His Stolen Bride (Stolen Brides Series Book 0)

by Shelly Thacker

  She turned to Sir William but before she could speak, Darach appeared from out of the crowd and took her hand.

  “You have kept your ward to yourself all evening, Will. ’Tis certain she is weary of your company by now.” He bowed to Laurien formally. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Laurien?”

  A score of tart replies leaped to Laurien’s tongue—even as she was trying not to notice that he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him, with his hair cropped short, his face clean-shaven, his tanned skin and the strong angles of his chin and jaw revealed as never before.

  She blinked. “I-I have never been a good dancer,” she protested.

  Darach was already sweeping her off into the circle. “Neither have I. We will have to manage it together.”

  He held her right hand in his left as they fell into line, following the other knights and ladies in the gliding steps of an Italian basse danze. Only their fingertips touched as they moved, but the heat of his skin against hers filled her mind and her heart with memories.

  Mercy of Heaven, such memories.

  When he spoke, his voice was taut, as if his thoughts matched hers. “Your gown is… lovely. The green is beautiful on you.”

  It was not like Darach to offer praise freely. Mayhap he had consumed too much wine with his meal.

  “I-I did not choose it apurpose to match your garb. Truly, I have not… thought of you much at all today,” she lied. As she glanced toward him, their gazes met.

  And the look in his eyes took away her breath. It was the look she had longed to see this morning, tender and yet fierce.

  Her pulse became unsteady. “Are… are those your family’s colors?”

  “Aye, emerald and white.” He did not take his gaze from hers. “And the Glenshiel family crest, a falcon on a silver wind.”

  She did not trust herself to ask anything more, afraid that she would say too much—that all her feelings, all her fears, all her plans would spill from her lips.

  The music ended a moment later, but Darach did not let go of her hand. As if on impulse, he twined his fingers through hers.

  And then he was leading her away from the crowd, toward the far end of the hall, into the shadows at the foot of the spiral stair.

  “Darach, wait,” Laurien whispered, telling herself she should not allow him to kiss her, trying to decide whether she wanted him to kiss her—and already tilting her mouth up to kiss him.

  “There you are, my dearest!” Lady Fionna appeared from around a corner. “Darach, you must not disappear from me again.”

  Laurien’s pounding heart stilled upon hearing the words my dearest. She found herself suddenly released as Darach turned toward Fionna.

  Flooded with hurt, chastising herself as a fool, Laurien fled into the crowd.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Fionna!” Darach snapped, torn between giving her the rebuke she deserved and following Laurien, who was hurrying to the opposite side of the hall.

  “You scarcely spoke three words to me at supper.” She pouted. “I have news of import I need to tell you.”

  “I made it clear two months ago that it is finished between us, Fionna. How much more plainly need I put it?” He turned to leave.

  “’Tis about this ward of William’s,” Fionna called after him.

  Darach turned back toward her.

  “There were some men in the market square today,” she continued quickly. “They were asking questions about a girl recently arrived from France—”

  “And why did you wait until now to tell me of this?”

  “I thought you were no longer interested in what I had to say, milord.” Fionna lowered her eyelashes. “You did not even come to find me when you arrived today—”

  “Who was asking questions?” Darach was not going to be dragged into one of Fionna’s coy games. “What did they look like?”

  She moved closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Darach, you left no word when you went away. You disappeared for more than a fortnight, and today you reappear with this…” She cast a sidelong glance in Laurien’s direction. “…this very pretty, young ward of William’s. He never said aught to me about any relatives in France.”

  “You are the orphaned daughter of one of his liegemen, Fionna. That hardly makes you his confidante.”

  “Aye, I am grateful that he allows me to live here at all. But let us not discuss my unfortunate situation.” Her pitiful tone might have wrung sympathy from anyone who did not know her well. “Why did you not tell me you were leaving?”

  “Fionna…” Darach was rapidly losing what was left of his temper. “Who was asking questions in the market square?”

  “The worst part is, you spent all that time in France and did not bring me a single gift. I have heard they have the most wonderful perfumes.”

  Darach gritted his teeth. Clearly, he was going to have to cooperate with her. If there was danger for Laurien in Kincardine, he had to know of it. “You are right. My behavior has been remiss.”

  “It has.” Fionna exchanged her pouting look for a seductive smile. “However, I am never one to hold a grudge. I will tell you what you wish to know.” She traced a finger across his chest. “But I do expect some small reward.”

  What did it say about him, Darach wondered suddenly, that this was the type of woman he had chosen to share his bed and his company over the past ten years?

  After Sibylla’s betrayal, he had never allowed another woman close enough to hurt him so deeply again. His liaisons always began when he wanted and ended when he wanted—usually not long after they began.

  In his mind, his time with Fionna had not meant anything to him, because he never allowed any woman to mean anything to him.

  And what did that say about him, he wondered uncomfortably, that he had been willing to treat the women who shared his bed as if they were of no importance at all?

  Truly, he had been a thoin aiseal when it came to women. A genuine donkey’s arse.

  “Darach?” Fionna whispered seductively, looking up at him, leaning closer until her full breasts pressed against his ribs.

