The Recruit

by Monica McCarty

  “It’s your life, Mother. I hope Sir Kenneth will make you happy.”

  Happy was too much to hope for. Mary would settle for not completely miserable. “I want you to be happy, too.” He seemed puzzled by the thought, and another stab of guilt struck her. She reached for his hand and took it in hers, saying earnestly, “You are an important part of my life. You always have been, even when we weren’t together. Not one day passed that I did not think of you.”

  He looked at her, and for a moment his too-solemn expression cracked. She caught a glimpse of the longing that so mirrored her own. It struck her then that she and her son were more alike than she realized—they were both treading new ground and didn’t know how to reach out to the other.

  “I thought of you, too.”

  A hot wave of tears pressed against the back of her eyes, and she smiled with happiness at the gift he’d given her.

  Sir Kenneth—her husband—had been speaking with Sir Adam and the bishop, but he turned back to her. “If you are ready, we should be on our way.”

  Mary swallowed a hard lump in her throat. It struck her with cold reality that she didn’t even know where she was going. He could send her where he willed, and she would have no say in the matter.

  Once again his perception surprised her. “I’m afraid I must return to the castle immediately. I assumed that you would accompany me, but if you should like me to make other arrangements—”

  “No,” she said. “The castle will be fine.” She’d feared he meant to send her away, and she wanted to be near Davey for as long as possible.

  “Very well. I will leave instructions to have your things moved to my chamber. Sir Adam has graciously offered to give us the use of his.”

  Mary paled. Sweet heaven, they would be sharing a room! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Suddenly, the prospect of being sent away didn’t sound so horrible. Her gaze went to her son. The desire to be with Davey warred with her fear of all that would come with sharing a room with her husband.

  I will not be barred from my wife’s bed …

  Suddenly the night ahead loomed very large. Unlike her first wedding, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to expect; rather she knew exactly what to expect. The knot low in her belly tightened. It’s not anticipation, it’s not … fool!

  “My lady?” He held out his hand again, the taunting lift of his brow suggesting he’d guessed the source of her struggle.

  With one last helpless look at Davey, she tamped down the surge of apprehension rising in her chest like a tidal wave and slid her hand into his. The sudden warmth that enfolded her proved oddly reassuring. At least for a while. But as the sun made its determined march across the horizon, and the day slipped into night, her apprehension returned tenfold. The night to come was all she could think about.

  Mary gazed out the tower window into the courtyard, but she could see little in the torchlit darkness. The apprehension that had been her constant companion as she waited for her new husband to join her had begun to wane as the night darkened. It had grown so late, she’d started to wonder whether he would come at all.

  She’d seen him ride out earlier with a large troop of men, but had yet to see him return. Of course, she hadn’t been watching for him. She stared out of tower windows all the time.

  Although not usually in the middle of the night.

  She’d dismissed her attendants hours ago; it had to be near midnight by now. Had something happened? Had he reconsidered?

  She smoothed her hand over her stomach, sizing the swell beneath her palm. She didn’t feel overlarge, but she was definitely changed from the last time he’d seen her. Had she become too round? Perhaps he did not relish the idea of bedding a woman heavy with child?

  She hadn’t thought much about her figure until now. What if he no longer found her attractive?

  She would be glad of it, of course. Not being forced to do her wifely duty would certainly make it easier to keep herself—and her heart—at a safe distance. But relief wasn’t what she was feeling at all. The hollowness in her chest felt more like disappointment.

  Resigned to their marriage, resigned to the fact that he intended to take her to his bed, she knew it was too much to think that she could control her desire, so she’d resigned herself to the passion as well. How had he said it? Come. Her cheeks burned, remembering his crude boast. As long as she kept it crude—kept it about the passion—her heart would be safe.

  As always, she was determined to make the best of the situation. What else could she do?

  With a sigh, she trod back over to the chair where she’d left her needlework. The bed loomed to her right, but she did her best to ignore it. Though it had been a long day of getting settled, answering questions, and avoiding others as the news of their marriage spread throughout the castle like wildfire, she knew if she tried to go to sleep she would lie there in the darkness wide awake. She might as well be productive. Besides, she had almost finished the linen cap for the baby. She’d put hours into the small piece, and it was one of her finest.

  Retrieving her glasses, she slid them on her nose and began to work. She had lost track of time when the door suddenly opened.

  She startled, her pulse jumping to her throat. It was her husband. Apparently, he’d decided to make an appearance after all.

  A blast of heat washed over her as he strode into the room. Awareness, nervousness, and anticipation all rolled into one jumbled mess. Though he had every right to be there, it felt like an invasion. He dominated the small room, taking it over with his mere presence. Given how physically imposing he was, it was strange that she’d never felt intimidated by him. Aggressively large, his muscles honed to a blade’s edge of raw power, he looked like a man who was born to fight in an arena. A gladiator of old. With all the fierce, primitive masculinity and barely restrained fire to go along with it. But it wasn’t fear that was making her stomach knot, heart flutter, and skin tingle.

