Diana Cosby (4 page)

She tried to jerk free.

He held.

Desperation filled her eyes as they darted toward the entry, then back to him.

In but moments, she would reveal everything.

Her breath hitched. “I tire of your games.”

He skimmed his hand along the length of her back. “I assure you, when I find myself wed to a stranger, I do not find the situation entertaining. However, until you wish to end it”—he swept her into his arms—“we will find a modicum of satisfaction.”

She struggled within his hold, her curvaceous body igniting unwanted erotic images.

Bedamned. Never had a woman affected him as she, but his desire for the chit would not dictate his actions. This night he would have the information he sought. And, if she decided to give herself to him, neither would he deny what they obviously both wished.

“Unhand me!”

“With pleasure.” He strode toward the bed and placed her upon the coverlet. Holding her gaze, he laid his body atop hers, shifting his weight to his elbows.

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, her nerves easy to read. “My lord, I—”

“Griffin. Say my name. I am your husband, am I not?”

Her lower lip trembled. “A-aye.”

“It seems we have two things in common.”

“Two?” she whispered.

“Our state of marriage. And our desire.”

“I do nae want you.”

Be it tiredness or exhaustion of the day’s lengthy travel, her blatant refusal of what a fool could easily deduct left him on edge. “I think,” he said, his each word slow, with intent, “that you want me, my lady, very much.” He caught her mouth in a demanding kiss, assured but a taste of her would ease his needs, sate his sanity to where he could focus on his goal. Instead, with each passing moment, the sweetness of her lips urged him to savor.

“Griffin.”

His name upon her lips, half desperate, half needy, pleased him. “Admit you want me.”

“I . . .”

Well aware of how to please a woman, he gentled his kiss. More than one way existed to win a battle. So, he kept his moves easy, his touch gentle, determined to break down her barriers.

Her stiff movements eased. As she relaxed against him, she began kissing him back. As in the stable, need engulfed him.

Griffin restrained himself, barely, allowing her to set the pace, wanting her to foolishly believe herself in charge. But as moments passed and her kisses grew hotter, his masterful plan faded to slashes of need. With his body hard as a rock, all he wanted was to strip her naked and drive deep inside her.

Her moan dissolved another layer of his control, destroying his every good intent. From the expertise of how her body moved against his, his reservations about her virginity fell away.

Pleased by this unexpected boon, Griffin pressed his body intimately against hers. Her moans fueled him, the desperate return of his kisses more so as he deftly slipped open her gown.

The softness of her breast spilled into his palm and he had to taste. On a groan, he shifted lower, swirled his tongue around her hardened tip.

“Griff in,” she whispered on a half gasp. “Please—” A moan ended her words, and she arched beneath his touch.

God’s teeth, she was sensitive. Wanting to watch her fall apart, he used his hands to tease, to linger, to expose her flesh and caress her most intimate place. As she arched up, he slid his fingers within her slick folds.

She gasped, twisted against his touch.

“Let yourself go.” Wanting her over the edge, her screams of release filling the room as he took her this first time, he swirled his tongue around the sensitive tips of her breasts and used his fingers to push her higher until she was wild beneath him.

On a fractured breath, her body arched, tensed. She cried out, her climax incredibly beautiful. With a soft moan, she collapsed upon the bed, sweat glistening on her skin.

He had to have her—now. His mind a blur of need and heat, Griffin reached to open his trews.

A rap echoed on the door.

He ignored the sound, and jerked the next tie free.

Another knock, this time harder.

“Be gone!” Griffin yelled.

The woman below him stiffened and her eyes flew open.

“Ignore it,” he urged her. With a curse on his tongue, he glared at the door. “I said—”

“’Tis of the utmost importance, my lord,” a deep Scottish voice boomed from the other side. “Sir Andrew requests your immediate presence.”

God’s teeth! Griffin laid his head against the woman’s breast, her scent, heat, blissful insanity. Anyone else and he would tell them to bugger themselves. Was it not his blasted wedding night?

The woman shifted beneath him.

His body throbbed. He pressed a kiss upon the curve of her breast. “I will not be long.”

“Move off me,” she gasped.

