Bedding the Enemy (14 page)

“You want me to…to be a bold wife?” Wicked and tempting, the idea caught fire inside her.

“Aye.”

His mouth took hers with a hunger that stole her breath. All teasing was missing from the kiss. He took her mouth and thrust his tongue in deeply, invading and stroking along hers until she mimicked his motions with her own. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her prisoner while the kiss continued. Heat rose between them until she hated her dress, hated the shirt keeping her fingers from making contact with his skin. She clawed at his shoulders, a faint tearing sound startling her.

It drew a chuckle from Keir. He lifted his head, grinning at her. His expression was too full of arrogance.

She slapped him on the broad chest that fascinated her too much.

“You are toying with me.”

“Not so. But it's the truth that I'm hoping I've heated ye up enough to share my frustration with ye.”

He pulled her up onto his lap once more; the way he moved her so effortlessly, she shivered.

He smoothed a hand down her back in response. “Are ye truly frightened of sharing my bed?”

She longed for it….

Helena bit her lip, shocked yet excited by her thoughts. He snarled softly, frustrated by her silence. He buried his head against her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin and placing soft kisses against her throat.

The carriage stopped and she heard him mutter in Gaelic.

“I suppose ye'll be leaving me to wonder why ye shuddered and no' answered.”

“Does it matter? This carriage confirms that I must wed you.”

He sat her on the opposite seat, his face set back into a blank expression.

“It matters to me, and I will know why ye wept last night. I swear it.”

The door opened and pain pierced her heart for disappointing him. That was the one thing she dare not risk telling him. It was the only fear she had because it was the only thing that she could count as her own. She did not enjoying seeing him unhappy with her silence. He frowned, reading her refusal from her face. But his eyes glittered with renewed challenge.

“All right then, Helena. Do yer best to push me away, but I'm giving ye fair warning that I will not budge. Ye belong to me.”

The queen's chambers…

“Well now. Ye are wedding the man who made ye blush after all.” Raelin McKorey was forcing a smile onto her lips. Helena knew it because she recognized the strain in her eyes. Raelin dabbed another brush into a face powder but Helena raised her hand to keep the girl from lifting it.

“Unless you plan to paint me like the first day you met me, put that brush away.”

Raelin nodded, her eyes settling on the purple bruises her efforts had failed to mask. “Yer brother is a horrible man.”

She didn't lower her voice, nor was there any misgiving in her voice. Catriona McAlister nodded in agreement. “I dinnae care if the man will inherit an earldom. I'll nae even dance with him ever again.”

Catriona reached for the cloth draped around Helena's shoulders. “Come now. We need to dress ye for yer wedding.”

It was an event that Helena had heard so much about throughout her childhood. It felt rather surreal to be preparing for her wedding, because the steps were so normal. The girls pulled her simple doublet and wool skirt from her. A blue silk gown was brought forward for her to wear. It wasn't overdone with lace and pleats. The simplicity of it was what charmed her but she would have worn it in spite of detesting the reason it was given to her. It was a gift from the queen, one of Her Majesty's own dresses.

“You do not need anything else, Helena. A bride should be simple and sweet with her own charms. You are quite beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Anne of Denmark, queen of Scotland and England, smiled at her. She reached for a silver brush and carried it over to Helena herself in spite of her ladies trying to intercede.

“You must wear your hair down.”

“Oh, yes.” Raelin pulled the pins out eagerly. The queen began to pull the brush through her hair, gently untangling it. So many hands touched her, tending her. Time flew past and there was no more time to think or ponder.

Not that it would have mattered. Her life was moving forward in its habit of taking her along no matter what she wanted.

But there was part of her that looked forward to seeing Keir at the altar. That part of her that had felt Ronchford's rough hands on her breasts rejoiced at knowing Keir would never allow another to touch her.

No, the arrogant man considered her his.

She saw it shining in his eyes when he saw her enter the private chapel used only by the royal family. His gaze touched hers, sending a bolt of awareness through her just as he had done the first time she looked into his eyes.

Only this time she knew what she craved.

At least she had picked a fine man to want. He was a sight to behold in black doublet and kilt. There was not a man in brocade or silk damask that she considered his equal. It was the nobility, the pure intensity of his spirit that made him so.

Edmund stood near the altar, his expression carefully smooth. The small chapel was filled to near bursting with Keir's men and her brother's men all watched over by the king's royal guard. Tension filled the air, tightening as she approached the altar. The bishop, dressed in his black robe and white smock, glanced nervously around before a quick motion from the king's hand made the man begin the ceremony. He mumbled through the first set of prayers and rushed on to the vows faster than she had ever witnessed. In a remarkably short amount of time, she was wed.

 

Helena sighed. She drew a deep breath, savoring the moment of privacy. Sneaking away from her own reception proved simpler than she'd thought. The court was only using her wedding as another excuse to flirt and observe one another. It might have been a feast day or birthday celebration. All that seemed to matter was that there was music, food, and the royal couple in attendance. She crept away into the hallways for a few moments alone.

“Nothing good will come of this marriage.”

Edmund emerged from an archway. He moved silently, placing every step artfully.

“Enough, Edmund. It is done.”

He shook his head, snickering at her. For all that she had heard the sound many, many times before, it agitated her.

“I said enough, Edmund. Your schemes must end now or move on to someone else. I am a wife now.”

“Nothing is done until the union is consummated.” He tsked at her. “Sweet little ignorant sister of mine.” His amusement suddenly died. “Unless that Scot plowed you last night.”

Her face burned. “It would serve you right if he did. Ronchford is a horrible man, Edmund. How could you send me to him?”

She shouldn't care, but couldn't seem to keep the hurt from her tone. She had tried so hard to be agreeable with her brother. It was difficult to absorb how little he cared for their blood connection.