  He was so effortlessly handsome. His dark hair was damp and curling in loose waves around his face. Wherever he’d been, he’d taken the time to bathe. But he hadn’t shaved, and the dark shadow of his beard outlined a jaw that was already too rugged and masculine. He’d removed the armor that she’d seen him in earlier, and wore a plaid over a plain linen shirt and breeches.

  Looking at him made her heart ache. If only she were the type of woman who was immune to a handsome face. It would make this so much easier.

  “You’re still awake? I thought you might have gone to bed by now.”

  “I was just about to,” she lied. “Where were you?”

  Atholl had always hated when she’d questioned him about his absences, but Kenneth seemed unbothered. “I rode out with Percy to near Kelso Abbey. There were reports of rebels in the area. There were, but they were long gone by time we arrived.”

  “I’m surprised that you are back so soon. Kelso is quite a distance away.”

  “Most of the men stayed. But I was rather anxious to return.”

  His smile sent a shiver of awareness racing down her spine. Suddenly, she was very conscious of two things: they were alone, and they were married.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t press the matter. He moved over to the table where a pitcher of wine had been set out, poured himself a cup, and dropped down on a chair opposite her. She tried not to notice the muscled legs stretched out before her. But good gracious, the black leather stretched over the powerful muscles of his thighs like a second skin! He looked exhausted—she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of weariness etched around his mouth—yet he clearly wasn’t in any hurry.

  She glanced to the small fireplace on her left between them, but it didn’t seem to be burning any hotter. It was he. Or she. Or maybe both of them. If only her heart and stomach would stop fluttering. She couldn’t think.

  Growing more nervous as the silence dragged on, she said, “I’m surprised they let you roam about so freely.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry h
alf-smile. “Noticed my watchdogs, did you? Aye, well, they’ve relaxed a little. Our marriage helped. Percy is almost convinced of my loyalty.”

  “Sir Adam informed me of the king’s embellishment to our tale. They must not know you very well if they think you would change allegiance for the love of a woman.”

  He lifted a brow. “And you do?”

  Their eyes met, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. He was right. She didn’t know him; she was making assumptions. It made it easier to push him away.

  “Actually, I think it has more to do with David’s wardship. Why would I do anything to jeopardize a chance at that? My interests, you see, are in England.”

  She felt an unexpected stab of disappointment. “And is that what matters to you?”

  “We all do what we have to do, Mary. Isn’t that what keeps you in England? Your and David’s interests are here. Or is it Bruce that you are opposed to?”

  “Of course not,” she said automatically. Then, realizing how treasonous her words could have sounded, she added, “Robert was my brother-in-law twice over—he was married to my sister and my brother was married to his sister. I hold a great deal of affection for him.”

  He considered her for a moment, but then changed the subject. “It’s for the baby, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to the cap that had fallen to her lap when he entered.

  Belatedly, she recalled the glasses still perched on her nose and slid them off as unself-consciously as she could manage. She nodded.

  “May I see it?”

  She handed it to him, waiting with a surprisingly anxious heartbeat as he scrutinized it with a thoroughness that would have made Master Bureford proud. “It’s magnificent,” he announced finally.

  Mary told herself that she shouldn’t be so pleased. But she couldn’t stop the burst of pleasure and pride that swelled inside her.

  “Thank you,” she managed, embarrassed by her own reaction.

  “Did you really sell these?”

  She stiffened, anticipating his disapproval. “Aye.” And she would continue to do so. But uncertain how he would react to that, she decided to keep that to herself for now.

  “I’m impressed. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  Empathy? That was the last thing she expected from him—and the last thing she wanted. Being so attracted she couldn’t think straight was bad enough. She didn’t want to like him, too. “It wasn’t. But that was a long time ago, and a time I would rather not remember.”

  If he noticed the wall she’d erected around the subject of her past, he didn’t show it. He handed the cap back to her. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stitching something for me one day?”

  Mary flinched. It felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest. He couldn’t have surprised her more than if he’d actually done so. Pained memories came back to her of the countless hours she’d spent on the special surcote she’d made for Atholl, only to have him toss it away with barely a glance when she’d given it to him. She’d poured all her love into that garment, and he’d rejected it as if it had been nothing. To him, it had been.

  Now Kenneth asked her to make him something? For the first time, she noticed not the similarities, but the differences between the two men. Though part of her wished she hadn’t.

  “Perhaps,” she managed evasively.

  He studied her over the rim of his cup, as if he’d sensed somehow that he’d struck a nerve and was trying to determine the source.

  She went back to work so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, but kept pricking herself with the needle under the weight of his scrutiny.

  As the moment of silence stretched, her heartbeat seemed to quicken. Her hands dampened. Her throat grew dry. The bundle of nerves knotting in her stomach returned, as did the butterflies fluttering in her chest.

  He, too, appeared increasingly edgy. He stood to replenish his cup, muttering something about whisky. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him toss back the cup and take a long drink of wine before slamming it down on the table.

  “Are you going to do that all night?” he snapped.

  She put down her embroidery slowly, realization dawning. My God, he’s nervous! It seemed inconceivable that this arrogant, cocky warrior with his own retinue of female admirers could be nervous. It was charming—and rather sweet. Two words she’d never thought to use to describe him.

