Bedding the Enemy (18 page)

It was bold. But empowering, too. She felt her confidence rise just by watching the effect of her words on his face. His skin darkened and his lips pressed into a hard line.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is best, don't you think?” She couldn't remain still. Too much sensation was building inside her. She could have sworn that she felt the energy in the storm through her skin. Her heart accelerated and her breathing grew more labored. “You wouldn't want me to believe what courtiers say, would you?”

He laughed. It was deep and husky and very male. “Of course not, lass. That would never do. Ye should experience things firsthand.”

He tugged on the fingertip of one of his leather gauntlets, working his way across each fingertip until he slid the leather glove off. He placed it on his saddle and removed the matching one. The bare skin of his fingers sent a chill down her back. Even with the rain, she grew warm enough for sweat to dot her forehead.

She recalled in vivid detail what those bare fingertips felt like on her body. Behind her stays her nipples were hard and needy. He flexed his hands and her mouth went dry.

“Run.”

His voice was soft but his eyes glowed with hunger. If she had ever believed the tales of wild men in the woods, he embodied such myths right then. He bent his knees and stretched out his arms with his hands curled into talons.

“I cannae chase ye if ye are nae running.”

He dragged one foot across the ground like a stallion pawing with impatience. Her hands tangled in her skirts, gripping the fabric, before she really decided what to say.

“Keir…”

“I'm only going to count to five and then I'm going to run ye down.” He took one step toward her and she broke, turning and running out into the rain. Her heart raced as her mind began keeping count.

One…two…three…four…

She didn't dare look behind her. She raised her skirts to her knees and ran. The rain soaked her hair, cooling her skin that had turned hot. The contrast sent more sensation through her. The back of her neck tingled as though she could feel him bearing down on her. It grew and grew in intensity until she risked a look over her shoulder.

A shriek left her lips because Keir was almost upon her, his powerful legs closing the distance between them on silent strides. He didn't stop running; just captured her in hard arms that tossed her up…up and over his shoulder.

He snarled with victory and continued on to a dense grouping of trees. She struggled, caught up in a storm of sensations and feelings. He tossed her down but cradled her before she hit the ground. Her cloak spread out beneath her and he reached for the clasp to keep it from pulling against her throat.

“My prize.”

He nuzzled against her neck, poised just above her. She quivered, her body shaking with need and hunger. She reached for him, craving contact more than she ever had before. She understood what the ache in her passage needed now and it made her too hungry to be docile.

“My captor.”

He lifted his head and stared at her. She reached up until she found the skin above his collar, slick with rain. She pushed her hands along the thick column until she reached his collar and pulled on the ties to open it. He didn't give her time to stroke the skin she bared. His mouth sought hers, demanding a hard kiss. She responded in kind, gripping his head to hold him in place while her lips demanded as much from him as he took from her.

He pulled her doublet open, the fabric groaning in protest. She didn't care. Her back arched and she offered her breasts to him. The lace of her corset popped when he pulled the knot loose.

“I'm going to ravish you.”

“Yes!” She gripped his shoulders and cried out when he licked over the swell of one breast. His lips closed around the nipple, shooting fire into her chest. She arched with it, surging up off the cloak. More thunder echoed across the woods, and this time she felt it against her wet skin.

Keir pushed her back down, imprisoning her with his strength. His tongue teased the tip of her nipple, toying with it before he sucked it hard and deep into his mouth.

“Yes!”

There was nothing else in her mind save for that single word. She hit his shoulders, growling through her teeth as she repeated it. He pulled his head up and there was a faint pop when her nipple freed itself from his grasp.

“Yes?” He was demanding but she didn't care. She needed it, needed to feel his strength. He was part of the violent storm and she wanted to be swept up into it.

“Hard and fast, Helena? Is that how you want it?” He captured her wrists and pinned them above her head. The wind brushed across her bare breasts and nothing had ever sent hunger like it through her before. There was a wildness in the sight of him above her and the feel of his hands gripping her wrists, but there was the secure knowledge of how tenderly he'd taken her the night before to give her the faith to trust him.

“I'll toss yer skirts above yer waist and sink into ye….”

“Yes!” She was demanding now, her voice full of expectation. “Do it!”

