Templeton, Julia

by The Bargain

  Renaud's lethal gaze locked with hers. There was a dangerous gleam in his eye that made her mouth go dry. "You can wipe that smile from your face, Aleysia—for Laird MacMillan will be leaving Braemere without you."

  CHAPTER 6

  Duncan MacMillan was a big man. Tall and barrel-chested, with long red hair and a full beard, the Scot sat astride his horse, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. At least ten years Renaud's senior, he looked every bit the hot-blooded Scottish laird that he was.

  How Renaud hated him.

  Duncan is a gentleman and he will have me still. He loves me— and I love him. Aleysia's words still burned in his ears. Did she truly love this man who was old enough to be her father? A man who would no doubt treat her like a child rather than an equal?

  Their fevered lovemaking made him think not. Of course love and desire were two different things entirely. His own mother had sworn love and loyalty to his father, then left him for another. Women were devious creatures, not to be trusted.

  "My lord, you know he will not leave Braemere without his woman."

  Renaud glanced at Galeran, who rode beside him, along with his most trusted men-at-arms, out of the bailey, toward the field where the Scot and his army awaited. "Aleysia is not his woman, and he cannot have her."

  Galeran's lips quirked. "I do believe she has gotten under your skin, my lord. I know it is not my place to say, but please be wary. Remember what your father always said."

  Indeed. His father's words had been running through his mind from the moment Renaud had set eyes on Aleysia. The problem was, he could not purge the Saxon from his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried. She even haunted his dreams. Just this morning while he met with his men, his thoughts kept drifting to the night spent in her arms. How sweet her touch had been, setting his blood on fire, making him thirst for more. And he had received more—just moments ago when she'd ridden him in the chair, her lovely green eyes full of passion and wonderment.

  He'd had no inclination to make love to her again so soon, for he knew she must be sore. Yet when she'd come to him, sinking down on her knees, he had been unable to keep his hands to himself. God's truth, he did not think he would ever get enough of her.

  "Laird MacMillan looks like he could run you clean through," Galeran remarked, bringing Renaud out of his thoughts and to the confrontation ahead.

  Galeran did not lie. The laird glowered at him as he approached, a murderous gleam in his eye, but Renaud felt no fear. After all, his men lined the walls of the keep and bailey, ready for him to give the signal to attack. MacMillan and his small band of men would be slaughtered.

  Renaud stopped a few yards shy of the Scottish laird and nodded in greeting.

  "Baron de Wulf."

  "Laird Duncan MacMillan." He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. "I have come to claim my bride. I demand her release." He demanded?

  Renaud's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. How he itched to take the man's head off with a swipe of his blade. "Aleysia and Adelstan are prisoners of the crown, and therefore they will remain at Braemere."

  The Scot flinched, his gaze shifting from Renaud, to the men behind him, and up along the palisade and battlements where archers stood shoulder to shoulder, bows extended and arrows notched. MacMillan's shoulders straightened, knowing he was outnumbered. Renaud could see reservation in the laird's dark eyes when their gazes locked once more. "Do what ye will with Adelstan. I have no doubt your king is thirsty for his blood... but return my betrothed to me."

  Disbelief rocked Renaud. MacMillan did not look at all sorry to leave Adelstan to his fate. In truth, Renaud wondered if that wasn't relief he saw in the other man's eyes. Had the Scot been jealous of the close relationship the twins shared, and therefore wanted Adelstan gone? "Why would you leave Adelstan to his fate?"

  "The lad can stay in your dungeon for all eternity. He has led his sister astray, making her more into a man than the young woman she is. Mayhap with him gone, Aleysia will embrace her feminine ways."

  "Aleysia is as guilty as her brother."

  "Guilty of what?" the Scot asked, his rage evident by the color that stained his cheeks.

  "Attempted murder of a lord of the realm."

  MacMillan's brows furrowed. "My betrothed would ne'er do something so foolish."

  If only he knew what else his betrothed had done.

