He waved a hand at her, his face tight with remorse. “I should have been gentle…after…well,after. God damn it.” He stalked from the little room, full of self-recrimination again, and Rose understood. Immediately her eyes burned and her throat tightened. She hurried after him.
“William! It’s not what you think.”
When he turned to stare at her, hands on hips, she raised her brows and sighed. “I’d not meant to tell you this way. I meant to tell you before to fash not on ruining me—that I’d already been ruined.”
He rubbed a hard hand over his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “Aye, I know. The MacLeans.”
“Well, aye, but not how you’re thinking. Fagan MacLean…did things to me, aye, things that make me sick and angry still…but notthat. It was his son, Donald, and I was a willing party. It was three years ago…I was seventeen.” He stared at her now, and it was she who had to look away, sick with shame. “I don’t know why I did it…I suppose I thought I loved him at the time…and I wanted him to love me back.”
He touched her chin, lifting her face so she looked at him. “That is not why a man loves a woman.” Her neck and cheeks burned, and she tried to pull her chin away. He held her firm. “It’s not why I love you.”
Her gaze caught in his. She was so surprised to hearthe words from him. Her heart swelled with happiness. She had hoped he felt as she did, but she hadn’t believed he’d ever admit it—to her or himself.
“And I love you,” she said. “I wanted to be with you tonight before you leave here forever, but I didn’t think you’d come to me just to talk.”
He pulled her hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She hugged him back. He buried his face in her hair, his voice muffled. “God, Rose, I would have come just to talk to you. Whatever you wanted.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. “Really?”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to keep my hands off you, so maybe not.”
She laughed softly. “I’m glad. I want your hands on me.”
She led him to the bed and tried to run the dog off, but Conan only retreated to the foot, his shiny black eyes watching them. Rose pulled William down beside her, and he held her close. He made love to her again, slowly this time, touching her everywhere and whispering words of love. Afterwards Rose relaxed in the strength of his arms and let everything slip away, all her cares and worries. She wanted to lie like this forever.
She thought he’d fallen asleep until he asked, “Tell me about your years on Skye.”
Still held fast in his embrace, Rose stared blankly into the dimness of the room. “There is little to tell. I apprenticed under Crisdean Beaton until he died. I ran away once…my father sent me back, and I was Fagan MacLean’s healer until he died.” It was a sterile, emotionless account, and she knew it would not satisfy him.
“Fagan is who mistreated you?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. “Why did you never tell anyone?”
Rose bit the inside of her lip and averted her eyes, embarrassed suddenly at her own foolishness.
He caressed her bare arm and shoulder as he gently prodded, “How did he threaten you, Rose?”
“He…used to make me touch him…he told me it was Crisdean’s orders, that I was to learn about the male body. This went on for some time before I told Crisdean that I thought I’d learned everything there was to know about it and I’d like to stop the lessons. He was surprised, and that’s when I knew he didn’t know. Not that he cared. He didn’t like me at first anyway—thought women should stick to midwifing.” She shuddered, swallowing a wave of revulsion. “After that, I told Fagan I wouldn’t do it anymore. He said if I stopped or ever told anyone else, he would have my sisters and I burned as witches…I didn’t realize then that we were all hidden and he didn’t know where they were. I also didn’t know how much my father paid him each year for my maintenance—most of which I did not see, either.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I was so stupid…he couldn’t touch my sisters, and he’d never have given up the yearly payments from my father. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Jesus, Rose, you were a child whose mother had just been burned alive. He was a god dammed filthy bastard for saying those things. It’s no wonder you said nothing.”
Rose opened her eyes. His face was hard and angry ashe stared down at her. Angry for her. She said, “But I did tell…eventually. I told his wife.”
His breathing paused. “Aye? What happened then?”
She snorted bitterly. “She called me a liar and a whore. Told me I made her sick and she’d throw me out with nothing if I kept spreading such lies.” William’s muscles tensed beneath her face and hands. “But she believed me. I didn’t realize it at the time, though I do now. She must have said something to him because he never made me touch him again after that, and he treated me with pure loathing. If not for Crisdean and the money, I think she might have had me burned.” Her jaw clenched as she remembered it all. How Fagan would yell at her and call her names and throw things at her as she tended him when he grew ill. “I took care of him until he died.”
“Why?” William said on an incredulous breath.
Her heart cankered at the ugly memory. “Because I caught him trying to use a servant lass as he did me. She was nine. After that I would let no one else tend him.”
William rolled over, pushing her back on the bed and looking into her face. “You have naught to be ashamed of, Rose.”
She stared up at him, tears tracking the sides of her face. She touched the wetness, surprised to find she’d been crying for some time. She’d never told anyone before. She’d been filled with shame and twisted fury. William was the only one who knew now, and he was not disgusted with her.
“And I think you should tell your father,” he said, his expression grave. “You will be angry with him until you do. And if he dies, you might never stop being angry. Tell him.”
