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

by Claire Delacroix

  She nodded. “I would. I sleep more soundly with evidence of my husband’s prowess beneath my chin.”

  They shared a smile that warmed the Hawk to his toes. He strode back to the door and sent Ewen to do the lady’s bidding, filling his gaze with her as he waited. She removed her circlet and cast aside her veil. She untied her braid and shook the wavy length of her fair hair over her shoulders. The candlelight seized the opportunity to dance within those tresses, gilding each strand. She paused, her hand upon the lace at her throat, and met his regard.

  “My lord?”

  The Hawk jumped when Ewen spoke behind him. He accepted the pelts with a gruff word of thanks, then closed the portal, ignoring Alasdair’s knowing wink. He turned the key in the lock, making it clear that intruders would be unwelcome this night.

  When he glanced back to Aileen, she wore only her chemise and her stockings. She bent to untie her garters and he could see the curve of her breast through the thin linen. Her slender strength fired his blood and he said a silent prayer that the visions would abandon him for these few hours.

  She cast him a playful smile. “I cannot unfasten the knot.”

  “A man of honor can only offer his aid,” the Hawk murmured. He crossed the chamber, poured the pelts onto the bed, then knelt before her. He loosed the knot and eased the garter from beneath her knee. His mouth went dry when she lifted her foot, indicating that he should remove her stocking.

  He slid his hands over her silken skin as he pushed down the stocking, then repeated the task with its mate. She whispered his name, her voice trembling with mingled uncertainty and desire, and he knew that he must reassure her this night.

  He caught her chemise upon his wrists and slid his hands up her legs. She caught her breath as he stood slowly, lifting the garment as he did so. When they stood facing each other, she lifted her arms, a silent plea in her eyes. He lifted the chemise over her head and cast it aside, smiling when she stood nude before him.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, running his fingertips over her lean strength.

  “Blanche said that archery had wrought me too much like a man,” she whispered, doubt in her magnificent eyes. “She said that I was made too tall for any man to desire me.”

  “She was wrong, though that should not surprise you.” The Hawk shook his head and caressed the strength evident in Aileen’s upper arms. “I like that you are wrought with grace and purpose both, like a skillfully forged blade.”

  She smiled and blushed, her eyes widening as his hand closed over her breast. He regretted then that she had not yet had the courtship he had hoped to grant her, and made a silent vow to himself to address the matter upon the morrow.

  Her talk of archery granted him an idea of what might please his lady.

  First, though, there was a more immediate pleasure to be savored. He bent and kissed her nipple, loving how it tightened beneath his caress. His bride murmured his name, her voice uneven and filled with awe. He smiled and captured her nipple in his mouth, teasing it to turgid peak, and caught her close when she arched against him.

  There were still several hours afore the night was utterly dark, and the Hawk intended to make the most of every moment before he was compelled to leave his lady wife.

  Aileen surrendered to the pleasure that the Hawk conjured with his touch. She clutched his shoulders as her knees threatened to buckle and he lifted her smoothly in his arms. He carried her to the bed and buried her in the wolf pelts. He stepped back and shed his garb, his gaze fixed hotly upon her all the while.

  His bed was no less enormous than her own, though it was devoid of draperies. Its coverings were of boiled wool, thick and warm but plain. Four or five trunks were scattered around the perimeter of the chamber. They were wrought of dark wood, their fronts carved. Aileen looked upon them as the Hawk undressed, modesty compelling her to glance away despite her curiosity.

  He pulled his tabard over his head with undisguised impatience and cast it aside, leaving his dark hair tousled. She had been curious enough to steal glimpses of the men sworn to her father’s hand over the years, and truly no maiden could live in an abode like Abernye without glimpsing a shepherd without his shirt or surprising a sentry who took a plunge in the Nye River on a summer’s afternoon.

  She knew how men looked, but Aileen was curious to see how this man looked.

  His chemise followed his tabard and Aileen could no longer resist her urge. She studied her spouse covertly through her lashes, even as her color rose.

