His Stolen Bride BN

by Shayla Black

  Drake searched for the courage to relinquish Averyl to his grandfather’s soft mossy-scented mattress—and a safer life. Though he had faced months in Dunollie's dungeon and armies of vicious men bent on seeing him dead, he found it nearly impossible to simply release her. But he did, gently laying her down with a brush of his thumb upon her cheek. Averyl stirred a brief moment before settling into the mattress. Drake covered her with a thick blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Reluctantly, he returned to Guilford.

  The old man frowned, clearly choosing his words as he bade Drake to sit in a high-backed Romanesque chair. “Wine?”

  Drake shook his head and sat. “I cannot stay. Murdoch’s men hunt me still.”

  A furrow creased his forehead. “Unfortunate business. I did not like your decision to pursue revenge.”

  “But you understood it,” Drake pointed out.

  “True. Kieran arrived two days past, after Murdoch discovered his identity.”

  “Aye?”

  “Indeed. He tells me Averyl is your handfast bride. If she is your wife, and you intend not to stay, why have you brought her here?”

  “I hoped you would hide her from Murdoch and his men.”

  Guilford scowled. “He will think to look for her here.”

  “That is so,” answered Drake with regret. “But now only you can protect her.”

  “And you cannot?”

  Drake shook his head with remorse, remembering with aching clarity the past ten days. “Murdoch’s men nearly ended her life when they stormed my hideaway on Arran.”

  “Too wounded to travel farther, is she?” Guilford asked, clearly skeptical.

  “Nay. Simply dangerous. I must continue to hide until Averyl becomes eight and ten and until I find a way to kill Murdoch.” Drake rose to escape his grandfather’s probing look.

  “So you abducted her, then wed her. Is that correct?” Censure laced his voice.

  Drake nodded like a contrite boy caught at mischief.

  “’Twas pure foolishness I hope you regret.”

  “In some ways,” Drake replied. “Yet I know well Murdoch would have treated her very ill as his wife.”

  Guilford shot him a reproving frown. “True, but you should not have taken her. You had no right to force her from Murdoch’s side. ’Tis doubtful she wed you willingly, either.”

  Cursing his grandfather’s perception, Drake admitted, “Aye. And now I cannot give her the things she seeks, nor can I protect her any longer. Murdoch must not get his claws into Averyl, particularly before her birthday in February. So I have come humbly to you for help.”

  When Drake knelt at Guilford’s feet, the old man laughed. “You’ve never had a humble day in your life, boy. Do not think to start now.” He sighed. “What does the girl seek?”

  “Money,” answered Drake. “Her childhood keep falls about her ears, her people starve, and her father is a dimwitted dolt who knows not how to solve the ills of his vassals.”

  Guilford paused thoughtfully. “If funds for Lady Averyl’s home will ease your mind, then I shall provide it. What else?”

  With a sigh, Drake sank back into his chair. How could he explain a yearning he did not fully understand? “She seeks…affection. Her mother died when she was but a child. Her father convinced her she was homely and worthless.”

  “Ridiculous!” insisted Guilford as he cast another glance at Averyl upon his bed.

  “To be sure, but she has grown up believing this and will need friends within these walls.”

  “Of course.” Guilford granted the request with a wave of his hand, as if such required little effort.

  Drake sighed in relief. Averyl would be happy here until her birthday. After that time, she could return to her father or remain here as his widow, whatever she wished.

  He resisted the pain at realizing he would not be beside her as she lived out her days.

  “Aught else?” the old man asked.

  “Nay. I thank you for your help.”

  Guilford responded with a nod. “I sense something else troubles you.”

  He cursed his grandfather’s perceptions. How could his elder know so much so quickly? Had Kieran told the old man about his suspicions of love? Pray God, nay. “’Tis naught.”

  “Naught had you clinging to your wife like a babe clutches its mother as you entered the room?” he challenged. “Come now. I may be an old man but not so old that I do not recognize affairs of the heart. You care for her, do you not?”

