The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (15 page)

One must obey society’s dictates, no matter how preposterous.

Seonaid gasped, a hand flying to her throat and a shadow falling across her features. She stared at Adaira transfixed, as though she saw something else.

One of her visions.

Cold dread sliced through Adaira. The hairs stood up on her arms and icy fingers of fear crawled down her spine. After all this time, had Seonaid finally seen something? What, bugger it?

Her back to Seonaid, Mother was unaware, and Yvette and Isobel had already wandered to the great hall. They hadn’t seen Seonaid’s reaction either.

“We’re having stovies and clootie dumpling for dinner tonight.” Mother smoothed a wayward wisp of hair behind Adaira’s ear. “We’ve missed you dining with us.”

She gently grasped Adaira’s shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. Adaira recognized compassion and resolve in Mother’s gaze.

“Lord Clarendon’s not an ogre.”

No, he’s a ruddy trow. The devil’s spawn.

Mother smiled, knowingly. “He’s being most generous, and I believe you know that too. You’ll have to face him eventually. It would be best to get it over with,
chére
, sooner than later.”

Why, so Adaira could be ridiculed and found wanting? So he could catalogue her shortcomings and make her feel more inadequate as a woman? So she’d have to remember their not altogether unpleasant kiss?

Fine then, wholly delicious kiss?

Her stomach fluttered and that peculiar quivering began between her legs again.

“I know. It’s just that. . .” She sucked in a shaky breath. “He makes me. . .”

He makes me feel beneath his touch.

She shrugged lightly and shook her head, before lowering her gaze. “I cannot. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

She never would be. When did she become a coward? She peeked at Seonaid through her lashes. Her sister had regained her composure, but her mouth was drawn into a firm line, her amber eyes flashing with indignation.

Confound it. She
had
seen something. But what?

His lordship kissing Adaira in the stables? Heaven forbid, Godwin’s attack? Or, something that as yet had not occurred?

Leaving her mother standing in the doorway, Adaira opened the parasol. Angling it over her shoulder, she descended two steps before sending a forced smile over her other shoulder. “I’ll try to hurry, so I can join you for tea.”

Mother’s eyes brightened
. “
That would be
magnifique,
chérie
.”

With another quick glance at Seonaid’s strained face, Adaira made her way toward the stables. Chickens cackled and scampered out of her path.

She avoided eye contact with the clan members going about their tasks in the bailey. She felt like an outsider amongst the people she’d known her entire life. She tilted the parasol, hiding her face in its protective shadow. The dratted thing was of some use after all. The copious layers of gaudy white lace drooping from the edge shielded her from the most curious stares, yet enabled her to covertly look about.

Niall stopped pounding whatever he was hammering and watched her pass. His kind gaze held pity as well. No doubt Maisey had filled his ears. Adaira’s cheeks heated. Another bulky form emerged from the blacksmith’s lean-to.

Brayan?

She didn’t wait to find out, but quickened her pace. Never had the stable seemed so far from the gatehouse.

The month away from her horses would be unbearable.

Darts of sadness and despair pricked her. How could she endure an entire Season without them? She’d decided a Season was the lesser, and shorter, evil of the two repugnant choices his lordship had presented her.

Perhaps Father would permit her to bring Fionn to London. Wasn’t riding in Hyde Park all the crack? Or, was that Rotten Row? Wait, wasn’t Rotten Row in Hyde Park?

She dared a quick glance around her. No one else seemed to be paying her any mind. Venturing to the stables proved humiliating, nonetheless. The stable hands treated her no differently since the mortifying thrashing, yet she burned with self-consciousness. Surely they had told others about the incident, unless his lordship had paid them not to. She wouldn’t put bribery past him.

The earl wouldn’t mention it to anyone, and she’d eat the mire in the hog pen before she whispered a word of the degrading spanking. Father hadn’t confronted her, so he must not know. Ewan hadn’t breathed a hint he knew anything untoward had occurred that night either.

Lord Clarendon had kissed her and laid hands on her, both sufficient reasons to be called out. Ewan was a dab hand with pistols. She was certain he’d be the winner of such a match. The notion didn’t bring her joy. While the earl was a prickly thorn in her side, she didn’t wish him harm.

