The Recruit

by Monica McCarty

  He would have gone after her, but Lady Moira caught him first. “Congratulations, my lord, on yet another victory. Were you by chance looking for someone?” She batted her eyelashes so aggressively he was tempted to ask whether she had something in her eye. Normally, such coquetry amused him, but right now he found it annoying.

  His mouth tightened impatiently as he saw his prey slipping away.

  Moira stood with Lady Elizabeth Lindsay, who seemed amused by her companion’s efforts. Lady Elizabeth was reputedly devoted to her husband and nothing Kenneth had seen suggested the contrary. She was friendly and polite, but nothing more. Which suited him just fine. Although she was a beautiful woman, she was shrewd, stubborn, and opinionated. He didn’t envy Lindsay the headache. Challenges were for the battlefield, not the bedchamber.

  “We are all trying to figure it out,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “Figure what out?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder, trying to keep his eye on his prey.

  “Who the nod was for,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  He looked at her, barely hiding his surprise. “Nod?”

  “Aye, it created quite a stir. The ladies seated around me were all quite sure you were nodding to them,” Lady Elizabeth said with a smile.

  Ah hell, he guessed it had been more noticeable than he realized. Kenneth hid his reaction behind a wicked smile.

  “I was,” he said.

  Lady Moira nearly yelped with pleasure, clapping her hands together. “I knew it. To whom?”

  “I’ll leave that to you to figure out,” he said with a playful wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I see my sister, and I need to have her patch me up so I’ll be ready for tomorrow’s competition.”

  It was only partially a lie. The blow he’d taken across the ribs was starting to throb beneath his habergeon. The shirt of mail offered scant protection against the impact of steel on bone, and he suspected he had a fairly nasty bruise brewing. He would see Helen to get it fixed up, but after he caught up with his little nun, who was weaving her way through the crowd at nearly a run in her effort to avoid him.

  She was only running from the inevitable. Almost as certain as he was that he would win tomorrow, Kenneth was certain that before the night was out, he would have her under him. Or perhaps on top of him.

  He felt a pleasant tightening in his groin just thinking about it.

  She’d just passed through the gate into the castle when he saw her stop and turn.

  “Mary, wait!” he heard someone—a woman—say. He turned, recognizing the speaker as Lady Margaret MacKenzie. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

  Mary. He should have guessed. A common, unremarkable name that would draw no attention—just like the rest of her. He was only a few feet away, but she hadn’t seen him yet. “I think the sun—”

  She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening and mouth caught in an O of surprise as she saw him. On such a severe countenance, it shouldn’t be so sensual. But it was the same expression that had thrown him over the edge in the barn.

  In the sunlight, without the glasses hiding half her face, he got his first really good look at her. Her hair was still hidden beneath an ugly black veil and wimple, her gown was still boxy and shapeless, her skin was still pale, her features were still too sharp—especially her cheekbones, which stuck out prominently over sunken cheeks—and there was still an overall gray, ghostlike quality to her, but on closer scrutiny he knew his instincts had been right. The hint of prettiness and intentional obscuring of beauty was even more obvious in the stark light of day.

  There was no hiding her eyes, and they were spectacular. Round and overlarge in her hollow-cheeked face, they were a remarkable greenish-blue, and framed by thick, long lashes that seemed incongruously soft on such an otherwise brittle exterior. Her mouth, too, was soft and full, with a sensual dip that made him think of a bow on a package he wanted to unwrap. Preferably with his tongue.

  As soon as their eyes met, she instinctively dropped her gaze as if hiding her eyes from his view.

  Hiding. That was exactly what she was doing. The question was why, and from what.

  “Lady Mary, Lady Margaret,” he said, approaching the two women with a bow.

  Lady Margaret turned to him with a gasp. She gaped at him, and then at Mary. “You’ve met?”

  He grinned, seeing the blush rise to Mary’s cheeks.