  "It matters not what you believe, MacMillan. I assure you, however, that Aleysia is guilty of this crime. I have the scar to prove it."

  "No doubt Aleysia did what was necessary to save her life."

  Irritated that the man's words rang true and that Aleysia had made the bargain to save her brother under distress, Renaud unsheathed his sword. "I have already sent word to my king that we have captured Adelstan and his twin. King William will be expecting both. I cannot arrive with only one," he lied.

  "He will marry her to another!" MacMillan yelled, his face turning bright red with anger.

  Everything within Renaud rebelled at that statement. "Nay, he will not, for I will not allow it to happen. If Aleysia marries anyone, it will be me. Return to Scotland, MacMillan. Cawdor's twins are no longer your concern."

  The laird's eyes glittered with hatred and vengeance.

  "I will pay you handsomely if you return her to me." MacMillan motioned for one of his soldiers to come forward. The soldier held a chest, which he opened to display hundreds of gold coins.

  Galeran glanced at Renaud. No doubt it was more money than the young man had ever seen. "I am not interested."

  "What do ye have to gain by keeping Aleysia with ye?" Renaud lifted a brow. "Do you honestly need me to answer that question?"

  The Scot's eyes narrowed and he drew his sword. All around them metal scraped against scabbards. "By God, if ye have dishonored my betrothed..."

  "That is between Aleysia and myself."

  MacMillan's fury shone bright in his dark expression. "I demand satisfaction, de Wulf."

  "You cannot win, MacMillan. You know that. Take your gold and return to your beloved Highlands. Forget Aleysia."

  MacMillan's jaw clenched tight. "I go now, but not because I fear ye, but because I will not have my kinsman slain by the likes of you. You have my word on it that ye have not seen the last of me, de Wulf."

  "Is that a threat?"

  MacMillan's lips curved into a smile that did not begin to reach his eyes. "Nay, 'tis a promise."

  Aleysia watched the exchange from the bedchamber window.

  She could sense Duncan's agitation as he conversed with Renaud. Strangely, she had been nervous, not only for the Scot, but for Renaud as well. Duncan was an excellent swordsman, and had a hot temper to match. Both his skill and disposition were legendary in the Highlands. But today he was outmanned, and well he knew it. Renaud's men stood at the ready, an incredible sight, weapons drawn, just waiting for their liege lord to give the word to attack.

  But Renaud did not give the signal, and as quickly as the meeting started, it ended with Duncan leaving, leading his men away from Braemere. Aleysia had seen the soldier come forward with a chest, and once opened the sun glinted off the gold coin. To her shock Renaud had refused it.

  Watching Duncan's retreating back, Aleysia felt a combination of sadness and anger. Worse still, all the hope she had been feeling melted away. She had hoped she and her brother would be released.

  Now she must get the draught. If she failed, her brother would die and she would be alone. Her entire family extinguished. A raw ache filled her, tightening her throat. How could she live without Adelstan?

  As MacMillan and his men disappeared over the ridge, Aleysia looked for Renaud. On horseback, he sat just beyond the gatehouse, his trusted vassal Galeran at his side, the army still alert, standing, waiting until Duncan and his men were safely out of sight.

  Suddenly, Renaud wheeled his horse about, his gaze directed at the window where she stood. Her breath hitched, and she almost stepped out of sight. But pride made her stand firm. S
he lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on, hoping he saw her fury.

  To her surprise there was no triumphant smile on his handsome face. No gloating. In fact, he showed no expression at all as he stared at her. Then Galeran said something to him and he turned to his vassal, the moment gone.

  What had Renaud said to Duncan? Had he told her betrothed that he had taken her maidenhead? Knowing the truth now, would the laird return in force, or would he consider her not worth the effort or risk? No doubt he thought her soiled goods. Shame rippled through her. If only her body had not betrayed her. Then she would have no reason to feel guilty.

