The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (8 page)

That unnerved her more than his cutting remarks or blatant hostility.

She deliberately relaxed. Placing the gun inside the bag, she knotted the end. Visualizing Marquardt trussed like a goose, she tried to decide on a fitting punishment.

Mayhap pouring honey over him and inviting a colony of ants to picnic. Or tarring and feathering the twiddle-poop and parading him about Craigcutty, still bound like a goose.

Yes, that would do nicely. With that image firmly set in her mind, she met his indolent gaze straight on.

Adaira shook her head in exasperation. “I’m not hiding my womanly assets, as you crudely put it.”

She was, but she’d eat worms before she admitted it to him.

“And hell would bloody well freeze over before you ever found me warming your bed.”
Or, any man’s for that matter
. “I’d sooner sleep with an adder.”

A sardonic grin twisted his mouth as his hooded gaze hovered over her breasts. “Oh, there’d be
something
wiggling about the sheets.”

Heat scorched her face. How dare he make such a vulgar innuendo? Was he raised in a cow-byre? Gentlemen simply didn’t speak of such things. Ever.

Ninny, he’s no gentleman, and he doesn’t know he revealed his thoughts again.

Adaira laughed softly before turning the tables on him. “That must be rather embarrassing, blurting your thoughts aloud.”

She couldn’t keep the mockery from her voice. His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Egads.” She pointed at Marquardt. “It’s a good thing you’re not an agent for the Corps like Ewan. You’d be unable to keep state secrets and spill all sorts of confidences.”

His lips firmed. He squashed the roll into a lump of dough.

Oh, that had set up his bristles.

“Not nearly as maddening as being locked in a cage by a foul-mouthed hoyden.” Vehemence, sharp as thorns, laced his voice.

“Blame me all you wish, Mr. Marquardt, but your depraved actions have landed you here.” She snatched the lantern from the hook, then turned and ran down the corridor. She had to stop whoever was below before they reached Marquardt’s cell.

CHAPTER 8

“Addy? Addeey? Where are yeee, lasssh?”

Yes, definitely Brayan and most assuredly, ape-drunk by the sound of his slurred speech. The yoke of guilt and regret for involving him in her scheme weighed upon Adaira. He couldn’t be seen by Marquardt. She had no doubt the fiend would also exact his full vengeance on Brayan.

She’d only known Marquardt for two days. Yet, she was certain of one thing. Mercy was not a virtue of his. He’d threatened her each time she’d ventured below. Not that she blamed him. She’d be furious, too, if someone confined her, took away her freedom. She knew full well the horror of being controlled and held powerless by another.

A shiver slithered the length of her spine. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. There was a remote chance, very remote, she kept telling herself, that he was the earl.

God help her if that proved true.

She swallowed against the lump of fear wedged at the back of her throat. Yvette seldom spoke of her stepbrothers. Adaira knew both had dark hair and blue eyes, but little else regarding them. She scrunched her brow. Had Yvette ever mentioned anything that would positively identify either man?

Rushing around corner, Adaira plowed full-on into Brayan’s broad chest. “Oomph!”

He staggered backward, one muscled arm wrapped around her and lifting her off the floor.

She shoved against him. “Let loose, you great oaf! I cannot breathe.”

Gads, but he was strong.

He released her, and air rushed into her lungs.

Rubbing her side, certain she’d sport a large bruise in an hour, she leaned toward him and sniffed. She crinkled her nose. He reeked of whisky.

“Blister it, Brayan, are you touched in the head? Why are you down here?” She grabbed his arm and started towing him in the direction from whence he’d come. “Did you take care to make sure no one followed you?”

“Of coursssh. Yer mother was ashkin’ after ye.” He tripped and swayed.

Adaira tightened her grip on his arm. Her fingers barely went halfway round his massive bicep.

“I tol’ ‘er one of yer mares was due to foal.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “An’ ye’d probably los’ track of the time when ye’d gone to check on ‘er.”

Adaira stopped and smiled at him. “That was brilliant! Vala is due soon.”

Brayan beamed at her, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Now,” Adaira said, hauling him along, “I won’t have to explain my ruined slippers. We need to hurry, though. Let’s use the other door and circle around to the stables. We’ll have to enter the keep through the gatehouse, but that shouldn’t raise any suspicions.”

