People had long said that Ethan had no more feelings than an animal. Well, right now pure instinct was telling him not to take her. He frowned as her mouth eased down his chest to his navel, her destination unmistakable.
But could the message possibly be louder than the Scotch and the promise of a below job?
Aye, it is. He plucked her fingers from his trousers and stumbled back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.” Bending for his shirt, he lost his balance, but he swiftly righted himself. He knew he’d been drinking too much lately. He was the oldest brother and head of a family that suffered, and the responsibility of it, and the inability to change it, weighed more heavily on him than anyone would dare suppose.
But his drinking was helping nothing.
“Leaving?” she cried. “You can’t be serious.”
He gave her one curt nod.
“Then why did you come here? What did I do?”
“No’ a thing.” Where the hell had he dropped his jacket? “Just doona care to any longer.”
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything,” she added plaintively, making him shudder in disgust.
A clinger.
Turning from her, he said, “Doona want anything from you. No’ anymore.”
“You cannot do this!” She shot to her feet and stormed over to him. “Just pass me over like a woman you’ve bought.” Her anger transformed the refined French inflection of her voice to a sharper, more common accent. Ethan had heard similar before—it was a lower-class accent. “Like some stray whore!”
The door crashed open.
There stood a gray-haired, enraged man. Must be the aging husband, Ethan thought with a tired exhalation as he lowered his hand. Pistols at dawn and another death on my hands.
“He tried to force himself on me!” the wife shrieked, tears still streaming.
Ethan swung his gaze on her. “Are you mad, woman? You invited me here!”
More men filled the doorway, hardened ones—henchmen. A blond giant flanked the old husband, looking almost more enraged.
“Never!” she cried. “He must have followed me home from the inn tonight.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, “I was so afraid.”
Ethan gaped in amazement. Christ, she’s good—
Castration
They’d make sure the Scottish bastard never raped another woman as long as he lived.
Castration. Cold sweat broke out over Ethan’s body; they were going to take a knife to him.
The old man hesitated, then gave a nod. “Brymer, take him out back. See it done.”
This Brymer was the giant with the killing look in his eyes. “It will be a pleasure.” He hauled Ethan up, dealing a punishing blow to his jaw. Ethan tried to shake it off, but blackness consumed him….
When Ethan felt the cold blade against the heated skin on his right cheek, he twisted, using all his remaining strength to break free. Nothing.
The knife sliced cleanly; Ethan roared in pain.
“Hold him still!” Brymer snapped.
“I’m trying!” Tully clenched harder. “He’s a big bastard!”
Brymer cut and cut until blood coated Ethan’s neck. Soon Ethan was numb all over, barely conscious.
“What are you doing?” Tully asked.
“If you take the strip from the middle, it will never heal right when he gets sewn up.”
When Brymer was at last done, Tully released Ethan, and his head lolled forward.
Brymer took him by the hair, yanking him up to smile at his handiwork. “Come look, Tully.”
The man did. His eyes went wide, and he retched repeatedly before he lunged away, vomiting in the hay.
When Ethan saw the strip of skin lying in the dirt, blackness dotted his vision. He silently vowed, I’m going to destroy you. You’re all going to die as slowly as you’ve done this to me…. Then his eyes slid closed.
He was roused by an anguished bellow sounding from the manor house. The bitch began screaming as well, a series of shrieks growing louder in succession.
A door slammed…someone ran toward them…seconds later a servant burst through the doorway of the stable, gasping, “Stop! Let him free!”
In a flash of clarity, Ethan comprehended what had happened. Another of the bitch’s screams rent the quiet of the night, then sudden silence.
Ethan laughed behind his gag, crazed. Wetness leaked from his eyes.
Van Rowen had found the note.
But could the message possibly be louder than the Scotch and the promise of a below job?
Aye, it is. He plucked her fingers from his trousers and stumbled back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.” Bending for his shirt, he lost his balance, but he swiftly righted himself. He knew he’d been drinking too much lately. He was the oldest brother and head of a family that suffered, and the responsibility of it, and the inability to change it, weighed more heavily on him than anyone would dare suppose.
But his drinking was helping nothing.
