The Protector's Promise (Border Series Book 7)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “Sir Roger, son of Lord Wellingstone?”

  Lord Wellingstone was an honorable man, one who fought on the side of peace at the border. He assumed the son was no less.

  The man looked up at him as conversation ceased around him.

  “The same,” the heavily bearded man replied.

  “You serve Almain now?”

  “Until my knight service ends, aye.”

  Almain’s men would never betray him. To do so would risk the wrath of a man who could wreak havoc on their lives. That meant Court could not be direct in his line of questioning, but he didn’t need to be direct to discern if his suspicions were correct.

  “And will you take Moordon with us?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the man’s face.

  The look that passed over Sir Roger’s face—and the visages of his companions—told Court that none of them were particularly pleased about this particular mission.

  “We will,” he said only.

  Court had his answer.

  “Enjoy the meal and the hospitality of Camburg.” He inclined his head to the others. “Good day, sirs.”

  With that, his course of action firm, Court waited for his guest to arrive. Ignoring the activity around him, he sat. And drank. Waiting for his future to be decided.

  Unfortunately, a certain redheaded vixen distracted him from the task at hand. Instead, he saw her waking up beside him, felt her soft flesh beneath his hands.

  “I want that claim.”

  “Then it is yours.”

  No matter what happened between them, or to him, Court did this for her.

  And for the borderlands.

  He had one hope. Robert Burnell, the king’s chancellor and co-regent of England, was the only man who could challenge Almain and the only person to whom Court could appeal if he hoped to refuse Almain’s request but keep his head.

  When Almain finally reappeared and was escorted to the high table, Court did not wait for him to be seated. He’d finish this now.

  “Before you sit, Your Grace,” he said, not quieting his voice or caring who heard them. “I would know one thing.”

  The man’s mask of confidence slipped. “Which is?”

  “Does this attack have Burnell’s full support?”

  It was a guess. A wild guess at that. But with the cloud of his own ambitions lifted, Court could see so much more clearly.

  And one glance at Almain told him his suspicions were once again right.

  “What is this?” Almain’s voice was tinged with anger, and perhaps a bit of fear as well.

  “I asked if this attack on Moordon has the support of Robert Burnell.”

  “Listen to me well,” Almain spat, “I am regent to Edward I, King of England, and you are nothing. Certainly no one to be questioning me. You will take Moordon Castle or see yourself locked in the Tower.”

  He’d expected the threat.

  “For?”

  “Treason. Disobeying direct orders from your king.” Almain, furious, turned to look at his men. Though he’d brought several of them, Court had many more retainers who were already present. The man turned back to Court. “You will pay for this display. As will Kenshire.”

  He could endure threats to himself, but Court would not allow one against Geoffrey and Sara. They had naught to do with his foolishness, and they would not suffer for it, even if he did. “If it is peace you want, I will give it. My allies at the border will quell this unrest and uphold the Treaty of York. Is that not truly the goal?”

  By speaking openly, he backed Almain into a corner. A very dangerous proposition, especially given the man’s open show of temper, but the only one he had.

  “That will not happen,” Almain snapped. “When Moordon grows stronger, and it will, the Scots will push back into our own borders. They’ll have the foothold they need to destroy us.”

  “Nay, they will not.”

  Everyone, including Almain, turned to look at the entrance of the hall where Marion stood tall and proud, engaging with a man who could summon England to war with her own country if he so desired. Even this far from her, Marion’s voice was clear and strong.

  God, she was magnificent. And judging from Almain’s expression, very much in trouble.

  She’d arrived just in time.

  Marion walked toward Court, trying to appear unaffected by the icy waves of air emanating from the man who stood at the back of his hall as if he owned both it and all of England. She’d learned from Court’s confidence, and if there was ever a time to appear confident, it was now.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction,” Almain said, making clear with his tone how very displeased he was with her interruption.

  Court obliged. “Meet Lady Marion Rosehaugh, daughter of the 3rd Earl of Ormonde—”

  “And Moordon,” she said, adding her father’s most recent acquisition to his title. She arrived at Court’s side and, turning to face Almain, continued, “I am also the betrothed of Lord Thornhurst, seneschal of Camburg Castle.” She did not dare look at Court. “So I can assure you, my father will not declare war against his daughter’s husband. Or any of his southern neighbors.”

  Almain’s face turned a dreadful shade of purple and red at her declaration, but she forged ahead anyway. “He is very much committed to the thirty-year treaty, to the Days of Truce, and to peace along the border. Enough so to ensure its success with this marriage.”

  Marion did chance a look at her supposed future husband. His expression impressed her—he looked nothing like a man who had just learned about his own betrothal.

  “Why . . . ,” Almain sputtered. “You said you were prepared to attack,” he finally managed, enraged.

  “I could not understand why you insisted on this raid,” Court pressed him. “It took some time for me to realize that your concern is for your own interests, not for England,” he told him boldly. “But as you can see, there’s no reason to pose this attack. Marion’s father is—”

  “I know who Ormonde is,” Almain spat out.

