The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3)

by Cecelia Mecca

  He shrugged. “Not here apparently. Why do you call him a traitor?”

  He had to gather information on his target from as many people as he could.

  “Surely you’ve heard. ’Tis said he’s taking bribes, allowing innocent Scotsmen to be hung. Some are calling for a boycott of the Day of Truce. Others aren’t so friendly in their judgments.”

  So the rumors that had reached Scotland’s ear were true. More importantly, the borderers believed they were true.

  “I may have heard something similar. But you know—”

  “Clan Kerr,” MacAdder said, interrupting him, “sero sed serio. And if you haven’t heard of Hallington’s duplicity, you’re certainly late to this one.”

  “Aye, but you’ve forgotten the second part of our motto. Late but in earnest.”

  If only MacAdder knew.

  “Come with me.” He clapped Toren’s back and pushed him toward the cheers. “I hear young MacDonald is matched against Thornhurst. Should be quite a joust.”

  Toren hadn’t planned on being a spectator. But if he had to wait for Hallington anyway. . .

  “If the man is as skilled as he’s reputed to be, MacDonald may just end the Day of Truce today,” he said, allowing himself to be pulled toward the lists.

  The rash laird had nearly gotten himself killed the year before in the melee, famously taking off his helmet and throwing it at an opponent.

  “With the Waryn men not participating this year, some are betting on Thornhurst as English champion.”

  Toren couldn’t help but frown.

  “Ah, laddie, I’ll be apologizing for that. Forgot you are related to Waryn now.”

  MacAdder laughed as only a man whose sister hadn’t fallen for an Englishman could do. “Bristol is too far south. The king was a fool for havin’ you take it.”

  Though he agreed, Toren was loath to say so. He’d only taken the holding on his king’s orders, but he’d never intended to lose it. It was the first time he had ever failed at anything, save being a good enough son to keep his mother from running back to England.

  “So you know of the youngest Waryn’s reputation then? ’Tis said the boy is becoming a man like his brothers.”

  Toren had heard. His own sister extolled the family’s merits on every occasion she had to do so. Some said Neill Waryn was as skilled as Bryce but as ruthless as Geoffrey. A combination he’d like to see for himself. He was the Waryn sibling Toren had yet to meet.

  “There he is.” Toren pointed to the English knight who was seneschal of Camburg Castle, one of Lady Sara Caiser’s holdings. The wife of the elder Waryn brother, Sir Geoffrey, was indirectly related to him now as well. It seemed his future was inextricably entwined with the Waryns whether he liked it or not.

  And he definitely did not.

  “He’s not a small man,” MacAdder said.

  Toren followed his countryman to a wooden fence lined with spectators. But rather than watch the fight, he found himself turning his head up toward the galleries. The glint of jewels and the vibrant colors of the ladies’ gowns was a sight to behold, but when he found himself seeking the blonde hair of a particular English rose, Toren turned back to the match.

  He would not allow himself to think of the softness of a particular woman’s lips, let alone the way his hands itched to explore every inch of her luscious body. He would not think of her lying next to him, naked, as he explored the quirks of her most interesting personality.

  The horn’s blast pulled him from his thoughts. Dangerous thoughts given her identity.

  At least she was not here, and with any luck would stay out of trouble.

  Not bloody likely.

  7

  “You what?”

  Juliette must have misheard her friend. It had sounded very much like, ‘I went to see the Scot in the tent city.’

  “When you caught me returning to my chamber. Matthew was none too happy. He’s threatened to have us both—”

  “Christina, please start from the beginning.”

  They sat on Juliette’s bed. Though her room wasn’t overly large, it was near miraculous both she and her “chaperones” had been given private rooms. If not for her father’s position, it never would have happened. The most important men and women in Northumbria, and others from across England, were in attendance. Wealthy, prominent families were housed here, while still others had found rooms in the nearby village. Nearly all of the tournament participants were relegated to the tent city.

  “And do stop rolling your eyes.”

  Juliette had spent the day considering her problem. Realizing Toren wanted naught to do with her, she had attempted to give serious consideration to other gentlemen in attendance.

  But after that futile and disheartening exercise, she’d spent most of the evening’s meal attempting to coax Christina into sharing the reason for her strange behavior—all while trying to avoid eye contact with the very men she’d considered earlier that day.

  When she wasn’t looking for Toren, of course. And attempting to dissuade herself from admitting she had, in fact, been looking for him.

  After saving her from the wretched Lord Blackburn, he’d disappeared for the remainder of the day, confirming his suspected disinterest in her.

  Finally, she’d gotten Christina up to her room and convinced her to tell her the truth.

  “So that’s why Hedford insisted on escorting us up here when we begged to retire early? But you’ve yet to explain what you could possibly have been thinking to go there unescorted. Not to mention. . . why?”

  “Shhhh,” Christina admonished. “Helen likely has her ears to the door right now. Matthew told her not to let me out of her sight. She insisted on stationing herself outside your door when I told her I was coming over here.”

