Deeper Than Roses

by Charlene Cross

  He lifted his shallow cup from the table, then swung his long legs over the bench. His booted feet met the floor, and he stretched to his full height. “She’s an eager little wench,” he commented, his sure steps carrying him toward Kristiana. “She needs to be watched… carefully, at that.”

  Something about his graceful gait drew Kristiana’s attention. Another place, another time leapt into her mind’s eye, which saw another man coming toward her. The strides were similar, yet different. Feeling as though she had fallen into a trance, she shook her head. “She will be watched,” Kristiana stated, “and so will you.”

  His raspy laughter filled the air. “So I’m not to be trusted, is that it? In truth, fair lady, she threw herself at me, not the other way around. Apparently her feminine desires have grown ripe. She seems quite eager to be bedded.”

  Although Letitia’s actions had stated as much, Kristiana was incensed by the man’s bold admission. At the very least he could have shown some decency and tried to protect the girl’s honor—what little there was!

  Her eyes showing contempt, she spun around and made her way to the head table, where she seated herself. Before her was placed a plate bearing a small partridge, cheese, and some brown bread. Goat’s milk filled her cup. Having attended to her mistress’s needs, Mala left the hall, heading for the kitchen. Kristiana and the Raven were alone.

  Trying to ignore the scoundrel, a famished Kristiana had no sooner torn a strip of breast meat from the succulent bird than the Raven bounded up onto the platform supporting the table. His hands, swathed in black leather with only the top inch of his fingers exposed to the eye, met the clothcovered wood with a hard slap; he leaned over the barrier to face her.

  At the sound her attention focused on the appendages. Abruptly she envisioned another set of hands, fingers long and square, much like the ones she viewed. The memory of how they had traveled her body, setting her passions afire, captured her thoughts. Without warning a small flame was kindled low in her stomach; suddenly she was athirst for the delights those other hands had once offered but would never offer again.

  “They have pleasured many a woman’s body,” a husky voice whispered, a hot breath fanning her face.

  The meat dropped from Kristiana’s hand, hitting her plate; her gaze shot to the Raven’s masked face. Did he know what she’d been thinking?

  “Your eyes showed great interest, fair lady.” One hand rose; cool leather and hot flesh lightly brushed the line of her jaw. “Are you interested in what they can do? What pleasures they can give?”

  “No!” Kristiana snapped, swatting his hand away from her face. “You disgust me. You’re not to be—”

  “Trusted—correct? Apparently word of all the sweet young lasses I’ve seduce has preceded me.”

  Cold green eyes leveled on him. “That is so, sir. Take fair warning. Keep yourself away from my cousin, or I’ll have you gelded.”

  His teeth flashed white as a frigid smile crept over his supple lips. “Your husband and you think alike. Unfortunately, the poor fellow whom you send to do the task will not return alive. As for your cousin, should her ripened little body find its way beneath mine, it will have done so only because I cannot have the one I truly desire. I want a woman with experience—one whose body already knows how to give pleasure. One whose sweet lips can send me into oblivion. For her I would do anything. Were you not with child, fair lady, I would allow you to be that special woman.”

  At first stunned, Kristiana gaped at him. Then, with a fury, her outrage erupted. “You arrogant bastard! I’ll have you gutted and your head paraded on a pike,” she threatened, only to hear his throaty laughter.

  “You believe it’s possible?” He noted her confident glare. “Then a contest, sweet lady. Call your husband and relate to him what has transpired between us. Tell him of the advances I’ve made. See if he or his men can fulfill your pledge concerning my death. Should good fortune be with them, they might succeed. But I promise you this: By the time they catch me—if they catch me at all—your cousin will have been deflowered. Whether she is willing or unwilling, her virginity will be mine. A fair exchange for my life, is it not?”

  Muffled voices filled the hall as Edward’s men filed along the outer corridor. Seeking sustenance, they slowly passed through the doorway. Relieved she was no longer alone, Kristiana spat, “What you boast is doubtful, sir.”

  “Test me,” he countered with confidence.

