“Take off yer dress.”
“What?”
Rob didn’t answer the question; instead, he was behind her, ripping down the laces harshly, making the bruises on her ribs and stomach throb. Kenna didn’t dare challenge him as he pulled it from her; he was at least taking care to avoid the burn. With the dress stripped away, Kenna moved toward the side of the tent, to the trunk where fresh dresses free of burn holes lay in wait, but Rob grabbed Kenna by her good arm and held her in place while making a move for her shift.
Chaos erupted in her brain. What was he doing? He had never seen her completely undressed. He had told her that she would have to beg him—a position he had stuck to and reminded her of nearly every night before they fell asleep. But how could she deny him? He was her husband, and now, even worse, her savior.
Her mind continued to race as he pulled the shift away and threw it with particular force across the tent, where it hit the heavy sidewall and fell to the ground. Kenna waited for his attack. But nothing came.
Slowly, Kenna turned. Rob was standing there, his gaze traveling over her body, not with lust but with horror. Kenna glanced down at herself, and sure enough, there were numerous heavy bruises across her chest and stomach. Blood caked her arms and fingernails from when she had been dragged, and her wrists were red and raw from the ropes they had bound her with.
“‘Tis not as bad as it looks,” Kenna said. “Really, only the burns hurt, but it shouldn’t take too long to heal. Maybe a small scar, but that is nothing terrible.”
Why did she hate this? Why were those wide eyes looking at her with such an awful expression more painful than the wounds? She considered grabbing a blanket or her shift or anything to cover herself, but she was frozen to the spot, waiting for his expression to change, waiting for him to be the Rob she expected and to make some comment on how he had finally gotten her naked.
Kenna reached for him, but he pulled away. Something in her chest cracked.
“Aha, well, ye said there was nothing that would keep ye away from me, but I knew I’d find a way. Some bumps and bruises will do the trick. Far easier than growing as fat as Sutherland, I suppose.” Kenna tried to smile, tried to pass off the whole moment as some sort of joke so that he would come back to her.
“Ye could have been killed,” he whispered. “Ye stupid, ignorant woman, ye could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Do ye ken what it was like to have Murtagh come and say that ye had been taken? Do ye? Do ye ken what it was like to find ye like this?”
“I imagine it was about as painful as being taken away and made like this,” Kenna replied. “I understand why ye are angry, but ye are acting as if this was something I could have prevented.”
“Aye, ye could have stayed in the goddamn tent instead of going off to the pavilion with—”
“With the man who wasn’t accepting rejection? Did ye see Murtagh’s nose?”
“And what did ye say once there? I canna even begin to imagine what ye said in front of the Queen that worsened the situation.”
It was hardly a point Kenna could refute. “Well, I paid fer it with my own blood. ‘Tis not punishment enough fer ye?”
“‘Tis not about punishments; ‘tis about life or death. Kenna, I had to force the Queen’s hand using the honor of my clan. Do ye ken how dangerous that was? Do ye ken how quickly that could have turned into all of our heads?”
“I never asked ye to do so!”
“Oh, was I just supposed to let her keep burning ye with that poker? I was just supposed to stand and watch them do that to ye? Keep listening to ye scream? Think of how far she could have taken it if Murtagh hadn’t found me.”
“But she didn’t. These wounds will heal. All wounds heal, Rob.”
“No, they don’t, ye daft lass,” Rob shouted, grabbing her and shaking her. “And I refuse to lose ye like that.”
His hands reached up to cup her face, and he pulled her to him, his mouth descending on hers so suddenly that she scarcely understood it was happening until it was happening in full force. All of Kenna’s senses were confused, not sure anymore what way was up or down or if it even mattered anymore. Her mouth molded so perfectly against his, opening to his onslaught as his tongue slipped inside. They danced together without taking a single step, each moment filling her with a rosy glow that began to sink deeper and deeper into her until her entire body was shivering with something she could not ascertain. A deep hope, a longing, a desire for him to press himself further into her, to consume her. She would let him. She might even beg him to do it.
