* * *
The search for Colonel Bennett continued for the next twelve hours, though Duncan did not take part. Nor did he return to the castle. Instead, he rode alone to the banks of Loch Shiel, reined in his horse, dismounted, and waded into the frigid waters—kilt, pistol, claymore, and
all
. He kept walking until the water reached over his head, then dunked himself and remained there, submerged, his feet on the muddy floor of the loch, feeling utterly content to be
swall
owed up by the dark, bitter
chill
.
When he final y noticed an urgent need to breathe, he broke the surface, sucked air deep into his lungs, then unbuckled his weapons and let everything sink to the bottom.
He treaded water for a moment, immersed to the neck in the cold, then gave himself up to the gentle current. Without the weight of the steel, his feet lifted. His eyes closed and he floated on the
swell
s, dimly aware of the fact that he was drifting farther and farther away from shore.
He thought of Amelia and knew this would bring on the inevitable disappointment he had been anticipating since the beginning. It would
fall
as heavy as an anvil and crush everything. He had broken his vow to her, and she might very
well
view it as a violation of their marriage agreement. She might even leave him and expose him as the rebel that he was.
Strangely, however, he felt no despair, no aching regret over what he had done.
all
he felt currently was the cool water lapping up against his skin and the sway of his tartan, floating lightly
all
around him.
Was this the peace he had been searching for? Perhaps.
Though he did not feel triumphant, nor did he wish to celebrate. His bones were going numb. He felt almost nothing at
all
, as if he were not a man but a mere element of the lake. He was composed of water, and he was floating.
Then he began to shiver and realized it was a stupid thought. He was very much a man with hot, pulsing blood in his veins—blood that was growing colder by the minute. He swam back to shore, staggered heavily out of the water, and
collapsed
onto his back on the pebbly beach, shivering.
He stared up at the white sky for a while, then found himself gazing up into two round, black holes.
Turner’s flaring nostrils …
The great beast snorted and nudged him in the head.
“Nay, I’ve not gone to meet my maker.” Duncan reached up and stroked the animal’s silky muzzle. “But I don’t feel alive, either. I don’t know what I am.”
He continued to lie there, wondering how long it would take for his clothes to dry, and for his conscience to truly pass judgment on what he had done.
* * *
It was dark by the time Duncan returned to the castle. He crossed the bridge on foot, leading Turner behind him, then handed him off to a groom outside the stables. Duncan entered the main castle and went straight to his bedchamber but found it locked. He pounded on the door and heard Amelia shout from inside, “Who is it?”
He had told her to lock herself in. That had been more than thirteen hours ago. He raked a hand through his hair, displeased with himself. “It’s Duncan. You can open the door now, lass.”
Because Richard would not be coming back.
The lock clicked, the door opened, and Amelia flew into Duncan’s arms. She wore a white dressing gown, and her tousled hair was wet, hanging loose upon her shoulders. She
smelled
of rose petals.
“Thank heavens you’re
all
right,” she said. “No one knew where you were.”
He reached up to pry her wrists off the back of his neck and hold them low in front of him. “I’m fine, lass.”
She led him into the room. The fire was burning low, casting the bedchamber in a shroud of warm, golden light.
There was a tub in front of the hearth. Her maid must have come and gone, at least.
“Did they find Richard yet?” Amelia asked.
Duncan had had
all
day to consider how he would answer that question. In the end, he knew that honesty was the only option. Richard’s head would soon arrive at Kinloch Castle—it was a mere two-day ride from here—and news of his death would spread quickly. There was no possibility of hiding what had occurred. Not from her.
“Nay, they did not find him,” Duncan answered. “The militia is
still
searching, along with Worthington’s men.”
Before Duncan had a chance to say anything more, she came toward him, slipped her arms around his waist, and laid her cheek on his chest. “Oh, Duncan, how I missed you. I was so worried. I feared you would never return.”
He stood motionless, bewildered, as she tugged his shirt out from inside his kilt and leather belt. She lifted it to bare his chest, then took a moment to study the cut of his muscles and the markings of his scars. Soon her soft, pink lips were brushing over his skin. Her moist breath made him shiver, and he lost
all
interest in conversation, despite the fact that there was so very much to say.
Her enticing wet mouth settled on a nipple, and she sucked greedily. His breathing grew heavy. She licked and teased both nipples for quite some time; then her eyes lifted and she gave him a smile of raw, sensual appeal.
He knew he should stop her, but he couldn’t. He needed this physical sensation to bring him out of the strange, empty void he had been floating in
all
day.
She slid down the front of him to her knees and slipped her hands up under his kilt. She kept her eyes fixed on his the entire time as she stroked the muscles of his thighs, then took hold of his heavy
ball
s. She caressed and massaged him. Final y, she lowered her ravenous gaze and disappeared under his kilt.
Duncan closed his eyes and tipped his head back as she took him into her mouth. Erotic pleasure flooded through him.
The chaos of his life dissolved in the wet, luxuriant heat of her mouth and the ecstasy that coursed through his veins. She licked and sucked tirelessly, until he could no longer remain standing. He took her by the shoulders,
pulled
her to her feet, swept her up into his arms, and carried her to the bed.
He came down on top of her in a smooth blur of movement, needing to make love in a way he had never needed before. He kissed her deeply, thrust his eager, muscled hips into hers, then reached down and
pulled
her shift and his kilt out of the way.
He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at his erection, poised and pulsing hotly between her thighs.
all
he had to do was touch the tip of his passions to the dark, silky center of her womanhood and in one firm stroke he would be lost inside. But something held him back.
“Amelia…”
“Yes?” She wiggled impatiently, cupped his buttocks in her hands, and
pulled
him inside. He slid in
all
too easily.
