The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3)

by Cecelia Mecca

  He placed his hand on Toren’s arm and squeezed it. Remembering that his question had not yet been answered, he called out,“When did this incident happen?” to Gregory’s retreating back.

  The impatient lover turned just enough to call out, “More than ten days ago if memory serves.”

  Toren froze. So Douglas had known about his kin when he’d sent Toren to the tourney yet decided not to relay that particular bit of information.

  Although he was not fond of learning information had been withheld, that bastard could not get away with such insolence any longer.

  As much as Toren despised his mission, Douglas and his king were right. The warden could not be allowed to let murderers keep their freedom. Left unchecked, these incidents would destroy any chance of peace along the border.

  Hallington had to be replaced.

  And unfortunately, it was up to him to ensure it happened.

  “You what?” Christina asked.

  Juliette paced back and forth, pulling her robe tighter around her shoulders. She’d changed into a soft white chemise, though if Toren was truly coming to call, she would need to wear a proper dress. She opened the trunk where her gowns were stored, attempting to find one that would not require the assistance of a maid.

  She’d made a mistake.

  What is wrong with me? One moment I want to slit the man’s throat for his duplicity, and as soon as he offers a few fancy words of apology, I find myself welcoming him to my private chambers.

  She stopped looking in the trunk and glanced at Christina, who was dressed in a similar manner. She hadn’t planned on telling her friend about this particular predicament, but the anxiety that had welled up in her as she waited for Toren had changed her mind.

  Despite her reservations, she was beginning to quite like Hedford. Another man might have railed at her for knocking on his door late at night, but after answering her insistent knock—the sword in his hand had seemed unnecessary; all the same, she was grateful he was protective of his wife—he’d sent Christina over to her bedchamber. Now Christina sat on a cushioned chair before the small hearth, staring at her in open disbelief.

  “When you said you wanted an adventure, I suppose you quite meant it. Seeking out a man in the tent city, alone, at night. Inviting him to your bedchamber. Have you truly gone mad?”

  Juliette forgot the gowns and began to pace again.

  “I believe so. But I may remind you, I’m not the only guilty one. Someone gave me the idea to seek him out there.”

  “Oh, no! That was during the day, and he hasn’t shown a predilection to kiss me every time I’m near him.”

  Juliette shuddered at the thought of her friend in Toren’s arms. Or any other woman for that matter. And if he thought she hadn’t seen him flirt with nearly every maiden in the hall that eve, the man was sorely mistaken. Her efforts to keep from looking at him had failed miserably.

  “The man is like my very own Vivienne of the Lake.”

  She stopped pacing long enough to see Christina’s confused expression.

  “Vivienne of the Lake. She raised Lancelot. Merlin knew she would entrap him once she had all of his secrets of magic, but he was still powerless to stop her. The entrancement she’d cast on him was too strong. And so, after learning all she could from the wizard, the Lady of the Lake trapped him in a tree!”

  Christina’s laugh forced Juliette to smile despite herself.

  “Tell your Scotsman he is akin to your own Lady of the Lake, and you’ll no longer need to worry about what to do with him. He’ll likely run for the hills of Scotland, leaving you—”

  “With no prospects for love.” And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? That was why she had so readily accepted his apology even after swearing to do no such thing.

  Christina leaned forward to place her hands closer to the fire. Though it was a warm summer night outside, the thick stone walls of the castle lent a chill to the rooms once the sun set. This particular bedchamber was adorned with tapestries on every wall and was not lacking for any luxuries. But the fire still offered a welcome warmth.

  “Since you refuse to tell me what he did to warrant an apology, I can’t comment. But I can advise you not to entertain a man you’ve known for a few days in your private chambers. If anyone were to find out—”

  “Who would know unless Toren announces it on his way here? This is one of the most remote corridors in the castle. Aside from us and Hedford, none are housed here. And all the servants are downstairs in the hall.” Then it occurred to her. “You won’t tell—”

  “Nay, of course not. But what if he overhears voices in here? The walls are thick, but—”

  “I haven’t heard one sound from your chamber yet. Which reminds me. . . I’ve been meaning to ask a bit more about the marriage bed. What exactly—”

  A knock at the door nearly startled her off her feet.

  What have I done?

  “Christina.” She implored her friend, but didn’t know why. . . or what she wanted from her.

  They stared at one another. The longer Toren stood outside, if it were truly him, the greater the possibly he would be caught. That could not be allowed.

  Her friend’s nod was so slight she nearly missed it.

  Juliette rushed to the door and pulled the iron handle toward her.

  She stood staring at Toren for what seemed like an eternity. She hadn’t truly believed he would come. But he stood before her nonetheless, dressed in the same black and silver-trimmed surcoat he’d worn at dinner. His frame was nearly as large as the opening of the door itself.

  A cough behind her reminded her they weren’t alone.

  “Sir, I ask the same of you now as I did yesterday. Good eve.” With that, Christina brushed past Toren, who continued in the doorway. “And I suggest you not remain standing there for much longer unless you’re looking to be the subject of quite a scandal.”