  He was muscled and taut, a thicket of hair in the midst of his tanned chest, and he moved as one at ease with his body. There was more than one scar gracing his flesh, but then, she supposed she should have expected no less. He had a rare vigor that made Aileen’s mouth go dry. He shed his boots and his hand fell to the lace of his chausses.

  That vestige of a smile touched the Hawk’s lips as he turned his gaze upon her, and Aileen guessed that he knew she watched him. He worked the lace loose as he crossed the chamber, pulled them over his buttocks as he sat on the edge of the mattress, then kicked them across the floor. He laid back and turned so that they were shoulder to shoulder, lying on their backs. His eyes glimmered with humor and the heat of desire and Aileen smiled.

  She reached to caress his jaw with her fingertips, savoring the roughness of stubble. She felt the tension in him then and knew he held himself back.

  “How many times must I invite you to partake of your due, Hawk?” she teased and was gifted with a smile.

  “Perhaps this shall be the last time,” he murmured. He rolled to his side and caught her chin in the warm breadth of his hand, his smile fading as he looked into her eyes. He ran his thumb across her lips, as if marveling at their softness. Aileen yearned to touch him, but she dared not take the chance of granting him a vision. She waited, as if shy, and prayed that this burden would abandon them soon enough.

  Then he kissed her with such tender deliberation that she forgot her concerns.

  The weight of the Hawk’s hand slid over Aileen’s breasts, then over her belly, leaving languorous heat in its wake. His fingers slipped between her thighs even as his kiss became more demanding. Aileen gasped at the surety of his touch and parted her thighs, welcoming his caress. She caught his shoulders in her hands and felt the vision gathering strength in the periphery of her thoughts, but she ignored it.

  For this night, she wanted to think only of the Hawk.

  He kissed her ear, her throat, her neck. He kissed her breasts again, then traced a burning path of kisses to her navel. He piled the furs atop her, rubbing their softness against her pert nipples, then framed her waist in his hands as he eased between her thighs.

  He kissed her there, with a gentle boldness that made Aileen catch her breath. He wrought magic with his tongue and she could do naught but savor the pleasure he granted. Heat built within her, a simmering in her very veins that rivaled any sensation she had felt before. An inferno was conjured by the Hawk’s sure caress, and though Aileen writhed, he held her fast beneath his questing kiss. She heard herself moan, she felt a throb of desire begin deep within herself. She arched upon the great bed, caught his hair in her hands, and begged him for release. The heat raged within her, building relentlessly, growing hotter and greater than she had ever imagined possible.

  Then the fire exploded. Aileen shouted with her release, even as she was certain she would be burned to a cinder. She clutched at the Hawk, she locked her legs around his shoulders, and they rolled across the mattress as she found her pleasure.

  She was breathless and faint when she opened her eyes, though the Hawk smiled up at her. He looked reckless and mischievous, as seldom he did, and Aileen’s heart melted fully.

  She had rare fortune indeed to have been chosen by this man. She admired his resolve and his fairness, his sense of justice and the honor with which he treated her.

  “I love you,” she whispered, only realizing it to be true in that moment.

  The Hawk arched a brow. “A d
angerous confession for a new bride,” he murmured, his expression yet diabolical. He eased closer, leaning upon his elbow at her side. He wound a tendril of her hair around his fingertip, his expression pensive.

  “You should smile more often,” she said, running an affectionate fingertip down his cheek.

  He smiled then, just for her. “Were you pleased?”

  “Could you not tell?”

  His chuckle warmed Aileen to her toes and she wished fervently that their nights abed together would be plentiful. She let her fingertip slide down his chest, through the tangle of hair there to playfully encircle his navel. He sobered, and his emerald gaze brightened as he became very still.

  “I know enough to know that the deed is not done,” Aileen said as her fingers brushed across his erection. The Hawk caught his breath as she caressed him. “I thought we had agreed to see this matter resolved.”

