Bedding the Enemy (10 page)

“I will be just fine. I assure you that I am strong enough to withstand a temper tantrum from Edmund.” She lifted her chin away from his hand, unwilling to allow herself the comfort. Strength was what kept a person going. She mustn't weaken. Edmund would exploit it.

Keir's lips twitched again. But there was nothing nice about the grin that showed his teeth to her.

“I know ye are stronger. But I'll no' be standing by while that whelp punishes ye for something I accused him of doing. It was nae yer word that colored him guilty.”

“But the king didn't trust you—” She stepped back and covered her lips with a hand. “I didn't mean to speak harshly.”

“Ye spoke the truth as ye witnessed it. Jamie was nae sure what to think of me. He'd never laid eyes on me and only had my father and older brothers to draw memory of McQuade values from.” He shook his head. “Ye spoke in my defense and that is nae something that I'll be allowing to be punished.”

“But there is nothing you can do to prevent the way Edmund deals with me. It is best to leave matters.”

He reached across the space between them and stroked her uninjured cheek. Sweet pleasure crossed her flesh, driving some of the chill from her body.

“I do enjoy it when ye issue me a challenge, lass.” There was a glint in his eyes that was hard and determined. “Be very sure that I intend to meet it head-on.”

He turned his attention to the housekeeper. The woman jumped, a startled sound coming out of her mouth when Keir held up a solid silver pound. Her eyes rounded, one hand rising, but she didn't reach for the coin. Shock and disbelief held her frozen.

“Take good care of yer mistress. I will return.”

He placed the silver in her palm. The woman lowered herself, but Keir had swept from the room along with his men before she finished. A gust of night air brushed Helena's face as the front door was opened on the lower floor.

“Well now. Indeed, I've never seen the like.”

The housekeeper tucked the silver into a pouch that hung from her belt. She patted it before looking at Helena.

“My Christian name is Margery. I'm going to get that young Avis to haul in some water for bathing.”

Helena wished the idea of a bath didn't send such joy through her. She wanted to refuse because it was yet another thing that money bought. She was so weary of the bribes and false friendship offered to her brother because of his power and fortune. Oh, she was harsh to think poorly of Margery—that coin was several months' pay for a housekeeper. Pride did nothing to soothe hunger, pain, or the bite of winter.

But this was bought with Keir's coin…

And that left her at the mercy of her feelings. She shook her head to dispel them. She did not know him. One encounter ripe with flirting did not tell a person anything about another. It was just the imprisonment that had her wanting to smile as though her gallant knight had just rescued her.

She did smile. There was no stopping her lips from curving. Keir was gallant. No matter what, she would never stop believing in that. If that made her whimsical, so be it.

But her eyes swept the room, and all around her were Edmund's things. His armor and bow. Dress swords that sat gleaming in the firelight. There were ruffs set carefully on stands, the lace starched and pressed in preparation for the master to wear them to court. The entire chamber was used just to display his wardrobe so that he might walk among his things and easily select what he wanted without waiting for things to be brought out of closets.

It was the reason she slept in the attic. Edmund used all the chambers on the second floor for his personal things. He refused to have them placed in trunks. Instead, every suit of clothing was hung from the walls, every pair of shoes displayed so that he might walk in and see every option for dressing each morning. Even his personal saddles were kept on the bed that she should have been sleeping in. Their ornate decoration declared how much her brother valued himself. Everything he owned had to be decorated and of the highest quality. There was not a single pair of sturdy boots in sight. Nothing there was merely made for purpose instead of presentation. Each shirt had lace and embroidery. Every doublet was sewn with gold or silver bangles.

The selfishness sickened her.

“I'll bathe in the kitchen, Margery.”

The housekeeper couldn't suppress her smile. It was pure relief because she would be saved the chore of hauling water up a flight of stairs.

“I do not belong here and I've no desire to be the mistress of this place.”

But that left her with little. Despair had been stalking her for days and she was becoming familiar with its icy touch. Yet she was still not sorry. No hint of repentance lived in her heart. Edmund might think he was punishing her but the truth was her brother was intent on breaking her spirit. And that was the one thing she would not allow him to touch.

