Bride of the Beast (15 page)

To hide her discomfiture, she flicked her hand at a nearby tray of half-eaten buttered bannocks and roasted sea-tangle, a palatable seaweed, the stalks of which made a fine savory dish. "My stepson brought me a respite earlier," she said, wincing inwardly when he arched a skeptical brow at the meager offerings.

"Humble but filling fare," she said, with a proud tilt to her chin. "James tells me you shall be with us but a short time," she added, seized by an uncontrollable urge to give voice to something that had plagued her ever since James revealed what he'd gleaned from the MacKenzie warriors.

Sir Marmaduke's brows snapped together. "It would seem young James needs instruction in stringing words together as sorely as he needs to practice wielding a sword."

"He spoke falsely?" The intensity of her relief surprised her. "You are not planning to leave?"

He looked past her to the bed. His man still slept. "I will not lie to you," he said after a moment, and folded his arms. "Your stepson spoke the truth, though I suspect he did so rather clumsily."

Caterine's relief spun away, as short-lived as the popping sparks that shot up occasionally from the smoldering peat fire. Her plans, Dunlaidir's safe-being,
everything,
whirled around her and crashed at her feet, bursting into a thousand fractured pieces.

He meant to leave.

To give her his name, then depart.

A name alone wouldn't repel Hugh de la Hogue, not without the man and the sword arm attached to it.

"You agreed to champion me, to lend us your warring skills," she finally said, her pride thick on her tongue.

"Indeed I did," he acceded. 'To lend them to this stronghold."

A sinking suspicion wrapped itself around her, its weight bearing down on her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. "I see," she said, glancing away to stare at the windows. Blackness now pressed against them, and the flickering candles reflected off the glass panes. "Your skills and those of your men are but on loan."

Marmaduke swallowed an oath as dark as the young night descending outside the narrow windows. "That is a rather bald way to put it, my lady," he said, resisting an equally strong urge to throttle her stepson.

She looked back at him, her deep blue eyes bright in the mellow lighting. "Then how would you declare it?"

Glancing at the door he'd purposely left ajar, Marmaduke searched for words, for once at a loss. His much-acclaimed silver tongue failed him, deftly stilled by the top swells of his lady's breasts peeking at him above her gown's low-cut neckline.

The
arisaid
she'd draped around her shoulders had slipped, revealing just enough creamy flesh to challenge urges he'd rather keep in check... for now.

More distracted than he cared to be, he captured her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Lending you our strength does not mean we shall leave on the morrow," he said. "I rode far to champion you and am well apprised of the villainy of your foe, as are my men. We shall not depart until "Us stronghold can sit secure on its own. That I swear to you."

She looked down and began nudging her toe against the edge of one of the furred skins on the floor. The gesture redded him sharply of the way her sister had scuffed her toe gainst the stone chapel floor at Eilean Creag the morning she'd sought him out with her absurd plea.

A brief but thoroughly pleasing warmth sluiced through Marmaduke. Toe scuffing was something Linnet MacKen-zie did whenever something truly plagued her.

Something important.

A habit that always went straight to Marmaduke's heart.

Releasing Caterine's chin, he clasped his hands behind his back and resisted the urge to smile. "What troubles you, fair lady?"

The toe-nudging ceased instantly.

She looked up at him, sober-faced. "It is not for myself that I—" she broke off to clear her throat. "You came here aware of our plight, yet you see fulfilling your role by giving me your name and then abandoning us to remain as unprotected as before?"

"Did you not hear me promise this holding shall have sufficient strength to stand solid against any threat before we go?" He caught and held her gaze. "I do not break my word."

She appeared to mull that over, the slight crease between her brows making her look anything but convinced. "James cannot stand on his own and the remaining men in our garrison are too few to speak of. Our tenants and those villeins who haven't fled, are demoralized. Full weary from having to scratch out a living without our support."

Turning away, she pulled the woolen
arisaid
back up around her shoulders. "We do not even have stores enough to adequately feed those within our walls, much less aid the villagers who've depended on us in the past."

One corner of Marmaduke's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. Unclasping his hands, he flexed his fingers. Such cares could be easily rectified. He'd faced greater challenges over the years, and mastered each one.

Mastered most, his demons amended.

Ignoring them, he gently turned her to face him.

"Those problems can and shall be dealt with," he assured her, letting his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. "Every last one of them. As I've vowed to give you the protection of my name, I give you my solemn oath on—"

"If you can accomplish such feats, which I can scarce believe," she cut in, doubt coloring her words, "then my bearing your name seems of little consequence."

She paused to reach down and stroke her little dog. The wee beastie had crept from his hiding place and now pressed himself against her legs. "Nay, sir, your name alone will not aid me," she said, straightening. "Most especially after you're gone."

"What you presume was never my intent," Marmaduke said, keenly aware of the dog's unblinking gaze.

"Nay?"

Marmaduke shook his head. "May the saints strike me down were it so."

"But you admit you mean to leave. James mentioned as soon as Yuletide—" He silenced her by placing the tips of two fingers ever-so-lightly against her temptingly soft lips.

"My intent was and remains the exact opposite of what you believe," he said, giving her his special smile.

One he'd practiced carefully in recent years.

The one he knew brought out his dimples.

"James heard correctly," he said, touching her cheek. "I would savor naught more than to be home by Yuletide ... with you at my side. And not simply as the woman bearing my name but as my own true bride."

