A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals)

by Kimberly Bell

  Te bisterdon tumare anava, she cursed silently. May God forget their names. So much for mystery. When Ewan had asked her if she “thieved and the like” for Alastair, she’d hoped to leave it at that. Not that he couldn’t guess, but she’d rather not have it spelled out for him.

  The door closed. She turned her head toward Ewan while she waited to make sure they weren’t coming back. It was dark under the bed, and Deidre was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his face.

  “Ewan—”

  “Yer Alastair sounds like a real charmer.”

  “It’s not . . .” It wasn’t what? Everything they’d said had been true. “It’s not like that anymore. I’m not . . . I’m trying to leave him.”

  The silence stretched out. Deidre was cursing her luck when those two fingers suddenly gave a second, comforting squeeze.

  “Let’s go find yer brother then so ye can finish.”

  ***

  Angus was waiting for them when they snuck back into their room at the inn. A young man with black hair and a sullen frown waited with him. He was older than Ewan would have guessed from Deidre’s description—about sixteen, Ewan would wager. He bore a strong resemblance to his sister, which made him a bit too pretty by masculine accounting.

  “Tristan!” Deidre rushed to him, checking his face and limbs for damage.

  “Leave off, Dee.” He tried to brush her hands away, but she was determined.

  When she’d satisfied herself that he was unharmed, her hand whipped out, slapping him with enough force to snap his head back.

  “What the hell, Dee?” His shock told Ewan she’d never hit him before.

  “I was at home when your friends showed up.”

  The rest of his face turned red to match the handprint forming on his cheek. “It’s not—”

  “Isn’t it? So you didn’t send your friends to rob me so you could spend the night drinking and whoring?”

  “I was going to pay it—”

  “Don’t. Don’t you say another word to me.” She turned to Ewan. “We’re all here. When can we leave?”

  “As soon as the horses are saddled. If we ride all night, we should be well away by sun-up.”

  Tristan didn’t like the sound of that. “Leave? I’m not leav—”

  The second slap cracked like a thunderclap. Two pairs of black eyes glared at each other in the resulting silence.

  Ewan decided to give them some space to sort it out. He didn’t anticipate the boy winning that battle of wills, but he wouldn’t mourn the loss of him if he did. “Angus, help me with the horses?”

  “Aye.”

  They made it out of the inn and into the yard before Angus voiced his objection. “So we’re taking them with us.”

  “Aye.” Ewan knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

  “I don’t suppose telling ye that’s a shite idea would make any difference.”

  He grinned. “Nae much, no.”

  The older man spit into a pile of hay. “Ye’ve no notion of how things will play out at Broch Murdo.”

  Ewan stopped saddling his horse for a moment. Broch Murdo. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that was why he was here. In his mind, he’d been thinking he’d take Deidre back to Dalreoch Castle. “Aye.”

  “And ye still mean to bring them.”

  He couldn’t leave her behind, even if he were inclined to do so. “Aye.”

  “The woman’s a siren. Ye cannae trust her.”

  Ewan smiled again. It was one of the things he liked about her. “Aye.”

  “And it’ll take more than a couple slaps to get the brother in line.” Angus led his horse out of the stable. “That one’s full of piss and laziness and nae much else.”

  Ewan followed with his own newly recovered mount and the mare they’d retrieved for Deidre on their way back from her rooms. “Aye, I suspect it will.”

  The object of their discussion was sulking in front of the inn as they approached.

  “Where’s your sister?” Ewan didn’t imagine she’d abandon her brother after all her efforts to find him.

  “Do I look like her nursemaid?”

  Oh, aye. It was going to be a long night. “Ye can give up the insolence, boy. I’ve had it far longer from a far greater jackass.”

  Angus chuckled. Ewan’s cousin Gavan had spent the better part of thirty years irritating everyone he came in contact with. It was only after meeting his new wife that he’d become slightly tolerable.

  The boy scowled. “She’s taking care of the lookout.”

  Ewan wasn’t certain what that entailed, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know, so the three of them waited in silence. She reappeared unharmed a few minutes later.

  When she saw them standing together, she smiled. “Ready?”

  ***

  Traveling at night was slow. They had only three horses, so Deidre had the privilege of listening to her brother complain in her ear for the majority of the ride. She should have slapped him harder.

  Guilt flooded through her. She’d hit Tristan. Twice. In the twelve years they’d been on their own, she had never laid a hand to him. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if he mightn’t have turned out better if she had.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry,” she answered.

  “What did you bring to eat?”

  Ewan’s horse slowed its pace. “We’ll eat at sunrise when we stop to sleep.”

  “That’s hours from now!”

  “Ye’ll survive.”

  Deidre expected her brother to say something petulant, but he didn’t. Instead, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and gave every impression of going to sleep. Without his grumbling, Deidre was able to enjoy the uniqueness of night in the wilderness. The breeze rustled through tree leaves, insects sang in droves, even the occasional screech of an owl on the hunt hit her ears. Moonlight turned everything to silver, making it feel otherworldly.