  Kristiana’s gaze momentarily leapt to Edward’s men. They were a bedraggled lot; more than a few held their heads. A night of wine and song had taken its toll on the group. Although they appeared surly in temperament, she realized their ill moods would not be enough to give them command of their swords. At present, were she to call them to arms, sending them down on this offensive man’s head, it was certain the Raven would be the victor. No, she could not chance injury to Letitia; but even more, she could not chance the emotional upheaval her aunt would suffer as a result. With luck, he’d die in the upcoming match that Mala had told her about.

  “Instead of a contest, I offer you a pact,” she said in a low voice. “Swear you’ll keep from my cousin, and I will utter nothing of what has happened today.”

  “Then a pact it is. As long as your lovely lips are stilled, she will remain unsullied—by me, at least,” he rasped, grinning. “But remember, fair lady: Should your tongue ever wag, the agreement is broken. Your cousin will be mine.”

  Her gaze having narrowed on him, Kristiana watched as he slowly levered himself away from the table to step lithely from the platform. He sauntered over to his former position at the lower table, where he installed himself on the bench. His knife drawn, he cleaned his fingernails, whistling while he did so. The word repugnant didn’t begin to describe him. In fact, there were no words that seemed to fit the man. Despicable, disgusting, odious, vile, contemptible—none was base enough for the way she perceived him. He was nearly as low in character as Edward. Maybe even lower!

  Her husband suddenly lowered himself into the chair next to her. “Wife,” Edward greeted, icy eyes assessing her. Then his gaze settled on her plate. “Why do you not eat?”

  “The thought sickens me,” she replied, for she’d lost her appetite. However, it was not the food that had turned her stomach, but the company she had been made to keep. Truly, at the moment she despised all men save one. And he was lost to her forever. With the knowledge came the sting of tears; Kristiana quickly lowered her gaze. “I ask, husband, to be excused. My aunt wanted to come down to dine. I must see what is keeping her.”

  “She comes now,” Edward replied, nodding toward the stairs; Kristiana’s gaze followed. “And she appears less sickly.” He chuckled. “Perhaps she has finally recovered from her shock.”

  Glacial green eyes turned to the man beside her. She’d been wrong in her first assessment. No one could be as loathsome as Edward. Not even the Raven! Extracting herself from his offensive presence, Kristiana traveled the short distance to the stairs, meeting her aunt at their foot.

  “It is good you have come down,” she said, smiling her encouragement, for the woman was obviously quite nervous. “I will help you to your chair.”

  “Place me away from him,” Penelope said, her slight nod indicating Edward. “I’ll not situate myself anywhere near the man.”

  “My duty has been fulfilled,” Letitia interrupted, springing down the steps behind her mother. “May I now go about my own affairs?”

  Kristiana saw that her cousin’s gaze had cast itself toward the Raven. Unsure whether the man really meant to keep his side of the bargain, she decided not to tempt fate. “No, you may not.” Her response drew an angry glare from her cousin; Kristiana ignored it. “You will seat yourself at your mother’s side, for this meal and every one thereafter. Ignore my words, cousin, and you will take your meals in your room—alone.”

  Two sets of eyes warred with each other, then Letitia marched to the far end of the head table.

  “Why do you
attack her?” Penelope questioned as Kristiana escorted her to her place. “Has she done something improper?”

  “Do not question my sternness with her, Aunt. Just know it is for her own good that I make her stay by your side. She is not to escape you either.”

  “But—”

  As the pair walked behind Edward Kristiana felt her aunt’s slim body shake uncontrollably; her words had stalled in her throat. Once past him, she seemed to have forgotten what she’d wanted to say.

  “Thank you, Kristiana,” Penelope said when she was seated far from her nemesis. “Your care and attention are greatly appreciated.” She motioned her niece close to her lips. “That Black fellow isn’t around, is he?” she asked, her gaze darting to the corners of the hall. Then her eyes stopped their movement. “Who is that?”

  Kristiana saw the slant of her aunt’s gaze. “He is the one you are to keep Letitia from. He is far and away more dangerous than Richard Black ever was. Heed my words, Aunt. Do not let her near him.”

  “Oh, dear… oh, dear. Will this nightmare never end?” the quaking Penelope asked.

