The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  "Did you go with him of your own will?" he asked finally.

  Is that what he had meant or was he implying something more base? "I went willingly," she said, lifting her chin slightly.

  "Why?" he snapped.

  "Have I not told you already?"

  "Oh, aye!" He laughed. "I am so alluring you could no longer hold yourself from me."

  The night fell silent.

  "Is that so hard to believe?"

  "Aye. It is."

  "Not for me," she whispered.

  "Why did you go with him?" he repeated, his tone level now.

  "I have no reason to trust ye," she murmured.

  "What has happened to the good old days when saving a damsel's life meant something?"

  She snorted. "Aye. Ye saved me life. But why?

  "Beside Caroline's dying body I found a piece of a black, metal snake. A snake identical to the one on your sword."

  "Nay!" he said.

  "Aye. Explain that, Sir Knight. Explain anything. I am being followed. Why? My life is threatened. I dunna know why. Ye think that makes me trusting?"

  He opened Ms mouth to speak, but she raised her hand and hurried on.

  "I have watched my friends die. I have fought the brigands myself, and still I know not why.

  What are they after?" She felt desperation rising. "I have not riches for them to gain at my expense. I have not power. Why do they follow me?"

  A moment of silence stood between them, and then he reached out, seemingly against his will to touch her face. "What man would not die to possess you?" he asked softly.

  She closed her eyes to his touch. "I am no great beauty, neither refined nor regal."

  "You are like sunshine," he said. "Like balm to an open wound."

  "Sir—" she said, trying to catch her wits.

  "What man would not give his life to have you for his own, if only for a minute?"

  His fingertips grazed her cheek. She shivered at the touch. Against her will, her eyes fell closed.

  "Your skin is like velvet," he whispered. "Rich and soft. Your hair..." His fingers slipped into her loose tresses, skimming beneath it to smooth across her scalp with splayed fingers. "Tis like moonlight spun in strands of gold. Who would not gladly die to touch you? Who would not give his soul to kiss you?" he asked, and suddenly his lips met hers.

  Desire seared through her body. Sweetness flooded her soul. Her arms wrapped around him of their own accord. She tilted her face up to his and now he was kissing her cheek, her brow, her eyelids. Feelings as bright as rainbows arched through her. She knew she should pull away, retreat.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly he was kissing her again and she could do naught but kiss him back.

  Time ceased. Their heartbeats melded. He slid his fingers down her throat, shooting sparks from the contact until they lay against Dragonheart. Suddenly their thoughts entwined, and for one wild moment truth arced between them like lightning.

  "Lady." He breathed the word against her face. "You lie. You don't love Haldane. Do you?"

  Reality snapped her back with the force of impending death. She jerked away, breathing hard.

  "I am sorry." She touched her lips, feeling the bruise, the fire. "I did not mean to do that. There is something wrong with me. I shouldn't have."

  He took a slow step forward, his eyes alight. "There is naught wrong with you. But that you lied."

  "Nay. I did not." Panic was rising. She could not love this man. He was Lord Haldane's knight, pledged to protect and serve. What would happen to him if he reneged? "I am loyal to my lord."

  "Aye, you are loyal. But do you love him? You must not," he said, answering his own query.

  "You must not or you would not have kissed me as you did," he said and stepped closer still.

  Her back bumped up against a tree. She lifted a hand as if she might fend him off, but he pressed his chest up against it, daring her to touch him.

  "I dunna deny that ye move me," she whispered. "For ye are bold and ye are beautiful, but that doesna mean—''

  "What? That you cannot love another and still desire me?"

  Beneath her hand, she could feel the heat of his flesh, but she managed to nod.

  "So again you try to convince me that you are the kind of woman to cherish one man and desire another?'' he asked, his eyes aflame with emotion.

  "Aye."

  "You must think me a terrible fool," he said and leaning forward, he kissed her again.

  Lightning seared her lips. Desire flashed like flame across her mind. Dear lord, she could not resist. But she must.

  "Nay!" She squirmed out of his arms, breathing hard and backing away. "Nay. I canna do this."

