“Here, lass, drink this now.” MacTíre held the mug with one hand, and used his other to help her wrap her fingers around the handle. Once she was sipping the bitter tea, he stood up and gave her an approving smile. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll go fetch Connelly; he’ll want to check on you. Finish that tea, and we’ll be right back.” Vivienne gazed at him in silence as he left, feeling oddly bereft once she was alone in the cold stone chamber.
Fain leaned against the wall outside his room and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes and taking deep breaths. Either she really was innocent, or she was the most accomplished seductress he’d ever met. The long line of her back, leading to the soft, round bottom just peeking out of the sheets, had been almost more than he could stand. He wanted to touch her, to run his hand down that smooth expanse of delicate skin, to kiss the small indentation at the base of her spine.
And then he’d had to touch her. He’d refused to look at her bare body, focusing instead on the shirt, but he couldn’t ignore what his fingers were feeling. Each time he’d accidentally brushed her skin had sent a jolt of desire straight to his core. Had she manipulated him? Maybe she could have put the shirt on alone, but Fain didn’t think so. The pain had been clear on her face, and he had seen the way her eyes had grown wider when he’d laced the collar tight, all the while pretending to be unaffected. Those violet eyes had held no seduction or satisfaction, merely a look of wonder and a faint hint of arousal deep in their depths.
Gods, why did she have to be so beautiful? Weren’t noble families supposed to be homely after generations of cousins intermarrying? Spies, now, spies were different. If they wanted to sneak they should be plain, but for infiltration, little could beat a beautiful woman. After all, Fain was convinced the lass was up to no good, but he couldn’t even stay in the room with her without wanting to join her in his timber-frame bed.
Fain groaned and pushed himself off the wall, determined to put a buffer between himself and the supposed Miss Wellesley. He’d told her he was fetching Connelly just so he’d have an excuse to leave, but it was a good idea. The little man could check her over, and perhaps suggest someone else to play nursemaid. Fain could get his bed back and the lass could torment someone else.
“Absolutely not!”
“Absolutely not!!”
Vivienne took a moment to glare at MacTíre for echoing her so emphatically, before rounding on Connelly once more. “I am not staying abed for two more days! That’s ridiculous!”
“I don’t care how long she stays abed, but she isn’t doing it here!”
Connelly glared at them both. “Hush yer mouths an’ listen ta sense. Lass, yer body’s had a hard time of it, an’ it needs ta rest. Ye canna go runnin’ ’round a drafty keep in a nightshirt, riskin’ givin’ that fever a foothold.”
“But—”
“But nothin’. Ye’ll keep yerself abed ’til I say ye can rise, or I’ll have MacTíre, here, sit on ye.”
Vivienne shut her mouth, but glared at the little man in rebellion.
“An’ as for yer objection, ye great oaf, ye canna be occupied in any other way. The storm outside rages, an’ we’ll be bound ta the keep for days. Ye might as well keep an eye on the lass, bein’ as how yer already acquainted.” Connelly’s eyes twinkled, but MacTíre didn’t look the least bit amused.
“I want my bed back.”
“Dinna be daft, man, the lass canna sleep on the stone floor.”
“But she can sleep elsewhere!”
“Excuse me.” Vivienne spoke with icy calm. “Are you saying that the room I am currently occupying is, in fact, yours?” She looked at MacTíre. When he gave a curt nod she went on. “And why, pray tell, would you bring an unconscious woman to your very own room, rather than an empty, unoccupied one?” Her voice was accusing, but MacTíre didn’t act at all guilty. In fact, he rolled his eyes at her, as though she were being ridiculous. What an odious man.
“It was an error. I would have moved you, but then I discovered your arm was broken, and it seemed prudent to leave you be. However,” he gave the medic a hard look, “there’s no reason I can’t move you now.”
