Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  Aileen laid her hand upon his arm and she shook her head slightly. Her gaze was warm, her voice soft. “You cannot anticipate the evil of another, Hawk. The blame is not yours in this, but that of the one who wielded the blade.”

  He took a deep breath and frowned. “No, lady mine. I have witnessed the wickedness of Dubhglas MacLaren. I should have protected the priest.”

  She granted him a beguiling smile and her grip tightened slightly on his arm. “Would you protect every soul in Christendom, my lord?”

  He stiffened. “Do you mock me?”

  She shook her head, her eyes shining so bright a blue that the Hawk had to look away. He stared down at her fingers upon his arm, and covered them with his other hand. A lump rose in his throat when she eased closer. Never had he felt such kinship with his bride. Her fingers were soft beneath his own, feminine and a marked contrast to his own calloused hands. Her grip was firm, though, and he liked well that she had neither fainted nor trembled before the horror of this tale.

  Her fingers tightened upon his. “Are there spies within your hall, Hawk?”

  He abandoned any inclination to lie. “I do not know.”

  The silence hung heavily between them, and neither uttered a word.

  She spied something in his expression, though, for she sighed and granted him a sad smile. “You do not trust me.”

  “I dare not trust any soul.”

  “Save your men,” she amended tartly.

  “They have served me faithfully for years.”

  Aileen studied him, clearly unpersuaded. “Am I condemned solely for my recent arrival? Or do you believe me to be the spy in your hall for another reason?”

  He said nothing, for he would neither lie to her nor wound her with careless accusations. The moment of understanding between them had passed, though he wished heartily that he could have coaxed it back.

  Aileen muttered something beneath her breath and might have turned away, but the Hawk caught her hand more firmly within his own. “Your father would speak with you alone,” he admitted, his words terse.

  She considered this for a moment then inclined her head to watch him. “And this concerns you.”

  “I do not know what you will tell him.”

  “What would you have me tell him?” the lady demanded with some annoyance. “Shall I confess the truth, that my husband has never possessed me and appears to have no desire to do so? Shall I tell him that I am not trusted? Would you not be glad to be rid of me, potential spy that I am?”

  “You know I would not be.”

  “I know no such thing!” she retorted, then turned to enter the hall. Her chin was high and she walked like a queen, her spine as straight as a newly honed blade. He realized belatedly the import of the veil and circlet she wore, that she supported his ruse that their match was consummated, and his heart softened. She raised a hand to wave to her father, but the Hawk could not let this matter be.

  He seized her elbow and pulled her to a halt, flicking his wrist so that she pivoted to face him. She gasped and flushed but she did not pull away. Indeed, her eyes sparkled with either defiance or delight.

  The Hawk did not care which.

  He caught her other elbow in his grip and held her fast, letting her see the desire that burned within him. “I would not have you leave my side,” he said with quiet resolve. “Let me persuade you of the truth of it.”

  A smile touched her ruddy lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her cheeks flushed in anticipation and he spied the flicker of her pulse at her throat.

  “I thought the task was mine to invite your ardor,” she whispered mischievously, the twinkle that danced in her eyes making the Hawk’s blood heat.

  “I suggest you make your invitation with haste,” he murmured, feeling the attention of the hall land upon them. He smiled slightly. “For I would not willingly break my pledge to you, lady mine.”

  “Then, kiss me, Hawk,” she whispered. Her fingers gripped his upper arms as she rose to her toes, pressing her breasts against his chest as her lips parted. “Kiss me now and kiss me lingeringly. Persuade me that you are not displeased with your bride.”

  The Hawk needed no second invitation, and indeed, he granted his lady wife no chance to offer one.

  Nissa found Ahearn in the stables, brushing down a palfrey. He spoke gently to the beast as he worked, and she heaved a sigh at the soft burr of his speech. When he was alone and unobserved, she could almost believe he had a heart. He had shed his tabard and cloak, and worked with the sleeves of his chemise rolled up. His hair was a dark tangle upon his brow, and she could see how finely wrought he was.

