{ Chapter 13 }
He reeled slightly backward. Not enough to force a step. But he reeled.
Almost unperceivable. But she saw it. She saw everything about him. She always had.
And Domnall didn’t reel. He didn’t sway. He was a block of granite that time and rain and ice could not touch.
Exactly why she didn’t want to have to do this. Tell him.
He didn’t take a moment to clear his throat, just barreled forward, his blue eyes piercing her. “Whatever it is, whatever truth you’ve been keeping from me, Karta, ye need to tell me. Now.”
Her eyes closed, her breath shaking into her chest as she tried to manifest strength she didn’t think she had.
Her eyelids cracked, her look steady on him. “When I told you I was different now, Dom, it is about who—about what I’ve become. About the things that happened with my husband.”
“Ye told me he didn’t hurt you, Karta.” His feet stopped, rage quaking deep in his words.
Her hand flew up between them. “No. He didn’t. Not intentionally.”
He took another step toward her, moving within arm’s length. “Then why do I see shame in your eyes? You’re fighting something. Hiding something.”
“He died upon me, Dom.” The words flew out of her mouth, bitter spikes she shot into the air. “He died on me. In bed.”
Domnall froze, his eyes squinting at her. “He died with you in bed?” The words were slow, agonized.
Three quick breaths that made her head light and words blurted from her in a rush. A rush to get this over and done with. A rush to the pain that would cut across her chest when the disgust would appear in his eyes.
Yet there wasn’t anything she could do now except tell Domnall before George did. “Yes. On me. In the act. He was on top of me and then he just stopped. Collapsed onto me. And I started screaming. Screaming and screaming. And his sons ran into the room.”
“Bloody hell, Karta.”
“There’s more.” Her eyes closed, her face tortured. “You have to understand, my husband rarely came to my bed—only when he was between mistresses. He didn’t want more children. His line of heirs was well established.” She stopped, taking a deep breath that shook her body. “He had tied my wrists and ankles to the bedposts. Wide. He’d always told me that was how he enjoyed it the most. With me lashed in place, captive under him.” Her closed eyes scrunched tight as heat spread across her neck, her face. “And there was a riding crop curled tight in his hand. But he never hurt me with any of it—not truly—so I accommodated his wishes.”
Silence.
So much so she had to crack her eyes open to make sure he hadn’t quietly backed out of the room.
He hadn’t gone anywhere. Hadn’t moved a muscle. His stare still slicing her in two.
Then recognition flickered in his blue eyes. “Dammit—his sons walked in on that?” His hand ran across his face and he shook his head. “That bastard—George—walked in on that?”
She nodded, her eyes fully opening, though she couldn’t look directly at him any longer. Couldn’t witness the revulsion in his eyes. She stared at her delicately lined secretary in the corner of the room. A desk that haunted her every day, for she had no one to write to.
For how much she wanted to crumple in that moment, turn into a puddle and slip under the floorboards to hide from Domnall, she knew he had to know everything—everything—of that scene. She had to tell him before George did.
She swallowed hard. “They had to peel him off of me. All three of his sons were in the room.” The burn of the humiliation had fully flooded the back of her neck, spreading into her scalp and making her hair stand on end. “He was naked. I was naked except for my stockings. The riding crop was still…in me…he liked that. I was tied down and couldn’t move…couldn’t hide…” She exhaled, the moment in time washing over her again in brutal mortification. “They saw everything. Everything of their father. Everything of me. And the damnation was swift and complete.”
“Karta—”
“It’s the real reason I was banished to Badenoch. You can imagine what happened after they found me like that. They blamed me for his death and then told people what had happened.” She inhaled deeply, attempting to solidify her spine against the repulsion she would find in him when she looked up.
A beaten smile pulled her cheeks back. “No one will touch me. Not a friend. Not a relative. Not another suitor. I’m a killer and a sordid whore, and his sons made sure every contact they had knew that fact—and then the gossipmongers took over from there.”
“So you ran? You didn’t fight it?”
Her look whipped up to him. “There’s no fighting it, Dom. It happened. There’s nothing to deny.”
“Let me get this correct.” His jaw flexed. “A man—far too old and in no condition for taking his young wife to bed—ties her up, enjoys an accoutrement with her, then dies on top of her, and she’s the villain?”
Her chest tightened.
She told him. Now she needed him to walk away. To not stretch the pain of this into minutes, into hours.
Her fingers lifted, swiping at a tear that had escaped her lower lashes. “I’m a wretched whore. A killer. A pariah in society. It is how the world works.”
“Not my world.” His voice was a low rumble, raw. “Not when you are the one destroyed by it.”
Another tear slipped to her cheek. “Dom, no.”
“Don’t tell me you believe them.” He took one step toward her, collapsing the space between them to nothing. “Tell me you don’t believe those bastard Leviton boys. For that’s what they are. Sniveling, weak little boys.”
Her throat closed, unable to let air or words through.
His hand lifted, his thumb caressing her cheek, wiping away the wetness before his fingers curled around her neck. “I am with you, Karta. No matter what ye believe. No matter what the world thinks. I am with you. It’s always been so. It will always be so.”