  “Briefly,” she said tightly.

  The lass really needed to relax. She was pulled as tight as a bowstring.

  “Not too briefly,” he corrected, unable to stop himself from teasing her. He liked seeing the color in her cheeks. “I’m looking forward to furthering our acquaintance. I hope you are not bored with the Games already? Perhaps they are not exciting enough for you?”

  He knew he was being horrible, but he couldn’t help teasing her.

  She wasn’t shy, though. Her eyes met his full force, flashing at him in outrage.

  “Oh, it was exciting, wasn’t it, Mary?” Lady Margaret interposed.

  He thought she nodded, but her jaw was clenched so tight it was hard to tell. “I’m sure Sir Kenneth has heard enough accolades for the day, Margaret. He doesn’t need to hear them from us.”

  She gave him a smile that made him frown. She had a way of making it sound unflattering. He was used to reading a certain amount of feminine admiration in a woman’s gaze, but with her there was only cool challenge. He didn’t think he liked it.

  “There is still the sword dance to be held this afternoon. If Lady Margaret doesn’t object, I would be happy to escort you.”

  Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise. “Why would I object?”

  “No!” Mary said over her. Her blush deepened as she realized she’d spoken too harshly. “I mean, I regret that I must return to the castle. I’m feeling unwell.”

  Lady Margaret became immediately concerned. She put her hand on Mary’s arm. “Is that why you rushed off?” She laid the back of her hand across Mary’s forehead. “You do look flushed.”

  Mary nodded, not looking in his direction. Probably to avoid his provoking grin. “I think the sun was too much for me.”

  Lady Margaret turned to him. “Mary has just recovered from an illness. This was the first time she’s had a chance to see the Games all week.”

  “Is that so?” he drawled.

  She couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer. He could see a flash of anger in her blue-green eyes that reminded him of sun glinting on the sea. He hadn’t expected so much spirit from such a quiet exterior, and his intrigue grew.

  “Aye, I’ve been very unwell.”

  He swore he could see her chin stiffen, challenging him to disagree with her.

  “My sister is a healer. If you like, I could send her to you.”

  Her mouth thinned, hearing his challenge. “That is very kind of you, but I’m sure that will not be necessary. I think I just need to lie down.”

  “Lying down sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Though there was nothing suggestive in his voice, he knew she’d understood when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

  She was outraged, as no doubt she should be. But he could also see by the delicate flutter of her pulse below a surprisingly velvety-soft-looking cheek that she was more intrigued than she wanted to let on.

  The devil! The man had no shame. He was propositioning her right in front of Margaret, fixing her with that taunting look in his eyes—as if he knew a naughty secret. And blast him, he did!

  There was such a heavy undercurrent of suggestiveness running between them, Mary was certain Margaret must feel it. Not wanting to guess what he would say next, she was glad when one of Margaret’s daughters came up and distracted her with a plea to go with her friends to the sword dance.

  Realizing he was no doubt trying to get to her, she schooled her features into a polite mask and bowed her head. “My lord.”

  She turned away to head for the nearest tower, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

 
She flinched at the contact. The heat of his hand on her arm was like a brand, startling in its intensity. She could feel the imprint of every one of those thick, blunt-edged fingers pressing into her. Talented, deft fingers that could bring so much pleasure.

  Heat washed over her. Don’t think of it.

  But all she could do was think of it.

  Standing so close to him was hard enough. Her pulse had taken a sudden erratic lurch and her skin felt strange—as if a thousand bees were buzzing all over her—the moment he drew near. She felt like very dry kindling hovering over a roaring fire. When he touched her, her body flooded with a warm, drenching heat that told her exactly what she was feeling: desire.

  Instinctively sensing the danger, she wrenched away.

  Surprisingly, he let her go. His hand released her almost as quickly as she’d tried to remove it. When she gazed up at him, there was a slight frown between his brows, almost as if he’d felt it, too. Ridiculous.

