The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (3 page)

Seumas did his best to cover his disappointment, though the lass might as well have slapped his face with the determined look that accompanied her brazen answer. Clearly this girl thought she could look him straight in the eye and lie to him. She was not looking for a warm bed to share, he would wager, and she did not impress him with the winsome smile she kept flashing. It was a rather nice smile, though. As were the legs he had gotten an eyeful of during the tussle.

Patrick was such an arse. Seumas had known his intentions the second the drunkard latched eyes on the lass but was a bit too late to stop him. She had taken care of herself though. This time. Still, she was playing with fire to be in a castle full of unscrupulous mercenaries without protection. Patrick stirred, and Seumas lifted him by the front of his shirt.

“Off ye go now.” Seumas pushed him roughly toward the stairs.

Despite the Irishman’s drunken state, he was able to stumble up the stairs, rubbing his head as he went. He did not seem to realize he was going up unaccompanied.

“Well, then.” Seumas decided to call the girl’s bluff and accept her offer. If this was the game she chose to play, he would teach her a lesson. She would be admitting to her lie and asking for assistance in no time. Using his most persuasive tone of voice, he gallantly offered her his arm. “Let us go.”

Her eyes widened in panic as she stepped away from him. Regret slammed into his chest at her look of fear, but he could not back down now or she would never learn. She took another step… Where was she backing up to? Her own companion would be the next person she would fall over. Not that her fall against him had not been sweet. She weighed next to nothing, but her skin was scorching hot. He could have sworn the hairs on the back of his neck were singed.

Summoning patience, he watched as her gaze darted about the room, no doubt looking for an escape. His irritation mounted. She could not physically stop him from taking her upstairs if that was what he decided upon, and she needed to realize that. The sooner the better. This was a dangerous situation. Women slept in the hall at their own peril and at everyone else’s mercy. There was no yae or nae about it. These soldiers took what they wanted, and they would have no problem sniffing out any females nearby, just as Patrick had.

His chest tightened at the idea of what could have happened if he had not seen Patrick heading toward them. Though unsure exactly how the Irishman had figured out she was female, Seumas felt compelled to scare her into realizing what every woman of
noble
birth was taught from day one—go nowhere unescorted. She might not have been a noble, but she needed to heed the same warning. Her naiveté seemed sincere, but how she had remained so innocent with no one protecting her was beyond him. In any case, if she admitted she had lied and was not available, Seumas would try to secure some sort of protection for her overnight.

Or…she could try to talk him out of it. He bit his lip to keep from smiling when she opened her mouth to plead her case. She was a brash one. And intriguing. He stepped closer until she had to bend her head back to continue to look him in the face. Her eyes widened even more.

Ah, now she realizes the size of it.
He couldn’t hide the smirk.

“Nay, m’lord, I cannot leave my brother.” The boy snored as if on cue.

Seumas pulled at the edge of the blanket she held in front of her until she let go. He bent down and gently placed it on the sleeping boy, tucking it around him. He looked peaceful enough and would probably be glad to have his sister out of jeopardy. Tipping his head to the side, he offered his arm again. He raised his eyebrows in expectation of her compliance.

Emotions flitted across her face as she evidently tried to think of another excuse not to go with him. Her valor was admirable, but the lass would not get through the night inviolate by staying here. Still, he almost hoped she would not admit the lie now. She intrigued him. He held his breath, awaiting her next move. She clutched her cloak as if to ward off his advances.

The sounds of men shifting awake behind him pushed Seumas into action. Ever a prudent man, he scooped her into his arms then headed up the stairs two at a time. Better to have her safely away than to deal with their ribald comments.

“Oh, nay. Nay, you do not understand. I cannot come with you.” She pushed against his chest, stretching her legs as if to jump out of his arms.

He had to adjust his hold on her to avoid being hit in the face. She struggled against such overwhelming odds, and he felt a growing respect for her.

When he got to his room, he continued to hold her until they were inside and he had turned the iron key in the lock. On the far side of the room, Paul, his squire, lay dozing on the floor in front of the only window. The fire burned brightly, and the little man’s snoring could be heard above the crackling wood. The rattling door brought his glance back to his determined guest. With all her might, she pulled against the door. She actually huffed when she saw it would not budge then backed herself against it and stood there, rigid as a board. She did not look available for a tumble anymore, and it was just as well. He was done with this farce.

“Ye are safe here.” He sounded angry even to his own ears.

Angry at what? This girl thought he had brought her here to have his way with her. How else would she behave? She looked small against the door, as far away from him as she could possibly get. He watched as she took in the four poster bed, sitting squarely in the middle of the room, and Paul, shifting in his sleep beside a possible avenue of escape. He slept like the dead and would not be awakened by their presence or even by her climbing over him to get out the window. The fall would probably kill her, so it was a good thing she did not realize that.

