The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (23 page)

This wasn’t proper. They weren’t betrothed or married. He was another’s.

She didn’t care.

She floated on a wave of unfamiliar sensation. A dizzying rush of excitement sped along her nerves. He was the cause. He was the only man who’d ever made her feel this way.

Roark’s tongue touched hers. She was undone. If the building erupted into flames, the scorching heat would be nothing compared to the fire thrumming through every fiber of her being. It settled molten and heavy between her thighs.

Appetite whetted, she wrapped her arms around his neck, meshing her breasts against him. This felt absolutely perfect, like the sweetest of homecomings. She couldn’t get close enough, was desperate to be a part of him, have him be a part of her. She breathed in his musky smoke-tinged scent, even as her tongue partnered with his.

His mouth tasted of wine and berry. She sighed when he ran his hands through her hair, the last of the pins pinging onto the floor. What would it be like to have those hands roam over her bare flesh? Desire flooded her, leaving her weak and wanting.

“Feel what you do to me, vixen,” he murmured against her mouth, arching his hips into her belly and cupping her bottom, holding her firmly.

His hardness throbbed against her softness. Perfection.

With a tremendous clunk, the door slammed shut rattling the windows. Wrenching her mouth from Roark’s, Adaira spun around.

Brayan loomed before the entry. He’d a drunken sneer on his face, a bottle of whisky in one giant paw of a hand, and an ugly looking knife in the other.

CHAPTER 24

Numbing fear surged from Adaira’s mangled slippers to her unbound hair. She shoved the wild strands behind her ears. Devil it, but she wished she had her crop. Brayan might think twice before engaging her with a blade. He knew her skill, and besides, Roark was prepared to do battle as well.

This tears it
.

She was carrying a dagger strapped to her thigh from now on. If she managed to extricate herself from this unholy situation alive.

“Who are you, and what business have you here?” Roark edged in front of her, his body rigid. He fisted his hands at his sides, prepared, she was sure, to defend both of them. He scowled. “Didn’t I see you at Craiglocky?”

Placing her hand on his arm, her voice low, she said, “He’s Brayan McVey of my clan, though I have no idea why he’s here.”

Roark slid a sidelong glance to the window nearest him. She peered through the hazy glass as well. The blaze appeared to have diminished a trifle. The barn that remained standing continued to spew turbulent flames, however. Shadowy forms darted here and there, their shouts muted by the commotion outside and the walls of the solid structure surrounding her.

She looked to Roark. Would anyone notice he was missing? Not likely, leastways, not for a while. No one had seen him enter the coach house, save her. Had she and Brayan gone undetected too?

Help would not be forthcoming unless God intervened. She sent up a silent prayer.

Please, God. Tell someone.

Without a weapon, Roark stood less than a fox’s chance during a hunt against Brayan.
A weapon
. They needed a weapon. She searched wildly around the building. There in the corner, beside the dusty window, was a workbench with tools lying atop it. Surely there was something there that would suffice.

Lifting her chin, she stepped forward. “Why are you here? Are you responsible for the fires?”

Raising the bottle, Brayan took a deep gulp, then shuddered. He gestured in Roark’s direction, giving her a drunken grin. “Did ye think I’d let some dandified sot take ye from me, Addy? Yer mine. I told ye so.”

He narrowed his eyes, rage suddenly contorting his face. “I saw ye acting the
hoore
with him, rubbing yer teats against his chest, wiggling your arse—”

A flush of humiliation scourged her. She wasn’t ashamed of her response to Roark, but having someone watch them together was mortifying. And sickening. What kind of a person did that? Watched people’s most intimate moments. She shivered. It was unnatural.

“Enough.” Roark’s calm tone belied the indigo fire in his eyes. A vein pulsed in his temple, the only other indication of his outrage. “Don’t you dare address her so foully.”

Brayan lurched forward a few steps, his nostrils flaring in ire. “Ye think to make me?” Eyeing Roark scornfully, he scoffed. “I can snap yer neck like a twig. I’ve done it before.”

Adaira gasped, clutching a hand to her throat. How could she have known Brayan for so long and not seen this depravity? Was he bluffing? Had he truly broken someone’s neck? Whose?

Despite the oppressive heat of the building a chill stung her. She hugged herself. Had it been an accident? The satisfied gleam in his eyes and the arrogant smirk skewing his mouth told her no.

She took a couple steps in the direction of the workbench. When he didn’t notice, she dared a few more until she stood near the front of the landau. A trickle of fear-induced sweat slid down her spine.

Brayan wiped his nose on the back of his hand, sniggering. “Did Addy tell ye she’s soiled goods?”

He pointed at her with the knife. “She’s been despoiled. I caught her with ‘im, in Craiglochy’s dungeon.”

A wave of dizziness slammed into her. The dim light swirled and roaring echoed in her ears.

God in heaven. He saw? Before? How?

He’d never said anything. Trembling, she grasped at the carriage, her legs gone weak in remembered terror. She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. Her breath came in short, painful huffs. Closing her eyes she struggled to gather her scattered wits. She wouldn’t faint. She couldn’t be of help to Roark if she was an insensate lump on the ground.

Roark also inched nearer the window. Was he of the same mind as she?

Brayan took another healthy swig before ranting on. “She taunted Godwin that summer, parading around in those tight breeches, carrying on like a
hoore
.”

Bile surged, bitter and hot, to her tongue. She swallowed against the burning in her throat. Holding her stomach, she shook her head and threw Roark a frantic glance. “No, I didn’t wear breeches until after he attacked me.”

His unreadable gaze skimmed over her, then Brayan. Roark glided closer to the worktable.

“Nae man could stand the temptation.” Brayan had the audacity to wink at Roark.

He froze, mid-step. Brayan seemed oblivious to Roark’s change in position.

How foxed was Brayan? Or, was he so cocksure of himself, he didn’t think Roark was a threat?

“I don’t blame ye, Clarendon, for succumbing to her wiles.”

“You whoreson, shut your filthy mouth!” Roark bellowed, taking a step in Brayan’s direction.

No, Roark. Get a weapon.

Brayan ignored him. “I saw Godwin follow her in the keep’s dungeon that day.” He took another quaff, then chuckled, a wicked, sickening sound. “Ye had the pleasure of abiding in the cell he had his way with her in.”

An inarticulate sound ripped from Roark’s throat. His shock-filled gaze swept her, blanketing her in icy scorn. He was nearly to the window. Three or four more steps, and he’d be there.

Brayan, in his drunken arrogance and intent on blathering lies, didn’t seem to notice.

“I saw most of it,” he boasted.

He droned on, sparing no details, ripping down Adaira’s carefully constructed barriers. Making her see and hear and smell everything that happened that awful day all over again. Nausea surged to her throat. She gulped, then gulped again.

Oh God, I’m going to be sick.

Brayan emptied the bottle. He pitched it on the floor. It clanked loudly, a jagged crack splitting the green glass before it rolled to stop against the landau’s wheel. “I’ve had her, too, dozens of times. She’s not discreet with her favors. When she gets the itch, she’ll spread her thighs for anything in a kilt . . . or pantaloons, it seems.”

How dare he, the bloody liar? Livid, she shook her head, her hair swinging around her shoulders and back. “No, that’s not true!”

Adaira half-turned to look at Roark. A mask of cold fury settled on his stony face. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His nostrils flared with rage. It was the murderous glint sparkling in his eyes that sent her breath whooshing from her lungs. Whom was his rage directed toward?

Surely Roark didn’t think so little of her, he believed Brayan. Did he? She turned to Brayan, outraged.

“Aye, me lord. I know it rips at yer gut. I begged her to marry me. To see her carry on with other men tore out me heart, but what was I to do? I love the lass. I would have tamed her, though. Bedded her often and fierce. She’d never yearn for another.”

Lust tinged Brayan’s eyes and voice.

Roark shot her a sidelong glance full of disgust and loathing. A blow from a blade would have been less painful. Destruction reigned outside while inside, Brayan’s insidious lies shredded what remaining dignity Adaira had salvaged.

Roark believed Brayan. She shouldn’t be surprised. Why did it hurt so intolerably? Still, she tried to convince Roark otherwise.

“He’s lying. I was never with him or anyone else.” Lifting her hand in entreaty, she pleaded with Roark. The cold indifference on his face caused something unnamed to wilt within her. She licked her lips. “I don’t remember much of the other—”

Oh God, I truly might cast up my accounts
.
I must make him understand.

“When I regained consciousness, Godwin was gone.”

She swung to look at Brayan, then frowned struggling to remember.
The shadowy form beyond the cell
. It had been him. “You were there! Why didn’t you stop Godwin?”

Brayan’s lower lip trembled. Adaira stood stock-still as his face crumbled like a small lads. Giant tears seeped from his eyes. “He was hurting ye, Addy. I heard yer screams. I couldn’t let him hurt ye.”

“You did let him hurt me,” Adaira accused. “You let him assault me!”

In an instant, Brayan’s demeanor changed to one of outraged condemnation. “Ye brought it on yerself, lass. Ye ken ye did. I thought it would teach ye a lesson.”

“You bastard.” Roark was on him in a flash.

Despite his drunkenness, Brayan’s swing was accurate. His fist connected solidly with Roark’s jaw. The impact flung him against the barouche. His head smacked the side with a horrifying thud. He slid to the floor where he lay unmoving.

“Roark!” Adaira screamed, running to kneel beside him. Blood trickled from a cut above his temple. Livid, she rounded on Brayan.

“Are you insane? I’ll never be yours. Do you hear me? Never. You’re despicable, watching Godwin attack me and doing nothing.”

A puzzled look skittered across Brayan’s face. He gazed at her, his hazel eyes confused and forlorn. Sweat ran in long rivulets down his wide face. “But, Addy, I stopped him.”

His expression cleared. He grinned like a lad redeemed after a scolding. He slapped his forehead. “I forgot. Ye fainted. I killed him for you. I broke his neck with one twist. I weighted him down with stones and dumped him in the loch. That’s how much I love you, Addy.”

He’d killed Godwin and expected her to be grateful?

“How noble of you. You could have stopped him, should have stopped him before he ruined me.” She blotted at the blood on Roark’s cheek. “And what of your lies about me? Telling Roark I’d been with you and others.”

A sob caught in her throat. His betrayal wounded her raw and deep. “Why did you do that? I thought you were my friend.”

Brayan’s demeanor changed again. He twisted his lips into a nasty grin of triumph. “Because ye never wanted me. I hung around ye like a stray dog, waiting for a morsel of affection from ye. I’ve loved ye for as long as I can recall, and ye’ve always acted too good for me.”

He truly was off his head.

Shuffling her way, he nodded and muttered to himself. “McTavish and Ferguson will see it my way. They’ll not want the wench ruined and left unwed. Yes, I’ll sample her charms, and they’ll be grateful to have me take her off their hands. She’s been a troublesome lass, for certain.”

Frantic, Adaira shot a desperate glance to the door. She’d never make it. And what of Roark? She wouldn’t leave him to Brayan’s crazed justice.

He lumbered closer, weaving as the alcohol he’d gulped made its effects known. How much more had he drunk? He lifted his foot to kick Roark in the side.

“Don’t, Brayan! He’s already hurt.”

Her memory shifted to another time Roark lay unconscious. She’d spoken those exact words. Except now, she was desperate to protect him. When had her distrust and aversion become, well, she wasn’t certain what it was she felt for him, but the emotion warmed her heart and quickened her pulse.

At her cry, Brayan turned rapidly, causing him to teeter unsteadily. His cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, he chuckled. “I think I nipped a wee bit too mushhh.”

He glanced at Roark and glowered. “You’ll not be having your fancy English gent.”

Adaira scooted backward, until her back slammed against the landau. Something nudged her bottom. The whisky bottle. Sliding her hand behind her, she grasped its neck.

Brayan staggered closer.

“Brayan, please listen. Don’t do this. You’ve been my dearest friend.” She contrived what she hoped was a convincing smile.

Keep him talking and off guard
. She braved a sideways glance at Roark.
And keep him away from Roark.

She edged along the landau, halting like a cornered mouse when Brayan knelt before her. He touched her face with his callused, dirty forefinger. Adaira forced herself not to cringe as sweat, stale ale, and the ever present odor of fish assailed her.

“I mean to have ye, lashh. Once yer mine, ye’ll have to marry me. You’ll be disgraced.”

A dash of hope heartened her. He was feeling the effects of the whisky. His slurred speech and uncoordinated movements confirmed it. Bending, he tried to kiss her.

Adaira turned her head away, resisting the urge to retch. He didn’t stop, but rained wet kisses on her neck and shoulder. She shoved her free hand between them. “Stop it! You’re no better than Godwin.”

Brayan stiffened in fury.

Oh, she’d done it. Madness glowed in his drunken gaze.

He fell on her savagely, his weight driving the breath from her lungs and a scream from her throat. Her hand lay trapped beneath her, still clutching the bottle. Her shoulder shrieked in protest at the awkward angle and his great bulk bearing down atop her. His bristly stubble scratched her tender skin. His fat lips weaved a sloppy wet trail across her cheek before he slammed his mouth on hers.

No, this couldn’t happen again.

God, don’t let this happen again.

She yanked at his hair with her free hand. He didn’t budge. He forced his tongue into her mouth. Adaira gagged. She’d not make this easy or painless for him. She bit him. Hard. He roared in fury and slapped her face, leaving the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.