  Once again she nearly had to blink from the brightness. When she’d first glanced over and seen him standing there, she felt as if she were looking right into the sun—or rather, right at the Sun god himself.

  It was only his mail sparkling in the sun like a shimmering star, she told herself. But with the layer of dirt from battle covering him, she knew it wasn’t just that. It was he. He shone as brightly as any star. Everything about him flashed and shimmered, from the golden streaks in his dark brown hair, the dangerous gleam in his challenging blue eyes, and the lean hard lines of his pugnaciously handsome face to the white flash of his take-no-prisoners grin. Though the men appealed in different ways, Sir Kenneth Sutherland could rival Gregor MacGregor for the title of most handsome man in Scotland, and she suspected he knew it.

  Sir Kenneth exuded confidence and brash arrogance. He probably thought she would fall at his feet just like all the other young, starry-eyed ladies seemed to be doing. But she was no longer young, and the stars had been wrenched from her eyes a very long time ago.

  Still, she felt an unmistakable thrill shooting through her veins, a spark of excitement that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was probably her temper. He seemed to bring out a heretofore unknown streak of combativeness in her.

  It was the way he looked at her. Confident and arrogant, yes, but also provoking. As if he were daring the world to come at him. As if he were always trying to prove something. He didn’t think she could resist him and was daring her to try.

  “Running away again, my lady?” he taunted softly. “This time I might have to come after you.”

  She kept her voice steady, but her heart was fluttering like the wings of a butterfly trapped under glass. “I told you, I’m not feeling well. I need to rest.”

  But he was right. She was running away, and she didn’t like him pointing it out.

  She turned to face him and looked into his eyes. It was a mistake. She could feel it again. That piercing, riveting hold. And the heat that pulsed through her body.

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed.” His voice spread over her skin like a seductive, warm caress.

  “I’m not embarrassed,” she protested. But the heat that rose to her cheeks told a far different story.

  “It’s much more fun doing than watching, you know.”

  Mary blinked at him in shock, not quite sure that she’d heard him right. But she had. She looked around to make sure no one had overheard him. Fortunately, Margaret was still speaking with her daughter. There were a few curious stares from passersby, but no one seemed to be listening.

  He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Meet me tonight. After the feast.” Mary stared at him in something between outrage at his sinful suggestion and awe at the bold straightforwardness with which it had been made. He was truly something. “Once you are done with your duties,” he finished.

  A small frown gathered between her brows. “My duties?”

  “To your lady,” he said, motioning to Lady Margaret. “You are one of her attendants?”

  My God, he didn’t know who she was! Mary was about to correct him when something stopped her. She wondered what he would do when he realized he’d just propositioned the woman the king wanted him to marry?

  “You certainly don’t waste any time,” she said wryly. She didn’t know why she was surprised; she’d seen his aggressiveness on the battlefield.

  “I don’t believe in playing games. We both know what we want.”

  He wanted her? But why, when he had a flock of women following him around like a retinue? Given the efforts she’d taken to dull her appearance, she was oddly flattered. And more surprisingly, she found herself oddly charmed by this too-handsome, too-arrogant, outrageous warrior with his cocky, provoking smile who knew what he wanted and went right for it.

  She tilted her head, looking at that gleaming smile flash in the sun. “Does anyone ever refuse you?”

  His mouth quirked. “Not very often. If you recall, I have much to recommend me.”

  She remembered. She remembered exactly what he looked like under all that mail. Remembered the body that was every bit as steely and hard. Mary was more tempted than she wanted to admit—the man was a walking platter of confection. A sultan of sin. But she had no interest in joining another harem.

  “Alas, I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you.”

  He didn’t seem to have taken her refusal to heart. “Are you married?”

  She shook her head. “Widowed.”

  He nodded as if he’d anticipated her answer. “Then there is nothing to prevent you.”

  “Prevent you from what?” Margaret asked.

