Traitor Or Temptress

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Yes—of course I was.’

  ‘And pleased?’

  ‘No,’ she replied quietly and without hesitation, wishing he would tell her his real reason for seeking her out in her room at this hour. Her delicate eyebrows lifted in mute question as she waited for him to end his preoccupation with the fire.

  ‘So,’ he said at length, turning his head towards her, ‘you have no desire to be his wife, even though he is determined to have you.’

  ‘My feelings where Duncan is concerned have not changed.’

  ‘Tell me, would he still want you if he knew you were not the virtuous maid he believes you to be?’

  Lorne frowned, bewildered by his question. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘Perhaps not.’ A few steps brought her just within arm’s reach of him. She looked up at him intently. ‘My lord, what is it that you want to speak to me about? What is it you want?’

  Iain paused, hesitating to say the word, which, in the presence of her questioning gaze, seemed monstrous. But he wanted her too much to stop now.

  ‘You.’

  Chapter Seven

  The word hung in the air between them, piercing Lorne like an arrow from a bow. She stared at Iain, thinking he had lost his mind, but he seemed so cool, so self-assured.

  ‘Tell me. Are you truly as innocent as you seem?’ he asked, watching her closely and noting her agitation as she considered the question.

  Frowning, she looked at him curiously. ‘You seem to have a preoccupation with my innocence. May I ask why?’

  He nodded. ‘When I was in Flanders there was a young soldier under my command by the name of Rupert Ogleby. His father had bought him a commission in the army to get rid of him. He’d been involved in a rather unsavoury scandal with a young woman, you see—a young woman of beauty, good connections and a certain notoriety.’ He looked at her pointedly. ‘You, I believe.’

  For a moment, surprise left Lorne speechless. She felt as if a blow had been delivered to her stomach and she recoiled instantly, her two hands flying to her neck. Her throat dried and her eyes burned with shame when she remembered the gossip and the scandal that had ensued as a result of her visit to Rupert’s house. This was the last thing she had been expecting. White to the lips, she stared at Iain, unable to believe what he was saying.

  Iain responded with a questioning lift to his brows. ‘Do you deny having known him?’

  ‘No. I have no reason to, but I have since had reason to regret ever meeting him. I was fifteen years old at the time, and extremely foolish.’

  ‘It would appear you were—although I agree that, with his easy charm and handsome looks, any maid would be hard pressed to resist him,’ Iain continued coldly. ‘You may have observed that he was of a boastful nature. He claimed to have been your lover—that he made love to you on several occasions and that you were an eager recipient, and in an attempt to whiten his own character, he alleged that you had done the pursuing. Soon the entire regiment was talking of the affair between the two of you.’

  ‘Then it’s a pity they hadn’t a war to fight instead of indulging in mindless, malicious gossip about a fifteen-year-old girl,’ Lorne retorted drily, feeling as if something were shattering inside her as she tried to steady her voice. ‘And no doubt every one of your men—you, too, it would seem—believed Rupert’s lurid version of events.’

  Iain lifted his broad shoulders in an indifferent shrug. ‘I had no time for Ogleby. He was morally corrupt, a knave and a conceited braggart. There were times when I would have booted his backside out of the regiment if his father hadn’t been a gentleman and a friend of mine.’ He fixed Lorne with his piercing gaze. ‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’

  ‘And just what would you have me say?’ she demanded, her magnificent eyes shining with humiliation and wrath, her wealth of hair tumbling down her back like molten gold.

  ‘I would think that nothing but the truth will do in a situation like this.’ His tone was merciless and cutting.

  Lorne glared at him furiously, tears of outrage springing to her eyes. ‘Anything that happened between Rupert and I is not worth repeating and has got absolutely nothing to do with you. But what I will say is that you shouldn’t always believe everything that you hear. Apart from being ordered to Drumgow, I have never in all my life done anything I didn’t want to. I have also never regretted anything I’ve ever done.’

  ‘Regardless of whether it’s right or wrong?’

