by Unknown
“Nay, but I’ve been to Edinburgh to the Scottish court, and the English royalty is considered even more dangerous, especially to a Scot.”
“I suppose any country is hostile to an outsider.” She stared at the twisting, snapping flames, remembering. So many ports, so many new faces, dirty, tired, lost. Her stomach knotted and she rubbed at an ache in her temple. The weight of it all pulled at her shoulders, making her costume feel nearly intolerable.
“I suppose.” Ewan’s voice stilled her mind. He’d stepped close, yet he did not touch. “Ye’ve never had a land to call yer own. Nowhere where generations have survived and everyone knows ye.”
She listened for the drawn out notes of pity within his words, but there were none. She turned, her skirts brushing his shins. “Perhaps not. Yet I always had a home, which many do not.”
“Yer ship?”
“The Queen Siren kept me, when others are traded into slavery.”
Ewan’s brow pinched. She’d said too much, let her guard down, and wagged her tongue. Captain Bart would tie her to the mast for certain if she gave away their secret.
“Does the Queen Siren trade people into slavery?”
The flames snapped behind her. Ugh! How to answer? She acted on instinct rather than intelligence and stepped closer.
“Why haven’t you kissed me tonight, warrior with the perfect ears?”
His eyes widened the tiniest bit, muting the growing fury there. He touched one of his own ears and brought his hand up through his hair. “Ye cannot turn my attention.”
“And you have not kissed me.”
She stepped forward, her slipper coming down on his boot as she wrapped her hands behind his neck and brought his face down to hers with a gentle tug. The added height she gained by trodding on his toes helped. She’d give this Highlander one mind-numbing, thought-turning kiss. To keep the Queen Siren’s secret, of course.
She met his lips, pressing her own against his warmth. Her heart thumped wildly and she slanted her head, giving him time to take over. Finally he moved his mouth over hers, without force yet firm. His hand came up to brush her cheek, tickling gooseflesh down her front. The warmth of his body pulled her to him. Her legs felt weak, but it didn’t matter because he held her, his strength surrounding her like the powerful currents of the sea.
And she let him, relaxing into him, and her mind turned only to the kiss and the heat that flooded down through her body. Never before had she felt this flavor of flaming liquor, or the giddiness bubbling inside her chest, this churning of her stomach as she molded her softness to his hard body.
She felt his hand running down her back to the heavy skirts as he murmured in Gaelic. She didn’t know the meaning but she agreed with the implication. Where was this wave taking her? She held onto Ewan and hoped she could keep her head above water.
His tall frame bent around her and his hand cupped her face. His thumb strummed the sensitive skin over her cheekbone, and he pulled gently away. She kept her eyes closed. The absence of his lips made her frown, and she felt his thumb rub the lines on her forehead.
“Not happy?” he asked.
She opened her eyes. Her breath hitched for a moment at the concern on his face that melted into a half grin. Was he truly interested in her happiness? “Not happy that you stopped.”
“One of us has to guard yer honor,” he said and it was his turn to frown.
She reached up to rub his forehead. “Now you aren’t happy.”
His gaze connected with hers, mesmerizing, almost shackling. So intent on reading her, she almost pulled away. “Where did ye learn to kiss?”
She blinked, trying to understand the fierce intensity transforming him from soul-melting heat to lethal ice cold in the span of seconds.
He inhaled fully, his chest expanding. “Who have ye kissed like that?”
Had she done it wrong? “No one, not like that,” she whispered and the tip of her tongue slid out to touch her lower lip. It hadn’t felt wrong, not in the sense of fouling it up. Perhaps wrong from a nun’s point of view. She shook her head. “Not in that way.”
“But ye’ve kissed? Men?”
Her temper started to simmer, replacing the worry with annoyance. “Well I’m not in the habit of kissing women.”
“But men. Ye’ve kissed men before,” he stated, more than asked.
