His Judas Bride

by Shehanne Moore

  The Wolf’s fingers tightened on her forearm. “Hell, Ewen, just you be thankful, it’s not your life.”

  “Oh. Right.” Ewen clenched his fists. “Take offence ’n all, why don’t ye? Over a cursed, damned, traitorous—”

  “Excuse me? No. Stand still, Princess. He’s not going to hurt you. Piss and wind is just about as much as he is and ever has been.”

  Piss and wind? Maybe that was so but the veins on Ewen’s face bulged. “Ye know damn fine what Ah mean. Threatening me, lord of this glen no less, with your bully boys.”

  “Well, lord of this glen no less.”

  As if he felt the tremor that swept her in that instant, the Wolf’s grip intensified, so then what she next felt was his heart, beating against her ear. A little disjointedly as if he was nervous, although she would never have thought it, when he spoke.

  “Have you ever thought you’d be a lord of nothing at all without them?”

  Run. That was what Kara desired to do. Not because she felt like a trapped wild animal. Piss and wind was not who she battled here, although the toes of his leather brogues edged into her visibility.

  “Wouldn’t ye just like to know?”

  No. With his height, lean strength, and cool unflappability, the Wolf was who she battled here. She might have been that snowflake there, melting on the blurred sea-green, grimy wool of his plaid, considering what incinerated her in that instant. Men. Men didn’t defend her like this. And when she thought about what she’d come here to do, what he must know about, how could he?

  A tidal wave of shame ripped through her. Not just him either. Without a single word being said, her heart twisted. She wasn’t fit to stand in his shadow was she? She tried to move away but his grip intensified.

  “No. What I’d like to know is whether you’re going to keep us standing out here, while we all freeze to death. Or do you want us to go somewhere else, because believe me, we will.”

  “No.” Ewen stabbed his finger past Wee Murdie. “Whether it’s safe, for her to come in, with your piddling four men and yourself to protect her is what you’d like to know.”

  The Wolf huffed an exasperated breath. “Five. It’s five, Ewen. When are you going to learn to count?”

  It was not the thing to say to Ewen, if the way he had to be fended off by Big Murdie, was anything to go by. “Well, four, five, or six, how do ye not just take a dander up the stairs with them then and find out? Eh?”

  Kara’s heart clattered against her ribcage. Go up these stairs? No. She couldn’t. And if that betraying whimper escaped her, truly it was because she couldn’t put her faith in anyone helping her here. So it was the wrong time to feel the Wolf clasp her bound hands.

  “Hell, Ewen, here was me thinking you’d never offer. Do you hear that, Princess? We can go indoors.”

  * * *

  “It’s a wee while since you used this place, Callm.” Ewen cleared his throat. “But the door certainly opened all right earlier.”

  Earlier? Kara pushed away the recollection of the way the Wolf’s fingers had squeezed hers all the way up the stairs, along the dimly lit corridors, to here. When they were brothers, there was no real trick in him knowing the castle was empty. The man was a gambler. Supremely self-confident about his ability to read any given situation. He could just as easily have misread it. Then where would she be?

  Until she saw what was behind the door the Wolf now shouldered, how could she know?

  “Bothered yourself did you, to arrange all I asked for?”

  Asked for? Kara’s palms sweated. Oh God, what was that? Had she turned her attention better to finding out when she’d actually stayed in the castle, she might know. But this bit of the castle was one she had never been in.

  “Aye. There it goes now. Look, it’s just needing a good shove.”

  As if she were the same.

  “Everything’s inside. Exactly as ye asked for. Who am I to disobey you?”

  Kara swallowed the gulp. When it was vital she didn’t appear too interested she didn’t want to crane her neck. But, now the door had opened a crack, she would feel happier if she could see inside.

  What had he asked for? A rack? Charcoal brazier? All the kinds of things that were likely in a situation like this, if he wanted to find out the truth of why she was here. Pincers? Thumb screws? How would she say she had left him because she meant the McDunnaghs no harm? How could she say anything at all when whatever she said wasn’t exactly likely to be believed?