“She canna be alone, man, in case the fever returns. Who would ye set to watch her, then?” Vivienne watched as the two men stared at one another, apparently engaged in a contest of wills. The question held some significance for them both, but she couldn’t discern it. Finally MacTíre shrugged, and looked at her ruefully.
“I suppose I’ll bring a pad for the floor.”
“Nonsense!” Vivienne wasn’t about to let them decide her fate without putting in her own opinion. “Surely one of the maids or kitchen women can sit with me. It’s highly inappropriate for us to be alone, anyway. There’s no reason for...” She trailed off at the look of amusement both men were giving her. “What? Why is that funny?”
Connelly chuckled but didn’t say anything. MacTíre spoke up, his voice dry. “Our cooking is done by two large, shaggy brothers who learned to make campfire stews on their trips to the summer pastures with their family’s bighorns; and we’ve no maids to speak of, although little Billy Notter does his best to keep the tables clean and the floors swept in the great hall.”
“Then what do the women here do?”
Connelly raised an eyebrow at her. “Dinna ye ken, lassie? There’s nary a woman here. Yer the only one.”
Vivienne stared at the men. “You’re jesting. What of your mothers, your wives, your sisters, your sweethearts? What of your daughters? Where are they?”
MacTíre ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “A few of us are single with no families, but most of the men have wives and children living elsewhere. They visit them when they can.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do their families not live here?”
He paused, and then spoke softly. “It’s a hard life we lead out here, and not one a man would wish on the people he cares for. The men come for honor, but they leave their families at home out of love.”
Vivienne was silent. Albion had outlying keeps as well, and they were staffed by rotation out of the army. It wasn’t an enjoyable duty, but her father saw to it that the keeps were well stocked and in good repair, and men never left their families at home when their turn in the wilds came. She supposed there might be a reason Toldas didn’t do the same, but it seemed like an ill-done thing, to force men to serve in places so barren that they had to leave their families at home.
“I’m sure the king is grateful for your sacrifice.” She was trying to sincerely compliment them, but Connelly snorted and MacTíre gave her a bitter smile.
“I doubt it, beauty, but it’s nice of you to say so.” He raised an eyebrow at Connelly. “I assume you have a moment in your busy schedule to sit with Miss Wellesley while I go speak with the men?”
“I do not need a nursemaid. I’m not some babe in swaddling clothes!” Vivi hissed hotly. She objected to being laughed at when she was attempting to be gracious, and objected even more to the casual way MacTíre discussed her disposal without even consulting her. It was insulting.
“Then consider it a courtesy ta me, lassie. It has been many a long day since I had a few hours ta while away in the company of a beautiful woman. Let me rest my weary toes, an’ beguile me with yer winnin’ ways.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in such a ridiculously suggestive manner she was tempted to giggle. Instead she gathered her most dignified air.
“Well, since you asked so prettily,” she paused to throw a glare at the enormous, ill-bred idiot who already had one foot out the door, “I consent.”
“Good.” Then he was through the door and gone.
Vivienne stared thoughtfully at the closed door, pondering what she’d just heard. Connelly waited a moment, and then broke into her thoughts.
“Yer lookin’ pensive, lassie.”
“Tell me something, Master Connelly.” Vivienne turned to face the little man. “Why does Master MacTíre need to meet with the men, if the who
le keep is merely waiting out the storm ?”
“There’s always future plans, lass. A leader of men is never done with ’em.”
Vivi’s attentioned sharpened. The jovial little man had sounded serious, almost sad, even. “And what kind of leader is Fain MacTíre, then?”
“Imperfect, like all of ’em. Better than most. A bit prone ta broodin’, if ye want mine own opinion.” His tone lightened with his final remark. “Why might ye be so interested, my lost little waif?” His eyes twinkled at her, as though he had found something to tease her about.
“Oh, no reason, I suppose. I mean, it isn’t as though I find myself alone and injured, surrounded by strange men, in the power of their leader. Why on earth would I care to know more about him?” she drawled.