She couldn’t help the blush that rushed up into her cheeks, but she raised her head even. “I’ve done my part to help my family.”
“By kissing them?” he yelled.
“When necessary.”
“Did they tell ye that kissing them was the way to help them? This pirate family of yours?” Fists curled at his side.
By the devil! What grotesque scenarios filled his head? Did he think her the ship whore?
“I want the names of each and every man who has touched ye,” he said slowly, succinctly through a tight jaw.
“Touched or kissed?” she asked, matching his tight face. One kiss and he had her swinging in the hammocks with the Queen Siren crew!
“Both.”
“I don’t know all their names,” she taunted.
The words blackened his look even more. He grabbed her shoulders, and she instantly felt his soaring, rushing blood, his large muscles engaging as if in battle.
“Tell me what they did to ye.”
Her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. “Why?”
“So I know exactly how much pain to inflict on each bloody bastard as I slice them open for touching ye.”
Chapter Six
7 December of the Year our Lord God, 1517
Katharine,
What do you mean he thinks I haven’t risked as much as he? I am the general and risk the ultimate if we are discovered! So I deserve the ultimate once we rule the realm. In addition I possess the Lancaster ring, and therefore, the power behind it. It came to me through Isabelle’s family line, but I was the one clever enough to wed her to take the prize.
The jackanape has no idea what I do behind the scenes, enduring an unwanted marriage, coaxing Henry’s good will and trust. Tell our fool that we will meet soon to reestablish an order to these proceedings.
Rowland
“What did they do? And if ye don’t know their bloody names, what did they look like?” Ewan’s fingers pressed into her shoulders, but she met his hard stare.
Never show fear. Captain Bart’s first lesson shot through her, strengthening her spine. She forced a tight grin.
“Some brushed by my arm in the marketplace.” She nodded and pursed her lips as if thinking hard. She knew he hadn’t meant casual touches, but how dare he think she’d let men touch her.
“Oh, there was an old man with a scar over his eye who stumbled into me because he was too drunk to stand. Pete guided him home. Then there was a boy, almost a man, blond hair I think. He picked my pocket but I caught him and twisted his arm until he produced my coin. I guess it was really I who touched him in that instance.”
Ewan’s stony features resembled the mountains she imagined he’d left behind: hard and ready to kill the unwary. He blinked as if trying to understand her words.
“There was one man who hugged me, but he was dressed like a woman. In purple satin, if I remember correctly. Does that count? He may have been confused because I was dressed like a lad.” She tipped her face up at him. Lord, he was handsome when he was mad. His blue eyes narrowed, eyes dilated, jaw tense below his sensual mouth. It was nearly the same look he’d had after their first kiss. Odd. Did he look furious when he—
“It only counts if he hugged ye like this,” he said and slid his hands from her shoulders to her spine, drawing her into the heat of his body. Her mouth suddenly dry, she wet her lips. Fury, strength, and a look that stopped her breath in her chest. What had she gotten herself into?
He growled low and descended. Her blood rushed to match his, pounding through her veins. She pressed into him, slanting her face and molding her body to fit his steel frame. Her breast
s rubbed against his chest as she stood tall on his boots. His hands licked fire down her back to cup her arse. He nudged her hip, and the vee of her legs captured him.
Bloody hell! What was she doing? What was she letting him do, urging him to do?
She stiffened the slightest amount. He still held her, but allowed her a slip of space between them. She blinked, lids heavy like the kiss had made her drunk. “Definitely not like that,” she said.
“What?” he asked and rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. It felt slightly swollen, hot like her insides.
“Kissed, held.” She stepped back and motioned to him. “Whatever that was.”
“Ye’ve never been intimate with a man then?” His teeth locked so that it seemed as if the words had chipped their way out.
She blushed, damn it! What good was strength when all she did was blush like a simpleton? She stepped away. “That is none of your business.”
“It is if I plan to kill any and all who have dared to violate ye.”