  She stepped away from the window, her mind racing. Yes, she must get the draught from the healer and leave Braemere before Renaud took Adelstan to York.

  Weary, Renaud climbed the steps to the bedchamber where Aleysia awaited him.

  He had seen her watching from the window, knew that she had seen the exchange between he and MacMillan. Her fury had been evident even from a distance, and he wondered what to say to her now. In his heart he knew MacMillan would return, but he was not about to tell her that.

  Still he was stunned that the Scottish laird had not wanted Adelstan's release.

  And what would Aleysia say if she knew MacMillan had so easily left her beloved twin to his fate? Would she still love him then?

  Considering how fiercely loyal she was to her brother, he would think not.

  A maid stepped out of his bedchamber just then. "My lord," she said, nodding to him as she passed by, the candle fluttering, casting shadows upon the stone walls.

  He nodded and entered the warm chamber where a fire blazed in the hearth. He closed the door behind him and looked to the bed where Aleysia lay.

  Wearing only a fine linen chemise, she lay on top of the furs, her back to him. He could sense her sadness and her anger by her rigid posture.

  He had never been good at comforting... having himself never sought his mother's touch for any ache or pain. Always the task felt awkward and unnatural, yet now he felt compelled to ease Aleysia's ache somehow. If only he knew how. Trying to think of something to say, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to her, his hand settling on her hip.

  She froze at his touch, but did not pull away. He could feel her skin beneath the sheer material—and his body responded, his cock hardening.

  "What did he say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He could hear the pain in that question and it tugged at his heart.

  How easy it would be to tell her that her loyal betrothed had not wanted Adelstan at all. That he had seen the jealousy in the Scot's eyes, toward a twin who had taken excellent care of his sister, keeping her out of harm's way for all these years, when he could so easily have used her as a pawn. But he could not hurt her again. She had suffered enough with the news of Adelstan's being summoned to York. "He asked for you, but I refused."

  Regret filled every inch of him. If only she were not Saxon, and her brother had not killed de Pirou. How could he take her brother, her only living family member, to certain death? If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he admired the young Saxon, who had taken a fief back from the devious de Pirou. Renaud would have done likewise if his parents had been killed. Aye, it was a shame Adelstan was Saxon, for Renaud would be honored to have such a knight in his ranks. As it was, he could not trust the young, clever man. The boy was simply too dangerous.

  Plus, King William expected Adelstan at York by month's end. Renaud's mind raced, knowing William would not show the Saxon mercy. Mayhap if Renaud convinced the king that Adelstan could, with proper training, become a trusted vassal and a fearless knight? Yet would Adelstan agree to such a life?

  More important—would William allow such leniency, especially given the extremity of the crime?

  In his heart he knew the answer.

  Already the heads of Saxon leaders sat atop pikes along York Castle, a message to all that King William was in England to stay. "What else did he say?"

  Renaud shook away the gruesome image of the pikes on the battlements at York. "He asked only for your release."

  She rolled over, her gaze locking with his. Her eyes were reddened and puffy from crying. "And what of Adelstan?" Her voice broke.

  How lovely she was. Amazingly beautiful, fiercely loyal. She was the kind of woman a man would kill to protect. A woman he would protect. Oddly enough, he had not been swayed by the coin MacMillan had offered. Many in his place would have taken it and offered the fortune to William in order to gain favor, but Renaud had not been tempted in the least.

  Her eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, reminding him that she had asked him a question and awaited his answer.

  Not wanting her to hurt more than she did already, he nodded. "Him, too."

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and when she blinked, they slid down her cheek, onto the sheer material of the chemise.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers, brushing away the tear with his thumb, but she jerked away. "Aleysia, you know if I could change this, I would."

  Her eyes searched his, and with a moan of despair she turned away, onto her side, lifting her knees toward her chest, her sobs wracking her body.

  A stab of guilt pierced him as he helplessly watched her. He had done this. Made this beautiful creature cry. And she had suffered so much already. The death of her parents, the loss of her home—and shortly, the loss of her beloved twin.

