The Devil of Jedburgh (2 page)

“Duncan,” he called as he struggled with the limp weight and tight bodice, “get yourself behind and hold the lass up for me.”

“Thank God I missed her heart,” Broderick declared, stooping to retrieve his dagger from where Arran had tossed it.

Arran glanced up with a scowl. The blame, he conceded, was mostly his. He knew better than to freeze in awed fascination, no matter that he’d plunged through the bushes to find a forest sprite kneeling at his feet. He knew that his men would be at his back and watching, ready to protect their laird and act on the first indication of trouble.

“Make yourself useful,” he told Broderick, “and help with these ties.”

The gown was laced on both sides with slippery ribbons that evaded Arran’s clumsy fingers. With Broderick fiddling on the other seam, they managed to work some slack into the crisscross binding. Arran gave one hard tug and the entire bodice with all the under layers came down with his hands, his callused fingers suddenly brushing against soft, cool skin.

When two lush breasts popped free, Arran groaned a mix of disbelief and hard pleasure. He’d ripped her shift and bared her completely.

Arran forced his attention to something far less pleasant, the short cut above the swell of her right breast. Only a small amount of blood trickled from the wound. The tension in his gut gave a little.

“Sweet Mary,” Broderick whispered heavily.

Arran turned to reassure his friend, only to find Broderick leering with a half-formed grin.

“Shut your eyes,” Arran ordered, at once protective of the sight before them. “You as well,” he added to Duncan.

Both men looked at him as if he were mad.

Arran shrugged them off, removing his shirt and tearing a strip from the linen with swift efficiency. He folded the strip into a thick pad and pressed it down firmly over her breast.

Who was this maiden?

What was she doing out here alone?

He glanced about him and saw a white mare tethered to a nearby tree, stamping nervously and pulling at the bit. “Broderick, attend the lady’s mare afore she breaks loose.”

Grateful that the blood wasn’t soaking through the linen square, he tore the rest of his shirt into strips and wound a makeshift bandage across her chest and over the shoulder. As he secured the ends, his eyes were drawn to her face.

Broad cheekbones with a gentle curve gave her a bold, sensual beauty. Her mouth was wide, her bottom lip slightly swollen with a natural pout that made him think of slow kisses. She was beautiful, enticing, bewitching, and he wasn’t made of stone.

This lass had the power to put thoughts into his head, thoughts that led to wants and needs that were absolutely futile. For she was clearly no tavern wench to be tossed in passing—he could see that by her fine gown and soft skin, in the youthful innocence of her lovely face.

Just then she gave a small sigh and tried to turn in Duncan’s arms, successfully jolting Arran back to the task at hand.

“She’s coming around,” Duncan warned needlessly.

Arran yanked her bodice up and pulled at the ties to keep it there.

Breghan came to with a start. Her eyes snapped wide to take in the danger and her heartbeat sped up.

They were all over her. Behind. On top. To the left. Primal instinct took charge. She struck back with her head and hit out with her fists. She tried to kick in vain. There was a beast astride her and pinning her legs down. “If you touch me, I’ll scream.”

“You’re already screaming,” pointed out a black-bearded giant standing to her left.

She glared up at him, sucked in a deep breath and loosened a piercing shrill that hurt even her own ears.

Her hands were caught up in front of her. “Restrain yourself, lass.”

The gruff burr was oddly gentle. She stopped struggling, but only because her arms were now as firmly trapped as her legs. The blond-haired man straddling her was half naked, and he seemed vaguely familiar.

His shadowed jaw was square, his cheeks severely hollowed. Everything about his face was harsh with dark angles and threatening even darker premonitions, the brimming danger set off by a jagged scar that cut his left cheekbone.

And then she remembered.

“You—you—” she stuttered in disbelief. “You torched me.”

One thick brow arched high. “’Tis a stab wound, lass, not a burn. A grave accident at that. You have my apology and regret.”

Breghan glanced down and saw the wet stain in the velvet of her bodice. Her eyes came back up and anger fed into her fear.

She hadn’t fainted from sheer terror.

This man wasn’t the Deadly Kerr from her nightmare.

