Bedding the Enemy (21 page)

“You mean lovers.”

He cupped her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met. Approval coated his features and she found it too tempting to resist.

“Aye, lass. Now ye and I have something to agree upon.
Lovers
is a fine word.”

“It is nice.”

Very nice. Her eyelids fluttered, suddenly feeling heavy. Her heart slowed down and the night carried the heat from her skin, but not the scent of her lover. She cuddled up closer, seeking his heat, her legs sliding along his. She savored the difference between them, his harder form and the way her body melted against it so that they might lie so completely against one another. It was perfection. He stirred, shifting for a moment and reaching for something. She didn't open her eyes to see what. But she sighed when his kilt wrapped around her. He tucked the length of soft wool over her body and his, stroking a hand through her hair to lie it in a straight line. Her lips rose into a smile of contentment. Maybe it was just fine that he was not what she had always expected of a husband.

After all, he was a Scot.

 

Edmund smiled. It was a small curve of his lips, nothing too large. But he was very pleased. Obviously the assassin was good and worth the money he'd paid the man. Across the great hall the man paused just long enough to make eye contact with him before he blended back into the crush of courtiers.

It took a clever man to gain entrance to the great hall, the feat likely costing the man a good bit of his fee.

Edmund tipped his mug back without a care for the cost of the wine. His lips curled into a sneer as he considered the pain it would cost him to retrieve his sister. She would have to make recompense for that. He never forgot a slight. Not even from a family member. He was the earl, or would be, as soon as his father died.

And his only sibling was not going to be bred by a Scot. Even if he had to offer his back to an assassin. He handed the goblet off and strode away from his retainers. They hid their smirks behind gloved hands, assuming he was off to enjoy a quick fuck in the dark corridors of the palace now that it was well into the night.

Edmund grinned. He was off to set in motion a plan that was truly majestic in its cunning. He traveled the darker hallways, pinching out a few of the lanterns along the way. Outside the storm still raged, the wind driving heavy rain into the glass windows. It filled the hallways with noise, which suited him perfectly. He kept walking until he neared the dock. The royal barge was missing, no doubt taken to a safer harbor. Here the sound of the storm was loud because the river added to it. The water was choppy and speckled with debris such as tree limbs. He turned all the way around the corner but he was not alone.

“Now this is a surprise.”

Raelin McKorey turned in a flutter of gold silk and wool cloak. Her eyes widened when she recognized him. Edmund stood in the opening that would allow her off the dock.

“Meeting a lover, are you?”

She scowled at him. “I am not. I sought a bit of peace from the hall full of men like ye.”

Edmund toyed with the sword hanging from his hip. He stepped toward her and she backed away.

“I really am very happy to have this opportunity to settle our affairs.”

She glanced behind her, but stepped even closer to the edge of the dock when she looked up to find him closing in on her. The water was so swollen, it ran over the edges of the dock.

“Stop this. I am in service to the queen.”

“You are a bitch who doesn't know her place—”

“Sweet mercy!”

Raelin's eyes widened in terror. Edmund stared at her face, enjoying it. White-hot pain went through his shoulder, snapping him out of his mental obsession with watching Raelin suffer. He looked down to see the tip of a thin dagger protruding from his own body. The pain was so intense he felt almost in awe of it. His thoughts became sluggish, his heart thumping slower and slower. The dagger withdrew, sending a new stream of torment through his body. Hot pain felt as if it was melting his flesh.

“Good work. Exactly what I paid for.” He turned to look at the assassin, his thoughts still moving slowly.

“Guards!”
Raelin raised her voice so it could be heard over the rushing water.

“Kill her!” Edmund turned and lunged toward Raelin. “She'll ruin our game. I need McQuade blamed for this attack.” He grasped a handful of her silk skirts. She dug her heels into the wooden deck to escape, but his strength was too much for her.

“Kill her!” Rage began to burn in him again. “I want to see her bleed.”

The knife penetrated his own chest instead. This time his entire body went cold. His knees bent and slammed into the floor but there was no pain, only a growing chill. Every muscle drew taut, his fingers tightening on Raelin's skirts. The tip of the dagger was stained with blood. The moonlight reflected off it as water soaked into his hose.

It was a mortal wound. Looking behind him, he stared at the man he'd hired.

“I paid you…to wound me….”

The man pulled his knife loose. “Aye, that you did, and I done my duty with the first thrust.”

“But…what means this second one?”

