Oh, I can see you are all thinking I don’t know what will happen when he takes a bride or finds a younger, prettier lover. She wanted to shout those words aloud in response to their curious stares. But, you see, I never thought to have even this. So don’t judge me, or blame me, for my Jacobite winter of madness. For who knows what summer may bring?

No-one watching Martha as she calmly ate her meal, however, could possibly have known the restless thoughts that possessed her. Not Fraser, whose brooding eyes never left her face and who answered the comments of his fellow chieftains absent-mindedly during the remainder of the feast. Nor Rosie, who cast sidelong glances at her cousin’s serene expression and wondered if she had imagined the blaze of fury she had seen in Fraser’s eyes when he could not see Martha earlier. Even Cora, her keen eyes flitting between her master and the quiet, reserved—some might say “starched-up”—Englishwoman, could not find any clue in Martha’s conduct about her feelings.

After the feasting, the dancing began. The pipers ceased and musicians took up their instruments. The dancers wove in and out of the candlelight, thronging the glowing hall with colour and life. Men and women entwined, twirled and floated across the newly swept floor. As the host, Fraser was obliged to open the dance with the daughter of one of the neighbouring clansmen, and he rose, offering his hand to her with a slight bow. The girl, as pretty as a picture with golden tresses woven through with amber beads, trembled with pleasure at his touch. Martha, observing this exchange, seized her opportunity and slipped unobtrusively out of the room once more. Enough was enough. She had done as he asked.

Deciding against going to her own bedchamber, she made her way to the library on the second floor. Fraser was likely to be occupied with his duties as a host for some time, but he had ordered her to be present at the party, and he did not take kindly to having his will challenged. If it should suddenly cross his mind to seek her again, he would find her all too easily if she went to her own room. A welcoming fire roared in the grate in the library, and selecting a book, she curled up in a large wing chair, resigned to the fact that it would be several hours before she could safely make her way to bed.

I can’t even get away from his high-handed ways by just leaving this place, she thought, frowning into the leaping flames of the fire. I made Cousin Henry a promise that I would remain with Rosie until she is married. Jack had spoken to a minister, and once the battle was over, all would be in readiness for the wedding. Of course, if the battle was lost, a flight to France would be necessary, and she would have to cross the Channel with the betrothed couple. Either way, Martha would not desert her cousin until Rosie was the Countess of St. Anton. And Martha was honest enough to admit, at least to herself, that she had no real wish to leave Fraser. Whatever it was that had possessed him to start acting like her lord and master didn’t change anything. She sighed. Who am I trying to fool anyway? He is my lord and master. It is just that he must never know it.

She must have dozed, because the fire had died somewhat and the candles flickered in their sconces when she was roused by voices from the courtyard below. Rising from her seat, she went to the window and looked out to see those guests who were not spending the night at Lachlan leaving. With a sigh of relief, she tiptoed out of the room and made her way to her own bedchamber, shielding her candle against the draughts that plagued the castle corridors.

“Where the devil have you been?” She jumped slightly as she closed her bedchamber door behind her. Turning slowly, she was greeted by the prospect of a very large highlander seated on her bed. There was no way for her to know how long Fraser had been there, but he was clearly not happy. She placed her candle on the dresser before responding.

“In the library.” She remained by the door, her eyes on his face.

“Even though I told you I wanted you among my guests?”

“I ate my meal with your guests, as you requested,” she said quietly.

“You disobeyed me.”

“You don’t own me, Fraser. You are not my master.” There, she had said it aloud.

“That is not true.” His voice cracked out like a gunshot. “When I look into your eyes, when I am inside you…we both know you belong to me.”

“Then. In that instant. Not for all time.”

“By God, I will not be defied by you, Englishwoman.”

Martha lifted her chin. “You may as well get used to it, Scotsman.”

He rose then, his presence filling the small chamber. The expression on his face was not conciliatory, and Martha experienced a brief moment of nervousness. She had a feeling the effect would be the same if she had twitched a highland wildcat by its tail in a confined space. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively silky. “I will have obedience from you. Come here.”

She stood her ground. “I will not. Please leave my bedchamber.”

Fraser smiled, but the genial expression did not reach his eyes. “No.”

“Very well. Since you insist that you are the master here, I will be the one to go. I will join Rosie in her room.” She opened the door. “Oh!”

With lightning reflexes, Fraser had crossed the room and slammed the door shut, imprisoning her against it, with his hands either side of her head. The smile that wasn’t a smile at all deepened further. He leaned into her, using his superior strength to push her body up against the door. “You are not going anywhere. We are not finished.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner here.”

“I am the laird, Martha. I can do anything I want.” He threw her own words back at her.

“You said you would never take a woman by force.”

“And I never will. But you, Miss Martha Wantage, need to be taught a lesson in obedience. First, you will shortly be begging me to chastise you.” She started to protest, and he placed a finger over her lips. He leaned closer, his breath stroking her cheek. “Then, when you are sore and stinging—” he gazed deep into her eyes, “—and throbbing from your punishment, I will ask you again if you belong to me. And you will give me a different answer next time.”

She could feel the familiar moisture gathering between her legs. Despite her determination to remain aloof, her treacherous body was already responding to his words and the look in his eyes. Determined not to surrender, she kept her eyes on his and threw his challenge back at him. “I will not.”

Before the words had fully left her lips, he lifted her off her feet and threw her onto the bed, driving the breath from her body. Martha tried to bounce back up again, but he was on top of her, pinning her to the bed with one leg thrown over her as he held her arms above her head. With his free hand, Fraser jerked the laces at the front of her bodice undone, while she squirmed and struggled to be free of him. Twice, she managed to kick herself out from under him, but he calmly seized her, once by her upper arm and then by her ankle, and dragged her back to him. Martha was shaking now with fury and—she was outraged to discover—with an equal measure of desire. Catching him unawares, she was able to land a punch on his jaw that rocked his head back. Undeterred, he laughed and pressed his whole body harder against hers. Martha barely had space to breathe, let alone fight.

Using his hand to circle her neck, he turned her head, tilting her chin so that she was forced to look up at him. Slowly, he ran his tongue along the exposed length of her neck. “Still pretending this is about anger, Martha?”

He crushed his lips to hers, demanding her surrender. Jerking upward in an attempt to buck him off, Martha bit his lip. Hard. Beneath the rough cloth of his kilt, his cock hardened and quivered and another soft laugh escaped him. Lifting his head, he licked away a thin trickle of blood from his lower lip. Pulling her head back with his fist in her hair, he took his time as he slowly pulled her bodice and shift down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze.