Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3)

by Madeline Martin

  He waited for her to depart the hall before leaving for his own chamber. Rafe immediately joined him.

  “Will you be going with the guards to try to find Lady Lark, my lord?” Rafe asked.

  Bronson nodded.

  Rafe pushed open the door to Bronson’s apartments and held it open for him. “I will pack the belongings you may need and get a bag of food for you from the kitchen.”

  Bronson entered the room and the door clicked closed behind him. “Rafe.”

  The servant paused in his frantic race across the room. “Aye, my lord?”

  “What would you say are my…” Bronson paused, feeling suddenly like the court fool. “What would you say are some of my best qualities?”

  The question was vain and insipid, but Rafe’s face didn’t reflect any judgment. Instead he pursed his lips in genuine consideration. “You’re generous, my lord. You are the most charming of all the courtiers and always know what to say to the ladies.”

  The servant nodded with his own satisfaction at his answer and resumed the task of gathering the provisions for Bronson’s journey to find Lark.

  But Bronson was not as pleased by the answers. Charming and generous. Was that really all that made him up? His ability to please? To charm? To pay?

  In none of Ella’s stories had the men been courtiers who could shift to please everyone around them. Nay, they were men, sure in who they were, filled to the brim with conviction and purpose.

  “Is that all?” Bronson asked.

  Rafe paused once more and slowly lifted his head from the hauberk he was laying out.

  “Do I have purpose in life?” Bronson pressed. “Am I perhaps poetic? Or…?”

  Or what? God in heaven, why had he even bothered with this terrible conversation?

  Rafe’s fingers nervously plucked over the chainmail. “You are kind,” the servant answered slowly. “You often consider other’s feelings, and you care for Lady Calville and Lady Lark. I believe that to be your best quality.”

  Bronson ran a hand through his hair, and for once didn’t bother to smooth it back down. Aye, he was trying to save Brigid and Lark and was doing a poor job of it. Lark was now missing because he’d brought her to the border.

  “Is this about Lady Ella, my lord?” Rafe carried over the padded underclothes that went beneath the chainmail.

  Bronson held still to be dressed. “Aye,” he conceded.

  “She is an intelligent woman.” Rafe stepped onto a small stool and raised the gambeson over Bronson’s head.

  “I’m aware.”

  “Mayhap charming her will not be as effective.”

  The gambeson fell over Bronson’s face, momentarily blinding him before it settled over his shoulders. “I’m aware,” he repeated grimly.

  “Then might I suggest the truth?” Rafe met his gaze. “Whatever it may be, however difficult it might be to dislodge. She’s not from our world. She is her own person, without worry to the thoughts of others. I think she would like you to be the same.”

  Bronson gritted his teeth. “Aye.”

  Rafe worked at the ties on the gambeson, securing it. If the servant was right and Ella did crave the truth about Bronson, the time of their search would be perfect for telling her about his father. Pathetic though it might be, he even needed to explain how he had been convinced to wed her.

  And he needed to be himself.

  Except after a lifetime of being a courtier, such a prospect was not as easily achieved as one might assume.

  Once he was fully dressed by Rafe, Bronson was finally prepared not only for the search party and battle, but for handling Ella as well. The armor was heavy and awkward, practically sparkling in its newness, as it had all only been worn for ceremony rather than its true purpose.

  Bronson made his way in clanks and clinks down to the stables, his own clanging steps reverberating off the walls around him. Ella was there already, speaking in soothing tones to Kipper. Both the horse and the lady appeared comfortable in their armor. Her battle axe was slung on one side of the saddle with another weapon on the other. Good God, was that a mace?

  He turned his attention to her, taking in the fitted chainmail shirt and plated tunic belted over it. Greaves covered her legs and she held a helm propped against one hip. Her normally loose, flowing hair had been braided back, out of her way.

  She looked every bit of a soldier as any man he had ever seen.

  As if sensing his assessment, she cocked her chin up at him. “I told you I’m not meant for court, my lord.” With that, she lowered her helmet onto her head and swung easily onto her horse.

  Except she was wrong. She was exactly meant for court. It was women like her—

  people like her—who set tongues wagging, who provided salacious gossip to those salivating for more. She was the kind of woman who would fracture the doldrums of those many interminable days of feasts and troubadours.

  The kind of wife most men would not want, except Bronson could not imagine being with anyone else.

  He made his way to his own large destrier. The beast looked the part with crisp red and white livery, the gleaming plate strapped to his large, flat brow. Except getting onto the back of the large animal was not as smoothly done in the weighty armor, certainly not as easy as Ella had made it appear.

  Lark and Leila, he reminded himself. He was doing this for them. To find them and bring them home safe.

  With great determination and difficulty, but hopefully less floundering than it felt like, he managed to get himself onto the horse with the aid of a stool. No sooner had he climbed successfully atop his steed than the search officially began. He edged his horse closer to Ella, hopeful of getting her far enough away from the others to finally have a true talk to explain his father, and Lark and Brigid. The thought of Lark pinched at his chest.

