by Mary Wine
Even in the dark he made out the heavy iron lock secured to the wide handle that normally would have been used to pull the door open. So close to the roof, the floor was cooler than the rest of the house. Keir didn’t bother to think about what he was doing. He’d worry about the rights and wrongs of the situation later.
“Helena?”
She must be going insane. Helena heard her name as clearly as a church bell. The room was dark and it was pressing in on her after three days. But she welcomed the chill of night. Her mouth was dry as dust. A faint glow appeared under the door. She stared at it, mesmerized by the light. It looked like a beacon. She resisted the urge to look at it like salvation. But her belly burned and grumbled, refusing to listen to anything her mind had to say about remaining strong in the face of Edmund’s demands. While her will was strong, her body was starving.
There was a grinding of metal and a splintering of wood. It seemed so loud after hours upon hours of only her thoughts.
“Helena?”
She shivered, her mind hearing Keir’s voice, which was absurd. She looked around the tiny attic room, her gaze touching on her small bed to force herself to recall where she was. Allowing her thoughts to dwell on Keir McQuade had clearly been a mistake, for now her wits were addled.
The door burst open, allowing the light to flood in. A small cry of happiness passed her lips; she could not hold it back. But she froze when the light also washed over Keir, as large and imposing as she saw him in her mind. She was afraid to move, lest the moment shatter and she be forced to admit it was all nothing but fantasy brought on by lack of food and water.
“Sweet mercy.”
It was her brother’s housekeeper who spoke. The woman looked around Keir and covered her mouth with her hand. Horror reflected in her eyes. Helena felt her mind shift back into working order, but it was not fast enough to keep her hand from rising to cover the worst of the bruising on her face. By daylight she had viewed her brother’s mark quite often. Half of her face was darkened, the spot on her cheek the deepest purple.
Keir was enraged.
She watched the emotion dance in his eyes, practically felt it leap across the space between them, it was so hot. His attention lingered on her face, studying it for a long moment. Her pride rose, refusing to endure being pitied.
“It is nothing.”
“The hell it isna.”
Keir looked around the room. His face reflected his displeasure. Helena raised her chin but knew what he was seeing. The room was tiny and cold now. Her dress was rumpled from days of use without pressing. On the bed she had piled her traveling clothing to help fight the chill because she had no hot coals to provide heat.
“What are you doing here, Keir?”
His gaze flew back to her face, something different flickering in his dark eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched before his attention settled on her bruised cheek once more. Rage returned to his eyes but it was tightly controlled, which made it even more formidable.
“I’m going to do what needs doing.”
He turned in a flare of kilt. The housekeeper shrank away from him, but that didn’t save her from his notice.
“Care for her, or answer to me when I return.”
He was already down the stairs when Helena managed to force her body to break through the chill that hunger, thirst, and pain had locked her into. She followed him down to the second floor.
“Keir…wait.”
Humiliation flooded her when her knees knocked against each other, refusing to hold her weight. She crumpled on the stairs, her hands grabbing at the walls and slipping because there was nothing to hold onto.
Keir turned and caught her, gripping her forearms and lifting her with an ease that astounded her. It also sent a ripple of excitement through her. It was maddening to think she enjoyed the demonstration of how much stronger he was. But she could not lie to herself.
He placed her gently on her feet but maintained his hold on her arms until she proved that standing was not beyond her strength.
“Christ in heaven.”
More expletives followed. Keir’s men stared at her, their faces reflecting their disapproval. She was honestly surprised by the disgust on their faces. Many men ruled with their fist.
That sobered her. She could see the rise of anger in their eyes. Every one of them wore a kilt, and the doublets they had on were plain, built for protection against the elements, not for fashion. These were men of action, not hollow words.
Like their leader.
“Keir, you must let it be.”
He reached out and gently cupped her chin. It was but a whisper of a touch. She was shocked that a man so large and powerful might control his strength so completely. She quivered because it struck her as tender, the sort of touch she dreamed of receiving from a lover. But the two thoughts were in conflict, because a lover was only imaginary for her, but the hand on her chin was very real.
“He is my brother. My legal guardian. Even the church will not intercede.”
Keir’s face tightened, a muscle on the side of his jaw pulsing. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine because it was deeply intimate.
“I enjoy the sound of my name on your lips.” His voice dipped into a husky tone that shook her. Excitement raced along her skin, raising gooseflesh. But his expression changed, turning hard and determined.
“But I treat my hunting hounds better.”
His voice was cold and hard. Several growls rose from his men. Her pride hated it. Hated the fact that he, that they, were right.
“I will be just fine. I assure you that I am strong enough to withstand a temper tantrum from Edmund.” She lifted her chin away from his hand, unwilling to allow herself the comfort. Strength was what kept a person going. She mustn’t weaken. Edmund would exploit it.
Keir’s lips twitched again. But there was nothing nice about the grin that showed his teeth to her.
“I know ye are stronger. But I’ll no’ be standing by while that whelp punishes ye for something I accused him of doing. It was nae yer word that colored him guilty.”
“But the king didn’t trust you—” She stepped back and covered her lips with a hand. “I didn’t mean to speak harshly.”
