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

by Claire Delacroix

  “Because you are beautiful,” Angus said.

  She nodded, then mused for a moment, as devoid of airs as he could imagine a woman might be. “Perhaps ’twould have been different if I had always been fair of face, like my sister. Esmeraude is accustomed to attention won by her appearance alone, and she has a comfort with that which I cannot emulate. She knows how to win her desire, how to turn the perceptions of others to her advantage. I have no such skill and I desire none. When I was younger and plain of countenance, people talked to me and they listened to me.

  “But since my shape has changed and my features became what they would be, no one talks to me. No one listens to me and all assume that I have naught to say. All guess they know my character, my hopes, and this without permitting me to speak. And men”—she rolled her eyes in frustration—“these men who come to plea for my hand, they speak about me as if I am not present or stare at me with their mouths gaping. ’Tis a poor exchange for conversation, for laughter and wit, and ’tis one for which I have no taste.”

  Angus could understand this. The maiden before him, although a beauty, was not conventionally pretty. She would not have been a fetching child, but likely a solemn one, much interested in the world and its workings. ’Twas certain her curiosity had not arrived with her winsome curves. She was not slow of wit, and he could imagine well that ’twould be most tiresome to have others presume her to be so foolish as so many lovely demoiselles tended to be.

  She frowned at the ground. “Reynaud’s assault is the reason why your capture so terrified me. I feared you were of his ilk, and knew that there was none to rescue me this time from my fate.” She glanced up, what might have been admiration shining in her gaze, and Angus was startled again. “But you defied my expectation.”

  The fire crackled between them, the meat sizzled. Still they stared at each other, Angus uncertain what she would credit to him but desperately wanting to know.

  He could not ask, but he did not have to do so.

  “You did not force yourself upon me, as you could have done more than once. You put me in mind of my stepfather in this way as well, for I have no fear in his presence. Indeed, ’twas he who killed Reynaud.”

  She nodded as if to add even more conviction to her words. “I would trust Duncan with my very life and know that my trust would not be misplaced. I trust you, for your deeds have proven the manner of man that you are, though you would try to dissuade me with your words from thinking good of you.”

  “You know little of me.”

  She shook her head and regarded him with shining eyes. “You will not change my thinking.”

  Her trust was most unsettling. “Do you dare me?” he challenged.

  “Nay.” She held his gaze steadily. “Though it matters not. You have not that thirst for violence within you. If you had, you would not speak to me as you do, as Duncan does—you would not argue with me, you would not tease me, you would not ensure my safety. You would not kiss me as though you sought permission to continue.”

  Angus frowned and shoved to his feet, troubled more than he would have preferred by her insight. He made much of turning the meat and checking its readiness. “You seek only to keep that chastity you so prize, by lavishing compliments upon me.”

  “’Tis safe in your presence. I know it as well as you do.”

  “You know naught, and even less of me,” he said with deliberate harshness. “’Tis only good sense to protect one’s captive when one seeks ransom from a hot-blooded chieftain. That alone is the reason you have not been injured, at least as yet. If Rodney returns with a poor response, you may be certain that you will pay the price.”

  “Liar,” she charged softly, showing no inclination to be frightened of him. “I would wager that you know what ’tis to have only poor choices and, worse, to have even those choices stolen away. You understand more than you care to admit, and because of that, I will have my choice in the end. I trust you to see it so.”

  “Your trust is sorely misplaced. I care naught for your objectives, only for my own.” He spoke tightly and quickly, but there was a ring of falsity to his claims.

  Indeed, the lady merely smiled at him.

  He ignored her, letting the forest fill the silence between them with its nocturnal sounds. The meat was cooked through, so he pulled the pot from the fire, letting it cool on the earth for a few minutes.

  He stoked up the fire and busied himself, well aware that she watched him. When the meat had cooled, he boned it, leaving only flesh in small pieces and a thin sauce. He fetched his cup and handed it to her, setting the pot before her.

  “Eat whatsoever you will.”

  “What of you?”

  “I shall finish it, once you have had your fill.”

  Her smile had all the brilliance of the sun appearing suddenly from behind the clouds, and the sight made him take a step back. “I thank you.” She had some difficulty scooping the cup into the pot with her hands bound, but she managed the deed.

  And was too proud to ask him again to release her.

  He felt like a cur for pretending not to notice.

  “’Tis good,” she said appreciatively. “And most welcome. Though what we might have done for an onion, and a few pot herbs, I cannot guess.” Again she smiled, but Angus turned away, content that she was able to eat and would do so.

  He left her there while he fetched more wood for the fire, letting Lucifer keep watch, even as he listened with care.

  Aye, he needed time to bolster his determination to finish what he had begun. She had touched him with her appeal, more deeply than he would have her know. ’Twas better he left her alone, this woman who could so readily beguile him.

  Angus could nigh hear all Rodney would have to say of that.

  Chapter 10

  ’Twas long before Angus showed himself within the clearing again, and the maiden had succumbed to the warmth of the meat and her own exhaustion. She had stretched out to sleep, though her eyelids fluttered when he approached.

  “I feared you gone,” she murmured, her voice drowsily low.

