Tangled Hearts (4 page)

“You are traveling with two Scotsmen?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?” The woman looked aghast but then smiled. “Oh, you are wed.”

“Nay,” Ewan replied immediately, fast enough to feel irritating.

She looked at Ewan. “You are not Dory’s kin, as you sound nothing alike. She is English but with an odd accent.”

“I’ve traveled extensively since I was a babe.” Dory supplied a true answer. “’Tis how I found this remedy,” she whispered. She put on a sweet smile even if her eyes glared at Ewan. “And what my dear Ewan means is that we are not recently wed, but have been for a year now.”

His jaw tensed and he swallowed, but didn’t say a thing. Was pretending to be attached to her so difficult?

“Oh.” the woman continued to pull Dory along behind her through the tall wildflowers flanking the stream into the open woods. “Did you not bring a trousseau with you on your journey?”

“It was lost, m’lady.” Dory watched Ewan turn, and frowned at his back as he headed toward the cart. Was she so distasteful to him that he couldn’t stand the thought of acting wed to her?

“We will fix you up a new one,” the girl said conspiringly and Dory forced herself to smile and meet her happy gaze. “And you can call me Jane.” The petite woman linked arms with her as she hurried them across the first of several lush gardens. “Jane Seymour.”

…

Wulfhall was as huge and majestic as the castles and grand manors Captain Bart had described. Dory tried not to let her mouth gape, but every corner held more and more opulence. This was definitely not her world. Every footfall made her worry that she’d dirty a rug. Could court actually be grander than this?

“You and your husband may have this room to refresh yourselves,” Jane said and showed Dory into a medium-sized bedroom with rich curtains around a good-sized bed. “Your groom will be put up in the stables with your horses. How long will it take you to make my medicinal drink?” Jane whispered.

“Not long. I will write a list of ingredients.”

“You can write?”

It was an oddity to be able to write and read, but Captain Bart had convinced a tutor to travel with them, teaching Dory as befitting her station by birth. Will had also taken lessons with her whenever he wasn’t needed on deck. Reading the warrants and notices regarding their arrests was quite an advantage.

“Aye, I can write a list.”

“Excellent. I will order your bath.”

“Indoors?”

Jane laughed gently. “Aye, indoors. And I’ll have my maid bring several gowns for you to try.”

Jane left and Dory scribbled a few herbs on a parchment left on a dainty writing desk.

The door banged open, making her pivot on a gasp, her hand reaching for her still empty scabbard tied to her leg. She really needed to find a new blade.

“What in bloody hell are we doing here?” Ewan asked as he strode across the room. “Searc is right now trying to explain the presence of a decaying body on our wagon to a group of grooms.”

“You could have left the wagon somewhere for the night.”

“Not unless I thought Henry wouldn’t mind if Boswell was half-eaten by scavengers.”

Dory breathed deeply. “This is the perfect place for me to clean myself up. Jane has gowns she is willing to use in payment for my help.”

“Help? Ye promised not to use magic, or are ye breaking our deal?”

“Of course not. I know of a drink with herbs that will help her.”

He looked skeptical.

“I learned about it from a medicine woman on Tortuga, and Jane certainly does need help. Her family is going to marry her off to someone who will demand a son. Isn’t that horrible?”

Ewan ran fingers through his hair, making it stand up in wild waves. Was it as soft as it looked? “Aye, I’ve just been interrogated by her brother. I think he is trying to marry her to some royal uppity up. He wanted to know all about my political stance.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. I’m a Scot answering a royal summons for my chief. I showed him the missive to keep him from calling the constable about the body.”

“Good then. We don’t have to remember our lies. We’ll just bathe, eat, help the lady, and be on our way. Bloody good place to practice being at court,” she said.

Ewan shook his head. “Ye cannot curse like that around these people.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes and looked around. The door was closed, as were the windows. “Do you think they have spy holes?” She moved closer to him. “Because they think we are married.”

“Why did ye say that?” he whispered.

She tried to keep the seething out of her voice but failed. “Jane suggested it because apparently it is unseemly to travel without a chaperone unless we are married. Believe me, I’m not trying to trick you into wedding me.”

