by Jackie Ivie
“Sir?”
The hesitant voice belonged to the elderly woman he’d first met. Payton made her wait. And he made it a long wait. He was doing a visual inspection of his hall. From the looks of it, his wife hadn’t even seen to a repair on his roof, nor the large crack across the floor. There wasn’t even leaded glass in the window openings. There were shutters. He narrowed his eyes in consideration. The Dunn-Fadden clan he’d left here had seen to the fitting of those shutters. They fit well. Kept the drafts out…but allowed very little light in.
The woman cleared her throat again. Payton lowered his chin and glared at her. She backed two paces from him. It didn’t give him any satisfaction.
“What?” he finally asked.
“That—that…was the mistress.” She waved her hand in the direction of the spiral stair.
Payton closed his eyes, knew the sickness in his belly was due to the lie he harbored as it roved about, weakening him and making him feel like a lad again. He had no choice but to hide it. Again. “Well,” he replied finally. “My luck with women is accursed bad. As always.”
“How so?” His vassal, Redmond, asked.
“My keep is a ruin and my wife dresses in sackcloth. Added to that is her visage, and that she’s as plain as the day is long. What would you call it?”
Redmond’s lips didn’t even twitch. Payton liked that about the man. Vast sense of humor. “I call it a waste of good fund. Perhaps with a good cleaning and the proper cloth?”
“Order it, and oversee it.”
The elderly woman gasped. Payton looked back at her. “We speak of the hall, old one. Not the wife. I’ll gird her alone. In my chamber.” His boots made little sound on the spread of rushes in the hall. That was a good sign. This Dallis knew the value of fresh sweet rushes. Good for insulation and for disguising stench. That was one mark in her favor.
He had his foot on the first step before Redmond spoke again. “Make a scan of the woman’s sewing basket first, my laird.”
Payton’s lips twisted as he turned back. He couldn’t help it. “I intend as much. Send a contingency of guards back to Edinburgh. I’ve decided to take His Majesty up on his offer of stonemasons and carpenters. See to that, as well.”
“Such gifts come with strings.”
Payton nodded. “I ken as much. Don’t come up. No matter how much screaming you hear.”
“I’ve na’ heard you scream a-fore,” Redmond returned. “’Tis shaping into a vastly more entertaining eve than I’d foreseen.”
Payton grinned, and turned to take the steps two at a time. They’d fashioned a tight wheel staircase. He had his left hand against the stone as he climbed. He didn’t recollect that and he’d been carrying her at the time. It wasn’t surprising. He’d been stewed, and rarely tried to remember any of it.
She had the door locked. He discovered as much when he tried to twist the heavy metal handle. She might even have it barred from within. That was going to be difficult. Payton sucked in on both cheeks as he looked at it. He was called the King’s Champion. He wasn’t letting a door be the thing that exposed him for the fraud he was.
He leaned forward and pushed and felt the wood give just slightly. That was a good sign. The keep had suffered moisture damage and that would give him just the edge he needed. The hall’s width accommodated four steps. Payton lowered his shoulder and heaved at her door.
She didn’t have it barred.
His blow shook the jamb, but it held. It groaned with the attack, however. The door wasn’t far behind, as a heavy thunderous cracking noise accompanied the split that opened right in the center of it, sending large chunks of wood, a cloud of dust, and a blizzard of little slivers into her room with him at the midst of the destruction. Payton was actually amazed he kept his feet, although he had to spin fully and that left him open the entire time to any attack.
Vulnerable. She made him that. And frightened, and defamed, and weak. Always. Just her. He had his breath held until he finished a full circle and spotted her. Where she was had him raising his brows and lowering his head. She’d leapt onto her mattress and was well above him, holding a large swath of white material against the front of her, and she was wet. At least, her hair was wet. It was sticking to her flesh and showing the length of it as it caressed the curve of her hip. She had a rather shapely hip, too. He hadn’t noted that before.
He tipped his head a fraction and craned his neck in order to see it more fully. She made a half-turn away, to shield herself. White material moved with it. Payton took three steps to his left and craned his neck again. She swiveled with the movement and the satin moved with that motion as well. He had his lips pursed before he moved his gaze to hers.
She didn’t look cowed. Far from it. She looked determined. She also wasn’t as plain as he’d assigned her. That was a pleasant thought. Payton stood to his full height, crossed his arms and regarded her. The dust from his entrance was almost settled, and the remnants wavered in the air with flecks of glint.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. It was to cover any nervousness. “The same thing I wanted three years past,” he replied finally. He had his heartbeat under control as well, for nothing about his voice gave him away. The satisfaction went deep. He had control of his fraud even in her presence. He felt the cooling sensation in the depth of his gut. He didn’t give any outward sign to any of it.
She gasped.
“And mayhap…more,” he finished.
She was going a nice rose shade, and it suffused her skin, until the material had the same pink shading where it got to caress her skin. Payton licked his lower lip as she pulled the material tighter.
“Nae,” she replied.
“Strange, but I’m na’ at all surprised to hear you say that,” he said.
“Dinna’ you understand the word nae?”
He nodded slightly. “Verra well actually. I just doona’ accept it.”