  “Joining me for a dance after the feast,” he answered without missing a beat. “With your permission, of course, my lady.”

  “My permission?” Margaret said. “Why would—?”

  “Lady Margaret is very accommodating to all her attendants,” Mary interrupted.

  Margaret was looking at her as if she had two heads, but Sir Kenneth didn’t appear to notice.

  He bowed to Margaret, and then herself, with far more flourish than the situation warranted. “Then I shall look forward to seeing you both after the feast.”

  The look he sent her gave her no doubt of what he intended. He really was wicked. And a suddenly wicked part of her thought it would be fun to knock this champion-in-the-making down a few pegs. Mary felt a smile turn her lips. Perhaps she would attend the feast after all. She was going to enjoy seeing his face when he realized his mistake.

  Five

  Mary managed to avoid an immediate interrogation by Margaret, who was dragged off to the sword dance by her daughter after Sir Kenneth took his leave, but a few hours later she came bursting into the chamber Mary shared with her attendants and a few of the other ladies.

  “It was you!” she said excitedly.

  Looking around at the curious gazes of the other women, who were already starting to ready themselves for the feast, and realizing this was something she probably wouldn’t want everyone to hear, Mary put down her embroidery and steered Margaret over to the mural chamber inset into the thick stone wall. It wasn’t as much a chamber as a large stone bench with a cushion, and a heavy velvet curtain for privacy.

  After settling on the bench, she folded her hands in her lap and asked calmly, “What was me?”

  “He was nodding to you, wasn’t he? Oh, everyone is talking about it, trying to figure out whom Sir Kenneth nodded to after his victory. Lady Moira and Lady Alice both insist it was they, but I know it was you!” Margaret was grinning like a young girl with a naughty secret. “It’s so romantic!”

  Mary made a face. She knew exactly how much store to put in romantic gestures. She shifted her gaze. “It could have been anyone.”

  But Margaret wasn’t fooled. “It wasn’t anyone, it was you. Why else would he have come right up to you afterward? I saw the way he was looking at you. Why didn’t you tell me you’d met before?” Suddenly, her brow furrowed. “But why did you let him think you were one of my att
endants?”

  Mary bit her lip, feeling the shame heat her cheeks. She met the kind eyes of her former sister-in-law and weighed what she should say. It had been so many years since she’d felt the urge to confide in someone—or had anyone to confide in, for that matter. Not since Janet. But Margaret had always been kind to her, perhaps pitying the young girl her brother had married. She, too, had been a young bride, although her marriage seemed to have turned out well enough.

  “I hadn’t met him,” Mary answered. “Not really.” She took a deep breath and gave a very short explanation of what had happened. Margaret’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped with every word. Mary didn’t know what the other woman had expected to hear, but it certainly wasn’t this. Shock was written on every inch of her pretty face. Although Margaret had to be nearing her fortieth saint’s day, like her brother, her classical features gave her a timeless beauty.

  “So you see,” Mary finished, “it’s merely a game to him. He thinks that because of what I witnessed, I’m an easy mark, and that I am only too eager to be the next woman in line to jump in his bed.”

  Although Mary had skipped over the more salacious details, such as the position she’d found him in, the manner of his release, and the embarrassing extent of her reaction, from the way Margaret was looking at her, she must have guessed. “And are you?”

  Mary thought about lying, but instead she let out an exasperated sigh. “More than I would like to admit.” The heat in her cheeks intensified. She wasn’t used to talking so openly. “I know it’s wrong, and I would never do something so sinful. I’ve probably shocked you with my wickedness, but he was quite … impressive.” She made a face. “As he is well aware. The man is too arrogant and cocky by half.”

  A mischievous smile curved up Margaret’s mouth. “I’ve heard quite cocky.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s reputed to be quite, um, generously formed in a certain male appendage.”

  It took Mary a moment to realize what she meant. Her eyes went huge with shock. “Margaret!”