My Cursed Highlander Read online

  He dashed into the corridor.

  “Where are you going?” she called out behind him.

  He flung open a narrow door on the left. Sheets, toweling, and cleaning supplies lie behind. He strode passed the mirrored room and pushed in an unlocked door to a small dark antechamber. The musky odor of sex was ripe and undeniable. Oils, feathers, and a small leather crop sat atop a side table. A padded bench with four leather restraints fastened to the legs sat perpendicular to a glass wall—a wall that displayed the interior of the mirrored chamber with the utmost clarity.

  “Lecherous swine!” The Duke of Savoy had rutted over his bound mistress while he’d watched them. The bastard had invaded the most intimate night of Taveon’s life.

  “Shite!” His gut churned. Anger turned his hands into fists. “Shite, shite, shite!” His heart pulsed in the back of his throat as he watched Viviana through the glass wall. How was it possible she was not affected by this?

  She rummaged through the satchel of gifts, pulling out trinkets. Six gold balls linked by tiny chains already sat tableside as well as linked bracelets and a peacock feather. She reached back into the satchel and withdrew a pair of jeweled clips.

  Toys. The bastard gave her sex toys.

  Viviana’s smile made his eyes widen. Wrath replaced shock. He slammed the door of the antechamber and dug his boot heels into the floor. Inside the mirrored chamber, he gripped his wife by her elbow and jerked her into the corridor.

  “M’laird? What is amiss?”

  “Naught is amiss. We are leaving.” He wanted to kill the Duke of Savoy, but wasn’t fool enough to believe he could get away with such an act and leave Chillion Castle alive. What was worse, he wanted to kill his wife. The duke’s missive explained quite bluntly what had transpired. Did it not trouble her that another man had watched her? That she’d been naked and on display for his enjoyment? Had her previous husbands forced her to perform in such a way for other men? He wondered how many could describe the beauty marks on the inside her thigh with accuracy.

  Now questioning her conduct during their lovemaking, he suspected this was the reason she was so free and liberal. His mind swirled with images of his wife pleasuring herself in front of a horde of masturbating men. His teeth clenched and a sharp pain stabbed him at the base of his skull.

  Damn-it-to-Hell!

  “What is wrong with you?” Viviana fought the hold on her arm and struggled to keep his pace through an array of archways.

  “Still your tongue, wife,” was all he could say.

  An abundance of noise spilled into the vaulted entranceway just outside the Great Hall where folk broke their fast. Taveon stopped and caught the Duke of Savoy’s eye at the high table. The blonde maid, Danaë, filled his goblet, after which, he nodded, grinned behind his black beard, and raised his drink.

  Taveon narrowed his gaze and stroked the pommel of his sword. Oh, he wanted to gut the man like the swine he was. He wanted to gouge his eyeballs from their sockets and feed them to his mistress.

  “M’laird, you are behaving like a savage. We must thank the duke and duchess before we take our leave.” Viviana stepped in front of him.

  He snorted and looked down at her, suddenly repulsed by her presence. “Ye have thanked him well enough.”

  Her husband had completely lost his wit, not to mention his civility. She minded her tongue, wondering what had triggered his rage. He’d been angry with her when she nearly froze to death, but not to the point he shook.

  The colors that had overwhelmed her this morn were gone, replaced by various grays. She had no time to question this odd phenomenon as all her energies were currently focused on keeping her husband’s pace. “M’laird—”

  “Shush, woman.”

  Her chin fell to her chest, hurt by his coarseness. She hurried alongside him, wincing each time a pebble stabbed the pads of her bare feet until alas he stopped at the entrance to the stable. She sucked in a breath of clover, filling her lungs from their hasty exit.

  “Ye gods and little fishes. ‘Tis about time ye two emerged from your chamber.” Remi’s jovial voice only tightened Taveon’s grip on her arm. A grip that turned painful, bruising.

  “Say another word, and I’ll cut out your tongue,” he threatened Remi, then released her, leaving her at his kinsman’s side.

  The nicker and neigh of horses met her ears the same time Miocchi’s nose found her hand. She pulled her pet close, seeking his protection. He whined and licked her palm, sensing her fear.

