Free Bride of the Beast by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

shall do my utmost to convince her," Sir Marmaduke said, the warmth of his hands on hers near scattering her wits and sending dangerously delicious tingles shooting up her arms.
    "The arrow has yet to be loosed that can persuade me to fall prey to honeyed words," she found her tongue at last, aided by the ill-timed surfacing of other Sassunach voices.
    Harsh male voices ordering her to do their will lest they suffer more sorrow on her than the mere taking of their pleasure.
    Distant terrors, resurrected by the Englishness of the man who meant to champion her.
    With a speed borne of her shame, she yanked her hands from his grasp, snatched the water pail and dumped its contents into the nearest bathing tub.
    She let the empty bucket slip from her fingers and met Sir Marmaduke's unperturbed countenance with a long hard stare. For good measure, she tossed an equally hot glare at the seneschal.
    "Bardic prose and courtly verse are the purest folly," she fomented, spurred on by a parade of leering faces rising cruelly from the depths of her soul. "I ceased listening to such gushing at a tender age and will not be persuaded to do so again."
    She paused for emphasis. "Most especially not from English lips."
    To her mortification, a flare of sympathy, or mayhap regret, flashed across Sir Marmaduke's scarred face. Coolly ignoring her outburst, he simply lifted a brow.
    "Dare I suggest, my lady, that perchance the men who sought to impress you with fair words did not possess deep enough hearts to put enough of their own into winning yours?"
    His words, smooth and rich, embraced her, beguiling her with startling ease and pouring warmth and light into corners of her soul that had never known a shred of gallantry. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he'd already moved to stand before James's washtub, his withdrawal leaving her oddly bereft.
    It was as if all the light in the kitchen had followed him, leaving her to stand alone in the dark. Even the warmth of the cook fire seemed to have cooled.
    Waving a careless hand at Eoghann when he peered oddly at her, she stared after the Sassunach, uncomfortably drawn by the surprising rush of pleasure his silvered words had spent her, sharply conscious of the tantalizing tingles still rippling across her palms and up and down her arms.
    He seemed wholly immune to the turmoil he'd unleashed in her. His features perfectly controlled, he addressed her stepson. "Sir Alec and several others are making a renewed search of the castle and grounds. If a second intruder yet lurks here, they will find him."
    James's fingers ceased lathering his hair. "I was mistaken," he said, casting a sullen-eyed glance at Rhona rather than meet Marmaduke's gaze. "There was only one."
    Paying scant heed to their exchange, Caterine stared down at the toppled pail. Water trickled over its rim to form a growing stain on the stone floor.
    A stain as dark as the one stamped so indelibly on her heart.
    A heart she could not give to an Englishman.
    Much as she might be persuaded to want to.
    I am a man of boundless patience.
    She tensed in surprise. The words, his words, had sounded as clearly as if he'd murmured them in her ear. Yet he still stood across the room, calmly conversing with her stepson.
    Not sharing private revelations meant for none but her to hear.
    Rest easy, my lady. I respect and revere women. Never would I force you to do aught against your will.
    The words came again. Less substantial than an angel's sigh, but oh-so-sweet, they slid past her ear to caress a part of her no man had ever before touched.
    Imagined words.
    "I promise you, it is naught but your own heart's desire I would see done." Not imagined.
    Simply low-voiced and smooth.
    Seductive.
    And irrevocably English.
    Despite herself, Caterine basked in the warmth of his assurances. Imagined or nay, they touched off yearnings she'd held back too long. She looked up, fully expecting to see his all-knowing gaze fixed on her, but he merely