Edmund felt his heart slowing even more. There were long seconds when it did not beat at all. His hands twisted in the fabric of Raelin's skirt, trying to hold onto the world of the living.

“Well now. Another man paid me to kill you. It's only business, you understand. I've a family to provide for. You paid me to wound ye and he paid me to kill ye. I done both jobs.”

“Who?”

The assassin tilted his head and considered the question. He suddenly sniffed and shrugged. “Suppose it don't make no difference if I tell you. Lord Ronchford paid me. To kill you. Claimed you took his money and never gave him what he paid for. Seeing as how he's the man you left that letter naming Keir McQuade as the one that done the deed, it all works out rather well. To my way of thinking.” Both of my customers will be satisfied.

“I am…a…peer….”

“You'll be a dead peer soon, as will the girl. I'm sorry about that. But she's seen my face so I have to kill her. Pity, though. No one paid me to kill her. It's a waste, sure enough.”

There was a rending of fabric. Raelin pulled the small dirk her brother insisted she carry from her bodice, and cut her dress away. She fell backward, crying out as her body tumbled into the raging water behind her. It rose over her head, encasing her in darkness that was bone-numbingly cold. The cloak pulled on her throat, choking her as the heavy fabric was caught by the current. She went deeper as she tried frantically to fight against her clothing. Her lungs burned and her fingers refused to unhook the cloak.

Sweet mercy help her….

“R
aelin?” Catriona McAlister called softly because the queen was sleeping. Several of her ladies had nodded off as well, their eyes closed even as they sat in their attendant chairs. Many times, that was the only sleep a lady of the bedchamber got.

“Raelin?”

Catriona pouted. She wanted to slip out while everyone was asleep. The queen had spent most of the last few days abed while it was dark and gloomy. She was full of the need to do something—anything but sit and be still. She grabbed her cloak and slipped out of the queen's chambers. The dark wool garment was large enough to cover her golden gown. She reached for the hood and pulled it up to hide her blond hair. Excitement laced her blood like wine, slowly intoxicating her. She cast a look right and then left before hurrying down the long hallway toward the garden. With all the rain, the river would be wild. She missed Scotland. London had so many people and buildings. She longed for the view of a grass-covered hill with the sound of water. Now that the queen was pregnant yet again, all the maids of honor could expect to remain inside with her. The lying-in would be the worst. All the windows would be covered with carved wooden screens to reduce the light so that Anne might conserve her strength for the birth. For a full month, there would be nothing but whispers and careful steps.

That certainty made her walk faster. Raelin was probably already outside savoring the moment of freedom. She moved down a hallway that would take her to the water gate. The sound of the Thames reached her ears, tantalizing her with everything she had been shut away from for the last few days.

She froze before making it to the edge of the river gate. The storm clouds didn't allow much of the full moon's light in, only a dingy gray illuminating the choppy river water. It shone off wet spots on the dock, but they were beneath the roof, built to protect the royals from rain when they boarded the royal barge.

The rushing river filled her ears, but the scent of blood touched her nose. A frozen form lay on the dock. Her hand shook and she turned in a quick circle, searching the shadows for assassins.

“Help! Guards! Help!”

Her heart felt like it would break through her chest, every second taking longer than an hour. She heard the footfalls of the royal guard but it seemed to take forever for them to reach her. The first to reach her were naught but shapes in the dark.

“Look there!” She pointed at the still body lying unmoving on the dock. The yellow glow of lanterns came closer, casting light over the dismal scene.

Catriona gasped. The stone floor was covered in blood. It seeped out from the body, running into a growing puddle. The fine fabric of his clothing made no difference in the color of his blood. The royal guard turned him over and she smothered a horrified gasp.

Edmund Knyvett was dead. His eyes were still open but were glazed over. The guards shook their heads but Catriona followed their eyes toward the length of gold silk that Edmund's hand clenched. It lay stained with his blood, and hung over the edge of the dock.

It was the same gold silk as her own dress.

“Raelin!”

She ran to the edge of the dock. The guards tried to stop her, but she fought them. The silk dropped into the choppy water, but there was no sign of her friend. The guards pulled her back, refusing to allow her near the swollen river. She tried to resist the urge to look at the scene but couldn't keep her eyes from lowering to the blood once again. This time she stepped on another torn piece of fabric. Reaching down, she picked it up. Turning it toward the lantern light, she stared at the heather, tan, and green stripes.