“You’re na’ welcome in here.”
“I was never welcome. What of it?” he shrugged.
“You dinna’ even knock!”
“You barred me and yon door was na’ crafted well. It dinna’ withstand the slight touch of my knock.”
She looked skeptical, and not much else. “I’m na’ ready,” she said finally.
Payton looked her over. She was watching for his gaze when he’d finished. “You look ready,” he replied.
“You dinna’ even recognize me!” She put the slightest emphasis on the words, and then she colored. If Payton wasn’t mistaken, it bothered her greatly.
“There are parts of you that I definitely recognize, my lady. Definitely.” He knew she had his meaning as she pulled the material even closer to her body. Which wasn’t doing much to mute the fact that she had a spectacular form: large round hips, slender waist…. He hadn’t known that.
“Doona’ come one step closer!”
Payton had moved his right foot. He halted at her command. There was a shrill sound behind her words. He’d heard it before. He actually recognized it. It sounded like actual fear. He shook it off and moved his other foot. She backed to the wall and gave a gasp as her nakedness came into contact with the stone. It also made certain things happen behind the sheet she had held to her so tightly that it defined more than it covered.
That was visual, he decided. She had twin crests at her breasts, and they were a healthy size. He remembered her bosom. Payton had to turn his head to hide the expression. He couldn’t do anything about the rest of his body. He was only grateful he was wearing woolen trews beneath his feile-breacan. Scratchy and warm. And thick. All of which was a good thing at the moment.
“Three years ago you stopped me with a slip of a skean. You verra nearly did what nae man has. I still bear the scar.”
“You were forcing me!”
“What of it? Women get forced. Especially women that have been taken in battle.” He took another step. She pushed farther back into the wall. Her movement made him stop.
He didn’t want her cowed and beaten and he didn’t know why.
“But I never accepted you!”
Payton blew the snort through his lips, making a sound like the neigh of his horse. “You did more than agree, lady. By keeping silent, you’ve more than accepted me as husband. And then you added to it by taking my gold, abusing my keep, and doing naught a good wife should.”
“Perhaps you should have been a good husband, then,” she retorted.
“My thoughts exactly. We’ve reached accord. Already. This bodes well.” He was teasing as he hooked his thumbs under the fastening of his belt. He had a heavy, real silver buckle that the Stewart had crafted especially for his champion. It had a weight and rigidity to it that any other belt wouldn’t have achieved. He watched her eyes flit there and then back to his face.
“What…are you going to do?” she asked.
“Whatever I want.” The rush of power hit the region about his nose and flared there, making a sting for a moment. Payton shook his head slightly. All these years he’d dreaded being face-to-face with her, and having her reduce him to boyish incompetence—and it was for this? Strangely, he didn’t like the sensation. He didn’t want her beaten, and he didn’t want her submissive. But he did want her.
Chapter 3
If he didn’t cease looking at her like prey she was going to scream, which would be stupid, and cowardly besides. Dallis narrowed her eyes, muting some of the brunt of his physical presence. She’d had nightmares of coming into contact with him again and thought herself prepared…for his size, his bulk…his presence. She knew now she’d been fooling herself. There was no way to prepare for such!
He had an even greater impact than he’d had before, if that was possible, and there was a sureness to him that must have been lacking. He had a litheness to his movements, even the one where he’d twirled through the broken door had been done with a sure-footed grace that made it look melodic and elegant. She swallowed but it was more a gulp. He was very handsome, very manly, truly eye-catching, and he looked immensely powerful. It was a shame he was so base-born. A Caruth would never accept a Dunn-Fadden as their mate. Never had. Never would.
Had he been her betrothed, how different everything would be!
She could see that no matter how much gold she’d sent to pay for a challenger against him it was wasted. She should have spent it on other methods that would have gained her freedom and given her back her power in one fell swoop…something like poison.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You readied yet?” he asked.
Dallis’s lips opened slightly to let the gasp out and everything on her answered him. She watched his eyes flick to her breasts before returning to her face and tried unsuccessfully to stop the blush. Again. The man was maddening. And dense. And thick-witted. And didn’t even know what rejection was. She swallowed.
“For what?” she asked with what she hoped was a tart tone. It didn’t help that it warbled slightly.
He sucked in both cheeks and started unlacing his gloves. They were leather crafted and worn to his elbows, tightly fastened to his arms for warmth, and that gave her added moments of time as he pulled at the laces…first the left, then the right. He wasn’t watching his hands, though. He had his chin lowered a fraction and was favoring her with his unblinking stare.
That was too much impact, and she knew he was fully aware of it.
“Our consummation,” he finally said, and yanked first one glove off and then the other, turning them inside out with the motion, before swatting them back into shape against his thigh.
This time he had to hear her gasp.
“I…thought you wanted…an accounting,” she replied in chunks of words.
She watched him pull at the immense silver disk of his waist, making sinew bulge in his lower arm with the motion. The claw prong on his belt gave up the fastening and he dropped it, making a heavy thud of sound on the thick white rug at his feet.