  She cleared her throat sharply before she lost her resolve and stepped pertly into the stables, enjoying how he jumped with surprise. His expression brightened at the sight of her and she softened toward him, then reminded herself not to be a fool.

  “I come only because I was commanded to do so,” she said. “Do not imagine I sought you out of my choice.”

  His brow darkened and he returned to his labor. “And is that not a charming greeting?” he muttered. “If you mean to ask a favor from me, you make a poor beginning, Nissa.”

  “The favor is not for me, but for my lady.” Nissa eased closer, liking the smell of the horses and leather harnesses. Her father had been an ostler and she felt comfort around these familiar scents and routines. Ahearn spared her a glance and she caught her breath at the clear sparkle of his eyes. “She seeks someone with a knowledge of herbs to ease the suffering of Margery in the village.”

  “What ails her?”

  “She carries Reinhard’s child, and the lady thought there was a potion that might alleviate her retching.”

  Ahearn frowned as he finished brushing the steed, then he straightened and cast the brush aside. He stroked the great beast’s rump, then turned to regard Nissa. “And my compense for this is to be solely the pleasure of aiding another?”

  Nissa folded her arms across her chest, knowing full well what he would ask of her. “That should be compense enough for a man of merit.”

  Ahearn’s survey of her was so intent that Nissa yearned to fidget. “Since when have you had an interest in men of merit?” he asked quietly.

  Nissa felt herself flush. She studied the horse with feigned interest as her cheeks burned. “Since my mother asked when I would wed, when I would have bairns of my own.”

  “And a single question changed all between us?”

  Nissa took a breath. “I would wed a man who will see me clothed and in good care, a man who will provide a hearth and home, and children.” She met his gaze again, her own heart leaping with the hope that he would pledge as much to her. “The time for a merry jest is passed, Ahearn. I grow no younger.”

  He scowled and turned away from her. “Life is not worth the living if one has no time for a jest, Nissa,” he said, his tone fierce. “I can clearly be of no aid to Margery, as I am no man of merit.”

  “But, but what shall I do? What shall I tell my lady?” Nissa asked, astonished at the change in his manner.

  “Tell her nothing. Ask Guinevere for aid,” Ahearn said tightly. “She knows more of womanly concerns than I.” He spared her a hard glance. “After all, a man such as I might be more inclined to grant Margery a potion that saw her rid of the child.”

  Nissa felt her lips part in amazement.

  He snorted and turned back to his steed, his manner telling her that matters had changed between them forever. It was devastating to realize how shallow their friendship had been.

  He had not even demanded the boon of a kiss for his favors.

  Nissa supposed she saw the matter clearly now, and not a moment too soon.

  She straightened, pride coming to her aid. “Your counsel is good. I will halt at the miller’s abode this night, as well,” she said as carelessly as she could. “My lady believes the miller’s son would make a good match for me, no less that he would willingly pursue my hand.”

  “Then, you should grant him encoura
gement soon, Nissa. I understand that you grow no younger,” Ahearn snapped.

  Nissa was shocked by the rare sight of his anger. “You might wish me well,” she said, guessing this would be their final conversation.

  He turned to her, his gaze softening along with his tone. “I have always wished you well, Nissa. Perhaps that was my error.” Before she could ask for an explanation, he smiled mischievously, winked and turned back to his horse.

  As if it did not matter that their friendship had ended.

  Nissa picked up her skirts in her fists, sparing him a last word afore she left. “So, Ahearn, you are as heartless and selfish a cur as I so oft was warned. I always imagined otherwise, but then, my mother always said I was overly fanciful and saw matters as they were not.”

  He turned, astonished, but Nissa did not linger to savor his surprise. She marched toward the hall, where she would surely find Guinevere, her lips set as she fought her tears.

  The Hawk’s kiss was powerful and splendid. Aileen closed her eyes as his lips captured hers and surrendered to his ardor. He caught her close and kissed her deeply. Her hand landed upon his neck and she felt the thunder of his racing pulse.

