Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) (10 page)

“Aye, lass, Lady Du Grace is right. I’ll be much easier, knowing you’re safe on your way home.”

Calmer, his sister asked, “Promise you willna hurt him?”

“I’ll do naught to Dougal that he no deserves,” Raeb answered.

Maeve set her chin and placed a hand on each hip. “If you harm a hair on his head, I swear, brother, I shall have cook place soapwort in your food every day for a month.”

A smothered snort from Jessamyn’s direction drew his attention. He glared at her then sighed.

“I’ll do naught to draw your wrath, but do no forget that you have earned my anger as much as Dougal. Now take Lady Du Grace to the keep and await me there.”

His sister opened her mouth.

Grasping Maeve by the hand and leading her away, Lady Jessamyn effectively forestalled further argument. “Come, let us get your horse. Artis will worry about us if someone does not return soon.”

Raeb watched until the women disappeared into the trees. Then he dismounted and approached Dougal.

“I am sorry, Raeb.”

“Aye.” With lightning speed he punched Dougal in the face and laid the man out flat.

Stunned, Dougal lay on the ground. After a moment he spat blood then touched his injured jaw, moving it gingerly back and forth. “’Tis no broken.”

“I held back out of respect for our former friendship.” Raeb extended his hand.

Dougal accepted the hand up. “I understand how you feel, but I hate to lose such a good friend. I dinna suppose there’s any way I could be making it up to you?”

“Mayhap.”

“How?”

“Stay away from Maeve until you’ve gained either lands or fortune.”

“’Tis a reasonable thing to ask.”

“I’m no asking. I’m telling; else you’ll need to find a new baron to serve.”

“I see. ’Twill help if you make clear to Maeve what the consequences are. I canna always control what she does.”

“Aye, I’ll do that, but if she gives you any trouble, send her to me. Do you understand?”

“Aye, my lord MacKai.”

“Excellent. Now to help Maeve become used to no having you near, I’m sending you with messages to King John at Inverness then on to a man in England, Baron Ravensmere, who favors Scotland’s freedom. He’ll give you news of the MacKai breeding herd and its return to Dungarob.”

Dougal gaped at him.

He frowned. “What is it? Surely you know the MacKai guard can manage without you for a few weeks. Cedric needs experience leading the men if you intend to settle down and do right by Maeve.”

Dougal blinked. “Did you just say you would be getting back the Dungarob breeding herd?”

Raeb grinned. “Aye, and without having to use the Du Grace dowry to buy them all.”

“I’m amazed they are still together. How will you manage this miracle?”

“I met Baron Ravensmere when I went to Strathnaver to make peace with Clan Marr. The baron said he can locate the horses and arrange for them to be stolen from wherever their present owner hides them. The thieves will drive the herd back here and receive a suitable reward for their efforts. This news was among the messages Rhuad delivered today. All is in readiness to get the horses back. Ravensmere only waits for a trusted man to guide those who bring the herd.”

Dougal dipped his head. “As you wish.”

He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’d best be on your way. I’ve the messages in my saddlebags.”

Raeb watched his friend and captain of his guard climb the eastern ridge, only one of several progressively steeper ridges between Dungarob and the Earl of Strathnaver’s lands. The border between the two holdings lay in a valley cut by the river that poured from the falls near Loch Naver and eventually emptied into Dungarob Bay. Once that border valley had been the playground for all four men. Raeb, Dougal, Brice Marr, and his twin brother Colin had all cut their teeth with hunting and mock battles on the heavily treed slopes. They’d challenged each other to races against the current of the stream. They’d lazed away summer days fishing in the ponds and competing in various friendly contests of strength like those held at clan gatherings throughout the summers. Then Raeb had been fostered in England and visits home had been rare. After the murder of his parents, the bond with the Marr brothers had been broken. Raeb counted himself lucky to still have Dougal’s friendship. The recent peace between the clans was an unexpected blessing and all due to his sister Sorcha’s determination.