  “And so we had,” he whispered, his words hoarse. He rolled atop her and Aileen hesitated but a moment before she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I will try not to injure you, lady mine.”

  He braced himself upon his hands, holding his weight above her, his gaze piercing. Aileen kissed his temple and closed her eyes, prepared for the worst for she had heard fearsome tales of this moment’s pain. The Hawk was large but gentle, however, and she was surprised at how readily they two became one.

  He waited when he was within her fully, and Aileen opened her eyes to regard him. She saw his uncertainty and smiled. “We must be wrought each for the other,” she said and he smiled in his turn.

  Aileen rolled her hips and he inhaled sharply. She saw him clutch the linens in his fists, then his gaze darkened as he began to move within her.

  “Put your hand upon yourself,” he said through gritted teeth. “Thus we can find pleasure together.” Aileen followed his instruction and realized that her fingers were pushed against her own tenderness with each move the Hawk made.

  She gasped with pleasure and he held her gaze, his own filled with satisfaction. He moved deliberately and she did not doubt that he delayed his own release to ensure her own. Once again, she felt the heat rise within her. A thousand prickles launched over her flesh and her blood seemed to boil beneath her skin.

  She arched to meet him, her nails digging into his arms and her breasts brushing his chest. She watched the tension rise within him, watched him flush, watched his eyes brighten, and knew a power in her own allure.

  Then the eruption within her made her cry out his name.

  The vision thrust itself into her thoughts with cruel vigor. Aileen gasped at the wickedness of what she spied, fighting against the knowledge inflicted upon her, even though she knew it must be true.

  What had she done in Anna’s skin?

  Then, she heard the Hawk’s bellow of satisfaction and smiled to herself that it was utterly unlike the cry she had heard from his chamber the night before. They collapsed onto the bed, limbs entangled and breathing hastened, and she welcomed his weight atop her. He pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her with a possessive ardor that made her heart race anew.

  “Never betray me, Aileen,” he whispered into her ear. “Never dare to be so foolish, for I know not what I would do.” He kissed her again, but Aileen closed her eyes as if languorous with sleep.

  In truth, her heart raced and she stifled the urge to shiver. The vision had granted her a truth she did not welcome and she hoped with all her heart that the Hawk never learned of it.

  She had already betrayed him.

  She had heard the curse that she herself had pronounced upon him in Anna’s life. And worse, Anna had been Anna MacLaren. The kinswoman that the MacLarens avenged by assaulting Inverfyre was none other than herself in a former life.

  Aileen rolled to her side and feigned sleep, taking solace from the Hawk’s heat behind her as she considered what she might do to remedy a betrayal she had made centuries before.

  The Hawk awakened when the sky was as dark as it would be. The moon was new, though still a thousand stars lit the cloudless sky. He rose, restless, intent upon seeing this last challenge resolved.

  He dressed in hasty silence, watching Aileen’s silhouette as she dreamed. On impulse, he took the dagger Adaira had given him so many years before and tucked it beneath his tabard. He fetched the treasured bow he had been granted years past but seldom used—his skill was with a blade, though he had never been able to part with this fine weapon.

  Until now. Perhaps he had never known an archer deserving of it. Perhaps some part of him had known that he had to keep it for the bride he would take to his hand.

  The thought made him smile. He caressed the strong arch of the finely crafted bow, and felt the tautness of the bowstring. A quiver of arrows had accompanied the gift, each as strong and true as when they had first come to his hand.

  This was a courtship gift his lady would well appreciate. He had a notion that she would be much pleased to have a fine bow in her hands again, though he also recognized that she might be obliged to defend herself, if matters went awry.

  He would not leave his most precious prize without a weapon.

  The Hawk laid both upon the bed beside Aileen, already imagining her delight when she awakened, and she stirred slightly at his presence. He smiled when she reached across the mattress, seeking his heat, then bent to kiss her brow. He stroked her hair, unable to resist its golden splendor, then touched her cheek with his fingertip.