  She was beckoning, familiar—yet all Darach wanted at the moment was to find Laurien and claim the kiss he had been thinking about all evening.

  But if he wanted to glean the information he needed from Fionna, he would have to act as if he had not changed in the least. “As ever, I am helpless against your charms,” he said, offering her his arm.

  He led her up the long spiral stair and down the corridor of the floor above.

  But as soon as they had left the light and noise of the crowd behind, he extricated his arm from hers and turned to face her. “Tell me about these men in the square, Fionna. Now.”

  “I would have my reward first,” she purred, pressing herself into him.

  Darach took her by the shoulders and set her away from him. “Enough. Tell me what you overheard in the square.”

  She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Very well. There were two men in the market square today, both Frenchmen, dressed in blue and white silks. They said they were visiting all the towns near Strathfillan Abbey, asking about a girl newly arrived from France. They let it be known that they would pay handsomely for information about her.”

  God’s teeth. Darach kept his expression carefully neutral. “And?”

  “What more?” Fionna raised her hands in frustration. “’Tis all I know.” She tugged at his silk surcoat. “I do not wish to speak any more of this French girl. Let us go to your chamber, so that I may welcome you home properly.”

  Darach shook his head. “Fionna, ’tis finished between us. I told you—”

  “Aye, you told me before you left. But I know you too well, Darach…” She nudged off her slippers, bending over to pick them up, displaying all her feminine assets as she slowly straightened. “You cannot resist me. You stayed with me longer than any of the others.”

  “I do not think five months an exceptionally long time. And I have import
ant matters to attend to.”

  As he turned away, one of Fionna’s slippers hit him squarely in the back.

  “Go, then! Turn from me and walk away, you unfeeling knave!”

  “You do know me too well.” Darach tossed her slipper back to her, then started down the steps.

  She hurried after him. “Darach, did I not please you?” she pleaded, grasping his arm. “Did I not make you happy?”

  He stopped. “The fault was not yours, but mine,” he told her honestly. “I am afraid, milady, that some men are not meant to be happy.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Returning to the gathering below, Darach found Malcolm seated at one of the trestle tables, gnawing on a leg of chicken, a full trencher before him.

  “They do have food in Strathfillan, you realize.” Darach sat across from him. “The monks will not starve you.”

  Malcolm grunted, giving Darach a dubious look. “’Tis always wise to eat well before leaving on a journey.”

  Darach glanced around the chamber. The evening’s entertainments had come to a close and many of the guests were taking their leave. He spotted Laurien among a small group gathered around a minstrel, who was singing some nonsense about springtime and love.

  Malcolm finished his ale and nudged Darach in the shoulder with the empty goblet. “Now that you and I have decided on a plan, I still think we should tell Will about it.”

  “He would be bound by duty to try and stop us,” Darach pointed out. “And I have no wish to fight him about this. ’Tis best if he thinks I have no interest in the lady.”

  “Aye, you were doing quite well convincing everyone of that… until you danced with her.”

  “’Twas only one dance,” Darach grumbled.

  “And did she like your newly cropped hair?”

  “I needed to have it cut.” Darach frowned at him. “Kept falling into my eyes. Dangerous for a swordsman.”

  “Aye, entirely strategic.” Malcolm chuckled.

  “And the only reason I danced with her,” Darach explained, “was because Will was enjoying himself overmuch.”

  “Will is old enough to be her father. I do not think you have any cause to… although he will be here with her, while I am at Strathfillan and you are at Glenshiel.”

  “’Tis best that she stay here. She will be safer. And it will only be for a few days.” Darach lowered his voice. “But we must tell him to keep her from leaving the castle. I am told there are men asking questions in the villages.”

  Malcolm’s amusement faded. “What kind of questions?”

  “About a girl newly arrived from France. ’Twould seem, morair, that we have yet to shake de Villiers’s guards from our trail.”

  Malcolm swore. “Will should keep a close eye on her, then… although you seem to be attending to that quite thoroughly.”

  Malcolm’s quip went unheeded. Darach was looking over his shoulder at the group in the corner, where Laurien was now engaged in conversation with several knights, and a few of the bolder squires, all competing with one another for her attention.

  He had to subdue an urge to walk over there and chase them away. At knifepoint if need be.

  “Darach?” Malcolm finished his meal. “Do you want to speak with Will, or should I say a word to him before I leave on the morrow?”

  “I will speak with him tonight, before I retire. And I will suggest that he raise the drawbridge, after the last of the guests are gone.” He forced his attention back to his friend. “Have you everything you need for your journey?”

  “Aye.” Malcolm pushed the trencher away and wiped his hands on the tablecloth. “I will depart at dawn, take Aidan to Galbraith, then ride on to the abbey. There I will await the message from our troublesome comte, telling us the alliance has been signed. But instead of delivering the message here to Will, I shall send it to you at Glenshiel.”

  “And instead of delivering Laurien to de Villiers,” Darach finished, “we shall deliver a surprise.”

  “Ten thousand silver marks.” Malcolm nodded. “The money he wanted from the start. You are certain about this, lad? Selling so much of the Glenshiel family lands?”