  ‘Of course not, but it depends on one’s standards. You’ve clearly summed up the situation and decided that what Rupert told you was the truth.’

  ‘And was it? Come now, just one honest admission. Was Ogleby lying?’ The corner of Iain’s mouth twisted wryly in a gesture that was not quite a smile, and his biting tone carried anger and frustration.

  Lorne was deeply hurt that Iain had known all about the scandal she had thought was over and done with all this time and had never said a word to her, and the hurt deepened when she realised that he really did believe Rupert’s sordid version of events. Dear Lord, she thought, her mind reeling as she tried to concentrate on the lies Rupert must have concocted for some kind of malicious reason of his own to degrade her in the eyes of the whole world. Stiffening her spine, she looked at her tormentor squarely, two bright flags of burning colour having replaced the pallor on her cheeks. As hurt as she was, her anger was greater, and her sense of pride made her unwilling to tell him anything.

  ‘The circumstances of my relationship with Rupert Ogleby are none of your business. What I may or may not have done has no bearing on the case—and after what you have done to me, you are the last man on earth I should have to explain myself to. How dare you sit in judgement on me,’ she flared, her voice trembling with fury. ‘Despite making me your prisoner, I thought you were a gentleman, with an established standard of decency. But I can see nothing decent about you now, Lord Monroe. You have tried, convicted and sentenced me on Rupert’s version alone, which, in my eyes, makes you no better than him.’

  Iain eyed her relentlessly, his jaw tight and his mouth a resolute line. Searching the green depths of this proud and scornful beauty for the truth, he was tempted to strangle her for keeping it from him and for defiling her body with other men—if indeed she had. He was astounded how the image of her coupling with any other man but him tore his mind to shreds, and he was driven by a violent compulsion to have her with an urgency and hunger that stunned him. In frustration he turned away, his face taut.

  ‘And following this,’ he said after a lengthy silence, ‘Galbraith still wants to wed you?’

  ‘In fear of me being ordered back to Scotland, my grandmother didn’t inform my brothers, so I doubt the scandal reached Kinlochalen—not that they would have paid much attention to it if it had, low as I am in their esteem. But even Duncan would find no joy in marrying a woman of questionable virtue—a woman sullied by other men. He is a man, after all,’ Lorne bit back, stung by the contempt in her captor’s voice.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Galbraith might be strongly averse to his betrothed cavorting about in beds with the likes of Rupert Ogleby,’ Iain jeered cruelly, glaring down at her, the hard line of his mouth tightening as he exulted wickedly in his power to hurt her—although why he should wish to do so was beyond him.

  Her eyes sparked with emerald fire. Hating him for believing she had the morals of a whore and looking like a tempestuous goddess in all her fury, Lorne stepped forward and dealt a crashing blow to the side of his face with the flat of her hand. It was so hard that it snapped his head around and she thought her wrist might snap.

  Iain was thoroughly stunned. He didn’t say a word. A pulse began to drum at his temple as he stood there looking into blazing green eyes and a face alive with rage. A pink stain burned on his cheek in an otherwise ashen face.

  Automatically Lorne took one step back from his silent rage and stood her ground, her chest heaving with fury and her palm stinging following its contact with his cheek. ‘You
had that coming—you loathsome, heartless beast.’

  ‘So, you are not Edgar McBryde’s daughter for nothing,’ Iain bit back scornfully. ‘Brutality must be inbred in you. I trust you feel better now?’

  Lorne tossed her head challengingly and set her soft mouth in a stubborn line. ‘No. I will never be able to forgive my stupidity for stepping out of the inn that night, which placed me in your hands. I wish I’d never set eyes on you.’

  A lock of black hair had come loose and fell across Iain’s brow in rakish disarray. His penetrating eyes held hers, full of accusation and distaste. Lorne held his gaze, refusing to look away or to utter one word in her defence. Like everyone else, Iain Monroe had listened to the gossip and decided it was true. He had made up his mind about her—she was soiled, used—and anything she might say would be futile.

