“Why Diego, Juliana? Why did you not talk to me?”
“You were gone.” She lifted her head. “You left without giving me a choice about my life. You wanted me to sit and wait while you made decisions for me. I will not let that happen again. Ever. I will make my own choices, and my choice is Kingsley.”
Rory used that moment to nod at Diego. “I think you and I should water our horses.” He took the reins of his horse and handed those of Patrick’s to Diego. “I prefer to stay,” Diego said.
“Now you do not have a choice,” Rory said, his voice hardening and his hand going to his dagger.
Diego shrugged. “I do not think I wish to fight Macleans again today.” He started to lead Patrick’s horse after giving it a disparaging look. “That is not much of a horse.”
“It is a hobbler,” Rory said, leading the way. “They raise them on the border. They are uncommonly sturdy. They can run all day.”
Patrick heard Diego’s complaints about the horses until their voices faded. Then his gaze went back to Juliana. “Do you care for him?” he asked.
“As a friend,” she said. “He has been a good one.” She gathered her cloak around her. “He has not touched me other than to help me on and off my horse.”
He believed her about Diego, although he wasn’t finished with the Spaniard. He wanted to know what game the man was playing. Or did he just amuse himself by pushing people around like chess pieces?
He stepped closer. She took a step as well, and the air became thick with strong, even violent emotions as she stood straight before him. Unyielding, yet there was something oddly poignant about her defiance.
He felt his soul bleed. The taste of betrayal had been riding with him these past few frantic days. Emotions stumbled around all over inside him. More emotions than he’d ever known or felt before. Emotions he had tamed as a boy and kept thoroughly contained during the past years, long before he went to France.
They were roiling around now, and he had no idea what to do with them, or how to harness them. They’d exploded moments ago with Diego, but those blows had done nothing to temper his emotions. He had convinced himself he would have no problems tamping down his desires. He’d been so wrong.
He wanted to take her in his arms. Touch her. Know she was safe. Lie! He wanted to do much more than that. He wanted to take her in his arms and keep her there forever.
But she had not trusted him. She had trusted Diego. That thought kept running through his head. It hurt far more than the whip that had so often lashed his back.
She must have seen his thoughts in his face because she took a step back, her gaze not leaving his face. No apology on it. No defense. Only steely determination.
“Why?” he asked.
“I wanted to right things,” she said. “I knew you would not approve.”
“And Diego?”
“I offered him a reward from my family.” She hesitated. “But that is not why he came.”
He waited.
“He is risking his own life,” she said. “And not for gold.”
His face must have shown his disbelief.
“In a moment of confession,” she said, “he said you were the only man he’d ever admired. He knew this was the only way to put the Sofia to rest forever.”
“With your life?”
“He said he had a plan to steal me away again.”
“And you believed him?”
“Si. He is a complicated man. He has his own strange code of honor even as he claims it to be for fools only.”
He disliked the affection he heard in her voice. It still rankled, nay, more than rankled, that Juliana had turned to him.
“Patrick?”
Her voice was soft, pleading.
For him? Or Diego?
“We must go on to Handdon.”
“Nay.”
She held out her hand. “Trust me.”
The gesture nearly unmanned him. Her eyes were so steady. Honest. Pleading. There were no secrets hidden there. He could not do as she wished. He could not send her to a man like Kingsley. Nor was he convinced of Diego’s motives. Or his ability to get her back without harm.
He reached out and took her hand. It was small and seemed so fragile. But he was learning she was anything but fragile. He felt humbled. So many wrong thoughts had run through his head, including wild jealousy. Regardless of what Diego thought, or wanted, it was clear to Patrick now that for the sake of his clan she had been willing to go to a man she feared. He, on the other hand, had done what he had done all his life. He’d escaped into himself and locked the doors when he’d found he was caring too much. Risking too much. He had left with little explanation and no promises, even after taking her virginity.
A small frown marred her brow. Still, her eyes softened when she looked at him, her eyes filling with a need that echoed his own. For a long while they stood without moving, without speaking, just drinking in the sight of each other. He felt the coldness inside drain away and in its place a sweet warmth began to grow. His breath quickening, he pulled her into his arms.
For a moment they did not move, simply allowing warmth to flow between them. She rested her head on his chest, and he felt a tenderness so strong it nearly paralyzed him. Sweet Jesu, but he wanted her.
She looked up. His lips touched hers, lightly at first, then with a fierceness that claimed her for his own. She trembled, and he felt her body speak to his of her own need. Exultation filled him as her lips responded. He’d feared he had lost her forever.
Her body strained against his and for the briefest second he hesitated. He needed to think, and she had a way of muddling that process. But the pulsing demand in his body became more insistent with every touch. His body burned, his mind fogged with need for her. Hunger racked him. ’Twas not only a physical hunger, but something deeper and far more perilous.
“Juliana,” he whispered softly.
Juliana heard the rueful note of surrender in his voice as he tightened his arms around her. Heat pulsated in wild spurts, starting at her core and reaching out to claim every part of her body. She looked up at him. His gaze radiated fire, a fire that reached out and scorched her. Her heart pounded as he pressed her closer to him, and she held her breath as his hand lifted and his fingers touched her face.