Raeb turned his horse for home, emerging from the wood to see the sun sinking behind the sea. Dougal would fulfill his word, so the MacKai horses would be home, perhaps before Edward’s ships arrived. That meant Raeb must find the means to provide supplies, repair the stables, and purchase or restore equipment, all while preparing for the English troop ships and managing one confusing and surprising English lady. Jessamyn Du Grace’s dowry would provide what Dungarob needed, but he’d not have access to that until she broke the betrothal, and so far she was not cooperating.

What was he to do with her? The plan to shun her and make her feel unwelcome at Dungarob had failed before it had truly begun. ’Twas only her second day here, and his sisters already adored her, and he … well he’d rather not look too closely at what he felt for Jessamyn Du Grace. She challenged him, and he found that vastly attractive, almost more so than her lean beauty and proud carriage. He enjoyed too much attempting to break the cool reserve she saved just for him. The last thing he needed was to lose his head over crimson lips and a beautiful body. He must keep his wits sharp if he was to succeed in his plans to restore Dungarob’s fortunes.

Which meant he must address the more immediate threat to his ambitions—Iver MacTavish and his demand for a MacKai bride. He’d retrieve Maeve and gather all his sisters together. And then what? Place the future of Clan MacKai and Scotland in their hands. God help them all.

“He’ll kill Dougal.”

Jessamyn patted Maeve’s back. “I doubt your brother would be so foolish.”

“Raeb doesna anger easily, but he can be verra rash when roused. If he kills Dougal, I shall hate my brother forever.” The girl rested her face against Jess’s shoulder and sobbed with renewed fervor.

“You only say so because you are overwrought. You must seek to calm yourself so you can present a strong front to the baron. Even I, who have known him less than two days, can tell he’s a man who does not respect weakness or whining.”

’Twas well past supper, and Jessamyn still sat on the bed in the room she’d been using. Idly she wondered where Raeb slept, since this was his room.

Breaking Jess’s hold, Maeve lifted her head, searched for a handkerchief, and then blew her nose. “We did naught wrong. We just wanted a little time together. Dougal is so busy now that he’s captain of the guard. I never get to see him alone.”

“Nor should you,” Jessamyn softly admonished. She could almost envy a woman like Maeve who wept and still managed to look beautiful.

Maeve’s expression crumpled. “Oooh,” she wailed as tears continued to fall. “I thought you were my friend. You’re supposed to be on our side.”

Using her own handkerchief, Jessamyn clasped the younger woman’s chin and blotted the tears. “I am your friend, and as your friend I tell you that being alone with a man who is neither your betrothed, your husband, nor your family is simply not proper. Such behavior is dangerous for both of you.”

Maeve cocked her head. “I dinna understand. How could being alone with the man who loves me be dangerous?”

What could she say to this young woman, scarcely more than a child, to help her understand? Not for the first time did Jessamyn wish that her mother had lived long enough to pass on words of womanly wisdom. Learning about men and women from watching servants and brothers was all well and good, but it did not teach you how to talk to other women about such things. She could only say what she believed to be true.

“Love is so closely linked with desire that people often fail to think. A moment of careless passion can lead to a lifetime of regret.”

“Hmph.” Maeve actually flounced where she sat. “I’m no certain I believe you. What do you know of passion?”

A vivid image of Raeb MacKai, gray eyes ablaze, sprang to mind.
I do not need intimate knowledge of passion to know it is dangerous for all parties
.

“Why would you say so?” she asked Maeve. “Do I appear passionless or just ignorant?”

“Perhaps you left a lover behind you in England, for you dinna act like a woman who desires her betrothed. You treat Raeb like he’s the dirt beneath your feet, always present but without any interest, yet you’re pleasant to almost everyone else.”

The girl was perceptive but wrong. Yes, Jessamyn treated Raeb exactly as his sister described. But contrary to Maeve’s belief the reason had more to do with being too interested in the baron rather than too little. Much though Jessamyn might like to get to know the intriguing Baron MacKai better, keeping him at a distance was the straightest path to achieving the life she longed to lead.

“I will confess that marriage to any man is not my greatest wish.”

“What is?”

“I dreamed all my life of retiring to St. Bartholomew’s convent to breed and train horses for the nuns to sell. If I wed ’twill be the end of my dreams, so no offense to your brother, but I’ve no real wish to marry him.”

“Then why are you here?”

