They sat. One of the men moved to another table.
Bryce sat slowly, still watching the men.
They both reached for the trencher at the same time.
Their fingers touched.
Bryce was looking at her the way he had before she blurted out her ridiculous comment about his hair. And, Lord help her, she didn’t want to look away. He was so serious. And so incredibly handsome.
He was also strictly off-limits.
Bryce pulled his hand back and reached for his mug instead. They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
“A refill, my lady?” asked a serving maid.
She was loath to go back to her bedchamber prison, but he clearly wanted her to leave. The way he’d pulled away from her hand told her as much.
Instead, she readily agreed to more ale.
“Why are you here?” Bryce asked. He pushed his large wooden chair back slightly, turning toward her. Her gaze fell on the tanned chest that peeked out from an opening at the front of his loose shirt. Did the man ever wear a surcoat? Or armor for that matter? He dressed more like a peasant than a noble.
She blinked. What was his question?
“Your brother was ordered, as you say, to take and hold Bristol Manor, but why are you here?”
Oh, that.
“Toren refused to relent on the issue of my betrothal. I thought perhaps he would be more agreeable in person.”
“And so you traveled to England, to an unsafe holding in the Borderlands, to convince him otherwise?”
“We’re in Scotland, not England. Aye, it seemed to be the only way to convince him.”
“Did it work?”
“Not exactly.”
Bryce’s blue eyes narrowed. “Not exactly?”
“Not yet.”
“How long have you been at Bristol?”
“Three years.”
The new lord of Bristol choked on his ale.
“Three years? The man is likely married already by now.”
“That hardly matters, does it, my lord? I can assure you leaving Bristol with my life has become more of a priority than getting married.”
“Catrina.” His voice was so deep, her name on his lips mesmerizing. Catrina shifted in her seat, unnerved by his intensity. “You will not be harmed. I’m sure you know that.”
She did. It was her brother she was worried about. Wisely, she held her tongue. That was not a topic that would endear her to her captor.
“Graeme is not yet married.” He had written to her brother just the month before, asking to visit Bristol. To visit her.
Bryce leaned forward with one elbow on each knee. “I will not harm you. But understand this. Your brothers’ actions saw my home taken. Nay, don’t argue that fact. It’s been in my family for three generations. Bristol is my home. Not yours.”
Catrina was prepared to dispute that particular point, but somehow she knew it was a good time to stay silent.
He leaned toward her and reached under the table. What was he about?
“Here,” he said.
He reached back up and took her hand. She drew a sharp breath. The warmth and strength of his grip as he splayed it atop her own sent a shiver down her core.
Bryce guided her hand under the wooden table directly in front of her until she felt the faint carving.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A mark my brother and I left behind. And not without repercussion.”
He pulled his hand from hers as abruptly as he took it.
Catrina drew a deep, steadying breath.
“Your brother will pay handsomely for your return. When he does, your prospects for marriage will be limited. This Graeme deSowlis of Clan Scott may be the only choice you have for a husband.”
God’s bones, what utter nonsense! “Is that supposed to comfort me? The prospect of seeing my clan in ruins?”
He sat back in his chair. “You want to marry a man you think you love. Raise the family you never had. You should be pleased.”
What an insufferable, arrogant…Englishman. “Do you think so little of your own family that such a prospect would please you? What of your brother? Your sister?”
So much for not angering him.
“What do you know of my sister?”
“Only that you have one. You forget I lived here for the past three years. I know more about you than you think.”
“A fact that would be hard to forget as my sister lived modestly those years with my aunt and uncle, not having any other home to speak of.”
A fact she was sorry for but didn’t say so aloud.
“And yet you’re unafraid of me. Why?”
Indeed. Why? From everything she knew of the Waryn brothers, she had every right to be terrified. Both had reputations as fierce warriors and excellent swordsmen and were reputed to be undefeated in a tournament. But she also knew from Evelyn, among others, that they were neither cruel nor quick-tempered.
“You would never harm the person who could make you rich enough to fortify Bristol Manor.”
She managed to surprise him.
“How did you know—”
“Because it’s what Toren would do. You aren’t very different, you and my brother.”
It was true. After her mother’s abandonment, she had harbored ill feelings toward everything English for a time. But that had been nothing more than ignorance. Her countrymen and the Northumbrians were virtually indistinguishable.
“I don’t kill innocent women.” His expression had not changed, but both of Bryce’s hands were balled into fists.
He was furious.
“I’m sorry, Bryce. My brother is sorry. My clan is sorry. The man who killed your mother was—”
“Enough!” He stood and, without a backward glance, walked away.
Halfway across the hall, without even bothering to turn around, he called out, rather unkindly, “You are in England, not Scotland.”
Catrina watched him speak to her guard at the entrance of the hall. What had started as a promising day was ending in disaster. If the possibility of her escape meant curbing her tongue and feigning deference, by Christ’s toes, that’s what she would do.
Starting tomorrow.
