Alice perked up at the magic word. “We should go in.”
Joan’s smile betrayed none of her inward alarm. “It’s getting late. We need to get back to the castle if you are to have time to dress for the midday meal. We can come back next week after the fair when the crowds are gone.” She turned to Alex and finally she allowed their eyes to meet. If the shudder running through her was any indication, it had been a mistake. “I think we’ve taken enough of Sir Alex’s time today.”
Alex knew she was anxious to get rid of him, and forgetting for a moment that he’d been just as anxious to avoid her, it grated.
He smiled, knowing how much he was about to annoy her. “I have all the time in the world, my lady. I am at your command.”
Her mouth pressed in a tight line, and he had to force himself not to laugh even if what he’d said wasn’t exactly true. He’d been pursuing a lead when he’d noticed the ladies—or rather one lady in particular—in the crowd. He might have let her go had he not noticed their lack of escort.
Letting her go is what he’d been trying to do for the past week. As he would be at Berwick for the foreseeable future—or at least until he uncovered the spy—he knew he wouldn’t be able to completely avoid her, but he’d been doing his damnedest to try. Too often, however, he’d found his gaze straying in her direction.
He couldn’t look at her without thinking about what he’d done, and that aroused very conflicting feelings in him. He was ashamed of his actions—he’d never treated a lady so dishonorably—but neither could he forget how incredible it had felt. Holding her . . . kissing her . . . it had felt so damned right. Which didn’t make any sense as it was so wrong in every way.
Thus stymied, he’d focused his attention instead on identifying the spy, methodically going through what he knew about the information that had leaked and trying to match it with the most likely suspects. As much as he hated to admit it—and he really hated to admit it—Pembroke was probably right in that it was likely a Scot.
It made the most sense. The one English suspect, Ralph de Monthermer, Robert Bruce’s former friend who most of the Guard assumed had been the source, had been away from England for much of the past few years patrolling the Irish Sea. Given the kind of information that had been passed, it was much more likely to have come from someone in the Borders.
Alex was actually certain of it. He had information no one else in the English camp had. He knew the spy had been in the Roxburgh area a few years ago, as Lamont’s wife, Janet—who’d been posing as a nun—had been the contact.
Unfortunately, narrowing it down to Roxburgh a few years ago didn’t help much, as the Border stronghold had been second only to Berwick as a headquarters for the English army at the time of Edward II’s first campaign. Most of Edward’s commanders—men who would have been in position to hear important information—would have been through Roxburgh at that time, as would the Scot barons in the Borders. Men like Alexander Abernathy, the Umfravilles (both the Earl of Angus and Sir Ingrim), William de Soules, Sir David Brechin, and Sir Adam Gordon.
Gordon. There was another connection that Alex kept coming back to other than that Sir Adam’s nephew had been a Guardsman. One he wished to hell he didn’t know about. Janet’s twin sister, Mary—Sutherland’s wife—had been extremely close to Sir Adam. Alex also knew that Sir Adam secretly had passed on information about making black powder to Sutherland not long before Janet showed up in Roxburgh. Had that been all he’d passed on or was there more?
Alex didn’t want to believe it was possible. Sir Adam was too honorable, too noble to be a spy. He was the last man Alex wanted to suspect.
But when he’d seen the older warrior leave the castle early this morning, Alex had followed him. Alex hadn’t expected it to lead to anything, but Sir Adam had gone to the priory at Coldingham where Lamberton, the Bishop of St. Andrews and one of Bruce’s most loyal compatriots, had been for years.
It could be a coincidence, and something told Alex it was, but he’d been on his way to confront Sir Adam when he’d noticed Joan and her cousins wandering the fair.
He’d been unable to resist. Just like he’d been unable to resist prodding her.
She was still glaring at him when her cousin responded to his offer to accompany them into the shop. It was the same mercery that Joan had been standing in front of before. The lass must like to shop through windows.
“You are very kind, Sir Alex,” Lady Margaret said. “But I’m afraid my cousin is right. We had best get back to the castle.”
“Then allow me to escort you,” Alex said.
“That isn’t—”
“I insist,” Alex said, cutting off Joan with a devilish grin. What was it about the lass that provoked him to wickedness?
Suspecting he knew, he sobered. This attraction was damned inconvenient. Not to mention uncomfortable. All he had to do was stand next to her and his body responded. He knew he should stay away from her, but knowing was easier than doing.
He was glad when Margaret engaged her sister in conversation. Alice de Beaumont was undoubtedly a beauty, but she was also spoiled and vain. The kind of woman who expected to be fawned over and flirted with—neither of which he was going to do.
He and Joan walked in surprisingly companionable silence for a while. He had to reach out and steady her when someone in the crowd jostled her. The way she flinched from his touch stung. “Are you still angry with me? You have every right to be.”
She gave him a sidelong glance that might have held a hint of reproach for bringing up the subject that she was obviously trying to ignore. But that was like trying to ignore a purple horse.
“I am not angry with you. If I am mad at anyone, it is myself.” She paused, shifting her gaze. “I shouldn’t have provoked you.”
