by Mary Wine
“I’d have turned myself out before seeing my own child suffering for my choices.” She shook her head sadly. “But Anne has a pure heart. It’s better than I deserve for allowing her to be born out of wedlock.”
“I dinnae care.”
Anne shifted, muttering in her sleep. Brodick stepped through the doorway, Anne’s mother following.
“You’re a good man then. ’Tis grateful I am to you.”
Brodick grinned as the baby opened his puffy eyelids, showing off blue eyes. Brodick could feel the heartbeat against his forearm, could see the tiny chest filling with the breath of life. It was by far the most touching experience he’d ever had.
“Then there is something you may help me with, madam.” Brodick looked at Druce and Cullen.
“Assemble the staff and retainers. Bring Mary. I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt about the fact that she didnae birth this child.”
It was harsh, but no more than the noble daughter deserved.
“As you say, my lord.” Ivy lowered her head before leaving the chamber.
Druce grinned. “Well now, let me look at the laddie.”
Cullen joined him as they chuckled and teased him about being old enough to have a family.
If having a family meant he was old, he was content with his lot.
Anne awoke in Brodick’s arms. He cradled her body as surely as he had their son.
“Easy, lass, I’m sorry to disturb ye, but ye’ll nae be sleeping in that room that served as yer prison.”
Anne didn’t have any energy to reply. Her hand pressed against his chest and she smiled when she felt his steady heartbeat. A few moments later he swept her into another room. One of the large chambers that had been empty for as long as she could recall. Her sleepy brain awoke as she noted all the fine touches added. Carpets and scented candles. She could smell rosemary in the air now. It was always used after a birth to help the mother gain strength. No one knew why, only that it had always been that way.
“This is a much better bed. One that disnae look at walls that ye had to see as a prison.”
Brodick settled her in a lavish, double-sized bed with a canopy and curtains. The fireplace was lit with a cheery blaze that warmed her nose. A cradle was placed at the foot of the bed but she heard her son fussing as her mother brought him into the room.
“Here now, Anne, your son is hungry.”
Brodick pushed a few plump pillows behind her back as Ivy placed the baby in her arms. Ivy looked at Brodick for a moment.
“I’m nae leaving, woman. This is something I’ve been waiting to see for three years. Me family.”
Anne gazed into his eyes when Ivy settled the baby near her breast. There was nothing but happiness, nothing else at all.
If that meant she was insane, so be it.
She was in love.
Chapter Fourteen
The bells rang near noon the next day. The riders approaching rode with the banners of the Earl of Warwickshire. Brodick boldly met the man on his own front steps. The older man didn’t lack any strength. He dismounted and yanked his riding gauntlets off with a snarl.
“Where’s that bitch I’m married to?”
His voice bounced off the walls. Everyone froze, never having heard the master of the house publicly curse his wife.
The earl looked up. “McJames, I owe you a great deal for ferreting out this scheme. I swear I’ll do right by the dowry.” He climbed the steps, stopping to offer his hand to Brodick.
Brodick stood for a moment, feeling the eyes of the estate on him. He clasped the man’s wrist and there was a mutter of approval from those watching.
“I suppose ye’ll nae be cross with me for locking yer wife and daughter up. I wanted to make sure they didnae manage any more mischief before ye arrived to deal with them.”
“I’d not have cared if you drowned them like the demon felines they are.”
“I’ll leave that task to you.” Brodick walked into the castle with the earl. They climbed the stairs to the mistresses’ chambers where two of Brodick’s men stood guard.
“But there is someone I’d like ye to meet first.” Brodick opened the door slowly, taking care that the hinges didn’t squeak. The Earl of Warwickshire followed him inside frowning when he faced Ivy.
His leman smiled as bright as summer. She lifted a hand and motioned him forward. “Come my dear and see our first grandchild.”
The color drained from his face but Brodick didn’t think the man weak. He understood.
“Anne has a babe?”