  Ewan nudged his horse closer. “Yer smiling.”

  “We used to travel at night like this when I was a child,” she said, matching his low tone. “I forgot how much I enjoy it.”

  He didn’t ask her why and she was grateful for that. Their father had been a man much like she imagined her brother would turn out to be—extremely charming with an easy smile, but not known for excesses of responsibility. This was not the first town they’d had to leave under the cover of darkness. Deidre had loved her father dearly, but it would have been difficult to explain to someone who hadn’t known him.

  “Aye, it’s strange and peaceful at the same time. It’s got a sort of magic to it,” he said.

  She looked at Ewan, careful not to jostle her brother. The moonlight brought out the angles in his face, drawing attention to his strong jaw and the rigid line of his nose. She’d felt those angles in the stable when she kissed him. It had been an impulsive thing to do, but she didn’t regret it. After everything that had gone wrong, all the loneliness and the worry since she’d decided to leave Alastair, to have Ewan say “we” without a thought to leaving them behind—she’d been undone.

  Temporarily undone, she reminded herself. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down in any permanent way. “I haven’t yet thanked you for helping me.”

  “There’s no need.” He said it like he actually meant it.

  In Deidre’s experience, everything came with a price. She wondered what his would be when it came. She wondered if she would even mind paying it. “Where are we headed?”

  “Broch Murdo.”

  The name sounded familiar. It took a moment to remember where she’d heard it. “Ewan . . .”

  “Aye?”

  “Are you actually Lord Broch Murdo?”

  He took his time answering. “Aye, I suppose I am.”

  Oh, he supposed he was. Nothing to
fuss over, just a title and some bloody place in the world that was named after him.

  Ewan sighed. “It’s only just happened. It’s taking some getting used to.”

  “How did—”

  “My father died. I dinnae hear until recently.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Dinnae be. No one else is.”

  Deidre laughed. She shouldn’t have—a man was dead—but the way he said it was so matter of fact. “I take it the two of you weren’t close?”

  “If there’s any justice in the afterlife, even the devil won’t have him.”

  There was a story there, but he hadn’t pried into her business. She would do him the same courtesy. They lapsed into silence, letting the night swallow the soft thudding of their horses’ hooves on the dirt. They rode like that for a long time, until the sky started to lighten on the horizon.

  Angus dropped back from his place at the head of their small party. “There should be a trail east a little ways. Willnae need to take it too far to be out of sight in case someone decided to chase ye.”

  “Aye, let’s see if it’s still there.”

  The two Highlanders rode off. Deidre let her mare continue at a lazy plod.

  “Look at you. Caught an earl and you weren’t even trying,” her brother said in Romani.

  The space between Deidre’s eyebrows started aching immediately. “Good morning, Tris.”

  “He seems the type to spoil his women and you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger.”

  “Tristan.” It was unlikely Ewan or Angus understood Romani, but Deidre wasn’t in the habit of taking chances. There were about a hundred reasons to keep their Romani ancestry a secret.

  “Oh, ho. You actually like him,” Tristan teased, tugging on her hair. “You thinking about becoming Lady Dee in truth, maybe?”

  Deidre elbowed him in the stomach. The coughing kept him from talking when Ewan rode back to them. He looked at Tristan, puzzled, but Deidre just smiled at him.

  “This way. We found a place to camp.”

  “Lead the way,” she said over Tristan’s wheezing.

  Chapter 6

  It was decided that Angus and the boy would take the first watch. Deidre’s brother wasn’t very keen on being assigned a watch at all, nor did he take well to being given the task of collecting wood for a fire. Ewan was pleased to see Deidre accepted fetching water from the stream much more willingly. It was clear neither of them had spent much time out of a city, but unlike her brother, his selkie seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Ewan unsaddled and tended the horses while Angus prepared food. Every time he passed Deidre as they moved about the camp, she sent him a smile.

  “Never in my life have I seen a man so keen on his own destruction,” Angus said after a particularly beaming smile.

  “I’m nae—”

  “Ye’ve taken the long way around to pass by the lass three times now.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “There’s no harm in enjoying a few smiles from a bonnie lass.”

  “Yer ‘bonnie lass’ is a pit viper in a dress. Ye cannae handle that woman, Ewan.”

  “She’s nae what ye think she is, Angus, but even if she was . . . I’ve done all right so far.”

  Angus put the knife he was cutting potatoes with down. “Done all right? Since ye met her, ye’ve been robbed, stabbed, poisoned, and run out of town.”

  “Those were—”

  “Meanwhile, she’s secured a protector, safe passage, and a place to wait out her troubles. Explain to me how yer getting the better end of that deal?”

  “I’m nae about to leave a woman to fend for herself.”

  “And that’s why she’ll keep getting the better of ye. That one fends just fine. She doesnae need ye to save her.”