  He bided his time, focusing on scouring the surrounding area for any reivers they could find. It was a wild hope that an Armstrong might linger about, but it was the best outcome, if such a thing were possible.

  He caught sight of Ella alone, edging toward the outskirts of the search party, and pointed his horse in her direction. Where did she plan to go?

  Wherever it was, it wouldn’t be without him.

  23

  Ella bristled at being with the group of soldiers. There was no stealth to a band of men, especially when the lot of them wore chainmail and plate. No doubt the Armstrongs would hear them coming and have ample time to flee.

  Not that any of it mattered. The Armstrongs would be fools to stay on the English side of the border, and if the band of English guards went traipsing into Scotland, it would likely start a war.

  Nay, they were relegated to English soil. And her father knew that.

  One lone woman, however, could easily pass over the Scottish border. The Armstrongs resided in the debatable lands. The area was dangerous, but she knew well how to take care of herself.

  Overhead, the clouds had begun to darken, and the air took on wet chill that clung to her skin and sank into her bones. A storm would be upon them soon and would allow an ideal opportunity to slip away.

  Ella edged further to the outskirts of the group. No one seemed to notice the gradual way she’d eased away from them.

  No one except one particular man in a set of armor so new, it sparkled even against the overcast sky. Bronson rode toward her, his face solemn with determination. There would be no getting away from him.

  Ella reigned in her patience as he approached.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said.

  She would have no choice but to listen. If nothing else, to bide her time while she waited for those who had noticed him crossing through the group to lose interest in them.

  A low growl of thunder came from overhead. He squinted up toward the sky before returning his attention to her. “It isn’t as you think with Brigid and Lark.”

  Ella shifted in her saddle. “This is not a discussion we need to have now.”

  “I disagree.” B
ronson edged his mount closer to Kipper. “You need to know I am not the man you think I am.”

  Lightning forked through the darkening clouds.

  “I don’t know who you are.” She remained back when the rest of the guards pushed onward. “Only the man you were pretending to be. But I do see how your stepmother has lived, as well as dear Lark.” Her voice caught on Lark’s name.

  It was too painful to consider Lark and Leila in their situation. To imagine them frightened. Possibly hurt.

  Nay, she could not think on it.

  “I’m not my father.” Bronson’s jaw set beneath his new helm. “That much I can tell you. It was not me who did not see them cared for. I did not know that they lived without, while my father and I spent lavishly at court. Nor did I know all that was bought was on credit.”

  The men had not noticed her hanging back. Yet. They would, though. She need only hide in the nearby patch forest for a while.

  A memory nipped at the back of her mind, when Bronson had said he did not want to be a husband like his father had been. She’d wondered about the statement at the time.

  Even now curious questions rolled about in her mind. But questions could come later. Once Leila and Lark were safe. When there would be time for such luxurious things as apologies and conversation.

  A rumble of thunder sounded with such depth that the ground shuddered beneath them. The impending storm would be violent.

  The group had begun to move onward in their haste to complete their search of the countryside. The search that would be fruitless while they remained on the English side of the border.

  “We are falling behind.” Bronson nodded for her to proceed ahead of him.

  Ella fisted her hands at her reins to hide her immense irritation at his courtly ways. If he led the way, she could disappear into the nearby forest. But with her in front, he would easily see her if she left the party.

  The wind snapped the cloaks of the soldiers before her and sent a billow of leaves rolling across the grass. Ella encouraged Kipper to walk slowly forward. Bronson did, likewise, following at her side.

  There had to be some way to get him to leave her be. She bit her lip in contemplation. If she was too placating, he would know she was lying. If she was too curt, he might try to allay her concern and then she would never be free.

  “I know you do not wish me to travel at your side,” he confessed.

  She slid him a slow glance. Could it be this easy? Could she simply ask him to leave?

  “Then you needn’t remain at my side.” She said the words softly, so as to remove as much sting from their meaning as possible. After all, she did not wish to be cruel. She merely wanted to be free, now and for the rest of her life.

  He gazed at the group of Werrick’s soldiers who continued to get farther ahead. “You do realize if you turn me down, there will be another suitor. The king will want you wed to an Englishman, regardless.”

  Ella gritted her teeth. He was right, of course. Except she had already given her maidenhead to Bronson, as well as her word to her father.

  A lock of stubborn hair slipped from the plait down her back. Before she could brush it aside, Bronson reached out and tucked the strand of wild blonde hair over her shoulder.

  It was a romantic gesture, delicate in its quiet intimacy. Exactly the kind of thing she would have written into one of her stories. Exactly the kind of thing he would have read and assumed she wanted in a man.

  He shifted his hand closer to her face and let his gauntlets caress her cheek. “Not all men will care if they make you happy, Ella.” His eyes were a darker shade, the same as when he was aroused.

  Her body reacted in spite of her anger and warmth hummed through her.

  “And you would?” she asked. “Care to make me happy?”

  “Aye.” He slid his hand away and took his reins once more. “I want nothing more than to make you happy.”

  He said it so earnestly, Ella wished to believe him. Just as she wished to believe everything that he’d told her in the time they’d known one another.