“My wife has given me a son.”
The earl suddenly smiled. He slapped a hand on Brodick’s shoulder that sent him forward a step.
“Well now, that’s grand news!”
Ivy shook a finger at him. “Hush. Anne needs her rest.”
“I’m not sleeping, Mother.” Anne shouldered her way through the curtain drawn across the doorway. She cradled her child, a soft smile curving her lips.
“Here Father, come and meet your grandson.”
Tears shimmered in her father’s eyes. Anne gently placed the baby in his arms. Brodick slid an arm around her waist, taking up some of her weight. She patted his hand reassuringly. “I am well.”
He didn’t listen. Her husband scooped her off her feet in one smooth motion. “I did warn ye that I intend to drive ye insane with my protective attitude.”
He carried her back to the bedchamber. Anne frowned at him when he settled her back into bed.
“I have never been idle.”
“And ye have never had a babe before either.”
Anne wanted to be cross but she looked past Brodick at her parents. The earl cradled her son while his forehead touched her mother’s. Joy radiated from them, warming the entire room. Her throat tightened and so did the arm Brodick had around her.
“Love is a beautiful thing, lass.” Brodick’s words were thick with emotion.
Her father turned to look at her, his gaze touching on the man that held her.
“Well now, Anne, my girl, you have made me proud.”
Her father walked into the room. He settled the baby back into her embrace.
“Young Brodick, I see you make a good husband for my daughter.”
“I intend to spend many a day trying, sir.”
Her father nodded. “Glad I am to hear it.”
No one would let her out of bed, so they spent the afternoon talking and getting to know the new baby. It wasn’t until the sun began to set that her father’s expression turned dark. He placed a kiss on Anne’s cheek.
“I must see to my wife.” His words were grave but sad as well. His body was tense as he left the room. Brodick followed.
The Earl of Warwickshire shoved open the door to the chamber where his wife and daughter were imprisoned.
“Philipa…”
The chamber was silent. Brodick scanned it, looking for the women. They were already in bed. Moving closer, he and the earl peered at the pair of unmoving forms. There was only a whisper of breath in them, the skin of their faces pasty white.
The earl touched Mary’s face, moving her eyelid up to look at her eye.
“Poison, if I’m not mistaken.” His voice had the unmistakable ring of familiarity with that evil vice of assassins and taunted lovers.
“Nae by my hand.” Brodick shook his head. “I’d have run them through and taken credit for my own deed.”
The earl looked pensive. “I believe you.” He searched the room, lifting the used goblets and sniffing them.
There was a cough from the bed. Mary opened her eyes. The earl walked toward her.
“Tell me, daughter, what ails you?”
Mary drew a deeper breath in order to speak.
“Mother got the hemlock…from the village…for Anne.” She sighed. “It was left on the table and…the…boy took it…by mistake…for our afternoon…wine.”
Her eyelids fluttered but she lifted them and stared at her father. Mary reached for his hand.
/>
“It was not his…fault. Mother…plotted murder…and…I agreed…We have…reaped…what we…sowed.” Her fingers clutched at her father’s hand. “Forgive me. I repent…my…sins…please, Father…bury me in hallowed…ground…I…beg for your pardon…I repent…God have mercy…on me…”
Her voice trailed off as her eyes closed. The earl laid her hand on her chest, slowly shaking his head. He reached out to stroke a hand over her head.
“I’m sorry I failed you, child. I knew your mother was bitter but I didn’t think she’d turn you so spoilt. I thought her love for you would keep her sane. I was wrong. Forgive me, Daughter.”
Mary’s hand clutched at the bedding. She held it tight for a moment before her fingers went lax and her breathing grew soft once more. She never opened her eyes again. Her mother died before she did, but Mary followed before sunrise. The Earl of Warwickshire sat by their bed, slumped in his chair.
