His Headstrong Bride, page 2
“I am trying to help you, lass.”
“Shove your help up your arse, de Moray.”
Iain almost laughed at the words that sounded so unnatural coming from her sweet pink lips. She was trying to look brave but her aggressive stance did little to mask her fear.
“Mind your manners, my lady,” he cautioned.
“Or what?”
The challenge in her eyes was too great for him to ignore. She had put herself in a dangerous situation and adopting this combative stance with the one person who could help her was unacceptable. Giving her no time to react, he reached out and took hold of her arm. Spinning her around, he pushed her down over the table at the center of the tent and pulled her dress up to bare her bottom to him once more.
“What are you doing?” she screeched as she tried to get up.
“I am going to finish giving you the spanking you are begging for,” Iain said, pushing her back down. “Don’t even think about trying to fight me, because if you do, I will have you held down while I thrash your bottom. Do you understand?”
Margaret gasped and then, seeming to realize he was serious, gave a slight nod of her head. It was not enough confirmation for Iain. He gave her backside a swat that made her squeal in surprise.
“I said, do you understand, my lady?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice quiet now. “I understand, my lord.”
Iain smiled as she stretched her arms up over her head to grasp the edge of the table and pushed her bottom out. Without being asked, she had got herself into the perfect position. Her submission made this all the sweeter. As he drew his belt from around his waist, he felt his cock stirring. He was going to enjoy this.
* * *
Words of protest floated through Margaret’s mind as she waited for the first blow to fall. She really shouldn’t allow this to happen, but she kept her mouth shut. She believed Iain when he said he would bring his men in to hold her while he beat her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that. Provoking him more than she’d already done was not a good idea. She would have to take whatever punishment he dished out with as much dignity as she could manage and hope he would leave her be when he was done.
“You will receive ten lashes from my belt,” Iain said from behind her. “I will not go easy, but there will be no real harm done. Your beautiful bottom will ache for a time but hopefully this spanking will teach you to moderate your tone.”
“Yes, my lord.” Margaret was amazed that he’d warned her what to expect. Knowing what was going to happen eased her mind a little and ten strokes across her bottom did not seem so bad. She was used to far worse beatings at the hands of the man her father had forced her to marry.
Although Iain was about to punish her, she sensed he was doing it out of concern rather than anger. He was calm and steady when he spoke, completely in control of himself. She was sure that he would deliver the measure of discipline he deemed necessary but would not abuse her.
“Thank you.”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he replied, “I doubt you’ll be thanking me in a minute, lass.”
Almost immediately, Margaret heard the thick leather strap whooshing through the air to land with a startlingly loud crack across her bottom. It hurt, and a sharp breath hissed out of her, but she maintained her position. Humiliating as it was to stand there, bare to the gaze of a man she didn’t really know, she determined to take each lash of the belt with grace. She didn’t want to risk angering Iain by wriggling about too much.
The belt began to fall in a steady rhythm, the blows landing on one buttock and then the other. Pain steadily built and, by the time she counted the eighth stroke, she felt the impact much more keenly. Her flesh heated unbearably, and her skin prickled uncomfortably. Still, she held herself in check.
She thought she heard a sigh from behind her and wondered whether Iain was disappointed in her behavior, even though she was sure it was exemplary. She didn’t have time to puzzle over it as the heavy leather strap cut across the entire width of her bottom. This time, the sting was so great, she couldn’t help but call out in pain. As she smothered any further sounds her whole body tensed up. She had no idea how Iain would react to her outburst. Experience had taught her not to fuss.
“Calm yourself, lass.” Iain’s tone was so gentle, it caught her completely off guard. A tear sprang to her eye. “Just one more.”
Margaret clenched her eyes shut but loosened the muscles in her bottom, knowing from bitter experience that it would be worse for her if she was tense. Her flesh burned but what really pained her was confusion about what was happening here. Was Iain trying to reassure her, to show her some kindness even as he thrashed her? She was not used to receiving even this small measure of concern. Not since her days at Castle Donnell had she known a hint of tenderness from a man. Back then, she had loved one of the MacDonnell clan’s fiercest warriors. His death had left her utterly alone and when she’d returned to her father’s home, it was in disgrace. Something about Iain’s manner reminded her of Niall and that confused her even more.
The belt landed again, and she yelped as fire lit her flesh. Both bottom cheeks throbbed unbearably, and silent tears ran down her face. The punishment had been painful and humiliating, but it was over mercifully quickly. She could comfort herself with the knowledge that she had, for the most part, remained calm and collected.
Her composure threatened to desert her as she felt Iain’s hand on her bottom. Gasping aloud in a combination of surprise and delight, she shifted on her toes. A fluttering sensation rippled along that place between her legs and she shook her head, amazed she was experiencing arousal at this moment.
Iain removed his hand from her body and she wanted to complain at the loss of contact, but she said nothing. Unsure of what to do, she just laid there, her reddened bottom exposed, as she waited for instruction. She was surprised when Iain grasped her arms carefully and helped her to stand. Grateful that her skirts had slid down into place to cover her completely, she turned to Iain. The look of concern he gave her when he saw her tears made her cry all the harder. Launching herself into his arms, she sobbed as though her heart would break.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated through her tears.
