The Devil of Jedburgh (6 page)

“It served my purpose,” he said, dropping the torch and stamping out the flames. He took a few steps toward her. “You might want to think carefully before tossing accusations around. I’ve not done anything yet. You, on the other hand, have much to answer for.”

“I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can, Breghan.” His smile was hard. “Or do you prefer Bree?”

“Do you care?”

“No.” With that, he looked to Tristan. “Go on ahead and inform your father. Breghan will ride with me.”

Breghan turned to her brother. “Tristan, please take me with you.”

Tristan took her by the arm, pulling her aside. “He won’t harm you, although Lord knows I’d be hard-pressed to blame the man. I’ll see you at home.”

Breghan watched her brother walk away, down the dirt path to where his mount was tethered to the gate. She’d never felt so alone.

“I’ll walk Breghan up to the castle,” Magellan said.

“You’ve interfered enough, woman.”

Breghan pulled herself together with a deep breath to confront Arran. “Magellan has done nothing at all. I was hiding outside in the woods when I saw you arrive with Tristan.”

The look he gave her was both disbelieving and disinterested, and Breghan knew she had to do better. Her father had never wholly accepted Magellan and this time not even her mother’s stubborn insistence would keep the woman from being sent away.

“It isn’t Magellan’s fault.” Ignoring the hand he put up to stop her, Breghan went on. “She was sending me home, I swear. I know you’re angry with me right now, but I don’t make a habit of lies and deceit.”

“I’m doing my utmost to bridle my temper, Breghan, and your constant prattle isna helping.”

Breghan had to fight down her bristling irritation. As much as she recognised all her wrongs, Arran Kerr was no saint. “I’m trying to apologise.”

“The less said, the better.”

The heartless statement was bad enough. That it was followed by that dismissive shrug she’d so grown to hate undid all her good intentions to make amends.

“Of course you wouldn’t want to talk,” she snapped. “For then you might need to explain why you were prepared to burn down an old woman’s home.”

“You want ta talk?” he growled, reaching out to grab her arm. “You truly think this is the right time and place to have this conversation?”

Breghan took one look at his strained jaw and crystalline eyes and changed her mind. “Perhaps it could wait.”

But Arran wasn’t listening. He turned and strode past Magellan, tugging Breghan along. Once inside the cottage, he kicked the door shut, leaving Magellan standing white-faced on the other side.

He released her arm and pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

Breghan had no intention of giving him any advantage. She walked to the table and propped herself against the edge.

“You saw fit to run about the countryside with no escort.” Arran paced in front of her. “If you think that discovery made me merely angry, think again.”

Everything about the man was restraint in motion. His lips barely moved as he spoke. His arms were at his side, his fingers flexing and fisting in a slow beat. His stride was overly controlled and he was back in front of her too soon.

“You were furious,” she said softly, hoping to placate him.

With his feet braced and his eyes dark as pewter, Arran kept his voice on the same tight leash as the rest of him. “I started at furious.” He stepped closer, brought his head lower. “And then I discovered the extent of your recklessness.”

Ignoring the instinct to drop her gaze, Breghan swallowed hard. “I was in no danger.”

“You were damn well stabbed,” he roared.

Breghan pushed away from the table, never mind that it put them toe-to-toe, chin to chest. She tipped her head all the way back to glare up at him. “One of
your
men stabbed me.”

“Precisely.” His agreement sounded every bit the condemnation he followed through with. “That same man must now honour and respect a mistress he witnessed stripped and half naked.”

Blood rushed to her face. “You can’t blame me for that.
You’re
the one who stripped me.”

“You spent the night in a camp of men. We could have each taken our turn at tupping you and what would you have done?”

“That is a blemish on your character, not mine!”

“You had no business being there, alone all night and unprotected. Jesu, Bree, you allowed a complete stranger to take advantage and kiss you.”

“A—a stranger?” Frustration caught up to her anger and Breghan could barely get the words out. “But…but that was you.”

“Your behaviour is intolerable.” His hands came down, one on each of her shoulders. “If you weren’t injured, I’d shake the recklessness from you. Next time, I willna be so thoughtful.”