Griffin lifted his head. She watched him, her expression dazed, her eyes a mix of pleasure and shame. He took in her full breasts, slick with the sheen of sweat, their tips taut.

Red swept over her face. Hands trembling, she jerked up the bodice of her gown like an innocent.

An innocent?

No. She was . . . A sinking in his gut intensified as he recalled the way she’d responded to his caresses. Eagerly, yes, but also with a new wonder. No, it could not be. He fought for calm, assured himself he was wrong.

“Tell me you are not a virgin.”

Her blush deepened.

Griffin closed his eyes, muttered a curse. He’d all but bedded the lass. Thankfully her maidenhead was still intact. “Who bloody taught you to kiss like that?”

“My lord,” the Scot called from the other side of the door. “’Tis urgent!”

On an uneven breath, he lifted the woman’s chin. “I promise you this. We will finish upon my return.” Griffin released her and shoved off the bed, straightened his garb. “I am coming.” He shot his wife a cool look.

Beneath his censure, she sat up, her fingers shaking as she hid her temptations from his view. After he was confident she was as decent as a new bride could be, given the situation, Griffin strode to the door. He jerked it open.

The knight on the threshold nodded. “Sir Andrew awaits you in his private chamber.

“Watch over”—bloody hell, he realized he still didn’t know her name—“Lady Monceaux. Until my return, no one is to come in, or out.”

The Scot stepped to the side. “Aye, my lord.”

With a last warning look toward the rumpled woman in heat-inducing disarray, Griffin strode off.

Her heart pounding, Rois scrambled from the bed. She shot a glance to where her friend, Piers, waited in the doorway. Shamefully, her body tingled at the things Griffin had done. Heaven help her, this marriage she had concocted ’twas a shameful mess.

“Hurry,” Piers called.

“Aye.” With a last tug to secure her gown’s ties, Rois ignored the lingering hum of her body and rushed to the doorway.

Her friend cast her a worried look before they turned and hurried down the turret.

Thankfully he asked no questions about her haphazard state. Her mind replayed how Griffin had touched her, teased her until she’d lost control. Nay, she couldn’t think of the intimacies allowed now.

In the turret, with her husband nowhere in sight, she rounded the corner, then drew to a halt.

Torchlight illuminated Lochlann where he waited at the foot of the steps. A scowl deepened his face as he took in her tousled state. “Come.”

“It is nae what it seems.” Why did she feel the need to explain? Nay, her own guilt at allowing the Englishman’s touch, of wanting more, incited her words. “Grif—Lord Monceaux caught me in the stables trying to flee.” Her friend’s hard look eased. In part the truth, but she would tell him naught more. Like she enjoyed the fact that she was attracted to the enemy or had found pleasure at the way he’d touched her.

“There is little time to discuss the matter now.” Lochlann motioned her forward, then hurried out a side door.

Rois exited, glanced up, thankful thick clouds shielded the meager attempts at moonlight. In the shadows, they rushed toward the gatehouse, the whisper of their shoes upon earth and grass in time with her frantic breaths. “How did you know where I was?”

As they neared the formidable arch of curved stone, Lochlann spared her a meaningful glance. “Sir Piers informed me where the English baron had taken you.”

At the mention of Griffin, shame filled her once more. “I didna accompany the baron willingly.”

Lochlann arched a doubtful brow, then gestured toward the nearby corridor. “Hurry. We must be far away before your husband”—he bit the word out—“discovers de Moray and Wallace have left.”

“My cousin Andrew didna request Lord Monceaux’s presence?”

He shook his head.

Griffin would be furious. Then she understood. “You planned this?”

Satisfaction curved her friend’s mouth. “Did you think I would leave you to rot with the English bastard?”

“Nay.” Neither was this the time to admit she’d found Griffin far from cruel. Rois hurried after Lochlann, grateful he led her past the gate to two saddled horses tethered within the shadows. She swung upon her mare as he mounted his steed. “Where are we going?”

“To Kincardan Castle, to see your father.”

“What of Lord Monceaux? Surely he will search for me.”

Lochlann gave a cold laugh. “He will try.”

Panic swept her. ’Twas her actions that had placed Griffin in this situation. “What have you done?”