“Ye spoke the truth as ye witnessed it. Jamie was nae sure what to think of me. He’d never laid eyes on me and only had my father and older brothers to draw memory of McQuade values from.” He shook his head. “Ye spoke in my defense and that is nae something that I’ll be allowing to be punished.”
“But there is nothing you can do to prevent the way Edmund deals with me. It is best to leave matters.”
He reached across the space between them and stroked her uninjured cheek. Sweet pleasure crossed her flesh, driving some of the chill from her body.
“I do enjoy it when ye issue me a challenge, lass.” There was a glint in his eyes that was hard and determined. “Be very sure that I intend to meet it head-on.”
He turned his attention to the housekeeper. The woman jumped, a startled sound coming out of her mouth when Keir held up a solid silver pound. Her eyes rounded, one hand rising, but she didn’t reach for the coin. Shock and disbelief held her frozen.
“Take good care of yer mistress. I will return.”
He placed the silver in her palm. The woman lowered herself, but Keir had swept from the room along with his men before she finished. A gust of night air brushed Helena’s face as the front door was opened on the lower floor.
“Well now. Indeed, I’ve never seen the like.”
The housekeeper tucked the silver into a pouch that hung from her belt. She patted it before looking at Helena.
“My Christian name is Margery. I’m going to get that young Avis to haul in some water for bathing.”
Helena wished the idea of a bath didn’t send such joy through her. She wanted to refuse because it was yet another thing that money bought. She was so weary of the bribes and false friendship offered to her brot
her because of his power and fortune. Oh, she was harsh to think poorly of Margery—that coin was several months’ pay for a housekeeper. Pride did nothing to soothe hunger, pain, or the bite of winter.
But this was bought with Keir’s coin…
And that left her at the mercy of her feelings. She shook her head to dispel them. She did not know him. One encounter ripe with flirting did not tell a person anything about another. It was just the imprisonment that had her wanting to smile as though her gallant knight had just rescued her.
She did smile. There was no stopping her lips from curving. Keir was gallant. No matter what, she would never stop believing in that. If that made her whimsical, so be it.
But her eyes swept the room, and all around her were Edmund’s things. His armor and bow. Dress swords that sat gleaming in the firelight. There were ruffs set carefully on stands, the lace starched and pressed in preparation for the master to wear them to court. The entire chamber was used just to display his wardrobe so that he might walk among his things and easily select what he wanted without waiting for things to be brought out of closets.
It was the reason she slept in the attic. Edmund used all the chambers on the second floor for his personal things. He refused to have them placed in trunks. Instead, every suit of clothing was hung from the walls, every pair of shoes displayed so that he might walk in and see every option for dressing each morning. Even his personal saddles were kept on the bed that she should have been sleeping in. Their ornate decoration declared how much her brother valued himself. Everything he owned had to be decorated and of the highest quality. There was not a single pair of sturdy boots in sight. Nothing there was merely made for purpose instead of presentation. Each shirt had lace and embroidery. Every doublet was sewn with gold or silver bangles.
The selfishness sickened her.
“I’ll bathe in the kitchen, Margery.”
The housekeeper couldn’t suppress her smile. It was pure relief because she would be saved the chore of hauling water up a flight of stairs.
“I do not belong here and I’ve no desire to be the mistress of this place.”
But that left her with little. Despair had been stalking her for days and she was becoming familiar with its icy touch. Yet she was still not sorry. No hint of repentance lived in her heart. Edmund might think he was punishing her but the truth was her brother was intent on breaking her spirit. And that was the one thing she would not allow him to touch.
Chapter Five
Keir found the fop gambling at an inn on the south side of London. It reminded Keir of the lodging he was renting. The place smelled like stale ale and unwashed bodies. Prostitutes mingled with the customers, many of them displaying their nude breasts, to the delight of their audience. But they were quick to slap any hand that tried to touch without paying.
“Are you in or not, Ronchford?”
Edmund Knyvett was soaked in wine, as were his companions. They occupied a large table that had silver and gold coins sitting on it. More money than some of the onlookers might see in an entire year was wagered on the turn of a card. But they didn’t even notice the hungry eyes of those watching. Keir felt his disgust rise another notch. Edmund Knyvett was so arrogant, so expectant of being given his noble due that the man never entertained the idea of having to fend for himself.
It sickened Keir. His own men surrounded him, but he did not plan to lead them without having the same skills that they all did. The day he was their weakest link was the day that he was dead and buried.
“If you want to lose some more. Fine with me, Edmund.”
Ronchford’s hair was greasy and his once-fine doublet was a tattered rag. His men looked like dockside thugs and they were eyeing the growing pile of coins with bright eyes. Edmund was too drunk to recognize the signs of an impending ambush, and his men were busy fondling the prostitutes. A slight motion caught Keir’s attention and he watched as one of Ronchford’s men pressed a silver penny into a girl’s hand. She hid it quickly and then unlaced her bodice, to the delight of the Knyvett retainers.
“That’s a sorry excuse for a man.” Farrell shook his head.
“Aye, indeed it is.”