McQuade colors.

She would know them anywhere. She opened the folded parchment and found the signature of the McQuade laird. Disbelief held her in its grasp, her fingers tightening on the paper until it crinkled. One of the guards took it from her, his face becoming a mask of fury.

“This is murder.”

 

The fire had burned down, but Helena wasn't cold. Keir was too warm. His fingers were busy toying with a lock of her hair. She watched the way he stroked it, slowly running his fingertips over the silky strands. He'd pulled his kilt over them both while he kept her close against his body. Her legs tangled with his. Her head rested on his chest.

“I cannae wait to lie with ye like this at Red Stone.”

Neither could she. The desire was growing inside her. Even though she had never seen it, the tone of his voice enticed her to want it as much as he did.

A pounding on the front door shattered the moment. Keir was on his feet before he heard his men arguing with whomever was at the door. He shrugged into his shirt while reaching for his sword. That single garment was the only concession he gave to his modesty.

“Stay down, Helena.”

Hard authority edged his voice. A fist landed on the chamber door. She gasped and rolled onto her knees, holding the wool close. Keir opened the door, the tip of his sword aimed at whoever was on the other side.

The uniformed royal guard stood there with Farrell in front of them.

“What the devil is this?” Keir glared at his man.

“They claim the king demands yer presence.”

Helena gasped. The king did not send his personal guard to make sure that someone showed up unless there was trouble. Grave trouble.

Keir lowered his sword but didn't set the weapon aside. The guards looked around the chamber, stopping when they spied her.

“I'll thank ye to keep yer eyes off me bride.”

“His Majesty wishes to see the lady as well. We will wait outside.”

The captain of the guard offered Keir a nod of respect but he swept the room one more time, looking for exits. He pulled the door shut with a firm hand.

Keir cursed. His body was tight with rage.

“I detest this city.”

“I agree.”

He jerked around to stare at her. Anger held his expression tight but there was a flicker of appreciation in his dark eyes. Pushing to her feet, Helena shook out the length of McQuade wool.

“I suppose I had better learn to fold this correctly.”

“Being wed to you, I might need to keep a second one about so that I don't get caught in me shirt as I just did.”

He was trying to be playful but there was too much tension in his voice. He hesitated over releasing his sword, finally gritting his teeth and placing it aside. He took his plaid and began laying it across the table in neat pleats.

“I'll teach ye later, lassie. It seems Jamie needs something settled. Ye'd best get dressed.”

She turned to obey, her stomach becoming queasy. She couldn't help but suspect that her brother was yet again attempting to regain his hold on her. The sounds of clothing being donned filled the chamber. Her husband dressed quickly and moved across the chamber to help her. He touched her carefully, as though he was worried that she might vanish. Lifting her rebraided hair to his lips while she buttoned her doublet, he closed his eyes and inhaled, enjoyment breaking through the tension on his face. She quivered, tenderness flooding her.

She must have made some sound because he opened his eyes and stared into hers. His hand tightened around her hair, his face drawing tight once more.

“I swear, Helena, that no matter what scheme is afoot tonight, I will nae give ye up. Nae while I draw breath. I swear it.”

She reached for him, her hands landing on his shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body.

“I will trust in that, Keir.”

“Och now, lass, that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard.”

He pressed a hard kiss against her lips. It was a promise of many more, a declaration of his intent to keep her. She rose onto her toes to press herself tighter into his embrace. Desperation was beginning to rake its claws across her, dark foreboding filling her thoughts. She kissed him back and sighed when he broke away. Firm resolve filled his dark eyes.

“Pin yer hair up now. I've a mind to be finished with this court business.”

There was so much courage in him. She took solace in the firm resolution she witnessed in his eyes. Reaching for her hairpins, she coiled her braid while her husband retrieved her cloak.

Whatever it was, they would face it together.

 

“That's a bloody lie.” Keir didn't add any title onto his statement. He stared at his king, his body seething with rage.

James Stuart rubbed his jaw. “Your signature is on the letter ordering his death, man.”

“But nae my seal.”

Lord Ronchford looked at his king. “This man comes from a family of violent men.”

“Violent? I'll tell ye what is violent. You trying to kidnap a woman on the street because you and her brother had some manner of arrangement.”

“I don't know what you are trying to insinuate, Scot.”

Keir pointed at the man. “I'm saying it plainly enough. You tried to steal Helena away the night before I was set to wed her. It was my men that beat ye off her.”

