Promise Me: A Scottish Medieval Protector Romance, page 10
“Her throat was cut when she resisted the enemy,” a small voice said from behind him. He turned to see a maid in the doorway. A man stood at her side, supporting her by the elbow.
Balloch was shocked. How could MacPherson’s men strike down the king’s own sister? Or had it been another laying siege here? If they hadn’t known her identity, it was reasonable, especially if she’d been foolish enough to fight at Gowry’s side. She’d been a fighter ten years ago…
In any case, if MacPherson were responsible for killing Kenna Canmore, his life was worthless. His friendship with the king would no longer matter. The space at King Malcolm’s left hand would be empty and available. Someone able to make the right impression…
“Show me this grave.”
Fia and Peter were from Agatha’s household and a nervous lot. While Gair Balloch and Howard stood over the fresh grave for nearly an hour, Fia answered his odd questions, though reluctantly. Every now and again the man, Peter, would give her hand a squeeze. They were close, possibly married—information that might be useful later. He had not uttered a word to Howard about what he was contemplating, but the idiot kept his mouth shut.
Balloch turned to Peter. “How deep is she buried?”
“Near five feet down, yer Lairdship,” the man answered, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.
Fia began to wail when Balloch reached down to fling away a small bundle of flowers recently placed on the mound and began to dig at the pile of dirt with his bare hands. After a minute it was clear that he had no earnest intention of digging up her lady and the maid stopped her noise.
“Now,” he said, straightening and brushing dirt from his hands. He looked around to see that they had no audience. “We dug her up. You are witnesses.” He pointed to Fia and Peter and then to Howard. “We dug her up, and I have proven that she was an imposter. I know Kenna Carlisle and this was not her. This,” he pointed to the not–so-neat grave, “was a decoy.”
“A decoy?” Howard struggled to understand, then gave up and simply agreed. “Yes. A decoy.”
“Now you two are coming with us, just after you reveal our discovery to the servants in the hall.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What a bunch of wet lads!” Duncan shouted.
Tearloch laughed but did not point out to his friend that the two of them were working just as hard to keep their mounts in the thick of the pack. Jamie was long gone on Kenna’s horse, hopefully catching up with their captive. With its long legs, the great black was not an animal that was easy to match, however, and there was that chance that the woman could actually get away on it.
Tearloch worried that the others may be holding back to let him catch up and take the lead, so he waved them on. He was the true winner here, but only if they could catch her. And this was no time to let his pride get in the way.
He hoped against hope that this was not her next attempt to elude them, and wondered if Duncan had been thinking clearly when he suggested she take the destrier, for he certainly hadn’t. His head had been filled with a misty haze from her kisses, and in truth, it still lingered.
Surely, she wouldn’t do anything as foolish as stand on the big black’s back while he flew down the road.
Nearly an hour and a half later, the group had to slow their tired horses. They had yet to overtake Jamie, so there was still hope.
They let the animals cool down and have a wee drink before they set out again. They started slowly, which was fortuitous. If they’d been riding hard, they might have missed the flash of black off to the south of the road.
Saint’s be praised, they’d found her.
The entire company shouted with relief and turned into the meadow, stopping when they reached Jamie, who was sitting on the ground watching the woman play with his deadly warhorse. He stood when they joined him.
Kenna sat happily with her clothes riding high on her thighs. She and the beast were at the top of a large mound where she was turning the proud prancing destrier back and forth in exhibition. Then she pulled the reins firmly and had the horse backing across the crest of the hill.
“Brace yerselves,” Jamie called out, just as Kenna started the horse down the hill toward her audience. Her eyes and smile were wide, her excitement evident from far across the stretch of low grasses that lay between them.
All but Tearloch and Duncan gasped when she pulled her feet up on the saddle and stood, rocking forward and back as the black galloped leisurely beneath her. Her hair was a glorious red cloud fluttering like a dark sail behind her. Her thighs, now covered, pushed the limits of her seams, the muscles well defined. Not one man could have looked away had he been ordered to.
Twenty hearts flew out of their chests when they saw the black stumble. As if horrified screams could cushion her fall, their voices cried out as she flew over the horse’s head and landed in front of the animal’s thundering hooves. If the beast hadn’t stopped dead in its tracks, she would have been trampled and killed!
Tearloch had died. He was sure of it. His body simply hadn’t realized that his heart had stopped. If he was quick, he might catch another glimpse of her before his body gave out.
He, Duncan and Jamie raced toward the spot in the knee-high blossoms where the flurry of white had disappeared. But before they were halfway to her, Tearloch heard the familiar music of Kenna’s laughter, a tune that his whole body was quick to recognize.
It was not the laughter of relief, but the unashamed peel of joy. The glorious white form sprang to her feet and embraced the black, then turned to face her audience.
“Are ye hurt?” he croaked. If she weren’t, he was going to kill her.
Kenna noted Tearloch’s white face and took pity on him. He had that murderous look in his eye again, but this time it was tempered with something else that told her she had nothing to fear from this man. He was not unlike Jamie’s horse.