Tremors of sensation ran down her spine, and the air sizzled between them. She knew she should move away. There was too much between them, too much distrust. Too many obstacles, but she could not make her body obey. She had yearned for this, the familiar smell and taste and feel of him, the warm yet explosive intimacy that made her feel both safe and imperiled.
He was dangerous. The way he made her feel was especially dangerous. She was bewitched by it, her body thrummed with it. His fingers feathered the back of her neck, and his lips caressed hers. For the moment, they were the only two people in the world. The distrust was gone, the tension fading as they reveled in each other.
Then he muttered something and stepped back. Dazed, she could only stare at him. Then she heard a cheerful whistling. She muttered as well and turned to see Rory and Diego coming back. Rory wore a satisfied smile on his face, and Diego—a pox on the man—looked smug despite his swollen cheek.
“NAY,” Patrick said. “Aye,” Juliana mocked him as they discussed what should happen next. The air was growing distinctly colder, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her.
The three men argued as she listened. They could decide whatever they wanted to decide. But she knew what she was going to do. She was going to finish what she started, with or without their approval or assistance. At least now she would have today. He had come far for her, and his eyes said what he had not yet put into words.
She watched as he stood. He was wearing English clothes now. The white shirt but with a doublet and hose. The leather boots, though, were the same. “I will not have it,” Patrick said flatly. “If I have to bind your hands and feet.”
“It will work,” Diego said calmly. “She is a fine act
ress. Kingsley would not touch her prior to the wedding, not with guests at the castle.”
“Guests?”
“Your brother and I just talked. He said Kingsley made the announcement he was to be wed. Rory could take a gift from the queen. He would not be turned away, and he could look after her. Because of the bans, a marriage could not take place for weeks, and Juliana said Kingsley wanted it in London. I suspect they planned to bring her directly here because a Spanish ship manned by slaves would be suspect in London.”
Juliana looked at Patrick. At least he was listening.
“It would be easy to help her escape in London,” Diego said. “By then everyone will have accepted the tragic tale of the doomed Sofia. Lachlan, meanwhile, can fetch Juliana’s mother.”
Patrick stared at Diego. “You planned this from the beginning?”
“No. Not until Juliana convinced me that she was going to leave Inverleith one way or the other. I thought she would be safer with me, despite many opinions to the contrary.”
“You could have told Rory,” Patrick growled.
“He would not have permitted it. Nor would you have. He might have tried to keep her more confined, but Juliana was determined. She would have found a way.”
“You meant for us to follow,” Patrick said.
Diego just smiled.
“That’s what you meant when you said it was bloody time for us to get here?”
Now Juliana glared at Diego. He had set an impossible pace, even as he suspected—even wanted—them to be followed.
He shrugged. “I wanted to know how determined you were. It was important. And I thought once the Macleans arrived, they would see the reason of the plan.”
She wanted to hit him. Fortunately, his face was already well marked by Patrick. He deserved every bruise.
Rory chuckled. “It can work,” he said to Patrick.
“Can is not good enough.”
“I will protect her,” Rory said. “Kingsley’s standing with Henry depends on good will in Edinburgh. He will do nothing to jeopardize that.
“I will accompany Rory,” Patrick said, and Juliana knew she had won.
“Jamie said you did not make a good impression on the young viscount,” Rory objected.
“But I am your brother.”
“He could not refuse you if he thinks you come from the queen,” Diego agreed. “And I will be there until you arrive.”
“No comfort there,” Patrick muttered.
But it was obvious he had surrendered.
He looked at Diego. “I will kill you if anything happens to her.”
“I expected no less,” Diego said cheerfully.
Chapter 32
HE group rode to within a few miles of Hartlepool and separated.
Rory was to ride on to Newcastle and pick up a wedding gift before returning to the inn they had chosen in Hartlepool.
Diego was keeping low in the woods since they were too close to Handdon Castle to stay with them. He was, after all, supposed to return Juliana to her betrothed after a harrowing journey without funds. He would meet them in the morning to make the journey with Juliana to Handdon Castle.
But Patrick had no intention of allowing Juliana to stay with Diego. He would borrow the Spaniard’s ruse.
The innkeeper sniffed as they entered and Patrick asked for a room. His eyes went to Juliana’s masked face, then darted to the floor.
“My wife has been marked by the pox, but she carries no disease now,” Patrick explained.
The innkeeper spit on the floor. “Scot?”
“Aye.”
“Me brother died at Flodden last year.”
“A lot of men died then.”
The innkeeper hesitated, but greed won. He took Patrick’s piece of gold in exchange for a private room.
“We would like some food sent up. My wife is . . . does not like going into public places.” He tossed another gold coin up in the air and the innkeeper’s thick arm shot out and caught it before it dropped to the bar. His scowl disappeared.
“Wine as well,” Patrick said. “Not ale.”
Once in the room, he paced. He still disliked the plan. Mayhap because, he was ashamed to admit, it came from Diego. It was hard for him to admit he had been wrong about the man. The easy relationship between Diego and Juliana plagued him.