  Long lashes momentarily swept downward over Kristiana’s eyes. She sighed heavily. “Aunt, you must take hold of yourself. Remember, as I told you last night, if we are ever to escape this horror, you need to be strong. Otherwise we are doomed.”

  “Yes… yes, you are right,” she whispered. “If only Bryce hadn’t—and Robert—”

  “They are both gone,” Kristiana said of the woman’s late husband and her own father. “They cannot help us. We must do it on our own.”

  “Yes… yes—on our own.”

  Dear God! Kristiana thought. The woman had grown so very timid. Addled, too. Other than witnessing her brother’s death—hideous as it was—nothing of consequence had happened to Penelope or her daughter. Kept under lock and key while Edward had foraged the land searching for Kristiana, the pair, she’d learned, had been treated well. Obviously, contrary to Edward’s statement, the woman hadn’t recovered from her shock. Never having seen her aunt this way, Kristiana planned to speak to Mala. Perhaps her nurse had something in her collection of herbs to help restore Penelope’s wits. Otherwise Kristiana’s plan of escape would fail.

  “Rest your mind, Aunt, and nourish your body,” Kristiana said finally, patting Penelope’s slight shoulder. “Worry will only make you ill. As for Letitia, I shall make certain she is kept safe.”

  “Thank you.” Her aunt nervously smoothed the creases in her black it lay across her lap. “At present I cannot find the strength to chase after her, Kristiana. But I promise I will in time.”

  “Yes, I’m convinced you will,” her niece lied.

  Upon leaving her aunt’s side Kristiana felt as though someone were watching her, much as she had the night before. At a glance she noticed that the Raven looked her way. But with his eyes hidden, she couldn’t really tell where his attention lay. Briefly she wondered about the color of his veiled orbs and if a glint of tenderness ever shimmered in their depths. Impossible, she thought. And as for their color, she decided they were black—as black as his soul!

  Reseating herself next to Edward, she called out to Mala, who’d returned from the kitchen, and instructed the woman to bring her a new plate. Despite her sudden lack of appetite she vowed to eat. No man would place her child’s health in peril. Not Edward; not the Raven. Then, when the fresh fare was set before her, she attacked it with a vengeance, silently cursing the two men she despised most.

  From his spot only a few yards away Logan watched as Kristiana tore the partridge to pieces. No doubt she wished it were his own body she destroyed. He’d scored well in his verbal attack on her, knocking her off balance. Soon he’d level her completely. He chuckled to himself, thinking the taste of revenge was indeed sweet. His gaze turned to Edward. A deuce in one house, he thought, adding his score, for he vowed the pair would fall together. And the harder, the better.

  “Are ye ready for our wee fracas?” Sebastian’s sarcastic question fell on Logan’s ears as the man shoved his meaty legs between the bench and the table; his backside hit the boards with a firm thud. “Or, perchance, have ye thought of a way to unburden us of our little difficulty?”

  “Difficulty?” Logan queried hoarsely. “I see no difficulty.”

  “Only because yer mask has made ye blind as a bat!”

  “Then, my friend, I expect you to protect my back.”

  “Aye, and ye’d better be watchin’ mine.” His gaze traveled over the men seated at the lower tables. “At least they look a bit green. Mayhap the wine still clouds their heads.”

  “I am counting on it,” Logan stated. “That’s why we made our appearance last night.”

  “It bein’ Hogmanay, there was bound to be a celebration, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Just the same, ye didn’t have to make the odds so high.” Sebastian’s gaze turned to the head table. “I’d like to…”

  “To what?” Logan asked after a few moments.

  “To know that woman’s name.”

  Logan’s gaze followed the path of Sebastian’s stare to note the woman in black. “I presume she is the Lady Muircairn’s aunt,” he whispered close to the interested man’s ear. “If so, her name is Penelope.”

  “Penelope, ye say.” He estimated her age to be several years less than his own. “She is certainly fair of face, though she appears more than a little timid. She could do with a bit more flesh on her bones, too.”

  “And you would do well to keep your mind on the problem at hand,” Logan countered sharply. “When all is said and done, then you can play the part of eager suitor. Not before.”

  Accusing eyes turned on the younger man. “Ye seem a bit testy, my friend. Could it be that thoughts of a certain young woman hampered yer ability to sleep?”

