Highland Conqueror (3 page)

“It takes years to grow accustomed to riding for days at a time.”

“Days?”

“Aye. Days. Unless the need is dire, we ride straight for Dubheidland. The only allies I have on that route are my kinsmen the MacFingals. If Harold isnae too hard on our tails, we may rest there for a wee while.”

“How far away are these MacFingals?”

“Four more days of hard riding, if we and our mounts can endure it.”

Four days like this one and Jolene was sure she would have to be carried into the MacFingal keep on a litter. Her legs were finally acting as they should, but now she became all too aware of how badly her backside ached. She heard Reynard giggle and saw Nanty playing a game of tug-o’-war with the child. The sight did not soothe her pain, but it stilled her complaints. That boy was the future of the Gerards of Drumwich. A little physical discomfort was a small price to pay for that.

“Better?” Sigimor asked as they stopped by the fire.

“Aye. Some. Is there enough water for me to wash away a little of this dust?” She was disturbed by how reluctant she was to step away from the man, to put some distance between herself and his big, strong body.

“The angels smile upon ye, m’lady. There is a wee burn nay far from here. Ye can have yourself a bath, though ’tis certain it will be a cold one.”

“If ’twas frozen solid, I would chop a hole in the ice just to have a thorough wash.”

“Fetch what ye will need then and I will take ye to it.”

“You need only to point the way and I—”

“Nay. Ye willnae wonder off alone.”

“But, I cannot bathe in front of a man!”

“I will turn my back to ye. Tis the only concession I will make. Ye and the lad willnae be left alone, unguarded, until Harold is no longer a threat.” He crossed his arms over his chest and silently dared her to argue.

Jolene opened her mouth to strongly protest, then caught the look in his beautiful green eyes. He would not be swayed. Unlike some men, he was willing to argue with her, but it would be a waste of her time to do so. She had asked for his aid and protection and he obviously had some very firm ideas about what that included. Since he had already proven himself a man of his word, she decided to accept his promise not to look and quickly collected what she would need to bathe away the dirt of travel and the lingering
scent of days spent hiding in the bowels of Drumwich. After looking at Reynard to assure herself that he was content in the care of the men, she hurriedly followed Sigimor.

The man had very long legs, she decided, nearly running to keep up with what, for him, was undoubtedly just an easy stride. Long, well-shaped, strong legs, she mused. Although she had never been one to study a man’s form too closely, she had to admit that it was pleasant to watch Sigimor’s taut backside move as he walked. He was dressed in the English fashion, though not very richly, but Sigimor’s clothes fit him a lot more snugly than any other man’s she had seen. Either Sigimor was a little vain or he simply had no idea of how tightly his hose fit his legs or how much of his well-formed backside was revealed by the short jupon. Jolene was a little shocked at how much she liked to watch him move. It gave her a strange feeling, one both odd and pleasing.

The moment she had had the light to do so, she had studied him as they rode away from Drumwich. He did not have Liam’s beauty, but he was still a very handsome man. His hair was thick, hung just below his shoulders, and was a rich, dark red. He shared many features with his too-handsome cousin Liam, but Sigimor’s long, straight nose was a little bolder, his jaw a little stronger, and the shape of his face a little harsher. Liam was heartbreakingly beautiful, in a way that immediately caught one’s eye, whereas Sigimor had the sort of handsomeness that took a little longer to cause that stirring effect in a woman. His eyes were a startling true green, set beneath faintly arched brows, and surrounded with brown lashes thick and long enough to make a woman envious. Sigimor also had a very attractive mouth, neither too small nor too big, and his lips holding enough fullness to stir thoughts of kisses. Jolene decided his was a face she would never tire of looking at, then felt a little alarmed by that thought.

When they reached the water, Sigimor just pointed at it, then turned his back. Jolene wasted no time in shedding her clothes, hoping the cool water would be as refreshing as it looked for she was suddenly feeling quite warm. That heat fled the moment she entered the chill water, barely swallowing a gasp of shock. Her bath would be a quick one, she mused even as she began to scrub away the dust of travel. She had been jesting when she had said she would make a hole in the ice just to have a bath, but this water felt as if she had done just that.

Sigimor sternly told himself that it would be ungentlemanly to try to catch a look at a bathing Jolene, then inwardly shrugged aside that pinch of conscience. He had only said that he would turn his back. The urge to see if he could catch a glimpse of the body he craved was too strong to resist. There was always the chance that one good look at her slender form would remind him of why he had always preferred buxom women and cure him of this strange, inconvenient lusting.

