The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (19 page)

With a short bow to the ladies, Alex excused himself and walked away. While he still could.

T
HIS WAS A
mistake. Joan’s instincts were screaming again, but she’d put Sir Hugh off for as long as she could.

It should be safe enough, she thought with an uneasy glance around as they entered the quiet stables. But the soldiers were still practicing in the yard nearby, and even if quiet now, the stables would not be for long.

Anticipating Sir Hugh’s movements, she spun away from him—and his embrace—as soon as they entered. “Now where is this great hero?” she asked playfully, hands on her hips. “You swore on your honor as a knight that the greatest hero in the castle slept in the barn. I hope it was not a trick.”

Sir Hugh’s smile held a hint of definite mischief. “You thought I would lie to get you alone? Well, I might, but in this case I did not. Come, see for yourself.”

When he started to lead her toward one of the stalls in the back, she grew even more certain something was afoot. But she forced herself to keep walking. She could handle this. She could handle him. Something was going on with the English command, and she was determined to know what it was.

He stopped, leaning over the wooden gate to point at a small, furry black lump in the straw. “There he is.”

Frowning, but undeniably curious, Joan leaned forward and identified the lump as a sleeping dog. A very small and ratty-looking sleeping dog. Suddenly the tiny creature looked up, leapt to its feet, and started barking crazily at her.

She winced at the sound, which was actually more of a high-pitched yap than a bark. But goodness, the little thing was so ugly it was cute.

Suddenly she understood Sir Hugh’s riddle.

Even though this little beast had caused her Highland Guard brethren a lot of trouble, she couldn’t help but smile.

Sir Hugh was clever, she would give him that. “This is the dog that alerted the guards and prevented the castle from being taken by the rebels two Decembers past.”

Gregor “Arrow” MacGregor had had the dog in his sights, but he’d hesitated to shoot, and the dog’s yapping had alerted the garrison to their presence, ruining their chance to take the important castle. According to Lachlan, that hesitation had made Gregor the butt of many jests in the Guard, but after seeing the dog, Joan understood. She wouldn’t have been able to shoot either.

Sir Hugh looked mildly disappointed. “You weren’t supposed to guess so easily.”

“It was hard not to with that bark.” She winced again as it continued. “This little guy is very well known throughout the Borders.”

“So you agree, then? I will have my apology now. You maligned my honor by suggesting trickery,” he said with mock gravity.

She laughed. “Very well, I apologize. You were right: the greatest hero at Berwick sleeps in the stables.”

She bent over to quiet the dog and quickly realized her mistake when he came up behind her. “I think I’ll require more of an apology than that.”

His husky voice left no doubt of his meaning. She tamped down the alarm bells ringing in her head.

He put his hands on her hips, and knowing that she was seconds away from having her bottom pressed against a part of him she had no interest in feeling, she stood up quickly and tried to spin away. But this time he anticipated her movement, and instead he turned her into his embrace.

She gasped as her chest collided with his. “Now that’s better,” he said huskily, pushing her up against the wall of the stall. “God, you feel good.”

Joan wished she could say the same. There was nothing objectively wrong with him. His breath didn’t smell like herring, his lips weren’t too puffy or his nose too long. His neatly trimmed beard wasn’t peppered with crumbs from the midday meal. His body was hard and lean with enough well-sculpted muscle to make a woman’s heart jump.

But hers was jumping for an entirely different reason.

She didn’t understand this dread—this near panic. She’d been in this situation before and she’d never had such a problem detaching. But never before had it felt so
wrong
. Never before had she compared it to another. And never before had it made her feel as if she needed to dive into the loch.

Alex’s kiss had stripped her of her armor of indifference.

One glance at Sir Hugh’s face and she read his intent. Her pulse took another vicious jump.
He’s going to kiss me
 . . .

“You never told me about your journey,” she blurted.

The slow descent of his mouth stopped. His eyes narrowed just enough for her to realize she had best be careful. Her vaunted subtlety in questioning had apparently deserted her.

“No, I didn’t.”

Her heart was hammering so loud she feared he could hear it in her voice. “It must have been important.”

His expression didn’t change. She felt a bit like a bug under a rock that had just been lifted. “It was.”

“The king must value you greatly.”

Misinterpreting her interest as she’d intended, he smiled. “He does.”

He thought she liked his power and importance—she did, but not for the reasons he imagined. Unfortunately, it appeared Sir Hugh was not a boaster. She needed to find out about his mission.

He started to lower his mouth again, and she told herself she could do this—how bad could it be?—but at the last minute she turned her face so that his mouth landed on her cheek and jaw instead. He didn’t seem to mind the detour, as his mouth descended to devour her throat and neck.

“I was bored all week,” she blurted again, trying to think about anything other than what he was doing. But the feel of his mouth on her skin made it crawl as if a jar of spiders had just been poured on her. “There was so little to do. It stormed for a few days, and then everyone was getting ready for the fair . . .” She rambled on for a few more minutes, but nothing could distract her—or him.

His mouth left her throat to cover her mouth. It was that bad. Her body’s rejection was instantaneous. She felt it in every fiber of her being.
No!
She wanted to scream. Her muscles tensed with the instinctive response to break free.