She was blushing again, as she’d done earlier when her overzealous efforts to be rid of him had caught her cousin’s attention. He had to disagree with Lady Alice, however. Joan’s cheeks weren’t the color of beets; they were a much prettier rosy shade of pink.
The girlish blush was adorable and so far from the seductive siren she was at other times, it was hard to jibe the two.
Actually they didn’t jibe, and the incongruity intrigued him. She intrigued him. Was she the blushing, sweet young maid who’d charmed him the first time they’d met, or the practiced seductress linked to a number of men?
The more he watched her and the more time they spent together, the more something about the siren didn’t feel right. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part? Maybe he wanted to believe that she might not be so wrong.
His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Aye, well it wasn’t without cause. I had no right to speak that way to you. My only excuse—and it’s not a good one—is that I was not in the best frame of mind.” He paused. “I know what you do is none of my business, but I just think someone should be looking out for you.”
She lifted a brow. “Was that an apology?”
He grinned. “Aye, it was meant to be, although I guess it wasn’t a very good one.”
He was surprised and enormously pleased when she grinned back at him. “Well, it is accepted. But you do not need to worry yourself on my account, Sir Alex. I do have someone watching out for me.”
“Who?”
“The person in the best position to do so.”
He understood the gentle reproach—even if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her. “Yourself.”
She nodded, pleased that he’d guessed.
They had just passed over the second wooden drawbridge and through the final gate before entering the castle when he said, “You and I got off on a bad foot.”
She looked up at him, and the feel of those velvety dark blue eyes on his gave him a little jolt. “Don’t you mean bad ankle?”
He laughed. “Aye, well maybe you are right, but I should like to change it.”
She peered up at him from under her lashes almost shyly. “I should like that, too.”
“Good�
��”
The rest of what he’d been about to say was cut off by a man who’d emerged from a crowd in the yard.
“There you are,” the man boomed, walking toward them.
Alex stiffened. Bloody hell, Despenser was back.
“I was about to come looking for you,” he added. Despenser’s eyes had been fixed on Joan, but now they slid to Lady Alice. “Your maid said you’d been gone some time.”
“There was no cause for concern,” Lady Margaret interjected, turning to Alex with an appreciative smile. “Sir Alex was generous enough to escort us.”
“I can see that,” Sir Hugh said through a very narrowed gaze directed at Alex.
His displeasure was obvious. Alex didn’t give a shite, but Lady Joan hastened to explain. “The fair was more crowded than we expected. When we ran into Sir Alex he insisted on accompanying us.”
Alex gritted his teeth. It was clear what she was trying to do. She didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings about their relationship.
The explanation seemed to serve its intent in mollifying the young lord.
It didn’t, however, have the same effect on Alex. He was getting that possessive, protective feeling again racing through his veins, and he knew he better remove himself before he did or said something to ruin the tentative truce he and Lady Joan had just forged. Like maybe smashing his fist through Despenser’s pretty teeth.
With a short bow to the ladies, Alex excused himself and walked away. While he still could.
10
THIS WAS A mistake. Joan’s instincts were screaming again, but she’d put Sir Hugh off for as long as she could.
It should be safe enough, she thought with an uneasy glance around as they entered the quiet stables. But the soldiers were still practicing in the yard nearby, and even if quiet now, the stables would not be for long.
Anticipating Sir Hugh’s movements, she spun away from him—and his embrace—as soon as they entered. “Now where is this great hero?” she asked playfully, hands on her hips. “You swore on your honor as a knight that the greatest hero in the castle slept in the barn. I hope it was not a trick.”
Sir Hugh’s smile held a hint of definite mischief. “You thought I would lie to get you alone? Well, I might, but in this case I did not. Come, see for yourself.”
When he started to lead her toward one of the stalls in the back, she grew even more certain something was afoot. But she forced herself to keep walking. She could handle this. She could handle him. Something was going on with the English command, and she was determined to know what it was.
He stopped, leaning over the wooden gate to point at a small, furry black lump in the straw. “There he is.”
Frowning, but undeniably curious, Joan leaned forward and identified the lump as a sleeping dog. A very small and ratty-looking sleeping dog. Suddenly the tiny creature looked up, leapt to its feet, and started barking crazily at her.
She winced at the sound, which was actually more of a high-pitched yap than a bark. But goodness, the little thing was so ugly it was cute.
Suddenly she understood Sir Hugh’s riddle.
Even though this little beast had caused her Highland Guard brethren a lot of trouble, she couldn’t help but smile.
Sir Hugh was clever, she would give him that. “This is the dog that alerted the guards and prevented the castle from being taken by the rebels two Decembers past.”
Gregor “Arrow” MacGregor had had the dog in his sights, but he’d hesitated to shoot, and the dog’s yapping had alerted the garrison to their presence, ruining their chance to take the important castle. According to Lachlan, that hesitation had made Gregor the butt of many jests in the Guard, but after seeing the dog, Joan understood. She wouldn’t have been able to shoot either.
Sir Hugh looked mildly disappointed. “You weren’t supposed to guess so easily.”