Just as he turned his head enough to see her, she stood up in the water. Sigimor caught his breath so quickly he nearly coughed and gave himself away. One look had not cured him. Instead he had to fight the urge to tear off his clothing and join her. Reminding himself that she was a highborn lady, probably a virgin, and that such an abrupt approach would undoubtedly send her screaming into the hills, only tethered his lust a little. He found himself wondering why, and when, he had blinded himself to the beauty of a smaller woman.

Her skin was beautifully pale and unmarred. Sigimor did not think he had ever seen such a small waist. Yet the gentle curve of her hips and the tight, round shaping of her backside was womanly enough to stir his blood. Her thighs were slim, leaving a space
at the top that had him aching to nudge into it. Thick ropes of wet black hair clung to the slender line of her back, enhancing the delicate paleness of her fine skin. When she turned slightly, he caught sight of the curve of her breast. It was somewhat smaller than he was accustomed to, but it was perfectly shaped, firm, and tipped with a rosy nipple made hard by the cold water. When she washed her flat stomach, he watched the water trail down to the delicate little triangle of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs and nearly groaned.

Hastily, he turned away. He needed to bring his pounding lust under control. The fashionable attire he had worn for the journey into England hid little and he did not wish to shock her. It took several moments before he felt he had cooled his ardor enough to be seen in a lady’s company again. He was glad he had brought a change of clothing for he was going to need a plunge into that chilled water to fully douse his ardor. Since he suspected he would be unable to banish the image of her pale, slender beauty from his mind, he would welcome the looser fit of his breeches and longer, padded jupon. Lady Jolene might be too innocent to notice the all too obvious signs that he was feverishly aroused, but his men were not. Sigimor had no wish to rouse their amusement.

“That was just what I needed,” Jolene said as, once dressed, she used the shift she had changed out of to rub her hair dry. “Quite cold, however, but it was worth it.”

The way she smiled at him sent Sigimor’s desire soaring again and he ordered, “Turn your back,” even as he strode toward the water, shedding his clothes as he went.

Jolene gaped at the man, startled by his growled command. Her eyes widened almost painfully and she felt a blush heat her cheeks as she watched him fling off his clothes, but she could not make herself turn away from the sight. She bit her lip to halt a gasp as he bared his torso. His shoulders were broad, his back smooth and straight, and his waist narrow. His skin was not as pale as she would have expected of a redheaded man, but faintly golden in tone. The muscles of his arms were obvious, yet sleek, not bulging somewhat untidily as she had observed on some other men, and there were bands of intricate designs etched into his skin around the top of each arm. Then he yanked off his hose and she felt almost dizzy from the heat which flared to life within her. That faintly golden skin covered his whole body. His backside was as well formed and taut as she had imagined it would be and his long legs held the same sleek strength his arms did.

Suddenly realizing how easily she could be caught leering at him, Jolene turned away, fiercely resisting the urge to try and catch a glimpse of the front of him. The man was turning her into a shameless, wanton creature. Never before had she been so keenly interested in a man’s form, or so intensely affected by the sight. It was not comforting to discover that some redheaded Scot was the first to truly stir her womanly interest and desire. She was daughter, sister, and aunt to English earls. To allow her blood to heat and her heart to pound over a Highland laird was pure madness. Her dead kinsmen were probably spinning in their graves.

It puzzled her. How could she go so quickly from having little interest in men to being so keenly interested, so fiercely aware of, a big red-haired Scot? She had had the usual maidenly dreams of a handsome, gallant lover, ones that left her with a faint tickle of delight, but this was no mere tickle to be briefly smiled over and then forgotten. This was a strong feeling, fierce and unbiddable. It was a very poor time to be suffering such a fascination, perhaps even a true lusting.

Control was what she had to strive for. She could be facing many long weeks at
Sigimor’s side, without the protection of a single kinsman. She would have to guard her chastity herself. That could prove difficult if she was stirred into a witless fever every time she looked at the man. At the moment, Sigimor revealed little interest in her as a woman, as one he might wish to seduce. Jolene decided she must use this time to smother her interest in him. She had spent three-and-twenty years unmoved by any man. It should not be too difficult to cure herself of this sudden affliction.