But she forced herself not to move. It was a job. It served a higher purpose. This wasn’t her. She didn’t feel anything. It was just a kiss.

But the cold detachment she’d always been able to muster wasn’t there. She felt everything, and the sensation of his lips pressing intently—lustily—against hers . . .

Oh God, she couldn’t do this.

She pushed away—or tried to push away—breaking the kiss if not his hold on her. “Wait!” she said in a gasp.

His arms tightened around her. She’d never been locked in irons, but she suspected the sensation was the same.

“Wait for what?” he said angrily.

“I . . . uh . . . anyone might discover us. Besides . . .” She smiled broadly and she hoped with considerably less trepidation than she was feeling. “We should get to know each other a little better first.”

It was all she could think of to put him off. Goodness knew her trick with marriage wouldn’t work with Sir Hugh—he would never believe she was foolish enough to consider marriage.

His dark eyes held a warning that he was not in the mood for delays or games. “I already know all I need to, and we know each other plenty well.” He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why are you suddenly playing the blushing maid? I thought you wanted this. Or maybe there’s something else you want from me?” His eyes drew as sharp as daggers. “Did the queen put you up to this? Are you spying on me?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed adamantly. But his accusation hit too close to the truth. She’d roused his suspicions, and knowing she had to put a stop to it, she didn’t protest when his mouth covered hers again.

She tried—truly she did—for all of about three seconds. But when he attempted to push his tongue between her lips, the panic—the revulsion—was too overwhelming. She couldn’t bear it. Not another moment.

She tried to push away a second time, but he wasn’t having it. The arms that were wrapped around her were like chains of steel. He wasn’t going to let her go.

She struggled, a moment of panic overtaking her as the memories came rushing back. But only for an instant. She would never let that feeling of helplessness take hold of her—she would never let a man hurt her like that again.

Her movements were smooth and quick, as if practiced a thousand times—which wasn’t too far off. Lachlan was a difficult taskmaster and demanded perfection. She’d been glad of it now and had been more than once.

She moved her left hand to his right arm to grab the inside of his elbow and lifted her right to his left cheek. Neither movement was threatening, but when done together . . .

She pulled inwardly on his arm while the other hand pushed against his jaw to rotate his head. Using this simple yet elegant maneuver she was able to swing him around to change their positions, so it was he who was now pushed against the wall. His surprise enabled her to break free and step back.

It was done without a blow or strike. Her goal had been to gain her freedom, not hurt him, though she could have easily done so. And maybe even wanted to. But she didn’t want to draw too much attention to her unusual skills.

In that she failed.

Alex slowly unfurled the hand that had been clenched around the hilt of his dagger. Despenser had been a few seconds away from having it buried deep at the base of his neck.

Alex wouldn’t have missed. His skill with the blade was what had eventually earned him his place in the Highland Guard.

He couldn’t ever recall feeling the urge to kill so powerfully. It had been bad enough when Despenser’s mouth pressed against hers the first time. But when he’d kissed her again and Alex saw her struggling to break free, the urge had come over him in a red, primitive haze that even now still pounded through his blood.

Had she not extricated herself from his hold, Alex would have killed the king’s new favorite. Happily. A man who would force himself on a woman deserved nothing less.

Perhaps in that Alex and his former partner were more alike than he realized. The vehemence of his reaction was unexpected. He’d never experienced the kind of hatred that Boyd had felt after his sister’s rape—hatred that had fueled his vengeance against the English—but maybe he’d had a taste of it now.

Actually, he wasn’t altogether sure his blade still wouldn’t end up in the bastard’s back—or gut, for that matter.

Despenser took a threatening step toward her. “What the hell? How did you—”

“Wait!” She darted away from Despenser. “I heard something.”

Alex stilled. Had he made a noise?

“You heard nothing,” the other man growled. “I paid the stable lads a shilling each to see that we were not disturbed for a while.”

Alex had seen the two boys guarding the door not long after Despenser and Lady Joan had gone inside, which is why he’d slipped into the barn through the door on the opposite side used to bring the hay inside.

He couldn’t believe it when he’d seen her go in the barn with him willingly. Didn’t she realize what would happen?

His mouth fell in a hard line. Of course she did. And he was a bloody fool because he thought the kiss they’d shared might have meant something. It had to him. He hadn’t realized how much until he’d seen her in another man’s arms.

“So you
were
planning something,” she said.

“Of course I was,” Despenser replied angrily. “Any fool would have known what I planned. And whatever else you might be, Lady Joan, you are no fool. So either you are a tease or you had another purpose for leading me into believing you wanted to bed me.” His eyes narrowed. “Which is it?”

Despenser had stopped advancing on her, and she stood to face him. Surprisingly, given the circumstances, she didn’t look threatened or scared. Actually, she looked confident and strong.

Alex frowned.

“Neither,” she said with a bold lift of her chin. “I just do not believe we will suit.”

“
You
do not believe we will suit?” Despenser repeated incredulously. “Who the hell do you think you are? Since when does a bastard slut turn down one of the most important men in the realm?”