“He is a rich man with many more powerful men owing him money and favors.” Edmund sneered at her, uncaring of the torment his words inflicted. “Marriage is about power, not whether or not you like the man.”

“Did you sell me to him? As you gambled me away to Keir?” She wanted to hear him say it, so that she might never again think of him kindly. Blood or no blood.

“Of course. I'm rather pleasantly surprised that I was able to arrange two transactions for the same sister. Much less disappointing than I first imagined it would be when you were delivered onto my doorstep.”

“You are a monster, Edmund. I swear I will never think of you as my brother again.”

“But I am your brother, little sister, and it would be in your best interests to obey me.” He cast a glance about, making sure they were still alone. “Think about your children. When they come to this court, they will need their titled uncle to pave the way for them.”

She choked on her horror because she could not say it did not matter. Family connections were what made it possible to succeed. It was not fair, but neither was life.

“Excellent. You have finally realized that listening to me is the best course of action.” He leaned closer. “Refuse to consummate your union.”

“What are you talking about? The man is my husband by royal command.”

“And a little-known titled Scot who only wants to better himself through breeding you. Refuse him so that I have grounds to annul your marriage. The king is a businessman; he will come around in time. This will not be the first marriage he has annulled. I need your virginity to stand up to a midwife's inspection.”

Anticipation showed in Edmund's eyes. It was ugly and greedy, sickening her.

“I am done being your property, Edmund.” She lifted her chin. “You sold me. Twice.”

He shook his head. “Don't let that itch between your thighs make you do something you will live to regret, Helena. You are a peer. I can wed you to a far more powerful man. Think of your children. Don't let that Scot dilute your blue blood with his common stock.”

The cold-bloodedness of her brother's word froze her. She was naught but a possession to him.

“I am wed, Edmund, and I want nothing to do with you.”

He reached for her, his hand curling around her upper arm. She barely had time to feel the compression of his grasp before he was stumbling across the stone floor.

“My wife spoke plainly enough. Dinnae touch her. Nae ever again.”

Keir's voice was deadly. She turned her attention to stare at him. She thought his body strong, felt that strength but never really understood how deadly he might be. She was witnessing it now, the side of men that women only heard about in hushed tones, as he stood in front of her. This was the part of him that could kill for what he believed in.

“Do you really think I am afraid of you, Scot? I am the earl of Kenton!”

“Nae yet, ye aren't, and if fate has any sense of justice, ye never will be. I swear I hope that becomes so. Ye have no honor.”

A startled gasp from the shadows invaded their conversation. Catriona McAlister stood there with a hand covering her open mouth, clearly hearing Keir's words. Taken alone, they were harsh indeed.

“You have some nerve to threaten me, Scot. There are laws here in England. Don't think to get my title through marriage to my sister.”

A royal guard stood next to Catriona, frowning. The horror of seeing suspicion on his face sent her belly to cramping. Edmund held too much power.

Too much.

 

Keir didn't ride in the carriage with her on the way back to his town home. But he was so close, she could actually feel him watching the carriage. A peek out the curtains showed her his men, all riding in formation around the carriage. Under different circumstances, she might have felt honored by their escort. Tonight, all she felt was guarded.

Not that she should be surprised. Most noble weddings were about the business transactions between the families. The bride, and many times the groom, had little concern over their personal feelings for one another. Edmund was nauseatingly correct about that.

It also wasn't uncommon for the bride to be guarded like a chest of jewels. Helena snorted. There was no one about to hear the ungentle sound and she indulged herself in the chance to simply be grumpy.

You don't completely dislike the situation….

She growled at her own thoughts. Behind her stays her nipples tingled, little feathers of sensation drawing slowly over the sensitive skin. If that was lust, she lusted for Keir. Her nipples drew into hard buttons, craving freedom from her clothing. She fingered a lock of her hair. It lay over her shoulder in a long, untied and unbraided length. It was amazing how free it felt to be without pins and rolls. Somehow, she felt more feminine than ever before.

The carriage stopped, rocking slowly back and forth before coming to a rest. The footman opened the door, but it was her new husband who offered her a hand to use for balance.

She remembered that hand being offered to her…

But they were not alone. She took his hand, conscious of his men watching her. They lined the walkway to the town home, and where they ended, the staff had appeared to take up positions honoring her arrival as the mistress. Each one of his men stood proudly. They inclined their heads when she passed.

Well…she did not disappoint her family when she walked down their length. It was all the years of practice keeping her chin level and her back straight. But sweat trickled down her back. Tension clawed at her but she kept it hidden behind a serene expression.

But her thoughts were settling on the man holding her hand. Somehow, in spite of all the terrible reasons why he was the one escorting her into his home, she was pleased with who it was. It was a confusing idea—one that made her sneak a peek at him while she struggled to understand just how she should feel about being won in a game of cards.

He was pleased.

There was no other way to describe the expression on his face and it went deeper, into his dark eyes. Something flickered there, a flare of heat that sent more sweat down her back. Determination shone from his eyes, and her belly tightened.

“Mistress.”

“This is Terri. She won't be showing ye to an attic.”

He spoke proudly. But her cheeks colored. It was Edmund's shame, but she still felt the weight of it anyway.

“This way, mistress. We've a bath ready for ye.”

Keir didn't release her hand immediately. His fingers tightened, drawing her attention to his face. Promise flickered in his eyes as hard and overwhelming as his body. She pulled on her hand, craving distance from yet more demands.

She dropped him a curtsy before keeping her eyes on the ground and following the housekeeper. If that was cowardly, so be it. She was too tired to be anything else. But it wasn't a fatigue brought on by a longing for sleep. Even knowing that her wedding day would be the end of negotiation and family bartering, she was still slightly nauseated by the process.