The man’s logic dumbfounded her. Breghan glared at him, searching for an argument that wouldn’t come. Her mind froze on one certainty.

There will be no next time.

“Your arrogance is abhorrent! Whatever you accuse me of, has or would have been done at your hand.”

“Aye,” was his unbelievable response. “Heed the warning well.”

While she was still gaping at him, he caught her by the elbow and led her across the room, back outside to where his mount awaited.

“Angel is tethered behind the cottage,” Breghan said. “I will ride her home.”

“You’ll ride with me.” He hefted her onto his stallion and swung up behind her.

Breghan scooted so far forward, she was halfway up the poor horse’s neck. “I can’t leave Angel in the woods.”

Arran’s hands came around her waist. He dragged her backward, all the way onto his lap. “I’ll send someone later to fetch your mare.”

Chapter Four

Breghan was stiff from holding herself rigid on Arran’s lap, straining against the arm that kept her pressed close to his chest. The short ride to the castle felt like long hours trapped within his embrace. Her senses were inundated with the scent and touch of the man, stamped with details that should have been too insignificant to remember. The muscles she’d seen flex in the firelight last night were now pressed against her. The memory of that brief kiss nested low in her belly and raised a heated awareness every time his breath caressed her cheek. Each galloping stride rubbed her back against the slab of chest that she’d already seen more of than any well-bred lass aught to have.

She might have been intrigued, even enticed, had her mind not clashed at every turn. This was the man who’d burn down an old woman’s cottage without hesitation. His frigid views on how to choose a bride and on what he would expect from his wife were deplorable. If his arm around her felt strong, warm and strangely comforting, she’d only to remind herself of his stubborn righteousness as he blamed her for his and his men’s shortcomings.

He is a devil and a beast.

Too soon, they were riding into the bailey and Breghan’s gaze skimmed over the few people milling about. She’d prepared herself to accept the consequences of her actions, but now dread folded behind her knees at the prospect of facing her father.

When Arran dismounted, then swiftly pulled her down into his arms, it was too much.

“Put me down.” She slapped ineffectually at the arms around her. “My injury doesn’t trouble me. I’m capable of walking without help.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Arran said, carrying her across the cobbled courtyard and up the castle steps in long strides. He didn’t put her down until they’d crossed the great hall to where her father stood in conference with Tristan. “Your daughter, sir.”

Bristling with indignity, Breghan worked up a scathing response. One look at her father’s high colour and she clamped her lips tight.

“Breghan, my darling.”

She spun about to see her mother running up, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her cheeks. Breghan had just started toward her, when both women were stopped by McAllen’s quiet command.

“Leave be, Lillian. Breghan’s conduct will not be rewarded with coddling.”

Lillian was the first to recover, giving her husband a small frown before returning her fretful gaze to Breghan and advancing once again.

“Lillian,” McAllen roared, adding with a quiet firmness, “you will retire to your chambers at once.”

Breghan gasped at the uncharacteristic outburst. Her father was no gentle man, yet she’d never heard him raise his voice at her mother. Equally astonished, Tristan rescued his mother from her hurt bewilderment and guided her to the stairwell.

“Papa,” Breghan entreated softly.

His scowl settled on her. “Never in my life had I thought to be so disabused of trust and respect, more disappointed in a child of mine. Await me in my solar. Now!”

Nerves already brittle, Breghan jumped at that last order. With a stiff nod, she turned away, miserably aware that no apology would suffice.

A strong hand grasped her arm, pulling her back. She looked up, to find Arran’s gaze on her.

“Breghan is my responsibility, McAllen.”

“No.” Jerking her arm free, Breghan glared up into his cool green eyes. After all that had been said and done, the boar still considered them betrothed. She’d already earned her father’s wrath, she may as well make it worth the while. “I will never be your wife.”

“Then ’tis as well I no longer offer marriage,” Arran returned roughly. The moment the words were out, an emptiness opened up inside him. He knew full well he couldn’t keep her. Breghan could never be his wife, the mother of his children. He’d only meant to bring her safely home before he went on his way.