  If only he had not defended her, her throat would not clench, her pulse not flicker. But he had so she must hope. The door shuddered wider, even as she thought her stare forced it.

  “Let’s hope that’s so.” The Wolf drew back. “Because let me tell you something, Ewen, about what’s going to happen, if it’s not, the day I’ve had, it will be you that’s—”

  “I told ye. Are ye not listening? The castle awaits. Of course should anything no’ be to your liking, ye can always let me know. What will I be doing but sitting in mah hallowed throne room, awaiting your command. Rest assured I will sort it for ye.”

  The laugh might have sent a shiver scudding down Kara’s spine, were a good half dozen not fighting for possession of it already.

  “Get after him.” The Wolf turned to Big Murdie as Ewen’s footsteps echoed uneasily back along the corridor. “Snosh, Eck, maybe the castle is empty. But check it over. You two, stay right here. Guard the door.”

  He transferred his ice-cool gaze to her, and she wished he had not. Especially when talking about doing such things as guarding the door forced a consideration of what might be taking place behind it.

  Although it might have helped matters considerably if her hands were not tied, if she’d had something like a skirt to clutch, Kara held up her chin.

  Whatever was in that room, she must meet it. Maybe it was nothing. What was straw made for, if not for clutching though? Right here. Right now. A whole handful as she stepped forward into the room itself. It… It…

  “So?” Callm creaked the door shut. “It’s what you asked me for.”

  Actually no, she didn’t ask for this. Not Ulla spending the whole day polishing the dishes the peat-flame now gleamed on. And not a table, chair, stool, kist, and candelabra all laid out for her either. This was not what she asked for, nor was it expected. Which was why her first reaction, to turn to him in surprise, was arrested by panic.

  Her throat, having dried, now crisped. A cracked husk. She was but dimly aware that he picked himself off the doorjamb.

  He did not mean to continue this charade, as if she were simply an unfaithful wife, did he? Firstly riding out his fury, as if nothing had happened. It would not be the first time such a thing had occurred. It did not make sense. Wouldn’t he have taken her to the cave for that? Although, of course, she had escaped from there.

  Did her very thoughts inspire him to step toward her in that second though, iron bands of foreboding cinching her chest, as he next gripped the ties of the cloak?

  He started to untie it. “Your dues.”

  What was there to conclude, when there wasn’t even the chance of the merest fumble on his par, unlike earlier? Except her whole body stiffened, her gaze veiling, as she drew it back from the pretty silver dishes. The crystal flagons. It had taken years for her to learn to deal with men like him, to fight every humiliation. And what had it taken him to undo that oppression? That abuse? Five minutes in the castle yard.

  The effect on her was unquantifiable. Something she could not allow when his very stillness breathed danger.

  He tossed the cloak onto a stool. “Sit.”

  Anger burned in her blood that she had thought him different from these others. The suspicion sneaked it was probably why he had defended her in the yard, battering her defenses, so when she did finally walk in here, they would already be swirling in an ebbing tide.

  She jerked up her chin, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “Where?”

  “Well.” The air of visceral a
nnoyance dropped away from his manner and he gave a weary sigh. “Where do you think?”

  As if in answer, she spied a bed with ornate posts and covered in dark mulberry. Whatever else she was doing, she was not sitting on that. She held her chin higher. On this occasion he wasn’t making her either.

  He gave another sigh. “Hell, what about you use some of the imagination you were so clearly born with and stop having me do all the work? The day’s been long and hard enough.”

  She suspected the day wasn’t the only thing. Indeed she was burningly aware of it. In their bonds she clenched her hands into fists.

  She wouldn’t obey. Not if wild horses dragged her around the castle yard. It wasn’t her idea to marry him. A vow was only a vow if given willingly. In her heart she had known she was never going to be his wife. He would find the truth of that if he came any closer. She was burningly aware of that too.