  Juliette opened the door wider in invitation and Toren walked through it. As he brushed past her, a flood of warmth seemed to creep from her toes upward. She closed the door and turned, not knowing what to say.

  “Good evening, Jules.”

  9

  How did one force a casual tone with a man standing in one’s bedchamber? Should she ask him to take a seat? What exactly was the protocol?

  There is no protocol, fool. You’ve broken every rule.

  “Your friend does not object to me being here?” Toren asked.

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  He smiled. A devastating, sensual smile that reached his eyes. It really was quite warm in here.

  “Do you mind?”

  He indicated the chair Christina had vacated a moment earlier. Juliette nodded and made her way to the one adjacent to it. She sat and folded her hands on her lap.

  “You’re nervous.”

  “I’ve never entertained a man in my bedchamber before.”

  “Hmmm.” He leaned forward, close enough that his distinct but pleasant smell overpowered the fumes emitted by the fire. “I would expect not.”

  “Why are you here?”

  She had her suspicions, of course—and they both frightened and excited her—but Juliette cautioned herself to remain calm.

  “I wanted to see you. To speak to you. Our brief conversation below stairs left some things unsaid.”

  She decided to be blunt. “You’re here to talk?”

  She was not disappointed.

  Toren stood and took a step toward the fire. He picked up the iron and moved a log that had begun to suffocate the flames below it.

  When he was done, he turned and looked at her.

  “I would seduce you if I could, Jules. I’d show you what it’s like between a man and a woman.”

  She could not breathe.

  “But I will not dishonor you in that way. I’m here because I wished to see you. Speak to you. Hold you in my arms for a brief moment before my good sense returns.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes, but Juliette
sensed he was being truthful. And she didn’t know what to make of it. Of course that’s what she wanted as well. She couldn’t give herself to a man who was not her husband. And Toren Kerr was certainly not her husband.

  But could he be?

  “I do not understand you,” she admitted.

  Not knowing what to do with her hands, she reached behind her to gather her unruly locks and pulled them to one side.

  He stared at her in such a way that a strange feeling between her legs demanded her attention. It was like a family of butterflies had invaded her body.

  “From the moment I caught you running from that wayward knight, I’ve been drawn to you in a way I’ve never been drawn to a woman.”

  “And that is bad?”

  She had planned to question him again for lying about his purpose here, but instead found herself wanting to avoid the topic altogether.

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Shall I be honest with you?”

  Juliette held her breath. Something about his tone had changed. It was more serious, more ominous, and she nearly said no.

  “Aye.”

  He sat back once more and simply looked at her.

  “I have not once lied to you, Toren, and don’t intend to. Please give me the same courtesy.”

  Still, he was silent.

  Finally, he leaned forward and took her hand. “I want you. I want to be with you. But we could never marry. Which is why this unnatural desire for you is dangerous. In truth, I should not be here right now.”

  If she were to place her hand on her chest, Juliette knew she would be able to feel her heart beneath the thick fabric of her ermine-lined robe. It thudded a hard and fast rhythm. The words she wished to say were dangerous. Her father would disown her. Her mother would be appalled. Sister Heloise and the nuns would pray for her soul.

  “Show me anyway.”

  “Jules, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly well, so please do not treat me like a wayward child. You are prepared for the time when you do marry. I—”

  “It has nothing to do with—”

  She took her hand from his and raised it into the air, palm outward. Juliette may not be wise to many things, but she did know this. If Toren did not want to marry her, then she would not shame herself by trying to convince him otherwise.

  But by all that was holy, she would not marry Lord Wytham or enter a nunnery without ever having known what it was like to be with a man who desired her—one whom she desired in return.

  “If I’m to be doomed to a loveless marriage, I would like to first know what it feels like to be with a man of my choosing.”

  Toren began pacing back and forth along the foot of her bed, following in her footsteps, as it were, though he didn’t seem to realize what he was doing. He stopped and looked at her as if wondering how she could bear to sit so still.

  All of her doubts seemed to float into the air and disappear like the ash that periodically floated up from the fire.

  “What you’re asking is impossible. What of Lord Wytham?”

  “How do you know his name?”

  Toren Kerr surprised her even now.

  She was thankful when he returned to his chair. The man was making her dizzy, and her room felt twice as small with him in it.

  “An old friend may have mentioned it earlier. So you are, in truth, all but betrothed? I thought you came here to find—”

  “Love. I came with Christina and her husband, knowing it would be my final chance to follow a destiny of my own choosing. We’re not yet betrothed, but my father plans to make it official as soon as I return. I suppose there are worse candidates.”

  That was honesty. Of sorts. She couldn’t bear to voice her convent plan aloud just yet.

  “When you return? Isn’t your father coming here? Don’t you mean when you both return?”

  She opened her mouth to answer and then closed it. There was something about his choice of words that stilled her tongue.