“What the hell are you thanking me for, lass?”
Margaret had no answer to give. She had no idea why she felt such immense gratitude toward him in that moment. Perhaps it was for not beating her beyond her endurance. It might be for showing her a modicum of kindness. Whatever it was, for some reason she felt safe in Iain’s embrace. She instinctively knew that she could trust him, and it had been a long time since she’d been able to place her faith in anyone.
“Alright, lass,” Iain said as he steered her toward the bed and pushed gently on her shoulders to make her sit down. She winced as her bottom met the straw mattress and wriggled a little to get into a more comfortable position. Iain gave her an unfathomable look. “Rest here and I’ll find you some food. You look like you need it.”
Margaret nodded and watched as Iain walked to the opening of the tent. As he drew back the canvas flap, he turned and fixed her with a warning glare.
“Do not attempt to leave here, Margaret. You will not like the consequences if I have to chase you down.”
As Iain left, Margaret looked around. The tent was incredibly spacious, fitting for a warrior of his high social status. His armor was hung in the corner and by it was a tabard with his family crest. She could just imagine him riding into the fray at the head of a thousand men. She had no doubt he looked formidable when dressed for battle.
At the center of the tent there was, of course, the table he had bent her over when he tanned her backside. There were two chairs next to it and she pictured him sitting there to eat his meals. Then there was this surprisingly large and comfortable bed with a huge wooden trunk at the foot. He must surely have a manservant to attend to his needs but there had been nobody here when they came to the tent and he’d gone off to fetch food for himself rather than sending someone. It seemed typical of the down-to-earth, no-nonsense man she remembered from her time at Castle Donnell.
Sighing heavily as she tried to banish pangs of longing from her mind, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. It was odd considering Iain had just reddened her backside for her, but she felt safe here. That was something she had not experienced for as long as she could remember. She knew that Iain de Moray had once held affection for her and he had been kind to her at a time when she needed it. Perhaps he would help her now. She just had to come up with a way to persuade him.
Chapter Two
As he waited for one of the camp’s cooks to serve him up a plate of porridge, so he could feed Lady Margaret, Iain felt a hand clamping down heavily on his shoulder. Without having to turn around, he knew who the hand belonged to and why he’d been sought out.
“James,” he said drily as he took a plate of stodgy slop from the cook and turned to greet his friend. “I take it you’ve heard?”
News traveled fast within an army encampment and Margaret had certainly created a stir. It was no surprise to him that Sir James Douglas, close confidante to the king, should have heard about her presence already. He always had his ear to the ground.
“Aye, I have. Who is she, Iain?”
“Lady Margaret Baillie,” Iain replied and then frowned as he realized that almost five years had passed since he’d last seen the lass and she might have married since then. It would be unusual if a woman of her age hadn’t. Her heart sank at the thought that he might have spanked another man’s wife. That could lead to all sorts of problems he had no desire to deal with.
“Baillie.” James pursed his lips tight and narrowed his eyes as though deep in thought. He seemed to be rummaging around the vast recesses of his memory. “Margaret Baillie?”
“That’s right.”
“I believe you’re talking about Lady Sinclair.”
“Am I?” Iain felt an inexplicable sense of despair at the thought of Margaret belonging to some other man.
“Aye, you do. Her husband was Sir William Sinclair of Glenburn, if I’m not mistaken.”
The name meant nothing to Iain, so he assumed the man was a fairly minor noble. He wondered, briefly, why a lady of Margaret’s high social standing would have been married off to a man of such little consequence. Then it occurred to him what James had said.
“Was?”
“He fell at Dunbar, fighting for the enemy. His brother also chose to rebel against the king. We captured him during the battle yesterday.”
Iain sighed. Had Margaret been trying to free her husband’s brother, then? Aiding a traitor was a serious crime but the king was likely feeling generous after their great victory. He might not punish her too harshly. On the other hand, he might want to make an example of her to ensure that everyone understood the penalties for further acts of treachery. Iain supposed he could intervene on her behalf and beg his old friend for leniency. He had, after all, been unwavering in his support of the king’s cause for many years. He just had to decide whether Margaret was worth sticking his neck out for. It wasn’t as though he really knew her all that well.
Seeming to sense the turmoil raging inside his friend’s mind, James laid a hand on Iain’s shoulder.
“I’ll need to question the lass.”
“Aye,” Iain grunted as he turned away from the assessing look James was giving him. He knew his friend had some pretty ruthless methods of getting answers out of people and didn’t want to expose Margaret and her sassy mouth to potential harm. He couldn’t defy James, though. Telling him he couldn’t speak to Margaret would be like refusing the king himself.
“I would like to be there,” Iain said. “I knew the lass many years ago.”
“You have a liking for her?”
“I do,” Iain admitted, “but there is nothing between us. She was part of my brother’s household for a time.”