  Encouraged by this sign, she opened her mouth to him and abandoned herself to pleasure.

  The vision unfurled in her thoughts, as potent as the Hawk’s kiss though it was more fleeting. She saw Anna, dark-haired Anna with her ripe bosom and flashing eyes, her leather jerkin and high boots, a dagger with an odd hilt hanging from her belt.

  No, Aileen was Anna, inside Anna’s skin with alarming speed, seeing through Anna’s eyes, feeling the fury of Anna at Magnus’ rejection, sensing the many wounds this woman bore. Anna stood beneath a tall tower with a broad dark lake at its base, and the moon was waxing full.

  Aileen saw her hand, Anna’s hand, rise before her. She saw Anna’s fingers twist into the ancient hex gesture and she heard the viciousness in Anna’s tone as she began to speak.

  Then the vision dispersed and there was only the Hawk, only his embrace, only his kiss. A thousand questions would fill Aileen’s thoughts later, but for the moment, she cared little for Anna and her woes. She wanted the Hawk’s kiss to never end. She wanted him to caress her as he had before. She wanted him to carry her to his bed and love her all the night long.

  Aileen vaguely heard the hoots and whistles of the company, but she did not care. Indeed, she had nigh forgotten who awaited her in the hall, so lost was she in the Hawk’s embrace.

  When he lifted his head, she tingled from head to toe. She could have melted into him, so languid did she feel, and she had no doubt that he could see how aroused she was. His green eyes glittered and he arched a brow, as if asking if she was persuaded of his desire.

  “Come to my bed this night, my lord,” Aileen whispered, her words hot. “There is a matter left unfinished between us that I would see resolved with all haste.”

  “As would I,” he murmured, his words husky. He released her, then claimed her hand and pressed a kiss upon its back, his eyes dancing wickedly. “Though haste was not within my scheme for seeing this deed resolved.”

  Aileen gasped, then smiled, knowing that she flushed scarlet. The Hawk smiled, clearly well pleased with her response. He tucked her hand into his elbow, leading her courteously toward her father even as Aileen struggled to regain her composure. She had been thoroughly kissed and right beneath her father’s eye.

  Her father, she immediately realized, was not as pleased as the Hawk.

  Indeed, he scowled, and cast his cup of wine on to the board as they approached. “Have I come to a keep or a brothel?” he demanded gruffly. “Do you keep my daughter as your wife, or merely another of your whores?”

  The whores in question giggled. Aileen glanced their way in time to see luscious Guinevere blow a kiss to the Hawk. He remained impassive, but Aileen’s heart sank to her toes.

  How could she have forgotten that he had taken a whore to his bed the night before instead of his wife?

  “How good to see you, Father,” she said with a tranquility she did not feel. She kissed her father upon one whiskered cheek and then the other and smiled for him. He wavered slightly on his feet and Aileen wondered how long he had been left alone to indulge in the Hawk’s wine. “It is too kind of you to journey this far to ensure my welfare.”

  “What else could I do?” her father demanded with a bluster characteristic of him when he was in his cups. He touched her cheek with a rough fingertip, a rare sign of affection that further illustrated his state. “I feared for your life.”

  “Yet despite expectations, I am well.”

  Her father studied her with care, his voice dropping low. “Are you, Aileen?”

  She felt the Hawk bristle behind her, insulted by the query and no doubt anxious to hear her reply. Every soul in the hall seemed to hold his or her breath, waiting for her reply.

  Aileen turned and took her husband’s arm, smiling fully for her sire. “I am well, Father, and content with my new abode.”

  She felt the tension ease from the Hawk, though doubted that any other would have noted a change in his stance. His gaze was fixed upon her, though, and Aileen knew his expression thawed slightly. Her father glanced between the two of them, then he finally nodded with resolve.

  He lifted his cup and turned to the company. “Time it is then to toast the bride!” he cried. “This wedding feast is late, but no less heartfelt for all of that. Join me, all of you, in a salute to Aileen Urquhart, the new Lady of Inverfyre!”