  “Sleep deeply, lady mine,” he whispered, his heart clenching when she burrowed her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I leave you only to ensure that Inverfyre is fully ours when you awaken.” He gave her cheek one last lingering caress, then pivoted and strode to the door. On the morrow, there would be no cause for distrust between them.

  The Hawk could scarcely wait.

  Anna walks through the forest of Inverfyre, despondent that Magnus has cast her aside. Cruel Rumor whispers that Anna cannot bear a child, but Anna knows the truth is far darker than that. Shame has sealed her lips, shame has kept her from telling Magnus the truth, and now she has lost her sole chance of escape.

  How she wishes he could have asked her for the truth.

  How she wishes she had been brave enough to tell him.

  But now, now it is too late.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Anna’s cousins slip from the forest to walk alongside her. Her brother joins their ranks, a leer upon his face. They are three against her and well-practiced in this wickedness. Anna quickens her pace, though she knows it to be of no avail.

  Her heart thunders in her fear as they match their steps to hers.

  “No tryst with your fine lover this day, Anna,” chides her brother.

  “On the morrow,” she lies, desperately wishing that their fear of Magnus still protected her.

  She should have guessed they would know the very moment she was defenseless again.

  Her taller cousin laughs. “Naughty Anna, to tell us such a lie.”

  “Have you need of a lesson, Anna?” demands the other cousin.

  “Not I!” she declares, her steps lengthening to a run.

  “Liar, Anna!” cries her brother. “Your fine Magnus has cast you out. Every soul knows that he will take Margaret for his bride.”

  “Were you too dirty for him, Anna?” whispers her cousin.

  “Dirty slut, Anna,” chides the second.

  “We shall have to teach her a lesson,” her brother threatens. Anna flees, but one cousin trips her.

  She cries out as she falls, but the other shoves a rag into her mouth. She is struck across the face and held down in the wet undergrowth of the forest. She struggles, her tears blurring her vision, and screams despite the rag. She feels the chill air of spring upon her thighs and rages as the first climbs atop her.

  Aye, she is barren, barren because of the wicked things done to her to ensure that her own family’s seed never bore fruit. She weeps at the pain, knowing there will be blood, just as the first time there was blood
on the snow. She is trapped forever, ensnared in this wickedness, because she was too proud to ask the only man who could save her for his aid.

  She was too ashamed to tell him the truth.

  And now, now Anna will pay time and again for her folly.

  A cool hand touches Aileen’s brow, easing away her fear. “There are deeds no soul should be doomed to recall,” that kind voice whispers and the memory of Anna’s assault fades away. Aileen’s heart still races with terror, but the familiar feminine voice speaks soothingly. “What could make you hate a man enough to curse him? This is all you have need of knowing, this is the sole reason that you remember any of this.”

  “Magnus was Anna’s chance of escape.”

  “Indeed, and by spurning her, he condemned her a life of their abuse. Ambition on his side made him fear truth in the rumor that she could not bear a child, a rumor begun by her tormentors.”

  “And pride on her side kept her from confessing the truth to him,” Aileen murmurs. “She feared to lose him with the truth, but lost him all the same with the lie.”

  “Indeed.” Those cool fingers stroke Aileen’s brow again and a fog seems to clear from a vision before her eyes. “Look again, and see how Anna’s vengeance was wrought.”

  Aileen sees Anna make her curse, sees the company watching her deed, feels Anna’s anger. Aye, she hates Magnus as one can only despise what one has loved. But Anna is not content with otherworldly vengeance—Aileen sees her mixing herbs, tainting the water of Inverfyre with her brew, ensuring that Magnus is denied the heir he so desires.

  “She knew the herbs well,” that kindly voice advises. “For she had used them oft herself.”

  She sees Anna disguising herself, presenting potions to Magnus’ pregnant bride. Then she sees a coffin in the chapel and Magnus himself planting a tree to mark the burial spot of his wife.

  And the cycle repeats, Anna’s fury burning through her reason.

  Aileen is sickened. “What happened to her?” she asks and the voice hesitates.