Free One Man's Love by Karen Ranney Page B

change my mind.”

Chapter 6
    A lec entered his chamber, the wooden door easing shut behind him with a muffled groan. He strode to the table and, pulling open the tinderbox, lit the candle sitting there.
    Leitis was standing with her back against the wall, her arms folded in front of her. Her chin was tilted up and her eyes were staring at him impassively.
    “Were you content to remain in the dark, then?”
    “I do not believe my contentment mattered,” she said coolly.
    He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg beside the door, then removed his waistcoat until he was attired only in shirt and breeches. When he turned and walked toward her she didn’t glanceaway, almost as if she dared him to approach her. Her gaze was direct, the contempt in her eyes a challenge.
    He reached out one hand and touched a tendril of her hair. It had darkened over the years, but there was still a hint of the unruly girl she’d been, Leitis of the flying orange curls and infectious laugh.
    He trailed his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, feeling the coarse weave of her dress. With a fingertip, he marked the places on her sleeves where the fire had burned small holes. She had no other clothes, no other belongings. She stood devoid of all earthly possessions except for her character, improvident, rash, and impossibly courageous.
    “I won’t be your whore, Butcher,” she said, her voice trembling faintly, enough that he suddenly understood that the anger was merely bravado.
    “Is that why you think I’ve brought you here?” he asked softly.
    “Yes.” An answer tightly voiced. He had heard men shouting out their crimes to him and it affected him no less than this reluctant admission.
    “I believe your post as hostage does not require that sacrifice,” he said wryly.
    She looked skeptical. “Englishmen are like any other men,” she said, taking a step away from him. “They’re like stallions, always wanting the act.”
    He raised one eyebrow and gazed at her. “And have you been someone’s mare, Leitis?”
    “No,” she said, meeting his look resolutely.
    He knew in that moment that she lied. “Who was he?” he asked, fighting back a sense of possessiveness so strong it baffled him.
    She looked equally startled by his question, or perhaps the tone of it. He was surprised when she answered him. But her look was defiant as she did so.
    “There was a man,” she said proudly. “I loved him and he was going off to battle.”
    “So you lay with him,” Alec said, congratulating himself on the even nature of his voice. He walked to the fireplace, staring down into the cold ashes.
    “Yes,” she admitted softly. “I lay with him.”
    He had not seen her for years. She was, despite his memories of her, little more than a stranger. What did he care of her experience? Calm and rational thoughts, but they did not ease his surprising anger.
    “Where is he now?” he asked finally, the question itself too intrusive.
    “Marcus was killed at Culloden.”
    He closed his eyes, the battlefield recalled with ease, not simply because of the atrocities that occurred there but because of his nightly recollections of it. He was never spared the sight of Culloden in his dreams. He had the sudden unwanted thought that he might have killed her Marcus himself, or watched as it was done.
    He turned and glanced at her. There was color high on her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself, but did not look away.
    A knock on the door interrupted the painful silence between them. Alec called out a greeting and Donald entered carrying a tray. He placed it on the table, arranging the dishes.
    “I brought you roast beef, Colonel,” Donald said, glancing over at Leitis with a smile.
    “Have you met our guest?” Alec asked. “Leitis MacRae, hostage; Donald Tanner, sergeant and aide.”
    Donald smiled at her coaxingly. Leitis didn’t smile in return, but the look in her eyes changed a little. Not as much caution there as a moment ago.