Bedding the Enemy

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Red Stone Castle, McQuade land, Scotland, Spring 1604

L
aird…

He'd never courted the title. Never considered it something that might be his. Keir McQuade walked through the hallways he'd covered a thousand times in the last year alone but today it felt like he crossed the polished stones for the very first time.

Today he was Laird McQuade.

An uneasy peace had settled on his father's land. One that Keir did not trust. Everyone was watching to see what the new season would bring. His father had wielded power ruthlessly and his two elder brothers followed their sire absolutely—moonlit raids on their neighbors that had resulted in his only sister being stolen away.

Keir snarled softly. Bronwyn was the only member of the family that he held dear. He missed her now that she was wed and that was no mistake. He did not lament the loss of his father or brothers, only the fact that they had been so filled with greed that they could not remain among the living.

He'd run his brother Sodac through with his own hand after he'd tried to help their eldest brother poison their sister.

And for what?

To deny her a dowry that her mother had settled on her long ago. Keir shook his head. Three months later, he was still slightly amazed when he opened his eyes in the morning and recalled the events that had left him to inherit the title of Laird McQuade.

He neared his chamber and frowned. Footsteps scuffed on the floor and two younger lads came around the corner with a heavy trunk between them.

“Laird.” They both ducked their heads, unable to tug on their bonnets or drop their burden. But they both looked at the top of the trunk, avoiding his eyes.

A maid came next with her arms full. “Pardon me, laird.” She dropped a curtsy without breaking her pace and ducked around him in a flash.

Keir frowned. Covering the last few steps to the doorway of his chamber, he stared inside. The shutters were wide open to allow the new spring air inside. A hint of new plants was in the air but all he felt was a tightening between his shoulder blades.

“What goes on here, Gwen?”

His mistress was standing near the bed. She tensed, the hand resting on the bedpost tightening. He heard her sigh before she turned to face him.

“It is time, Keir.”

“Is it now?” He swept the room with his gaze. All of her personal belongings were missing. “Except that I dinnae recall when we decided that ye should leave.”

“We didna decide because ye avoid the topic every time I bring it up. I decided.” She sounded resigned but at the same time there was a core of strength in her that he admired.

“Ye got yer monthly courses, didn't ye?” He stepped closer, reaching for her, but Gwen moved away from his touch. A soft shaft of pain went through him. “Things have changed. Stop taking that concoction of yers and we'll marry now that my father isna here to tell us no.”

“You canna marry me, Keir.” Gwen offered him a genuine smile. “Dinnae talk that way.”

“Ye love me, Gwen, and I will wed with ye. I'm laird now and I dinnae answer to my father any longer. I only refused ye a babe because my father would have seen it born a bastard.”

“But you do not love me.” Her eyes glittered and she drew a deep breath. “You are correct, my monthly courses have come and it's time for me to go. Before I lose the strength to do what I know in my heart is right.”

“I didna say any such thing.”

Gwen lifted a small hand up to silence his words. Hard resignation drew her face tight. “You will not say it because you know I love ye and ye're a good man. So it falls to me to speak the words we both know need saying.”

“Gwen…”

She interrupted him. “You are the laird now. Just like your sister, it falls to you to marry for the benefit of every McQuade. I bring ye nothing.”

“Ye're a fine woman, Gwen, and ye'd make a good mistress of Red Castle.”

She smiled, soaking up the praise, but her resolve never faltered. “Thank you. But it remains that you do not love me.”

Keir hissed but couldn't deny the truth of her words. Lying about such a thing would cause so much more pain when he was found out. “I wish it were otherwise, Gwen. Truly I do.”

She moved toward him, reaching up to cup his jaw in her small hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears and his throat tightened.

“I know that, dear one, but you cannot change what fate has decided. You have treated me so kindly and I was nae pure when I came to you.” Her hands shook and she backed away before allowing him to comfort her. “I'm nae sorry for that, either. I enjoy life and will nae lie about it. I follow my heart for better or worse.

“My sisters have married and my mother will be happy to have me under her roof again.” Gwen moved toward the door. “If ye're going to marry a lass that ye dinnae love, Keir, find one that brings good things to the McQuades.”

“I think ye will bring plenty of good things to this clan as my wife.”

Gwen paused in the doorway. “Nae, Keir. I have never been a coward. Ye would have become bored with me in a fortnight if that were so. I do love you and even though it hurts to part with ye, love is sweet enough to send me looking for it. When I swell up with my first child, I want to see love in the eyes of the father and nae just the tenderness that ye give me. But I thank ye for it and love ye enough to set ye free to try and find a lass that yer heart softens for. Love is nae something to miss in this life, if ye can help it.”

She stepped back, into the doorway. “Remember that, Keir. Remember that I only want the best for us both. I have to leave ye because ye're too kind a man to set me out and I'll nae be the mistress that ye leave a noble bride for. She'll have little choice in the matter of who she weds. No one should be unkind to her. When ye bring a bride here, this room should be waiting for her.”

She was right. Keir hated it, but she was correct. He'd never hurt her by putting her aside.

“All right, Gwen. Ye have always had a way of pushing me when I need it.” He followed her, noticing the shiver that crossed her fair skin. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek. She leaned her face into his hand, a soft smile turning up her lips. “But ye'll take a pair of horses with ye….”

“I will not.” Her voice was hard as stone now.

“Ye will.” She narrowed her eyes but he grinned at her. Her spirit was something he had always been drawn to. “And ye'll take a few other things, including some silver.”

“I am nae a whore.”

“I didna say ye were. I told ye I'd wed with ye, today if ye like.” She glared at him. Gwen never let his size intimidate her—another trait that he liked about her. She shook her head, refusing him.

