In her dream she was on her bed, but it was not as before. A cold mist billowed inside her room. It fragmented the moonlight and obscured her vision. Her lungs filled with ice and it coursed through her blood blooming with fear.
“Is he going to hurt me?” Mena whispered to the dark, her eyes searching the mist for the frightening demon-red eyes.
“Aye.” The word came from behind her, but she dare not turn around from where she lay curled on her side. “He takes what he desires, and then he crushes it. He canna help it, lass, it is in his blood.” The voice seemed closer now, stronger. “Ye are the object of his desire now, which means ye are in danger. Run before he claims ye, too.”
Mena shook her head in emphatic denial. “He does not mean to claim me. He was drunk and I was weak, but nothing will come of it, I’m only the governess.”
“We both know ye’re more than that.”
Panicked tears pricked her eyes and she yearned to run, but in her dream, her muscles didn’t seem to be working.
“Who are you?” she whispered, frightened tears springing to her eyes. “How—how do you know what I am?”
Mena thought she felt the whisper of a breath against the tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. She released a terrified gasp that escaped as a whimper.
“I am the horrible embodiment of the Mackenzie’s many sins. The specter of his demon. He’ll not escape the promise he made me.”
“What did he promise you?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“Everything, lass. Everything. And I’ll collect what I’m owed.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Liam had gone to Andrew’s room in the morning and had done what he could to make things right before he left on business that very afternoon. He and his son had traded apologies, something that may have never been done in the Ravencroft household for generations.
He’d left feeling both heavier and more hopeful than he had in a lifetime, and the conflicting emotions set him more on edge than ever.
It took the entire train journey from Strathcarron to Dingwall for Liam to decide upon the woman he’d use to fuck the memory of Philomena Lockhart away. How would he ever make it through the tedium of the Agriculture Council of Highland Lairds as randy and distracted as a pubescent schoolboy? There was no concentrating on late-summer harvest reports, the sowing of winter crops, settling on export prices, or meeting with the Fraser’s French cousins to purchase next year’s oak sherry casks if he couldn’t get his runaway libido under control.
’Twas the reason he left Ravencroft two days early; it would take that long in bed, at least, to erase the memory of her incomparable body, of her slick desire on his skin.
Mary Munroe flung her door open before he had the chance to knock. Her lovely face alight with a welcoming smile, she fanned herself coquettishly and gave him a saucy wink.
“Well, if it isna the Demon Highlander, himself, come to take my virtue.” Twirling a dark ringlet around her finger, Mary laughed at her own joke. It had been many years since Mary Monroe had been a virgin, or virtuous for that matter.
She was the most expensive courtesan in the Highlands. It was rumored she stayed in Dingwall because the lord of Tulloch Castle kept her in these lavish apartments.
But as long as she was at his leisure, she could keep her own appointments, as well.
Mary Munroe only held in reserve the most exclusive clientele, and Liam was lucky enough to be counted among their few numbers. He not only enjoyed her dexterity, he enjoyed her company. He could say that about very few people.
She gave a delighted squeal as he crowded her into her apartments, slammed the door, shoved her against the garishly papered wall, and kissed her.
This was what he wanted, was it not? A bout of hot, sweaty, desperate fucking. She’d let him take his fill. She’d done it before. But even as she bloomed for him, swirling her tongue inside his mouth with expert skill, he suddenly knew hers were not the lips he craved. Her breasts beneath his searching hands felt small and unexciting.
Liam’s body was hard and ready, had been since the night before. So why did he have to close his eyes and picture Mena in order to make the idea of bedding one of the most beautiful women in Scotland seem more than passing attractive?
She broke the kiss with no small amount of reluctance and studied him with eyes the color of his rich whisky. “All right, Laird Mackenzie, who is she?”
He stepped back as she pushed at his jacket.
“Who?” He kept the question deceptively mild, as he ran a frustrated hand over the hair he’d tied back for his journey.
“The woman ye’ve come to me to forget.” She raised a knowing eyebrow at him and sashayed down the hall, her voluminous bustled skirts trailing after her.
Mena’s back also arched just thus, and Liam knew she didn’t have to employ a bustle to achieve the shape that Miss Munroe and so many women paid good money for. Mena’s arse was a thing of beauty. If he could just mold his hands around it, he’d die a happy man.
He scowled, exasperated by the unbidden direction of his thoughts. He followed the courtesan into her receiving room, and grabbed her from behind, turning her to face him. “Doona talk nonsense, woman.”
A painted lip tilted up. “I’m skilled in many things, my laird, but nonsense is not one of them. If ye want a stupid whore, ye’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“It’s not yer sense I’m paying ye for, lass, now take this off.” His fingers went to the laces of her dress.