Velvet Angel

by Jude Deveraux

  She raised her skirt, tore off a long piece of petticoat and wet it in the rain. Miles sat cross-legged before her, his arm extended as she began to wash away the blood.

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you smile,” he said. “Kit! Don’t climb on those beams. Take the cloth from inside the quiver and clean my sword. And watch that you don’t damage the edge.” He looked back at Elizabeth. “I take it as an honor that you smile at me. I’m not sure, but I feel that you don’t smile at many men.”

  “Very few,” was all she’d answer.

  He lifted her hand from his wrist and kissed her palm. “I’m beginning to think you’re as angelic as you look. Kit adores you.”

  “I have a feeling Kit has never met a stranger, that he adores everyone.”

  “I don’t.” He kissed her hand again.

  “Stop it!” She pulled away from him. “You are entirely too free with your kisses.”

  “I am doing very well at limiting myself to kisses. What I’d like to do is make love to you. Kit!” he yelled at his son who was waving the sword above his head. “I’ll have your hide if you even consider thrusting that at anything.”

  In spite of herself, Elizabeth had to laugh as she thrust Miles’s cleanly bandaged arm back to him. “I think you should leave your son at home when you try courting.”

  “Oh no.” He smiled. “Kit has accomplished more than I could have in months.”

  With that cryptic remark, he moved to take his cherished sword from his son’s reckless hands.

  Chapter 7

  THAT NIGHT THE THREE OF THEM SLEPT TOGETHER AGAIN, Kit firmly wedged between them. Elizabeth lay awake for a long time listening to the breathing of Miles and Kit. The past two days had been so unusual, so unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It was like a bit of sunshine after years of rain.

  When she woke she was alone on the cloak, the plaid tucked about her. Sleepily she smiled, snuggled deeper under the covers, and for a second she wished she could always stay in this place, that each day could be filled with laughter.

  Turning to her back, stretching, she looked about the little shelter, saw that it was empty. Her senses had dulled over the last few days. Usually, she slept with one ear open, but somehow, Miles and Kit had managed to leave without disturbing her. She listened now for any sounds of them, smiling when she heard slow, quiet footsteps not too far away.

  Stealthily, soundlessly, she left the shelter and faded into the surrounding forest. Once inside, hidden, she heard the unmistakable sounds of Kit and Miles to her left. Then who was skulking about in the undergrowth ahead of her?

  Using all her years of experience at escaping her brother’s friends, she slipped through the forest effortlessly. It was some minutes before she saw who was trying so hard to sneak up on them.

  Lying on his stomach, his long, long body held immovable, was Sir Guy, only his head turning from side to side as he scanned the horizon where Kit and Miles scampered.

  With no more sound than a breath of air, Elizabeth crept behind Sir Guy. Stooping, she picked up a small, elongated rock and clutched it in her fist. Roger had taught her that even her small, weak fist could carry some power if she held a hard object. With the rock in one hand, she bent and grabbed Sir Guy’s small dagger from its sheath at his side.

  The giant stood in one fluid, quick movement. “Lady Elizabeth!” he gasped.

  Elizabeth stood back, at arm’s length from the man. “Why are you following us? Did you betray your master and now you come to kill him?”

  The scar across Sir Guy’s face whitened but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned his head in the direction of Miles and gave a high, piercing whistle.

  Elizabeth knew Miles would come at the call, that it was a signal between them. If Sir Guy felt free to call his master, then Miles must know something of the reason for the giant’s hidden presence.

  In a remarkably short time, Miles appeared, sword drawn, alone.

  “The lady asks if I mean to kill you,” Sir Guy said solemnly.

  Miles looked from one to the other. “How did she find you?”

  Sir Guy’s eyes never left Elizabeth’s face. He seemed to be embarrassed and admiring all at once. “I didn’t hear her.”

  Miles’s eyes twinkled. “Give him back the dagger, Elizabeth. There needn’t be any concern for Guy’s loyalty.”

  Elizabeth didn’t move. Her hand clutched the rock, hidden in the folds of her skirt, and at the same time she made note of the flat rock Sir Guy’s softly clad foot was resting upon. Feet were vulnerable in even the strongest men.