Ivy appeared at dawn. She stood in the doorway, the rising sun illuminating her. Henry Howard, fifth Earl of Warwickshire, stood up and went to her. A woman of common birth, she was the keeper of his heart. He took her hand and pressed a kiss onto it.
“Will you marry me, Ivy?” He squeezed her fingers. “Make an honest man of me and bring legitimacy to our children?”
“I will.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes but one fell down his cheek first. Tucking her hand onto his arm, he strode from the chamber leaving his blue-blood marriage behind.
“Get back in that bed, Anne.”
His wife scowled at him. Brodick sent her a stern look in return.
“I am going to my mother’s wedding, Brodick.”
And nothing was going to stop her. “For every time that I have heard the word bastard flung at me, I will crawl to church if I have to, Brodick.” Her entire body ached but she kept moving. She suddenly frowned.
“But I need some money to bribe the clergymen since I haven’t been churched yet. They won’t let me into the sanctuary.”
Brodick scowled. “This country has traditions that are insane.”
Anne grinned. “I suppose it is a good thing we plan to live in Scotland.”
He didn’t look amused by her words. “’Tis a good thing that all yer countrymen will be getting a Scots king. No allowing ye into church just because ye had a babe? What is the point of marriage, might I ask ye?”
Anne flinched when she bent over to pick up her shoes. Her husband swept her off her feet a moment later, placing her back on the foot of the bed. Brodick lowered his large body to one knee and slid her shoe into place himself.
“Och well, I can see why ye need to be there.”
He didn’t sound very contrite. But he placed the second shoe on her foot and helped her into her loose grown and surcoat.
“But no dancing.”
He turned to pick up their son. Brodick refused to allow the infant or herself out of his sight unless Druce or Cullen was with her. The man was keeping his promise to have her guarded but it wasn’t something she could become angry over. He did not trust Warwickshire and its staff. She could not blame him.
She took solace in his presence, enjoying every second of it. The burdens of life would steal him away soon enough. For now she would cling to his arm and watch her mother’s wedding. Ivy made the most beautiful bride Anne had ever seen. The reason was simple.
She was in love.
Be it curse or blessing, Anne did not know. But she suffered the same affliction, cheerfully following in her mother’s example. Brodick held her heart and if fate was kind, she would never cease loving him.
Never.
Be sure to catch WATCH OVER ME by Lucy Monroe, available now from Brava…
“Dr. Ericson”
Lana adjusted the angle on the microscope. Yes. Right there. Perfect. “Amazing.”
“Lana.”
She reached out blindly for the stylus to her handheld. Got it. She stared taking notes on the screen without looking away from the microscope.
“Dr. Ericson!!!”
Lana jumped, bumping her cheekbone on the microscope’s eyepiece before falling backward, hitting a wall that hadn’t been there when she’d come into work that morning.
Strong hands set her firmly on her feet as she realized the wall was warm and made of flesh and muscle. Lots and lots of muscle.
Stumbling back a step, she looked up and then up some more. The dark-haired hottie in front of her was as tall as her colleague, Beau Ruston. Or close to it anyway. She fumbled with her glasses, sliding them on her nose. They didn’t help. Reading glasses for the computer, they only served to make her feel more disoriented.
She squinted, then remembered and pulled the glasses off again, letting them dangle by their chain around her neck. “Um, hello? Did I know you were visiting my lab?”
She was fairly certain she hadn’t. She forgot appointments sometimes. Okay, often, but she always remembered eventually. And this man hadn’t made an appointment with her. She was sure of it. He didn’t look like a scientist either.
Not that all scientists were as unremarkable as she was in the looks department, but this man was another species entirely.
He looked dangerous and sexy. Enough so that he would definitely replace chemical formulas in her dreams at night. His black hair was a little too long and looked like he’d run his fingers through it, not a comb. That was just so bad boy. She had a secret weakness for bad boys.
Even bigger than the secret weakness she’d harbored for Beau Ruston before he’d met Elle.
