The Devil of Jedburgh (8 page)

Then he’d kissed her. Briefly touched his lips to hers and it had been altogether pleasant. Now she had a second kiss to compare it with, Breghan knew his kiss hadn’t left the lasting impression Arran’s had.

That wasn’t to say Alexander hadn’t left her with a lasting impression. He’d given her a glimpse of what it felt like to be cherished and adored. He’d given her a fledgling dream of being swept away to the charmed sophistication of court life on the arm of a doting husband.

The more Breghan thought on it, the more she was convinced that Alexander had offered for her.

An offer she’d likely have accepted.

If she’d been given the chance.

Chapter Five

Arran felt less than chivalrous as he watched Breghan walk toward him later that afternoon. What the hell was he doing? He should be halfway back to Ferniehirst by now, not preparing to be handfasted to a lass he had no future with.

She hadn’t yet noticed him standing in the shadows, her head lowered as she followed the conversations of the five ladies huddled to her side and behind. Her hair was pulled away from her face, the front strands braided with yellow heather into a ringlet around her head while the rest flowed down to her waist. She looked so young, so pure and delicately beautiful—the opposite of the wife he’d expected to find waiting for him at Castle Donague. He already knew that, knew Breghan was simply a sweet diversion to be enjoyed until he’d sated his appetite. He could surrender to the temptations of his handfasted bride, so long as he took care. But now Arran reconsidered even that.

She wore a finely woven gown of deep gold that hugged her slender body. As she drew closer, he noted the exquisite embroidery inlaid with tiny pearls that trimmed the tapered sleeves and square neckline. Without a doubt, this was meant to be her wedding gown.

There was an echo of gasps as he stepped from the alcove at the top of the spiral stairway.

“Ladies,” he greeted, smiling at each one in turn. He’d met Breghan’s aunt, Mary, earlier when she’d arrived from the convent and he knew the short redhead was Callum’s wife, Eliza. When his smile landed on Lillian, he said, “Might I speak with Breghan?”

Lillian’s gaze flitted to her daughter. “We’ll wait below.”

She herded the other ladies in front of her, leaving Arran to face Breghan’s cautious stare.

Now that he had her alone, he wasn’t sure what to say. His gaze dipped involuntarily to the gentle swell at her bodice, then shot straight back up as he felt the stirring of desire. “You—you look beautiful.”

She arched a brow at him. “You needn’t feel obliged to feed me compliments. I’m well aware of how disappointed you were to find out I’m your intended.”

Arran considered lying, then responded with a shrug instead. Added to the disappointment, there was this increasing sense of disgruntlement that had plagued him throughout the day. Only yesterday, the prospect of taking a wife who might bear him children had been deeply satisfying. He needed naught else.

Now, however, he’d begun to question what else he might be missing. The teasing lilt to Bree’s voice as she’d challenged him last night with,
The Kerrs fight left-handed because the devil rides heavy on their right shoulder.
The heat of her palm on his shoulder and the huskiness in the way she murmured,
Sinful,
when he’d asked her what the devil felt like.

Yes, he had servants to tend his needs, but none as lovely and graceful as Bree.

His men filled Ferniehirst with raucous company all times of the day and night, and yet Arran had started imaging witty conversations that led to flirty innuendos that led to playful bed sport at the end of each day.

Suddenly he wanted it all.

And he knew he could have none.

If ever he found another woman he’d risk taking to wife, he’d have to take whatever was offered and be glad for it.

He’d remained silent too long and Breghan had turned from him to descend the stairs.

Arran caught her wrist before she reached the second step, then he slid both hands around her waist and brought her back to him. “We’re not done.”

She pushed out of his arms, glaring up at him. “I meant to thank you for choosing a handfasting over marriage. At least this way I know for certain we will be done after a year.”

“Hush, I come to make a truce.”

“A truce implies both sides have the power to negotiate.” She stepped to the side and Arran grabbed her wrist in case she thought to rush off again. She didn’t struggle, merely gave a pointed look at the hand restraining her. “I’m already defeated by mere fact of my being a woman. The only thing left now is for you to claim your victory.”