  Juliette smiled. She imagined the woman cross-legged against the door. Though not much older than she and Christina, the woman’s ever-present stern expression made her appear twice their age. “Do you remember when Helen caught us sneaking out to the abbey? I was no more than ten and two.”

  Christina tucked her robe under her slippers and leaned forward. “Aye, she told her mother and none other. Thank the heavens.”

  Though they both adored Helen, whose family had served Christina’s for generations, they could have done without the extra pair of eyes throughout the years.

  Which would have made walking to the abbey after dark, alone, extremely dangerous.

  “Speaking of sneaking off. . .”

  “Right, that,” Christina said.

  She looked at the door once more and lowered her voice. “It was a bit foolish. But I’m so worried for you, Juliette. I just wanted to speak to the man. You know, to tell him not to hurt you.”

  Juliette grabbed a fistful of her hair, swept it to one side, and began to braid it. “I assumed as much.” She knew her friend had meant well, and once Christina had admitted to the visit, it had been easy enough to guess her purpose. “What did he say?”

  Christina raised her eyebrows.

  So her casual tone had not been so casual after all.

  “Christina!”

  “He said he had no intention of hurting you. Aren’t you afraid of him?”

  Not since the first time they’d met, and even then, she’d been more intimidated than afraid. “Nay. He does look quite fierce though.”

  “Something about him. . .” Christina shifted on the bed, the cream-and-lilac coverlet barely visible in the sparse light from the candle sitting beside the bed.

  “Did he say much else?”

  Christina shook her head. “Nay, he was quite guarded with his words. You said you spoke with him earlier. Did he give you any indication of his intentions?”

  “Aye, that he had none whatsoever. He fairly ran off the moment we met.”

  A knock at the door meant Matthew was back.

  “What will you do?”

  That was the very question that had plagued Juliette all afternoon. With less than a week to find a hus
band she could love—one who was capable of loving her in return—her choices were narrowing every day. None of the other men made her feel quite the way the Scottish chief did whenever she was in his presence. But he clearly had been avoiding her. If he had wished to see her again, he need only have made an appearance at supper.

  Then why had he kissed her? Twice.

  Because you asked him to. Simple as that.

  “I have to go.” Christina bounded off the bed and made her way to the door.

  She heard Hedford’s voice as Christina opened the door.

  “Conspiring against my. . .”

  Juliette couldn’t hear the rest, for Christina closed the door behind her, but Hedford didn’t sound angry. Perhaps her friend had gotten lucky after all. Husband and wife seemed to get along well enough, and Christina had confided in her that the marital act was actually quite enjoyable, although she refused to elaborate. Christina had always been the proper one, Juliette the hoyden.

  She was the one who’d always gotten them into trouble more often than not.

  Emboldened by tales of ladies doing far greater things than she had ever accomplished, she’d often get her friend into trouble. It was she who had suggested putting a dittany of crete in her father’s oats once as a lark, though the herb had no discernable effect on his affections for her mother. It was she who’d given the first jeweled necklace she’d ever received to a serving girl without realizing the girl’s parents would question such a prize. That incident had not at all pleased Juliette’s mother, but she’d overheard the girl telling another she would never own such a bauble. What else was she to do?

  And yet Christina was the one who had taken the real risk. She’d made her way to the tent city to speak with Toren.

  The idea that was taking place in her mind was outrageous. So much could go wrong.

  But who would stop her?

  If Christina had made her way there, surely she could do it too. Granted, it was dark and likely much more dangerous at this time of night. But what choice did she have?

  She had to know. Had she misread Toren’s feelings toward her? Should she forget about him and concentrate on finding love elsewhere? If so, she would know this night and not spend another precious moment pining for a man who wanted nothing to do with her.

  She moved quickly.

  Juliette dressed simply in a kirtle and sleeveless surcoat, leaving her hair braided and uncovered. She slipped on a pair of soft leather shoes and took the small, jeweled dagger her mother had given her. It had seemed an unusual gift at the time, especially coming from her mild-mannered mother. Her mother had explained that even though the abbey lay on the south border of their property, and Juliette always traveled with a guard, it would make her feel better to know she had the dagger with her.

  Her father had refused to offer her lessons on how to use such a weapon, so she had turned to the armorer, who was like a second father to her.

  Slipping the dagger into a pocket sewn into her kirtle, she took the lantern each guest was given for occasions such as these. Well, maybe not quite exactly like this one.

  Although no one gave her a second glance as she strode through the outer edge of the hall where the evening’s celebrations had finally begun to break up, she had no illusions that it would be as easy to find Toren’s tent safely.

  To him that will, ways are not wanting.

  A fine saying that she’d once read and oft repeated to herself, but staring out into the dark night from the enormous keep, Juliette wasn’t so sure about the truth of those words.

  Fires dotted the landscape. The men unwilling to attend the feast kept council here in the tent city. Toren was one of a handful of Scotsmen who had ventured to the earl’s domain, but tonight he had eaten with the men here, a simple meal of roasted duck. All hunting regulations had been lifted for the duration of the tournament, a fact both guests and servants of Condren were taking full advantage of.