Then Sigimor reached her side, took her by the hand, and started to lead her back to the camp. The warmth of his hand flowed through her body with every beat of her heart. It was such an innocent gesture, yet it caused her to feel a faint trembling inside. There was no chance to bury those feelings, either. He sat close by her side as they ate, keeping them alive, strengthening them. When she sought her rough bed of blankets upon the ground, Sigimor laid out his bed but inches from hers. If he was going to keep her so close to him, Jolene thought as she struggled to ignore all that attractive male flesh within easy reach, she would never cure herself of her interest in him. It began to look as if keeping Reynard alive and safe was not going to be the only hard, dangerous battle she would have to fight in the days ahead.

Jolene cursed in surprise when her escort suddenly released a wild, deafening cry and kicked their horses into a gallop. Her mount did not wait for her command, but joined the race. She chanced a glance behind her as she struggled to maintain some control over her horse, but could see no one chasing them. They had moved swiftly all day, but stealthily, avoiding people and towns in the hope of making it difficult for Harold to follow them too easily. This sudden loud exuberance was most strange. Even stranger was the way Nanty and Liam acted as the men suddenly halted. Reining in next to Sigimor, Jolene watched those two men leap from their mounts and kiss the ground.

“Daft fools,” said Sigimor, but there was the hint of a smile curving his fine mouth.

“I suppose there is some reasonable explanation for this,” said Jolene.

“We are now in Scotland, lass.”

“Ah. I see.” She wished she could feel as pleased by that as they did, but now she was the stranger and Jolene knew that anyone they met with now would not greet her warmly.

“Dinnae fret yourself. Ye will be safe here.”

“Safer than at Drumwich, that is certain.” She sighed. “Your welcome in England was not a pleasant one. Tis no surprise that you would be heartily pleased to be back in your own land.”

“Few English welcome a Scot with any joy.”

“And few Scots welcome the English with a smile, either.”

“I dinnae think ye will face much trouble being but a wee lass.” He took a deep breath. “Tis good to be back in Scotland. If naught else, ’twill be much easier to ken where our enemy is.”

“How so?”

“The moment that bastard Harold crosses this border, he will be watched. Every Scot who catches sight of him will spread the word as to where he is, which direction he travels in, and who rides with him. He and whate’er men ride at his side will also prove a sore temptation to many. He willnae find it easy to hunt us down here. E’en those with no love for a Cameron will wish to trouble him. No one will aid him. Leastwise, none who can truly call himself a Scot.”

“Ah, united against a common foe.”

Sigimor nodded as he dismounted, then helped Jolene down from her horse. “Tend to whate’er needs ye must now. We will linger here a few moments, then set a hard pace for a while.”

Jolene inwardly groaned, but made no complaint as she wandered away to find a private spot to see to her needs and Reynard’s. She could still feel the warmth of Sigimor’s big hands at her waist. Her attempts to drown her attraction for the man with cold common sense and the need to survive were failing miserably. The best she could do was try to keep it hidden, but that, too, could prove impossible when they spent so much time together. It might have been wiser to try to convince the Scots to take her to one of her kinsmen in England before they fled for the safety of Scotland, but her path was now set. She would have to find hope in the fact that Sigimor did not seem to notice that she was attracted to him, nor did he show any inclination to flirt with her or seduce her. As she set herself to taking full advantage of the few minutes of privacy Sigimor had granted her, Jolene sternly told herself that she would see that as a blessing.

“Do ye think Harold will follow us into Scotland?” Liam asked as he stepped up to Sigimor and offered him a drink from his wineskin.

“Aye.” Sigimor never took his gaze from the clump of trees Jolene had disappeared into as he took a hearty drink of wine. “The mon has already killed to get his greedy hands on Drumwich. I dinnae think mere borders will stop him from doing all he can to be very certain he keeps it.”

“So, ye think we will have to be killing us an English lordling, aye?”

“Aye. This will be a fight to the death. I think Lady Jolene kens it.” He frowned and rubbed his chin. “He willnae trust in her just disappearing, staying out of his way because she fears for her life. Our escape from Drumwich will certainly make him realize she is more than some wee lass he can hold firm beneath his fist. Unless he silences her, he will e’er have to fear that she will find an ally in England, some other lordling with the power to drag him out of Drumwich and make him pay for his crimes.”

“Then he will have to hunt down all the servants who fled, too, willnae he?”