“He’s no’ even worth thrashing in that condition. He’d no’ feel it until he sobered up.”
“Aye.”
But there was always more than one way to settle a score. Keir bit back the urge to punch the arrogant bastard in spite of how intoxicated he was. He’d learned under his father’s rule to plan his attacks wisely or taste bitter defeat. Sometimes, getting what you wanted meant looking for another route.
“Tell the lads to keep their eyes open and their mouths closed. We’ll do our drinking someplace less likely to end us with slit throats.”
“Aye, that’s for sure.” Farrell glanced behind them and shook his head. “What’s yer plan?”
“I’m going to join the game.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.” Keir walked forward and took a chair before the two men bothered to investigate who was invading their space. Edmund slammed his tankard down with a thud, but Keir tossed a full bag of coins onto the table. The sound of money drew more interest from Ronchford than Edmund’s displeasure.
“You’re not welcome at this table…Scot!” Edmund sneered and lifted his tankard to take another huge swallow.
Keir patted his purse. “Is that a fact?” The coins hit one another, giving off a faint tinkling sound. It drew smiles from Ronchford’s men and even some of Edmund’s. The lordling tried to remain disgruntled but his gaze strayed to the leather bag, greed flickering in his eyes.
“I like him well enough. His money is my kind of friend.” Ronchford snapped his fingers and a wench bent over the table to deliver a tankard to Keir. Her breasts almost brushed his nose but the scent of her unwashed skin made it simple to ignore her.
Helena was so much sweeter….
Keir shook off the thought, banishing Helena to a corner of his mind. He needed his attention on the men in front of him.
Edmund growled but his eyes shifted to the money. “Fine. You want to lose your money? I’ll be happy to take it.”
There might have only been three of them playing, but the game was the center of attention. Keir studied Edmund and Ronchford, but only Ronchford was as intent as he was. Edmund had dismissed him already, believing himself superior. Keir lost the first hand just to encourage that assumption. But it was Ronchford who scraped the money toward himself. Keir almost felt sorry for Edmund Knyvett. The boy wasn’t the first noble to run into men like Ronchford: men who made their fortunes by stripping it from noblemen who had never been anywhere that their blue blood didn’t pave the way to success for them.
He also wasn’t the first to believe that being born into a noble family made him better than those around him.
But Helena’s face rose to the front of his thoughts and all mercy died. The cards were dealt out again and Keir tightened his attention to the task at hand. An hour later Ronchford’s men were growling at his own. Every McQuade clansman was becoming more eager to give them what their grumbling asked for. Edmund’s money had dwindled to a few coins.
“I’m bored.” He waved his hand over the table.
“Don’t be a sore loser, laddie.” Keir patted the pile in front of him. “Mind ye, I’ll be happy to give you a round to take it back from me.”
Ronchford licked his lower lip. “He’s out of coin.”
Edmund sniffed. “A Knyvett is never out of coin.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A neatly dressed man instantly answered the summons, although there wasn’t a look of subservience in his eyes. It was more calculated, more knowledgeable than that. Keir studied the man, picking out the details of fine tailoring in the man’s doublet. There wasn’t any of the gold beading or lavish lace such as Edmund wore, but there was piping and corded buttons that displayed the same level of tailoring. The only difference was the materials. The man had money, no doubt about i
t, and his presence in the gaming house told Keir he was a loan merchant. Part of the middle class who made good profit off making loans to the nobles.
A fat purse landed on the table in front of Edmund. He smirked and arched an eyebrow at Ronchford.
“I say we dispense with this toying about.” He slid the entire amount into the center of the table. Ronchford matched him, greed brightening his face.
“I’m game.” Keir tossed his own gold into the pile and waited for his cards. Part of him was fighting the urge to remain at the table. That was McQuade money and he was still not accustomed to considering it his due as laird. But fortune favored the bold. Besides, he still had plenty of coin left in front of him, courtesy of Edmund’s intoxicated betting. Keir let his head tilt to one side, his eyes closing to slits. Ronchford smiled before shifting his attention back to his own cards. Edmund wasn’t as candid. The lordling chuckled.
“Do you like the wine, Scot? I hear it’s difficult to come by in Scotland.”
“That it is. Must explain why I’ve enjoyed so much of it.” Keir lift the tankard to his lips and took a swallow. Edmund watched him, glee dancing in his eyes. He looked back down at his cards, his emotions showing plainly on his face. Keir put the tankard down close to the edge of the table. Farrell slipped it off, replacing it with an empty one, just as he’d done several times during the night. The serving girl refilled it a few moments later, to Ronchford’s delight.
Predators. Keir had never seen men that reminded him more of a pair of predators. Their only desire was to feed and please themselves.
Keir held his emotions behind a carefully controlled mask of drink-induced jovialness. Inside he was disgusted. The pair of them were little better than thieves or wolves. They targeted the weak.
Edmund turned his cards over with a flourish. Ronchford smiled and showed his own. The man was already reaching for the money when Keir tapped the tabletop. It was a soft sound, but everyone was focused on the high-stakes game.
“It looks like luck favors me this round.” Keir slurred his words just a small amount.