“First I secure the right. Then, I’ll see to the accounting.” He plucked the tucked end of his plaid from the back of his waist, and just kept watching her as the material began unwinding about his waist.
“You never had the right!” And God curse the squeak in her voice as she said it!
His lips lifted, making a smile on one side of his face. And then it was gone. As was his feile-breacan. Dallis watched with eyes that didn’t seem to belong to her anymore as he tipped to one side and pushed the kilt band from his shoulder, allowing the entire mass of woven wool to fall in a puddle at his feet, covering over the silver glint of belt.
None of him was diminishing. She could tell from the way his shirt fell from humps of muscle in his chest that he’d gained even more size to his frame, and more brawn. And more power. Her breath caught, held, pained her, and then escaped. And then she had to gasp another one in.
“Since when has that put a stay on me?” Payton finally replied.
Then he was crossing his arms, grabbing fists full of the garment and pulling it from where he had it tucked into his trews and over his head with a motion designed to shock her into stillness and lock her tongue since the shirt clung to sweat-damp skin on his upper body and nothing else.
Payton Dunn-Fadden was a mountain of brawn, shadowed by the winter light into hills and dales of shadow; he had ropes of tendons pounding in his lower belly with what had to be his heartbeat; and he had a thin line of hair starting at the center of him and running downward…to where every thought on her stalled at the mis-match of plaid due to his size and condition.
His clan sett had been sewn into a type of trousers, molding about his lower legs before coming together in a knotted swath of material about his lower hip. There wasn’t enough material to hide him. Dallis didn’t move her eyes from his face, but that didn’t stop her from seeing…and feeling everything on her body respond. It was starting with the thump in the bottom of her belly and then it was spreading. Fire flicks of shivers were followed by an ice-melt of reaction, and then that was tempered by the fire again. The ice. The shivers. Then the heat. It was covering her entire frame and making a trembling nobody had warned her about. She’d never seen an aroused man before, especially one of his size, and it just wasn’t fair. Caruths learned from the time they were born of battle and loss and what a female faced should she be taken; rape and ravishment included. But not one soul had told her about what would be happening to her. Nobody. All of which was a huge hole in her education.
Dunn-Fadden was very aware of what he was doing to her and she didn’t even know why she had such certainty of it. It was in the flick of his eyes when he ran them to where the pinprick darts of her nipples were trying to shove their way through the satin she’d tightened, and then he moved his gaze back to hers.
He stepped free of the mass of discarded garments and put a hand out toward her. Even from half the span of room away, she felt the menace and backed even farther into the stone at her back, earning the chill that contact caused as well.
“Now, come off that perch like a good lass.”
Dallis shook her head.
“Please.” He said next.
The oddest humming was running through her ears, making the word have a melodic and muted cast. Dallis shook her head again.
“I’m na’ a patient man,” he said next.
Dallis shook her head again. He sighed. And then he was coming for her.
The wall had no give to it and that left her only two choices to escape him: left or right. The headboard would impede her on her left, so she chose the footboard, with a slide of her body and then a lunge. She didn’t get there. She was screaming as he grabbed at the satin and yanked, pulling with one hand and reeling her in like a salmon caught in the burn. It was made easy for him with the way Dallis clung to the material, digging her nails into the fabric and halting her cries for the fight, just before finding out his chest was just as hard and unyielding as it had looked when she was slammed against it. The only good thing looked to be that the samite had
wadded between them, creating a barrier of material to keep the scorch of his skin from hers.
He wasn’t breathing hard while she was sucking for air and then shoving it out rapidly, making her dizzy with it. And he was chuckling. Then he was holding her glued to him with one arm, while the other hand was busy lifting a hank of her hair and then, God help her, what had to be his tongue was on the back of her neck and sending a blizzard of tremors all over and then through her. There was nothing to hold to, either. Her hands were still gripping the white satin and they were now trapped together where he had her molded to him. Her legs weakened, trembled, and gave, dropping her weight. Payton shifted as he felt it, going to a knee on her mattress and placing her in the depression made by their combined weight. She collided with the bare flesh of a thigh against her backside and then even that was altered as he reached his conquering arm lower, gathering a handful of her rump in order to pull her up, lifting her so securely against him, it was difficult to breathe and impossible to move.
“Nae…please.” She huffed the whisper between breaths that were difficult to take from the position he had her in. And then he made it immeasurably worse, by putting his entire mouth against skin and sucking his way along her jaw until he’d reached her chin, the movement forcing her head backward and making her bow slightly over his bent leg.
He grunted his amusement, feathering the breath across her gapped lips, and that was even more tortuous, she decided.
“Nae…Wait,” she whispered again.
“For what?” He’d disconnected his mouth enough to say that and with the words against the moisture he’d just put on her chin, came even more shivers, making it immeasurably more vibrant.
“The…door,” she stammered out.
His left hand, the one that had been holding her head and pinning her in position for him, was moving, sliding over her shoulder and then down an arm, and back. Again. That was tempered by his huff of amusement as he lifted his head to look at her. He smiled, genuine amusement filling incredibly blue eyes, and Dallis couldn’t halt the widening of her own as her heart lurched so queerly and completely it frightened her.