Heaven melted around him, rendered him immobile, speechless, but somehow he located his resolve and
pulled
out again. He rose up on
all
fours to look down at her.
He couldn’t do this. Not now.
“I
killed
him.”
She blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”
“I
killed
Bennett. I did it this morning. In the woods.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion. He stared down at her in the dying firelight, waiting for her to say something.
Anything. But she did not speak.
He
rolled
off her, onto his back.
“I don’t understand,” she final y said, sitting up and
pulling
her shift down over her legs to cover herself. “You told me they were
still
searching for him.”
“They are.”
“But do they know he’s dead?”
“Nay.”
She considered this. “So no one knows you
killed
him?
Your militia is scouring your lands, searching for a dead man? Why didn’t you
tell
me this before, Duncan? How could you let me…?” She paused, and a hint of anger found its way into her voice. “What happened? Please
tell
me that you were defending yourself.”
He could not lie. What he did was an act of rage, brought on by the nature of Bennett’s threats and the horrors of his cruelties in the past. “Nay. He was unarmed. I had already taken his knife.”
Duncan reached into his boot and
pulled
it out, then tossed it onto the floor with a noisy clang. It bounced end-over-end toward the
wall
.
She clutched at the neckline of her shift, holding it tightly about her neck. “If he was unarmed, why didn’t you simply bring him back here and lock him up again?”
“That’s what I meant to do. I had the rope in my hands, but…”
“But what?”
“Something came over me. I couldn’t listen to the things he said. I can’t even begin to explain it to you.”
“Try.”
Duncan
swall
owed over the bile that rose up in his throat.
“He said vile things about you, lass, and about Muira—things I do not care to repeat. It started a fire in my head, and I lost control. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until it was over.”
She slid off the bed and went to stand in front of the window. “How did you
kill
him, Duncan?”
“I took off his head.” It was the bitter, hard truth, delivered without hesitation, and strangely he felt no shame. He even reveled in the words as he
recalled
the silence in the woods—when Bennett had final y stopped talking.
For a long moment she stood without moving or speaking, and Duncan knew she was repulsed by what he had done.
Sickened by it. As he had expected she would be.
Amelia faced him. “How do you feel about it? Are you at
all
troubled by what you did?”
He swung his legs to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. “I wish I could
tell
you that I am. I wish I could say I’m drowning in guilt and remorse, and that I spent the day on my knees, praying for God’s forgiveness, but that would be a lie, lass, because I do not regret it.”
“You feel no remorse whatsoever?”
He looked up at her. “Nay. I’m glad I did it, and I would do it again if I found myself back there now.”
She headed for the door, but he sprung from the bed and blocked her exit.
“How could you do something like that and feel no regret?” she asked. Her voice quavered with shock and anguish. “You had the chance to bring him back here so that he could face Colonel Worthington’s court-martial, but you took it upon yourself to act as his judge and executioner. You
killed
an unarmed man in cold blood. I cannot imagine the savagery of it, not after the past few weeks, when I have seen another side of you—a side that gave me hope. I began to believe it might be possible for me to forgive everything else, and love you.”
Love
him.
His
will
col
l
apsed, and he felt
compelled
to explain. The words
spilled
out of him quickly. “If it makes any difference, I didn’t plan it.”
She grimaced. “So you are
telling
me that you had no control over yourself? I am sorry, Duncan, but that does not make me feel any better. How can I be sure you won’t lose your temper with
me
one day? How do I know you won’t slice me in half as
well
, if I stir your anger?”
“That would never happen.”
“But you just said you lost control. Your father lost control, too. He
killed
a bishop. You once told me that he was violent with your mother. How can I become your wife, knowing that you are so volatile?”
He strode forward to take her into his arms and convince her that he would never harm her, but she pushed him away.
“Do not touch me. I feel as if I can smell his blood on you.”
He frowned. “This is who I am, Amelia. I am a warrior. I was bred to fight, and I fight for my country. I fight to protect
you.
”
“I don’t want to marry a warrior. I want to marry a gentleman.”
She might as
well
have stabbed him in the heart with a hot poker.
“You cannot close your eyes and pretend that war does not exist in the world,” he said bitterly. “Men must fight to protect their freedom and their families.”
“But there are other ways to fight!”
They’d had this argument before, and he was beginning to see, with great frustration, that it was not something they were ever going to agree on. She was disappointed in him now, as he’d always known she would be one day.
“Where is Richard’s body?” she asked. “What did you do with him? He deserves a proper burial.”
She would learn the truth eventual y, so there was no point in keeping it from her. “I sent his head in a bag to the Laird MacDonald.”
Her brows
pulled
together in shock. “Muira’s father?”
“Aye.”
“Oh, God! So was this just about avenging her death, then?”
“Nay, I told you before. I did it for Scotland, and to protect
you.
I couldn’t risk letting him live.”
She took a deep breath, and he knew she did not believe him. She believed he had done it as an act of revenge, nothing more. “What about the rest of his body? Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. Fergus and Gawyn got rid of him.”
She pushed past Duncan toward the door. “Let me out of here.”
“Amelia…”
She flung the door open but turned back for one final word.
“We have shared many pleasures, Duncan, and you have been good to me. Despite everything—my own judgment included—I
still
have feelings for you, and for that reason I
will
not expose you as the Butcher. I
will
take your secret to my grave. But I cannot marry you. I cannot marry a man who takes a life and feels nothing. Even if you see it as a mere casualty of war, how can you not
feel
something?”
With that she fled from the room, and he was left standing in front of the dying fire, reflecting very careful y upon that question. It was a valid one. Where was his heart? How was it possible he could be so numb and dead inside? He slammed a fist hard upon the mantel, then sank to his knees.