His Stolen Bride BN (18 page)

She wondered at the cause of his mood as he held his cup and walked the floor. Did
he think on this night? On the fury he would unleash upon her for her escape? Or did
he dwell on his revenge and the bloody murder behind it?

Finally, Edina looked to Drake. His stride ceased at her attention, and he dropped
his moody gaze to the brew in his cup.

With a sly grin, Edina said, “’Tis time and past for the bride and groom to be alone.”

“Aye,” Gordan chimed in with a knowing grin that twisted Averyl’s stomach. “I ken
an impatient groom when I see one.”

Were they both addled and blind? How could they send her upstairs with Drake, behind
a locked door, when disquiet churned the air about him more surely than a windstorm?

“Not yet,” Averyl protested. “I am enjoying myself…”

Jaw hard, Drake’s gaze pinned her to the wall with his stare and stilled her speech.
Averyl tried to tear her gaze away, but his eyes held her, appearing to accuse her.
Of what, she did not know. She swallowed, fighting anxiety.

Edina shook her head. “Come now, lassie. Ye maun no’ be nervous. Ye hiv a groom to
please.”

Doubting she could ever please him, Averyl cast Drake an uneasy glance as he stood
in the open doorway. The unreadable look upon his face as he moved closer did not
comfort her.

“They are right, my love,” he whispered. He settled his hand beneath her elbow, his
fingers tight with tension. “You should make ready to retire.”

His love, indeed.
Such drivel, right down to his adoring tone. Still, she shivered at his touch, at
what the coming hours might bring. Dear God, how she wished she could spend the night
anywhere but behind a closed door with Drake—in a room possessing but one bed. Averyl
closed her eyes.

Drake helped her rise from her chair, his hot fingers settling about her waist, conveying
his warning with a squeeze.

“Do no’ be shy,” Edina said. “I will help ye prepare.”

Averyl wanted to scream that Drake had no claim on her. But he did, and the Gibsons
would only think her daft. She wanted to shout that he might hurt her. Yet she knew
her hosts would never believe Locke cruel.

Her mind racing, Averyl sent a last terrified glance toward her captor and followed
Mrs. Gibson upstairs to the room in which she and Drake were to spend the night celebrating
a marriage they neither wanted.

* * * * *

With a smile, Mrs. Gibson released Averyl’s hair from the confines of her thick braid,
laying the ribbon Drake had given her on a nearby basin. She shivered when her dress
came off next, leaving her clad only in a sheer white shift.

“Bonny as a bloom,” the plump Mrs. Gibson declared.

Averyl managed a weak smile, heart thumping.

The woman smiled back as brightly as the afternoon sun and withdrew a small bottle
from her pocket. Averyl frowned when Edina opened it and doused her finger with its
contents.

“Hold still, lass,” Mrs. Gibson instructed, dabbing some of the pungent liquid at
the base of Averyl’s throat and wrists.

The scent, something spicy, wafted up to her nose in a pleasant drift, reminding her
of hearth and home, yet signaling something darker. Aye, even passionate.

“’Tis a blend of my making,” her hostess said. “Cinnamon wi’ my favorite blossoms
mixed. Tonight, ye shall smell so enchanting, Drake willna ever consider lettin’ ye
loose.”

She wanted Drake to release her now. For if he truly induced her to his bed, Averyl
feared he would demand her very soul. Certainly, she did not wish him to see her so
near to naked, smelling like temptation. No good could come of it.

“’Tis for Drake I do this, ye ken? His past is so tragic, his road now so long and
dangerous, I canna resist helping wi’ his happiness where I can.”

The woman knew something of Drake’s past. Everything? Averyl’s heart began to race
for an entirely different reason. She wanted to know why Drake had chosen to destroy
her life. She sought the reason for her husband’s and Lord Dunollie’s hatred. But
most of all, she yearned to understand why Drake would tell her nothing himself.

“Indeed,” she murmured. “I’ve often thought the same.”

The older redhead nodded. “’Tis why Drake canna turn himself in. Murdoch MacDougall
will no’ show Drake mercy. Ye maun ken the MacDougall haes none.”

Clearly, Drake had the Gibsons fooled. Reining in her frustration, Averyl encouraged
Edina’s further confidences.