  Though he’d managed to avoid Juliette for the remainder of the day, he had not stopped thinking of her. The sweetness of her kiss. Her innocence despite the fact that she seemed to entangle herself in very unladylike predicaments. On each occasion they’d met, she was either being harassed by an overzealous man or escaping the notice of her chaperone in situations bound to get her into trouble. It made him want to protect her, to tell the world that she was not to be trifled with.

  Where the devil was her father? He had thought to ask her directly that afternoon, but the rush of emotion he felt when Blackburn had laid hands on her. . . He had to get away from her. No doubt the father would arrive on the morrow, and though he didn’t like it, knowing the daughter would work in his favor. He wanted the deed done as quickly as possible.

  Before leaving for the night, his hired squire, who had already fed his horse and polished his armor, had left him a tankard of ale. His doubts had been alleviated. Toren would offer the lad a position in his household. Alfred was competent and obviously wanting for such a position. He’d speak with him on the morrow.

  He stood from the stool Alfred had fetched, a noise near MacDuff’s tent capturing his attention. Something was afoot, but before he could decide whether or not to involve himself, it seemed the fray was coming to him.

  As the outline of two people moved closer, he dropped the mug and grabbed his sword, which was never far from his hand. Though the shapes didn’t appear to be moving quickly, an abundance of caution was nearly always warranted.

  “You lost something, Kerr.”

  MacDuff. With. . . a woman?

  Nay, it couldn’t be.

  “Ye best tell her ’tis not safe to be conspiring with the enemy alone at night.”

  Juliette. What in God’s name was the woman doing here?

  “Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Juliette said, “but I believe you’ve mentioned that fact on more than one occasion.”

  “Ha! Sir. Do you hear that, Kerr? If I—”

  “My thanks, MacDuff.”

  With a final glance at Toren and Juliette, the aging laird, who participated in the tournament’s revelries but not the actual fighting, retreated to his own tent.

  “Bloody hell, woman, what were you thinking?”

  Not one, but two visits from English ladies today. The sparsely wooded field adjacent to the wall of the castle’s outer bailey was no place for any woman day or night. Married men who brought their wives to the tournament found shelter in the village, unless of course they were honored guests residing within the castle.

  His heart raced thinking about the dangers that could have befallen her. Juliette’s simple dress did nothing to temper her beauty. In fact, without any jewels or elaborate hairstyles, she looked even more lovely.

  His cock stirred, reminding him that he was alone with the very woman who’d haunted his dreams the last two mornings. He’d pictured her lips on his own more than once, and despite her last name, he looked at those lips now. Her tongue peeked out to wet them, and Toren imagined tracing that same path with his own.

  She had to leave.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, but you must—”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Not. . .” He took a deep breath. “Juliette, this is no place for—”

  “Until you answer a question.”

  She stood close enough for him to reach out and touch her. His hand ached to feel the softness of her bare skin under his rough, battle-hardened hands.

  “Does your friend know you’re here? Does anyone?”

  She was either extremely foolish or very naive.

  “Nay.” She stuck out her dainty chin and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “One question,” he agreed.

  He glanced back at MacDuff’s tent, but no one moved within it. Beyond that he could see only the light of several fires and the outline of the Condren Castle’s gatehouse. It was quiet, thankfully, for most of the men had retreated to their tents to prepare for the next day’s activities.

  “Wh
y did you kiss me?”

  Had he heard her correctly? She came to ask. . .

  “Why did I kiss you? Because you asked me to.”

  He glanced down at her breasts, which climbed higher as she tightened her arms about her chest.

  “Oh.”

  Her lips formed a perfect circle. She blinked, clearly not having expected that answer.

  To be fair, it was not entirely true. It was mad of him to say anything else, particularly when she seemed inclined to accept his lie, but he found himself speaking nonetheless.

  “I kissed you because I wanted to.” And because he wanted her. Now. “Come, I’ll take you back—”

  “You planned to leave but decided to stay. You wanted to kiss me but didn’t return to the castle this evening. Please help me understand.”

  She could never understand.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Nay, I should not. But I had to know.”

  A rider approached from the edge of camp, and though he turned before coming close enough to see them clearly, Toren lifted the flap of the tent and pulled his reckless Englishwoman inside.

  “You’re lucky it was MacDuff who found you. Do you have no care for your reputation? If you were found here. . .”

  Juliette held up her small metal lantern, the candle inside flickering.

  “’Tis small,” she said of the inside of his tent.

  Undeniably true. Although it offered enough room to stand, it didn’t afford much else.

  “I hadn’t planned on having company here.”

  The small space felt even smaller now. He’d reacted rashly, which was unlike him. But it really would serve no purpose for her to be seen here alone. Particularly not at this time of night.

  “Your—”

  “I know, my reputation. The carefully cultivated, always protected reputation of a lady nobly born. Mayhap I no longer wish to abide by rules that were made solely for the advancement of men. This is my only chance at adventure, and if you think I—”

  “Oh!”

  He took the lantern from her hand and placed it on the ground beside them. Pulling her to him, Toren cut off the rest of her speech short with the kiss he’d wanted to give her all day.