With a quick shove, Rob was gone. The dance ended. He stared at her, his eyes full of hurt, twisting the longing in her stomach into pain. Had she done something wrong?
“I’ll go see about something fer the burn,” he said, and with a whirl, he left the tent.
Kenna brushed her fingers along her swollen lips. “Heaven help me.”
7
Rob weaved through the camp, both exhaustion and anger tugging at his eyes, contradicting one another in a battle for his attention.
How easy would his life be without Kenna Gordon? This trek through the Highlands would be so simple. He would have relished in the evening’s enjoyment, and probably would still be out there looking for tracks and trails that would lead him to the bastard archer. He would use every one of his wits and his experience as a hunter to corner him in some hole with no escape. What fun that could have been.
Instead, he had been out in the forest with his mind already back in his tent, wondering if this was all a ploy and if the real danger had circled back to the camp they had all so readily abandoned, to Kenna and the others who sat defenselessly. Murtagh shouting his name at the top of his bloody lungs had almost been a relief, a welcomed excuse to retreat back and see. Then the reality of that had set in, and his heart hadn’t slowed since.
The Queen wasn’t going to let them get past this so easily. No, he expected this wasn’t the last time he would find Kenna at her mercy, screaming in agony as her guards pressed her for information about the Gordons.
“She should have stayed in the tent,” he muttered to himself. “None of this would have happened if she had stayed in the damn tent.”
But ye wouldn’t have kissed her if she stayed in the tent, Rob thought, causing a fresh wave of anger to wash through him, the taste of bad memories overpowering the sweetness of her lips.
It wasn’t how he had planned it, but then nothing had gone to plan as of late. Was it exhaustion or something else that had made him lose control? Was it exhaustion or something else that had kept her from pulling away?
With Murtagh nowhere to be found, and Rob expecting that he had been conscripted into a renewed search in the forest, Rob circled the camp in search of healing ointments or bandages or whatever else he could find. Some came easily, such as bandages and ointments to ease the pain of a bruise, but no one seemed to have packed anything to help with a burn. Well, the Queen probably had, but that was not likely to be a fruitful request.
Rob had just finished checking with the Munros when a wheezy voice called for him from behind. The Earl of Sutherland was running slowly toward him, panting and gasping when he finally came close.
“I’ve been following ye fer some time. Ye walk so quickly, lad.”
The fool of a man was dressed for battle, with heavy armor strapped to his chest, a necklace of emeralds and rubies embedded into the steel. People in the camp, who must not have known him better, were giving him wary looks, nervous about the implications of wearing armor after such a terrifying night.
“Apologies. I’m in a wee bit of a hurry,” Rob replied, doing is best to mask his irritation.
“Aye, I am sure ye are. But I may have the solution.” Sutherland pulled a small jar from his sporran. “My wife never fails to pack an entire pharmacy whenever I am to travel. Comes in more useful than I’d care to admit to her. This should soothe yer wife’s burns.”
Rob stared at
him, a bit dazed.
“‘Tis what ye are looking fer, is it not? I heard a rumor.”
“Aye, thank ye kindly. This was the one thing I was yet to track down,” Rob said with a grateful nod as he accepted the small clay jar.
“Other than that archer. Ah, too soon? Apologies. I am happy to help ye with this matter, at least. Allow me to walk with ye fer a time?”
“At yer leisure. Is there something ye wish to discuss with me?”
“Ah, a bit of an unpleasant subject, I am afraid. I have some concerns, which I hope to air.”
Then air them and let me be, Rob thought.
“Though the subject is sore, I am sure that with careful words and considerations, I may be able to propose the situation to ye without much trouble.”
“Then propose it, Laird Sutherland,” Rob said, stopping their slow march to face the man, relying unfairly on his superior build as a show for intimidation. “Forgive me, but it has been a long night, and I haven’t the energy to gather meaning that is being so carefully hidden by political phrasing. I promise ye’ll not offend.”