Air broke through her lungs that she expelled in a gasp. A gasp that was swallowed by his mouth on hers. His body pressing into hers.
It took her a full minute to realize he hadn’t walked away. Hadn’t looked at her with disgust. With scorn.
He’d only looked at her with rage at the injustice of what she’d suffered.
With love.
It didn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter what happened. What she did. What the world thought she was.
It didn’t matter.
He was with her.
And he wasn’t going anywhere.
His arms clamped around her body, swallowing her into the mass of him and her arms snaked up, tentative, almost as though if she touched him he would jump away. Disappear.
Her fingers wrapped around his neck, the cords of muscles under his skin twitching under her touch. He didn’t step back, didn’t push her away. If anything, the kiss deepened, his tongue exploring her, tasting her, drinking in the essence of her.
He pulled up slightly, his hand cupping the side of her face. “I let this happen. I should have been there at the ball. I never should have let ye fall onto this path that has taken such joy from your eyes.”
She stared up at him. At the regret palpitating in his dark blue eyes.
His other hand lifted and he set her face between his hands. “It’s Christmas and I need a gift from you.”
“A gift?”
“Yes.” His eyes closed for a long second before his lashes opened, his gaze intent on her. “Give me you. Give me forgiveness for not acting sooner. Give me a chance to love ye like you were meant to be loved. Like I have always loved you.”
His words shook her to her soul, sending every nerve in her body to fire. A smile lifted her mouth as she tightened her hold on his neck. “And what will you give me?”
“Everything. Everything I am and will ever be.”
Her breath stopped in her chest. “I don’t think I can accept that.”
His eyebrows cocked.
“Unless you accept the ver
y same thing from me.”
She pulled herself up to his mouth, kissing him with the very depths of her soul.
He yanked her body hard into his and his hand rolled down her spine, rounding her backside. It sent tangs of desire deep into her gut, craving all his body could do to hers.
Her heels flicked up and she took a step backward, dragging him with her. One step. Two. Her calves touched the side of her bed.
Domnall yanked his head away. “No. We stop this now.”
“What?” The word came breathless from her throat.
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” She went higher on her toes, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. “I’m not the innocent virgin I once was. I—”
“No. I will have no problem taking ye, Karta.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m stopping because I’m taking you back to the abbey.”
“Why?”
“One, ye don’t cook and I’m starving. Two, I’m not going to let you out of my sight until springtime. Every time you’re alone in this snow ye manage to get tangled into some mishap.”
She couldn’t argue that.
“Three, and most important—there’s no one here to marry us.”
Her head snapped back. “Marry us?”
“Yes. I want ye, Karta. All of you, always.” His blue eyes pierced her, the love he’d always had for her resonating deep in his look. “I can choose what—where—my life is now. And it’s you—you are my life, if you’ll have me.”
The thudding in her chest beat so hard, so loud in her head, she could barely form the words to her tongue.
She nodded. “I will have you, Dom. Always.”
{ Chapter 14 }
He stood next to her in front of the doctor with Rory and Bailey in the drawing room as witnesses. Thank the heavens they were in Scotland. The doctor was willing. Karta was willing. So he would make her his wife in this very moment.
It had been torture, the ride back to the abbey. Watching the sway of her body on the horse. His heart quickening every time she’d looked over her shoulder at him, a smile—hesitant and genuine and hopeful—on her lips. The very smile he remembered from years ago before they were parted. The smile that held the world, the future, in its depths.
But for this—Karta properly in his bed—or not so properly—he could clamp down on his straining cock.
This was more important than anything—joining them for the rest of times.
He grabbed her left hand, clasping her delicate fingers into his palm. Her skin was still cold from the ride. Something he would rectify just as soon as this doctor managed to get his cravat straightened and marry them.
One last blasted smoothing of his cravat and the doctor cleared his throat. “I’ve not done this before, so you will have to forgive me.”
Domnall’s head tilted to the doctor, keeping his voice in check. “Just the few words is all we need, good sir.”
“Right.” The doctor nodded. “Well then, face each other, I suppose.”
Domnall turned to Karta and grabbed her right hand as well.
The doctor inclined his head. “Domnall Greyford do you take Karta Williamson to be your wife?”
“I will.” So easy, the words from his mouth. Such a quick and simple trade for the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life.
The doctor turned to Karta. “Karta Williamson do you take Domnall Greyford to be your husband?”
She looked up at him, the golden flecks of honey in her brown eyes glowing, shining with love. “I will.”
A crooked smile appeared on the doctor’s face. “Well then, I suppose that is the whole of it? It seems as though there should be more—something akin to love, honor and obey, perhaps?”
“That will do.” Domnall nodded to him. He’d witnessed enough quick Scottish weddings to know they’d done the most important part.
The doctor shook his head a bit, wanting to say more, but then he shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I then pronounce you man and wife.”
Domnall’s lips were on Karta’s before the doctor finished his words.
“What the hell is going on here?” George’s nasally voice filled the drawing room.