Overcome with exhaustion, Seumas removed his dagger and sword before untying his tunic. It had been a long, unrewarding day, and he wanted nothing more than the oblivion of sleep. The heretofore intriguing wench stood pressed to the door, unmoving. Why had he taken the lass to his room? Why the overpowering need to protect her? Her brother would be safe in the hall and she would not. Was that all?

Her eyes bored into him. She watched his every move.

“That is yer brother with ye?” He pulled the tunic over his head.

“Yes.” She clipped off the word as if annoyed.

“How old is he?”

“Nine.”

“What is his name?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and he glanced toward the door. She averted her gaze before answering. “Calum.”

This was an exercise in futility, and he sighed in disgust. Fine. If she would not allow him to allay her fear with friendly discourse, she would have to stay petrified. If he had meant to use her, he would have gotten right to it. Why wait? The bed was inviting, to be sure, but for sleep alone—something he intended to do as soon as his head hit the pillow. Unless, of course, the girl decided she could sneak away from him and spent half the night attempting to do so. Damn. He had to prevail upon her to stay.

He moved toward her. She stood her ground, but there was something in the depths of her eyes that could only have been fear, and he sighed again. He wanted to intimidate her, not make her fear for her person, but…if that was what it took to keep her here, where she was safe, so be it. Raising his eyebrows, he moved with deliberation, placing a hand on either side of her, though he made sure not to touch her, and pausing there. The weight of his body resting on both arms, he hovered just above her. He waited until he saw her fear subside and realization take its place—she was at his mercy. He could do anything to her, anything at all.

Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she finally looked away. Still careful not to touch her, he grabbed the long wooden bar and slid it across the door behind her. She moved in closer to him to avoid being pinched, bringing the smell of her skin wafting up to him. A totally feminine scent—summer flowers and earth.

He froze in place. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, stirring the memory of a woman’s soft and pliant body beneath his. The yearning and longing and wanting more…so much more. For what seemed an eternity, he fought the almost-overwhelming desire to press her back against the door and capture her red lips. To feel her tremble with desire in his arms. To plunder her mouth and grind his hips into hers. It had been such a long ti—

Reality burst into his brain like a blow to the head. He whipped his eyes open, reeling from the intensity of his desire. After a moment, he exhaled. It was all in his mind. His body had not reacted, and it never would. She was safer with him than she knew.

He turned away from her, feeling not like the protector he had intended to be, but what he actually was: half a man.

Iseabail dared not take her eyes off him even as he doffed his tunic. She should have turned away from the sight of his near-naked flesh, should have been intimidated by the sheer size of the man. Instead, all she could think of was how well he was made. As if he had been carved out of stone, in perfect proportion. Any excess flesh chipped away until all that was left was this—a strong broad chest narrowing into the rippling planes of his stomach.

She exhaled loudly, but he did not seem to notice. Had she actually been holding her breath? At the sight of him? She had
seen men without their shirts before, in the practice yard at home, but none had looked as good. She forced herself to stop admiring him, but not before she noticed how his long, wavy hair caressed his shoulders.

Stop being ridiculous.

She was totally at this man’s mercy.

Yet she did not feel threatened. He had made no crude remarks nor given her any leering looks. In fact, she felt safer here than she did at her own home...which was absurd. She did not know this man. She had no idea of his intentions for her. And he had picked her up and carried her away against her will. So what was it about him that reassured her? Why did she believe him when he told her she was safe? Not that it mattered. If she was wrong, she could not get away. If she did scream, who would come to her aid? Possibly someone more like her uncle? If she made any undue noise, the man who now slept on the floor might end up being even more dangerous.

Once, she had been totally innocent, safe in her parents’ protective arms. She had helped with the poor, sick, and downtrodden in the villages, but abuse of the flesh was a subject she had never been exposed to until her uncle moved in after her parents’ deaths. She was so pathetically naïve that it was weeks before she even understood the inappropriate nature of his jests. Mayhap she would have been less demonstrative in her affection, and he wouldn’t have mistaken her intentions. She shook her head to clear the memory. Was this not the same sort of thing? Why did she not feel the same loathing toward this man?

“Methinks ye wish to place a curse on me with that look of yours… What is yer name?”

Though she jumped at the sound of his voice, she could not help watching as he poured water from a pitcher to a bowl sitting on the table beside the fire. Mesmerized by the motion and play of firelight over his expansive chest, she did not notice right away when he stopped his movements. She met his eyes. Her heart beat faster and that strange heat centered in her belly again.