Was he jesting? That stopped her in her stride toward the fire and turned. “And why would you do that?”
“No honorable man would compromise ye without promises of taking care of ye.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I mean no promises of love or marriage.”
She paused, considering his words. He seemed serious with that pinched brow and brutal spark in his eyes. But then many could act. She breathed slowly, calming her heart that wanted to believe he might… “Promises of love or marriage? I heard none from you.”
“I didn’t compromise ye.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t know about you, but I feel rather compromised.” She felt a lot of other things, too: lust, fire, an unknown pooling below her navel…things she would never admit to.
Ewan huffed and practically stomped toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked, not ready to end the game.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“To take a swim.”
A swim? “Not what I was expecting.”
Ewan turned and studied her. For a moment she felt almost naked standing there before the fire. She even glanced down to make certain. Nay, still clothed. Maybe he was imagining her naked. Hell, she was definitely in unknown waters. The wind picked up outside and she concentrated on slowing her breathing. She hid the rush of heat behind a saucy grin. It was a familiar mask, learned early from the whores in port.
“What were you expecting?” he asked.
“I thought perhaps you might be going out to find that man dressed like a woman who hugged me, or perhaps that old man Pete helped.”
“Taunting men will get ye into trouble,” he warned.
“If I taunt you, will you compromise me again?” she asked. What the hell was she doing baiting him like a shark with a bloody fish on the line? It was an act to hide her shaking knees, but he didn’t know that.
“I have a feeling, lass,” he said slowly with that low rumble of brogue, “that ye have no idea what I could do to ye.”
She swallowed hard and her upturned lips trembled slightly. “Actually I probably have an idea or two.” She rubbed her palms along her skirts.
Ewan’s knuckles on the edge of the door turned white. Sweet devil, she’d teased too much. Would he walk back over, grab her, kiss her, teach her what the whores in port meant about being loved till they sang? Did people really sing when they were swiving? Would he throw her on that big bed and touch her where she flamed? Dory swallowed hard once more, her will to fight melting in the heat.
“Lock the door behind me. I will room with Searc for the night.” Ewan opened the door with a short jerk and walked out. “And bar the door, Dory.”
The door slammed shut.
Dory pulled in a shaky breath. Relieved? Disappointed? Either way, the game was done, though she had no idea who had won.
…
Bam! Bam! Fist falls on her door jarred Dory awake. She sat bolt upright, her head twisting from side to side. What bloody port was she in?
Bam! Bam!
“Dory, are ye in there?” Ewan’s voice, though decidedly grumpy, took on a more frantic edge. “Dory!”
She rubbed a hand against her eyes and groaned. Light flooded the room from the small glassed windows. That’s right, Hampton Court. Apparently Ewan had not returned last night, though she’d waited. She threw her tangled hair back from her face and frowned at the door. It had taken her an hour to work her hooks and laces open enough to get out of her costume. He could have at least sent a lady’s maid to help if he wasn’t going to play the part.
“Dory!” He cursed right before he crashed against the doorframe.
“Bloody hell!” she yelled and leapt from the bed. Her bare feet slapped the floor as she reached the door and raised the bar.
She jumped back just as the solid oak flew inward, nearly crushing her with its force.
Ewan stood there, washed and dressed in English riding trews and boots. A flap of hair sat ruffled on his forehead. He breathed hard, his sword raised.
“I thought ye weren’t in here. That someone had taken ye,” he said and exhaled, his eyes searching the room for some imagined danger. He shut the door.
“How could the door be barred if I wasn’t in here?”
She could see Ewan realize his illogical worry as his brows gathered. “I do not know the extent of yer magic.”
Ha!
“I was worried someone was in here with ye.”
“I said I can take care of myself.”
“Ye could have been ill. It’s nearly noon.”
“I was up late.”
He looked up her length in the thin white material, from her bare toes to her low scooped collar edged in lace. “Doing what?”