  “I can put it aside now, if you’d like.”

  All of a sudden his demeanor changed. He swore and dragged his hands through his still damp hair. “Hell, I’m sorry.” He gave her another one of those boyishly wry smiles that landed in her chest with a thump. “I’ve never done this before.” She lifted her brow, and he laughed. “Had a wedding night,” he clarified.

  She had, but nothing about that night reminded her of tonight. Then she’d been a frightened girl, ignorant of what was to come, and in awe of her much older husband. She’d been so shy and intimidated, she’d barely said a word to him. She remembered disappointment, pain, and shame.

  Now she was a woman, only a few years younger than he, scarred by the past, perhaps, but also stronger. Bolder. Wiser. She was no longer in awe of a handsome knight, knowing there were no heroes, only men. She was still frightened, perhaps, but by the anticipation. By how much she wanted this. How much she wanted him. He had spoken to her more in the past few minutes than Atholl had their entire marriage.

  “I should think it would be like any other night,” she said, trying to hide her amusement. “But if you like, we can wait—”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps the right thing. He crossed the room in three strides and lifted her from the chair to her feet. His arms wrapped around her. “Not a chance, my lady wife. You won’t get out of it that easily.”

  Get out of it. As he took her in his arms, and that delicious warmth spread over her, she was certain that was what she should want to do. Should.

  Seventeen

  The anticipation had been building inside him all day. By the time Kenneth walked into the room, he was ready to pick her up, toss her on the bed, and lose himself in mindless oblivion.

  He hadn’t had a woman in …

  He didn’t want to think about how long. Had he made love with another women since that night at Dunstaffnage? He couldn’t remember. Liar.

  He’d been angry at first and then too busy, damn it. He’d been focused on earning his way into the Guard.

  There had been opportunities; he just hadn’t much felt like acting on them. Even no effort had seemed like too much. Which sure as hell didn’t explain all the effort he was going to for her.

  Despite the deprived state of his cock, and that it didn’t seem to take more than a glimpse of her to put him in a very pained state, he’d forced himself to take it slow. Wooing. Seducing. Putting her at ease.

  Nothing that should have made him feel so damned nervous. Nervous? Hell, he hadn’t ever been nervous with a woman. Ever. Even when he was young and inexperienced enough to warrant it.

  But then again, he’d never made love to his wife before. He’d never cared about getting something so right. He wanted it to be perfect. For his mission, of course.

  But the moment he wrapped her in his arms, the edginess seemed to disappear. He was back on solid ground. No more thinking. No more talking. Time to let instinct take over.

  “I wasn’t trying to get out of it,” she whispered.

  “You weren’t?” His hand took a long, slow journey down her spine; he loved the way she shuddered against him.

  She shook her head.

  She looked so sweet he had to kiss her. His mouth covered hers with a groan. Hunger rose inside him like a maelstrom, but he forced himself to slow. Tasting the honey sweetness of her lips with a gentle caress. Letting his mouth move over hers in a smooth, sensual dance.

  But damn, she felt good. He slid his tongue deeper and deeper in her mouth the way he wanted to make love to her. He started to tighten his arms to fit her more closely against him, when the swel
l of her stomach stopped him.

  Hell, how could he have not considered the babe?

  He lifted his head. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”

  Her expression changed in an instant, from soft and aroused to pale and crestfallen. And something else he couldn’t quite identify—almost vulnerable.

  She dropped her gaze and tried to pull away. “Of course. I see myself every day, so I don’t realize how much I must have changed.”

  He frowned. What in Hades was she talking about? As the thought had never occurred to him, it took him a minute to realize what she meant. He caught her before she could slip away. “You have changed. You are even more beautiful than you were before.”

  “That isn’t saying much,” she said wryly.

  He laughed. “I suspect that was your intent.” She didn’t deny it. “You were far too thin. Believe me, sweeting, your new curves have only added to your beauty, and my desire for you. If you like, you can feel for yourself.” He was pleased to see a blush rise to her cheeks, but unfortunately, she didn’t take him up on his offer. “My concern is for the child. Is this … I don’t want to do anything to hurt …”

  A shy smile returned to her face. “The baby will not be hurt. The church might not like it, but I believe it is quite common for a husband to share his wife’s bed until near the end of the pregnancy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, and that was enough. He swept her up into his arms—or arm, as he could easily bear her weight on his good arm—and carried her to the bed.

  Laying her gently atop the bed coverings, he proceeded to remove his boots, plaid, and shirt. Bared to the waist, he turned to see her studying him with a distressed look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Troubled eyes lifted to his. “Your arm. Does it hurt very badly? I never thanked you for what you did for Davey.” She shivered. “Had you not been there …”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her, putting his finger on her mouth to stop her from finishing the thought. “Don’t think about it. But you’re welcome.” He moved his arm around. It was stiff and still a bit sore, but it felt surprisingly strong. Thanks to his sister. “The wound is healing well. I should be able to resume my duties on the battlefield soon enough.”