“Nay, I dinnae think so. E’en if one of them dared to approach someone with the tale, few lords would take the word of some poor mon o’er that of a laird. That doesnae mean he would hesitate to cut the throat of any of them if he found them, but I dinnae truly think he sees them as a threat.”

“Arrogance blinds him. Twas those verra people and the wee lass who rendered him and his men helpless.”

“Aye, and that must surely enrage him. He
will
blame her for that humiliation.” Sigimor took another drink from the wineskin then handed it back to Liam. “I cannae explain why, but I think there is more, something the lass hasnae told us.”

“Why? Because Lord Harold didnae kill her when he killed her brother?”

“Something to wonder on. It would have left him as guardian to the lad, put the heir in his hands to murder at his leisure. Done right, none would question the child’s death. Too many children die young. It would have been easy to have her join in the deadly meal served to Lord Peter. I got to thinking on how there was a way he could tighten his grip on Drumwich through her, the dead laird’s sister, and the weel loved Lady of Drumwich.”

“Marriage?” Liam frowned. “They are cousins, nay too distant ones, either. There is that matter of consanguinity.”

“Dispensation could be had and the coffers of Drumwich are full enough to buy it. I suspicion the lass also has a verra fine dowry which might nay stay with Harold if she dies.”

“And she is a bonnie wee lass.”

Sigimor scowled at Liam as he saw the way his cousin watched Jolene as she emerged from the trees. “Bonnie enough, aye, for such a wee, thin lass.” He ignored the grin his cousin gave him in reply to that. “I am certain that bastard wants the wee laddie dead, the sooner the better, but I do wonder if he is really so verra eager to kill the lass just yet.”

“Do ye mean to press her to answer some of these questions?”

“Nay. Not yet. It wouldnae change what we must do. And the lass has the wit to ken that, e’en if that bastard doesnae want her dead now, he will kill her in the end. She would force his hand, if naught else, for she will ne’er cease wanting to avenge the deaths
of her brother and her nephew. He may be fool enough to think he can turn her craven and obedient, but she would soon make him see how wrong he is.”

“And thus get herself killed. Ye are right. Whate’er else may be happening atwixt those two, it doesnae matter. Varied though the paths may be, they all lead to the grave—hers and the bairn’s.”

Sigimor was still thinking on the matter as they started on their way again at a steady pace intended to get them through the treacherous borderlands as swiftly as possible yet not exhaust the horses. Reivers ruled this land and Nanty’s connections to the Armstrongs might not protect them much. It would be even more treacherous for Harold and that nearly made Sigimor smile. He doubted they would be so fortunate as to have the thieves and rogues so prevalent in the area rid them of their enemy, however. That thought brought all the questions he had to the fore of his mind again and he looked at Jolene who rode at his side.

“Why are ye nay wed or betrothed?” he asked.

Jolene frowned at him even as she felt a start of surprise over the abrupt question. “I was betrothed once, but the man died when I was but sixteen.”

“Naught else was arranged? Ye are now, what, twenty?”

“Three and twenty,” she admitted and ignored his raised brows. “Papa died ere he could arrange anything else that suited him. Peter intended to do something about it, e’en attempted it once or twice, but naught came of that. Peter wished the choice to be as much mine as his. Then his wife died and I became chatelaine. Peter was thinking of marrying again so I suspect he may have begun an earnest search for a husband for me.”

“But Harold arrived.”

“Aye. Peter ne’er liked the man, nor trusted him, but he is blood kin, a cousin.” She shrugged. “With no clear proof of treachery, what could Peter do but allow that adder to slither into his hall. Harold explained away the rather large size of the armed force with him by claiming that he had been chasing reivers down. It did not take long for us to realize that we were now prisoners within our own keep, but poor Peter had no time to plan a way to free us. He did not wish to begin an open battle for Harold held all the advantages. Twould have been a slaughter.” She sighed and shook her head, grief a hard knot in her chest. “Harold struck quickly, his men in place and Peter dead whilst we all still reeled from the shock of such treachery.”

Sigimor nodded. “Clever. And, he used Peter’s own honor and sense of kinship against him. He probably kenned that, e’en though Peter didnae like or trust him, the mon would ne’er guess the true depths of his venality. Your brother was a good mon, keen of wit and strong, but he wasnae devious.”

“You think being devious would have helped?”