“I am none the worse for wear, my laird and master,” she added breathlessly. She was breathless from laughter, not exertion. “A poor jest. I see that now. Forgive me.” She started toward him, for he seemed unable to close the distance himself. “I assure you I am as adept at falling as I am at riding. You cannot learn the one without the other.”
Jamie headed for the horse, but she stopped him as he passed and threw her arms around his neck.
“Thank you, Sir Jamie. Thank you for sharing your joy with me and allowing me to feel like a child again. I haven’t felt as happy for an eternity.” She suddenly looked worried. “I hope you will share him again someday.”
“Certainly, my lady, if the Commander allows it. But I own I am more worried that he will not welcome anyone else on his back again.” He laughed, but his worry was real. The horse shoved him away, then nuzzled him immediately after. And the next bout of laughter was pure relief.
“He is a clever lad to prefer you,” Kenna called out.
Jamie shook his head. “I must beg ye to stop addressing Queenie as he.”
“Queenie?” she said as she bent and peeked beneath the horse’s belly, then back at Jamie. “How wonderful!” Then she curtsied to the horse. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“My lady,” Tearloch said, drawing her attention. “If ye’ll mount the other horse, perhaps we will see our homes before the sun sets again—and while we still remember the way.”
Kincaid brought the animal forward and Tearloch used the excuse to put his hands on her waist. Breathing was forgotten when her gaze rose to meet his, and the meadow and all its occupants were forgotten.
“Before the sun sets again, ye say?” Duncan said, from atop his mount. “By the time ye finished makin’ moon-eyes at each other, I worry we will have forgotten the way!”
Tearloch could feel many envious eyes on him, and the sensation reminded him of the discussion around the campfire the night before. She’d been as honest with the others as she’d been about trying to escape again—she was honestly considering trading her virtue to accomplish her ends.
He couldn’t let that happen. And he knew just how he could ensure it did not—take away what she planned to barter. He had two choices. The first was to steal it from her. The second…the second was to make her believe she no longer had it.
Malcolm’s parting words were clear. Bring my sister home—whole and healthy. His pointed look made his meaning clear. No anticipating the marriage vows. Keep his hands to himself.
But considering how sheltered she’d been in a fort of women only, how ignorant might she be?
It was worth discovering. And even if she couldn’t be convinced he had taken her prize, he could still lead his men to believe he had, and that was the point. Soon after they arrived, word would spread, and the men of Lochahearn would believe the same—that no matter what they heard, there was nothing left to offer.
His honor might suffer some tarnish, but as long as she was his, in the end, he could stomach it. He would know the truth, that he had honored his King’s wishes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kenna was sure this was now a stranger pinning her between himself and the horse. Tearloch had transformed into a man without care. Besides the genuine smile, the deep line that typically lingered between his brows was gone along with the furrows meant to intimidate the rest of the world. There was no glower, no suspicion behind his eyes. Some secret excitement left no room for anything else.
He was suddenly years younger than she had first suspected. Or at least this stranger was.
And this stranger, she did not trust.
He finally looked away and bellowed. “All to horse! And away with ye! Lady Kenna and I will follow anon.”
No one moved. Horses stamped their impatience. The men only stared at the pair of them. Kenna was equally confused.
She shook her head. “Only a moment ago, you complained—”
He laid a finger on her lips to keep her from finishing.
Duncan cleared his throat and hollered, “Ye heard him, lads. Let’s to home!” Then he shooed the others out of the meadow toward the road. Jamie mounted Queenie and prodded her, but the animal paused in passing to nuzzle a laugh from her.
“Go on, now.” Tearloch said to the horse, pushing the giant head away. “’Tis my turn.”
Jamie scowled at the man, something she thought was unwise to do to one’s leader. But Tearloch only smirked. Had the two men changed skins?
The young man opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and spurred his horse away, but not before giving Kenna a fleeting look of pure pity.
“Whatever have you done to the boy?” When she noticed her laird and master still held her tight, she asked, “Do you mean to lift me onto the saddle, sir? Or do you mean to dawdle?” The next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Is your wife not anxious to have you home as well?” Embarrassed, she looked away, though she still hoped he would answer.
“I have no wife. Yet.”
When she dared look again, that smile was still there. His eyes gleamed green in the light of a clear day, as if they’d been dipped in icy water before being placed in his head. But her own eyes were more interested in those lips. With the tan of his skin, they looked to be carved from dark, soft wood that made her want to kiss them just to prove they were indeed flesh and blood, as she remembered.
He licked them, and she stopped thinking altogether.
She fumbled for something to say, then remembered what he’d said to Queenie. “Your turn?”
“Pardon?”
“You told Queenie it was your turn. For what?”
He inched closer and studied her eyes. “Perhaps I meant it was my turn to throw you to the ground.” He suddenly pulled her against him. She reached out to save her balance and her hands tried to grasp his arms. But they were too large to wrap her fingers more than halfway around. So she grabbed at the thin fabric instead.