  “I want to know why you are here to speak to my father before answering that.”

  The turn of their conversation was a welcome one. Speaking so openly of being intimate with him was exciting. . . but also uncomfortable.

  He cocked his head to the side, as if measuring her response. At times, even though she fully trusted him not to harm her, Juliette was reminded that Toren was very much a border lord, chief of his clan and a true warrior.

  This was one of those times.

  “I will have your word—”

  “I would not speak of it to anyone,” she interrupted.

  He didn’t look convinced, but he continued nonetheless. “Those rumors you mentioned—”

  “That he is taking bribes to protect Englishmen from being brought to justice on truce days.”

  “Aye. I’m here to treat with him. Ensure—”

  “He’s not.”

  Juliette crossed her arms and prepared to defend her father. He was harsh at times, but in his peculiar way, Juliette knew he did love her. Moreover, he was a good man who intended to use everything in his power to establish peace along the border. She refused to hear anything untoward said against him.

  “He’s not taking bribes. My father has spent his entire life cultivating peace for the people who live in fear that lawless reivers, English and Scottish alike, will steal their goods, rape their women, or raze their lands. I know my father, have lived with him my whole life, and can tell you the rumors are not true. He—”

  “What?” Toren stood and walked toward her. “What, Juliette?”

  Juliette stood too, for she would not let him intimidate her.

  They were so close she could hear him breathing. She wanted to reach out to touch him. His face. His hair. The broad shoulders that she could see rising and falling with each breath he took.

  “I don’t know.” She was no longer thinking of her father.

  “You don’t. . .”

  He stopped talking. Instead he pulled her to him.

  He wrapped his hands around her back and brought his mouth down to hers. Covering it, he kissed her so passionately she forgot to breathe. His hands moved to the front of her robe, untied the string that held it together, and shoved the material from her shoulders. She heard a soft “whoosh” as it hit the floor.

  Suddenly, his hands were everywhere. They moved up the front of her chemise to grasp both breasts, and that tingling feeling she’d felt earlier, deep within her core, returned. The gentle squeezing made her want to get closer to him. She tightened her hands around his neck, pulling him toward her, deepening their kiss. His mouth moved so expertly over her own she vaguely wondered where he’d learned such a skill.

  His groan emboldened her. She tugged at the hem of his surcoat, and he pulled away just long enough to rid himself of the offending garment. Kissing her once again, Toren pressed against her until she could clearly feel the evidence of his need.

  Everywhere her hands explored there was muscle. She boldly moved her hands under his shirt to explore his bare chest and was rewarded with an expanse of warm, tight flesh very much unlike her own. She moved her hands up his back, delighting in the play of his muscles under her fingers.

  But then he pulled away, taking all the wonderful sensations with him.

  “Ah God, lass. I want you so badly.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

  “I want you to be sure.”

  “I am—”

  “Nay, I want you to have time to think about the ramifications of what you’re offering. You’ll not go to your husband a virgin, and that’s no small matter.”

  “There are ways—”

  “It takes but just one time for a man and woman to be together for a babe to result.”

  “Have you lain with women before?”

  He scowled. “Aye, but—”

  “And do you have any children?”<
br />
  “Nay, but the women I’ve—”

  “Then we’re settled.” She would not be swayed on this.

  “Nay, lass, we’re not settled. Think on it. Let your friend dissuade you from such foolishness.”

  “I will, and she may try, but—”

  “If you still feel this way on the morrow, give me your favor during the joust. I will come to you then.”

  She felt at peace with her decision and did not need to wait until the morrow to tell him that her favor was his. But she sensed the stubborn man would not take her word for it.

  “Then I shall see you tomorrow on the lists.”

  Toren looked at her for a moment longer. Would he kiss her again?

  Nay, he tore his gaze away and walked to his discarded surcoat. Picking it up and donning it once again, he turned toward her but did not come close. He nodded instead, and turned and left her chamber.

  Her favor. Tomorrow she would give him that and quite a bit more.

  Christ, what was wrong with him?

  He hated feeling so out of control. This was precisely why he should not have gone to her chamber last eve. And why he was a fool to even consider riding toward her now and announcing their connection so publicly.

  Already, she could connect him to her father’s death when it happened—he’d admitted to being here to speak with the man. If he took her favor today, others might make that same connection. And yet. . . in a perverse way, he was eager to declare his intentions. A thought that was utterly irrational—his mission precluded any real connection between them, and Juliette was all but betrothed.

  Toren hadn’t visited her chamber last night intending to schedule an assignation. He’d simply wanted, needed, to talk with her for longer than the brief dance had allowed.

  Who was he really fooling?

  But to take her virginity? He couldn’t do it. Nay, shouldn’t do it. It mattered not that Juliette seemed resolved in her decision. Who could blame her? But while it wasn’t unheard of for a woman to lose her virginity before marriage, and there were indeed ways around both of the problems he had mentioned, there was a barrier between them most did not have.

  He was supposed to kill her father.