  “We are leaving. Now!” Taveon grunted as he mounted.

  His fury caused her entire being to tremble.

  Crack.

  She jerked at the slap of reigns against horseflesh just as Remi gripped her around the waist and lurched her backward. Laird Kraig’s passing horse blew hair over her face, and the dissipating sound of galloping hoof beats left her with a feeling of regret. What had she done to displease him so?

  “Christalmighty!” Monroe bellowed and brought the other steeds close.

  Remi took her hand, curling her fingers around his own. “M’lady, ye eventually will have to tend to his needs.”

  I did. Salty emotions thickened in her mouth. Tears spilled out of her eyes as her heart tore into a thousand pieces. She thought he was different. She’d been so hopeful, so trusting… so foolish.

  “Remi, fetch m’lady a pair of boots and stockings.” Monroe pulled a fur-trimmed mantle over her shoulders and tied the laces at her neck. “What happened, lassie?”

  Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes and swallowed. “I know not. We… everything was…” Heat burned the tips of her ears. She couldn’t discuss such intimacies with his men.

  Monroe set her on the back of a horse to tend her footwear. “Did something set him off?”

  “Laird Kraig lost his senses after finding a gift in our chamber.”

  “What kind of gift?”

  “It was from the duke, I suspect. Baubles. Nothing of import. A beaded necklace, a pair of bracelets, and hair clips.” She opened her hand, showing him the jeweled trinkets denting her palm.

  “M’laird is angry because ye accepted gifts from another mon,” Remi suggested. “He is jealous. Same as he was when I gave ye the bracelet.”

  Her lips parted to reply, but no words formed. She stuffed the hair clips into the folds of her skirt, hiding them. Embarrassment and shame flooded her. The same feelings she’d known every time she left Radolfo’s and Luciano’s bed. They’d made her feel dirty which is exactly how she felt in this moment.

  Monroe patted her knee. “I know not what is happening in m’laird’s head, but he will cool.”

  Viviana wanted that to be true, but feared Monroe’s words were naught more than soothing lies. She swung her leg over the horse’s ears. “We should go. He will be waiting.”

  Monroe mounted in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” She panicked and inched back.

  “The terrain is too dangerous for ye to ride alone.” He kicked the beast into motion, forcing her to hold on lest she fall off. If Taveon was jealous, this was sure to fire his fury all the more.

  Hooves drummed across the bridge then settled as they trotted down the path wrapping around the lake. Birds suddenly took flight overhead. A horse snorted and a fierce pounding circled them.

  It was him.

  She could feel his eyes on her like pummeling fists in her back. Viviana wanted to hide and instinctively hugged Monroe tighter.

  “Ye are safe.” Monroe pat her forearm.

  “Put her on her own horse.” Taveon’s tone shook her insides.

  “Nay.” Monroe unsheathed his sword. “Stand down, m’laird. I know not what has transpired between ye and m’lady, but I willnae allow your anger to put her life in danger.”

  “Ye defy me?”

  Viviana turned away from her husband’s irate voice, terrified to do or say anything.

  “Aye,” Monroe said, but Viviana felt him tremble. “And I will accept punishment for
my disobedience, but I’m sworn to protect her as much as I’m loyal to you.”

  “The women wouldnae be pleased with your behavior,” Remi chimed in.

  Viviana was going to be ill or at the very least swoon. The pitch in head spun, making her light-headed. Her hold around Monroe’s rib didn’t lessen even after Laird Kraig spurred his steed far ahead of them.

  “Christ-all-bleeding-mighty! What did ye do to him, lassie? I’ve not seen him this enraged since we found out Cora-Rose was with child.”

  Viviana lay against Monroe’s back as a sob tore through her. I offered him my heart and he spit on it.

  * * *

  Taveon worked his jaw, attempting to ease a tension that had his back teeth loose. The hours they spent astride did little to ease his temper, and Monroe’s defiance only added to the black mood that seemed to cling to him like Satan’s cloak.