  The regent wanted to punish Court. A new chill ran up her back. This man intended to hurt the people she loved and, if allowed, would strike at the very heart of the treaty that had allowed some modicum of peace in the borderlands these last few decades.

  When she felt Court’s hand, Marion thought he was attempting to interlace his fingers with hers until she felt the chain.

  The stone.

  She took his hand then, and together they held the stone. In that moment, any vestiges of cold were gone, replaced with the exact opposite. A warmth so consuming it felt as if she and Court had ventured outside to stand under the bright summer sun. She wasn’t sure if Court felt it too.

  Almain stared at them, wide-eyed, and then turned to look at the men gathered in the hall. Marion had not noticed earlier, but Court’s men looked as if they were prepared to fight at any moment. None had unsheathed their swords, but they were clearly ready to commit treason for their lord. For if they did strike down Almain or any of his men, it would be akin to an attack on the king himself.

  Even so, Almain would be taking a great risk if he punished her love. He would be declaring, once and for all, that he was an enemy of peace.

  The tension hung in the air for a long moment, and then without warning, Almain’s chin rose and he addressed Court very differently than he had before. “Very good, Thornhurst. You’ve done well to avoid bloodshed and secure the western border.” He nodded to them both. “Congratulations on your impending nuptials.”

  Marion thought carefully about her next words and decided to forge ahead.

  “I do believe Halbury would suffice as a wedding gift.”

  For a moment, she thought perhaps she’d pushed too far. But when Almain threw his hands up in the air as if granting a wish, she smiled for the first time since entering the hall.

  “Of course, of course. Thornhurst,” he said to Court, “Halbury is yours.”

  Almain’s men looked at him as if he’
d gone mad, but she sensed no rush of cold from them. They had not brought any malintent to Court’s hall. They’d only gone along with their leader.

  “We shall stay to celebrate.”

  With that, he walked around the dais to the side where she and Court stood and sat next to Court as if he’d not threatened him moments earlier.

  Would they really sit and eat with this man as if nothing had happened? It appeared so. But Marion was afraid to let go of the stone. What if it was controlling Almain’s behavior? What if he reversed his position as soon as they released it?

  Court finally decided for them, letting the stone fall into her hand as he pulled away. She looked at him as he walked around to the other side of the table. Following, Marion sat alongside him and caught Kenneth’s glance. He had not known she would declare herself betrothed to Court. She had not known herself. But oddly, he did not look surprised. She smiled, hoping to reassure him and the others that all would be well. After the day she’d put them through, they were owed an explanation. And she would give it to them.

  After she and Court had the opportunity to talk about what had transpired. And whether or not they were indeed going to become man and wife.

  11

  They must have appeared to Almain like any other couple, but he and Marion were anything but. She played the part well, smiling and laughing as if she’d not just set down one of the most powerful men in England. Court wasn’t sure what to think of her performance, aside from being grateful for her timely entrance. But he needed to know her mind.

  Now.

  “If you will excuse us,” he said, at the risk of further insulting Almain by being the first to leave. “I must escort my lady to her room. You will, of course, be shown to yours when you are ready to retire.”

  Almain lifted his goblet, a signal that his wine was not yet empty. “A splendid night to you both,” he said, looking at his men. “I shall speak with you about Halbury in the morning before we depart.”

  Court escorted Marion from the hall then, pausing only briefly so she could have a word with her men. She took his arm as she followed him down a darkened passageway and up a spiral staircase.

  “My bedchamber is not this way, my lord,” she said beside him, her voice like a gentle breeze on a cool summer night.

  “I know well where it is.”

  She followed in silence until they reached his destination. Opening the studded door that led to his own chamber and adjoining solar, Court gestured for her to enter. She did, and he was pleased to see his room had already been prepared for the night. Candlelight glowed from every corner of the room. Though large, it was sparsely furnished with only a bed, two chairs and a hearth, which was not needed on a warm day such as this one. Court needed little, though he aspired to much. And yet . . . now that he’d achieved that which he’d always wanted, his own castle and lands, he found the victory a hollow one. The only thing he cared about was the woman standing so close he could reach out and touch her.

  But he did not.

  If he laid a hand on Marion, they’d not have the conversation they so desperately needed to have.

  “You came back,” he said, unsure of where to begin.

  “I did.”

  He couldn’t do this. Court gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs, far enough that he could not reach her.

  Once seated, Marion opened her hand and revealed the stone, entangled in the gold chain to which it was attached.

  “Did you feel it?”

  “Aye,” he said. “It felt like I was seeing everything as it should be even without a vision. What happened?”

  Marion looked down at the stone in her hand. “I do not know. From what I’ve learned, the stone has only ever been in the hands of the protector or the protector’s nemesis, not both at the same time.”

  When she looked up, Court nearly lost his resolve not to touch her. She was so very lovely.

  “I thought you’d betrayed me,” she said.

