Captured by a Laird (15 page)

“Lay siege and take it, just as ye did here with Blackadder Castle,” Cochburn said. “I don’t have enough men to take Langton on my own if the Crown sends help to the royal garrison that holds it. I’ve come to ask for your support.”

“I sympathize, but as ye know, I have enemies and battles of my own to fight just now,” David said, though he was already inclined to do it.

“Helping me will give ye a chance to do battle with one of those enemies,” Cochburn said. “That cursed D’Orsey is bound to see it as his duty as warden to break the siege.”

David tensed, afraid to hope his chance had come.

“You’ve wanted to catch D’Orsey outside Dunbar Castle,” Cochburn said. “I’ll wager that he’ll come himself.”

D’Orsey was famed throughout Europe for his fighting skills, and he liked to flaunt them.
The pompous arse
. David heard that D’Orsey loved to joust, for God’s sake. While it was true that Scottish kings sometimes held jousts for the court’s amusement, in this part of Scotland there was so much violence that men did not need to play at fighting. Here it was never a game, with ladies dropping lace handkerchiefs.

The Douglases spent a good deal of time at Court. Alison might well have been one of those admiring ladies, which only added to his irritation.

“I’ll send some of my men to support the siege,” David said, and poured them both another drink.

“I knew I could count on ye.” Cochburn slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, like your father.”

“When will ye need them?” David asked.

“Perhaps a week,” Cochburn said. “I’ll send word.”

“If D’Orsey does come,” David said, “I mean to capture him.”

“
Capture
the bastard?” Cochburn said, raising his eyebrows.

“If I take him prisoner, I can trade him for my father’s widow,” David said. “Killing him will have to wait for another time.”

That time would come. David would not rest until he had fulfilled both of his father’s dying wishes.

***

Alison had to sit down to recover her wits. Wedderburn’s kisses had left her entire body tingling and her knees weak. The kisses sparked vivid memories of how he had touched her on their wedding night, which made it even worse. If Brian had not interrupted them…

She pushed those thoughts aside as best she could while she got dressed, brushed her gown, and re-braided her hair. Though the hour was late, she wanted to welcome her new husband’s first guest at the castle. David had just told her he expected the servants and his men to respect her. Obviously, it was important to him that she be the kind of laird’s wife who managed her household with grace and authority—the kind her mother had raised her to be.

After years of being treated like dirt under Blackadder’s boots, her confidence was low. Perhaps she would have been better able to withstand Blackadder’s efforts to crush her spirit if she had not wed him so young. Before going out the door, she took a deep breath and reminded herself that she came from a long line of chieftains and strong women. She was not meant to be that sad, meek lass Blackadder had made her into.

The hall was quiet when she entered. The two lairds sat alone at the high table at the far end of the long room, while most of the other men were asleep or talking in low voices in other parts of the room. A few of the men who had been away from the castle with David for the last two days wore fresh bandages. She wondered whom they had fought and why. The Humes had already taken Blackadder Castle. What more did David want?

She recognized Cochburn, though she did not know him well. With his thickening middle, bald head, bulbous nose, and jagged scar down the side of his face, he suffered by comparison to Wedderburn’s hard, masculine beauty.

After noticing no food had been brought to their guest, she gently shook one of the servants awake and sent her for a platter of cold meats, cheese, and oatcakes, as well as another jug of whisky. The woman rose at once and went to do as she bid with a courteous “Aye, m’lady.” Evidently, David’s threat to toss out anyone who disrespected her had already spread among the servants. Though he had done her many wrongs, she was grateful for that.

As she approached the two lairds, who were in deep conversation, she caught a familiar name: Lord D’Orsey.

“A thousand welcomes to ye, Laird Cochburn,” she said.

“My friend here is a verra lucky man,” Cochburn said. “Blessings on your new marriage.”

He spoke as though their marriage was a happy event arranged by their families, rather than one accomplished through siege and capture. She could not quite thank him, but she nodded to acknowledge his good wishes.

“May ye have many children,” he said, and raised his cup.