  Lies. They were all lies. A courtier with honey dripping from his lips and into her ears. Into her heart.

  Tears burned in her eyes. She hated the freshness of her wounded heart and how fiercely such cuts still stung.

  His brows lowered in his helm and furrowed over his handsome green gaze. “Ella.”

  “Please, leave me be.” It was the excuse she had been looking for to make him go. Only she had not anticipated having to sacrifice so much of herself to get it.

  Bronson hesitated, as though he meant to try to discourage her request. Instead, he politely inclined his head. “As my lady wishes.”

  And then he was gone. As simply as that. He trotted toward her father’s soldiers to join in the search and leave her blessedly alone.

  Thunder cracked once more overhead, so loud and sudden it caused many of the men to leap in surprise.

  Now. The time was now.

  While the men rushed onward to get out of the storm, Ella steered Kipper toward the nearby forest they had searched earlier. There had not been any reivers within, but there had been a cave sufficient for hiding.

  With a final glance behind her, she slipped between the tightly spaced trees and was gone.

  Bronson had not been startled by the crack of thunder overhead. After the constant rain and storms of his journey to Werrick Castle, no amount of weather could frighten him.

  He turned behind him to ensure Ella was well. After all, he had promised her father he would keep her safe. He’d promised himself as much too.

  However, Ella was not directly behind him as he’d anticipated. She was slipping into the forest they had recently searched through. Had she seen something?

  He almost called the rest of the guards to follow him, but then thought better of it. They were still farther ahead and if he rode to catch them first, he might lose Ella in the thickness of the woods.

  He turned his steed and followed her into the forest. Rain pattered on the leaves around him in soft pops and slaps. He pushed his horse faster to ensure Ella did not slip from his view. She turned suddenly in her saddle and stared at him from over her shoulder.

  “Leave me,” she said sharply.

  “Not out here,” he called back. “Not on your own.”

  She picked up speed and his horse matched the pace, keeping her in his line of sight. The rain fell harder now. It ran down his helm and into the neck of his armor, trickling icy water down his back.

  Together they raced through the woods as the rain pelted down on them. The wet cold chilled Bronson’s hands within his gauntlets and though he could not feel his grip on the reins any longer, he still held tight. Finally, Ella stopped in front of a cave and leapt from her horse.

  “Leave me be.” She jerked a bag from the back of her horse and left her horse beneath the lip of the cave to keep it from the rain.

  Bronson pulled his steed to a stop. “You know I cannot do that.” He tied his horse beside hers and followed her into the cave.

  She’d tugged off her helm already and the hair that had come loose from her braid fell in wet waves around her face. “Why did you follow me?”

  “Why did you leave?” He drew his helm off as well and tucked it under his arm. “To get away from me?”

  She studied him and the hardness of her gaze softened somewhat. “To get away from them. We’ll never find anything in a group. Not on this side of the border.”

  The roar of the rain increased and echoed off the stone around them.

  “You mean to go into Scotland?” He spoke over the storm. “Are you mad?”

  “I’m desperate.” She lifted her chin up at him in that elegant, stubborn way she did. “To save our sisters. My father’s soldiers can’t go into Scotland, but a woman on her own can.”

  It was the perfect solution; one the earl could not have suggested. Not when he was a Border March Warden. But it was certainly something one could do on their own.

&n
bsp; Or with someone else.

  “A man and woman alone can as well,” he said. “I’ll join you.”

  “I’ll do better without a courtier at my side, thank you.” She turned her back to him and swept her braid aside. “Help me remove my armor.”

  The back of her neck was creamy white where it rose from her cowl. He had kissed her there so many times before, each one eliciting a breathless gasp of excitement. His groin tightened.

  “You know I’d be helpful.” He pulled the gloves off his hands and set them aside along with his helm. “The same as when we were attacked before.” He reached up to stroke her warm skin at the back of her neck and stopped. “Pray tell, why am I removing your armor before we cross the border into Scotland?”

  “When I cross the border into Scotland.” She took a step backward to encourage him to remove her armor. “Because riding into the debatable lands looking like a knight is a fine way to get killed.”

  He unfastened her plate-lined gambeson and carefully removed it from her torso. She rolled her shoulders back, no doubt savoring the respite from the heavy armor.

  “Your cowl as well?” He traced his thumb along the edge of the chainmail where it met her damp skin.

  She gave a sharp intake of breath. “Aye.”

  He lifted the chainmail over her head. “I’m coming with you,” he said when the metal had lifted from her face.

  She gazed up at him with her wild, half-unbound hair. Rainwater had spiked the lashes around her large blue eyes. Beautiful. She was simply beautiful.

  Without the frippery of powders and charcoal, without silk and gilding or scented oils. Natural and as she was: perfect.

  Only he knew telling her as much would break the careful moment growing between them and chill the heat growing in her eyes. For he knew that heat well.

  “Will you help me with my armor?” he asked.

  Her mouth curled in a slow, sensual smile that shot an arrow of lust straight into his cock. “If I do, it doesn’t mean you’re coming with me.” She peered around him, lifted his arm and loosened the gambeson. “You wear it as though it is new.”