“Ye'll take the horses and some sheep, since ye're set on this course of leaving me to find love. I'm going to make very sure that ye dinnae end up marrying because ye're wondering how to keep food on the table.”

He rubbed her cheek one last time. “Promise me, Gwen, that ye'll come to me if ye need something?”

She reached up and hugged him tightly, her body shaking just a tiny bit. “I will, Keir. I promise.”

She ducked out the door, her steps fading down the hallway. Keir clenched his hands into fists, forcing himself to turn around. The chamber was suddenly empty, more devoid of life than he'd ever thought it might be.

Oh aye, being laird was a burden, to be sure.

But it was also a duty, and Gwen was correct. He needed to marry for the clan—find himself a wife who came with powerful relatives and maybe even a good dowry. Love was for common men, most of them never realizing how rich they truly were to have the power of free choice. Being laird came with power but responsibility so heavy a man could feel his own knees buckle at times.

He would shoulder it. Looking out the window, he watched the McQuade retainers in the yard. Once more the clan colors might be respected. He would make the McQuades a clan to be admired instead of scorned for nighttime raids.

And he would begin by finding a bride who would bridge the gap between him and his neighbors.

 

The English queen was dead. James Stuart had inherited the English crown from the monarch who had signed his own mother's execution order. The English nobles awaited their new king as spring drove away winter's chill. The English court lowered themselves before the new king and queen.

Helena Knyvett moved through the court, taking care with her steps. She had learned at a young age to control her every action. Each of her hands was resting perfectly on the front of her skirts to display her long fingers. Her chin was level and her expression smooth, no hint of disagreement. It was necessary to stop often in order to give deference to the nobles she passed. No matter, there was no place that she needed to be; in truth, her purpose was to represent her family among the other nobles of England. Her purpose was to mingle among them while being poised, educated, and well bred. Greeting them and making a favorable impression was the entire point of the costly silk damask gown she wore. The corset was stiff and the sleeves tight as fashion dictated, but all of that was something she was expected to shoulder without a single frown to mar her makeup. She needed to present the correct image so that a powerful man might offer for her. Her poise and ability to conduct herself well among other powerful people was what she would bring to a husband. Marriage was about a union between those of blue blood and those who understood how to gain the eye of other nobles.

At least that was what she had been told since childhood. It had been instilled in her every moment of her youth. Her purpose was to further her family. She was to represent her father, always considering what her actions might do for him.

In truth she was quite tired of the games played at court—the whispered schemes and plotting that didn't match the endless respect and greeting done in the middle of the great halls. But in the dark corners, nobles talked about one another in anything but kind terms.

“It took you long enough.”

Edmund Knyvett enjoyed court. Helena curtsied to her brother. He rolled his eyes and his lip lifted into a sneer that didn't look good against his velvet doublet and silk sleeves. The only son and heir to the earldom of Kenton, Edmund was lavishly attired and he stood poised on one foot with the other barely touching the ground. It was a courtly pose, one that was considered sophisticated.

“Enough, Helena; if I want polished manners I don't need to spend time with you to see them.”

She bored her brother. Her sibling preferred his friends and consorts to family. He often used her as an alibi for his lustful meetings. She would not lie for him but no one ever asked her. Edmund was her father's heir. One day he would be an earl. The court surrounding them dare not risk making an enemy of him. As long as there was a believable story, they chose not to question it. Besides, as his sister, if he suffered the ill will of the powerful men around them, so would she.

Such was court. Full of rumors and intrigue. She had no friends here—only the fear of performing poorly enough to earn the scorn of her brother. Edmund did not suffer silently. Her brother ensured that she understood everything she did that did not meet his standards.

“I came as soon as I received word that you summoned me.”

“Yes, yes. That doesn't matter.” Edmund began walking. Nobles made way for him quickly and with a slight lowering of their heads. They reached the end of the great hall and passed through to the inner rooms of the palace. Once they left the larger receiving hall there was privacy if you spoke in low tones.

“It is time to place you closer to the throne.” Edmund paused, looking through an arched opening in the wall. Queen Anne was in the private garden with two of her children. The new queen was still enchanted by the palace, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

“Have I been offered a place?” She hoped not. Gaining any position among the new queen's ladies would trap her at court while her family interrogated her for every detail she overheard.

“No, but I plan to change that.” Edmund looked across the garden toward one of the queen's maids of honor. “That one with the golden red hair. Raelin McKorey. Rumor has it half of Scotland thinks she's a witch due to some nasty business with a laird getting impaled on a royal pike over her. Getting her dismissed should prove simple enough. All I need do is give the queen a suitable reason to dispense with her. I'll tussle her tits and rumple her maidenly skirts in the hallway. That should suffice to disgrace her enough to be dismissed, leaving an opening for you.”

Helena's eyes rounded. Her brother had little compassion in him. She knew it from personal experience. The girl in question was dressed in the queen's colors of gold and cream. A scar marred her creamy skin on one side of her face, but she smiled at the young prince and princess. The young princess took her hands and began swinging around in a circle. Raelin's eyes shimmered with happiness and she swung the child higher until both their skirts billowed out like flags on a jousting field. They didn't stop to worry about what others thought of them. Raelin simply kept turning in a circle with the princess holding onto her hands and her feet flying through the morning air.

It was a pure delight to see. To simply play. Now there was something she missed. It seemed so very long ago that she was permitted to indulge in such moments. Such was the burden of noble birth. Image was more important than childhood.

“Get out there and charm those royal brats. Before I disgrace Raelin, the queen must know your face. Or she'll pick some other girl to be her maid.”

Helena ached for the Scots girl but she didn't dare voice an argument. Edmund could often turn cruel toward her, doing the very thing she begged him not to just to smother her in his authority. Instead she secretly hoped that Raelin McKorey was wiser than Edmund gave her credit for.