She smiled at the thought of a new babe in her arms. She had given up on having more, another fault Blackadder had laid at her door.

“May that blessed event come soon,” Wedderburn said, and raised his cup to her too. Over the top of it, he gave her a sizzling look that left no doubt he was thinking of the act of conception rather than the babe it might bring.

“Ah, here are the refreshments.” She smiled her thanks to the sleepy servant who arrived with a generous platter and a jug of whisky.

Cochburn had his eating knife out before the platter was on the table. “Thoughtful of ye, Lady Alison,” he said as he stabbed a slab of beef. “’Twas a long ride here.”

She had intended to exchange a few pleasantries with their guest, then leave the men to their talk, but they appeared to welcome her presence. With Blackadder, silence had always been the safest course, but she wanted to show Wedderburn—and herself—that she could be an engaging hostess.

“Did I hear ye mention Lord D’Orsey?” she asked. “I’m pleased to say that I met the famed French nobleman several times at court.”

“Did ye now?” Wedderburn kept his eyes on her as he paused to take a long drink of his whisky. “I’m surprised, as he is Regent Albany’s man.”

“’Tis true that we Douglases have had our disputes with Albany over the years,” she said, giving the men a bright smile. “But my sisters and I couldn’t hold that against D’Orsey. He’s every bit as charming as everyone says.”

“Charming?” Wedderburn said, and poured another drink for himself and Cochburn.

The two were going through the whisky at a rather alarming pace, and that hard look was back in Wedderburn’s eyes. Alison hoped to God her new husband was not a mean drunk. That was something a wife needed to know.

With her mind on Wedderburn’s drinking and how little she knew about him, she almost forgot that he had asked her about D’Orsey.

“Aye, D’Orsey is charming and unfailingly courteous as well.” She felt a trifle nervous under Wedderburn’s silent gaze and found herself babbling on. “I saw him on the lists once, and he is most impressive with a lance. He won the tournament, of course. None of the other men stood a chance. Ye should have seen how all the ladies were sighing over him and dropping their handkerchiefs…”

She was about to add that she had been Beatrix’s age and thought the ladies all very silly, when she realized that her husband’s eyes had gone from cold to icy and that Cochburn’s smile was gone as well.

“You’ll excuse me if I lack D’Orsey’s exceptional manners,” David said between clenched teeth, “but Laird Cochburn and I have important matters to discuss.”

She blinked at him. The conversation had started off so well. What had she had done to deserve his none-too-subtle reprimand?

“In private,” he added when she was too surprised to move, as if he thought she was too slow-witted to understand she had been dismissed.

She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. So much for his worthless remarks about respect.

“Good evening to ye, Laird Cochburn,” she said, fixing her attention on the older man. “I’m delighted to have ye as a guest in
my
home.”

Without sparing a glance for Wedderburn, she spun around. She quelled the urge to run, held her head up, and refused to let a single tear fall before she reached the stairs.

***

Alison awoke with a start when Wedderburn came stumbling into the bedchamber reeking of whisky. Her mother had taught her to avoid drunken men, and Wedderburn could be frightening enough stone cold sober. What violence might he be capable of drunk?

She lay still as death and pretended to be asleep. If he chose to force her now, there was nothing she could do. She hated this feeling of helplessness.

The mattress sank as he flopped down atop the bedclothes and flung one heavy arm over her. She turned her back on him and wondered if she could slip out. He did not appear to notice she was there, but then he mumbled something, rolled onto his side, and nuzzled her neck. Panic seized her when he pulled her against him and pressed his erection against her backside.

When Blackadder died, she believed she was done with being treated as no more than a body to accommodate her husband’s needs. That brief taste of freedom had changed her.

“I won’t have this!” She shoved Wedderburn’s arm off her and scrambled out of the bed.

Unfortunately, she was on the far side from the door. She clenched her hands, fear coursing through every muscle, and prepared to defend herself, though she was aware that the effort would be utterly useless. She knew better than to fight. From Blackadder, she had learned it was far less humiliating and painful to submit at the outset. And yet she could not do it.