He released her hands and she reached for his hair, pulling the strands into her grasp. He hissed but enjoyment flickered in his eyes. Her skirts were raised with one quick motion of his hands. She spread her thighs eagerly for him, her knees bending, but he pushed them up above her waist and held them. He lowered enough of his body weight to pin her to the ground. The sky shook with another clap of thunder, this one centered directly over them.

The bolt of lightning that followed illuminated her lover. He was savage with bared teeth, but tender too as he slowly probed her open sex with his cock, merely shifting his kilt out of the way. He didn't push into her quickly. The effort cost him. The muscles on the side of his jaw twitched.

“Keir—”

“Nay!” he growled through clenched teeth. “You'll be sore from last night.”

She bucked beneath him but he kept her pinned. His eyes burned into hers. “I'm your master and I said nay.”

She snarled at him, but was helpless. His cock pressed forward in a slow thrust that made her whine with need. But he was correct. Her passage protested the penetration, pain snaking through her as he pressed deeper. It seemed forever that she waited to feel full. An eternity of needing and craving his flesh. When he pushed the last bit of length into her, his entire body shook.

“Sweet Christ…”

He said something else in Gaelic, something guttural and husky. She understood it somewhere inside her where words didn't have meaning. A moment later he was riding her, as quick and as hard as the swirling wind. He released her legs and she clasped him tightly, lifting her bottom to get closer to him, to take more of him into her. Rain filtered through the tree branches, the water hitting her face.

It was pure sensation—all of it. Keir surged forward, growling as he thrust into her over and over. Pleasure tightened under each stroke, pulling tighter and tighter until it burst. She erupted off the ground, crying out with her pleasure.

Keir pressed her back down, pounding his cock deeply into her. With a harsh cry she felt him empty his seed against the mouth of her womb, pumping the hot fluid deep inside her. Another spasm shook her, her passage gripping his length and pulling every last drop of seed from it.

The next clap of thunder was farther away. But she flinched, collapsing against the cloak in a heap of quivering muscles. Keir caught himself above her, his chest heaving.

“Sweet Helena…I cannae wait to take ye home to Red Stone, away from this place of false tales.”

He trailed soft kisses over her jaw and down her neck.

“But you just proved that you are uncivilized.”

He raised his head and showed her a cocky grin. “Aye, but ye enjoyed it. So I'm going to take ye home and ravish ye as often as possible.”

“I will hope.”

The storm was moving on, the rain subsiding into a soft sprinkle. A horn sounded in the distance and another one answered it. Keir groaned. He climbed to his feet and slid a hand beneath her waist to lift her up. Her skirts fell back into place, concealing their deviation from the prim and proper.

But little ripples of delight still moved down her legs, making her knees weak. Keir pulled her cloak from the ground and gave it a snap to dislodge the leaves that were stuck to it. He swung it around her body while she laced her stays and buttoned her doublet.

His hands cupped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. “Did I hurt ye?”

Concern filled his eyes and her pride rejected it.

“You really must stop believing everything you hear about Englishwomen. Some of us are quite hearty.”

He grinned. “A good thing, too, considering how uncivilized Scotland is.”

 

“You're insane.”

Edmund slapped the table in front of him but kept his rage from flaring back up. Not now. There was a time and a place to allow the flames to control him. Now he needed to apply his wit to the matter at hand.

“If you aren't good enough to do the job, admit it and stop wasting my time.”

The man in front of him flinched. But it was a tiny movement of his cheek, nothing more. His eyes didn't betray his emotions; in fact, the cold gaze coming from him fascinated Edmund. He had so much control; it was mesmerizing.

“I'm good enough. I know just where to stab you and make sure you live. I keep my knives sharp and clean. Only the best steel.”

“Good.”

“I didn't say I would take the job. You're a peer. I'd be tortured for attacking you if you are playing some sort of game. And my execution wouldn't be something as merciful as a beheading.”

Edmund felt his confidence growing. Oh, he was plotting and he intended to win.

“It's about my sister. I have to get her away from a Scot before he breeds her.”

The assassin raised one eyebrow. “How'd he get her?”

“The king has a soft spot for him and allowed him to wed her.”

That did it. The man narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Even a king shouldn't play favorites. I've seen too many men dead in battles that were commanded by noblemen who had the ear of the queen. Good men. Friends of mine.”

Edmund smiled. “Then we are agreed?”

The assassin fingered a long scar that ran down the side of his face. “Double the price and I'll make it fast and clean.”