“It was hard not to with that bark.” She winced again as it continued. “This little guy is very well known throughout the Borders.”
“So you agree, then? I will have my apology now. You maligned my honor by suggesting trickery,” he said with mock gravity.
She laughed. “Very well, I apologize. You were right: the greatest hero at Berwick sleeps in the stables.”
She bent over to quiet the dog and quickly realized her mistake when he came up behind her. “I think I’ll require more of an apology than that.”
His husky voice left no doubt of his meaning. She tamped down the alarm bells ringing in her head.
He put his hands on her hips, and knowing that she was seconds away from having her bottom pressed against a part of him she had no interest in feeling, she stood up quickly and tried to spin away. But this time he anticipated her movement, and instead he turned her into his embrace.
She gasped as her chest collided with his. “Now that’s better,” he said huskily, pushing her up against the wall of the stall. “God, you feel good.”
Joan wished she could say the same. There was nothing objectively wrong with him. His breath didn’t smell like herring, his lips weren’t too puffy or his nose too long. His neatly trimmed beard wasn’t peppered with crumbs from the midday meal. His body was hard and lean with enough well-sculpted muscle to make a woman’s heart jump.
But hers was jumping for an entirely different reason.
She didn’t understand this dread—this near panic. She’d been in this situation before and she’d never had such a problem detaching. But never before had it felt so wrong. Never before had she compared it to another. And never before had it made her feel as if she needed to dive into the loch.
Alex’s kiss had stripped her of her armor of indifference.
One glance at Sir Hugh’s face and she read his intent. Her pulse took another vicious jump. He’s going to kiss me . . .
“You never told me about your journey,” she blurted.
The slow descent of his mouth stopped. His eyes narrowed just enough for her to realize she had best be careful. Her vaunted subtlety in questioning had apparently deserted her.
“No, I didn’t.”
Her heart was hammering so loud she feared he could hear it in her voice. “It must have been important.”
His expression didn’t change. She felt a bit like a bug under a rock that had just been lifted. “It was.”
“The king must value you greatly.”
Misinterpreting her interest as she’d intended, he smiled. “He does.”
He thought she liked his power and importance—she did, but not for the reasons he imagined. Unfortunately, it appeared Sir Hugh was not a boaster. She needed to find out about his mission.
He started to lower his mouth again, and she told herself she could do this—how bad could it be?—but at the last minute she turned her face so that his mouth landed on her cheek and jaw instead. He didn’t seem to mind the detour, as his mouth descended to devour her throat and neck.
“I was bored all week,” she blurted again, trying to think about anything other than what he was doing. But the feel of his mouth on her skin made it crawl as if a jar of spiders had just been poured on her. “There was so little to do. It stormed for a few days, and then everyone was getting ready for the fair . . .” She rambled on for a few more minutes, but nothing could distract her—or him.
His mouth left her throat to cover her mouth. It was that bad. Her body’s rejection was instantaneous. She felt it in every fiber of her being. No! She wanted to scream. Her muscles tensed with the instinctive response to break free.
But she forced herself not to move. It was a job. It served a higher purpose. This wasn’t her. She didn’t feel anything. It was just a kiss.
But the cold detachment she’d always been able to muster wasn’t there. She felt everything, and the sensation of his lips pressing intently—lustily—against hers . . .
Oh God, she couldn’t do this.
She pushed away—or tried to push away—breaking the kiss if not his hold on her. “Wait!” she said in a ga
sp.
His arms tightened around her. She’d never been locked in irons, but she suspected the sensation was the same.
“Wait for what?” he said angrily.
“I . . . uh . . . anyone might discover us. Besides . . .” She smiled broadly and she hoped with considerably less trepidation than she was feeling. “We should get to know each other a little better first.”
It was all she could think of to put him off. Goodness knew her trick with marriage wouldn’t work with Sir Hugh—he would never believe she was foolish enough to consider marriage.
His dark eyes held a warning that he was not in the mood for delays or games. “I already know all I need to, and we know each other plenty well.” He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why are you suddenly playing the blushing maid? I thought you wanted this. Or maybe there’s something else you want from me?” His eyes drew as sharp as daggers. “Did the queen put you up to this? Are you spying on me?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed adamantly. But his accusation hit too close to the truth. She’d roused his suspicions, and knowing she had to put a stop to it, she didn’t protest when his mouth covered hers again.
She tried—truly she did—for all of about three seconds. But when he attempted to push his tongue between her lips, the panic—the revulsion—was too overwhelming. She couldn’t bear it. Not another moment.
She tried to push away a second time, but he wasn’t having it. The arms that were wrapped around her were like chains of steel. He wasn’t going to let her go.
She struggled, a moment of panic overtaking her as the memories came rushing back. But only for an instant. She would never let that feeling of helplessness take hold of her—she would never let a man hurt her like that again.
Her movements were smooth and quick, as if practiced a thousand times—which wasn’t too far off. Lachlan was a difficult taskmaster and demanded perfection. She’d been glad of it now and had been more than once.
She moved her left hand to his right arm to grab the inside of his elbow and lifted her right to his left cheek. Neither movement was threatening, but when done together . . .
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