  “If it means saving her, aye,” Darach said without hesitation. “My neighbor Lord Alsh sits on his stacks of riches like a miserly troll, and he would not part with his coin in the name of saving lives—but to gain my lands? Aye, that he will.” He met Malcolm’s steady gaze. “I will keep enough to pass along to Aidan. But you, morair—”

  “My holdings are modest, compared to yours, and I have no children to pass them on to. Alsh has coveted them for years. And it seems fitting, somehow, that they go to help rescue a demoiselle in distress.” Malcolm smiled, glancing over at Laurien. “But even after you make such a sacrifice… you still will not ask her to stay with you?”

  Darach looked down at the table. “Once everything is resolved with de Villiers, and I am certain it is safe for her to return to France, I will take her back to her convent in Tours.”

  “And never see her again.”

  Darach swallowed hard. “It is what she wants.”

  He heard a sweet feminine laugh and glanced over at the subject of their conversation. Most of the guests had left, but a persistent knot of male admirers still lingered by Laurien’s side. She was enjoying a jest told by one of the men, who placed a too-familiar hand on her arm.

  Darach was halfway out of his seat before he realized it.

  “Darach,” Malcolm said lightly, “you cannot go over there.”

  Standing, Darach knew he was right. Some primitive instinct urged him to walk over and throw a few well-aimed punches. To claim her as his.

  But she was not his.

  Laurien would never be his.

  Forced to settle for glaring his annoyance, he unclenched his fist. “I believe I have had enough entertainment for one night.” Turning, he grasped Malcolm’s forearm. “Safe journey, morair.”

  “Retiring so early? But you have been such charming company all evening.”

  Giving his friend a parting scowl, Darach stalked off to find Will and warn him that some of de Villiers’s men had been spotted in the nearby towns.

  Half an hour later, when he opened the door to his bedchamber, he finally lost the last of his temper.

  Fionna lay in his bed, wearing naught but a smile. “I knew you would return anon, my dearest.”

  As he strode purposefully toward the bed, she reached up to him. He lifted her in his arms, blankets and all.

  “Ooh, gently, Darach, gently!” she squealed.

  Darach carried her to the door.

  Then he opened the door, placed her outside, and shut the door behind her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Fionna stood speechless for an instant, clutching the blankets to her chin. “How can you do this to me?” she cried, knocking on the door. “Darach, open this door!”

  He opened it to toss out her clothes, slamming it again promptly.

  Fionna stared down at the pile of garments at her feet. “I will leave your blankets here,” she snapped. “I would not wish you to be any colder than you already are!”

  Cheeks flaming, she dressed hastily.

  She had expended a great deal of time and effort on Darach—and she would not let him go easily. As an orphan with no dowry, she had little hope of attracting a wealthy husband. Darach was the only nobleman who had ever shown more than a few nights’ interest in her. And he had treated her better than any of her previous lovers, even taking her to his home at Glenshiel.

  When he had broken off with her, she had been certain she could win him back. After all, there was no woman in the Highlands more beautiful, more desirable than she.

  Upon his return tonight, she had finally seen the look she had always hoped to see in those blue eyes, the look that spoke of love and promises—except that he chose to bestow it on another woman!

  Fionna seethed with anger. But she had never been one to vent such feelings on a man. Men, she had learned from hard experience, fought b
ack.

  Women, however, were another matter entirely.

  She hurried down the stairs to seek out this French girl.

  The only guests left in the hall were Lady Laurien and her admirers. Fionna elbowed her way through the cluster of men. “I wish to speak with you, milady.” Not waiting for a reply, Fionna turned on her heel and led the way to a quiet corner of the room.

  She turned, planting her hands on her hips, and watched Laurien approach. The girl was fair of face and figure, true enough. But she was too tall, Fionna noted with satisfaction. And her nose was too large. And judging from her conversation tonight, she seemed to have opinions and intelligence, too—not traits highly valued by men.

  Truly, Fionna could see no sense in Darach choosing this woman over herself.

  “What is it that requires my attention, Lady Fionna?” the French girl asked coolly.

  “I only felt it fair, milady,” Fionna replied, “that you be fully informed—”

  “I believe I understand completely.” Lady Laurien shrugged as if she had not a care in the world. “You wish to tell me to stay away from Sir Darach. I fully intend to do so. Is that all?”

  Fionna was not taken in for a moment. The girl was hiding her feelings admirably. But Fionna had watched her and Darach dance together, had seen the two of them sneaking glances at each other all evening—and she was a scholar when it came to the unspoken messages that passed between intimates.

  This demoiselle was clearly in love with Darach. And Fionna meant to put an end to it.

  She launched her first strike. “Do you know that he has a son?”

  Laurien flinched ever so slightly. “By you?” she asked boldly.

  “Nay.” Fionna smiled up at this intruder who had stolen Darach’s affection, feeling the sweet joy of knowing she was about to break the girl’s heart. She spoke slowly, savoring the next blow. “By his wife, Lady Sibylla of Glenshiel.”

  The color vanished from Laurien’s cheeks, as if she had just been drenched with ice. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.