  “Where are your men?” she asked Miles, her eyes on Sir Guy.

  “Well…Elizabeth,” he began. “I thought perhaps…”

  From the slight changes in Sir Guy’s face, Elizabeth knew that whatever had been done had been Miles Montgomery’s idea.

  “Speak up!” she commanded.

  “We’re on MacArran land and I knew we’d be safe so I decided to walk with you and Kit. There’s never been any danger.”

  She whirled to face him but kept Sir Guy in her view. “This was all a trick,” she said evenly. “You lied about your men disappearing. You lied about being in danger. You did this all in an attempt to get me alone.”

  “Elizabeth,” he soothed. “We were surrounded by people. I thought perhaps that if we could be alone for a time you might come to know me. And Kit—”

  “Don’t profane that child’s name! He was not in this ugly plot of yours.”

  “It wasn’t a plot,” he pleaded, his eyes soft.

  “But what of danger? You risked my life and that of your son. These woods are full of savage men!”

  Miles smiled patronizingly. “True, but these savages are related to me by marriage. I’m sure we’re surrounded by MacArrans even now.”

  “I’ve heard no one except this great thrashing boar.”

  Sir Guy stiffened beside her.

  “There was no harm done.” Miles smiled at her. “Give me the dagger, Elizabeth.”

  “No harm except lies given to a woman,” she spat at him.

  After that, everything seemed to happen in a single flash. She lunged at Miles with the dagger. Sir Guy’s hand knocked it from her grasp, and as the little knife went flying, Elizabeth’s heel came down on the two smallest toes of Sir Guy’s left foot. Miles, as he turned astonished eyes to Sir Guy’s cry of pain, didn’t see Elizabeth’s fist, wrapped about the rock, as it plowed into his stomach. With a great whoosh of pain, Miles bent over.

  Elizabeth stepped back, watching as Sir Guy sat on the ground and tried to remove his boot, his face showing his pain. Miles looked as if he might lose his dinner.

  “Well done,” came a voice from behind her. She whirled about to look into the face of a strikingly beautiful woman, with black hair and blue eyes, as tall as Elizabeth, which was rare. A big dog stood beside her.

  “That should teach you, Miles,” she continued, “that all women don’t appreciate being used as a man sees fit.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened as from the trees men began to drop and, coming from the direction of the cottage, an older man was leading Kit by the hand.

  “Lady Elizabeth Chatworth,” the woman said, “I am Bronwyn MacArran, laird of Clan MacArran and sister-in-law to this scheming young man.”

  Miles was recovering himself. “Bronwyn, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Tam,” Bronwyn said to the older man. “See to Sir Guy’s foot. Did you break it?”

  “Probably,” Elizabeth answered. “When I’ve done it before I’ve found it usually breaks the man’s smallest toe.”

  Bronwyn gave her an acknowledging look of appreciation. “These are my men. Douglas.” As she called each man’s name, he stepped forward, nodded at Lady Elizabeth. “Alex, Jarl and Francis.”

  Elizabeth gave each man a hard, appraising look. She didn’t like being surrounded by men and she moved so Sir Guy was no longer behind her. The many men near her made her feel as i
f she were locked in a small stone cell.

  Miles, rubbing his stomach, noticed the move and came to stand nearer to Elizabeth, and when Tam took a step closer, Miles touched the man’s arm, his eyes giving warning. With a quick frown of puzzlement, Tam released Kit and stepped away from Elizabeth, noticing that her eyes were wary, watching.

  “And where is my worthless brother?” Miles asked Bronwyn, who was quietly watching the scene before her.

  “He is patroling the northern borders but I expect him to meet us before we reach Larenston.”

  Miles took Elizabeth’s arm, tightened his grip when she tried to move away from him. “Bronwyn has a baby,” he said aloud. Under his breath, he whispered, “You’re safe. Stay close to me.”

  Elizabeth gave him a withering look that said she didn’t feel he was safer than any other man, but she didn’t move from his side. The men who stood close to Bronwyn were wildly dressed, their knees bare, their hair down to their shoulders, great long wide swords at their belts.