  Drake faltered for words, struggling to explain what he could not. “Our marriage…took an unexpected turn.”

  “Ah, Kieran speaks true. You do love her,” he deduced. “Praise be! I never thought to see this day.”

  Drake regarded his grandfather with a probing stare, willing him to understand. “I love no woman. ’Tis simply that Averyl is intelligent and of good heart, as well as deserving of a life better than either her father or I can grant.” He looked away. “I would simply see her safe from further harm.”

  “Including thus from your hard heart, Drake? Do you believe that she loves you, then?”

  He paused, wanting to end the conversation. But Guilford would only pry the truth from him anyway. “So she says.”

  “And you do not believe her, despite her admittedly good heart?”

  “’Tis no more than a foolish girl’s notion, one she will outgrow soon enough.”

  Guilford nodded in consideration as he rose and walked to the fire, boots heavy against the wooden floor. “Does believing thus make it easier for you to deny your own feelings?”

  Drake drew in an impatient breath. “I do not deny that I have come to care about her welfare.”

  “And more, I daresay. I remember hearing similar denials from Aric not long ago…” He shot Drake a skeptical glance from across the room.

  “Their marriage was a different circumstance.”

  “Aye, instead of Gwenyth forced to the altar, they both were. What of it?” he demanded. “Drake, love would bring peace to your life. At last, you have a woman worthy of your affection. Why not embrace her?”

  Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Her life is in danger, and I swore to exact vengeance upon my father’s grave. I will not sacrifice either to chase some foolish sentiment.”

  The old man paused, templing his hands beneath his chin. “Drake, your father, of all people, would have encouraged you to seize love whilst the opportunity is yours.”

  “Such love bought him nothing but despair and death.”

  “Do you think he was the only one hurt?”

  Drake frowned, and Guilford continued, “Did no one ever tell you the story of your conception?”

  Irritation coiled into his gut. “I assumed I was conceived in the manner of every other child. I am sorry to say it thus, but Diera was hardly the Virgin Mary.”

  Guilford smiled. “In some ways, you are wrong. Lochlan was quite enamored with your mother. She did not return his feelings.” The other man paused, frowning. “I loved your mother. She was my daughter, after all. But I knew her shortcomings. And her greatest one was that she was fickle.

  “She was a woman grown. In her mind, she could do as she pleased. When she met your father, the attraction was instant, and they soon became lovers.”

  “’Tis no surprise. She granted her favors freely enough,” Drake added.

  Guilford pursed his mouth into a disapproving frown. “They were together mere weeks before your father believed himself in love with her. With his own wife dead for three years, it seemed natural that he ask Diera to wed. She refused that time and many others, though she continued as his leman.”

  Drake frowned. “Why would she refuse a position of honor with a powerful chief?”

  “Because your father demanded absolute control over everything and everyone about him, and Diera believed that control could not extend to her unless she wed him.”
>
  Knowing that Lochlan had always said control was his biggest ally, Drake froze, somehow dreading these next words.

  “When another handsome Scot, a MacDuff, I believe, caught your mother’s eye, she tried to leave your father. He refused to relinquish her, despite her wishes, then locked her in his chamber. He refused to allow her to leave Dunollie. He restricted her visitors to women friends and family members.”

  Drake tensed in his chair, his hands unconsciously tightening around its arms. “My father would not have done something so heartless! How can you slur him in death?”

  “’Tis truth, Drake. Why else would your father come here to help fight my battles over the years, if not to atone, to assuage his guilt?”

  Drake had always assumed Lochlan fought because of his respect for Guilford, but now…

  “And even after your father’s attempts to keep Diera, she still refused to wed.” With a heavy sigh, Guilford continued. “’Twas then your father decided that, should she conceive, she would be forced to marry him. Eventually, he got her with you.”

  “My father forced her to bear me?” Cold disbelief sliced through him.