“Ensured he will nae follow this night.”

The finality in his voice sent a shiver through her. “You will nae harm him.”

“Nay, though a sound thrashing is what the bastard deserves.” Lochlann whirled his horse and kicked him into a gallop.

With a glimpse toward the keep where Griffin would soon discover their chamber empty and realize he’d been duped, Rois nudged her mare into a gallop to follow Lochlann into the night.

Griffin stared at the guard in disbelief. “Andrew de Moray has departed Dunadd Castle?”

The knight standing before the doorway cleared his throat. “Aye, Lord Monceaux.”

“He left no message for me as to why my presence was requested?”

“Nay, my lord.”

Anger seeped through Griffin topped with a healthy dose of chagrin. He’d been duped, tricked into leaving his wife alone. His wife!

“And Wallace?” he asked, damnably aware of the blasted answer.

“Gone with him, my lord. He said they would nae return until the morn.”

The morn! He eyed the guard, discerning naught but confusion on his face. The guard wasn’t in league with this trickery, but well he knew who was. “My thanks.” Griffin departed. Alone in the turret, he bolted up the tower stairs. Leather slapped upon stone, echoing his gullibility.

Why hadn’t he suspected such deception from the first? But with his body raging its demands, the woman’s moans of release scrambling his logic, he’d reacted, accepted the guard’s message as truth.

And now he paid the humiliating price.

At the second floor, he glared down the corridor.

The entry to his chamber stood unguarded.

Flashes of the concerned looks the guard had given the woman as he’d escorted her and Griffin to their chamber came to mind. Of course, the man whom he’d ordered to guard his wife was her friend.
His wife.
Blast it. A fine laugh they’d had as they fled. Griffin stormed down the hallway and into the bedchamber.

Empty.

The tousled sheets, and her scent of woman and lavender lingered, signs mocking her earlier presence.

He rubbed his brow, the headache of hours before returning with a vengeance. God’s teeth, in mere hours one wisp of a woman managed to infiltrate his life and create absolute chaos—a feat which many a man had never come close to achieving, and for their efforts had died.

Disgusted that he, who navigated the most complex issues, with this one woman had failed miserably, he stalked to the door. He’d find her. It would be a meeting she would sorely regret.

At the entry, Griffin halted. And what Scot below would help him, a man they considered their enemy? With de Moray and Wallace away, he would find no friend in Dunadd Castle.

But the Scots knew the woman. Regardless of her wedded state, they would hide her if she asked. Had their plan to aid her this night not proved such? The last thing he needed was to go about announcing his wife had slipped away without him even knowing her name.

Exhaustion from the day’s travel blurred his thoughts. Wherever de Moray and Wallace had gone, the rebel leaders would not return before the morn. Until then, he’d complete the next assignment for which he’d ridden here—meeting with another secret rebel contact living but a brisk ride away.

Outside the arched window he caught the sweep of blackness, a cold emptiness holding naught but the affirmation of night. The breeze tumbling through the carved stone held the scent of the distant loch and the harvested fields beyond.

A hint of winter tainted the air, and with it the promise of a land ravaged by brutal cold. A somber time, more so with the approach of the upcoming battle. Would troops led by de Moray and Wallace to defend Stirling Castle from the English be enough to keep the stronghold in Scottish hands? He swallowed hard. For Scotland’s freedom, he prayed so.

A low rumble of voices echoed from the corridor.

What in Hades? Griffin peered down the torch-lit corridor. Illuminated by the yellowed light, a crowd of men, who from their wobbly gait were well into their cups, sloshed down the confines.

“There he is, lads!” a red-haired, scraggly bearded man yelled.

Hoots and hollers rang out.

“Come to celebrate we have!” A rough-looking man who reminded him of a poorly dressed dwarf lifted his tankard. “Here’s to your handfasting to the lass and the bedding.”

Crude suggestions rang out. Drunken laughter boomed with each one.

With a grunt of disgust, Griffin stepped inside the chamber, slammed the door, and barred it shut. From their inebriated intent, ’twould seem they weren’t involved in his wife’s escape, only in celebrating his marriage. Or, was this, too, another part of the well-planned ruse?