K
eir found the fop gambling at an inn on the south side of London. It reminded Keir of the lodging he was renting. The place smelled like stale ale and unwashed bodies. Prostitutes mingled with the customers, many of them displaying their nude breasts, to the delight of their audience. But they were quick to slap any hand that tried to touch without paying.

“Are you in or not, Ronchford?”

Edmund Knyvett was soaked in wine, as were his companions. They occupied a large table that had silver and gold coins sitting on it. More money than some of the onlookers might see in an entire year was wagered on the turn of a card. But they didn't even notice the hungry eyes of those watching. Keir felt his disgust rise another notch. Edmund Knyvett was so arrogant, so expectant of being given his noble due that the man never entertained the idea of having to fend for himself.

It sickened Keir. His own men surrounded him, but he did not plan to lead them without having the same skills that they all did. The day he was their weakest link was the day that he was dead and buried.

“If you want to lose some more. Fine with me, Edmund.”

Ronchford's hair was greasy and his once-fine doublet was a tattered rag. His men looked like dockside thugs and they were eyeing the growing pile of coins with bright eyes. Edmund was too drunk to recognize the signs of an impending ambush, and his men were busy fondling the prostitutes. A slight motion caught Keir's attention and he watched as one of Ronchford's men pressed a silver penny into a girl's hand. She hid it quickly and then unlaced her bodice, to the delight of the Knyvett retainers.

“That's a sorry excuse for a man.” Farrell shook his head.

“Aye, indeed it is.”

“He's no' even worth thrashing in that condition. He'd no' feel it until he sobered up.”

“Aye.”

But there was always more than one way to settle a score. Keir bit back the urge to punch the arrogant bastard in spite of how intoxicated he was. He'd learned under his father's rule to plan his attacks wisely or taste bitter defeat. Sometimes, getting what you wanted meant looking for another route.

“Tell the lads to keep their eyes open and their mouths closed. We'll do our drinking someplace less likely to end us with slit throats.”

“Aye, that's for sure.” Farrell glanced behind them and shook his head. “What's yer plan?”

“I'm going to join the game.”

Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

“It is.” Keir walked forward and took a chair before the two men bothered to investigate who was invading their space. Edmund slammed his tankard down with a thud, but Keir tossed a full bag of coins onto the table. The sound of money drew more interest from Ronchford than Edmund's displeasure.

“You're not welcome at this table…Scot!” Edmund sneered and lifted his tankard to take another huge swallow.

Keir patted his purse. “Is that a fact?” The coins hit one another, giving off a faint tinkling sound. It drew smiles from Ronchford's men and even some of Edmund's. The lordling tried to remain disgruntled but his gaze strayed to the leather bag, greed flickering in his eyes.

“I like him well enough. His money is my kind of friend.” Ronchford snapped his fingers and a wench bent over the table to deliver a tankard to Keir. Her breasts almost brushed his nose but the scent of her unwashed skin made it simple to ignore her.

Helena was so much sweeter….

Keir shook off the thought, banishing Helena to a corner of his mind. He needed his attention on the men in front of him.

Edmund growled but his eyes shifted to the money. “Fine. You want to lose your money? I'll be happy to take it.”

There might have only been three of them playing, but the game was the center of attention. Keir studied Edmund and Ronchford, but only Ronchford was as intent as he was. Edmund had dismissed him already, believing himself superior. Keir lost the first hand just to encourage that assumption. But it was Ronchford who scraped the money toward himself. Keir almost felt sorry for Edmund Knyvett. The boy wasn't the first noble to run into men like Ronchford: men who made their fortunes by stripping it from noblemen who had never been anywhere that their blue blood didn't pave the way to success for them.

He also wasn't the first to believe that being born into a noble family made him better than those around him.

But Helena's face rose to the front of his thoughts and all mercy died. The cards were dealt out again and Keir tightened his attention to the task at hand. An hour later Ronchford's men were growling at his own. Every McQuade clansman was becoming more eager to give them what their grumbling asked for. Edmund's money had dwindled to a few coins.