“You speak true,” she said with a sigh.

Her hostess touched a dab of the perfume in the valley between Averyl’s breasts, then
corked the bottle. “Aye, lass. Only the most heartless of men would seduce his faither’s
love for spite. ’Tis cruel, I tell ye, how the knave baited Drake after he found Murdoch
the swine bedding his maither.”

Edina wedged the customary willow branch beneath their bed to encourage fertility.
Averyl scarce noticed.

Dizziness and nausea assailed her as the woman’s words painted a vivid mental picture.
Murdoch would not be so vicious, would he? Surely not.

But what reason did Edina have to lie?

None.

Averyl drew in a worried breath. So Drake’s mother was the source of his conflict
with Murdoch. That and family pride. Had Drake intended all along to steal her honor
in retaliation for the loss of his mother’s? The thought washed her with another wave
of nausea as Edina fluffed their pillows.

Her almost-betrothed and Drake’s own mother. And Drake himself had discovered them.
How terrible to find his mother cavorting with a man not her husband or protector.

Averyl could only guess from the bit she knew that the woman had been Lochlan MacDougall’s
leman. And Edina had said Lochlan loved her. Murdoch had clearly been in the wrong
to seduce his father’s woman. And Drake found them together, intimately. Had that
shattered his motherly illusion?

“He was of tender years when that happened,” Averyl baited, hoping her hostess would
provide more answers.

“Aye, just ten and four. ’Tis awful, I tell ye.”

Averyl’s heart stopped, then thudded painfully. So much now made sense, the enmity
between the two men, Drake’s contempt for his mother. By the saints, how terrible.
And Averyl was caught squarely in the middle, somehow a pawn to each man.

She frowned as Edina bustled around her. What reason would Drake have had to kill
Lochlan MacDougall? Failing to protect his mother? ’Twas possible, but far more likely
that if Murdoch hated his father enough to seduce his mistress, he may have hated
his father enough to kill him.

Her thoughts racing, Averyl barely heard as Edina finally took her leave. Alone, she
sank down on the soft mattress. Hugging herself to stop her trembling, she contemplated
the enormity of her new information, praying she could somehow use it to arouse Drake’s
pity and escape. If not, the intimacies of marriage would not be a question of if
but of when.

* * * * *

Drake reached a hand to the door separating him from his new bride, but hesitated.
Cursing softly, he lowered his hand.

He pictured Averyl waiting, wondering, fearing what this night would bring. Would
she hate him come morn for what he must do now?

Appalled at his lack of resolve, he stared at the door wondering what his friends
would do. Aric would watch Averyl, wait, find her vulnerability and use it. He had
patience. Drake lacked that, as well as time. And Kieran would use glib words and
sweet phrases to charm her from her gown. Drake sighed. He had never had a charming
day in his life.

He had only determination, desperation…and desire.

Pushing aside frustration, Drake knocked. Averyl’s feelings mattered not. A consummation
of this handfast union would put her beyond Murdoch’s reach. Naught else could matter—not
her green eyes, her pink mouth, or his urge to protect her.

When she made no reply to his summons, Drake eased the door open. Averyl stood with
her back to his gaze, facing the open windows. A night breeze swept through, disturbing
the folds of her flowing shift, made sheer by the moon’s glow. The rumble of thunderclouds
churned in the distance, mimicking his turmoil.

By the saints, how he wanted her. ’Twas not something he could deny, not when his
heart raced and his palms turned damp at the very sight of Averyl. Her hair, golden
and soft, curled down her narrow back—ending just above the arch of her buttocks.

With slow footsteps, he came to stand behind her. The air about them hung charged,
unsettled with disquiet.

She feared; he knew that. Drake also believed he could coax her into his bed this
night…eventually. But the ugly question of tomorrow and the days that followed reared
its head.

Aye, she would hate him for taking her innocence with no intent to give her the love
she sought. Earning her enmity was not a new notion, and probably no less than he
deserved. Still, the day she turned eight and ten, she ceased to be important in his
revenge. He had not taken a bride, as had his friend Aric, with the intent to keep
her forever. Nay, only until Murdoch would be a poor man. Then Drake intended to use
every means possible to kill the evil chief with the shameful knowledge of poverty
seared in his mind. And Averyl would be free.