“Jesu, Bree, I’m trying to apologise.”

“For what?”

“For—for—” Why couldn’t she just accept his apology? How was he supposed to express the unease that had folded over him as the day grew long? He didn’t know what he was sorry for and he didn’t know how he was going to put it right.

Arran threw his hands up, inadvertently tugging her close. Only for a moment, a single heartbeat before his hand opened and she spun away. Long enough to smell the sweet heather on her hair and be left with the sensation of soft curves. The words he hadn’t been able to find tumbled out. “I didna choose this handfasting for revenge or punishment, Bree. I simply wished to have more time with you.”

“That’s a lie.” She backed up until she hit the opposite wall. “Last night, you said that even were you free, you’d never marry me.”

“I will never marry you,” Arran confirmed. “’Tis why I have no right to keep you for a year.”

“You no longer want to be handfasted to me?”

Arran put aside temptation and reevaluated his position. He wanted sons. He wanted heirs for Ferniehirst. Surely somewhere, in all of Scotland, was a woman to be found who’d meet his requirements. ’Twas a dream he wasn’t ready to relinquish. Breghan could never be more than a brief detour and he’d be a bastard to force her hand. “I’m giving you the choice.”

“My father will kill me.” Her eyes rounded on him. “He’ll think I’ve finally pushed you too far and that you’ll no longer have me.”

“When McAllen hears my intentions were never honourable, he’ll blame me.” Arran held out his hand. “Come, you have naught to fear.”

“No, wait.” Breghan didn’t take his hand. “I need some time to…to think.”

Arran let his hand fall to his side as he watched her brow wrinkle. Breghan could pretend to contemplate her options, but they both knew she’d take this chance to be free of him and the arrangement she found so humiliating.

Meanwhile, Arran was warming to his decision. Yes, a part of him was irrevocably drawn to Breghan. She intrigued him, heated his blood, stirred his wants and needs. A woman like her could be infectious.

And infections were oft incurable and fatal.

He barely knew Breghan and already he’d begun to doubt the foundation of how he planned to live his life.

What havoc would an entire year wreak?

What had started out as a noble gesture to release Breghan from his selfish whim was fast becoming a necessity.

“This is truly my decision?” she asked at last.

Arran nodded. The sooner he put her out of his mind, the sooner he could renew his search for a more suitable wife. The sooner he could stop worrying about how much or little Breghan might influence his views on what he wanted in that wife.

Breghan pushed away from the wall. “I need to speak with my father.”

“He’s in the hall with the priest.” Arran led the way and was met by the huddle of women gathered at the foot of the stairs. He walked through the thick of them to reach Lillian. “Your daughter and I have come to an understanding. Would you stay here with Breghan while I bring McAllen out?”

“An understanding?” Lillian turned her head to look up at him. “I’m afraid I—Breghan?” she called in high voice as her gaze swept past him.

Arran spun about in time to see a blur of gold disappearing through the archway. “Never mind,” he muttered, hurrying after Breghan.

The long tables in the great hall were packed tightly with McAllen men-at-arms and every family from the village. Excited whispers hummed over the general shuffle of bodies, booted feet and children growing bored. Word had spread of Breghan’s temporary disappearance and everyone had an opinion. Arran had heard them all through the course of day. Popular consensus, at least amongst the women, was that Breghan would do better to throw herself off the North tower than submit to the Roxburgh Beast.

It took a moment for the crowd to realise something was happening, and by then Breghan had almost reached her father with Arran a good few paces behind. His jaw clenched as the whispering ceased. He didn’t take kindly to be seen running after his bride, no matter that she’d never be his bride or anything else. He’d spent the day deliberating Breghan’s finer qualities and completely forgotten her tendency to rash behaviour.

“Papa, please, ’tis important,” she was saying as Arran came up behind.

Arran gave the white-haired priest an apologetic grimace and turned to McAllen, whose black brows were drawn into a scowling line. “Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?”

McAllen’s gaze did a quick sweep of the hall, then he beckoned them toward the charter room with a gruff, “This will not take long,” to the priest.