“I'm bored.” He waved his hand over the table.

“Don't be a sore loser, laddie.” Keir patted the pile in front of him. “Mind ye, I'll be happy to give you a round to take it back from me.”

Ronchford licked his lower lip. “He's out of coin.”

Edmund sniffed. “A Knyvett is never out of coin.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A neatly dressed man instantly answered the summons, although there wasn't a look of subservience in his eyes. It was more calculated, more knowledgeable than that. Keir studied the man, picking out the details of fine tailoring in the man's doublet. There wasn't any of the gold beading or lavish lace such as Edmund wore, but there was piping and corded buttons that displayed the same level of tailoring. The only difference was the materials. The man had money, no doubt about it, and his presence in the gaming house told Keir he was a loan merchant. Part of the middle class who made good profit off making loans to the nobles.

A fat purse landed on the table in front of Edmund. He smirked and arched an eyebrow at Ronchford.

“I say we dispense with this toying about.” He slid the entire amount into the center of the table. Ronchford matched him, greed brightening his face.

“I'm game.” Keir tossed his own gold into the pile and waited for his cards. Part of him was fighting the urge to remain at the table. That was McQuade money and he was still not accustomed to considering it his due as laird. But fortune favored the bold. Besides, he still had plenty of coin left in front of him, courtesy of Edmund's intoxicated betting. Keir let his head tilt to one side, his eyes closing to slits. Ronchford smiled before shifting his attention back to his own cards. Edmund wasn't as candid. The lordling chuckled.

“Do you like the wine, Scot? I hear it's difficult to come by in Scotland.”

“That it is. Must explain why I've enjoyed so much of it.” Keir lift the tankard to his lips and took a swallow. Edmund watched him, glee dancing in his eyes. He looked back down at his cards, his emotions showing plainly on his face. Keir put the tankard down close to the edge of the table. Farrell slipped it off, replacing it with an empty one, just as he'd done several times during the night. The serving girl refilled it a few moments later, to Ronchford's delight.

Predators. Keir had never seen men that reminded him more of a pair of predators. Their only desire was to feed and please themselves.

Keir held his emotions behind a carefully controlled mask of drink-induced jovialness. Inside he was disgusted. The pair of them were little better than thieves or wolves. They targeted the weak.

Edmund turned his cards over with a flourish. Ronchford smiled and showed his own. The man was already reaching for the money when Keir tapped the tabletop. It was a soft sound, but everyone was focused on the high-stakes game.

“It looks like luck favors me this round.” Keir slurred his words just a small amount.

Ronchford cursed. His fist hit the table, making the coins bounce. He stared at the cards and cursed once more.

A second later he pushed back from his spot, his chair legs skidding on the floor. He scraped his remaining coins back into a purse. “I'm done with playing with Scots.”

“Oh, such a shame.” Keir pulled his winnings toward him and took another swallow of wine. Edmund was silent, his attention on the pile of money in front of him. Keir fondled it, sliding his hand into the coins and allowing them to slip through his fingers.

“Nothing sounds quite like that, now does it, laddie.” Keir announced.

Edmund looked across the room, but the loan merchant shook his head. Anger turned his face red and his gaze returned to the pile of gold and silver coins in front of Keir.

“What are ye going to do with that much coin? Buy sheep?” Edmund demanded

It was a common slur, one that Keir had heard before. The English nobility considered Scotland a barbaric place, devoid of modern homes and comforts. It was an attitude most of his fellow lairds enjoyed allowing to flourish. It kept the English out of their ancestral lands.

“Well now…I do enjoy knowing we've got sheep aplenty.” Keir rolled his head and lifted the wine tankard to his lips. Edmund leaned forward.

“You should set your sights on English land.”

Keir opened his eyes wide. “Now, where would I find a man willing to sell me land? Ye English nobles enjoy keeping that in the family.”

Keir allowed a thick brogue to settle over his words. Edmund reached into his doublet.

“My sister has a dowry that includes a rich parcel of land.”

“I thought ye didna care for me, laddie.” The lordling winced when he called him laddie once again. “Why would ye offer me the chance to marry into the family?”