She waited, but nothing happened. When her heart stopped beating so loudly in her ears, she heard a snore coming from the bed. She put her hand to her chest and tried to calm herself as she listened to Wedderburn’s steady breathing. When she was certain he was sound asleep, she tiptoed to the chair where she had draped her gown. Then, keeping an eye on his still form sprawled across the bed, she dressed in the near darkness and fled.

CHAPTER 18

Alison lay awake the rest of the night, squeezed between her daughters and snoring Flora, dreading the coming day. When morning finally came, damp and dreary, she was tempted to send the girls and Flora down to breakfast without her and spend the day with the bedclothes pulled over her head. Instead, she kissed her daughters good morning, helped them dress, and steeled herself to face Wedderburn.

When they went downstairs, she was surprised to find that their nocturnal guest had departed before breakfast. Wedderburn was not in the hall either,
praise God
.

Several of the men who had been gone the previous two days with Wedderburn were still asleep on benches, despite the usual morning activity going on around them. During the meal, she overheard bits of conversation from the others about how many they had fought and riding through the night.

She wondered again where they had gone and why. Her new husband appeared to have plans beyond taking the Blackadder castle—and her.

When he did not appear at the noon meal either, she took a tray of food to leave outside their chamber door. Though Wedderburn would come downstairs eventually and find her, ready food might buy her more time. Balancing the tray on one hip, she pressed her ear against the freshly mended door. When all seemed quiet inside, she heaved a sigh of relief.

The door suddenly opened, and she screamed as she fell into Wedderburn with her tray. The expanse of his bare chest filled her vision. A quick glance downward revealed that at least he wore his breeks. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face. With the dark shadow on his unshaven jaw and his hair falling across his eyes, he looked startlingly handsome.

And even more dangerous.

***

Alison’s scream pierced David’s skull like a hot spike through his eye. He’d only crawled out of bed because of his growling stomach, and he had no notion why she was staring at him as if she’d discovered a demon haunting her bedchamber.

He was a starving man, so he took the tray from her before she dropped it, then searched his mind for an explanation for that look she was giving him. He was groggy after three nights of little sleep and then waking up in the middle of the day. The whisky had not helped either.

Slowly, memories from the night before began to churn through his head. They went from good to bad, to worse, to still worse, starting with an image of Alison’s eyes half closed and her lips red from kissing him, and ending with a vague recollection of a drunken attempt to bed her.

Well, that explained the look. He had lost ground in his battle to win her, but he was not a man to let adversity stall him for long. The smell of savory stew made his stomach rumble again, reminding him of another pressing need.

“Thank ye for bringing this. I’m near death with hunger.” He stopped himself from ordering her to come in and asked, “Will ye keep me company while I eat it?”

Alison looked wary, but after a brief hesitation, she nodded. As she sidestepped past him, he caught a tantalizing whiff of lavender.

She sat primly in one of the chairs and folded her hands while she watched him work his way through the bowl of steaming venison stew. When he finished, he set the bowl aside and sat back. With his hunger for food satisfied, his craving for her took hold of him. He did not understand why he found her primness so alluring, but he did.

“I have some things I wish to discuss,” she said, sitting up straighter still.

Talk was not what he had in mind, but he could see that it was unavoidable and nodded for her to proceed.

“First, I’d like to ask ye a question,” she said.

He took a long drink of the ale she had brought. He was thirsty as hell after all the whisky he’d drunk with Cochburn last night.

“Was last night unusual,” she asked, “or do ye make a habit of becoming falling-down drunk?”

He nearly spewed a mouthful of ale. “I wasn’t that drunk,” he said once he recovered. “And nay, I don’t make a habit of it.”

Alison gave him a skeptical look, which annoyed him. Hearing his mother’s voice in his head, lecturing him that strong drink was a vice of weak-willed men, did not improve his mood. If he had not been exhausted, the whisky would not have affected him like that.

“A man who has as many enemies as I do cannot afford to dull his mind with drink,” he said.