Page 83 of Dark Victory

She had thought him preoccupied with another woman. She had been caught red-handed trying to succor his prisoner. “He is starving.”

His gaze was searing. “Aye, he is.”

She didn’t bother to try to pull away. His grip felt like a brand. She trembled. “He needs to eat. He needs water.”

“Ye’ve defied me again.”

Tabby tensed. Why did his power have to be so consuming? “Are you surprised? You know where I stand. I cannot compromise my values or my beliefs.”

His mouth curled mirthlessly. “Nor can I.”

They were at an impasse.

“Come,” he said.

Before she could answer, he was pulling her with him back toward the hall, his strides long. She had to run to keep up with him. “Where are we going?” she cried, alarmed.

He didn’t answer.

When he started toward the north tower, she realized where they were going. She dug in her heels; he did not stop and he pulled her with him. “I am not going upstairs to your chamber with you!”

He didn’t look at her, but his grasp tightened. “I’ve had enough o’ this war. ’Tis madness.”

“I cannot stand by and watch you torture and execute that boy while sharing your bed. I can’t do it, Macleod,” she cried as he dragged her up the stairs with him.

He did not answer her.

“Macleod!” she cried, as he shoved open his bedchamber door. “Are you going to force me against my will?”

He finally let her go. Tabby turned to run past him, out the door and into the corridor, but he slammed the door closed in her face, caught her arm and whirled her back around closer to the bed.

She paused in the center of the room, shocked.

He folded his arms. “There will never be force.”

He meant to seduce her. Tabby was already acutely aware of him—she was always acutely aware of him. His words made her stiffen and vibrate. It made all those newly discovered pulse points come to life.

He slowly smiled.

She shook her head, her heart thundering now, her mouth dry. “Don’t do this. I will be furious in the morning.”

He stripped off his tunic, revealing his hard, scarred, aroused body, and flung it aside.

Tabby meant to look anywhere but at him, but her gaze had a will of its own. “I will not forgive you,” she warned. Her tone was unyielding.

“Ye’ll forgive me. If ye insist on war, we’ll war in the day. But not in the night.”

She was disbelieving, but she couldn’t stop her treacherous body from responding to the mere idea of a nightly truce and all that it entailed. Her skin was burning and tight.

“Or would ye rather I seek comfort elsewhere?” he murmured, and he was finally amused.

Tabby looked down. She tried to breathe and failed. He slowly walked over and she lifted her eyes. “I hate the idea of you with somebody else.”

“Then offer me comfort, Tabitha.”

They could argue tomorrow. Her hand strayed and found his rock-hard hip where his hip bone protruded. He went still, except for that huge, quivering length. Tabby slid her fingers lower.

When she touched him, the desire was acute, blinding.