She had posters of James Dean and Matt Dillon on the wall of her bedroom and had seen Rebel Without a Cause a whopping thirty-six times.
Unlike James Dean, this yummy bad boy even had pierced ears. Only instead of sedate studs or small hoops, he had tiny black plugs. Only a bit bigger than a pair of studs, the plugs were recessed in his lobes. The had the Chinese Kanji for strength etched on them in silver. Or pewter maybe. It wasn’t shiny.
The earrings were hot. Just like him.
He looked like the kind of man who had a tattoo. Nothing colorful. Something black and meaningful. She wanted to see it. Too bad she couldn’t just ask.
Interpersonal interaction had so many taboos. It wasn’t like science where you dug for answers without apology.
“Lana?”
The stranger had a strong jaw too, squared and accented by a close-cropped beard that went under, not across his chin. No mustache. His lips were set in a straight line, but they still looked like they’d be heaven to kiss.
Not that she’d kissed a lot of lips, but she was twenty-nine. Even a geeky scientist didn’t make it to the shy side of thirty without a few kisses along the way. And other stuff. Not that the other stuff was all that spectacular. She’d always wondered if that was her fault or the men she’d chosen to partner.
It didn’t take a shrink to identify the fact that Lana had trust issues. With her background, who wouldn’t?
Still, people had been know to betray family, love and country for sex. She wouldn’t cross a busy street to get some. Or maybe she would, if this stranger was waiting on the other side.
The fact that she could measure the time since she’d last had sex in years rather than months, weeks or days—which would be a true miracle—wasn’t something she enjoyed dwelling on. She blamed it on her work.
However, every feminine instinct that was usually sublimated by her passion for her job was on red alert now.
The temperature’s rising in Karen Kelley’s HOW TO SEDUCE A TEXAN, out this month from Brava…
She hit another pothole.
Dammit! They came out of nowhere. As soon as she got home, she’d need to take her car in for realignment. And she’d send Marge the bill.
She topped a rise and slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailed, spewing a thick cloud of dust behind her. Her heart felt as if it had taken residence in her throat. She skidded to a stop, barely missing the cow that languidly stood in the middle of the road looking u
nconcerned that it had almost been splattered across her windshield.
Nikki’s heart pounded inside her chest and her hands shook. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the black and white cow looked at her with total unconcern. This was so not how she wanted to start her vacation slash investigative reporting.
“I almost wrecked because of you.” She glared at the cow. Her cold-eyed, steely glare that she’d perfected over the years. If it had been a person rather than a dumb animal, it would’ve been frozen to the spot.
The cow opened its mouth and bellowed a low, meandering, I-was-here-first moo.
She didn’t think the cow cared one little bit that it had almost become hamburger. Damned country. She’d take city life and dirty politicians any day.
“Move!” She clapped her hands.
The cow didn’t get in any hurry as it lumbered to the side of the narrow road and lowered its head. The four-legged beast chomped down on a bunch of grass, then slowly began to chew.
She shifted into park, then waved her arms. “Shoo!”
Nothing.
She honked the horn.
Nothing.
The hot sun beat down on her. A bead of sweat slid uncomfortably between her breasts. She judged the narrow road, wondering if she could maneuver around the cow without going into the ditch.
Before she decided to attempt it, another sound drew her attention. She glanced down the dirt road, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as a cloud of dust came toward her. The cloud of dust became a man on a horse.
Correction. A cowboy on a horse.
Hi-ho, Silver, the Lone Ranger, she thought sarcastically.
But the closer he got, the more her sarcasm faded. The Lone Ranger had nothing on this cowboy. Broad shoulders, black hat pulled low on his forehead…
Black hat. Bad guys wore black hats. Right? Things were looking up.
At least until he brought the horse to a grinding halt and dust swirled around her—again. She coughed and waved her hands in front of her face.
“Bessie, how the hell do you keep getting out?” he asked.