  At dusk, Taveon had attempted to collect his wife from Monroe’s back, but his insolent kinsman protected her like she was the damn queen. Now, with the moon high and night shrouding them in darkness, Taveon’s mind toyed with him. He couldn’t escape Viviana’s image tattooed to the backs of his eyelids; her silken skin, her plush lips, her trusting eyes. In his head she made love to him over and over, but in this vision he stood behind the glass beside the Duke of Savoy. Monroe was there as well as Remi watching her, watching them.

  The demon on his shoulder laughed at him, mocking him for his weakness.

  Taveon glanced at Viviana, hiding beneath the hood of her mantle and lying against Monroe’s back with her arms locked around his midsection. The woman certainly had no qualms about snuggling up to another man.

  Are you in the habit of sharing your women with your kinsmen? He recalled her words from the cavern. She had certainly been calm about waking up naked next to Monroe. Mayhap her husbands shared her with other men, but he damn sure didn’t intend to.

  “I’m stopping.” Monroe’s words broke through his trance. “The horses are spent, Miocchi is struggling to keep pace, and Remi has fallen off his horse twice.”

  The talons of jealousy clawed at his insides, making him want to lash out. He glared at Monroe. “I give the orders, and I say we go on.”

  “Christ, mon! Think ye can cross France in a single night?”

  “We push ahead to Sainte-Croix,” Taveon ordered.

  “Sainte-Croix? Are ye wowf? Ye will kill the horses.”

  Taveon blamed her for Monroe’s contempt. The man had paid him homage for six years, and she managed to steal his loyalty in a fortnight. “Do ye defy me a third time this day?”

  “Aye. And I will defy ye a forth if ye continue this tirade. We stay at the inn just outside Yverdon for the remainder of the night. The innkeeper will remember us from our previous stay.”

  “Ouish! ‘Tis no inn. ‘Tis a filthy tippling house, and ye well know it.”

  “I’m stopping.” Monroe’s bravado pushed Taveon over the edge of insanity.

  He unsheathed his blade and stilled Monroe with the tip of his sword. “I saved ye in Berwickshire. Gave ye my name and a place to call home. Ye owe me your life and your loyalty.”

  Monroe turned fully toward him, no longer hiding his scar. “And ye have both.”

  “Then give me my wife.”

  Viviana’s arms tightened around his waist.

  Monroe studied him for long moments. “She doesnae deserve your anger.”

  “Ye are in no position to question what she does and does not deserve. Give her to me or I will gut ye here and now.”

  Viviana jerked upright, her head snapped toward him. “Cease this foolishness. Your anger resides with me, not your kinsman. Lead the way to the inn, and you may take your fury out on me in private.”

  * * *

  Viviana followed Taveon’s footsteps down a silent corridor, tripping where the floor boards were uneven. The heat of a wall torch passed her by and she was almost grateful she couldn’t see what was all around her. All of it reminded her of the villa she lived in with Luciano, right down to the rancid smell of pungent mead and unwashed skin.

  She suddenly recalled the sound of Luciano’s heavy breathing and envisioned his grossly fat form sitting at the trestle table. She’d reached across the table to clear his dinner trough and knocked over his precious goblet of mead.

  “You worthless bitch!”

  Smack.

  That had been the first time she’d felt the sting of Luciano’s hand. At least she’d known why he punished her.

  She ran directly into Laird Kraig’s solid form, then quickly backed up a few steps.

  A door clicked then swayed open.

  Her pulse beat behind her eyes, in her throat, behind her breast.

  She didn’t want to cower to him, but the fear was so familiar, so painfully vivid in her memory. The least he could do was tell her what she’d done wrong.

  “Your chamber, m’lady,” he deemed, his tone mocking.

  Viviana stumbled forward through the frigid room and fell over a privy pot alongside the wall. She scrambled to her feet and found the corner. Her hands pressed against the cold wall and her breath caught in her throat.

  She trembled, wanting to cry, wanting to scream, wanting to do anything but be afraid. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  Taveon’s deep draws of breath intensified, but he did not answer.

  She waited for his words, waited for his fists, wondering if he would sneak up on her like Luciano did or come at her full force.

  “Do ye fear me?”

  Viviana summoned all her courage to turn and raise her chin. “I’m no stranger to punishment. Deserved or not.”