  Boden watched her. He was a man fully gown, a score and six years of age, and never in all that time had he felt what he was feeling now. Oh yes, women had always drawn him. Everything about them intrigued him, every small difference between him and them fascinated him, the softness of their skin, the silky length of their hair, how their hips flared and their lips pouted. Their clothing, their voices, their scents. And the more noble the woman, the further above him they seemed, the more he was impressed. But Sara was not regal and elegant like the women of court. Nay. She was like the earth, giving and wholesome. Like the sun, bright and warm. Like no one but herself, and never had he been willing to give up everything for another's touch. "You don't love him, lady. Say it."

  "Nay!"

  Frustration consumed him. "Say it!" he demanded, stepping forward.

  "Nay!" she cried and pivoting on her heel, raced into the woods.

  He lunged after her, but in a moment he stopped. Jesus! What had he done? He had no right to take her as his own. He had no wish to incur Lord Haldane's wrath.

  He must think. Running his hand through his hair, he tried to do just that, to forget the bright color of her eyes, the velvet softness of her skin. She was not a panacea that would cure all his ills.

  She was but a woman, tender, soft, pleasurable, true. But just a woman, once touched and soon forgotten. But in his mind he knew twas not true. He would not forget her. She was not the kind of woman a man used and abandoned. She was the kind of woman to save a man's soul. The kind a man married. But surely Haldane was not planning marriage, for he had already taken a wife.

  Then why could Boden not have her for himself? Because he was naught but Haldane's servant, with nothing to show for his service. Nothing, unless he returned Sara and the babe to the duke's household. But she did not belong there, like a whore to spread herself beneath him. She did not love him. That he knew—felt it in his heart. He was certain...

  Suddenly, her scream shattered the night.

  Boden ripped Adder from its sheath and spun about. Dear God, what had he done?

  Chapter 13

  "You have not changed your mind about returning the babe to his father?'' Liam asked. He had propped one foot casually upon a rock as he absently sharpened two knives, one against the other.

  Their razor sharp blades gleamed in the light of the nearby fire as Sara watched him.

  The day had come and gone, passed in a fog of emotion and fatigue. How the Irishman had found her, Sara couldn't say. But he had, and with his usual aplomb he had taken her again. The scream she'd heard had been his, and yet, somehow, he'd made it sound more like hers than her own.

  It had scared the wits from her, but in a moment she had heard Boden crashing off in that direction. A heartbeat later, Liam had whisked her away.

  The babe! She had to get the babe! she had cried, but Liam shushed her protests and in a moment she saw that Thomas was already sound asleep in Liam's narrow wagon. Tilly was tied in a corner munching on God-knew-what, and though Sara protested, Liam tethered Mettle to the tailgate, saying twould surely slow down the warlord to make him go afoot.

  Sara couldn't argue with that logic, and after Liam promised to make certain the charger was eventually returned to his owner, Sara fell silent.

  A mismatched pair of ge
ldings pulled the wagon.

  Shaggy steeds they were and none too tall, but beneath their hirsute hides pumped blood as blue as royalty. They had run like the wind, swift and sure in the darkness, until Sir Boden was left far behind.

  Twas good, of course. Twas as it had to be.

  Sara stared into the fire, feeling as though her heart had been ripped from her chest.

  "Nay, dear Liam, I have not changed my mind," Liam said, mimicking her higher tone. "And have I thanked ye for saving me from the dread warlord?

  "Well, nay, wee lass, you have not.

  ' 'Then let me do so now, sweet Liam. Let me tell you how clever you are. Never have I known a man half so clever. You are surely the cleverest—"

  "Were ye saying something?" Sara asked, drawing her attention from the flames with a start.

  Overhead, thunder rumbled, threatening rain.

  Liam's gaze was steady on her face, his expression soft. "You still plan to keep the child from Haldane?"

  "I have no choice," Sara said. "I made a vow to keep him safe."

  "And yer certain he would not be safe with his sire?"

  She stood quickly. She'd fallen asleep in the wagon and now felt fidgety and restless. "I wish to God I knew, Liam. But I dunna and I dare not take a chance. Not when the nightmares plague me so."