With a shake of his head, he leaned against the sturdy door. The fanfare outside was traditional after a couple wed. ’Twas the woman who’d tied his brain in knots. He glared at the tumbled sheets where he’d almost claimed her.

A virgin.

He closed his eyes, and her gentle curves, her taste stormed his mind with body-burning clarity.

’Twas a blasted curse! He strode to the window. Torchlight smeared the bailey in lashes of broken yellow and outlined the guards as they made their rounds upon the wall walk. Beyond the castle walls campfires flickered where thousands of de Moray and Wallace’s followers waited, ready for the battle against the English.

And somewhere out there, or mayhap within Dunadd Castle, hid his wife.

Griffin scowled at the hewn walls of the immense fortress. She was here, but he would not find her this night. If he opened the door, the drunkards would shove inside. Her absence would raise naught but questions, questions for which he had no answers.

’Twould seem his meeting with his secret contact would be delayed until the morn. With a grunt of disgust, he strode to the bed and glared at the rumpled bedding. He lay down, jerked the coverlet over him, and closed his eyes. He willed time to pass, but her faint scent teased him along with the images of her naked and moaning in his arms from her release.

By God, he would sleep this night if it was the last thing he ever did. He shifted to his side, the crackle from the hearth playing cadence to the rumbles of the men outside.

“Pass the ale!” a deep voice boomed.

Curse it! Griffin opened his eyes. On the pillow a breath away, a strand of chestnut hair shimmered in the wash of firelight. He lifted the silken wisp. No, he’d not be alone. Her lock of hair would be in blasted accompaniment.

A fine wedding night indeed.

With the strand clenched in his fist, Griffin closed his eyes, determined to find relief, even if for a few hours. He welcomed the fog of sleep, the bliss of feeling nothing.

Warmth pulsed at his chest.

God’s teeth, what now? He peered at where the halved Magnesite he wore around his neck rested upon his chest.

The gemstone glowed.

No, he neither saw nor felt the warmth. ’Twas his mind scrambled from this day’s chaos. But as he studied the gem, its light brightened.

 

Surrounded by candlelight in Kincardan Castle’s solar, Rois worked to catch her breath from the brisk ride home, her body still trembling from the night’s chill.

“Answer me,” her father demanded.

“How can you question why am I nae with my husband?” she asked in disbelief.

A scowl upon his face, Lochlann stepped forward. “Lord Brom—”

Her father slid Lochlann a cool look. “Silence.” He faced Rois. “You are married, are you nae?”

She gasped. “But—”

“Are you nae, lass?” her father pressed.

Panic welled inside Rois. Was her da changing his mind? Did he want her to remain married to the Englishman? “Aye, but you said before you left the stables you would help me.”

Her father’s fierce gaze shifted to Lochlann. “Leave us.”

Her friend turned to her. “Rois, do you want me to stay?”

Her heart ached at Lochlann daring to defy her father. He would remain, true friend that he was. But she’d created this mess, one she would somehow straighten out.

“’Tis for the best that Da and I speak alone,” she said. “Please.” She refused to allow Lochlann to involve himself further. Rois touched his forearm gently. “Go.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, then Lochlann stalked to the door.

Red mottled her father’s weathered face. “Brazen he is to show such disrespect. I shall—”

Rois stepped before him. “Da, please. Let him go.”

Shrewd eyes narrowed as they followed her friend out of sight, then settled upon her. “Sir Lochlann is above himself and needs to be taught a lesson.”

“He is upset.”

“Upset?” Her father grunted. “He is an upstart who interferes where he does nae belong.”

“Da, this is nae about Lochlann.”

Her father nodded. “That it is nae.”

Expectant silence hung in the air.

Rois wrung her hands. “You canna expect me to return to a man who is our enemy.”

“A fact you should have considered before you trapped him into marriage.”

“He didna have to agree.”

An aged brow shot up. “King Edward’s man cornered in a chamber filled with angry Scots? A man whose honor lay at risk? Nay, I think his decision was wisely made. Had he of nae offered you marriage, with the warriors in the chamber prepared for battle against his king and their tempers high, Lord Monceaux would now lay dead.”