"Your true bride?"

"Of a certainty," he said, and her heartbeat quickened. "In every sense of the word."

**

"... have done with him in every way I can think of," one of Dunlaidir's household knights bristled about the same time in the great hall. "The debased varlet doesn't deserve to live," he added, hammering the blunt end of his knife on the table in. bold emphasis of each angrily spat word.

"Let him dangle him till the wind whistles through his bones is what we aught do!" someone else broke in from one of the other long tables, his fury almost palpable in the smoke-hazed air.

"Hanging's too good for de la Hogue," a third vowed, winning loud agreement from the others.

Though bone-chilling damp pervaded the hall's vastness, strong spirits and stronger words heated the blood of the men gathered at the bench-lined trestle tables.

At the end of the one nearest the low-arched entry to the turnpike stairs, an aged black-frocked priest, Father Tomas, kept a placid face, appearing more intent on smearing mashed sea-tangle on a buttered bannock half than paying heed to the escalating grumbles and curses.

His buttering efforts completed, he turned to the man at his right, the Highlander, Sir Gowan. "God be praised you are here," he said. "With your help, mayhap the travails Sir Hugh has suffered upon the people hereabouts will soon be naught but an ill memory."

"Hah!" Farther down the table, Sir
John
snorted with telling eloquence. He waggled a finger at the old priest. "That dastard won't be easily suppressed. He hasn't earned his black reputation for naught. He glories in ruination and has enough metal-clad henchmen to see us all in our graves."

"All the more reason it should gladden us to have the MacKenzie men at our sides," Father Tomas said, turning his attention back to his bannocks.

An awkward silence fell, stretching uncomfortably until Sir Ross half-rose off the bench, his ale mug held aloft. "A toast!" his deep voice boomed. "To ridding this
land
of
Sir Hugh
and his ilk, and to Strongbow and his new lady!"

Hearty acclamation rang out, voices rising and falling with toasts of their own, all accompanied by the pounding of

fists on the long tables and the echoing thunder of stamping feet.

"By God's good graces, may this union be more propitious for him than the last!" Gowan shouted, waving his ale cup in the air.

"Sir Priest!" another voice rose above the ruckus. "When shall the happy twain be joined?"

The din wound down as all gazes sought the aged holy man. "In a sennight," Father Tomas answered around a bite of bannock. "Seven days."

The furor erupted anew with well-meant cheers, and a few bawdy jests.

And then the mood swung angry again.

"... make a sound reckoning with him!"

"... headsman with a blunt ax!"

"... his quarters suspended in chains!"

And when the shouting reached a fever pitch, all brows dark with scorn and tempers high, a lone figure rose and quit the hall.

At the door to the outer stairs, he turned to survey the dissent behind him... and smiled.

T
hank
s to the ranting poltroons and their babble, he finally had viable news to share.

Viable,
valuable,
news.

Feeling much pleased, he swirled his cloak about his shoulders and stepped out into the cold, wet night.

in every sense
of the word.

Tight bands of heat snaked around Caterine's chest as excitement stirred to life deep inside her.

"I cannot go with you," she blurted, purposely avoiding the most unsettling part of the Sassunach's declaration of her being his true bride. Her senses spinning, she grappled for excuses. "I am needed here. This demesne is ..."

Something about the way he looked at her made her trail off. Wholly captivated by the strange thrall he'd cast over her, she stood silent as he lifted his hand to her face.

Holding her gaze, he smoothed his thumb along the edge of her jaw. "This demesne is in sore need of a masterful hand," he finished for her, his deep voice flowing into and over her. Smooth, warm, and utterly compelling. "James could hold it well if you would allow him to cease hiding behind your skirts."

"James—" His thumb slid oh-so-lightly over her lower Up and her objections evaporated, pushed aside by a sigh.

A great heaving one she could no sooner deny than the rapid thundering of her heart.

"Your stepson is not the only reason I would urge you to leave with me." He looked deep into her eyes, effortlessly holding her gaze. "Think you I am without needs, my lady?

Do you truly believe I could wed you and not wish to make you mine?"

Caterine swallowed. "S-such an arrangement was never intended," she stammered, tantalized by the sheer intimacy of standing so close to him, entranced by the way his mere words seemed to embrace her.

A spell-caster indeed, his nearness enfolded her in a charmed circle of burgeoning desires bold enough to make her half believe his touch might erase the darkness in her heart.

Challenge her worst fears ... and win.

Watching her closely, he rubbed his chin and the candle glow caught on his signet ring's cabochon ruby. The large gemstone flashed red fire at her, instantly evoking the jeweled chalice he'd lifted in toast in her conjured image of him sitting in Mall's chair.

Heat shot up Caterine's neck.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, tried her best to ignore the winking ruby. "A true marriage was no one's purpose in scheming to get you here."

He arched a brow. "Think you?"

Caterine nodded.

"Sometimes others know us better than we know ourselves, my lady."

"Linnet and her husband know me well enough not to have pledged me to ... to an Englishman."

"Indeed?" He slid his knuckles ever-so-gently down her cheek. " 'Twas they who suggested I make you my bride in truth."

Caterine gasped. "Then you have charmed my sister."

"Nay, the good Lady Linnet charmed me," he said. "Had I known one of her sisters would hold such appeal for me, I swear to you, I would have come to win your heart years ago."

"As you won Arabella's?" The question sprang off her tongue before she realized she'd formed the words.