  She didn’t need Ewan to save her, but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t in Ewan’s nature to abandon a woman in need. Even if she hadn’t been in any sort of danger, Ewan wasn’t certain he could have walked away from her. It went beyond her being beautiful. Even if he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel where she was as she moved around the camp. It was like there was a string that ran from him to her and it tugged at him with every motion.

  It was the reason he knew the moment she followed him when he finished his stew and went to find a breezy place by the stream to sleep.

  “May I lie by you?”

  “Aye.” His physical response was significantly less subdued.

  Pleased though he was by his own vitality, especially in light of a long night on horseback after a long day of bleeding, it was a bit inconvenient as he unpinned his plaid and laid it out on the ground. He kept his back to her as he tied the ends of his shirt together and settled onto the blanket, but eventually there was nothing else to do. He rolled onto his back.

  “I—ah. Sorry.”

  “For what?” She slid herself in next to him, using his bicep as a pillow. Her hand found its way onto his chest.

  Mother, Mary, and Joseph. When she’d asked to lie by him—who was he trying to fool? If she’d asked outright if she could press every inch of her against him and surround him with the scent of her hair, he wouldn’t have refused her.

  “For—”

  “For that?” Her hand slid down, closing over his manhood. “I don’t think you’ve anything to apologize for there.”

  Holy hell.

  She tested his length through the linen, running her palm over him with torturous artistry. Ewan took deep inhalations through his nose, trying to retain some semblance of calm as she squeezed and stroked.

  “Deidre,” he groaned.

  “Shhh,” she said, straddling him. Shoving her skirts out of the way, she replaced her hand with her body, the heat of her searing him through his shirt.

  She reached up and kissed him like she had at the inn, an invading conqueror against whom he could mount no defense. His hands found her hips again, this time flesh to flesh. She ground against him, taunting him in time with her tongue’s exploration of his mouth.

  This woman would be the death of him. She meant to immolate him using nothing but her body and mouth. What could he have possibly done to deserve her? He must have said it aloud because she chuckled.

  “I told you, I haven’t thanked you yet for helping me.” She abandoned his mouth, raining kisses down his throat, his chest, her eventual goal evident and as wicked as the rest of her.

  Ewan tried to unhear it. He tried to focus on the path of her mouth and pretend she’d said something else, but he couldn’t.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “Stop.” He held her still, desperately needing to keep a clear head. “I gave my help freely, Deidre.”

  She looked confused.

  “Ye dinnae owe me anything. Especially nae . . . this.”

  “I know.”

  “I dinnae think ye do.”

  “Do you not want me, Ewan?”

  “I want ye more than I’ve ever wanted any woman before, but I dinnae want ye in some sort of barter.”

  She stared at him, her face unreadable. Then she rolled off him, leaving him cold in the warm summer air.

  “So it’s to be on your terms or not at all?” she asked, straightening her skirts back down.

  “That’s nae what I—” He reached for her, but she shoved his hand away.

  “Oh, I gather what you meant, and you can go to straight to the devil. I’ll give my body to whomever I choose, how and when and for whatever reason I deem worthy.”

  She turned over, giving him a wide berth on the plaid and a fine view of her back.

  What just happened? He was trying to do the honorable thing. He was trying not to take advantage and somehow he had ended up the villain. In his present condition, he would certainly have ample time to consider it. Sleep was in no dan
ger of finding him.

  ***

  Deidre had thrown herself at him, something most men would mortgage their own mother for, and he had the audacity to reject her. And not because he didn’t want her. Oh no, because of his principles. Because of the principles he thought she should share. A slow death would be too good for him.

  She wanted him—more the fool her—more than she’d wanted anyone in a long time, but she’d be damned if she let him think he could dictate when and why she shared her body. Deidre heard him shift beside her. She hoped he was miserable. She hoped his throbbing cock kept him awake and wretched for the rest of eternity. She hoped it did him some sort of permanent damage. She hoped—at this rate, she’d keep herself up all day when she ought to be resting. What purpose would that serve?

  He shifted again. The worst part was that she wanted him. Damn his assumptions and his principles, because she did want him in a way that had nothing to do with gratitude. Even now, she ached to roll back over and set them both afire with pleasure, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t run the risk of being rejected twice.

  Lying there, hating him and wanting him and hating herself for wanting him still, she steeled her resolve. She would have him—on her terms. When Deidre was done with him, he would beg her to take him by any means she wanted. It would start right this moment.

  She stood up and started unlacing her dress.

  “It’s too hot, don’t you think?” She shoved it off her shoulders, watching him while she did, and let it drop to the plaid.

  “Deidre . . .”

  Underskirts and shift followed it. Her shoes and stockings came off last.

  The entire time, he stared. “Deidre, ye shouldnae—”

  “I don’t recall asking your permission or your advice.” She picked her way through the grass down to the edge of the stream. “Would you like to join me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She looked back over her shoulder, making certain her pose was suitably enticing. “If you’d rather watch, that’s fine, too.”

  The evidence of his attention was plainly visible, but he continued his silence. Fair enough. His attention was all that was required.