Guilt deflated her anger and she dropped her hands to her sides. “Wrong I was to have charged the baron with such a deed, but as I explained, it was the only thing I could think of to distract him from seeing you.”

At her father’s silence, unease rippled through her. A crazy thought wedged into her mind. Nay, she was wrong.

Wasn’t she?

“Da, you do nae expect me to remain married to the Englishman?”

His jaw tightened, and amber eyes rimmed with frustration darkened. “I should escort you back this very moment.”

Heart pounding, Rois watched his face, his every expression, for a sign he would follow through. “But you will nae, will you?”

“Wrong it is for you to stay apart from the man you wed. But, the morrow and riding to Dunadd Castle to set things straight will come soon enough.” He nodded. “Go to sleep, lass.”

Confident her father would help annul her marriage to the Englishman, relief swept through her. Her father had but scared her, a fitting punishment for the caliber of her deed.

“I love you, Da.” Tears choked her words, those of love, of a girl grown to womanhood during turbulent times.

He grimaced, yet naught but love framed his countenance. “As I you. You are all I have left of your mother.”

Aching for his loneliness, she laid her head against his chest. “I know you miss her.”

“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her in a tender hug, the sadness on his face seasoned by time. He was a man who had struggled alone to raise the daughter he loved. “I will always miss her. But these troubled times allow little luxury for memories. Our thoughts must be on winning Scotland’s freedom.”

A tremor slid through her as she stepped back, wishing she could stop time. “A date is set then for the troops to depart for Stirling Bridge?”

“Aye, in two days. We canna allow the English to reach Stirling Castle.”

“I know.” A danger faced by her father who stood against the English, as every Scot. She gave one more hug to the man who’d raised her, a man she’d do whatever necessary to protect. Except, she could nae shield him from battle. Only pray.

He reached out, tousled her hair, and smiled. “On with you now and try to rest.” He dropped his hand to his side, and his smile faded. “I love you, Rois. Whatever happens after this night, always remember that.”

Tears welled in her throat at his soft words. He worried about her, about the dangers of the impending battle. What would happen if he didna return? Nay, he would come back. More, he would stand with the other Scots, victorious.

Shaken, she headed to her chamber. Inside, she shut the door and pressed her hand against the sturdy wood. An ache built in her chest. So many men lay camped in the nearby fields, men she had grown up with, men she called friends. Rois made the sign of the cross and said, “Please, God, keep them safe.”

With a heavy heart, she looked around her chamber, taking in the small gifts given to her by her father throughout the years. She walked over to the table and lifted the bejeweled comb he’d surprised her with upon her ten and second year. She slid the pad of her finger against the crafted ivory, the ridges of teeth a soft tickle against her skin. Her smile of remembrance faltered. Many years had passed since, and so had the innocence of her youth.

Innocence?

Warmth slid through her at thoughts of Griffin’s touch, the intimacy, of how he’d made her body feel. Never before had she experienced anything but a kiss with a man. But he’d made her skin tingle, her body ache with . . .

Ashamed, she closed her eyes. How could she think of him or the things she’d allowed him to do?

On a shaky breath, she opened her eyes and took in her room, that of a child. A room where she now stood as a woman, and one who’d known the caress of a man.

God forbid if Lochlann found out.

Her fingers trembled as she replaced the comb. Exhausted and overwhelmed by the myriad of thoughts, she quietly changed, then crossed her chamber. The softness of her bed was welcoming, but far from alleviated the worries of the morrow. So much was changing. This day had proven, in moments, one’s entire world could be tossed upside down. For her, a temporary issue her father would see repaired. She wished only she could dismiss as quickly her worries for her father’s safety in the battle ahead.

 

At a distant yell, Griffin withdrew his dagger beside his head and shoved to his feet. Naked, he blinked, fought the haze of sleep, and struggled for cognizance.

Embers smoldered in the hearth exposing a chamber adorned with simple furnishings; a bed and a small stand cluttered with a plate of half-eaten bread, cheese, and an empty goblet of wine.

No threat in sight. He lowered his weapon. Where was he?

A man yelled from the bailey.

With a frown, he strode to the carved window. The first hints of day exposed the dying fires scattered about and the thousands of men encamped around them.