She gave him a quick hug. “What would I do without you?”

“Addy. . .?”

The seductive timbre of his voice alerted her. She nearly groaned aloud.

Drat, not now. Not ever.

She couldn’t let him declare himself, especially when he was in his cups. She didn’t want to break his heart. Why couldn’t he be satisfied to remain friends?

She grabbed his hand. “Come. This way. Hold your lantern aloft, will you? It will be much easier to see our way.”

Jabbering on, she didn’t allow him an opportunity to say a word. She wended her way through the maze of passages. He lumbered along beside her, weaving from side-to-side. How much had he drunk, the fool?

She glanced at Brayan. “Mother will be miffed.”

His face was puckered in concentration as he strove to place one foot in front of the other without toppling over.

“I told her I was going to take headache powders and return at once. Of course, knowing my penchant for horses, especially the foals, she’ll forgive me.”

Adaira hustled him along another corridor. “Here we are. Help me with the door, please.”

With a powerful yank, he forced open the stone door. It grated across the floor, sending shivers the length of her spine. Warm air swept across her face. She welcomed it, given the penetrating chill of the dungeon.

The perfume of nearby roses wafted into the entrance. Sweeping through the doorway, her gown caught on a thorn. She stifled an oath. Before she could detach the material, Brayan plowed into her from behind. She stumbled and nearly fell. The delicate fabric tore. A good length of scarlet cloth remained on the bush.

“Oh rot, this is a new gown, too!” She bent to inspect the damage and huffed, “It’s ruined.”

“Ye don’t need fancy gowns, Addeey. Mother always says, ‘A preddy face suits the dishcloth.’ Ye are so bonnie, it doesn’t madder what ye wear.” He ducked his head, bashfully.

Adaira stared, jaw slack. Was he blushing? Impossible to tell, even with the two lanterns. Blast, he was truly trying to court her. That explained why he was in his cups, to bolster his courage.

“I like ye in yer breeches meself.” He waggled his eyebrows, a silly grin on his face. He leered at her hips.

Oh, this was outside of enough. She’d speak to him when he was sober, make it perfectly clear, once and for all, she harbored no romantic feelings for him.

But there was a fetching lass in the village who’d welcome his attentions. She’d seen Megan peeping at Brayan from beneath her lashes and giggling behind her hand. Yes, Adaira had better play matchmaker. And soon.

She pointed to the door. “You close the door, and I’ll douse my light. We don’t need both of the lanterns.” She blew out the flame. “We’d best hurry. . .”

Suddenly, Brayan gripped her shoulders. Before she had a chance to utter a squeak in protest, he mashed his wet, whisky-tainted lips against hers. The coarse stubble of his beard scratched her face. He tried to shove his tongue between her firmly meshed lips.

Adaira wrenched free and slapped him. Hard. She staggered backward several steps, holding her stinging hand against her middle. “Ye’ll not be taking liberties with me, Brayan McVey, ye great drunken sot!”

Her voice wavered with fury. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Disgusting.

Brayan threw back his head and laughed. The sound lodged in the pit of her stomach.

“Aye, lass, I will.” He tilted his head toward the door. “If ye be wantin’ me to keep yer secret.”

Adaira wasn’t sure how long she stood staring after Brayan. Except that it was long past the time his enormous form wobbled from sight and drunken singing faded into silence.

An owl’s hooting roused her from her stupor. With a great deal of grunting and sweating, she managed to shove the keep’s door closed.

She cast a glance skyward. There was a full moon tonight, nearly as bright as dawn’s violet-gray light. She hadn’t realized that with the lanterns lit. A hot tear spilled from the corner of her eye and trailed over her cheek. She rubbed it away, refusing to cry. She loathed waterworks. Besides, this mess was her making.

Yes, but Brayan . . .

A
shaky huff escaped her.

She’d never have thought him capable of such treachery.

Mentally shaking herself, she set a course for the stables. Vala still needed to be checked on. The mare wasn’t expected to foal until next week, but foaling two weeks early or two weeks late was common. In any event, it wouldn’t hurt to make a showing in the stable in case anyone questioned Adaira’s whereabouts

What hour was it anyway? She’d not descended into to the keep’s belly until a quarter to ten. She raised her face to the heavens once more. Thousands of stars cheerily blinked back at her.