  Logan refused to answer. “What of the men?” he asked instead. “Are they well hidden?”

  “Aye. When I spoke to Alain a few minutes ago,” Sebastian stated of his onetime apprentice who was now the blacksmith for croft and castle alike, “he said all was well. They are installed throughout the village.”

  “We risk much in trusting them,” Logan said of the folk who lived just outside the castle walls. “If one was to talk—”

  “They hate MacHugh as much as we do. The years have not been that many since his attack on them. They remember the slaughter well. Our secret is safe. Like us, they want revenge.” He paused a moment. “If ye be interested, I also learned they love his lady as much as they despise him.” Though the younger man said nothing, Sebastian felt Logan’s questioning gaze upon him. “She risks much, for apparently she’s secretly been sendin’ food to the villagers. This morn, before dawn, she sent a cartload of leftover meats from last night’s celebration down the hill with Alain. Unlike most lairds, MacHugh is known to be stingy. He shares nothin’ with his tenants, not even on Ne’erday. Or any other holiday, for that matter. Likewise, instead of a priest to say Mass he sets a contest, knowing there’ll be death.”

  So she showed some mercy to those less fortunate than herself on New Year’s Day, Logan thought, his jaw set. Undoubtedly it was her way of doing penance for her sins. Rejecting Sebastian’s words about Kristiana as superfluous, he turned his attention to Edward. “A priest would do him no good,” he said, “for he knows his soul is doomed.” Then he thought of the men who were hidden in the village. “Let’s hope the bastard doesn’t suddenly decide to count heads, for he’ll quickly find the populace has increased by forty.” Cold eyes turned on his stepbrother. “In a fortnight he’ll be dumbfounded by what has befallen him.”

  Since the younger man made no mention of his lady’s benevolent deeds, Sebastian did not pursue the point. “Aye,” he agreed instead, his own gaze turning to Edward. “Rather than seekin’ to steal other lands, he’ll be too busy protectin’ his own.” The man chuckled. “Be assured, the men are eager and ready. They simply await yer word.”

  Logan’s cold gaze moved to Kristian
a. “Soon,” he vowed, “my revenge will be complete.” After a moment he looked to his companion. “Eat hearty, my friend. It won’t be long before we’ll be made to prove our worth.”

  “Then I should order a feast, for this meal might be my last.”

  “Only if you believe it,” Logan said, a challenging look in his hidden gaze.

  “Forever hopeful, are ye?”

  “Aye, my friend. It is how I’ve twice managed to escape the fires of Hell.”

  “Let’s hope ye don’t look upon them yet a third time, for it is sure to be yer last.”

  Again Logan’s gaze found Edward. “If so, I’ll not go alone,” he responded. His attention skipped to Kristiana, and his fingers lifted his drinking cup. He raised it in mock salute to the woman who sat under his gaze. “Unto eternity, my precious, deceitful wife,” he toasted under his breath. He drank deeply, vowing his torment would forever be hers. “No, my friend, I’ll not go it alone,” he said, the quaich settling to the table. “That I promise you.”

  Filled with a sudden feeling of dread, Kristiana stiffened; her gaze shot to the Raven. His shallow cup lowered from his lips to rest on the table. At seeing he conversed with the one known as the Fox, a strange sensation overcame her. His words, she was certain, were about her.

  Edward had not missed her abrupt appraisal of the man. Eyes narrowing, he studied his wife. “Does the knave interest you?”

  Kristiana’s head jerked toward the voice. “Just the opposite,” she said, glaring her aversion. “Like you, he repulses me.”

  The words left her mouth before she’d had time to think. Edward’s hand rose; the flat of his palm swiftly met her cheek. Its sound echoed through the great hall; an eerie silence followed as the hum of voices immediately ceased. All eyes looked to the head table.

  “Keep hold of your tongue, woman, or I’ll cut it out,” Edward grated.

  The harsh whisper met not only Kristiana’s ears but those of the Raven. As he watched she nodded her compliance, her manner subdued. Blinking rapidly, she fought back her tears. Then, seeing the red welt on her once-flawless skin, Logan was consumed with fury; he forgot his own desire for revenge.