  Guilford gave a sharp nod. “He made certain she had no way to prevent conception and seduced her repeatedly until the deed was done.”

  Drake gaped, his mind racing. His own father, so selfish? Why? Guilford’s description hardly sounded like the honorable man he’d known. Yet his grandfather would never lie. Which left him to wonder, if his father had truly loved Diera, how could he have forced his dominance upon her without a care for her wishes?

  “So she finally wed him,” Drake said softly, frowning.

  “She had little choice, for she could not bear the dishonor to our family. Thus sated, your father continued to keep her under lock and key, then ordered her to be a proper mother.”

  “Which she was not.”

  “Nay, she was not, but surely you see that she acted out of anger and spite. She told me once that she wanted to love you, but that you reminded her too much of your sire.”

  Drake sighed tiredly, pondering the ramifications of this tale. Had he known of his father’s cruelty, he might have understood Diera’s rejection and spite, perhaps made peace with her before her death. As it was, there was much left unsaid between them, most notably these facts.

  “What does this have to do with Averyl?”

  “Your father’s unreturned love cost him his peace and your mother her life. She wanted to die; in fact, willed herself to die to escape the pain, the loneliness. Would you want to inflict the same damage on Averyl?”

  “If not for Murdoch, I would never treat my wife as a prisoner.”

  “Desertion is but another prison, Drake. If you have any love for Averyl, embrace her.”

  Drake gritted his teeth, confronted by words he felt unprepared to face. “If this were a simple situation, I would consider what you say. But I am a bloody criminal in my clan’s eyes. The most I could offer is dishonor, and she deserves far more than that. ’Tis a favor I do in leaving her.”

  “How noble,” drawled Guilford. “Tell yourself that. See if it keeps you content as you grow old.”

  “If Murdoch has his way, I won’t live long enough to grow old,” Drake snarled.

  “You will not let him best you. ’Tis Averyl I worry for now. Drake, you have used your wife in a very deadly game, and now you seek to abandon her like stale bread.”

  His entire being rebelled against his grandfather’s words. Averyl was a treasure of goodness, hope, passion. But Guilford was right; Averyl would feel discarded and again unworthy. Over the years, she would grow to hate him. ’Twas a thought he could scarcely bear, but bear it he must, for all too soon, she would be another tragedy to add to his bleak reality.

  He gave his grandfather a contrite nod. “’Tis the only way to ensure she stays alive and out of Murdoch’s grasp. She must not die,” he all but pleaded.

  Sighing, Guilford shook his head. “You are strong-willed, as was your father.”

  As Drake acknowledged that with a sad smile, Guilford crossed the room to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder. The urge to allow the old man to console him was great, but he did not. Some sense of manly pride and a reluctance to further burden his elder with his problems stopped Drake.

  “Will you provide Averyl a safe home here?”

  “Aye, and I will care for her for as long as need be.”

  “Her safety means…a great deal to me. Thank you. When she turns eight and ten, she should be safe to leave, if she wishes such, but not before.”

  Guilford nodded, his expression sage. “Do you wish a few moments alone with her before you take your leave?”

  Drake feared if he did, he could not let her go. “Nay,” he answered, then whispered, “Godspeed, my wife.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Drake slammed his way out of the solar, anxious to be gone from Hartwich Hall—and Averyl. Instead, he ran into a living solid wall. Startled, he looked up to find his old friend Aric, massive hands upon his hips, scowling.

  Before Aric could say aught, Drake said, “Greetings. Do you visit here from Penhurst?”

  Aric scowled more. “I but pass through on my way to do the king’s bidding. I am surprised to find you arrived.”

  “Now I take my leave.”

  Aric raised a disapproving blond brow. “You cannot stay to exchange words with your friends?”

  With a shake of his head, Drake angled past Aric in the narrow stone hall. “I must be away.”

  “From your wife, I presume.”

  At Aric’s accusing words, Drake turned back to his mountain of a friend. “Kieran knows not when to keep his mouth shut.”