Sutherland glowered a bit before taking Rob’s arm and leading him forward. “I wish to speak about yer wife. Though it pains me to influence a marriage so young and so vibrant, I am afraid that I must ask ye to proceed with caution when it comes to what ye allow her to ken. I am not sure she can be trusted.”
“An interesting position considering ye seemed to speak in her favor before Queen Mary.”
“Being innocent of a singular crime does not make one a saint. I do not believe the Queen’s theory that yer wife somehow signaled the attack with a fire, particularly after hearing yer own testimony on her behalf, but our conflict with the Earl of Huntly is far from complete, and certain things have led me to believe that Kenna’s loyalty may still reside alongside her clan of birth.”
“Certain things? Such as?”
“After the fall of Inverness Castle, I took it upon myself to negotiate a solution that would resolve the issue quickly, allowing Queen Mary to more immediately move on to more pressing issues. ‘Twas I who convinced the Queen to propose a marriage between one of the Gordon lasses and a man of her choosing. After she agreed, I brought the proposition to the brothers and convinced them in turn. Do ye ken how readily they agreed to give away their sister? It was marvelous; the entire negotiation took scarcely an hour.”
“Yer point?”
“My point is that ‘tis quite suspicious, no? Two brothers, so loyal to the Earl of Huntly, practically throwing their sister into the center of the very army that rises against him?”
“The brothers wanted to keep their castle and their heads. There is no point in reading further into—”
This time, it was Sutherland who pulled them both to a stop, pivoting in his clean leather boots and pulling Rob down, so they were nearly nose to nose.
“We are in a war against a family. In yer bed is a member of that very family. During my many conversations with the lass, she asks so many questions about the Queen’s court and her army. Then there are all the times she asks for word of the Gordons. ‘Tis not what I would hope to hear. I keep tight lips, mind ye, but ‘tis all a bit suspicious. She talks of writing home, as well, asking me if I have the means to have a letter sent.”
The accusation could have been damning if heard by the wrong ears. So little substance to it, but just enough to cast a shadow of a doubt.
“Aye, anyway, I simply want ye to be careful. Wife or no, if ye believe she is in league with her family, I expect ye to fulfill yer duty to yer country and inform the Queen, or at least myself. Ensure she is always under the best watch and is only able to communicate with those who are trusted.”
“I shall keep an eye on her, and, as always, my loyalty is to Scotland first.”
“Good lad. Well, I shall be off. Do give yer wife my best, would ye?” Sutherland clapped Rob’s shoulder and made his way back from where they had come from.
Because yer best is truly worth something, Rob thought absently as he watched the portly man waddle back into the camp.
Fuming, Rob muttered every profanity he knew on his way back to the Fraser tents. Kenna’s actions alone kept her in enough trouble, and now one of Queen Mary’s most trusted advisors and lairds was sowing the seeds for deadly rumors to sprout and grow into thick, heavy vines that would wrap about them in slow suffocation.
When Rob finally returned to the tent, Kenna was fast asleep, wrapped up tightly in his plaid—the lass hadn’t bothered to redress, a fact that made Rob’s manhood jump a bit in eagerness. Her dark curls hung over her face, and Rob gently brushed the loose curls back, exposing her rosy cheeks and full pink lips. He brushed his fingers over them, over the territory he had so forcefully claimed.
“I’m sorry,” he confessed in a low whisper.
What he was apologizing for was still a question. Which of his recent crimes needed the swiftest apology? Forcing a kiss or doubting her loyalty to the Crown and himself?
Though the thought of it made his head ache, he could see her motivation to betray the Queen. The Gordons were, as Sutherland pointed out, her family. She had grown up loyal to them and to them alone, and it likely would have stayed that way if it hadn’t been for the storm of politics and rebellion that shook her home. It was a storm that had captured Rob, as well, throwing him up into its winds with an ease that had infuriated him, carrying him far from the comfortable footing he had always known. Kenna had been the one that had grounded him, helping his feet find solid ground once more. This new footing was rocky, full of questions and trepidation and insecurity, but he had grown to like it.