  The company cheered and lifted their cups, then drank heartily. They settled at their tables and began to chatter anew, the hall soon filling with laughter and the smell of the meat paraded from the kitchens.

  Aileen took her seat and accepted a cup of wine, though she did not taste its richness. She felt the Hawk’s attention turn away, as one of his men came to ask something of him, and felt immediately bereft of his attention.

  Her father seized the opportunity, leaning close and dropping his voice to address her alone. “We will speak in solitude, Aileen, and I will have the truth of your ordeal from your own lips. You shall have the chance then to speak freely.”

  “On the morrow will suffice,” Aileen said with a smile more confident than she felt. “Let us savor the evening feast this night and leave such serious matters for another day.” Her father was reassured and turned to his meal with gusto.

  Indeed, one would think he had not eaten in a week. He was more jubilant than Aileen had seen him since her mother’s death, outspoken and lavish in his praise of the comforts of Inverfyre even as his speech grew more slurred. He insisted upon singing a tribute to the roast venison when it was paraded from the kitchens and to Aileen’s mortification his men-at-arms encouraged him.

  The Hawk and his men remained reserved, quiet and watchful. Aileen noted that although the Hawk oft lifted his cup to his lips, he never needed his wine refilled from the decanter. His men loitered in the shadows around the perimeter of the hall, making a pretext of joining the merriment by each holding a cup, but their eyes were as bright as cut glass.

  There were two she did not know, though she guessed that the dark-haired warrior with the enormous mustache was Fernando. He seemed to be of an age with Sebastien and the Hawk. There was a grim Scotsman in the same dark garb, whose eyes flashed with suspicion despite any friendly comments made to him. He seemed restless, even more restless than the Hawk’s other cohorts.

  Was some matter afoot?

  There were a surprising number of women in the hall, and worse, most of them were young and fetching. Their chemises gaped to display ripe cleavage and when they bent to serve meat or wine, Aileen feared their breasts would tumble from their garb.

  The fighting men in the hall had similar expectations and watched avidly when the women bent near them. The women’s buttocks swayed as they eased between the rows of trestle tables and they squealed at intervals as they were evidently pinched. They laughed and teased as no lady of merit would hav
e the shame to do. One even settled upon her father’s lap to feed him morsels from his own trencher.

  Aileen watched the whores in the hall and the joy she had felt in the Hawk’s embrace diminished. Had he only kissed her thus to prove his possession before her father? His lack of interest now that the crisis was behind them said little good about his true feelings.

  What if he did not desire her at all? She did not know if she had the audacity to offer herself to him again, and did not know how she would hold up her chin if he rejected her once more. She caught Guinevere’s gaze unwittingly and that woman granted her a smile so knowing that Aileen’s blood fair boiled.

  No, she would not falter before this challenge.

  As the meal was served and noise erupted on all sides of her, Aileen found fortitude in her wine. Her visions had told her that her destiny was tied to that of the Hawk, even if he chose to ignore such counsel. She knew that she had to persuade him to make this a marriage in truth and she could not dismiss the pulse of urgency that tormented her.

  The answer was to force the man to consummate their match. It should not be impossible, though she knew little of such intimacy—Aileen knew he could not feign the enthusiasm she felt in his chausses when he kissed her.

  She did not imagine that Guinevere with her languid grace and low laughter offered more abed than virginal Aileen could. Aileen drank deeply of her wine. She would have to seduce the Hawk, there was nothing else for it, and she would need fortitude and fortune in considerable measure to ensure her success.

  Aileen decided she would ensure that the Hawk had no choice but to meet her abed this very night. And if he did not, she would depart with her father on the morrow. That would show him the import of this matter.

  Perhaps, though, a measure of encouragement was in order.

  Aileen cleared her throat and glanced pointedly between the two men on either side of her. They regarded her with polite curiosity, though she expected the Hawk’s expression at least would shortly change.