“The betrothal to your brother was arranged by my father and is much more complicated than you can know. Besides, marriage is rarely a matter of desire and more often the stuff of money and politics.”

Maeve blinked away the last of her tears and set her mouth in a firm line. “I dinna understand. Please explain.”

“Lady Du Grace need explain naught to you, sister.”

Evidence of a hurried ride in the disarray of his clothing and hair, Raeb MacKai stood in the doorway.

Jessamyn leapt to her feet, her stomach aflutter with nerves at the sight of him. The man needed a bell about his neck that would ring when he moved and warn defenseless women of his approach. How long had he stood there? What had he heard?

“You will go to the chapel,” he continued to Maeve. “There our sisters wait for you. I will join you as soon as I possibly can, for I must speak with you all. Now leave us.”

Maeve opened and closed her mouth as if to protest. “Please excuse me, Lady Jessamyn.”

“Of course.”

Raeb closed the door behind her.

Jess’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back then realized she was retreating. Fear was the last thing she should show a dangerous beast, and Raeb MacKai was the most dangerous of beasts—a man determined on his course. Halting, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“I’d prefer you leave the door open.”

“Too bad. I’d rather no have anyone overhear us. Besides, I’ll no be here long enough to put your honor at risk, and after all, you are my betrothed.” He advanced until he loomed over her.

She stood her ground and held her breath, hoping to force him back to a safe distance.

He did step away but only enough to allow her to breathe. Her nose ended two hand spans away from his muscular throat, and her eyes stared at his very kissable lips.

His unspoken dare was unmistakable. He would bend her to his will if he could, and she must not let him. She would follow her own course and be damned to Raeb MacKai, her father, the king of England, or any man who got in her way.

• • •

“What is it you want?” she challenged.

What he wanted was to haul her to his chest and possess that defiant mouth. To comfort his troubled mind in her soft heat, and feel her joy as he filled her body.

There she stood, her breasts brushing his chest with each slow breath, her hands calmly folded together before her. Those green eyes shining, lights glinting in their emerald depths, and that glowing cloud of hair begging him to take it in his hands and pull her mouth to his.

“Baron?”

“What is it I want?” He grasped her shoulders. To move her away, he told himself. “What I want is ... ”

The delicate bones beneath his hands shrugged.

With a groan, he succumbed to the goad of temptation and kissed her.

The touch of her lips to his was blinding. He didn’t want to plunder. He wanted her pliant, yielding, as devastated and needful for more as he. He could not get enough. Nothing was so delicate, so tender, so enchanting as Jessamyn’s kiss.

He gathered her body close, slipping one arm around her shoulders, allowing the other arm to drift lower. His hand stroked her firm buttocks through the cloth of her skirt. Consumed with need, he moved his mouth against her lips until she opened, and he thrust his tongue into her honeyed sweetness.

He cupped her bottom, lifting her higher, closer to his body so he felt her every breath and each tiny tremor that shook her entire frame.

Her tongue touched his in tentative response, and her hands pressed against his nape, holding him tightly; her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair.

He moaned and slanted his mouth for better access.

She arched into him. One hand still in his hair, the other fluttered across his shoulders and slid down to tunnel under the hem of his tunic.

His body clenched. With each stroke, her fingers burned his skin. He prayed for her to continue those heated touches until he turned to ash. In that instant he wanted nothing more than to hold her forever, to sink into her warmth and ease the ache that grew beyond bounds.

Mouths still joined, he picked her up and stumbled toward the bed.

“Jessamyn,” he sighed as he lowered her down. “Please, let me ... ”

“My lady! Baron! What do you think you are doing?”

“Raeb, for shame!”

He jerked upward, dropping Jessamyn to the bed so hard she bounced. He turned, placing his body between her and any potential threat; his teeth bared at the fools who dared interrupt. He met the accusing gazes of his holier-than-thou sister Brighde and the maid, Margery.

“B-Ba-Baron, I must insist that you unhand Lady Jessamyn.”

“Do I look like I have my hands anywhere near her?”

The maid blinked rapidly. “W-well, n-no. That is. What I mean is. You should go, sir. I must … er, dress my lady for ... for bed.”