Edmund slid a folded parchment and a torn piece of McQuade tartan across the table. “Don't forget to drop this on me when you stab me. And remember I'm hiring you to make sure you don't kill me. Be very sure that I'm leaving a letter with a reliable source should you make a mistake and kill me.”

“I'm a businessman. You shall receive what you paid for: a wound that looks as though you were lucky enough to escape murder.”

“Good. Drop that letter and plaid on me once the deed is done. It will pin the blame on the Scot. He'll be the one in the Tower and my sister will be a widow before next spring. Once I declare it was the Scot that tried to kill me, the king will have no choice but to have him executed.”

Edmund looked around the tavern. It was the sort of place where men kept a sharp eye on anyone who walked too near them, but beyond that they ignored every face and expected the same in return. No one had names here, and no one was ever remembered being in the place.

It cost a pretty piece of gold to ensure it, too. Edmund didn't care. He dropped a full pound on the bar in front of the proprietor and never looked behind him. He was confident in the power of money.

 

The assassin watched him leave. He tapped the table with a finger, contemplating the job. Oh, it was nothing more than a job to him—one that would net him a purse that he could labor for a year and not earn at some sort of decent duty. It wasn't his responsibility to instill morality in the men who came to him looking for murder. He was just the instrument. He wasn't a murderer. The men who paid him were the ones stained with that crime. It was a truth that he was merciful to their victims. He killed them swiftly, most of the time before they even saw the knife. There was no fear, no terror. Not all of his clients liked that aspect of his service. God had blessed him with a steady hand and keen wit that helped him decide how to get the most profit. There was no killing if the silver wasn't there. It was up to him to make his way with the gifts his creator had given him.

It was only a job.

“H
elena?”

Raelin McKorey gestured with her hand.

The courtyard was a mass of noblemen and servants. Intermixed with them were the royal guards, along with retainers. The king was happily showing off his downed buck while stableboys hurried to take up the reins of the noblemen who dismounted without any care as to what happened to their mounts.

Keir wasn't that sort of man. He took care of his own stallion and Helena's mare. His men were shouldering their way through the crowd to get the animals into the dry stable. Rain was still falling and the dark sky promised that it would not be a quickly passing storm.

“Helena?”

Raelin stood under an archway. She frowned at the sky and fingered her golden silk gown. It would spot if she ventured into the sprinkling rain. But Helena was happy to see her friend. She ran to join her, grasping her hands but being careful not to brush her skirts up against Raelin's maid of honor dress. It was a sure bet the gown was expensive and her family would not enjoy replacing it due to foolishness.

“I've been thinking so much about you.”

Her friend searched her eyes but frowned when she looked at the purple bruise still marring her face.

“It's much better now.”

Raelin narrowed her eyes and tugged her into the hallway to place some distance between them and the other nobles.

“Did your brother do that to yer face?”

Helena squeezed her friend's hand. “It doesn't matter now.”

“Because ye are wed?” Raelin bit her lower lip. “I suppose ye are right about that. I do believe that Keir McQuade will not allow that brother of yers to lay his hand on ye now.”

Helena heard the question her friend didn't voice. She offered her a genuine smile. The Scots girl relaxed.

“Och, I'm so happy for ye. I told him about ye nae coming to court. I hoped he'd be the man ye thought he was.”

They had wandered far from the courtyard while talking. A pounding of boot heels on the stone tile drew both their attention. Helena looked up to see her new husband bearing down on them.

Keir was furious.

It was such an unexpected thing, Helena stared at him.

“Dinnae ever leave my men, madam.”

His tone infuriated her. “Excuse me, Raelin. I do believe my husband and I need to have a conversation.”

The Scots girl wasn't shocked; in fact she was slightly amused. “Aye, I can see he needs a thing or two pointed out to him.”

Keir crossed his arms over his chest. Raelin curtsied low and very slowly in a mockery of his stern pose.

“Mistress McKorey, I believe I've already interceded on your behalf and that should have taught ye to remain where it is safe. Nae encourage others to make the same mistakes.”

“'Tis the light of day now.” Raelin didn't seem impressed with Keir McQuade. She stood up boldly to the man. But she shifted her attention to Helena.

“Come to the queen's chambers later. Her Majesty would like to see you as well.”

She swept past Keir and his retainers with her chin high. Helena envied the girl her confidence in the face of such stern disapproval.