  She paced, wishing she could sleep again, wishing she could lie down and wake to find that it was all no more than a horrible dream. "What am I to do?"

  Their gazes met. A slash of lightning scarred the sky and faded.

  "About the babe?" he asked.

  She closed her eyes. "I must take him to the Highlands. And there, somehow, I will find a way to keep him safe."

  "And will his father not come after him?"

  "He sent the mother away," she said, wringing her hands. "He did not want her. Does he, then, deserve the child?"

  "Mayhap the question is not whether he deserves him, but whether he will take him, sweet Sara."

  "He does not need the babe. He does not want him!" she said, her tone desperate.

  "Not as much as you do?" he asked softly.

  "Aye." She faced him in the darkness. "Not as much as I do."

  "Will ya hide him away and raise him to manhood in secret then?" Liam asked. "Will ya deny him his birthright?"

  She paused, letting the silence settle in. "I made a vow."

  "And what of the warlord? He doesn't seem the kind to give up with a shrug and trot home."

  Sara's heart pinched painfully. "Aye. What indeed shall I do about Boden?"

  Liam's gaze was as steady as the sea. Without looking up he tossed a blade into the air. Fire flashed along its edge. Seemingly without thought, he caught it by the handle. "I could kill him for you."

  "Nay!" Sara gasped, jerking toward Liam. "Nay! Ye would not!"

  "That depends." He straightened, glaring into her eyes. "Did he harm ya, lass?"

  "Nay!" she breathed, calming herself. "Never."

  "Did he..." Liam paused and for a moment he gritted his teeth as though unable to go on. "Did he dishonor ya?"

  "Nay, he did not." She turned toward the fire again. "But I nearly dishonored myself."

  "So you love him," Liam said.

  "No!" Tenor spurred through her heart.

  "Then let me kill him."

  "He's done naught to deserve death."

  "He's a knight, lass, trained to kill, surely there's something in his past that deserves death."

  "Liam!" She grabbed his arm, feeling panic wash her like a cold wave, feeling her hands shake as she took hold. "I beg of you! Please! Dunna harm him."

  "He will follow ya, Sara. He will try to take ya back."

  "Ye took his horse," she reminded.

  "But he'll come. He will take the babe."

  Her fingers tightened in his sleeve. "Promise me, Liam. Promise ye will not harm him."

  "Even for the babe's sake?"

  "Promise me!"

  Liam was silent for a moment, then, "He's a lucky man," he said softly, "to not be loved by ya."

  "Please promise," she whispered.

  Liam shook his head and chuckled softly as he dropped his foot from the rock and grinned at her. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, lass. But think on it," he said, covering her hand with his own.

  "How would I kill him? He's as big as a tree and solid as a rock. I'm a magician, not an executioner."

  She relaxed her grip and tried to draw in a steady breath. "Then I have your word?"

  "What have I ever done to make you think I would do ought against your wishes?"

  Sara forced herself to relax and turn their attention from the knight that haunted her thoughts.

  "Do I disremember or did ye not once fill my bed with toads?''

  Liam grinned, lifting that smile that, once upon a time, had made two wee cousins swear each would be the one to marry him. Strangely enough, it had made the third swear to see him hanged.

  "I thought twas Rachel's pallet," he said.

  "Never will I understand your dislike for each other."

  His expression sobered and he turned away. "I did not say I disliked her," he said softly.

  "Nay. I believe detest was the word ye used."

  "Well, aye, detest, but not dislike."

  "I do not understand ye, Liam," she said.

  He turned back, his green eyes steady. "Aye. And you don't love the warlord."

  "What do ye mean by that?"

  "Nothing."

  "Do ye mean to say ye have feelings for Rachel?''

  "Shh," Liam said, and suddenly he was crouching, staring into the shadows as if the very devil was there, watching from the darkness.

  Sara froze. Fear streaked up her spine, freezing her muscles.

  Liam turned, quick and quiet as a snake. She watched him. He turned again, listening for a long while. But finally he straightened slightly.