  He had assumed as much—and decided he couldn’t really blame her. If she’d mistrusted him, he was to blame. “So why did you return?”

  She looked at him with such intensity the hairs on his arm rose.

  “I felt his malintent,” she said, “when he walked into the hall. I should have known then that he was purposefully deceiving you, but you agreed to the attack so readily, and I was too angry to consider it logically. It was only after I calmed down that I reconsidered.”

  “Moordon is truly your father’s?” He still could not believe it. He’d never heard of a greater coincidence, and yet mayhap it was not surprising at all given everything else that had transpired between them.

  “It was recently bequeathed to him, aye. I thought for certain you knew that, at first, but then . . .” She shrugged. “I took a chance.”

  She had put everything on the line for him, and he knew it. He had done the same for her in the end.

  “Marion,” he began. “I’d not betray you. Now or ever. I don’t pretend to understand the power of the stone, but I’m grateful to it for bringing us together.”

  Her smile touched his very soul. “I’ve never announced my betrothal to a roomful of witnesses before.”

  Court stood.

  “If you meant what you said in the hall”—he reached out his hand—“I would be honored to have you as my lady wife.”

  She laid the stone down on the seat below her and took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. “I wasn’t sure if—”

  He couldn’t wait any longer. Court leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own. She responded immediately, and before long, the kiss turned from one of a shared declaration to something much, much more.

  This beautiful, incredibly astute woman who’d walked into his life only a week before was going to be his wife. And he couldn’t wait any longer to make her his in truth. When he slipped his hand under the hem of her kirtle on both sides and pulled upward, she did not protest. Neither did she say a word when he did the same to her undertunic.

  Standing before him in nothing more than a shift, Marion peered at him, waiting.

  He discarded his surcoat and tunic more quickly than he’d ever disrobed in his life. When her eyes lowered to his bare chest, Court’s cock responded immediately. When she reached out a tentative hand, Court captured it and placed it on his chest. Willing himself to take it slow, he watched her explore. She traced the lines of muscle in his stomach, and then the little minx actually trailed her fingers even lower.

  “It is not always this way,” she said, referring to his straining cock. Only a layer of hose separated her delicate touch from the evidence of his need.

  He sucked in a breath. “Nay, it is not.”

  His eyes rose to hers, and what he saw there nearly brought Court to his knees. He’d wanted to go slowly, but it was just not possible. Lifting her up in his arms, Court carried her to the bed.

  “You are sure about this, my lady?”

  Laying her down, he then stripped the only remaining barrier between them save her shift. As he awaited her answer, Court stood beside the bed completely naked. Her gaze was not shy. His body responded to the mere suggestion in her eyes that she was indeed sure about what they were about to do.

  “Very sure,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.

  He knelt beside her, lifting her shift up as she wiggled to allow the soft fabric to glide off her body. She slid it over her head, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of her round, firm breasts.

  Then his gaze moved down to her hip, and he spied the small, dagger-like mark shaped exactly like his own. When she noticed where he looked, Marion stared at his own mark. After a moment, he was roused from his momentary fascination by one much more grounded in this world. He cupped her beautiful breasts as he studied her face, then lowered his head and took a small taste. Allowing one hand to wander between her legs, he used his tongue to taunt and tease her nipple until his hand finally found its mark. Already wet and ready for him, Mario
n gasped when he entered her with his fingers. Her reaction changed his plans. He’d bring her pleasure more than once this eve.

  He lifted his head to watch her, and when she arched her back toward him and closed her eyes, Court whispered words of encouragement.

  “I will please you well this night,” he said as she began to find her first release. “And every night after it.”

  When the throbbing subsided, he reluctantly withdrew, moving atop her and replacing his fingers with the tip of his manhood. He throbbed, wanting nothing more than to be inside this woman, to claim her as his own. A rush of heat coursed through him as she gripped his arms, her passion answering his.

  When her breathing returned to normal, he said, “If I do this, you will be my wife.”

  In response, she thrust her hips toward him, forcing him to guide himself deeper, to break through her maidenhood. Marion let out a gasp of pain and began to pull back.

  “Nay,” he said, moving his hands to both sides to support himself as he lowered atop her. Capturing her lips, slowly, passionately, he used his tongue to make her forget the temporary pain. When she began to move again under him, Court knew she was ready.

  He started slowly and then circled his hips until she was moving with him.

  “Oh God, Court I cannot . . .”

  “You can,” he said, willing her to feel as much pleasure as he did. He couldn’t hold on much longer. The luscious body he’d imagined under him writhed and moved with him as if she’d done it many times before.

  But she had not. Marion had never been with a man before, and he would be her first and last. The thought filled him with contentment, her moans the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

  “Thank you,” he said, watching her.

  Marion’s eyes flew open. “For what?”

  “For choosing me.” He pressed himself into her and moved in a way that he knew would help her find fulfillment. Sure enough, Marion cried out, the telltale throbbing his signal to let go. His release was so powerful that he met her cries with one of his own. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, making sure his elbows were propped enough not to cause her discomfort.