“Ye cannae venture off on yer own, Helena. I willnae have it.”

Keir wasn't bending. He glared at her, disapproval clear on his face.

“I warned ye that ye would nae be allowed away from my men.”

She took a deep breath, searching for the face of her lover in the man standing in front of her now. “You said that the night before our wedding.”

“I dinnae see what has changed, madam.”

Hurt ran its claw across her heart. Where was the man she had just lain with? Try as she might, she could not see him. The pain stung.

“You are quite correct. Nothing has changed, husband.”

She lowered herself. His eyes snapped with temper. “Helena—”

“I must pay my respects to the queen.”

“Ye'll stay with me.”

Helena straightened herself and stared at him. “Just as I had to obey the king and wed you, you shall obey the wishes of the queen to see me. It is my duty now that I have been told she wishes to see me.”

Keir frowned. “I shall accompany ye.”

Hard and unwavering, his eyes looked like obsidian.

She turned and began walking. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, tension knotting between her shoulder blades. She felt his distrust keenly.

It dropped her back into the swirling mists of loneliness that had assaulted her that morning. It slashed at the fragile happiness she'd felt around her since their afternoon tryst. She should have expected it. Their marriage might be ended if there was no child. Divorce was not uncommon. It was hushed up and muttered against by the church but it happened far more than anyone admitted. When inheritances and titles hung in the balance, even matrimony wasn't unbreakable. Keir would be wise to breed her often in order to plant a child in her womb. One living child would make it much harder for a divorce to happen.

She wanted to resist thinking that way. His men might simply be doing their duty in a world that was often filled with dangers for the unprotected. But emotions were fickle things that didn't listen to logic.

It was little wonder that affection of the heart was considered insanity. Her new emotions were playing havoc with her thinking and that was no mistake.

 

“You don't have to leave, Helena.”

“There is no point in avoiding what is done.” Helena hugged her friend, embracing her tightly. “He is not unkind to me.”

Raelin nodded. “He has honor. And that is something that I nae ever thought I'd say of any McQuade, since his father tried to kill me only a year past. But I suppose neither of us should hope marriage to be anything except what it is.”

“I will miss you.”

Helena smiled at her friend in spite of the fact that her heart was filling with grief. It was likely that they would not see each other again for many years, if ever. She was wed and expected to return to her husband's home to see to the duty of producing heirs. Raelin would face the same fate herself soon. Letters would become their only means of continuing their friendship.

Keir and his retainers were waiting for her outside the queen's chambers. As strong and powerful as she had always thought him to be, today that strength represented the ability to keep her near him. Part of her rejoiced, but doubt teased her as well. She shook it off, refusing to behave like a child. He was certainly a better husband than Ronchford. It was best to show him how good a wife she might be.

“I am yours to command.”

 

“No man ever truly understands the way a woman's mind works.” Farrell's attempt to help gained him a hard look from his laird. The man tilted his head and returned his attention to the horse he was rubbing down. “Well, if ye figure it out, be a good lad and share the secret with me.” Farrell added a shake of his head to indicate his lack of understanding when it came to women.

If he figured it out? Now there was a question if ever one was asked.

For the life of him, Keir couldn't understand why his bride had taken such exception to his insistence that she remain with his men. He was trying to protect her. Wasn't that his duty as a husband?

But there was no missing the fact that she was angry with him. It wasn't the temper that he had trouble dealing with; it was the resolution in her eyes that bothered him—that silent resolve to endure.

He did not want her to be unhappy.

He moved his hands along his stallion's flank, rubbing the animal longer than normal. Keir stopped when he realized he was avoiding his wife. No matter what the trouble was between them, he was not going to tolerate distance between them.

Especially a distance caused by his own doing. He gave the horse a final pat and left the stable. Candlelight glowed from inside the house. It made for a cheerful scene, one that he slowed down long enough to enjoy before entering it. Anticipation was suddenly an enjoyable thing.

His wife was inside—the wife that he'd left McQuade land searching for. His clan name was restored to favor as well. He'd managed to do all the important things a laird was expected to do. All that remained was to go home and keep his lands running in good order. The town house itself was a symbol of his success. He scanned it from rooftop to front door. Satisfaction filled him.