The moon was just right of straight overhead. It was well past eleven o’clock. Closer to midnight, actually.

The grooms were already abed.

A thought riveted her in her tracks.

She smiled. Brayan’s threat held no merit. Once Ewan was home, the entire castle would know she’d abducted Marquardt. They’d also know why. She’d be vindicated and absolved of all blame.

Her grin faded.

Except, if she did, indeed, have the wrong brother.

CHAPTER 9

Adaira cautiously entered the hall a bit past noon two days later. She’d dressed in her comfortable buckskin breeches, a white shirt tucked into the waistband, and a leather vest secured across her chest,

Since the night before last, when Brayan had threatened her, she’d stayed sequestered in her room. The day afterward, she’d claimed to be indisposed. She hadn’t even gone to the lower levels to check on Marquardt. He had plenty of candles and food. He might be starved for company besides rats and other pests, but he wouldn’t go hungry.

Unless, the vermin invaded his rations.

Blast, she should have provided him with a storage container of some sort. That would have meant opening the door to his chamber though, and the archangel Michael himself couldn’t have persuaded her to do that. If only there’d been shackles in the cell.

Moving farther into the hall, she released a pent-up, breath. Only Mother and Isobel were present. They sat at a smaller table placed before the hall’s gargantuan unlit fireplace. Mother’s midnight tresses and Isobel’s caramel-tinted curls were bent close together as they read a letter her mother held.

Adaira released a sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to deal with Aubry.

Adaira had never been particularly fond of her female cousin, unlike Callum, Aubry’s brother, who was well-liked by all. They had come to live at Craiglocky ten years ago after their parents were lost at sea.

Since Ewan threatened her with banishment for her horrid treatment of Yvette, Aubry had been rather scarce. She’d begged Yvette for forgiveness. Still, Adaira didn’t trust her surly cousin.

Mother and Isobel glanced up at Adaira’s entrance. Duplicate pairs of aquamarine eyes framed by thick charcoal lashes greeted her. Mother smiled a warm welcome. The corners of her eyes crinkled, the faint lines the only indication she was old enough to be the mother of a man seven and twenty.

She waved the paper. “From my sister. Once again, she’s issued an invitation to visit her in France.”

Mother’s mouth swept upward. “Floressa is persistent if nothing else.”

The paper crackled softly as Mother folded the letter. She set it aside. Her gaze skimmed Adaira. “It’s good to see you up and about, Addy. I was going to have Gregor examine you if you hadn’t improved by today.”

Adaira heard the relief in her mother’s soft, French accent. She forced a cheerful smile. “I’m feeling much better.”

It was true. Knowing she could soon turn Marquardt’s care over to Ewan was a tremendous relief. A day or two more at most, and then she’d never have to see Marquardt again. The lout had caused her more self-doubt and self-recriminations than anyone else ever had.

“Are you?” Isobel’s tilted her head to one side. Her intelligent eyes scrutinized Adaira. “You’re rather pale.”

Drat. Isobel knew her far too well. Their dispositions were as different as summer and winter, yet Adaira was very close to her sister. After kissing their mother on the cheek, Adaira took a seat.

“Truly, Isobel. I am recovered.” Adaira smiled and accepted the china plate covered in blue roses her sister handed her. “As you know, I never remain ill for long.”

Isobel poured Adaira a goblet of claret.

“Here,
ma
chére
.” Mother nudged a plate of Scotch pies and oatcakes her direction. She thought Adaira was too thin as well. The truth was, she was afraid to put on extra flesh. Men seemed to prefer women with amply rounded bosoms and hips. At least Scotsmen did.

And one Englishman she could think of.

Adaira placed a steaming chicken pie on her plate and made a mental count of the remainders. Nine pies and seven oatcakes. She scanned the table. Apples, strawberries, oat rolls, bread, and assorted cheeses. Her stomach growled at the mixture of delicious smells. She smiled, genuinely pleased. There was plenty of food to pilfer for Marquardt.

“Strawberries, Addy? I know they’re your favorite.” Isobel held a bowl practically under Adaira’s chin. Isobel really needed to wear her spectacles. She couldn’t see past the end of her nose clearly without them.