  Taveon was in front of her in two strides. “Ye think I intend to beat ye?”

  She flinched. “Without a doubt. But do me a justice, m’laird. Before you lash out, tell me what I have done to invoke your animosity.”

  “Damn-it-to-Hell, Viviana! Ye are my wife. My wife.” He repeated and paced in front of her. “Ye’ve had the entire day to dwell on your actions. Still, ye feign innocence.” He paused, but not long enough for her to respond. “Ye consumed my thoughts this day. I cannae get ye out of my head. I thought about making love to ye, and then I thought about how many others had done the same.”

  Her brow puckered, her head shook. She searched for reasons in his words to support his actions. “Then it is my innocence that has you behaving like a buffoon?”

  “Ha! Ye are far from innocent, sweetling. Though ye tried to present yourself as such.”

  Viviana pressed a hand to her neck as shame wrapped her in heat. The tenderness between her legs reminded her how many times he’d claimed her, and his callous words made her feel like a peasant whore. “You knew I was soiled before you took me to wife.”

  His pacing halted, and his heated breaths fell over her face like hellfire. “While I did not expect a virgin in my bed, I damn sure did not expect a whore.”

  She slapped him.

  It was a good slap, too, right across his cheek. She embraced the stinging in her hand. “I have shared my bed with only my husbands. While they were less than devout, I was faithful to them until death.”

  “Do ye think because ye dinnae take a mon between your legs that ye are being faithful? Do ye not consider pleasuring yourself in front of a mon who is not your husband an act of infidelity?”

  His vulgar words confused her. “I know not what you speak of.”

  “Dinnae feign ignorance with me. The Duke of Savoy watched us from an antechamber while he fucked his mistress. He gave ye gifts for your performance, and ye accepted them like a common whore.”

  The duke watched them? Her hands flew to her mouth as bile crawled up the back of her throat. She brushed her arms, her neck, and shuddered inside her own skin. She felt unclean. She felt like the whore he accused her of being. “I did not know.”

  “Ye are a liar,” he bellowed. “Ye read the missive the same as I.”

  Viviana shook her head, devastated by his accusations. �
��M’laird, I cannot read.”

  His silence could never undo what he’d said. Nothing would ever be as it was.

  “Viviana, I—”

  “Get out.” She pointed in the direction of the door, not wanting his apologies. “This ignorant, lying whore would like to sleep alone.”

  Chapter 17

  “I had her. I had her affections. I had her trust.” Unable to look his kinsmen in the eyes, Taveon blankly stared at the empty pewter mugs atop their table in the barroom. He felt more vile than a wart on a toad’s scrotum. How would he ever regain her trust after what he’d said? He slouched and pounded his forehead atop the wooden surface.

  “‘Twill be better on the morrow. Right? ‘Twas an error in judgment.” Remi tried to console him. “A simple mistake.”

  He choked out a laugh and raised his head off the tabletop. “I called her a whore.”

  Remi winced, then hid behind his goblet.

  After hearing what had transpired at Chillion Castle, Monroe, whose life he’d threatened only hours earlier, retrieved a pair of dice from inside his doublet. “Odds we continue our journey through France. Evens we go back to Montreux and kill the pig.” He tossed the dice.

  Seven.

  All three men grunted in disappointment.

  “‘Tis for the best.” Taveon clutched his aching skull. “Seeking vengeance will not gain me my wife’s favor.”

  “She will forgive ye.” Remi was so naive.

  “Have ye met my wife? She is wee high,” Taveon held his hand to his chest, “purple eyes, black hair, and a penchant for holding on to her temper.”

  Monroe waved a serving maid to their table to refill their cups. “Then we find a way for ye to woo her and ease her temper. I have no desire to carry the lassie on my back another day.” Monroe gave Taveon a side-long glance, as if testing him.

  He owed the man words. “Monroe, if I ever behave like such a dunderheid, ye have permission to kill me.”

  “Aye, m’laird. Will do.” Monroe’s half smile granted Taveon the slightest reprieve from his turmoil.

  “So what do we do about your wife?” Remi blinked and took a long draw of mead.