“Och, aye. If he had held a wee bit of that skill, he might have guessed at all that Harold might do, would have been better prepared for such a deep betrayal.”

He was probably right, but Jolene felt a need to defend her brother. “He must have guessed something for he sent for you.”

“True, but he had already let betrayal into his hall, aye?”

There was no question that Peter had made a serious mistake, one that had cost him his life, but she still felt compelled to turn aside what sounded too much like criticism. “And you would not have?”

“Nay, not with a strong, armed force of men at his heels.” He winked at her. “I
am
devious. My first thought would have been on why a mon I didnae like or fully trust needed so many weel-armed men just to visit a kinsmon.”

“Peter wondered, but courtesy—”

“Courtesy doesnae require ye invite a mon to put a knife in your back. Or set your heir in the path of danger,” he added quietly as he glanced toward where a merrily babbling Reynard rode with Nanty. “Blood kin or nay, I would have made those armed men stay outside my walls and watched them weel e’en then. The mon didnae sit higher at the table than Peter did, so courtesy didnae demand he allow them
all
within his gates.”

Jolene was not sure of that, but did not argue. She had begged Peter not to allow all of Harold’s retinue within the walls, but he had claimed there was no honorable reason to deny them shelter. There was no doubt in her mind that Sigimor was an honorable man, but he was obviously not as concerned about being the perfect, chivalrous knight as Peter had been. Peter, she decided, had had high ideals. Sigimor had common sense. Peter had had an eye to being renowned as a most perfect, genteel knight. Sigimor had an eye to survival. She had loved her brother dearly, but she wished he had held some of Sigimor’s hard-eyed practicality. He might still be alive.

“Ye are devious,” Sigimor said, smiling at her.

So enraptured was she by that smile, it took Jolene a minute to grasp what he had said and she frowned at him. “I am not.”

“Aye, ye are. The way ye got us all out of Drumwich showed a fine sense of deviousness. Twas a verra clever, sly trick.”

“I suppose you think you are complimenting me.”

“That I am, but being just a wee lass, I suspicion ye dinnae see it.”

There was a look in those beautiful green eyes of his that told her he was goading her. “In England being sly and devious is not something women are encouraged to aspire to.”

“And just what are they encouraged to aspire to?”

“Gentility. A woman should be sweet of tongue and disposition, kind to all, especially to those who serve her, skilled at loom and needle, firm and alert in the management of her household, frugal, obedient, and a faithful companion to her lord, giving him peace and comfort in his home.” Jolene was not sure she liked the way he was grinning at her.

“How many of those qualifications do ye think ye meet?”

“Quite a few,” she said, forcing herself to meet his amused gaze without blushing over that lie.

There was a look in Jolene’s eyes that warned Sigimor that it would not be wise to laugh or cry her a liar, and that made him feel even more inclined to laugh. “Weel, I have e’er believed the English could be complete fools. Ha! Save for the needlework, managing a household, and frugality, it seems the English men want their lasses to be much akin to my Meggie.”

“Who is Meggie?” Jolene was not sure she kept all of the sudden fierce jealousy she felt out of her voice.

“My hound. Och, weel, I suspicion most of ye at least smell a wee bit better.”

Jolene glared at his broad back as he rode away. Her annoyance was added to by the fact that she could not be sure if he had just insulted her by inferring she was not a proper lady, or complimented her for the very same thing. On behalf of all English
women, especially those who tried hard to attain that ideal of womanhood, she took umbrage over Sigimor’s comparing them to his hound. On occasion, she had thought much the same thing, but that was her right as a woman, one who had to suffer under such rules and beliefs. She told herself that, as a man, his ridicule was hypocritical since he was one of those who tried to keep women cowed, but could not wholeheartedly believe it. Attempting to shake free of her own confusion, she rode up beside Nanty and turned her attention to keeping Reynard happy.

Sigimor looked up from spreading an extra blanket over a sleeping Jolene, then Reynard, to catch Liam grinning at him. “Tis cold and they are too thin to bear it,” he grumbled, striding off toward the surrounding wood and cursing softly when Liam followed him.

“She
is
a wee, thin lassie, to be sure,” drawled Liam.

“Aye, and a pampered English lady.”

“But, verra bonnie. Such fine skin she has. Ye did notice that fine milk white skin, didnae ye?”

“I noticed,” Sigimor replied through clenched teeth, knowing he was being goaded, but unable to completely hide how well it was working.