Her chance never came. On the next day or the one after it. She sat on a wooden stool in her new quarters—a bedchamber reserved for guests. The entire room would take up only a quarter of the lord’s chambers. At least a small window afforded a view of the manor’s courtyard. She spent most of her time watching Bristol Manor come back to life.
Bryce had been smart to move her here. She would never harm Elise, but putting a knife to the chambermaid’s throat might convince her to switch places with her. If only she had access to the weapon which lay in a chest in her own bedchamber just down the hall. Or what used to be her bedchamber.
She’d never admit it to him, but Toren was right. She should have gone home long ago. When it became clear her brother would not relent—the new bitterness he felt for Clan deSowlis ran too deep—she should have returned to Brockburg. And yet…Bristol had come to feel like home. Oddly, she was judged less here for being Scottish than she was back home for being half English. Of course, much of the turmoil following the initial attack on Bristol had settled before she arrived. The people here lived too close to the border to harbor resentment. Accepting a new lord was easier when there were no other options.
This morning, Evelyn had been given leave to visit, to check on her head. But she’d given her no news or information. Worse, she’d had nothing but praise for the new lord.
With each passing hour, Catrina worried more about her brothers’ safety. She knew they had to be planning a rescue, but the manor was too well-fortified for an outright attack—now more so than ever. Which meant one of them, likely Toren, would risk his own neck to sneak inside.
She could not allow it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in a position to prevent the fool’s errand at the moment.
Much to her dismay, if she wasn’t dreami
ng up ways to escape, her thoughts kept returning to a certain blue-eyed lord. The heated way he’d looked at her during their last meal gave her chills even now. She despised the man, of course. He was everything she imagined him to be.
And more.
When the door opened, she wasn’t surprised to see Elise there. But when two male servants entered behind her, Catrina bounded from her seat and hugged the maid.
“A bath! Oh, thank you, Elise. Thank you.”
They placed the wooden tub in the only area large enough to accommodate it and were followed by a stream of servants carrying copper pots of water. Once the bath was filled and the men were gone, Catrina wasted no time stripping down with Elise’s assistance. When she sank into the tub of steaming hot water, her cheeks tingled with unshed tears of joy.
She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Elise.”
“Only followin’ orders, my lady. Knock when you’re finished, and they’ll remove the tub.” The maid handed her lavender-scented soap and laid two drying cloths on the bed.
Why would Bryce order a bath for her? It took a small army to fill the tub with hot water from the kitchens. After their ill-fated meal, he’d refused to see her, refused to allow her to sup in the hall. Why offer this kindness?
She distracted herself from thoughts of the Englishman by scrubbing every inch of her body with the sweet-smelling soap. When finished, she dried and dressed in the simple cotton chemise Elise had left behind. She must have fetched it from her chamber.
Thank you, Elise!
She knocked on the door, which was answered by her ever-present guard. Unlike the new lord, this man always wore armor, his chainmail tunic and ominous sword a constant reminder, as if she needed one, that she was indeed a prisoner.
After the tub was removed, Catrina sat on a bench near the small fireplace that warmed the room and tried to concentrate on her escape plans.
The door creaked opened behind her.
“They removed the tub, Elise—”
“Did you enjoy your bath?” She whipped her head around at the deep male voice, certainly not Elise.
“My lord! What are you doing—”
“I asked you a question, Catrina.”
Remembering her vow, even in the face of his high-handed tone, Catrina walked toward Bryce and answered simply, “Aye, very much.”
She should be embarrassed by her state of dress. Should chastise him for being here alone, and while she was in her chemise. It was indecent. Scandalous.
Instead, she said nothing.
“I want to apologize.” His expression was a familiar one. Indifferent. Fierce. Certainly not apologetic. Freshly washed himself, his hair still damp, Bryce looked every inch the warrior.
“Apologize?” For someone often accused of talking too much, she was unable to formulate a thought. Her pulse raced as he walked toward her.
“I made a vow, promised to allow you supper in the hall. A Waryn does not break his word.” He was mere inches from her now.
“And I’m sorry for speaking of your mother. I—”
“No more.”
What did he want her to say?
“We won’t speak of the skirmish. Either one of us. There’s been no word from your brother, so I’m unsure how long you’ll be here. But for this to work, there can be no discussion of rights or raids. Is that understood?”
Oh, she understood fine. Only one person was allowed an opinion, and it wasn’t her. God, he was insufferable. Taking a deep breath, she prayed to St. Clare for patience and agreed.
“Aye, that’s—”
He moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to think. Before she knew what he was about, Bryce pulled her toward him.
His hands grasped her face, and he placed his lips on hers.
When she put her hands on his chest, it was to steady herself, not to push him away. Because she wanted this. Had dreamed of it.
“Open your lips, Catrina.”
Open her lips? A potential suitor had stolen a kiss from her once, but it had been so fleeting she hardly remembered it. But she’d certainly never opened her lips. That she’d remember.