Domnall froze in place, his lips on Karta’s as he inhaled a deep breath. If he didn’t calm in that instant, he was going to injure Lord Leviton so grievously the man would be in an asylum the rest of his days.
Control intact, Domnall lifted his head from Karta, noting her wide eyes before looking to George. “It is none of your concern, Lord Leviton.”
George dumped the two pheasants he had strung over his shoulder onto the floor of the drawing room, their carcasses thudding onto the floorboards. “Don’t tell me I have no concern, you blasted oaf. You’re manhandling my property.”
Domnall exploded. “Property—”
“My lord—” With his hands high, the doctor tried to intervene, stepping toward George.
“You don’t know what she is.” A sneer pulled George’s face tight as he pushed the doctor aside and advanced at Domnall. “You’ve let this murderous whore into your home and I have every right to her and whatever she thinks she’s doing here.” As quick as a snake he snatched Karta’s arm, yanking her away from Domnall.
Her fingers jerked out of Domnall’s grasp.
Too far.
Before she lost another step toward George, Domnall stepped in front of Karta and slammed his fist into George’s face.
Brutal, savage. A punch so vicious it cracked bones and sliced skin.
Crushing the man—he didn’t care. The bastard had dared to touch his wife.
George flew backward with a squeal, his shoulder hitting the doorframe and sending him flailing. He landed on the dead birds, blood from his nose splattering across the wall, the floor.
Domnall followed him, ready to finish the ass, when Karta’s hand clamped onto his upper arm.
“Dom. No. Just let him go. He’s not worth it.” Her whisper, soft and pleading, broke through the fiery rage filling his veins.
It wasn’t enough.
With a high swing, he brought his fist down.
He stopped it.
An inch from the sniveling bastard’s head. He stopped.
She was right. George wasn’t worth it. And Karta was worth stopping for.
His fist opened and he grabbed the fold of George’s collar. Stepping over him, he dragged the man to the front foyer. He opened the door and picked George fully up, throwing him down the stone steps leading up to the abbey.
George tumbled, splaying into the bank of snow that lined the cleared pathway, his face straight into the cold ice of it.
“You’re walking away because of my wife, Lord Leviton. She’s the only reason you’re alive, so you will give her the respect she is due.” The words seethed though his clenched teeth. “If I hear of the slightest rumor that you or your brothers ever speak on her name again, I will come for you. If you ever set foot in these lands again, I will come for you.”
Domnall moved out onto the top step, leaning out over Leviton, the wrath of a thousand demons raging in his words. “And when I come, I will have no control and Karta will not stop me. You only get one warning, you cowardly sorry dung of a man. You have one hour to vacate these lands.”
Without a word, George scrambled to his feet, his arms punching through the collapsing snow again and again until he found enough ground to push up from. Onto his feet, he slipped on the icy bricks of the walkway, barely maintaining balance. His hands clasped against his bloody nose and he skidded his way through the snow toward the stables, blood droplets trailing in the white drifts behind him.
Watching the pathetic bastard retreat, Domnall felt the few strains of control he’d managed starting to snap.
The man touched Karta. Touched his wife.
His fingers itched against his palm. Hell, he was going to follow the ass and finish him.
A hand, still cool, wrapped along the side of his neck from behind.
“Dom.” Karta’s voice was soft, cracking. “Step back. Close the door. Rory is already on his way out the side door to the stables. He’ll see George gone.”
Domnall couldn’t move. Couldn’t move until George disappeared around the corner of the abbey.
Her fingers curled along the bare skin of his neck. “Step back, Dom.”
The fury still palpitating in his veins, he turned around to her, afraid of what he would find. Afraid she would now see him as the monster everyone always suspected him to be.
His look landed on her face, on her brown eyes.
Awe. Pride. Lust
All of it, entwined with love in her eyes.
She was home. Home with him.
All he ever wanted. And he wasn’t about to leave her side for anything.
{ Chapter 15 }
He turned to her, this warrior of a man, framed by the front door and the landscape of cold white beyond. His muscles strained under his coat, his body shaking with rage. The hard cut of his jawline—solid, immovable, impenetrable stone.
Strength she’d never seen him allow unbridled.
Unbridled for her.
She wanted him like never before.
He hadn’t turned for but a moment before she crashed into him, her lips finding his. Remnants of his raw anger sent him on the attack, bruising her lips, crushing her body to his.
She took it all, took everything he always was. Because now he was hers.
He lifted her up, walking—stalking up the stairs as his mouth stayed ravenous on hers and he moved straight to his room.
She realized the boorishness of it—leaving the doctor and Bailey standing with their gaping mouths in the foyer below—but she was no force against it.
This—her and Domnall together—had needed to happen for so long there was no more denying it, no more delaying it.
He crashed through the door to his chambers, slamming the door closed behind him.
The door bounced back open with the force, and he pulled his mouth away from her as he leaned against the door to close it. She reached past his shoulder to latch it.
“That took too bloody long,” he exhaled in a long breath.
The Christmas Countess: A Valor of Vinehill Novella Page 8