He snorted. “Ye seem pretty good at tricking people into doing what ye want them to do. Jane’s giving ye dresses and I’m taking ye to court.”

Her mouth dropped open to refute his quiet accusation but then snapped shut. To keep saying she wasn’t trying to make him wed her, when he wore that irritating smirk, would just make her sound defensive. She could almost hear Captain Bart’s wise advice. Change tactics. She tilted her head. “A woman must be resourceful.”

“So ye admit to using yer womanly wiles to trick people into doing what ye want?”

“You have all that…” she indicated his arms and torso, “that brawn. I’ve got cunning. I won’t apologize for using my weapons.” Was it just her imagination or had his arms suddenly flexed in his linen shirt to the point they looked like they might burst the seams?

There was a long pause as his stance slowly relaxed. “So ye are trying to get me to wed ye?” he asked, though the grin at the corner of his mouth made her own lips curve upward.

“If I were, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Perhaps ye should try me out before ye trick me into such binding oaths.” He came closer and lifted a thumb to her face. She kept her place but held her breath. Try him out? What exactly did that mean? Had she teased him too far?

He was so close. Did she smell like soot and molding leaves? She tried to inhale without him knowing, but didn’t smell anything foul. He wiped her cheek. “Ye have some mud.”

“I really need a bath.”

“Do ye need help with that?” he teased with a roguish grin.

“I’ve been bathing myself since I could walk.” She inhaled smoothly to appear calm. He smelled faintly of pine and fresh wind. He’d been at the same fire, although not in it like she had been. Why didn’t he smell of smoke?

Something tapped on the adjoining wall as if someone next door banged the door of a clothing press against it. “What if they are spying on us? To see if we’re married? I can’t bathe with someone watching me,” she whispered.

Ewan’s eyes dropped down the front of her body. She shivered as if her clothing had suddenly dissolved, leaving her only in skin. How had this conversation turned so fast? She’d been the one delivering the clever thrusts, but his large presence so close had disarmed her completely.

“We’ll set up the screen,” he murmured and closed the small gap between them. She was too lost in his rumbling brogue to move. His hand slid around to her nape and Dory’s heart leapt into a frantic dance as the heat from his body flooded her senses. “Ye’re right lass, they could be watching. We need to play our parts.”

Ewan’s gorgeous face lowered, his lips finding hers. Dory’s hands moved out to her sides. The kiss started tentative, gentle, but melted quickly into something warm, soft, engulfing. Dory lost track of where her hands were. The only thing she was conscious of was the giddy heat spreading through her body. Ewan caught her face tenderly, tilting her so that their lips fit even closer together. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to the whirlpool of sensations that had captured her, threatening to suck her completely under. As if frantic for escape from a watery grave, Dory gasped for air.

Ewan pulled back and she nearly lost her balance. She opened her eyes to find his blue orbs staring back into her own. They seemed darker, serious and deep like the ocean she loved and respected. For a moment he just stared as if he, too, needed a moment for the world to right itself. He leaned forward near her ear and kissed the spot on her neck just below it.

“As lovely as I imagined,” he whispered. “I will see ye later, wife,” he called out and headed toward the door. “Do take care with yer bath. I will be back to escort ye to supper.”

With that he left the room.

Dory stood stunned, and a tremble ran through her as she swallowed and touched her lips. They felt full, warm. She turned to peer into the polished looking glass. Aye, she did look tussled, just like a girl reeling from her very first kiss.

…

Ewan paused in the corridor, his hand against the rough rock of the wall. He’d meant to steal the kiss from her, had wanted to since he’d watched her climb the dark stairwell at Rosewood. After tricking him into helping her, he deserved a kiss. Despite her biting words and glares, her beauty intrigued him, and he’d wanted to know what she tasted like. When he’d seen her golden brown hair in the light of day, he’d wanted to bury his face in it. And now he knew how silky those gentle waves felt slipping through his fingers.

He swallowed. She tasted like warm, sultry woman, but more than that. She was wild adventure, free spirit, and clever wit all rolled up into one exquisite package. He inhaled with smooth control. To talk about being wed with a lass should have sent off a battle cry in his mind. Instead he’d bantered about it. Bloody hell!