“I like your money.”

“Och now. That's the sort of thing I can be appreciating.” Keir took another swig of wine. “Let me see it.”

Edmund tightened his fingers around the parchment. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Nae afore I've looked at it, we don't.”

Edmund hesitated. The parchment crinkled but he extended it. Keir had to control the urge to snatch it out of his hand. He made his movements slow and uncoordinated.

“Well now. Isna that a sweet document. 'Course, it wouldna mean anything unless it were signed and sealed.”

“My father's seal is on it.”

“Och now, are ye saying that yer daddy is the one I need to be negotiating with, laddie?”

Edmund's face turned red. He reached for a candle. “My father is no longer running his estate. Everything is mine to direct. And I want everything in front of you for the land. You get Helena for your wife but not a shilling more. Only the land that is her dowry.”

“Sounds better than sheep. Doesn't it, lads?”

His men didn't disappoint him. They slapped their thighs and chuckled, making a few heated jests along with it. Edmund saw exactly what he wanted to see—a bunch of ignorant Scots who were easily duped. That was something his fellow Scots had been using against the English for centuries—their own arrogance. Edmund smirked, his confidence in his superiority restored.

“Well then, sign it and we have a deal.”

Cold-blooded whelp…

The only sympathy Keir had was for the mother who had once rejoiced at Edmund's birth. It was a shame that his father had failed to mold him into a man. He poured melted wax from the candle onto the parchment and pressed his own signet ring into it. Keir suppressed a shudder for the callous way he signed over his sister.

But he did nothing to stop the burning flow of satisfaction that filled him when the parchment was handed back to him.

His…

Such a powerful idea. Beneath his kilt his cock hardened.

“Och, well I think it's time for ye to be heading home, laird.” Farrell patted him on the shoulder, a couple of other men helping.

“Is it now?” Keir played his part, smiling at his men while Edmund was absorbed with the pile of coins gleaming in the candlelight.

“So it is.” He tucked the parchment into his doublet while his men pushed him through the door. They laughed and staggered until they stepped onto the street. The second they did, every man straightened. Their pace increased tenfold on the way to the stable where they'd left their horses.

Keir swung onto his horse, his men only a breath behind him. “Let's clear away from here, lads.” Before Edmund set some of the low-life scum hiding in the dark corners of the tavern after the document that would allow him to claim Helena.

By the time Edmund's men gave chase, there wasn't a McQuade kilt in sight, the night masking them and the drink the English had partaken of dulling their wits. They shrugged and looped their arms over the prostitutes, giving them their attention.

Scots. They were only Scots….

 

Edmund Knyvett smiled. He was pleased. Only a mild amount of annoyance interfered with his happiness when his men failed to return with the parchment. He was not concerned. The parchment meant little. Why, it might take years for him to decide that Helena was ready to take her marriage vows. Her dowry and its rents remained his until she knelt at the altar.

Gullible Scot. He needed to play cards with the man again.

 

“That bastard sold ye his sister?” Farrell asked the question for the third time.

Keir merely shrugged. “If I say anything, it's bound to be something profane which would be a wee bit misplaced, considering I'm happy with the bargain.”

“Ah, but will the lassie be happy with it? Now there's the question. What are ye going to do with an English noblewoman on McQuade land?”

Keir rubbed his chin. Tension knotted his shoulders. Helena Knyvett was everything he'd hoped to bring back in a wife. Even if her brother detested him, her family relations wouldn't risk offending him. They'd all consider that Edmund didn't have a son of his own and that fate might deliver the title he was set to inherit into Helena's children's hands.

Aye, that was what he'd set out to accomplish. But the tension tightened. He'd never been unkind to a woman before. Locking Helena into a marriage that might not please her left a bitter taste in his mouth. But his responsibilities as laird saw him riding toward court at first light. 'Twas a laird's duty to bring home a wife whose dowry would add to his clan's estate. He was locked into it as surely as Helena, whose own family would see her wedding for position. The only comfort was in knowing that she'd never feel his fist against her cheek.