  He reached behind him and dragged into view another piece of furniture. A chair. He set it there between them without taking his eyes off her once.

  “Christ, Princess, what did you think I was meaning?”

  Well. What was she meant to think he was meaning? But a chair? A chair was not what she expected.

  As for sitting on it… She cleared her throat. A chair was no more a reprieve than that bed was, considering the things she knew of chairs. And its position there in the center of the room was greatly to be considered.

  But her legs shook. Shook so badly, with all of this, even as she willed them not to, she could not stand here all night, especially with her hands still tied.

  “Assuredly.” After all, she thought as she walked around it, settled herself down, what mattered most was that she close that little rift he’d opened in the yard. “So, you don’t mean to rape me then?”

  It would be better to know. Then she would know what to do about it. The softly lit room, the peat-fire smoking in the hearth, the amber and cherry red flagons on the table, had all been planned in advance. Certainly he didn’t do all this to be nice.

  “Rape?”

  She moistened her lips. “Yes.”

  “Certainly not on a chair. They don’t tend to lend themselves too well to the act.”

  Swifter than a panther, he sprung, blocking her way, even before she shot to her feet. “But first time for everything, you try getting out that damned chair once more.”

  Who said she was? And yet the chair did seem to break her return journey, instead of the floor, which she might otherwise have graced in shock.

  So? She’d managed to obtain an answer to her question. That brought her to what she was going to do about it.

  “But of course.” She pried her shocked lips apart, attempting to speak with as much decorous cool as she could muster. After all, if this was a battle, she had just conceded the grand total of two salvos. How stupid was that? A man hardly needed the scent she was weak. She’d already given him that glimpse in the yard. “Your command is my wish.”

  Was it? She could tell, the way his finely chiseled face tautened, hell was the word he raked for.

  “Well, isn’t that good to know? Because so far, you could have fooled me.”

  “Not my intent, I am sure.”

  He shifted, a darker shadow across her. “You know about such things do you?”

  The answer depended on what he was asking, which was why, when she knew not just to her bones about such things, but more besides, she bit her tongue.

  After all, if he ever discovered about Morven, God knew what he’d do. It would be nothing she had not experienced before. Or would normally stand idle about. But stronger than that was the distress that claimed her over his defense of herself in the yard.

  A hardened smile played. “No? Well. Whatever you might think right now, my desire is simply to untie you.”

  Untie? She tried not to fidget. On what level of stupid did he think she belonged? His fingers were curved over the arms of the chair. “So I can have my hands free while you rape me. That’s good of you.”

  “Listen, Princess, considering the damn fool you’ve made of me, it’s better than good. It’s enough to get me a sainthood. Of course, if you’d rather damn well have them tied, I can just as easily leave the rope on.”

  Really? A jerk would look too much like defeat. She would sooner not. Not when she could fix him with her hardest stare. The contemptuous one that outlined exactly how this was going to be should he mistakenly even think of breathing on her, the effect probably ruined by the fact he did.

  “After all, it’s probably a lot safer than getting my eyes scratched out by those dainty damned claws of yours. Did anyone ever tell you, you pack quite a punch for a woman?”

  “Your eyes are the last thing you should worry about, if you don’t keep your own claws to yourself.”

  “Me? Well, maybe it’s escaped your notice right now, you not having access to a mirror, in this fine room here, but you’re hardly belle of any ball. No. Much more attractive women have I seen and perfectly contained myself.”

  “Really?” As ever the damned impertinence of the man was boundless. “In that case it won’t be any trouble for you to stop looking down my tunic front then, will it?”

  Well, he did, didn’t he?

  “Your tunic front? Well, maybe I’m just wanting to check and see if it’s mine. Of course there’s always such a thing as a blindfold.”

  “If you think that would make yourself look better.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of it for me exactly.”

