Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (12 page)

"Determined to escape? What about that wall around the town? Do you intend to fly over it, Swan Maiden?"

"You do not understand. I must go home." He heard a plaintive wobble in her voice, and frowned.

"I understand well enough that you must stay here."

She turned her head indignantly and did not answer.

"Back to silence, I see. What is this silence of yours all about? I remember having to hush you up, years ago. You were full of speeches when we hid in that loch with the swans."

"'Twas long ago. I scarcely recall." Her English had the airy lilt of a Gaelic-speaking native. It tugged at him swiftly, keenly, a reminder of people and places better forgotten. "What will you do with me now?"

"I have not thought about it. I was sleeping until a few minutes ago." He pushed her toward the bed, and she sat on its edge, sending him a little glare. She was shivering markedly, he noticed. He was cold himself, and damp. "Take off those wet things and get under the covers," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking some of the moisture out of it.

"I will not." She folded her arms.

He turned to stoke the brazier in the corner of the room, adding dry sticks and coals from a bucket. Juliana stood and edged toward the door. Standing, he spun around and grasped her arm to turn her firmly toward the bed.

"I am a patient man," he said, "but no more. Sit there. And strip down. You are trembling with cold."

"Do not think to warm me!" She sat again, glaring at him.

In answer, he snatched up a blanket from the bed and tossed it over her shoulders. She grabbed at it, rubbing at her own hair. Gawain turned and stripped off his rain-damp tunic, tossing it over the foot of the bed. Standing before her in his braies, he grabbed another blanket, pulling it without apology from beneath her. He tossed it around his own shoulders.

Her gaze skimmed his bare torso, lowered, raised again. She scooted away on the bed. "I hoped you were a courteous knight who would help me. Instead you mean to hold me against my will."

"I do not—"

"I heard the king's orders! He may be a king, but he acted like a lecherous cur! I will not be subdued for your amusement. Chain me, ravish me, if you dare! Wring my swan's neck and have him for your supper—or wring my own. But I will not be tamed!"

He stood staring at her. Pale and ethereal as a moonbeam, she housed a white flame of righteousness that would make any rebel proud and strong. She directed it at him as if he were a straw target and she a flinted point.

He held up a hand for peace. "I have no intention of taming you," he said. "Be at ease."

"At ease? In a bed with you?" She pulled the blanket closer. "The king urged you publicly to take me this night—just to show that England can rape Scotland. We Scots know that already, and I will fight to the death if you try it!"

"I do not doubt it," he drawled. "My
written
orders from the king are to take you back to Scotland and keep you for my wife. The rest of his orders I need not obey. He will forget them soon enough, drunk as he was," he muttered.

She slicked her fingers through her damp hair. "And you, are you drunk as well? Every man there tonight was sodden," she said with disgust.

"I am in command of myself, if that is what you ask."

She shot him another glare. He sent one back, then ruffled his hair to coax more wetness from it. "You will stay," he said curtly. "You are my wife now, and my obligation. And a prisoner of the crown. I will not forfeit my life for your escape."

"I am not your wife!"

"We were wed by a priest. Or did you miss that moment?"

She drew breath. "When ice coats the halls of hell, I will be your wife. When the faeries of Scotland serve sweetmeats to the king of England, I will be your wife!" She folded her arms tightly over her chest and lifted her chin.

"You have a talent with words... for a silent maiden."

"Those wedding vows meant naught. I did not speak them."

"But they were legally done, and we are joined in the eyes of God and man. To undo it, we would need a priest willing to request a divorce from Rome. 'Tis easier to remain wed."

"A divorce will not be necessary," she announced. "An annulment will do, since you will never touch me."

"Will I not?" He stood staring down at her, anger rising. He was tired and frustrated, and he had been more than kind to her so far, yet she treated him as if he were a boor.

"My kinsmen will kill you if you do," she said.

"One of your kinsmen may kill me anyway, if he ever sees me again," he muttered, rubbing the blanket over his shoulders. She looked at him, puzzled, but he was not about to explain the tangle between him and her cousin James Lindsay.

"My guardian is an abbot. I live in his household."

"In a religious compound? You do not behave like a nun."

"If I were a nun, the king's guards would have left me in Scotland. Father Abbot will annul the marriage."

"We will see." He sat on the bed. She scooted away from him. "Go easy, I will not harm you," he said wearily. "And I do not want to discuss legalities, either. I just want to get some sleep." The need pulled at him like a river current.

She looked longingly at the bed. "Sleep on the floor."

"Share the bed with me," he replied. She shivered again. "Take that wet tunic off," he said abruptly.

"I will not."

"'Tis summer, but these rainy days lately have been chilly. You will be ill by morning by the way you are shivering now. Take that off and get warm." He yanked away her blanket, then drew the wet garment from her in one long pull. She twisted and squealed in protest. A quick flip draped the tunic with his other garment, near the brazier where they would dry.

She jumped away from him and stood, dressed in some thin undergarment. He saw firm, pink-centered breasts and lean, graceful curves before she grabbed up the blanket again.

"Take off my boots and get in bed," he said gruffly.

"You do mean to ravish me!"