  Bronwyn felt there was more wrong than just Miles’s childish trick played on Elizabeth, but she had no idea what it was. Perhaps when they returned to Larenston she could find out what this tension in the air meant. “Shall we ride?”

  Elizabeth stood still, not moving until Bronwyn’s men were in front of her. There was a long walk to where the horses were hidden and the men were a silent group. Sir Guy hobbled along slowly, leaning on a thick staff.

  “I want to ride behind the men,” Elizabeth said to Miles, her jaw set.

  He started to protest but stopped, murmured something to Bronwyn and at her nod, the Scotsmen and Sir Guy rode ahead, Kit settled with Tam.

  “Elizabeth,” Miles began from atop the horse beside her. “Bronwyn’s men mean you no harm. There’s no reason to fear them.”

  She glared at him. “Am I to take your word for their trustworthiness? You who have lied to me? You who are of a family that is at war with my family?”

  Miles glanced heavenward for a moment. “Perhaps I was wrong to play the trick on you, but if I’d asked you to spend a few days frolicking in the forest with Kit and me, what would have been your answer?”

  She looked away from him.

  “Elizabeth, you must admit you enjoyed yourself. There, for a few hours, you weren’t afraid of men.”

  “I am never afraid of men,” she snapped. “I have merely learned to be cautious.”

  “Your caution overtakes your entire life,” he said sternly. “Look at us now, eating the dust of Bronwyn’s men because you fear that one of them will attack you if you don’t have him in your sight.”

  “I have learned—” she began.

  “You have learned only the bad part of life! Most men are not like Edmund Chatworth or Pagnell. While we’re here in Scotland you’re going to learn that some men can be trusted. No!” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “You are going to learn that I can be trusted.” With that he spurred his horse forward to ride beside Sir Guy, leaving Elizabeth alone.

  Bronwyn glanced back at Elizabeth, then turned her horse to ride beside the blonde woman. They were a striking pair: Elizabeth with her delicate fair features; Bronwyn’s strong, sculptured features.

  “A lovers’ quarrel?” Bronwyn asked, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face.

  “We are not lovers,” Elizabeth said coolly.

  Bronwyn raised her eyebrows at that, thinking that it must be a first for Miles to spend any time with a woman and not possess her. “And how does a Chatworth come to ride with a Montgomery?” she asked in the same tone as Elizabeth had used with her.

  Elizabeth gave Bronwyn a scathing look. “If you plan to pour out venom about my brother Roger, you should think twice.”

  Bronwyn and Elizabeth faced each other across the horses and after a moment—in which many signals passed between them—Bronwyn gave a curt nod. “Ask your brother about his Scots relatives,” she said frigidly before reining her horse away, leaving Elizabeth to herself.

  “And have you angered Bronwyn?” Miles asked when he once again rode beside her.

  “Am I to listen to all manner of evilness against my own brother? That woman swore to marry Roger but went back on her word. And as a result—”

  “As a result Roger Chatworth attacked my brother’s back,” Miles interrupted. He paused, leaned across her horse to take her hand in his. “Give us a chance, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his eyes meltingly imploring. “All I ask is that you give all of us time to show you that we can be trusted.”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, the sound of thundering hooves came to them. With a glance up, she saw that every man had his claymore drawn, and before she could protest, Bronwyn’s Scots had encircled the two women. Miles moved his horse closer to Elizabeth.

  “It’s that idiot husband of mine,” Bronwyn said, and her pleased tone was completely at odds with her words.

  Five men came to a halt before them, the leader a tall man with dark blond hair that came to his shoulders, a good-looking man who was obviously enjoying the sparks his wife was shooting at him.

  “You’re getting old, Tam,” the blond man said lazily, leaning on the front of his saddle.

  Tam merely gave a grunt and resheathed his claymore.

  “Damn you, Stephen,” Bronwyn hissed. “Why were you riding along the cliff like that? And why didn’t you give any warning of your approach?”

  Slowly, he dismounted his horse, tossed the reins to one of the men behind him and walked toward his wife. Casually, he put his hand on her ankle and started traveling upward.

  Bronwyn kicked out at him. “Let me go!” she demanded. “I have more important duties than to play games with you.”

  With lightning quickness, Stephen caught her waist and hauled her out of the saddle. “Did you worry about me riding along the cliff?” he murmured, pulling her to him.