He looked at Breghan for a long moment, trying to understand the hollow feeling.

Outrage flashed from within the blue depths of her stare. His gaze slid over the slender curves he’d been pressed against on their short ride here…not so short that he hadn’t been tempted to madness. She was already promised to him. Was she not the daughter of Lady McAllen, the woman who’d borne McAllen a dozen sons?

The madness passed.

He wouldn’t damn his soul more than it already was.

The time had come to leave.

Arran found he could not. He couldn’t keep her and he couldn’t give her up. Not yet.

“I’ve decided on a handfasting instead,” he informed Breghan.

“How dare you.” Her hand came up to deliver a furious slap.

Arran was quicker, grabbing her wrist before her palm connected with his cheek. He hauled her up against him with a sharp tug.

“Have a care,” he warned darkly. “My current mood doesna run to leniency.”

Breghan was beyond warnings as she stared at Arran incredulously, last night’s rejections tumbling to the forefront.

He hadn’t wanted her then and he didn’t want her now.

Then it came to her.

She knew exactly what he wanted.

“I deceived you,” she said hotly. “Last night I made a fool of you. This handfasting is an insult and a mockery and a thin veil for your revenge.”

“Handfasting is an honourable tradition.”

“For a cotter’s daughter when no priest is available.”

His fingers increased the pressure on her wrist. “Or when two people wish some time to see if they suit.”

“We both know the answer to that,” she scoffed, twisting her wrist futilely. “If you think to use me sorely for a year and toss me back, think again.”

“Perhaps I willna throw you back. A man may grow accustomed to anything given time, even a sharp nose, a small forehead and no chin at all.” He threw her wrist away from him and took a step back. His gaze travelled down the length of her, then slowly up again until the heat in her cheeks was only part anger. “With a strict diet of fish and greens, perhaps you willna run to fat for a good while yet. And a year may well be sufficient to tame your shrewish ways.”

“Why, you—you—” spluttered Breghan, and tried again. “You will never tame me.”

“Time will tell,” he drawled.

Was that amusement tugging down his lower lip?

Too late, Breghan realised he was using her own words from last night to fuel his vengeance now.

No wonder he was amused.

She took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes on him. “We both know you don’t need time for anything. Last night you said you didn’t care an ounce for your wife’s character or looks. You’d douse the candles and keep her quiet in bed and that’s as far as your marriage strategy extends.”

“That is enough, Breghan,” came a rasped rebuke from behind.

Breghan turned, having completely forgotten her father’s presence. His face had gone from red to purple and he breathed so heavily, she feared he was about to succumb to an apoplexy.

How much had he heard? How much had she said? “Papa, please, soothe yourself. Let me explain.”

“Learn to hold your tongue,” Arran whispered near her ear. “Explanations are worse than bog lands, you step deeper into the muck with every misspent word.”

Breghan scowled up at him, not intending to say another word with her father staring them down.

But then he went and did it.

Another damned shrug, so casual and unconcerned.

“Afraid of what I might reveal?” she challenged with mock sweetness. “I knew you were a devil and a boar. Now I discover you are a coward too.”

“Woman,” Arran growled, his fingers folding over her arm in an iron grip.

At that same moment, her father grabbed her other arm with no less force and looked past her to Arran. “I need a private moment with my daughter.”

Breghan held her breath as the two men locked gazes.

Yesterday she’d feared only the Devil of Jedburgh, the Curse of Roxburgh.

Now she feared Arran Kerr, the man. He’d likely have her drawn and quartered for calling him a coward.

He has no right or power over me, she reassured herself, and he never will. Her father would never accept Arran’s humiliating proposal.

She glared first at Arran and then at her father. Neither man took notice. They were still staring at each other, but the tension between them had ebbed, as if some unspoken agreement had already been reached.

Her suspicions were confirmed a heartbeat later when her father’s fierce colour returned to normal.

“Breghan belongs to you, Kerr. I’ll no dispute that with the evidence presented. Now will you grant me a quiet word with my daughter?”