“I bow ta yer superior wit, lassie. How else may I satisfy yer perfectly reasonable curiosity?”
Vivienne tried to focus, but her head started to ache. She knew there were other things she wanted to ask, things that had seemed strange, things that needed an explanation; but the harder she tried to remember the more her temples pounded. She lifted her left hand to make small circles above her ear, and Connelly clucked sympathetically.
“Never mind, lass. Yer done in. ’Twill be time, later. Plenty of time, unless I miss my guess. For now, rest; I’ll be here if ye need me.”
She tried to hold on, but Connelly’s hands soothed her head, and Vivi drifted away into blessedly pain-free darkness.
Chapter Seven
Fain strode into the great hall, greeting the assembled men. Most of the keep’s inhabitants were milling about, having been notified that Fain expected everyone without an active duty to be there. He made his way to the table nearest the hearth and leapt atop it. Billy Notter wormed his way free of the crowd and clambered up to sit on the table at Fain’s feet, his own small boots swinging in the air. Everyone else fell silent, waiting for their leader to address them.
“First of all, lads, I’m sure most of you have heard that we have a guest staying with us.” A murmur went through the room, and heads began nodding. “The pack found a young woman half frozen outside our gates. She is hurt, and ill, and probably won’t make an appearance for days yet.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but as he continued a low rumble entered his voice. “However, when she’s well enough to move through the keep, I expect certain things from all of you. First, be discreet.” The men nodded vigorously. “She claims she’s just lost, but you all know our position is too precarious to trust that. Second, I expect all of you to behave.” There were snickers and elbows, but Fain wasn’t smiling, and the growl in his voice became more obvious. “You all have your turns at home, where you can debauch yourselves as much as you please, and I expect you to get it out of your system there. Whatever else this lady is, she’s a woman alone, and I expect you all to treat her with propriety.” Most of the men had sobered, and were back to nodding. A few looked comically bereft.
“It still counts as propriety if she’s willing, doesn’t it, lads?” Simon Legrey called across the hall. There was a chorus of laughter, and shouted agreement. Fain scowled at the men, and waited until they quieted.
“That’s all. Those of you who aren’t headed out on the next hunt are dismissed. All the hunters can step forward for your briefing.”
It took a few moments for the room to empty, while the group he’d asked to remain gathered by the hearth. Fain spent the time spreading a map on the table, and fielding questions from Billy, who capered around his feet.
“What’s her name? What’s she look like, Fain? Does her arm hurt real bad?”
Fain gave out answers as best he could, trying to be fair. Billy was no more than eight, and Fain didn’t want to scare him with dire predictions that the woman was a fox they’d let into the henhouse. The lad finally ran out of questions, and declared firmly:
“I wanna meet her.”
Fain turned sober eyes on him. “You heard what I said earlier, Billy.”
The small jaw jutted forward, and Billy put his hands on his hips. “I heard. You don’t want us tellin’ her nothing. And I won’t. I’m one of the men now. You can count on me.” Then the little mouth broke in a grin. “But I still wanna meet her.”
“Fairly said. Now, run along, lad, and help the Shapherds with that magnificent stew I smell.” Billy skipped off, as the men around the table began studying the map.
A route, traced in red ink, moved crookedly through the mountains, beginning in a small southern town and heading more or less in the direction of the capital, but with many unnecessary detours. Fain tapped it with his finger.
“Word has come that the new horses for the royal stables will be traveling this route once the weather clears. In among the mounts for the officers, there is a specially trained warhorse, destined for the king. You lads are going to make sure these beautiful steeds never make it to the castle.” He grinned ferally, and saw matching smiles on the faces of the men around the table.
He laid out the plan, which was simple, but effectively utilized the terrain against the caravan. They laid out several alternate routes to use in returning to the keep, in case they needed to split up, and assigned Eric Tully to be the quartermaster for the group. They groaned when he announced that he expected each of them to carry an extra week’s worth of provisions.