He went to the window and studied the landscape outside. Juliana wearily rested in a chair with her face still covered until the food arrived. They could take no chances that someone might see the scar-free face of a bonny woman.
The inn overlooked a natural harbor and a number of fishing boats were returning. She rose and moved next to him. The sun was setting, and a golden glow spread over the calm water.
“You can always come back with me,” he said. “The viscount is a dangerous man. And apparently not a fool since he has won the ear of the Queen Dowager.”
“It is worth the risk.” She moved closer and lowered the piece of cloth from her face.
He touched a smudge of dirt that only enhanced the smooth, lovely cheeks. “I almost lost you,” he whispered.
“No,” she said. “You will never lose me. I would have found some way back.”
He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the deep fear and emptiness he felt when he read her note.
A knock came at the door then, and she quickly replaced the cloth and turned away from the door. Patrick opened it. A lad entered with a trencher of food and a pitcher of wine. Avoiding Juliana as much as possible, he placed it on the small table. He carried a candle and lit the oil lamp, then kneeled beside the fireplace until flames started to lick at the logs already in place.
Patrick pressed a coin in his hand. “We do not wish to be disturbed again this night. We have traveled far.”
The lad nodded and left. Patrick shoved the table against the door that had no lock. He placed the trencher on the table and drew the two chairs up to it, both on the same side. He did not want even a table separating them.
The meal included bread and honey, fish, cheese and a pasty. The wine was poor, but far better than English ale. He watched her eat, enjoying the sight of her tongue licking her lips after a taste of bread and honey. She took a sip of wine, made a face, but then took another.
He took a sip himself. He was only too aware of the bed that dominated the room. When she had finished the fish, he took a piece of the pasty and tempted her mouth open with it, watching with amusement as crumbs sprinkled her lips. He leaned over and tasted them.
His lips danced on hers with a slow sensuality; he licked every vestige of crumbs, then tasted the wine on her lips and tongue as her mouth opened to his probing assault.
Her hands went up to his neck and stopped at the auburn locks that curled boyishly there. He tensed, trying desperately to keep control.
Juliana was not going to allow it. The wine, the warmth of the crackling fire, the rich smell of wood smoke mixed with the taste of each other came together in a wanton call she was not going to deny. Soon, she would belong to another man, but tonight she belonged with Patrick. She felt herself being lifted and she knew his resistance had been breached. Her head rested against his heart as strong, powerful arms held her tightly to him.
He set her on the bed, then hesitated as he stared down at her. Aching to erase the lingering doubts, she took his hand and pulled him down. When their lips touched again, she wondered at how tenderness and hunger could combine so sweetly and passionately.
She felt the ties of her gown being undone with deliciously agonizing deliberateness. His breath was warm and tasted of wine. Then the gown fell away and she felt gloriously free.
His lips found her breasts and nuzzled first one, then the other until her nipples seemed as hard and hot as the stones in the hearth. They tingled and ached. When she thought she could stand no more, his lips moved upward, kissing her throat, her mouth, the lobes of her ears until every nerve in her body was tingling and alive with wanting. Sh
e closed her eyes, drinking in all the new feelings, wondering how one body could feel so much pleasure, so much agony at once.
His hands ceased their movement with one last teasing stroke. He moved away from her, and she opened her eyes. He was releasing his own clothes while his eyes stayed on her. He so frequently seemed the observer, keeping his thoughts thoroughly locked inside. Now his gaze roiled with passion.
His clothing dropped to a puddle on the floor. The doublet, then his hose. Finally his linen shirt. He stood there before her, everything about him strong, but without the usual warrior confidence. Although his shoulders and chest were heavily muscled, his waist and stomach were still painfully lean.
She held out her hand, and he sank down on the bed next to her. His hand traced patterns on her skin, rekindling the flames that had roared so wildly before. She answered caress with caress, need with need, and hunger with hunger until they were both mad with wanting, their bodies arching and straining against each other.
He slid atop her, resting his strength on one arm. His maleness teased the sensitive part of her body until she whimpered for him. He entered, and she quivered with the first exquisite feelings.
There was no pain this time, only waves of sensation that grew with each of his carefully controlled movements until she felt part of a tidal surge moving toward some irresistible climax. Time seemed to stop as they reveled in this instinctive dance, first slow, then increasing the tempo together. Then there was one last thrust, and all the sensations she’d felt before were beggared by the new ones as sweet explosions rocked her very being.
Once they regained their breath, he rolled over, bringing her with him, and she rested her head against his heart. His hands moved gently over her body, loving it. The urgency was gone, but a honeyed sweetness remained.
She stayed like that until the room darkened and she closed her eyes, content for now in his arms.
PATRICK and Juliana rose before daybreak and left the inn. She did not bother with her hair. Looking the part would be an important aspect of Juliana’s story. He saddled one horse and helped her up, then swung into the saddle behind her. She still wore the cloth around her face. She was wearing the same gown and worn cloak she had yesterday. Her hair was still in the long braid.
Beloved Warrior Page 29