“So you admit to setting upon men in the street now?”

“Enough!” James slapped the arms of his throne. His guards already held their pikes in a lowered position, most of the points aimed at Keir.

The English lord fumed, but what drew Keir's attention was the look on the faces of the king's personal guard. In spite of their position of duty, you could see condemnation of him in their eyes. It was English against Scot, as it had been for hundreds of years. He forced his rage down, searching for diplomacy. He might be a Scot but he wouldn't prove to be a barbarian. Sometimes, using your brains was more important than winning the fight.

“Anyone could have written that note, sire.”

“And the wool?”

Ronchford sounded too arrogant, making Keir's fist itch to knock the man down. Keir raised an eyebrow. He pulled on the end of his belt before Ronchford figured what he was doing. James understood and a hint of suspicion entered the monarch's eyes.

“There's my kilt, man, there is nay an inch missing. Nor a single repair. Kilts are woven in one length, never cut. Never sewn.” Keir held it up and watched the guards' eyes shift to it. Ronchford flushed, his eyelids fluttering. Keir stared at the telltale action. The man was covering something up.

“That proves nothing. You might have a dozen kilts.”

“My wife was with me every second since I left the queen's chambers.”

Several guards nodded, but Ronchford drew in a stiff breath.

“She likely conspired with you so that her sons might inherit the Kenton earldom!”

Keir sent his fist into the other man's face. The guards didn't react fast enough and the other man went rolling over his own body. The pikes appeared inches from his throat but he remained still and looked at the king.

“Leave my wife out of this. I'll nae listen to any man blacken her name. Ye want to fight, man, ye fight with me.”

Ronchford stumbled to his feet. A trickle of blood marred his chin. Fury flickered in his eyes but the king held up a hand.

“I was not aware that you and Edmund Knyvett were such good friends that ye would stand in front of yer king and demand blood so passionately.”

Ronchford's eyelids fluttered once more. Keir crossed his arms over his chest.

“He was at the table the night I won Helena's dowry. He left once Edmund ran out of coin.” Keir turned his attention to his king. “I stayed.”

“That is correct. Edmund was my friend and fellow English peer. I will not stand idle while his murderer goes unpunished!”

“We do not as yet know who that is.”

“My king…we have the order and the piece of kilt!”

James stood. “Yet we do not have the witness. Believe me, this matter shall be investigated. We shall begin a search for my queen's maid at dawn.”

“She's another Scot.”

James was not amused. “Enough, Ronchford! Being a Scot does not mean McQuade is guilty of murder.”

“His father tried to murder you and he has the most to gain.”

Keir flinched. It was the truth. “I didna kill that weasel. He was kin by my marriage.”

Ronchford snarled. “So much your kin that you did not allow him to be present on the morning after your nuptials to inspect the wedding sheet? Oh yes, Lord Hurst. Everyone at court knows that.”

“Is that true, McQuade?”

The king's voice had dropped in to a deadly tone. Keir stared him straight in the eye.

“Aye. I didna want him anywhere near his sister, seeing as how he seemed to enjoy hitting her.” He turned to look at Ronchford. “Everyone at court saw proof of that on her face. But the man never appeared at my door, nor did he send any of his men to see the wedding sheet. I'll be happy to have it displayed.”

“Of course you would. Consummation of your wedding only furthers your case to claim the Kenton earldom for your sons.”

“I'm nae ambitious enough to gain what I want through murder.”

Ronchford laughed. “You are a Scot. Raiding is in your blood. I am not the only one that can see the blood on your hands.”

“I'll be the judge of that.” James Stuart sat back in his throne.

Ronchford spread his hands out. “I am not the only English nobleman who is now fearing for his own life.”

The king snorted. “Ye're nae quivering in yer lace stockings, Ronchford, so dinnae try to tell me that ye are. Ye're mad as hell that ye didna wed that lass, which gives ye as much reason to be viewed suspiciously as McQuade. And how many times must I remind the lot of ye English-born nobles that I am
Scots
?”

“Majesty…”

The king held up his hand. “I am nae making light of the matter. A peer has been murdered in my own palace. It will not go unpunished. But I shall not watch the blame be laid too easily on any man. There will be careful study of the facts, not what rumors try to form into truth.”

The king stared at Keir. Keir returned it without flinching. His monarch shifted his attention to Ronchford and the man did not hold up as well. He sniffed and shook his head.