ll make certain they stay away from yer person. I’ll not have ye keep company with the likes of him.”
“I had no further intention of doing so,” she stated, her eyes widening as her back found the stone wall of the keep, impeding further retreat. Yet she stood against him, her chin lifted haughtily, and her shoulders thrown as far back as the wall behind her would allow. “Regardless of my intent, you don’t have the right to dictate how I spend my free time, or with whom!”
The leash on his temper snapped and roared to the surface. “Like hell! I am laird here!” He threw his arms out wide to illustrate the scope of his domain before gesturing at her. “And whilst in my employ, ye will mark me when I order ye to—”
Her reaction turned the flames of his temper into shards of ice. Heated words crowded his throat, suddenly filled with shock and remorse, and turned to ash.
The woman didn’t just cringe or wince, like someone who’d been startled, when he’d gestured at her.
She cowered.
The bouquet of blossoms scattered to their feet as her hands flew up to protect her face, chin tucked tightly against her chest, and her lovely eyes squeezed shut. Bracing herself. Preparing for him to strike her.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
From one of her trembling, splayed palms little crimson dots of blood revealed a terrible truth. She hadn’t been fearless in her defiance as he’d initially assumed …