Everlasting (36 page)

 
He put a hand on her forearm. “See? I’ll keep ye upright.”

 
Her eyes closed for the last time and she drifted off.

 
Raven knew he would have no such problem, although he had not slept the previous night in his search for her. How could he even grow drowsy when Abrielle was resting warm against his back, her soft breasts encouraging the agony of denying his passion? He was between her thighs, where he longed to be—although he’d prefer them both naked and in a bed, he thought with wry humor.

 
Several hours after sunset, rain began to fall, awakening Abrielle and slowing their journey with the hiding of the moon. Raven had her snuggle beneath his cloak, yet still they both grew wet. She shivered against him, and at last he gave up the idea of continuing on. He found a sheltering copse of trees, and he lit a small fire to warm them both. She had little to say to him and kept a careful distance, although she did gratefully share his meal of cheese and twice-baked bread. Her wariness of him stung all the more after the sweetness of riding with her head on his shoulder and her body pressed to his. The rain finally eased, so he spread a dry blanket near the fire and bade her sleep.

 
He kept the fire going and watched over her, wondering how long it was going to take to break through her mistrust of him. If it took forever—and after spending the day dampening his body’s eager response to hers, he prayed to God it did not—he would make her see she had naught to fear, that he would rip off his own arms and chain himself to the gates of hell before he would do her harm in any way. The sheer pleasure of watching her sleep was marred by her shivering, sometimes so fiercely he’d swear he heard her teeth chatter.

 
Finally he had all he could take of seeing her suffer so. He had no other blanket, and he would not let illness overtake her in this weakened state. Before he could think better of it, he carefully lifted her blanket and slid in behind her, chest to her back, his thighs hugging hers, giving of his warmth. It was just for a while, he told himself. Just until his body heat seeped into her and let her go into the deep sleep she needed. If he was lucky he could slip away before she opened her eyes in the morn and she’d never need know. He would not allow himself to think of his desire or dwell on the feel of her breasts against his back or her delicate hands curled around his arms. The last thing he wanted was to give her more reason to be suspicious of him. For this night he wanted only to see to her comfort. There would be other days to press his suit. With a grateful sigh, Abrielle relaxed deeper into sleep, and he did the same.

 
ABRIELLE CAME AWAKE with a start, wondering what had awoken her from the delicious warmth that eased all along her back. In confusion, she blinked her eyes open to see several dozen men on horseback grouped before her. Her first thought was that Thurstan’s men had tracked them there and now had them surrounded. Raven. She raised up on her elbow to see where he was.

 
When her gaze fell on the lead rider, the visage of her stepfather sent a wave of relief through her. She sagged forward, thanking God in the silence of her prayers, and noticed Vachel was not smiling. Something moved behind her and it was then she realized it was not, as she’d assumed, the sound of hoofbeats that woke her, but the sudden movement of Raven Seabern, who, for reasons she could not begin to fathom, was lying at her back. He stood, and as he did, her sleep-fogged brain slowly began to clear. She had spent the night alone with him, aye, because he’d rescued her. But what was he doing sleeping so close and with his arms wrapped all around her? She had not given him permission for anything of the sort, nor had he sought it, but evidently…

 
A cold shiver of understanding and dread settled into her chest. She came stiffly to her feet, ignoring Raven’s outstretched hand and its offer of help—too late, all too late. Oh, why had she ever let her guard down around this man? She noticed that Vachel was watching her with somber eyes, and she saw behind him several of his knights whispering together. They were loyal to him and would not dare to smirk openly at his stepdaughter, but their silent, sordid suspicions were as clear to Abrielle as if they had.

 
And what else should she expect? After all, they’d found her in Raven’s arms, squashed together under a single blanket as if…as if…A thought began to dawn on her as she pondered how this had
come to pass. Her thoughts a jumble of confusion and betrayal and sadness, she turned to Raven and met a steadfast gaze. In a forthright manner he told her, “Ye were so cold in your sleep, lass. I couldna just let ye catch your death.”

 
Her stepfather looked between them. “What has become of Cedric and Nedda?” he asked.

 
Raven responded, “My father remained behind ta learn the identity of the man who paid the brigands ta kidnap Lady Abrielle. Nedda is injured, so she stayed with him so that I could return Lady Abrielle more quickly ta the safety of the keep.” His words echoed hollowly now, for of course he had not kept her safe. “When my father and I first arrived, Lady Abrielle and her maidservant had already knocked their three captors unconscious.”

 
Although Vachel’s lips quirked slightly with amusement, he straightened in the saddle and spoke coolly. “And whose idea was it for him to remain behind, leaving my stepdaughter unchaperoned?”

 
“’Twas Cedric’s idea,” Abrielle whispered in surprise.

 
Raven stood so close beside her that she felt him stiffening, heard the affront in his voice as he said, “My father knew you would need to know the identity of the man threatening Abrielle.”

 
“Yet it was his idea to leave the two of you alone,” Vachel pointed out.

 
Into the silence, they heard someone whisper, “The Scots planned it.”

 
Abrielle wished she were anywhere but in this gloomy forest just after dawn. But she found her gaze drawn to Raven, and she saw his anger and bitter pride.

 
“Someone dares to slight my own father before me?” he demanded.

 
Uneasy rumbles were heard among the knights, but no one spoke up.

