Highland Hellcat(9)

By: Mary Wine



Slut…

The word burned across her mind. Deirdre leaned against the wall, too overwhelmed by the horror of seeing the man she loved sneering at her so gleefully while his men enjoyed the entertainment of watching her be shamed. She searched his face, seeking out any remaining hint of the man she had defied everything to be with. She found nothing but a savage looking back at her. Melor was only interested in what pleasure her flesh might provide him. Lust twisted his features as the tip of his tongue appeared and swept across his lower lip. The scent of whisky touched her nose.

“Ye’ll get on yer knees now and suckle my cock like a mistress should know how to do…”

Her horror evaporated as her temper flared up. “Not until ye wed me as ye promised.”

Melor reached out and struck her across her face. It was no light slap, but a harsh blow that sent pain through her head and neck. Deirdre jerked her head back around to face him with the aid of her temper.

“Ye promised on yer clan colors, Melor! Ye swore to me!”

He laughed at her. “But it does nae matter, Deirdre, because ye are nothing but a woman who disobeyed her father and laird. Ye will please me or begin praying that my seed does nae take root in yer womb and announce the fact that ye are a slut to one and all.” He smirked and lifted his kilt to expose his cock.

“Come here, slut, and suckle my organ, or I swear I’ll turn me back on ye and yer bastard.” He reached down and handled his aroused flesh. “I have quite a few bastards, and I plan to plant some more of my seed good and deep inside ye before this night is finished.”

Deirdre growled, her temper turning to rage. She lunged at the man she had fallen in love with and sent her knee toward the flesh that he was so determined to humiliate her with. Melor cried like a boy when she felt the sac beneath his cock crushing against her knee.

He jumped away from her, colliding with his men and toppling the chairs they had been sitting in. Their mugs of ale went crashing into the floor, while the room filled with the sounds of their profanity.

Deirdre didn’t wait to see what Melor would say when he finally climbed back onto his feet. She raced across the chamber and tore the door open before anyone thought to try and stop her. There was a long hallway beyond the door that led to a steep set of stairs. At the bottom of those stairs was the main floor of the tavern where Melor had managed to convince her to meet him. It was half-full of men intent on drinking and playing games of chance while they enjoyed a bit of light from the proprietor’s candles.

She left that light willingly behind, seeking out the darkness and her mare. Deirdre swung up and onto the back of the horse where it waited along the side of the building. She dug her heels into its sides to send the animal forward.

Tears streamed down her face, and she wiped them away with an angry hand.

She would never, never cry for a man again. All love between man and woman was false. Men were heartless creatures who understood only lust and power. She had been nothing but a tool for Melor to shame her father with. All the sweet words that Melor had murmured against her ear burned like a brand into her mind as the depth of his deception became clear. Lies she had believed, and worse yet, allowed to plant love in her heart. That affection withered now in the face of the sting still lingering on her face from his blow.

That was the truth of what men truly gave to women, pain and suffering. She embraced the hurt, forcing her thoughts to dwell on the memory of the look on his face after he had hit her.

She would never cry again.

***

Deirdre didn’t look at who was in the tavern, but heads turned in her direction when she left it. Behind the wool of their plaids that were drawn over their heads for warmth, several men watched from where they stood outside the walls of the establishment as she kicked her mare and charged off into the night.

“Well, it’s true, even if I am nae happy to see myself proven right,” Shawe Lindsey muttered beneath his breath and cast a glance at the mugs of ale being carried by in the hands of a serving lass. His throat was suddenly parched and dry beyond endurance, but he maintained his position next to his laird. Shawe waited to see what the man would do now that they had indeed discovered his bride-to-be a very long way from where she should be.

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