He ran a hand along his stubbled chin. What at first seemed like his deserved prize had turned into something dangerous. Instead of satisfying his curiosity, the damn kiss just made him want more. That was dangerous, because she was trouble. From head to toe, Pandora Wyatt or Rebecca Wellington or Dory Mereworth, she was beyond complicated and right into full on danger. And he’d just jested with her and then kissed her.

So soft. She was the spawn of Boswell. Yielding. She was raised by pirates! Delicious. She wanted to break into the Tower! Tantalizing. She was a bloody witch!

Ewan growled low and strode down the hall toward Wulfhall’s great hall that adjoined the entryway. He should make certain Searc was out of trouble. If anything happened to the lad, Rachel Munro would have his entrails for breakfast. Searc was her last surviving son and heir to the Munro clan. His father had suggested he accompany Ewan to give the lad some experience in the world. Then Rachel had taken Ewan aside and told him just what she’d do to him if her sixteen-year-old son gained too much experience.

Ewan was about to round the corner and stopped.

“We were quite right to send the moneys back to him. If we want her to be queen she cannot come across as a royal whore.”

Ewan recognized the voice of the man who’d questioned him when Jane brought them home. Edward Seymour, her brother.

“Of course not, but he is so volatile since he injured his leg and then Queen Anne lost a son. I swear but it shouldn’t take much more for him to rid himself of her.”

“Sending the moneys back may just be the impetus to do it. Thomas, he knows now that Jane’s price is marriage, and that she’s certainly interested. I reviewed her return note.”

“Oh, that our dear sister would give him an heir.”

“I will certainly drink to that.”

“And pray.”

“No doubt.”

Ewan turned silently back the way he’d come. He’d find another exit to the stables. His mind tucked away the important snatch of conversation. Not only were they in the home of English aristocrats, they were sitting among potential royals that may or may not have King Henry’s ear. If Dory helped the young Jane, she could win the gratitude of the most powerful man in the English realm. There may be no need to scale the Tower’s walls if what he’d heard was true and not some overly ambitious brother.

He found Searc napping in a pile of hay in the stables with the tabby cat curled under one arm. The dog jumped up and trotted around Ewan while he petted her. Ewan kicked the lad’s boot. Searc opened one eye and closed it again.

“Since we seem to be here for the night and I’ve been demoted to stable boy,” the lad said, “I figured I’d catch up on the sleep I missed last night.”

“Rest, but be ready to leave.”

Searc opened his eyes. “Something amiss?”

Ewan looked back toward the large manor house. “It seems we’ve fallen into a nest of English royal hopefuls. I don’t know if it means much for us, but it could be dangerous.”

Searc sat up and glanced toward their horses. “I found a rock in Gaoth’s hoof, picked it out.”

“Is he lame?” Ewan walked over to his stallion and ran a hand down his nose. He hadn’t been limping.

Searc joined him there. “No, just rubbed red in the sole. It would be good if he could rest it tonight. Where is Dory?”

Dory. Her name alone kicked Ewan’s stomach into a knot and rushed heat through his blood. “She’s bathing in the house. I think the woman planned to stay the night from the beginning.” He wouldn’t put it past her to manipulate their whole trip. She certainly wasn’t the weak lady in distress he’d originally thought.

“The lass will feel better when she’s clean and rested. Maybe she won’t be so stubborn then. My mother is always more pleasant when she’s had a bath and a good night’s sleep.” Searc scratched the dog’s soft head. “I think I’ll call her Maggie, after a wee lass back home with fluffy hair.”

Ewan raised one eyebrow. “I think being stubborn is in her blood.” He lowered his voice even though they spoke Gaelic. “What do you make of her magic?”

“I’ve lived with magic all my life,” Searc answered, referring to his mother Rachel. “It doesn’t concern me. Are you afraid of the lass?” He grinned.

“Nay! But before Meg I didn’t know it really existed. I’d heard rumors of your mother’s powers but thought they were exaggerated.”

“’Tis common in women perhaps?” Searc asked.

“Nay.” Ewan shook his head. “Most witch hunters create the charges they condemn people with. And Meg and Rachel don’t control the weather.”

“If Meg’s father had actually been Boswell instead of Colin Macleod and she and Dory were half-sisters, there might be some connection,” Searc said.