“Leaving?” she cried. “You can’t be serious.”
He gave her one curt nod.
“Then why did you come here? What did I do?”
“No’ a thing.” Where the hell had he dropped his jacket? “Just doona care to any longer.”
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything,” she added plaintively, making him shudder in disgust.
A clinger.
Turning from her, he said, “Doona want anything from you. No’ anymore.”
“You cannot do this!” She shot to her feet and stormed over to him. “Just pass me over like a woman you’ve bought.” Her anger transformed the refined French inflection of her voice to a sharper, more common accent. Ethan had heard similar before—it was a lower-class accent. “Like some stray whore!”
The door crashed open.
There stood a gray-haired, enraged man. Must be the aging husband, Ethan thought with a tired exhalation as he lowered his hand. Pistols at dawn and another death on my hands.
“He tried to force himself on me!” the wife shrieked, tears still streaming.
Ethan swung his gaze on her. “Are you mad, woman? You invited me here!”
More men filled the doorway, hardened ones—henchmen. A blond giant flanked the old husband, looking almost more enraged.
“Never!” she cried. “He must have followed me home from the inn tonight.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, “I was so afraid.”
Ethan gaped in amazement. Christ, she’s good—
Castration
They’d make sure the Scottish bastard never raped another woman as long as he lived.
Castration. Cold sweat broke out over Ethan’s body; they were going to take a knife to him.
The old man hesitated, then gave a nod. “Brymer, take him out back. See it done.”
This Brymer was the giant with the killing look in his eyes. “It will be a pleasure.” He hauled Ethan up, dealing a punishing blow to his jaw. Ethan tried to shake it off, but blackness consumed him….
When Ethan felt the cold blade against the heated skin on his right cheek, he twisted, using all his remaining strength to break free. Nothing.
The knife sliced cleanly; Ethan roared in pain.
“Hold him still!” Brymer snapped.
“I’m trying!” Tully clenched harder. “He’s a big bastard!”
Brymer cut and cut until blood coated Ethan’s neck. Soon Ethan was numb all over, barely conscious.
“What are you doing?” Tully asked.
“If you take the strip from the middle, it will never heal right when he gets sewn up.”
When Brymer was at last done, Tully released Ethan, and his head lolled forward.
Brymer took him by the hair, yanking him up to smile at his handiwork. “Come look, Tully.”
The man did. His eyes went wide, and he retched repeatedly before he lunged away, vomiting in the hay.
When Ethan saw the strip of skin lying in the dirt, blackness dotted his vision. He silently vowed, I’m going to destroy you. You’re all going to die as slowly as you’ve done this to me…. Then his eyes slid closed.
He was roused by an anguished bellow sounding from the manor house. The bitch began screaming as well, a series of shrieks growing louder in succession.
A door slammed…someone ran toward them…seconds later a servant burst through the doorway of the stable, gasping, “Stop! Let him free!”
In a flash of clarity, Ethan comprehended what had happened. Another of the bitch’s screams rent the quiet of the night, then sudden silence.
Ethan laughed behind his gag, crazed. Wetness leaked from his eyes.
Van Rowen had found the note.
He shook his head. “I can’t smooth my fingers over the inside of your wrist.” With his gloved hand, he lifted her hair. “I can’t run my lips over your neck . . . or suckle your breasts. And it’s driving me mad.”
He eased his body even closer to hers, resting his forearms against the wall on either side of her head. His mouth was right at her ear as he asked, “Am I too close? Does this hurt you?”
She felt his erection press against her belly and choked back a moan. “No, no. . . . But how do I know you won’t bite me?”
“I won’t. I swear it.”
Just when she perceived his hips drawing back, and she knew he was about to thrust against her body, her ears twitched. She shoved him away. “We’ve got company.”
He eased his body even closer to hers, resting his forearms against the wall on either side of her head. His mouth was right at her ear as he asked, “Am I too close? Does this hurt you?”
She felt his erection press against her belly and choked back a moan. “No, no. . . . But how do I know you won’t bite me?”
“I won’t. I swear it.”
Just when she perceived his hips drawing back, and she knew he was about to thrust against her body, her ears twitched. She shoved him away. “We’ve got company.”