  There was no trace of softness or affection in the marble severity of Iain’s face, but she could still see the distaste in his eyes, knowing he despised her, but she realised there was something else lurking in those mysterious dark depths, something that had been there from the first—he wanted her, despite his opinion of her. Hadn’t he just told her this? she recalled, as his sensuous voice still sang through her treacherous mind like a recurring refrain. His desire was purely a physical thing, but there was no mistake. His next words confirmed this.

  ‘I think it is time we reached a clear understanding about what is happening between us—’

  ‘Nothing is happening between us,’ Lorne jumped in quickly, her heart contracting with alarm.

  ‘If you will allow me to finish,’ Iain went on, annoyed at the interruption. ‘I was about to say—and what we want to happen between us. We are two people from opposing camps. We are enemies—or supposed to be—and the physical desire I feel for you is a totally unreasonable thing under the circumstances.’ He fell silent, plumbing the depths of those magnificent eyes upturned to his, knowing that when he took her their mating would be wild and primitive, and no matter how many lovers had feasted on her ripe form, he was determined to use all his sexual experience to shatter the defences of this proud young woman who had no idea how to withstand it.

  ‘Despite the things Rupert said about you, half the time I feel you are too naïve and innocent to be nineteen years old, that you are a little girl pretending to be a woman, and the other half you make me feel like I am a youth. But neither of us are children. This isn’t a society ball in London, where protocol dictates I must approach your grandmother for her permission to ask you to dance, knowing it could be weeks before I could steal a kiss. We are both adults, with adults’ needs. I want you, and I can see in your eyes that you want me. Before I leave this room tonight I intend to remove your clothes and take you to bed and make love to you. You told me you have been kissed and often,’ he informed her bluntly, ‘and just now you implied that you are no innocent. I’d like to discover just how much you do know.’

  ‘You will force yourself on me?’ Lorne cried in panic and disbelief, beginning to realise that when Iain Monroe set his mind on having something, he was not easily dissuaded from that end.

  ‘No,’ Iain stated firmly. ‘I will not do that. But I will forewarn you. When I take you in my arms I will not force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Whatever happens must be your decision. Tomorrow there will be no accusations. You must know that what you did was of your own free will.’ His dark eyes regarded her seriously for a moment, then a faint, almost teasing smile, so very persuasive, lightened his face. ‘When I recall the manner in which you kissed me by the burn, I do not believe you are too reluctant to continue where we left off.’

  His words defused Lorne’s ire and confused her at the same time. She could feel her resistance ebbing. Tears of humiliation burned the backs of her eyes. She stepped back to widen the space between them, trying to keep a grip on her fragile self-control, and fighting desperately to hold on to her shattered pride. This man was her enemy, yet the physical desire she felt for him continued to ache inside her.

  A small insidious voice whispered a caution, reminding her that any liaison with this man would bring her nothing but heartbreak, but another voice was whispering something else, telling her not to let the moment pass, to catch it and hold on to it. The intensity of feeling between them was evident, but not easily understood, but what she did know was that it offered a new excitement, as though the future held a secret and a promise. But still she hesitated.

  ‘This is too much,’ she whispered, weak from the turbulence of her emotions. ‘We can’t—I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.’

  Watching her closely, Iain saw something move and glow a little in her eyes, and a tiny flame of triumph licked about his heart. Beginning to relax now he had his prey within his sights, he smiled then, that unnerving, lovely white smile that could charm and melt the stoniest heart.

  ‘Since when did a prisoner have rights?’ he mocked tenderly, moving closer.

  ‘Please—do not jest about it.’ Lorne knew he could read the fear in her eyes, for instantly all trace of mockery vanished.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He watched her struggle for control of her emotions not without some sympathy, but he didn’t show it. ‘You were wasted on Ogleby. What was he—eighteen? And you no more than fifteen? Both inexperienced in the art of making love, and Ogleby never one to look beyond his own gratification. You want someone who can give you pleasures in return.’

  ‘And you think that someone is you?’