His eyes were a clear green, she now saw, and of course he hadn’t shot fire from them. No, he’d only stabbed her.

“Please release me,” she said coldly.

“Only if you promise to hold still.”

Breghan nodded.

As soon as he removed himself, she jumped to her feet. And immediately clutched the awkward tension at her shoulder. Her fingers flittered and prodded from one end of the lumpy bandage beneath her arm to where it sloped down over her breast.

Hot colour rushed to her face with understanding. Now that she was aware of it, her entire bodice pulled and strained uncomfortably. She raised her arms, to find the laces uneven, too tight in places and hanging loose in others. Her shift beneath felt as if it were bundled at her waist.

“What else have you done to me?” she gasped, dashing a glare across the three of them.

“Someone had to tend your wound,” Arran soothed, uncomfortably aware the lass had every right to be mad at them.

“You did more than that. You—you—Haven’t you one whit of decency?”

“No one here set out to harass you.”

“You stabbed me!”

“The laird didna throw the dagger,” Broderick offered, stepping forward. “I mistook you for a boar.”

“Your eyesight is as poor as your aim and your chivalry is worse,” she hissed at Broderick.

Arran grinned at his friend’s slack jaw. She turned those accusing eyes on him and he was left marvelling at the sparkling blue depths. By God, she was magnificent in anger. Her cheeks were flushed to the same rosy tint as her lips.

“Your amusement is enlightening,” she told them. “It tells me exactly what manner of buffoons I’ve had the misfortune to cross paths with. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she added with a flick of her skirts, “I’ll be on my way.”

The lass shot off into the trees before her intention took seed.

With a muttered oath, Arran took after her. A few leaping strides later, he grabbed a handful of voluminous skirts and brought her back into his arms.

Expecting the struggle, he hefted her against his chest as gently as possible and locked her down. “Have a care, lass, or you’ll tear that cut open again.”

“You have a care,
sire
. You’re crushing my ribs.”

He relaxed his grip and the minx immediately slithered through his arms. Before she could slip away completely, he caught her firmly by the wrist. “I think you have a tendency to exaggeration.”

“I
know
you have a tendency to deafness,” she returned, lifting her chin stubbornly to look him in the eye. “I told you I was leaving.”

Arran’s grin returned, fed by admiration for the little hellfire so determined to challenge a trio of men, each more than twice her size. Still, as independent and capable as she seemed, he had no intention of abandoning her. Not when he felt wholly responsible, not when he was this reluctant to part ways just yet.

“You’re coming with us,” he decided.

“I beg to differ.”

“I intend to see you home.”

“Impossible.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held fast. “While I appreciate your concern, I’m quite accustomed to travelling alone.”

“That wasna an offer to be declined.”

“I prefer to take my chances on my own. That way I won’t be stabbed and mauled along the way.”

“For that I have apologised. We mean you no harm.” He nudged her chin up with his free hand, bringing his head down a little. “You must trust me.”

Breghan was at once aware of his closeness and nothing else. His breath brushed warmth to her cheek and the heat spread, lulling the nervous tension that had overtaken her since she’d come around and found herself wounded and surrounded by strange men.

Looking deeply into his eyes now, she did indeed see something there to trust in.

A hint of softness.

A trace of kindness.

When he released her and took a step back, she dropped her gaze to the tanned skin of his chest. A smattering of dark blond curls ended where coiled ropes of muscle began. The thick scar tissue down the left side of his abdomen was a rude reminder of the nature of man. She knew naught of this one, despite the tender emotions she thought she saw in his eyes.

“I—I don’t even know your name,” she stalled.

“Arran Kerr of Ferniehirst at your service,” he said, flourishing an exaggerated bow.

Breghan barely heard as he went on to introduce his men as Broderick and Duncan. Blood rushed to her head. Then every last drop seemed to drain to her toes. She thought she might pass out, but when he held out a hand to steady her, she found the strength to swat it away.

“The Curse of Roxburgh,” she thought in panic.

His eyes darkened to a murky green. “That honour went to the grave with my da. I’m merely the cursed spawn.”

Horrified that she’d voiced her thoughts aloud, she clasped a hand across her mouth.

