Page 9 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

For the second time that night, his hand hung in the air, unmoving. “I see. Ye ken, I had about as much choice in this as I imagine ye did. Our families and the Queen gave us this marriage as an opportunity, and we are bound by our duty to them, and our clans, to see this through or suffer the consequences. Though I’ll not have the Queen’s wrath turn against my clan, I’ll hardly force ye either.”

“Then ye’ve found yourself in a hard position, fer ye’ll not have yer way with both.”

“Ye ken that I’d be well within my rights to have ye, whether ye agree or not.”

“I ken well enough. I ken it better than ye.”

“Do ye now?”

“Aye. Do ye think women do not ken where we stand in the world? I have ken since I could walk that one day I would have a husband and the word ‘no’ would cease to have any meaning. Not marrying until ye find someone ye are ready to say ‘yes’ to is the simple solution, but then we are played like a trump card if we do not act soon enough. How could I have refused this marriage when it would have cost me both my life and the lives of the only family I have left?”

Kenna froze, realizing the person that truly needed to listen to argument the most, to take it to heart, was herself. She was running from him. She had been all day. But she was here for one reason, and one reason alone: keep her family alive.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away with a fierceness any Highland warrior would envy before continuing, “I ken full well that, whether ‘tis my wish or not, this night will only end one way. I ken full well that no matter how much ye go on about not hurting me and not forcing me, ye will in the end and I’ll not be able to say or do a thing about it.”

It was as if she had slapped him. His face, so frequently brightened with happiness and laughter since they had arrived in this room, had finally fallen. He stepped back to sink into the chair, staring down at his feet as if he had lost the strength to hold his head high.

“Kenna, please, just give me a chance,” he finally said.

“‘Tis not chances I gave ye but vows. Now, I promise not to run any longer, so just come and get it over and done with.” Kenna felt all of her convictions slip away as she sat on the bed.

Denying him, pretending she had a choice, had been a welcome escape from reality for a few minutes. At least now he would know her unwillingness. Small victories were all she was allowed, it seemed.

Rob didn’t look at her as he stood and approached the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and kicking his boots off during the journey. When his eyes flashed up as he sank onto the bed, Kenna felt her breath hitch, and she looked away quickly before he could see her fear, ashamed that she would show him such weakness now after working so hard to show him her strength.

He leaned in, his breath once again tantalizing on her skin as his lips brushed against her ear before he murmured, “No.”

“What?”

His eyes were fierce with anger, but that smile was back. “I said, no. I’ll not bed ye.”

With a tug and pull, Rob yanked back the covers of the bed and collapsed back. Not in comfort, per se, but as if in inspection.

“But we have to.”

“Aye, we do.”

“So, get on with it.”

“No.”

Kenna flushed with her own anger this time. “The Queen expects it.”

“Damn the Queen.” Rob hissed, and in one swift motion, a knife was pulled from his belt. It slashed across his arm just above the elbow.

Kenna leaped off of the bed, crossing the room fast, her heart racing. “What in God’s name are ye doing?”

“Calm yerself, woman,” Rob said, rolling his eyes as if she was the one touched in the head and he, the one who had cut himself and was now dipping his fingers into the blood that was slowly pooling on his arm, was behaving perfectly within the bounds of reason.

He dabbed a bit of blood on the sheets, in a place just next to where his hips rested.

“Since ye ken so well what all this is about, and how the Queen would feel if she knew I rejected ye, ‘tis best to lie with enthusiasm.”

“Ye rejected me?” Kenna snapped, horrified that he had managed to spin her own rejection, yet submission—she wasn’t sure what to even call it anymore—against her.

“Just come look. See? Looks about right.”

Kenna remembered the last wedding she had been to, and the awkward occasion it had been the next morning when her aunt had asked her to accompany her to the newlywed’s chambers and give witness to the stain on the sheets. Perhaps Kenna should have been a bit jealous of her husband’s past engagements, for this bloodstain was remarkably convincing. He had seen the stain of a virgin before.