 
Abrielle found it interesting that Raven seemed angrier that people would accuse his father than himself alone. She knew father and son
were close. Was it possible, she had to wonder bitterly, they had planned this entire escapade? Certainly others would be quick to suspect the Scotsmen of hiring the brigands in the first place. She pondered the notion briefly and dismissed it, believing they had too much honor for such a dastardly deed. She was less quick to discount the possibility they had deliberately taken advantage of the situation once it fell into their laps. She had been so overwhelmed it had not occurred to her how Raven’s rescue of her would look to others. Perhaps Raven’s true anger was due to the discovery of his own part in the ruse. She felt sick thinking such a thing, and could not even look toward the uncertainty of her future.

 
“Come, Abrielle,” Vachel said heavily. “This is not the place for a discussion of such import. And your mother needs to know you’re safe. We will talk later.”

 
A discussion of such import. The ominous words echoed inside Abrielle’s head. Of course, what could be of greater import than the rest of her life and the decision as to whom she would spend it with. Was that still a decision for her to make? Or had fate and Raven Seabern conspired to at last land her in a mess she could not get herself out of?

 
Vachel dealt quickly with his men, sending a half-dozen knights back the way Raven indicated, in support of Cedric and Nedda, and then he reached down to his stepdaughter.

 
Abrielle gratefully let her stepfather pull her up behind him, and she didn’t look at Raven as the troop of knights rode off, leaving him behind.

 
THE SUN HAD passed midday by a pair of hours when serfs working near the far end of the drawbridge espied the approach of a retinue of mounted knights. Sir Vachel’s banner was immediately recognizable, and since the long, reddish hair flying out behind the lady sitting be
hind him was the same hue as that of their mistress, servants readily raced from the courtyard and moved across the drawbridge to have a closer look. Upon confirming that it was indeed the Lady Abrielle seated behind her stepfather, several serfs rushed about to spread the welcome news from one end of the stone edifice to the other, assuring everyone that their mistress had returned safely to the keep. The news did indeed bring Elspeth flying out of her chambers in her eagerness to be reunited with her daughter. Never slackening her pace, she was nearly breathless as she swept into the courtyard.

 
“Oh, thank the merciful heavens you’re all safe!” she cried in teary relief as she waited anxiously for Vachel. After sweeping a long leg over the stallion’s neck, he slid to the ground and lifted Abrielle down beside him.

 
Elspeth made no effort to halt the profusion of grateful tears coursing down her cheeks as she encompassed her daughter within the circle of her arms. “I was so fearful of what those brigands intended to do with you!” she wept with joy. “I’ve been nearly beside myself, not knowing if Vachel would find you alive or dead or in what condition you’d be in. An endless eternity has passed since we were told you had been abducted. My greatest fear, of course, was that you and Nedda would be killed. ’Tis now apparent that we owe a debt of gratitude to all of my husband’s men for finding where you had been taken and bringing you and Nedda back to us.”

 
“We suffered no harm, Mama,” Abrielle assured her parent as she stood back within the circle of the older woman’s arms. She knew that Vachel was waiting somberly, but now was not the time for such discussions. She did not want to think about anything but her relief at being home—and somehow this keep had become such to her. “You’ll be pleased to hear that Nedda and I laid enough on the dull-witted oafs who abducted us to leave their heads lolling on their shoulders.”

 
Elspeth clasped her daughter’s cheeks between her palms and gazed with tear-filled eyes into the face of her only offspring before bestowing
a motherly kiss upon her brow. “I am so very, very relieved to have you back, my dearest. I would never have been able to bear your loss if they had found you dead. Who did this to you?”

 
“As of yet, we know not who hired such fiends.” Abrielle found herself glancing back at the Scotsman, who’d ridden in the rear of their party. “Laird Cedric stayed behind to discover the man’s identity while in hiding with dear Nedda, who was injured on my behalf.”

 
“Oh heavens!” Elspeth cried. “Such a good, loyal woman.” A troubled frown gathered her brows. “When we had no wealth of our own, there were no threats on your life, certainly none from the men vying for your hand. I don’t suppose this new threat will be entirely erased until the men responsible for your capture are caught or killed.”

 
Vachel put an arm around his wife. “The villain may be Thurstan de Marlé, or it may not. We will have to wait and see.”

 
Elspeth nodded and turned back to her daughter. “You must be freezing, child! Come inside where it’s warm, and then we’ll talk more of this matter.”

 
Abrielle went along with her mother, bathing and changing into dry, clean garments, but her uneasiness about the day yet lingered, and she did not want to leave the great hall to fester with rumors for too long. As it was, when she emerged for supper, she saw that it was too late to stop the gossip, for word had obviously spread of her sojourn with Raven. Heads leaned together, wide eyes looked between her and Raven, who sat alone. Abrielle winced, wishing that Cedric and Nedda had returned, but knowing there was nothing to do, for Vachel’s men had been dispatched for assistance.

 
At the head table, her mother waited for her, not bothering to hide her concern. “Abrielle, your stepfather has informed me what transpired last evening and into this morning,” she said softly, reproachfully. “Why did you not tell me of your time with Raven?”

 
Abrielle sighed. “There is nothing to discuss, Mama. And if there were, I would not want it to be here.”

 
“But there is much to discuss,” Vachel said somberly. “You must be prepared for that, my dear. Even now, there is talk, and too much of it. Other suitors will hear of it.”