“Which brother?”
Iain couldn’t see that it mattered, but answered anyway, “Alexander.”
James smirked as though he found that noteworthy. Iain had no idea what went through the other man’s head but knew that James and Alexander had spent a lot of time together in their younger days, drinking and fucking their way through the female population. Perhaps he thought that Margaret was one of Alexander’s conquests. He would be dead wrong. From the moment he’d married the formidable Ailis, his brother had been a one-woman man.
“Well, if she’s an acquaintance of the de Moray family, I daresay I can make some small concessions for her. We will speak to her in your tent. No need to drag the poor lassie off to the dungeons.” James gave a feral grin. “Yet.”
Iain blew out a frustrated breath and followed James back across the camp. He had hoped for a little time to speak to Margaret and prepare her for questioning, but it seemed his friend was not willing to wait.
As they approached the tent, Iain saw two of the king’s men standing guard near the entrance and realized that James had extended a courtesy in approaching him the way he had. They could easily have dragged Margaret away for interrogation and he could have done nothing to stop it.
Nodding in acknowledgement to the guards, Iain opened the flap of the tent and signaled for James to go in first. The other man stopped in the entrance and let out a low chuckle.
“Well, this is interesting,” James murmured.
Brow furrowing, Iain followed him inside. His mouth fell open as he took in the scene before him. Margaret was kneeling on the floor by his bed completely, gloriously naked. Her beautiful golden hair tumbled down over her shoulders and her head was bowed in submission. She looked utterly breathtaking, like a concubine waiting for her master to return. Just what the hell did she think she was doing?
* * *
As a man she’d never seen before stepped into the tent, Margaret shrieked in alarm. Her hands flew up to cover her breasts and she squeezed her legs together tightly, hoping to maintain some semblance of dignity. She could feel the color rising in her cheeks and wished the ground would just open up and swallow her whole. Iain was staring at her, the intensity of his gaze singeing her flesh. He looked as though he was both filled with desire and utterly furious at the same time. The man who was with him had a look of amusement on his face. She must have been mad to think that stripping off her clothes and waiting here to seduce Iain was a good idea.
“I... uhm...” Margaret had no idea how to explain herself. Nor, for that matter, did she know how she was going to get up from this position without exposing herself completely.
His jaw clenching, Iain strode toward her. He tossed a plate of what looked like porridge onto the table and grabbed a fur from his bed. He placed it around her shoulders and helped her to her feet. His touch was rough, and it was clear he was annoyed from the way he gripped her arms tightly, but he took care to ensure that she was properly covered before guiding her over to sit at the table.
“This is James Douglas,” Iain said as the other man dipped into a cheeky bow before taking a seat across the table from her.
Margaret nodded in acknowledgement of a man whose reputation preceded him. There could be few in Scotland who did not know of the heroic deeds of the king’s right-hand man. She took a moment to study the famous warrior. He was not particularly handsome, but there was something about his dark features that she imagined other women might find appealing.
“James needs to ask you some questions, my lady.” She could not miss the look of warning in Iain’s eye as he spoke. She was to comply, or else.
“Of course, my lord.” Margaret decided that an air of deference would serve her well at this point. “I shall do my best to answer.”
“You are the widow of Sir William Sinclair, is that correct?” James asked.
“That is correct.” Margaret was amazed he knew who she was. Iain would surely know her only as Lady Baillie. She saw the corner of Iain’s mouth twitch as though her confirmation that she’d been married irritated him. She felt her stomach churn as nerves began to take hold. If he was angered already, he was not going to like her responses to the questions she suspected his friend was about to ask.
“So, you are sister by marriage to Donald Sinclair?” James looked to her for confirmation.
“I am.”
“You were caught close to where our prisoners are being held and with a weapon.” He looked to Iain. “Where is the knife, by the way?”
Margaret watched as Iain went to the floor beside his bed and picked the dagger up. He handed it to James and sank into the seat next to him. James ran his finger along the blade and then spent a few moments studying the ornate handle.
“It was my husband’s,” Margaret offered.
“Beautiful.” James handed the dagger back to Iain, who casually tossed it across the room as though it wasn’t worth a small fortune. Margaret couldn’t be sure, but she thought Iain might be irritated that the weapon had belonged to her husband. She had no time to ponder that idea as James spoke again. “Did you imagine you were going to have to cut through ropes, my lady?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No?” James arched a brow at her. “So, what is the knife for if not for freeing your brother-in-law from his bonds?”
“Nothing.” Margaret gritted her teeth. She suspected he was mocking her. If her brother-in-law was bound it would be with chains, not rope. Anyway, the last thing she’d intended to do was aid that bastard’s escape.
“But did you come here to aid Donald Sinclair, did you not?”
This time, Margaret shook her head more vigorously.
“Come now, my lady,” James said. His tone remained pleasant, but there was something in his eyes now that told Margaret her denials would soon test his patience. “You came here to see Sir Donald, did you not?”
“No,” she shouted, more loudly than she’d meant to.