  Sara dared a careful breath. "What?" She breathed the word.

  He lifted the two knives to his lips in a signal for silence, then vanished into the woods.

  Sara finally took a step toward Thomas. He was sound asleep. Bending, she tucked a blanket more closely about him, then pulled her small dagger from its sheath at her side. But never did her gaze leave the woods.

  What had Liam heard? And where was he? Eternity passed on grinding wheels. How long had he been gone?

  Lightning crashed behind her, and suddenly a man's shadow towered dark and high above her.

  She pivoted with a scream in her throat.

  "Don't scream," Liam warned, shrinking back to his normal size as the light abated. "Even with the thunder it might be heard."

  She drew in breaths like a winded steed, trying to calm her heart. "By whom?"

  Liam grinned. "Who knows? Mayhap your warlord be a hell of a runner."

  "Is it Warwick ye fear?"

  His hand covered her mouth in less than an instant. "Don't say that name."

  She stared at him, her heart still pounding in her chest, her mind boggled. His hand slipped away.

  "My apologies, lass," he murmured, and chuckled, but the tone was strained. "Tis a bit jumpy I am."

  But Liam was never jumpy. Conniving, yes. Twas always true. But not jumpy.

  "Who is he?" Sara whispered.

  "Tis someone to be avoided."

  "Liam, dunna treat me like a child. Who is he? Why did I feel..." She paused, searching for words.

  "Terror?" he asked. "Despair?"

  She nodded.

  "Tis because he deals in terror," Liam whispered. "He is despair."

  Prickly fingers of fear crept up Sara's spine. She turned her head slowly to peer into the shadows behind her, but there was no one there.

  "Ye are making no sense, Liam. Surely he is naught but an old man. But what is he after?"

  "In all honesty, I dunna know, lass." Thunder grumbled. "Mayhap ya would have been safer with the warlord." Lightning slashed overhead again. Liam lifted his hand, and suddenly, as if by magic, t
he amulet fell from her neck and into his palm. "Tell me, have you worn Dragonhead every day since I gave him to ya?"

  "Why?" she asked, feeling the hair stand upright on the back of her neck. It prickled against her collar. "What has that to do with Warwick?"

  "Hush," he breathed. "I warned you not to speak his name."

  "Liam!"

  "I'm sorry." He turned away, curling his fist about Dragonheart. "I don't mean to frighten ya, lass, but there are some things I must know."

  She nodded.

  "Have you been wearing the amulet faithfully?"

  "Aye. Every day since ye gave it to me, just before I left for London."

  "And have you been safe?"

  "Liam, whatever are ye—"

  "Please, lass!" His knives had disappeared and now he grasped her hand in his. "Answer me."

  "Since leaving Scotland the world has gone insane, Liam."

  He scowled. "But you, you have been safe?"

  "Aye," she said slowly. "I have not been harmed. Why?"

  "Even when the brigands attacked?"

  "Nay."

  "And he..." Liam said softly. " He has not appeared?"

  "Ye mean—"

  "Don't say his name. He is a sorcerer, Sara. Some call him the dark wizard. Don't let his age nor his seeming frailty fool ya. Tis said the king himself ordered him to be blinded and burned for his witchcraft. But somehow he escaped, and now he is more powerful and more evil than ever."

  She laughed nervously, wondering if he was merely telling her another story to frighten her as he was wont to do when they were children.

  "There's much we do not know, Sara. Much we take for granted. He is a sorcerer. Take that to mean what you will. But don't doubt that he is dangerous."

  "Liam, ye canna be serious."

  "I am as serious as death, lass. More serious. For he can do more than take your life."

  "Was it he who sent the first brigands?"

  "I dunna know."

  "What did they want? Why me?"

  Liam shook his head in uncertainty. "He hungers for power as a starving man hungers for bread.

  He will do anything, work for anyone so long as it feeds his appetite." He opened his palm to gaze into the dragon's ruby eye. "Tis said the old man has made kingdoms fall and princes rise from nothingness."

  "But I have no kingdom," she whispered. "No power. What is he after?"