He quirked a brow. “I asked ye a question and I expect an answer…or do ye not know how to act with yer betters?”

Her better? Though she seethed inside, Iseabail bit her tongue before she gave herself away. If he but knew how much land her clan called their own...

Nay, Iseabail. Remember the part you play here.

Lowering her eyes, she quietly answered him. “Forgive me, m’lord. I forget myself.” Unsure what else the charade called for, she curtseyed slightly.

“Yer name?” He still didn’t move. His brows were raised in expectation yet again.

“My name is Iseabail.”

He nodded, apparently appeased. “And my name is Seumas.”

His face settled into a slight smile, and he continued with his washing. His muscles flexed as he rubbed across his chest and down his arms, scrubbing the soap into lather then rinsing it clean until his skin glistened. When he finished, he reached for the cloth beside him but turned his face to her.

She exhaled slowly.

“Come here, Iseabail.”

His tone was coaxing, as if to a newly harnessed foal. She took the few steps toward him. When he reached for her face, she tensed and her mouth went dry. He was no better than her uncle, after all, and disappointment washed over her. She glanced down, steeling herself for the imminent assault, before facing him. His hand stopped just short of her face. Their eyes met, and she could tell he was insulted by his tight lips and furrowed brow.

He wiped her cheek with a wet finger. “Ye’re filthy,” he said with disgust. “Make use of my water, and be quick about it.” Seumas walked away, rubbing his hands dry.

Iseabail exhaled in relief. She had not been wrong about him, nor did she need to be asked twice to wash up. She and Calum had been living in the rough for two months now. She could only remember one bath and that was at a stream. This would be heavenly.

“Hand me yer cloak.”

Iseabail hesitated. It was her only protection and, with the will tucked inside the lining, she never let it out of her sight. He extended his hand to her, palm up. She slowly removed the covering, careful not to dip it in the water. Her well-worn bliaut, once red, was an earthy brown. He didn’t comment but hung the cloak on the hook beside the door then sat on the bed. The will was safe for now.

The water smelled of leather but it felt so good on her skin. She pushed her sleeves up to get to her wrists, once lovely and fair-skinned, now tanned from living in the forest. She scrubbed at the accumulation of dirt around her neck. The bed creaked and he sighed contentedly, but she dared not look. One boot then the other dropped to the floor. She scrubbed harder, working her fingers into her hair, pushing it away from her face. That was as far as she could clean. The water was muddy. She flicked it off her fingers and stepped closer to accept the cloth he handed her. When she glanced at him, he frowned at her accusingly.

“Ye have been hiding much, I see.” His voice was deep and quiet. Husky.

She lowered her eyes and dried her hands. The room was suddenly very hot. She wiped at the water slipping down her neck. “M’lord, I do not—”

Seumas put his finger to her lips to silence her and gently took her chin, turning her face from one side to the other, inspecting her. Their eyes met, and she saw his admiration. “Ye are truly lovely, Iseabail.” He stroked her cheek, slower this time. “Why do ye sleep on the castle floor with the dogs?”

“We came in from the cold, like everyone else.”

“Ah, but ye are not from this area. I hear it in yer
voice. Ye sound like a Scot, a Lowlander to be sure, but ye are not from around here.”

She struggled to remember the story she and Calum had made up in case they were ever caught, but his hand was warm, making it hard for her to think.

“Nor do you dress like a peasant. That gown is for a noblewoman.”

He was too observant. “No, m’lord, I am—we are traveling east—”

He stroked her cheek again. “And yer skin is smooth. Not like one who has to work to survive.”

She had to distract him. “We have no place to call home. Our parents are both…dead.” The word caught in her throat as the realization struck her hard. Both of them dead—they were truly alone in the world.

His gaze was intense, measuring the truth of each word. She would not be telling him that they had been living in the woods because they were being hunted down like dogs or that her uncle had put a price on their heads.

“I beg your pardon.” The story they had worked out came flooding back. She took a deep breath, stood tall, and recited their well-planned fable. “You are correct that we are not from this area. My brother and I are indeed strangers here. We are heading east. We have nowhere else to go. I pray you will allow me to return now to my brother.”

His features hardened. His hand dropped heavily from her face and he sat up straighter on the bed. A muscle ticked beside his mouth before he answered. “I am afraid ye have mistaken my intentions. I do not plan nor wish to ravage ye. I am trying only to protect ye from others who would show less consideration for the downtrodden. As ye say ye have no place else to go, Iseabail,” his eyes were shooting daggers, “ye will sleep here
only
, and I will know ye are safe.”