The fresh, sweet scent of ripe, just-picked berries hovered above the fruit. Dutifully plucking three from the bowl, Adaira set them on her plate. Taking a bite of the Scotch pie, she chewed it slowly.

Her thoughts returned to Marquardt. A traitor wouldn’t hesitate to lie about his identity. She’d found no identifying papers on him. Wouldn’t an earl have something on his person for identification? A signet ring at the very least?

She toyed with a strawberry on her plate. She dared to venture from her chamber after watching Brayan and her brood of male relatives thunder from the bailey midmorning. As if he’d sensed her presence, Brayan turned to peer at her window. She ducked behind the heavy velvet draperies.

Traitorous bounder. Rotten knave. Bloody trow.

How she wished she was a man. A huge, grossly muscled man, so she could pummel Brayan soundly.

He sent her a note yesterday. She’d stared at her name scrawled on the creased paper before slowly unfolding the page. She grimaced upon spying telltale finger smudges and fish scales.

Addy,

Please forgive me. My bum’s oot the windae. I was talking
rubbish. It was the whisky. I tell ye true. I swear, I’d never hurt ye.

Ever yours,

Brayan

She’d crumpled the note and thrown it into the fireplace.

Balderdash and hogwash.

He wasn’t going to be absolved by blaming his threat on spirits. No, indeed. What was spoken came from the heart and revealed a person’s true character. The fact that he could recall his despicable threat meant his faculties weren’t as impaired as he’d have her believe.

Brayan’s actions revealed much about him. Things she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t witnessed them herself. Maybe she’d approach Ewan or Father about her concerns. However, that would have to wait until after Marquardt’s presence was revealed.

“You’re not acting yourself.” Isobel’s concerned tone dragged Adaira’s attention back to the table.

“Addy, is all well with you?” Mother asked. “Are you sure you still aren’t feeling indisposed?” She rested the back of her hand against Adaira’s brow, like she had in years past. Back before the
ugliness
happened and changed Adaira forever.

“You don’t feel feverish.” Mother’s gaze dipped to the mutilated berry on Adaira’s plate.

She forced a cheerful smile. “Nae, I’m well.”

To give credence to her claim, Adaira speared another strawberry, and raising it whole to her mouth, took a large bite. A commotion in the hall’s entry drew her attention. A beaming Ewan strode into the room with an equally glowing Yvette on his arm.

Adaira gasped, choking and gagging on the strawberry. She snatched her goblet and took a gulp, trying to wash the berry down. Instead, she snorted into the vessel and sprayed droplets of wine all over her face.

She seized her napkin. Peeking over the edge, she dabbed at the wine dripping from her cheeks and chin. When had he arrived home? Last night? This morning?

After kissing Mother on the cheek, and offering Adaira and Isobel a warm smile, Ewan took a seat. “Where are the others?”

Passing Yvette the bowl of strawberries, Mother smiled. “Your stepfather’s at the mill. The rest are working in the village at the orphan asylum. Except Seonaid. She’s doctoring a dog that injured its shoulder yesterday.”

Ewan and Yvette piled their plates with food. One would think they hadn’t eaten in a week. If they took anymore, there’d be little left for Marquardt.

Adaira bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the irony. For pity’s sake. She was begrudging her brother and sister-in-law their meal for fear the knave in the dungeon would go hungry.

Fork raised, Yvette eyed Adaira. “Addy, you’re unusually quiet.”

Adaira’s gaze flicked to Yvette’s before darting away.

“I am? I’m sorry. I’ve something weighing on my mind.” Weighing? More like suffocating her.

“Is it anything I can help with?” Yvette asked kindly.

Guilt wracked Adaira at the concern in new sister-in-law’s eyes. A lovely blonde, Yvette was every bit as generous and kind as she was wealthy and beautiful.

Adaira glanced around the table. Everyone’s attention was fixed on her. Seizing the first thing that popped her head, she blurted, “I’m simply trying to behave with a bit more decorum. I need to be an example for my sisters. I know I’ve been a hellion, uncouth and all that. I’ve not demonstrated the behavior one would expect of a lady of quality.”

Ewan quirked a brow in obvious disbelief. Mother stared at her as if she were addled.

Isobel snorted. “And a zebra can change its stripes to spots.”

Adaira couldn’t very well explain what was really going on, now could she? She lifted a shoulder slightly and offered a half-smile.

