“You heard what I said,” she said arrogantly.
“Oh, God!” Stephen said, running his hand through his wet hair. “Don’t you understand anything about a man’s pride? All his life he’ll bear the mark a woman put on him. He’ll hate you—and your clan.”
“You’re wrong! Besides, the MacGregors and the MacArrans already hate each other.”
“Not as far as I can see. You seem to tease each other. It’s more a game than a true war.”
“You know nothing about it. You’re an Englishman,” she said as she turned back to her horse and began to unbuckle the saddle.
He put his hand across hers. “I want your word that you’ll never drug me again.”
She jerked away from his touch. “There are times when—”
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “There is never a time when you can control my life as well as my reason. What would have happened if there’d been trouble and I was needed? I was asleep so hard someone could have torn down the castle and I wouldn’t have known. I cannot live with someone I cannot trust. I want your promise.”
She gave him a little smile. “I cannot give it.”
He pushed her away from him. “I’ll not endanger my men because of the whims of a foolish girl,” he said quietly.
“Girl!” she said. “I am the MacArran. I have hundreds of men and women who obey me and respect me.”
“And let you have your own way too often. You’re an intelligent woman and your judgment is good. But you don’t have the experience to lead fighting men. That I will do.”
“My men won’t follow you.”
“They will as long as I am awake enough to lead them.” He stared at her when she didn’t answer. “I have asked you for your promise, now I will take it. If you ever drug me again I will take that dog away from you.”
Bronwyn opened her mouth in astonishment. “Rab would always return to me.”
“Not if he’s several feet under the ground, he wouldn’t.”
She was slow in understanding his words. “You’d kill him? You’d kill a dog to get what you want?”
“I’d kill a hundred dogs, or horses, to save one man, either mine or yours. Their lives are in danger if I’m not there to protect them, and I can’t spend my life worrying that my own wife will decide whether or not she wants me conscious on any given night. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear. You would no doubt enjoy killing my dog. After all, you’ve taken nearly everything else away from me.”
Stephen gave her a look of exasperation. “It’s obvious that you’re going to see only what you want to. Just remember that if you love that animal, you’ll think twice before tampering with my food again.”
Suddenly it was all too much for Bronwyn. The long, wet night, the horror of being lowered down a cliff, and now the thought of losing Rab were all too much for her. She sank to her knees in the soggy ground, and Rab came to her. She put her arms around the big dog and buried her face in his rough, damp coat. “Yes, I love him,” she whispered. “You English have taken away everything else, you might as well take Rab too. You killed my father and his three favorite men. You killed all my chances for happiness with a husband I could love.” She lifted her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Why don’t you take Rab? And Tam too? And burn my house down while you’re at it?”
Stephen shook his head at her, then offered her his hand. “You’re tired and hungry and don’t know what you’re saying.”
She ignored his hand and stood up.
Stephen suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t seem to notice her struggles to push him away. “Has it ever occurred to you that you could love me? If you did, it would save the both of us an awful lot of quarreling.”
“How could I ever love a man I couldn’t trust?” she asked simply.
Stephen didn’t say a word but kept holding her to him, his cheek against her wet hair. “Come on,” he said after a while. “It’s about to rain again. We have several more miles before we reach shelter.” He didn’t look at her after he released her, and Bronwyn had a passing thought that he was sad. She dismissed it immediately and mounted her horse.
Chapter Eight
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE STEPHEN STOPPED IN front of an old stone house. The back of the cottage was buried into the side of a little hill, the roof covered with grassy sod. Rain was beginning again, just when Bronwyn’s clothes had begun to dry.
She stopped her horse but didn’t dismount. She was too tired and weary to move.
Stephen put his hands to her waist and half dragged her to the ground. “Hungry?” he murmured just before he tossed her into his arms and carried her into the cottage.