Devil of the Highlands Page 0,11

"Lass, I am the Duncan."

"Duncan," she repeated softly. "I shall never forget your name."

He rolled his eyes with disgust, then explained, "Duncan is me clan name, I am Cullen… the Duncan," he said meaningfully.

"Cullen," she breathed, thinking it much nicer than Duncan.

Frowning now he said, "Duncan in Gaelic is Donnachaidh."

Evelinde's eyes widened with a dawning horror. This was just awful, the worst thing she could imagine. If he was a member of her future husband's clan, then she would no doubt see a lot of him. He would be there day in and day out, a temptation she would have to resist for both their sakes. Their very lives would depend on it.

"Oh this is awful," she breathed, imagining years of torture ahead. "You are kin to my betrothed."

"Nay," he said with exasperation. "I am yer betrothed."

Chapter Three

"You cannot be."

Cullen's eyebrows rose at that dismayed whisper from Evelinde d'Aumesbery, his bride-to-be. Moments ago, she'd been warm and willing in his arms, and now she appeared utterly horrified. Mouth turning down grimly, he assured her, "I am."

"Nay, you cannot be the Devil of Donnachaidh," she assured him. "He is… well a Devil. Everyone knows that. And you…" She peered at him helplessly. "You are handsome and sweet and have kind eyes. And you made me feel…" She paused and shook her head firmly. "You cannot be the Devil."

Cullen's expression softened at her words. She found him handsome? He could do without the sweet and kind eyes nonsense, but he liked that she thought him handsome.

"What did I make ye feel?" he growled, moving closer to slide one hand up her arm, suppressing a satisfied smile when she shivered and gasped at the light touch.

"My lady!"

Cullen froze and nearly cursed aloud at the interruption as he became aware of the sound of hoof-beats closing on them. Scowling, he turned a glare on the hapless man who charged into the clearing on a light reddish brown roan.

"Mac." There was no missing the relief in her voice as Evelinde pulled away and turned to greet the man.

"There ye are. I was starting to worry. I—"

Cullen's eyebrows rose as the man's words died and his expression darkened with rage. He followed the fellow's gaze to Evelinde and immediately understood. The woman was a complete and utter mess. Her dress was still damp and torn in at least three places; the worst of which was a long rent from shoulder to waistline. It left one side of her gown gaping open like a flap, giving them both a perfect view of the bruise on her side, visible through the still-damp cloth of her chemise. If that wasn't enough to convince the man his mistress had been attacked, there was also the darkening bruise on her chin, her lips, swollen from his kisses, the knotted mass her hair was, and the still-stunned look on her face.

The fury on the man's expression made Cullen positive he was going to get some welcome exercise to work off the unsatisfied desire still rolling through him, but then he noted the man didn't have a sword. A servant then, he realized with disappointment.

"Ye'd be the Donnachaidh, then?" the man asked, his voice shaking with fury.

"Aye." Cullen answered, supposing his men must have reached the castle before this man had ridden out. If they had mentioned coming across a woman in the woods and their laird staying behind with her, it might even be the reason he'd headed out in search of his mistress. It suggested he was protective of her, and not a coward if he was willing to face the infamous Devil of Donnachaidh for his lady.

As he caught Evelinde by the arm and urged her to her mare, Cullen considered easing the man's mind by explaining he was not the cause of any of her injuries, but then decided against it. He rarely bothered to explain anything. Cullen preferred to let people make up their own minds about things, which was part of the reason he had such a fearsome reputation. Left to their own devices, people almost always chose the most damning explanation for events. That usually worked to his advantage, however. It was quite handy being considered the cruel, heartless Devil of Donnachaidh. His reputation assured most battles were won before they even began. He'd found there was no better weapon in the world than the fear inspired by the ridiculous tales of the Devil of Donnachaidh.

"Thank you," Evelinde murmured, when he lifted her onto her