Knowing she'd been married to another man at the time of their encounter, he felt torn. If he'd known then, he might have declined. But now, he didn't regret it. Mayhap she'd needed him more than he'd needed her at the time, if what she'd said about her husband was true. That he cared not one whit about her, nor had he given her any pleasure or affection.
Too often in their circles, marriage was a cold political arrangement with no emotion save resentment, bitterness and anger. The women were the ones who suffered, for the men sought their pleasures elsewhere. He admired Calla for her bravery in seeking out her own satisfaction. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. He was just glad she'd happened upon him and not some rotter who would've abused her.
Even though she was strong, she had a delicate vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her with all his might. Too many had already abused her… Stanbury and now Claybourne. If only he could protect her, while also resisting her.
He blew out a harsh breath. Damnation, he did not want to resist her. He wanted to seduce her and wallow in the most delicious encounter he could imagine. He still remembered the beauty of all her luscious, slim curves in the candlelight. The passion in her eyes when he'd brought her to the peak of pleasure.
Aye, he craved that again to the pit of his soul.
***
From his hidden place in the wood, Edward Claybourne watched the garrison of three dozen or so leaveDraughonCastle and head north just after daybreak. The dark-haired Highland chief he'd met two days before was among them—MacGrath, he'd said his name was—riding at the front, along with another plaid-swathed man with lighter hair. Both of them were brawny and formidable-looking warriors, but he did not fear them. They would bleed just as easily as anyone else.
He narrowed his eyes. They had to be going after Lady Stanbury and her rescuer.
Claybourne held up his hand for his men to remain silent and still so as to alert no one of their presence. Once the others were out of sight, he said, "We follow them at a distance."
They proceeded from the wood.
He could hardly wait to get his hands on Lady Stanbury—Calla. He smirked, remembering how he'd slowly and methodically stripped all possessions from her husband and left him an empty,sottedpauper, just before he'd knifed him in the back. He'd always hated the man who had killed his mother and treated him like refuse when he was a lad.
Aye, when he'd been six or seven years of age,Claybourne'smother had been LairdStanbury'smistress. The bastard had beaten his poor mother and taken all from her. When Claybourne had leapt ontoStanbury'sback to try to make him stop hitting her, Stanbury had tossed him against the cottage's stone wall like a rat. Claybourne had been knocked out and awoke hours later, his mother crying over him, thinking he was near dead.
Stanbury had never shown his face again there. A few months later, his mother had died, screaming and bleeding in her bed. He now knew she'd had a miscarriage ofStanbury'sbastard. And Claybourne was sent to live with relatives.
He remembered Stanbury well and swore his revenge. He'd raked and clawed his way out of the gutter, changed his name from Edward Leslie to Edward Claybourne, then he'd bought his first merchant ship. From there, buying a failing estate had been easy and with that he'd become a landlord. Though not a member of the aristocracy, he had more money than some of the barons and earls in the area. He'd approached Stanbury one night after watching him gamble recklessly at a tavern in Edinburgh. The man hadn't recognized him as the young lad he'd almost killed some twenty years earlier.
The two of them had gambled off and on for years, Claybourne taking a bit more each time, which drove the older man half-mad, for he'd always wanted a chance to win back what he'd lost.
The night Claybourne had first seen the fresh, young Lady Stanbury, he knew he had to have her. She was a fair-haired angel with the curves of a harlot. He grew hard just thinking about her.'Twaseasy to tell she had a brilliant mind behind those cool gray eyes. That was why she had eluded him thus far.
He'd set out to own everything ofStanbury's. His estate was entailed for his young brat, but his luscious wife…. The night he had conned and cajoled her husband into wagering her as his last valuable possession, Claybourne had been overjoyed. Not that he could claim her by law, but he knew how to easily dance around it.
He was tired of receiving the ridiculous, piddling payments she was sending him. She needed to pay her husband's debt while lying on her back.
***
"What the devil is this, MacFadden?" Rebbie asked the next afternoon, gazing up at the half-finished tower on the far side of the castle, which had not been a part of Tummel Castle on his last visit.
"A new tower." MacFadden sent him a hesitant but gleeful smile.
"I can see that. Who is having it built and why?" Although Rebbie already knew the answer, he wanted to hear the other man say it.
"I am… was." MacFadden pressed his thin lips together and rolled them inward.
"Who is paying for this?"
"T-the money is coming from the estate."
"Ah. Of course. I wondered why I was getting no income from this estate." Actually, he had paid no attention to it. He hadn't been home in over a year to look at the books. But he trusted the treasurer of Castle Rebbinglen. No doubt the steward here had sent the funds last year. "I'll have a look at the books later and decide whether to continue the construction."
"'Tisalmost completed,m'laird. And 'twill be a grand addition. I-it will balance the whole edifice of the castle from this side." Excitement litMacFadden'seyes.
Rebbie frowned, wondering why the man cared. Was he half imbecilic?
"Do you not agree?" MacFadden asked.
Rebbie glanced from one end of the castle to the other, seeing that the new tower did add to the beauty of the whole structure. "Aye, 'haps you're right."