  Wasn’t that heartening to know? And yet, she acknowledged the folly of this puerile exchange. The clever thing to do would be to close her mouth as Ma had always instructed. This wasn’t about a grievance. The fact he defended her against Ewen made her believe what exactly? This was about her son. The fine mess she’d made trying to get him back and what she was now going to do about getting herself out of it.

  When there was no future, none with this man she could possibly conceive of, what did it matter what he did to her? In fact it would be better if he did. Then she could properly hate him as she had conspicuously failed to do.

  He shifted, the smile that edged his lips vaguely regretful somehow. “Anyway you should know you’re still one thing to me, something these other, more attractive women aren’t.”

  “And what is that exactly?”

  His eyes dark with challenge scorched in the blazing peat-light, and now he wasn’t smiling exactly, although his mouth still curved faintly. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Oh, do tell me. I’m sure it must be crippling you to keep the information of what that is precisely, to yourself. So, please.”

  He let go of the chair arms. “My wife.”

  Her throat, already parched as a calcified autumn leaf, crumpled at his bald statement. But no matter how she might argue she wasn’t, she had stood opposite him, hadn’t she? She’d had to prize herself off him. She had sworn. She had let him swear.

  That moment above all others was one that would only take her further from the cool she sought to attain, if she thought about it though. A decent man like him who hadn’t deserved it.

  She huffed out a breath, wishing she might free her hands. “Of course. So it wouldn’t be rape exactly. Is that the kind of thinking you indulge in?”

  “Oh.” He canted his jaw, the flickering candlelight revealing that he wasn’t smiling. Not at all. And his gaze was far more intent than previously. “I intend to indulge in far more before the night’s out. But to answer that little question you just posed. You being my wife, it wouldn’t be rape. It would just be fucking. You know all about that. Hell. You’re good at it. You like it.”

  Kara lowered her eyelashes, the bands cinching her chest tightening mercilessly.

  Yes, she did. With him anyway. And right now, as things stood, it had cost her, her son. Cost her everything. Her dreams. Her future.

  It had even cost her him.

  With an abrupt movement she leaped from the chair and gained the
door in one desperate bound. Her hands found the handle and fumbled in their attempt to thread it. For a second she thought they did, that the door opened, maybe a creak. But what she really felt was the slam of his body, hitting it, full force.

  She tried to duck away but he lunged sideways, trapping her against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid, to have her wrists caught, to have tried to run only to find herself pinned. But the ruthless way he played, on and on and on, toying with her, with her senses, was unbearable. A torture when she had lost so much. And through her own fault. With the breath tearing in her lungs, she did not deny it. But air also tore through his.

  “You think so?” she spat past the constraining lump in her throat. “That I liked it with you? Well, you touch me, just once, you bastard, and I’ll scream. You need be under no illusion it will be with joy.”

  “Hell, you scream all you want.”

  Oh God, it was not the thing to say to him, the way he jerked her up against the wall and his voice seethed in her ear.

  “The castle walls are thick. No one’s going to hear you. And even if they did, do you seriously think they’ll come running? Join the fun maybe, but hell, that’s all. Do you think I don’t know how to touch you, to make you beg?”

  He did. Which was why she must give him no inkling, she was in any way rattled by the knowledge. Although quite how she was meant to give him no inkling when she kicked her legs and flailed her body like this she had no idea. How could she stand idle though?

  It was what she feared, more than anything. Him touching her. That would make her complicit. She couldn’t be complicit. That would mean every time she had spat in a man’s face counted for nothing because she had enjoyed the unthinkable.

  “I’m not that desperate.”

  He tossed the hair out his eyes. “Neither am I. As I said before, all I desire right now is to untie you. Eat. Drink.”

  And the hot, hard press of his body against hers? His harshly caressing eyes inches from her face? His treacherous breath on her cheeks? His lack of disguise was an invitation in itself. He wanted her and it was all he could do not to run his hands caressingly over her body, to tilt his head in invitation.