  Before he could turn away and continue on, Aric said, “He is concerned, as we all are.”

  “For no reason. I wed her to keep her from Murdoch’s reach. Now I can only wait until she becomes eight and ten. Then Murdoch will lose our father’s money and power, and I will kill him.”

  “And what will happen to Averyl?”

  Drake sighed, impatient to be away before he changed his mind, stormed back into the solar, and claimed his wife for good. “I have just had these same words with Guilford. Should you wish to know my plans, ask him.”

  With that, Drake turned away and took long strides toward the stairs that would lead him down…and away from the woman who could make him perish with want.

  “So you do love her,” Aric called.

  He stopped. “’Tis a common misconception I shall have to beat Kieran for later.”

  “Then why rush to be away? If she means naught, you have no cause to run as if guilt chases you.”

  “I have Murdoch to kill,” he said, facing Aric.

  “But not until she turns eight and ten, which is…when?”

  Drake gritted his teeth. “February.”

  “And ’tis now what, August?”

  “Nearly September,” Drake bit out.

  He knew the words were foolish as soon as he uttered them but knew not what else to say. How could he explain the swirl of confusion, the reluctance to leave Averyl’s kind heart, coupled with a grim impatience to be gone from the very distraction she presented?

  “Think you it will take six months to return to Dunollie and stab a blade into Murdoch’s heart?”

  Drake knew it would not, just as Aric knew it.

  “I cannot place her in any further danger,” he defended.

  “Aye, but methinks you protect your heart just as much.”

  Aric’s knowing expression annoyed Drake. What did his friend know of pain in love, in marriage? He and Gwenyth had been sublimely happy for months now. They had found the Eden few did. Drake was unwilling to take a chance that he would be less fortunate.

  “Averyl is not Gwenyth, and I am not you,” he insisted, rubbing a tired hand across his gritty eyes.

  “Nor are y
ou your father or Averyl, Diera.”

  True, and based on his grandfather’s words, Drake had known only the truth his father had told him, a truth not entirely accurate. But Diera’s cruelty in the face of Lochlan’s grief and love… That was forever embedded in his soul. Even if Lochlan had treated Diera ill, why did she hurt him by bedding his elder son? Why could she not forgive his father on her deathbed? Why had she nearly destroyed his proud soul?

  “I’ll not take that chance,” he uttered, then turned away.

  * * * * *

  Averyl woke slowly, eyes shut against the light beyond. A sense of activity, a bustling prosperity, assailed her ears. People chatted. Cows mooed. The bang of metal sounded. Where were the sounds of birds and rustling leaves? She’d grown accustomed to them in the past fortnight of sleeping outdoors.

  She rolled to her side gingerly. Lingering pain from her gash stabbed her, but with relief, she noted the ache lessened each day. Such would please Drake. For she knew he needed to travel faster if he wished to continue to elude Murdoch, but he had not for fear of her health.

  She snuggled beneath an extraordinarily soft blanket, not caring from where it came. For some days, she had wondered why Drake put her recovery above his escape. At first she had hoped ’twas because he truly did care for her. Such was foolish, wishful thinking, she knew now. His only concern was to keep his conscience free of her death. He had told her as much only yesterday.

  Frowning against the painful thought, Averyl turned to her other side, realizing suddenly she had not hard dirt and ground beneath her but a true mattress. At that, her eyes flew open and she regarded a well-appointed chamber of blue and gold inside an unfamiliar keep. Alarmed, she sat up with a gasp.

  “’Tis a restless sleeper you have been these past hours,” said a young woman of such stunning beauty that Averyl gaped. “But I am glad, indeed, that you have awakened. Mayhap now Kieran and my husband can cease their infernal pacing.”

  Averyl stared at the stranger, then glanced about the unfamiliar, lavish room. “Who are you? Where is—?” she broke off, not certain ’twas safe to mention Drake’s name.