She added two more Scotch pies, three oatcakes, a pair of apples—as Marquardt seemed to like them—several wedges of cheese, and two rolls to her plate. Staring at the mound of food, Ewan raised his brows again but said nothing.

She rapidly added six flaky shortbread biscuits to her stash. “In case I run into Brayan,” she explained.

She peeped at Ewan from beneath her lashes. Should she tell him she held Marquardt captive below?

Ewan smiled at Yvette, adoration in his eyes. It was quite obvious they’d shared a joyful homecoming. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to know of such things. Her family would be surprised at precisely what she knew. Truth to tell, appalled at her knowledge, and even more so, at how she’d come to acquire the information.

Adaira took a careful sip of her wine, and then began piling the food from her plate onto her napkin. No, she’d wait until tomorrow to tell him. She’d give Ewan and Yvette this day. The onset of their marriage had been difficult enough. They deserved some happiness.

Marquardt could wait another day. He’d be exchanging one prison for another in any event. Compared to Newgate, his Craiglocky accommodations were luxurious.

“I think I’ll take my luncheon with me and eat it later, if you don’t mind, Mother. I need to speak with Father. You said he’s at the woolen mill?” She loathed lying to her mother.

Mother waved her away. “I believe so. Either there or the orphanage. Do be careful,
chére
. With all the construction in town, there are an unusual number of wagons and carts on the roads, not to mention strangers wandering about.”

Truer words were never spoken.

Gathering the corners of her napkin, Adaira covered the food. “I shall.”

She stood. After grabbing a crust of bread, her favorite part, she left the great hall, headed for the lower level. She’d gone but a few feet along the hallway when Yvette’s words halted Adaira mid-step.

“Would it be an inconvenience to have the earl underfoot for a few days?” Yvette asked.

Making her way back to the hall’s entrance, Adaira idly slid the cross at her neck from side-to-side while unabashedly eavesdropping.

“By all means,” her mother said. “Write the earl a letter, and ask him to pay us an extended visit.”

“I did suggest a visit when I wrote him a few weeks past, Yvette said, “but I never issued a formal invitation. Rory’s a stickler for propriety.”

What?
Adaira inched closer, cocking her head to listen.

Yvette continued,
“
He’d never impose without a written invitation.” She gave a soft chuckle. “I’ve never known anyone with a more rigid sense of honor or who adheres more strictly to society’s dictates.”

Yvette hadn’t invited the earl yet? That meant the deceitful cur below
was
Edgar Marquardt. Adaira knew it! A loadstone lifted from her shoulders and the noose loosened round her neck.

Thank God.

She heard some rustling about. She dared to peek around the doorframe. Yvette was embracing Mother. Adaira smiled. Her new sister-in-law was fitting into their family very nicely.

Standing upright, Yvette murmured, “Thank you. Rory’s nothing like Edgar. My stepmother told me that as a boy, Rory was whipped by the old earl. He bears the scars to this day. Rory has a soft heart and is very compassionate toward those less fortunate than himself.”

No doubt about it, none indeed. There was nothing soft-hearted or compassionate about the ill-tempered brute prowling about below the keep.

Adaira’s smile widened into a gratified grin.

The off-tune singing of Iona, one of the orphans who lived at the keep and helped Sorcha, rang the length of the hallway. Careful to walk on her toes, lest her boot heels rap on the stone floor, Adaira crept from the door. She resisted the urge to kick her heels together like the wee folk.

The red-haired moppet skipped into the entry, a feather duster in her hand. She wore a faded yellow dress. “Pleased I be to see ye, Miss Adaira.”

Iona grinned exposing her missing front teeth.

“Ye be all better now?” She brandished the feather duster like an enraged rooster flapping his wings. Dust particles flew everywhere. Above the keep’s entrance, streams of sunlight slanting through the leaded glass window depicting the McTavish crest illuminated the floating bits.

Adaira smiled and tousled the urchin’s hair. “Aye, that I am.”

Indeed, she was much better. She nearly rubbed her hands together in glee. Oh, she couldn’t wait to see the look on Marquardt’s face when she told him Ewan was home. And that Yvette had confirmed she’d never sent the earl an invitation to visit.

Marquardt, the rotten imposter, was done up, by Jove.