  “Tam!” Bronwyn gasped, pushing at Stephen.

  “The lad needs no help from me,” Tam answered.

  “But I would be willing to help,” Miles said quietly.

  Stephen released his wife abruptly. “Miles,” he gasped, and hugged his brother when Miles was dismounted. “When did you arrive? Why are you in Scotland? I thought you were with Uncle Simon—and what’s this I hear about Uncle Simon wanting your head on a platter?”

  Miles gave a bit of a smile and a shrug to his brother.

  Stephen grimaced as he knew he wasn’t likely to get anything from his younger brother. Miles was so closemouthed it was infuriating.

  “Miles brought Elizabeth Chatworth,” Bronwyn said flatly.

  Stephen turned to look through the men and upwards to see Elizabeth. For all her soft features, she looked rigid, unbending, as she sat stiffly in the saddle. Stephen started toward her but Miles caught his arm.

  “Do not touch her,” Miles said conversationally as he moved toward Elizabeth.

  After a second’s astonishment, Stephen grinned. He well understood jealousy; he’d just never seen it in his brother before.

  As Miles put his arms up to Elizabeth and she hesitated, he said, “Stephen will not harm you and he’ll be expecting the same courtesy.” There was a twinkle in Miles’s eyes.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help a slight smile as she glanced at Sir Guy, who had shot a couple of glances toward her that said she was part monster, part witch. They had to wait to be introduced to Stephen because Kit, who’d fallen asleep against Tam, had wakened and launched himself onto his beloved uncle. Stephen had Kit settled on one arm as he extended his hand to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth stood rigid and did not take his hand.

  Miles sent his brother a look of warning and Stephen, with a knowing smile, dropped his hand.

  “You are welcome to our home,” Stephen said.

  “I am a Chatworth.”

  “And I am a Montgomery and”—he glanced at Bronwyn—“a MacArran. You are welcome. Shall we walk along the cliff? It’s steep and can sometimes be frightening.”

  “I can ride a h
orse,” Elizabeth said flatly.

  Miles took her arm, raised her fingers to his lips. “Of course you can. My clumsy brother is only trying to make an excuse to talk to you.”

  “Uncle Stephen!” Kit said. He’d been trying so hard to wait until the adults were finished speaking. “Lady Elizabeth hit Papa and made Sir Guy limp and we slept in the forest without a tent or anything.” He smiled at Elizabeth who winked back at him.

  “Made Sir Guy limp?” Stephen laughed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Lady Elizabeth Chatworth broke Sir Guy’s toes,” Bronwyn said coolly.

  Stephen narrowed his eyes at his wife. “I’m not sure I like your tone.”

  Miles spoke quickly to get his brother’s attention. “How are the MacGregors?”

  What followed was half-description, half-argument as Bronwyn and Stephen talked of the clan that had been the enemy of Clan MacArran for centuries—until a few months ago when a truce had been made. Bronwyn’s brother Davy had married the daughter of the MacGregor.

  As they talked, they walked along the treacherous cliff road, one side high rock, the other a sheer drop. Elizabeth, caught close to Miles, beside Stephen, Bronwyn ahead of them, listened with no little fascination to the exchange between the married couple. They argued heatedly but with absolutely no animosity. The men behind them talked among themselves, so this bantering was obviously not new to them. Bronwyn taunted Stephen, called him several names and Stephen merely smiled at her and told her her ideas were ridiculous. Of all the marriages Elizabeth had seen, the husband would have blackened the wife’s eye if she’d said half what Bronwyn was saying.

  Elizabeth glanced at Miles, saw he was smiling benignly at Bronwyn and his brother. Kit began to enter the argument, taking Bronwyn’s side, running ahead to grab her hand.

  “He’s your son.” Stephen laughed, looking at his brother.

  Because Stephen looked toward Miles, toward the rock wall, he saw the rocks tumbling from above—aiming for Elizabeth. With a knight’s instincts, he acted as quickly as he thought, making a leaping grab for Elizabeth. The two of them slammed into the rock wall, Stephen’s big body pinning Elizabeth, crushing her as the rock fell behind him.