Did he worry she’d invited men into the room, staying up all night like an entertaining whore? As much as she wanted to punish him for the unspoken thought, she didn’t want him thinking that of her. She shouldn’t care, but she did. Blast it!
“Trying to bloody hell get out of that contraption!” She flung her hand toward the press where her gown hung.
He looked at the closet, confused. “Ye were stuck in the press?”
Dory stomped her foot and grimaced at the impact. “No! You very well abandoned me fully tied and trussed in my gown without the help of a maid.”
His jaw relaxed but he still frowned. “I thought ye could take care of yerself.”
“Ever see a tornado unbutton hooks down a lady’s back?” she snapped. “And apparently I did take care of it, though it took quite some time.” She’d never admit to waiting in the dark for the sound of his boot or the soft rapping on the door to signal that he’d come back home for the night. Not that this was home.
They glared at one another for a long moment. For some reason he was determined to be angry at her. Fine! If he wanted to be angry with her, she would return the favor. Plus, he’d truly abandoned her. Dory let her irritation build closer to fury. She opened her mouth, ready with a curse so horrifying that his perfect ears would curl.
“I’m sorry,” Ewan said.
She coughed on her first word. “What?”
“I should have sent the maid back.” He walked across to stir the nearly dead fire. “I was busy trying to find out information on yer family. Didn’t think ye’d have trouble.”
“Well,” she started, trying to hold her dissipating anger. She’d never been apologized to before. So he’d just forgotten about her? Dory reddened. She wasn’t anything special, certainly not a lady who could hold the attention of a handsome warrior. She blinked at the dryness behind her eyes. “I did.”
He walked to the press. “I am going riding and thought ye’d like to accompany several of yer countrymen in their favorite sport.”
“Riding? Riding what?”
Her question was an honest one, though he shook his head like she jested.
“Lions,” he said and paused. When she didn’t laugh
he continued. “Horses, of course. In the park.”
Blast, she almost preferred lions! “I don’t ride.” She flipped her hand to the press. “Besides I have nothing to wear to ride in.”
“I do believe there is one riding costume in here,” Ewan said as he riffled through the stand alone cabinet. He pulled out a plum-colored skirt and bodice. “You said the wardrobe that Jane had delivered yesterday was complete. Her words, not yers.”
“Complete means riding wear?”
“I will send the maid who helped ye before supper.”
“But I told you I don’t ride.” Even with perfect ears, the man was deaf.
“Sure ye do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Ye’ve never ridden a horse?”
“Well, perhaps not never, but I didn’t get horsemanship with my geography lessons on the Queen Siren.” Argh! Another English lady task she knew nothing about. She hated to look like a fool.
“I’ll teach ye.” He returned to his stride across the hard floor. “I will see ye in an hour’s time.”
“Good morning, m’lady,” the maid called from the doorway as she bobbed her head to a departing Ewan. Bloody hell! She must have been lurking in the hall.
Dory sighed long and sat down in the chair as the girl picked up the torturous brush. Yes, more important worries, for she had less than an hour to figure out how to ride a horse without appearing a fool.
…
“Just be ready to ride,” Ewan told Searc in Gaelic. He wouldn’t have the lad, Rachel’s only remaining child, dying in the Tower.
“You think there will be trouble?” Searc stood near their three horses: Gaoth, Searc’s horse, and a borrowed mild mare for the lass. Maggie the dog pranced around Searc as she eyed the other riders. Perhaps the dog had belonged to a hunter before. The tabby cat slid against the sunny wall, never too far from the lad.
“There’s always trouble in England,” Ewan said low. “Especially for a Scot, and London is a den of crime and discrimination.”
As if cued by the word trouble, Dory walked out of the castle hall. She wore the plum riding gown Jane had given her. The aristocratic woman seemed grateful beyond belief for whatever Dory did for her. Hopefully the rumors were true that the Seymour girl was being courted by the king.