She looked into his eyes. They pleaded with her, pulsing with the same desire she’d seen there before their argument at supper.
And, Lord help her, she was going to do it.
7
What the hell was he doing?
As he stared into her eyes, Bryce knew without a doubt it was wrong. He’d done a good job of avoiding her for these past two days, which was easy with her being locked away. She was his captive. The sister of a man he planned to destroy.
But he had promised to allow her meals in the hall.
The Scot bewitched everyone around her. Evelyn, Thomas, even her guard. All begged him to allow her some freedom. She could not possibly escape, they argued. Alone. Unguarded.
And much to his dismay, he couldn’t stop thinking of her. The most comely servant at Bristol Manor had invited him to her bed the evening before, and Thomas had gaped in disbelief when he overheard him declining her offer. The girl paled in comparison to the vixen who stood before him now, trying to decide if he were mad.
He knew this was a mistake when he told the guard to inform him when her bath was finished. He knew it when he told Elise to retire for the evening. And he knew it now, standing before her, the sweet smell of lavender invading his senses. But after spending two sleepless nights assaulted by visions of Catrina’s full lips and expressive eyes, he’d decided it was the only way to clear his mind.
One kiss.
The muscles in his chest tightened under her hands as her lips parted ever so slightly. He knew she desired him but didn’t know if she would admit it. To herself or to him.
Bryce needed no further invitation. He lowered his head and gently coaxed her mouth wider with his tongue. Catrina’s eyes flew open. He stroked his thumb on her cheek to calm her and then moved his hand to the back of her head, pulling her closer and fitting his mouth fully on hers. His cock strained as she responded by opening for him. She may have kissed a man before, but never like this. Bryce showed her with his tongue what he expected, and Catrina didn’t disappoint.
Fully understanding, she touched her tongue to his. More firmly, he moved his mouth against her, shaking in his need to bring her even closer. She moved her lips across his with abandon, and the deep kiss quickly spun out of control.
He moaned, the pleasure so intense from a simple kiss. He couldn’t get enough. Pressing her against him, he was sure she could feel his need. Only a thin chemise and his trousers separated them. She would not understand, and it wasn’t for him to show her.
Bryce had bargained for a kiss. Not for this unchecked passion which threatened to overcome them both.
He pulled away.
Her chest rose and fell, her lips still wet with his kiss. Hair unbound once again, she looked like the same nymph who had stared at him with a full measure of bravado and wide-eyed innocence in their shelter from the rain.
“That, my lady, was a kiss.”
“Why?”
Indeed, why?
“I wanted it. You wanted it.”
“I did not.” She stepped back, as if to avoid his touch. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull her back, proving otherwise. But nothing good would come of it.
“Oh aye, you did.”
And he wanted to do it again. But one mistake did not mean a second was inevitable. He had achieved his purpose. Now he could concentrate on what was important.
“Have no fear, my lady. It won’t happen again.”
He didn’t want to see her face before he turned to leave. But he did. She was confused. Rightly so, he supposed. It hardly made sense to him either.
“I will see you tomorrow at supper, Catrina.”
Without a backward glance, he walked away.
By St. Thomas’s blood and all that was holy, what was that?
Catrina could have stopped him at any time. But she hadn’t. He was right, of c
ourse. She closed her eyes at night, hating herself for imagining his lips on hers. Hating herself for the way her heart had nearly beaten out of her chest when she realized what Bryce was about.
Lord help her, she desired her captor. The man who’d run her family from their home. Granted, it was a home they’d never wanted. Their family may have had a claim to Bristol from generations ago, back when the area was firmly in Scottish hands. But if Toren hadn’t been ordered to take it, he would not have spread his clan so thin by venturing this far south.
She lay for what must have been hours before finally falling asleep. When the sun rose, Catrina was startled to find Elise at her bedside with a light repast. It wasn’t like her to sleep so late.
“A fresh shift and gown, my lady.”
“Thank you, Elise. But I’m hardly in need of it for a day spent—”
“You’re to be given freedom of the manor, my lady.”
Catrina stared at Elise, whose smile told her it was true.
“For meals, you mean?”
Catrina allowed Elise to assist her in getting dressed. She slipped on her soft brown leather shoes. Her brothers teased her mercilessly about them. But when her gown was long enough and none could see her feet, why did it matter they were as old as she? They continued to serve her well.
“I’m not sure. My lord awaits your presence in the hall.”
Bryce. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.
“My hair, Elise. Leave it down.”
“Aye, my lady.”
They finished quickly, Catrina nearly running down the spiraling stairs which led to the hall in her haste to confirm it was true.
But when she entered the hall, Bryce was nowhere to be seen. The trestle tables were stacked against the sides of the walls. It was later than she had realized.
The new steward, Sir Thomas, approached and offered his arm.
“A walk, Lady Catrina?”
She took the Englishman’s arm, and he led her past the buttery. They stepped out a door leading to the manor’s gardens.
The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2) Page 7