Adaira took another peek around her. A couple women broke into hushed whispers as she passed them. Heat warmed her cheeks.

Her unfortunate acquaintance with the earl had caused her to become unsure of herself. What was it about that blasted man that filled her with self-doubt? She’d always been confident and comfortable with her choices.

Until he appeared.
Now, she was uncertain. Nothing was clear anymore.

“Addy?” Heavy footsteps clomped behind her. “Addy, wait for me,” Brayan called.

Dash it all. Though the stables were still several yards farther on, she didn’t slow her pace. He grasped her elbow with a firm hand and forced her to stop or else make a scene. Adaira faced him, tilting the parasol until she met his eyes. She wanted to smack him with it, the rotten bounder.

“You forget yourself, Brayan.”

His grip tightened a fraction. She dropped her gaze to his large grime-smudged fingers encircling her arm before raising her eyes to meet his once more. She arched a brow in annoyance.

Anger flickered in his eyes, and a surly expression marred his features. “Why didn’t ye stop when I called ye? Ye’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

Raising a hand, his features softened as he smoothed a rough forefinger along her jaw. “I’ve missed ye, lass.”

His gaze sank to her breasts.

“What do you want?” Adaira took two steps backward, casting a furtive look around. What if Lord Clarendon was about? He couldn’t see her and Brayan speaking together.

Brayan puffed out a gusty breath, shoving a hand through his course hair. “I told ye. I’ve missed ye.”

He gave her one of his familiar lopsided grins. “Ye aren’t still vexed at me for stealing a kiss from ye?”

“Yes, Brayan, I am, but more so for your threat.” Casting her gaze to the ground, she said, “I never should have involved you. That was wrong, and I need to ask you to forgive me, especially since I abducted the wrong man.”

And this man, although not a spy or a traitor, was every bit as hard-hearted. She lifted her eyes to Brayan’s. “The earl can never learn you helped me.”

Adaira laid a hand on his forearm. His muscles contracted at her touch. He must be made to understand. “He’s a powerful lord, Brayan, and we broke the law. The consequences for you would be severe.”

Brayan scowled. “I’m not afraid of that dandified prig.”

Eyeing his bulging biceps, she murmured, “I’m sure you’re not, but that’s beside the point. We wronged him. He has every right to be livid. In truth, I’m somewhat astonished his retribution to me hasn’t been far harsher.”

Not that she was elated with what he required her to do to meet his approval.

Did she want his approval?

She doubted a Season in London could accomplish any such thing. Lord Clarendon had no way of knowing, no one had, that parading herself before the
ton
was akin to running naked as a robin through Hyde Park. Humiliating and torturous.

“Why are ye defending him?” Brayan’s eyes darkened, and a sinister glint appeared in their depths. “Are ye sweet on him?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I’ve seen the way the lasses be ogling him. I hear their sighs and whispers when he walks by.” Brayan grabbed her upper arm again. “Has he kissed ye?”

Adaira jerked her arm loose. “You go too far.”

“Nae,” he growled. “Nothing is too far when it comes to ye. I love ye, Addy. Ye are going to be mine. I’ve always known it.”

He lifted his head, staring intently over her parasol.

Is that why he’d made a point of telling Father he saw her and the earl leaving the stables? Was Brayan that jealous?

Adaira turned to see where he looked. Several grooms were engaged in various activities with horses inside the paddock. After giving them a cursory glance, she swiftly scanned the other men. Lord Clarendon wasn’t present. At least there was that to be grateful for.

Brayan’s hoarse words rang in her ears. “I’ve been patient, waiting for ye to realize we’re meant to be together. I won’t let another have ye.”

Adaira swung around to face him. “Brayan—”

She swallowed. Her words would wound him, but they must be said. They were long overdue, truth to tell. He’d become possessive and unreasonable.

“I am not yours, nor will I ever be,” she said. “I’ve loved you like a brother, but naught else.”

The stricken look on his face sliced straight to her heart.

“But ye will come to love me.” Desperation warped his face and voice.

“No. I won’t.”

Memories of another claiming she’d be his erupted to the surface. Her belly coiled, but she shoved the recollection aside. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “I don’t know if—”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, square on. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving any man.”