Was she still up in that storm? Had he not been enough to bring her back down? And if he wasn’t enough, would that be all the motivation she needed to put her life on the line just to spite the storm that had swept her away?
It would be reason enough for him.
Bile rose in his throat, and he stood to slowly pace the tent.
Damn ye, Sutherland.
Motivation on Kenna’s part did not equal her guilt. Rob let that thought wash over him again and again like waves continually crashing against the shore. He wanted to believe that she wasn’t scheming up some plan with her brothers, or if she was, he prayed she would be smart enough to keep any treasons already committed well hidden. He would keep her from committing another, one way or another, until the Earl of Huntly’s rebellion was over. It was the only solution.
“Rob?” a hushed whisper said through the walls of the tent.
Quickly emptying his sporran of the remedies and bandages he had painstakingly gathered, Rob did his best to compose himself before he slipped silently from the tent.
Hugh stood there, his posture tense as he leaned against a spear. Though he must have tried to clean himself, there were still bits of mud and dirt staining him from bonnet to boot, complemented by bright green stains on both of his knees and here and there on his shirt.
“Ye look like hell.”
“Aye, I ken. That forest is less forgiving than a lass during her phase of the moon.” Hugh sighed, rubbing the dark circles that had gathered under his green eyes.
Rob wondered if Hugh had fallen into a gully or rolled all the way down the hillside. He certainly looked far worse than the rest of the men now trudging back through the camp. Hugh was not always the best on his feet, but this level of mess was almost a new personal success.
“Find anything?”
“No, and the Queen has given up—pulled all of the men out of there and told them to rest up. They want to break camp in a few hours and run back to Aberdeen. No stops, except those that canna be helped.”
“Probably what they ought to have done at the start,” Rob said, silently adding to himself, “then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Aye, well, I thought ye should ken.”
“Thanks, brother. Get some sleep, ye need it.”
Rob watched as Hugh retreated back to the embers of the campfire, collapsing on
a patch of grass while adjusting his plaid so that it covered him like a blanket.
When Rob retreated back into the tent, Kenna shifted and sat up halfway, the plaid loosening ever so slightly about her as she slowly forced open two groggy eyes.
“What is it?”
Rob picked up Sutherland’s bottle of ointment, using the memory of the wounds that were lurking underneath the plaid to slow the stirring underneath his kilt.
“Let’s get this over and done with, lass.”
* * *
After only a couple of blissful hours of sleep, the Queen’s men came crashing through the camp, cracking their swords against their shields to rouse them all. Rob packed hastily, with Kenna doing her best to keep pace despite how tightly he had wrapped the bandages around her. Within an hour, the entire camp was mounted and moving quickly down the road toward Aberdeen. The carts, piled high with all that the horses could not carry themselves, slowly fell behind, a few men from each clan remaining with them.
They rode until the sun was threatening to set before they were allowed to stop and give the horses a moment to be watered and given a bit of rest. Kenna collapsed on the grassy overgrowth along the side of the road with a groan.
“It would seem the Queen isn’t giving the Gordons another chance to get us riled,” Rob said as he crouched beside her, scrutinizing her face to try and gauge her response.
“Probably fer the best, ye ken,” Kenna replied with a deep yawn. “Though I’d be willing to risk it fer a few hours if it meant a wee bit of sleep.”
The party mounted up once more to the chorus of shouts from the Queen’s men and rode well through the night.
When the sun started to rise, another call echoed down the line and everyone gratefully dismounted for a second small chance to rest the horses, and themselves.
Rob settled himself in the grass next to Kenna, noting that she, for once, didn’t try to worm away from him as he lay close beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. But then, she might have already been asleep.
Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1) Page 8