“Come now, lass, you weren’t afraid a moment ago. Dinna disappoint me now.”

“I’m not afraid,” she lied, then swore to make that the truth.

So, this was the Black-Hearted Kerr.

The Devil of Jedburgh.

She was no longer surprised she’d been stabbed and mauled at his hands.

Of all the rotten fates—but no, she corrected, not fate, just plain stupidity. She’d left all coherent thought behind when she’d raced her destiny this morning. She hadn’t paused to consider that the man she fled was on the road himself, travelling up from Jedburgh to claim her. Of course the Kerr would ride up the River Tiviot; ’twas the main road from Jedburgh to Kelso and the McAllen lands lay just North East of Kelso.

“Good, then you’ll allow me to escort you home,” he said and went on to inform his men, “Bring the lady’s mare. We ride on.”

“No. Wait. I haven’t agreed—”

“What is your name?” he interrupted.

“Breg—Bree,” she adapted at the last moment.

“Bree.” He folded his arms. “I canna allow you to continue on alone. You’re injured and you shouldna be out—” He cut off, his jaw clenched. “What are you doing out here alone in the first place?”

A perfectly plausible tale came to mind, yet Breghan hesitated.

She was at a crossroad.

If she were to reveal herself, it would have to be now or never.

She never had made her mind up about whether to run or not. How she answered this question would decide.

His stare hardened beneath a frown as his impatience grew, giving her a glimpse of formidable temper. His immense height alone overpowered her and the rest of him was pure lean muscle. His arms bulged with it. His thick abdomen had the look of granite ridges.

So this… This was the man she’d been given to. Her roaming gaze returned to his face, to find his expression dark.

’Twas said he’d killed six wives.
Breghan tried but could not doubt it.

“I was riding with my lady and we became separated,” she improvised with a pleasant smile. “She won’t be far and I must wait for her. Please, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’ve pressing matters to attend to.”

“Who is your lady?”

Breghan’s smile tightened. “I’d rather not say.”

Arran backed away to study her from a small distance. “Understand this, Bree, I’m not leaving you here alone and unprotected. Especially not when you’re wounded.”

“If you force me to ride, I’ll bleed to death within the hour.”

“At most you’ll suffer mild discomfort.” That deep brogue was part disdain and part amusement.

Breghan didn’t care for either. “As eager as you may be to risk my life, I’m not going anywhere until I’m rested and feel able to sit a horse without falling off.”

“You’ll ride with me,” he stated, waving a hand at a blue-black stallion standing at least eighteen hands high. “I willna let you fall.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He sighed loudly. “I’m not giving you the choice.”

“Haven’t you done enough? Now you intend to tie me up and strap me down and haul me off in whatever direction you see fit?”

Arran’s protest died on his lips. Broderick had stabbed her and as for himself, well, he’d stopped just short of undressing the lass completely. No doubt her sensitivities had suffered as much as her body and he couldn’t blame her lack of faith in him.

With a small nod, Arran conceded to her wishes.

“Broderick, Duncan,” he called over his shoulder. “We set up camp.”

“Wh—what are you doing?”

He turned back to Bree. “The gloaming is nearly upon us and soon it will be dark. If your lady sends men to search for you, and they find us, you may go with them. If not, you have the night to rest and recover your strength. We’ll decide a course of action come morning.” By then, he hoped, she’d have built up enough trust to allow him to escort her home.

“Do I have any say in the matter?”

His answer was a raised brow.

She whirled about and sauntered past his men rushing forward to muster the horses off the road and into the clearing. As he watched her skirts swish, Arran wondered if she had any pain from her wound at all.

He tossed his head back on a laugh, not sure who’d won that round. Not sure if he’d have been as accommodating if the lass had turned out to be a noble lady and completely off-limits. As it was, a lady’s companion, even a gently reared one, opened up another realm of possibilities. The night was yet young.

Chapter Two

Breghan tucked her skirts in and dropped to her knees beside the fire. She felt as trapped as the two hares Arran Kerr had brought back from his short hunt and that were being skinned down at the river by Broderick. There was naught to be done, at least not until this unlikely trio of well-doers had fallen asleep.