  ‘I’ve never had any complaints.’

  Her stomach churning, Lorne wrapped her arms around her waist and turned away from his piercing gaze. ‘Allow me a moment to understand what it is you want. What you really mean is that for you, a night spent in my bed will mean no more than a moment’s pleasure. I wonder at your scruples,’ she retorted with a trace of sarcasm, sick at heart, ‘that you can disrupt the life of a woman you do not know by kidnapping her, and then dishonour her in the basest fashion.’

  ‘In the light of your affair with Ogleby, he has already seen to that. The damage to your reputation was done long before you came to Norwood. Are you afraid that as the daughter of the Laird of Drumgow you will be condemned for associating with his vilest enemy?’ Iain asked gently, noticing how the dancing flames on the logs brought the golden tresses of her hair alive.

  Lorne felt a red flush of indignation sweep over her face. She spun round to face him once more, speaking passionately. ‘I came to your house because I had no choice. My father and brothers know that and will hold me blameless. I have done nothing to betray my people.’

  ‘No—it is your own people who have betrayed you,’ Iain stated firmly. ‘Your father cast you out as a child, rejecting you and abandoning you without mercy.’

  ‘He did not abandon me,’ Lorne cried. Already riven with so much guilt in the wake of Duncan’s visit, she was quick to defend her father, but Iain was right. Her father and brothers had cast her out, only to recall her to Scotland when marriage to Duncan Galbraith would be beneficial to both families; it was a business arrangement about land and the uniting of two families and clan succession. If she produced a son, in due course he would succeed as chief of the Galbraiths, the process linking the two families even more closely. It had nothing to do with wanting each other. So why should she refuse so passionate a plea from Iain Monroe, feeling as she did about him?

  ‘Well?’ Iain prompted. ‘Is what I suggest offensive to you? Or is it that you find me repulsive?’

  ‘Neither,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘For one night I am asking you to forget everything else. Do you not find that appealing?’ he murmured, his black eyes raking her from head to toe. There was an enormous amount of subliminal sensuality in her every gesture, and seeing her bite her lower lip as she struggled apprehensively with the decision that faced her, plucked a deeper chord within Iain than watching another woman remove her clothes. With the lightest touch he ran a fingertip along the soft line of her jaw, down her neck and along the sho
ulder covered by her robe.

  Lorne shivered inwardly, her lips parting on a breathless gasp, and she tried in vain to see past the darkness of his magnetic, shameless eyes. Protests tried to form themselves on her lips, and died instantly. She wanted to find words to stop him from touching her anywhere else before it was too late, but as his eyes beckoned her to him, becoming narrow and assessing, she felt resigned and defeated.

  Shocked by his revelations about Rupert, and confused and apprehensive at his consequent proposals, she’d had a little time to consider what she should do. In the grip of some powerful emotion she suddenly recalled what Duncan had said—he wanted a virgin bride and nothing less would do. A virgin bride! And that’s what he would get—unless…Unless she gave herself to Iain Monroe.

  Immediately Lorne’s conscience reared up to do battle, for what she was contemplating went beyond anything she had ever contemplated before. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, and she was both appalled and ashamed that she could even consider doing such a monstrous thing. But, Duncan aside, wasn’t this what she wanted, what she had thought about ever since Iain had kissed her? All she wanted was for him to hold her like that again, to speak in that same tender tone that had made her heart melt, and to kiss her into insensibility. She had found such pleasure in his arms, such bliss—and something else, too, something dangerous and pagan to her. It was a feeling she hadn’t realised could exist, a feeling she wanted to experience again—and only with this man.

  As if her need communicated itself to Iain, with his eyes fastened to her lips he said, ‘I am wondering if your mouth will taste as sweet on mine as it did before. And I also wonder if your skin feels as soft as it looks.’

  Lorne’s heart skipped a beat. She felt herself melting, ready to experience whatever lay ahead. She was sinking into a deep, sensual spell as he reached for her, his hands tightening imperceptibly on her arms.