A young face peeked through the front window. Two moments later the door opened wide for him. Keir felt one eyebrow rise. He was not accustomed to the staff waiting around on his pleasure and he was not planning on becoming so. The inhabitants of Red Stone had never scurried to please him and he would keep it that way. But as he walked through the open door, he was met by members of the house staff. They were lined up shoulder to shoulder to greet him, a few of them attempting to cover rapid breathing that betrayed the fact that they'd run to make sure they did not miss the master's entrance. They kept their eyes lowered and their chins tucked down in deference. The young boy had clearly been posted at the window to cry the alarm when he approached.

What surprised him was Helena. She stood at the head of the line, lowering herself neatly in a polished display of meekness. His temper ignited. He knew what she was doing. He knew it because he'd witnessed his sister putting on such displays when his father was alive. There was no truth in it. It was only a carefully rehearsed action that she performed to maintain peace by stroking his ego.

But he was not his father and did not care for false demonstrations of respect that were insincere. He moved quickly. His new bride had made an error by looking at the floor. He was already in front of her before she raised her gaze.

Helena gasped. The sound flew past her startled lips when she realized that her husband was only a foot away from her. Somehow she had forgotten how much larger he was than her. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. What she found there startled her, but not in a fearful manner. He was displeased, there was no missing that. But what drew her attention was the flare of determination that looked very similar to what she had witnessed during the thunderstorm.

Keir didn't give her time to ponder her thoughts. He swept her off her feet in a fluid motion that wrung another gasp from her lips. She grabbed at his doublet out of reflex but there was no hint of weakness in his embrace. He cradled her easily, striding through the dining room and toward the stairs without a single pause.

The cook stood near the table. Her apron was newly pressed and her linen cap starched so that the box-pleated edge stood straight. There were candles in the silver holders and in the wall brackets. All were lit and filling the room with a yellow glow. Fine dishes were laid on the table and the long cupboard set against the wall already held several platters awaiting the master's dining pleasure.

Her husband only swept the table with a quick glance before carrying her through the doorframe and into the back hallway. She heard the scamper of steps on the stone floor behind them and the unmistakable snap of the cook's fingers as she commanded the staff.

Her face colored because it was perfectly clear what her husband was in a hurry to do. For all that everyone expected newlyweds to spend time sharing intimacies, she did not appreciate her husband carrying her through the house like a captive.

But you enjoyed it earlier today…

Her thoughts annoyed her. She twisted in his embrace, pushing on the wide chest.

“Have done, husband. I can walk very well.” She might have been mute for all the good her actions gained her. His embrace never changed. It remained solid and steady while he climbed the stairs.

“Aye, ye can, but I'm no' in the mood for rehearsed niceties.”

He pushed the door to their chamber open with a shove from his shoulder. The hallway had been dim, with only the flicker of the lamps burning on the first floor to cut through the darkness. The chamber was very different. The staff were doing their best to make sure their new master didn't find any reason to begin replacing them. Candles were set into every holder on the tables and costly glass lanterns hung from hooks set into the walls. The colored glass filled the chamber with a surreal, reddish light.

“So now you are displeased with me because I show you good manners?” She hit his shoulder, completely exhausted with attempting to understand him. She struggled again, this time twisting her body and bucking without any care for how ungentle she appeared.

He released her but growled. It was a low sound filled with frustration. Helena tossed her head, refusing to lower her chin meekly. She didn't feel meek, not in the least.

“I do not understand you,
husband.
”

But she moved away from his imposing body—not because he was stronger but because she couldn't seem to stop thinking about how good he felt against her. Maybe it was the fact that they were alone in the chamber, but her thoughts were alight with flashes of memory from that afternoon. Her skin grew warm and she had to shake her head to dispel the excitement that was beginning to swirl through her mind.

Keir stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as imposing as he had outside the queen's chambers, but here she found it attractive, too. In the back of her mind all she could think of was the large bed waiting for them with turned-down covers.

He'd take her there—she had no doubt about it.

“I am nae yer brother.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. “Good God! I should hope not, considering how we passed the after—”

One dark eyebrow arched in a mocking display. “The afternoon? Aye. I suppose that would nae be something a brother and sister should be about.”

It was sickening. Disgust travel through her. “Then what is your discontent with me? I made no mention of Edmund.”

He raised a single finger. “But you did, my sweet bride. Ye stood there greeting me as he would have expected. All the staff lined up.”