Breghan followed her father inside the small chamber and Arran nearly got the door slammed on him. He shoved his foot in the doorway.

“I wish to speak to my father alone,” Breghan said.

“I wish to speak to him together.” Arran grabbed the edge of the door and easily pushed it all the way open.

“Do you always have to force your will?” She glared at him, standing firmly in the doorway to block his passage. “I have a matter of some delicacy to—”

“Breghan,” McAllen barked. “Let the man inside. He might have the patience of a saint to put up with this, but I have not.”

“You promised this was
my
choice,” Breghan hissed.

Arran lifted her at the waist. “I also promised to explain,” he said softly as he set her aside. “I canna shield you from blame if I’m not here.”

“But—” She jumped as he kicked the door closed behind him.

Feet braced far apart, arms folded, Arran looked past her to where McAllen stood. It didn’t take long for Breghan to accept he wasn’t going anywhere.

She swung about, set her shoulders back and marched the few steps to face her father. “Papa, I want your word that when—if I return after a year, I’ll be allowed to decide on any offers made for my hand.”

“What dangerous game are you up to now?” McAllen demanded, his thick brows pulled tight.

“I know you’ve turned down offers, without even mentioning them to me.” Although she spoke in a low voice, the chamber was too small to shield anything from Arran. “You may do with me as you will, but I’ll only proceed with this handfasting upon your oath that after a year I may then be wooed and courted as I please, that my next betrothal will be mine to accept or decline.”

Arran’s jaw fell slack. The rest of him coiled as tight as McAllen’s brows, from the tension pulling behind his neck to the fury whipped into his calf muscles.

She was using him.

She made a mockery of his noble gesture and a fool of the man.

More was said between father and daughter, fiercely whispered words that Arran could easily have heard if he’d been concentrating. He caught mention of the name Alexander Gordon and his mind blurred red. She already had someone in mind. Her heart was set on another man.

She’s using me to barter for another man.

He could almost not believe it.

They hadn’t even gone before the priest and already she was cuckolding him.

McAllen lifted his gaze and Arran read the alarm in that blue-eyed stare. He knew his own face must read like thunder and he had no wish to mask it. Feuds had been borne from far, far less.

He could walk out of here right now and leave McAllen to stew over when and where the Kerr might retaliate at this insult. This time, Breghan had truly pushed beyond his boundaries. Her outrageous actions and reactions, he could just about temper. There was a wildness in her spirit that drove her to challenge and refute long after the cause was lost. That he could tolerate, even marvel at once the blackness left his mood.

“All I ask—”

“Enough.” McAllen’s rasp cut through his daughter’s plea. His eyes never once broke contact with Arran. “If you cannot hold your tongue, by God, I’ll cut it out.”

If I leave now, McAllen will flay his daughter.
No, Arran reasoned, he would likely send Breghan to the convent with her aunt until the storm passed. There was naught to keep him here.

Except his honour.

Breghan may have stripped everything noble from his intentions, but he’d bestowed that power upon her and failed to place any restriction.
I’m giving you the choice.

Either she’d bewitched him or he was truly a simple fool. With a stiff nod, Arran indicated his consent.

“Very well,” McAllen told Breghan. “You have my word.”

She had the sense to follow her father out with the briefest glance his way.

Breghan stood before the priest and kept her eyes on his terse smile. He was clearly not amused and with good cause. He’d been summoned to perform a wedding, been told it was a handfasting instead, and then the relevant parties had disappeared for conference.

Silence filled the great hall like a tangible presence. Even the younger children had succumbed to the mounting tension. Breghan looked neither left nor right, wondering if it would come to the priest performing no duty at all. Arran hadn’t followed immediately and she knew not if he would.

Curse the man. She’d asked to speak with her father in private. She could have done nothing different. She needed her father’s assurance before she sacrificed herself to Arran Kerr for a year. And now… A shiver rolled down her spine. The year ahead held little merit. She’d either be bound to a man who no doubt considered himself crossed and used, or she’d be left behind with her father’s wrath. She’d risked everything for a chance to determine her own happiness.