“No groaning, lads,” Fain remonstrated. “The weather could turn, and you’ll be grateful for the extra rations.” He looked at each man in turn. “Gather your gear; you’ll be setting off tomorrow. Connelly says the weather won’t clear for a while, but you need to be in place for the ambush once it does. And be careful while you’re out there. This should be an easy one, but we never know, and I want each of you to come back intact.”
The men nodded respectfully, and dispersed to go make their preparations. Fain sighed and pointed his feet back to his own chamber. He had his own assignment to take care of.
After a few hours of playing nursemaid, Fain was ready to hand the lass back over to the wolves, if it would just get him some peace. She really was weak from the fever and her long days out-of-doors, but instead of making her tired and compliant, it just made the little spitfire fretful. She’d turned her nose up at the broth and biscuits the Shapherd brothers had sent up for her, and wouldn’t drink the bitter concoctions Connelly had left until he threatened to sit on her and pour them down her throat. She complained of being dirty, and smelly, and excessively warm, until a mild fever returned, and then she huddled in the blankets and complained of the chill. She was bored, she was tired, and she was “unaccustomed to having great oafs glaring at her just because she expressed her opinion.”
“If your opinion is always so spiteful, it’s a wonder people don’t do more than glare at you,” Fain said through gritted teeth. He had just about had enough.
“Forgive me.” Her voice was icy. “I have a hard time being gracious to someone who does nothing but insult me. Should I be grateful for your vile comments on my character?”
“You should really be grateful that I haven’t throttled you yet!”
“How dare you threaten me? ! “
Fain’s temper finally snapped. “How dare I? This is my keep! I took you in, had your injuries tended, and have been playing nursemaid while you’ve abused me at every turn! It’s a wonder I haven’t tossed you back out in the snow!” He was practically roaring with rage, but his fellow combatant had gone strangely silent. “What?” he snarled. “No biting comment about my temper?” She still didn’t speak, and he threw himself into the hard, wooden chair, letting out a grumble of frustration and anger. He yanked a book free from his shelf and opened it, hardly seeing the words before his eyes, but determined to ignore the wench in his bed.
After a few moments she spoke, her voice sounding small. “What are you reading?”
He almost didn’t answer her, but she’d asked graciously enough, so he sighed and said, “It’s an old collection of fairy stories.” He expected her to scoff at him, but her eyes brightened
a bit.
“I love fairy stories. I had a large illustrated collection when I was younger, but one of my governesses took it from me when she caught me reading my favorite tales over and over, rather than my lesson books. I’m afraid the history of the outer provinces wasn’t a topic I was terribly interested in when I was eight.” She sighed pensively, and stopped, but after the past hours Fain had no trouble guessing what had happened.
“How did you get back at her?”
The lass blushed, but didn’t try to deny that he was right. “I waited until my father came to visit one of my lessons, and then I asked her if we could discuss human anatomy again, since I couldn’t remember all the male parts. She gaped at me and tried to protest to my father that she’d never taught me such a thing, but she got so flustered that she turned red and ran out of the room.”
Fain stifled a laugh. It was a wicked thing to do, but a clever revenge for an eight year old. “What happened?”
“Father spanked me for it. He knew I was lying. Then he asked me why I’d tried something so horrible, and I told him. He found my governess a position elsewhere until I was older and could appreciate her. But he wouldn’t let me have my book back; he said it was my punishment for ‘abusing my station.’” When the lass imitated her father, she put on a deep voice and pulled her brows together threateningly. It was altogether charming, and Fain quickly asked another question to make her stop.
“Did she ever come back as your governess?”
“Indeed, the year I was sixteen. By then my lessons fascinated me, and she was one of my favorite teachers.” She toyed with the blankets a moment, then went on. “I frequently got punished for taking my temper out on others.”
As the Last Petal Falls Page 5