Why had she told him that?

“I . . . Ye don’t. . .” He slammed his mouth shut.

Fury and hurt fought for supremacy in his eyes. His jaw was rigid with repressed words and emotions. He spun away from her and tromped in the direction of the blacksmith’s before he switched course and broke into a run. Chickens and geese squawked and flapped their wings in alarm as he sprinted from the bailey, his boots stirring little billows of dust.

Tears filled Adaira’s eyes. She quickly dropped her gaze, blinking against the moisture. She’d lost her childhood friend this day. Her shoulders slumped. No, she’d lost him the day he threatened her. It had become final today. With a heavy heart and equally leaden feet, she resumed her journey to the stables.

Just outside the building, she lifted her focus from the dusty ground and searched the paddock for Fionn. A group of stable hands gathered round a newly broke mare at the far side of the paddock.

Ewan’s gargantuan McTavish relatives, his Uncle Duncan and cousins Gregor and Alasdair, clustered near the enclosure’s gate. Ewan, Dugall, and Callum lounged against the three-railed fence, each with one booted foot on the lowest rung.

His back to her, hands at his hips, Father stood beside them watching the horses go through their paces. It was unusual for all the men to be here. Most days they were in Craiglocky working on Yvette’s foundling house or woolen mill.

A movement caught Adaira’s eye. Ewan waved her over, but she pretended not to see. She was not pleased with him. Why was he collaborating with the earl? The enemy? He was
her
brother. His loyalty should be to her.

Idly sliding the topaz cross at her neck to-and-fro, she frowned. This entire misunderstanding was turning into a Cheltenham tragedy. She rolled her eyes upward at the irony. And men accused women of being melodramatic.

She bowed her head. The weight of condemnation and censure, albeit unpleasant, were bearable. And yes, somewhat merited. Less so was her family’s disloyalty.

Rotating the parasol, she blocked her view of the compound and effectively obstructed anyone from seeing her face as well. Fionn wasn’t in the paddock. Neither were Vala or Maximus.

Spinning on her heels, Adaira continued to the stables. Stepping into the hospitable coolness, she blinked several times while her eyes adjusted to the darker interior. A heady mixture of straw, manure, and liniment met her nostrils. After folding the parasol, she tucked it beneath her arm.

Fionn stretched his neck over his stall door and showing his teeth in a horsey grin, whinnied a welcome.

She chuckled. “Missed me, have you?”

She propped the parasol against the wall, then hurried to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I’ve missed you too. Forgive me for neglecting you. I’ve made a muddled mess of things, my friend.”

To her right another horse blew a hefty expanse of air before poking its head over the stall in greeting. Adaira ran a practiced eye over the beast. Not one of hers.

“Well, hello. Who are you, my lovely?” She smoothed a hand over the big mare’s satiny neck, coming to an abrupt halt and gasping when her fingers encountered a hardened scar. Adaira peered around the horse’s head. Even in the muted light she could see the rope-like mark encircling the mare’s neck.

“My God, you poor thing!”

Fionn nuzzled the mare. Was she coming into season?

“You became a father again mere weeks ago. Behave yourself. She’s not part of your harem, you rogue.” She caressed his silky neck, then kissed his muzzle. “I’m going to miss you.”

Tears threatened. He shifted restlessly. “I know. You want to gallop across the moors. I wish we could. I’m not permitted to ride you at present.”

She laid her head against his shoulder. “Everything has changed. I have to wear gowns now, even when I ride.”

Tears spilled from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. “And I have to use a sidesaddle. You’ll not like it, I’m afraid. I won’t either.”

Contemptible tears. She wiped at her eyes with her fingers. She’d no handkerchief with her. The delicate cloth still lay on the floor in her bedchamber. “We’ll never race across the meadows,
ventre a terre
, belly to ground, again. It’s unladylike.”

She gave up trying to stifle her tears. Clinging to Fionn, she gave way to the grief ripping at her heart. “Nothing will ever be the same,” she sobbed. “I’ve made a powerful enemy, and he’s determined to destroy me.”

Strong arms turned her into a masculine embrace. “Not destroy. Subdue a trifle.”