“No armor today,” she breathed.
“No armor. Nothing to protect me…from you.”
She laughed. “From me?”
“Aye. Ye’ll be gentle with me, will ye not?”
She rolled her eyes, but then she caught sight of his tongue darting out to wet his lips again, just before he crushed his mouth against hers. He bent her backward just enough that she had to wrap her arms around his neck and hold tight.
New, bright, and shiny tingles coursed through her body, and she was happy, so happy that the two of them were alone. No one clearing their throat, suggesting they stop.
“Oh, my,” she said against his mouth, when he gave her a chance to catch her breath. But then he stole that breath away again when his lips began laying a trail down the side of her neck. And when she could inhale, it was with a loud gasp.
Tearloch growled in answer, then bent to sweep up her legs and lift her off the ground. “Hold tight,” he said, and pulled the rolled blanket from the back of her horse and flung it on the ground. Then he kissed her again, urged her lips apart, and distracted her with his tongue.
With her eyes closed, she felt him get down on one knee before setting her away from him, onto the blanket with a thick cushion of flowers beneath. She turned her head to gain her bearings and stop the world from swaying.
The horses munched noisily nearby. They were well and truly alone.
“Or perhaps,” he said, recapturing her attention, “I was telling Queenie it was my turn to give you a ride.”
Instantly her wits returned. She had been in this situation before. Ten years before. How could she have been so stupid as to be alone with a man again? Nevermind that she preferred this one to that slithering snake, Balloch. Apparently, men were all alike in their interest in her. It would pain her to hurt him, but she would do it.
She struggled to get out from beneath him, batted away his gentle caresses, and thrashed her head from side to side, to avoid those perfect, warm lips. She must never let them touch her again.
His smile gone, he brought a hand to the side of her face, held her gently but firmly while he looked deep into her eyes…and tried to kiss her again.
She had no choice. She screamed with all her might. He winced to the side from the bells ringing in his ears, no doubt.
“Listen to me, Lass,” he purred.
“Nooo!” she screamed again. Surely those men would come back. She took a deep breath and gave a blood-curdling scream just in case they were deaf or very far off.
Tearloch rolled to her side to rub his ear but kept one leg over hers to hold her down. He caught both her hands, held them in one of his own, and with his free hand, forced her to look at him.
She realized he wasn’t worried about anyone stopping him. He didn’t expect anyone to rescue her. Now she knew what that look on Jamie’s face meant as he left her in the care of her laird and master. He knew what was going to happen to her. He knew and he left. They all left.
Suddenly she felt foolish for believing she’d made any friends among them. Like Agatha had told her all her life, she truly had less worth than a horse.
If she couldn’t find the strength to get away from Tearloch, he would do his worst, take away the only thing with which she could barter, and force her to join the others, to sit among them. She could just imagine their faces across a campfire, grinning with what they knew, disgusted at what she had become.
She would rather die…
Tearloch knew the exact moment the lass realized his intentions. The flash of fear in her eyes was not unlike the previous evening, when his men had howled in the woods to discourage her from fleeing in the night.
Then she fought him. Had no qualms about using her screams as a weapon to deafen him. And she’d nearly succeeded. But then he’d watched as her mind worked, and whatever conclusions she’d landed on…changed her.
In the time it took his ears to cease their ringing, she’d become a different woman. And if she’d been his enemy, he would have retreated at the look of determination and hatred in her eyes.
Even Macbeth had not looked so fierce in his last defiant moments.
That was it.
She’d seen defeat ahead of her, and she had decided to fight him to the death over it.
Not good. Not good at all. Perhaps retreat would be best for the moment. After all, he could hardly convince her that she’d lost her maidenhead if she’d only been kissed.
Slowly, he removed his leg.
When she tried to free her hands he said softly, “Stop.”
“No.”
“Trust me.”
“Never again. I will fight ye with my last breath, and then my maid’s story will be the truth. I will not be dishonored and then forced to face those men again.” She was gearing up to fight harder. He could see it coming. But there was something more there. Something in her eyes he’d not seen in them before, and it was hatred…and pain…and…
It was sorrow.
God’s teeth, she was going to cry. Speaking to a woman was new to him. Speaking to a greetin’ woman was hard for any man. For him it would be impossible.
“Shhhh.” He moved closer and pressed his face to the side of her head. “Haud yer wheesht. There will be no dishonor here.”
She stiffened even more. “I will never believe you.”
“It is true,” he whispered in her ear, then breathed the scent of her deep into his lungs.
“Then we can join the others now.” Her breathing sped.
“Not yet.” He placed a kiss behind her ear, then backed away before she spooked. He would like to seduce each part of her body in turn, but this clearly would not be the time for it. “Ye scared the horses away.”
“What?”
The fight had left her voice. Had a mere kiss to her neck accomplished that? If so, perhaps it was the perfect time for it after all.
He took a strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. “The horses. Ye scared them away with yer screams. We’ll just wait here a wee while.” He let his fingers trace a trail down the side of her neck and she shivered.