  Feeling wretched, he removed his boots, chausses, and tunic, and lay down on the bed beside her.

  Her sobs tore at his heart. How he ached to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and just hold her. Tell her everything would be all right.

  But it would be a lie.

  And they both knew it.

  His gaze slid from her quaking shoulders, down her slender back, over the curve of her hip. The chemise hugged her body, outlining its perfection. Her bent knees pulled the fabric tight, emphasizing her buttocks and long legs, and his body responded to the sensual sight.

  He could feel his heart pounding, hear the crackle of the wood in the fire, burning, much like the blood within his veins.

  She shivered, so he pulled a blanket over her, tucking it around her, relieved it covered her curves, for he desired her greatly—and seeing her in the thin chemise aroused him nearly as much as if she lay naked.

  Within minutes her breathing evened out and he realized she had fallen asleep. Going up on his elbow, he looked down at her. How solemn she looked, almost angelic, save for the tears.

  Resisting the urge to brush them away, he instead lay back on the bed, staring at the canopy above him. He wondered if he'd have been better off rejecting her bargain. Mayhap he should have sent her back to Scotland.

  CHAPTER 7

  The healer's small hut sat alone in a wooded area east of the village. Smoke curled from the chimney, filling the air with a strange scent.

  Aleysia remembered her mother telling her when she was a child that the healer's hut had sat apart from the village because the old woman needed to be near the forests, where she grew her potent herbs. She had also heard that many of the villagers feared the healer, claiming her to be a witch, but Aleysia did not believe the dear woman to be evil. Nay, she had always been incredibly kind, and though she must be one hundred years old, her mind was still sharp.

  Aleysia looked over her shoulder to make sure she had not been followed. Thankfully, Renaud was busy with his troops, wielding swords and practicing archery. She had managed to slip away from the guard who had fallen asleep beside a large oak, while she had been busy picking berries.

  It had been nearly a week since she'd visited Adelstan in the tower. In that time she had done nothing to raise Renaud's suspicion, doing what he said, and making no argument. She had even cuddled close to him at night, but not once since Duncan's departure had he made love to her.

  In truth, he seemed to be spending more time in the great hall with his men. And last night he had not come to the chamber at all. Aleysia had aw
oken in the early morning hours to find herself alone, and experienced a moment of frustration while she wondered where Renaud had slept.

  She had noticed how the female servants watched him, particularly the big-breasted servant who had wanted to rub his back—and no doubt more than that—when he had bathed that first night upon taking Braemere. Aye, it seemed all the women wanted him, making eyes at him, hoping to catch his interest. Had he spent the night in another woman's arms? The thought made her stomach tighten painfully.

  She had seen him this morning in the great hall. He looked well rested and in good spirits, completely ignoring her as she made her way to his side. He had merely nodded at her in greeting, a soft smile on his handsome face, before turning to converse with Galeran.

  Shaking away the memory, she refocused her attention and took a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she had not been followed. Seeing no one, Aleysia knocked on the door. A moment later, the healer opened the door and smiled.

  "I was expecting you, my dear. Do you have time for tea?"

  "I am sorry, but I must return before the guard awakes and realizes where I am." Aleysia glanced over her shoulder once more, before handing the healer the note she had written earlier, when she had stolen a few moments alone. "I fear I must ask another favor of you, and when you have done so much already. I have written a letter to Duncan MacMillan, the Scottish laird who was here not long ago. I am hoping your grandson can deliver a message to him. I know it is a dangerous task, so I will give him this," Aleysia said, removing a ring from her finger. The ring had belonged to her mother, a gift from her father. How she hated to part with the treasured piece, but she knew the risk was great for the young man. The least she could do was sacrifice something for his effort.

  The old woman's eyes lit up. '"Tis beautiful, my lady. But surely it is worth too much for a simple errand."

  "Nay, take it. 'Tis a dangerous journey I send him on, and in such uncertain times."