Page 26 of Devil Black

“There is no love lost between you, it seems.”

“None at all.”

“And why is that?”

Dougal drew a breath that tasted of pain. “’Tis a long and ugly tale, that. Not suitable for your ears.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “You do know, eventually someone is going to have to tell me the truth. If I am to live here, your past and present cannot remain unknown to me.”

“Aye so, but ’tis a tale for another time.”

“Why does Meg hate you?”

Dougal felt his heart grow heavy as a stone. “Let it just be said she has good reason. You have wed wi’ a devil, after all.”

Isobel said nothing, though her eyes held his. He found himself breathless at such daring—not many women would face him so.

“Is this, then, the devil’s mark?” She raised one finger to trace the scar on his cheek, and he shivered, affected by so simple a touch from her.

“The devil’s mark, aye,” he breathed.

“And this? And this?” She caressed with soft fingers the scars on his shoulders, chest, stomach, arms, some of them twisted and livid, seams on his skin. “How did you acquire so many blemishes? In hard battle?”

“Hard battle, aye.” He captured her fingers in his and raised them to his lips. “Tell me, Wife, do these blemishes ruin me in your eyes?”

“They do not,” she admitted steadily. “But I confess myself curious. Did you fight for the King?”

“No.”

“Against him?”

“I am my own man, and fight only for my own causes.”

“So many? You must indeed be a fierce warrior.”

Not fierce enough. He felt grief flash through him again.

“So, Wife, my sister has warned you against me—yet here you are still, available to my bed.”

“Yes.” She gave a small smile that heated his blood dangerously. “It seems I cannot help myself.”

“A fine thing, that.” He added, surprised to find it true. “Yet I would not have you regret the choice you made, to wed with me.”

“Then satisfy my curiosity.” Her gaze challenged him. “Surely so fierce a warrior cannot fear speaking plainly to his wife?”

“Time may come for that. Not now.” He captured her chin between his fingers and kissed her deeply, feeling the fire leap again. She was so hot in his arms, so pliable and willing. Yet his mind could not quite let him slide away into passion.

“I admit, Wife, I am curious, also, about your circumstances. Will you confess to me how a delicate English flower came to be plucked before her time?”

Again her eyebrow quivered. “I am a delicate English flower?”

To Dougal’s own surprise, he smiled.

“I have told you,” she said, “I am but half English.”

“I stand corrected. You are but half English, and not so delicate as to wilt in my arms.” Dougal drew a breath. “And, Wife, it matters not that I did not find you whole, last night. That is the truth. Neither of us is without a past. Yet,” he traced the curve of her cheek with rough fingers, “I would not be a man, did I not wonder.”

For the first time her gaze avoided his. “Husband, I have already opened myself to you completely. Will you allow me no private sin?”