He sighed in exasperation. "I am too tired to ravish anyone. Least of all a spitting mad lass." Tired, but not unwilling, he realized. The sight of her body had sent a fire bolt through him.

She stared at him, her breath heaving. He glanced away to ebb the desire that flowed through him. "Those boots need to be dry by morn," he said.

She stepped out of the boots and kicked them toward the brazier. He walked over to set them to dry properly. When he turned again, she backed away.

"How do I know you will not ravish me?"

"Do you want to be ravished?"

"Nay!"

"Then stop asking about it." He went toward the bed. She watched him warily, and shuffled away.

"Girl," he said patiently, "I am a knight sworn to honor, yet you give me no credence. I have proven my worth to you, yet you will not trust me."

"Trust a Sassenach?" she asked incredulously.

"If my word is... good enough for King Edward, 'tis good enough for you. Lie down."

"Go to sleep," she said. "I am not so weary as I was." Her eyes darted toward the door.

"Oh, no," he said, seeing her intent. "Do not think about it. A trick done once to me is never done twice." He stepped forward and picked her up, dumping her on the bed. Then he sat on the edge, trapping her with his arms.

"Let me go—you gave your word—" She twisted beneath him. "I will not be a wife to you, and I will not stay here!"

"Lie still, or I will be forced to chain you here to keep you safe for the night." His blanket slipped off as he half flattened himself over her to hold her down. His bare chest pressed to the soft globes of her breasts, with only the damp, thin chemise between their bodies. He felt her nipples bead against him, and a shiver went through him.

She bucked beneath him. "Let me go!"

"That would be exceeding foolish of me." More foolish to remain in this position with her, he told himself. He snatched the golden chains from the bedside table.

"You say you are chivalrous, but you lie," she said, wriggling beneath him. "You do mean to ravish your own bride!"

"If it would quiet you, I might consider it," he muttered.

"Where is your courtesy?" She torqued beneath him.

"I am summoning all of it just now," he growled. He leaned forward, and she flattened into the pillows, staring at him. "Listen. You must stay here, and I need to sleep. As do you. Can I trust you for the night, at least?"

"I will not stay here with you. I want to go home. I want to be free." Her voice quavered, and he sensed she meant it.

"I will take you home."

"As a prisoner!"

He sighed. "Can I trust you for the night?"

She shook her head.

"Well, you are honest at least. My apologies. You leave me no choice." He slid one of the manacles around her wrist and latched it. Then he looped the chain around the bedpost and locked the other manacle into the links. He stood and looked down at her. "Now we can get some rest."

She fumed, pulling at the manacle, while he plumped a mound of pillows to support her and then walked to the other side of the bed to lie down, pulling the covers up.

"I will have the key from you so soon as you are asleep!"

He rolled over quickly and folded her arm firmly against her, holding her wrist against her chest, which rose and fell beneath his hand. "Not unless you want to carry the rest of those chains upon you," he said. She kicked him. He turned, presenting his back.

"There must be tusks on your family crest, for you are a pig!" she snapped.

"And you," he said, "were more appealing as a mute swan." He punched his pillow.

He heard a husky snarl and felt a halfhearted shove, softened by the bedclothes between them. But she said no more, and he felt himself sliding once again toward sleep.

Chapter 9

Dawn brought a thin, clear light and a return to silence. Juliana awoke alone, and found the white gown, feathered cap, and shoes laid out on the bed. The chains, she discovered immediately, were gone. Within moments, Dame Bette knocked on the door and entered carrying a cup of ale and a slab of hot bread with cheese melted on it.

"Yer husband said ye would be hungry this morning," Bette said, grinning with delight. "It stirs the appetite sometimes, when ye've wed one what makes yer heart quicken."

Juliana blushed at Bette's obvious assumption. Just the opposite was true. She and Gawain quickened each other's hearts, but not with loving. She ate quickly, for she was hungry.

"I will lend a hand with yer finery," Bette said. She helped Juliana slip into the gown. "Yer bridegroom and his kinsmen are waiting downstairs. There is a pack of soldiers in the lane, too. Whatever ye did, my lady, they mean to keep close watch over ye. They've brought writs from the king, which yer husband has been reading this morn. He seems none too pleased."

She stood, mute and still, while Bette plaited a single braid down her back and tied it with a bit of string.

"I gather yer husband thinks ye innocent of any wrong, and so do I," Bette continued. "He has been sitting in a dark mood, shifting those chains in his hands until the clinking sound was like to drive me mad."

Sighing, Juliana thought it more likely that her husband was fuming silently over their unwanted marriage, her attempted escape, and their arguments last night. She should never have been so foolish as to break her silence with him.

She sat on the bed and slipped her feet into her flat shoes, leather painted white to go with her gown. She looked up as Bette approached with the feather cap and settled it on her head.

"There is a king's man, too, wearing the blackest armor I have ever seen," Bette said. "He is the leader of yer escort."

Juliana frowned to herself while Bette adjusted the cap; she remembered the journey south too well. De Soulis had shown no consideration for her, ordering a fast pace, tight ropes, and a regular dosing of bitter herbs in wine to keep her senses dulled. Despite Gawain's presence, she dreaded the return now.