But why did she feel most important tonight? As if her wishes and feelings should
be honored, despite the consequences?

And why did he want to touch her so badly?

Shrugging aside the foolish questions, he poured them each a new cup of wine. When
Drake finished, he studied Averyl’s stiff spine and for once wished she would say
something.

Handing the cup in her direction, he leaned against the wall beside her. A long moment
passed before she spurned the drink and faced him with an accusing stare.

“When did you plan to tell me that the man I nearly wed seduced your mother?”

Shock tingled its way through him.
Damnation!
Edina must have spoken of his past. But how much? And why tonight, when the past
haunted him already?

Hissing an earthy curse, he glanced away.

“So, ’tis true?”

Drake saw no point in denying it. He nodded.

Her ire soared. “Did you plan to say nothing and simply take my virtue in exchange
for the loss of your mother’s honor?”

Drake swallowed, memories and guilt both eating at his gut. Though his mind told him
that he owed her no explanation, somehow Drake knew that to be false.

Setting her wine aside, he forced his voice to even tones. “My intent to bed you has
more to do with the fact you are now my wife than the recovery of honor my mother
never possessed.”

“She went willingly to Murdoch MacDougall?”

“Like the veriest of whores, again and again.”

“Why?” Bewilderment choked her question.

“I can only guess about the whys of her faithless soul.”

Averyl winced but forged on. “Then pray tell why did you force this handfast upon
me, if not to avenge her? Certainly not out of love, for you’ve refused to feel that.”

Drake formed fists at his sides. “Averyl, you do not—”

“Understand? Nor will I. You seek to use me in the basest sense, then tell me nothing
of your purpose. Do not think I can ever forgive you for that.”

“I expect not.”

Taken aback, Averyl stared in surprise. “Then what do you seek to gain from having
my backside warm your sheets?”

“A wife, perhaps.”

Averyl made a harsh scoffing that could not, even in kind moments, be considered an
agreement. “A wife you would quickly leave once my usefulness was at its end.”

Drake downed his glass of wine in a swallow and tried to determine the fastest words
away from revenge. He wished to avoid her hate, by damned, so turned his thoughts
to seduction, to her sweet body beneath him, pliant and needy.

Suddenly he recalled the rogues who would have forced Averyl’s maidenhood from her
on a brutal dark field that eve. Again, he felt the violent urge to protect. What
did such mean?

Naught. It could mean naught. He must claim her tonight. Now. Before she escaped or
Murdoch found them.

Before his desire overwhelmed reason.

Shoulders taut, he checked an urge to touch her. First, he must make her understand
that she could not escape alone.

“Did you never imagine when you ran from me that you might be harmed? Or killed? Or
worse?”

Averyl said nothing at first. He could see her thinking, her mind turning his question
over. Before she spoke, Drake realized such possibilities had not occurred to her,
not until ’twas nearly too late.

“’Tis over now,” she said stiffly. “I am unharmed and you are not without your captive.”

Stubborn wench. Would she not understand? “Aye, you are unharmed. And ’tis lucky we
are,
wife
. Do you know the unspeakable things those men would have forced upon you?” he growled.
“They were drunk and lusty, and cared not how much you protested. Their only interest
was in sport and pleasure.”

“And your plans are so different? Do you not seek to violate me as well?”

“Violate?” Anger made his jaw tight. “I would not abuse you so. Have I once harmed
you?”

“Except to take me from my people and my purpose?” she asked acidly. “And this night,
whether you call it consummation, revenge, or rape, the end will be no different.”

He stepped closer, hovering above her. Aching to prove her wrong, he wrapped his fingers
about her warm, scented nape and pulled her closer. Averyl seemed to stop breathing
as her hazel eyes widened and met his.

Their mouths a breath apart, he rasped, “’Tis proof how little you know of desire.
I could have raped you long ago, had I wished it. But I want you willing, nay, eager,
lass.”

Averyl shook her head. “You cannot seduce me.”

He smiled at her unwitting challenge. “I will, and for one simple reason, Averyl:
You are not unresponsive to me.”

She blanched white at his words, and Drake knew he had hit upon the truth. Though
she shook her head again in denial, he sensed a new fear in her expression.