She was indignant though she did not understand it. “Why do you need to know I am safe? Let me return to my brother so that I know
he
is safe.”

“He is safe.” His voice rose. “I have said it is so.”

She frowned at him. “And that is it?”

“Aye.” His tone was threateningly quiet when he finally spoke again. “Ye are safe with me. That is all ye need to worry yerself with.”

If he only knew her many worries. She nibbled at her lower lip.

Pulling back the covers, he directed her to get into the bed as if she were a child. She did not move. Was he going to join her in the bed or sleep on the floor like the other man? She glanced at the man, who had turned away from the room.

“He will not bother ye either.” Seumas responded to her unspoken question.

Either? She was exhausted and the bed looked so inviting. He watched her and waited almost patiently. The only indication of his impatience was the strumming of his fingers against his leg.

Finally acquiescing, she climbed on all fours across the bed then lay down and waited. He yanked up the blanket a little too quickly, as if he did not wish to see her lying there. He pulled his tunic back over his head and lay down on top of her covers, effectively imprisoning her in a tight cocoon. She opened her mouth to protest but realized she was in no way compromised. He covered himself with the wool blanket from the foot of the bed. She felt a moment’s guilt at his thin covering until he reached his arm around her and pushed her head onto his shoulder. Did he honestly expect her to sleep with her head resting on him?

“The door has been secured, and ye cannot escape. I tell ye that ye will be safe with me, and I have given ye no reason to believe otherwise. Have I?”

She wanted to argue the point but stifled a yawn. “No.”

“Sleep then.”

Within seconds, he was asleep, and her body relaxed a little. Unlike most of the men she had seen while within these castle walls, he appeared clean and smelled fresh. She could not just lie there, however, so after a few minutes, she slowly started to move herself away from him, only to feel his strong arm tightening in his sleep, pulling her even closer. There would be no escape.

She decided to pretend she rested her head on Iain’s shoulder. The two of them often ended up sleeping in Calum’s bed after a particularly bad dream had awakened him. Their uncle’s cruel mouth showed no mercy even for the youngest. It strengthened them to be close together and forget that their uncle lurked right outside the door, like a wolf ready to rip them apart. She finally closed her eyes. Between the heat of the fi
re and heaviness of the cover, she soon dozed off.

In her dreams, she was home. Her mother and father were still alive, and they were all together as a family. The day was so bright and sunny, and she could actually feel the heat of it warming her body. Calum was yet a baby. It was the day her father had presented her with a beautiful horse, Roman. She had been so happy to be given her own mount.

When she awoke, her face was covered with tears. The empty bed with drawn curtains enclosed her in total darkness.

If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was in her own bed. Her father would be in his room, dressing for the day. Her handmaiden would bring in her favorites to break her fast. She could imagine the smell of the freshly baked scones and almost taste the new butter and honey that always accompanied them. Her mouth watered.

A sudden splashing from the other side of the curtain startled her to reality. Afraid to look or even move, Iseabail lay completely still and listened. Though muffled by the curtain, she could hear movement in the room. Someone was humming.

“Do not dawdle, Paul.” The humming ceased abruptly, and Iseabail tensed as she recognized the voice as belonging to the man whose bed she slept in. Seumas. “Just help me with the boots now. Oh, never mind. Be off. I shall see to it myself.”

The door closed, and Iseabail waited.

“Ye can come out now. He is gone.” More sternly, he added, “Now, Iseabail.”

She opened the curtains and peered out. Seumas sat fully clothed on a stool beside a wooden tub. He pulled on his last boot and looked up at her then rolled his eyes in exasperation—one of Iain’s favorite gestures. For an instant, her heart clutched. Where was her brother?

“Do ye not hear me, then? Out with ye…now!”

Iseabail slid out of the bed and stood before the man.

He smiled at her tightly. “I do not know yer story, but I know ye would have been in a bad way this morning if I had have left ye on the floor last night. I thought only to protect ye. Do ye understand me?”

Nodding, she looked down at the ground.

“I would like ye to at least look at me when I speak to ye.”

Iseabail looked up at his face then quickly away. Her pulse raced. This man had just been naked in that tub and was now freshly shaven and cleaned. It did not slip her notice that he was even more handsome without the beard. She tried to slow her breathing and cool her expression before she looked into his eyes again.

“That is better. It is common courtesy to be appreciative of someone who has shown ye a kindness.”

Here it comes.

He watched her. Was he looking for a sign of her distrust? The corner of his mouth turned down. He must have found it. “I did not even flaunt yer presence here.”

Iseabail’s temperature escalated as the memory and her imagination flooded with thoughts of this man in the tub. It was unseemly, but she could not get it out of her mind. She had no answer for him.