  Angus was still shaken by her conviction that she understood him. He took refuge in teasing her as if she were a child, not a woman who tempted him in ways he would prefer not to be tempted. “And leave you with all the stew, such as it is?”

  She smiled and he shed his cloak, helping her to sit up while he wrapped it around her. She yawned luxuriously, then lay down, thanking him once more for the meal. He took the pot silently and returned to his favored tree across from the fire, watching her eyelids droop.

  ’Twas not long before she was asleep. He watched her as he ate without tasting the meat, his thoughts churning. Then he cleaned up. He discarded the bones far from where they slept, and washed his knife, cup, and pot in a thin trickle of a stream.

  Upon finishing, he returned to sit and watch his captive. The fire burned low between them, casting its flickering golden light over her features. She looked so soft, so innocent and young.

  Angus thought of her tale, of her fear, of her efforts to be valiant despite the memory of her betrothed’s deed. The man’s presumption angered him. ’Twas not his affair, though she spoke aright when she guessed that he had a distaste for such violence. She had left much left unsaid, he was certain, and he did not doubt that “the old toad” had earned her disgust by more than his refusal to listen to what she said.

  He was ridiculously glad that this Reynaud, a man he had never known and against whom he had no complaints in his own right, was dead.

  Perhaps ’twas because it had been long since any had trusted him as this maiden claimed to do, any save Rodney.

  This trust she granted him was a curious burden. It made Angus sit in the woods, sleepless despite his exhaustion, and consider the merit of what he did. She trusted him with her life, her chastity, her protection, but he trusted her with naught in return.

  Indeed, Angus lied to this woman when he said he took naught that was not his to take. Perhaps he insisted
upon that claim because he knew deep inside himself that ’twas untrue. He took her freedom. He took her right to choose. He broke her commitment to the convent that was already sealed with coin. He awakened urges within her that would best be left dormant if she was destined for that novitiate’s life.

  He was a thief.

  He was little better than Reynaud, who thought of her as chattel. Had he not considered her a burden that would win him his due? Had he not insisted upon thinking of her that way?

  But she was not chattel. She was a clever and determined young woman, a beauty to be sure, but one with a character that would have shone whatever her countenance had been.

  She was Jacqueline.

  He whispered her name beneath his breath.

  Yet despite his crimes against her, she trusted him, and that trust humbled him. She curled up like a child and slept before him, her wrists and ankles bound, trusting him not to presume overmuch. She offered her pledge not to flee if he unbound her. She shared with him the story of the abuse she had suffered, a tale that filled him with a need for vengeance upon her behalf.

  ’Twas a tale that made Angus feel a knave for what he took of her in his turn.

  He frowned and pushed to his feet, then kicked another log onto the fire, watching her all the while.

  For a long time, he had been certain that he had been to hell and that what he had endured and seen had been a madness wrought by the Holy Land. It had seemed to Angus that the wickedness had indeed left its taint upon him, as Edana claimed. All across Christendom, he had been convinced that the shadows he had seen followed him, dogging his footsteps with ill fortune and malice.

  But now it appeared that wickedness had no exclusive tie to him. Nay, it dwelt everywhere, in many hearts and many deeds. Now that he had become aware of it, he saw its taint where he had never thought to look.

  It had been there, in the intent of men like Reynaud, though once Angus himself had been too innocent to see evil’s stain.

  As Jacqueline had been.

  He could not again be the boy he had been fifteen years ago, but he could ensure that Jacqueline did not become so embittered as he. Angus crouched beside his captive, hesitated for a moment, then gently untied the rope knotted about her wrists.

  The soft flesh had chafed and he slid his thumb across the abrasion in mute apology. She stirred at his touch and he froze momentarily, afraid to be caught in this small act of kindness. Then he tucked his cloak over her hands and bent closer.

  “Hush, ’tis naught,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, Jacqueline.”

  She smiled in her sleep and sighed, folding her hands together and tucking them beneath her cheek. Angus crouched there motionless, watching the firelight caress her features, until her breathing deepened again. Then he moved to unbind her ankles, tucking the wool about her carefully.

  There was no question of his abusing her trust.

  Angus returned to the other side of the fire, bracing his back against the same tree once again. Lucifer snorted, then dropped his head, nuzzling in the undergrowth.

  The sounds of the night forest echoed around them, the firelight keeping any intruders at bay. Angus closed his eyes, a mistake, since the memories were always lurking there, waiting for him to grant them a chance to live again.

  He shuddered and forced his eyes open, though he was tired to the bone. He frowned and studied the woman, wanting naught but to lie down beside her and hold her close against his warmth.

  But he had no right and he knew it well. His argument, after all, was not with this woman.

  It was with whoever had ensured that Airdfinnan was stolen, whoever had seen Angus’s father and brother dead. He had been certain ’twas Cormac MacQuarrie behind the matter, but Jacqueline’s protests made him wonder. While Cormac might have ensured the deed was done, if Cormac was dead, his heir might know naught of it. Certainly, this Duncan had not been at Ceinn-beithe when Angus’s brother and father fell ill.

  What if the truth had died with Cormac? What if these people knew naught of that wickedness? What if they truly could not surrender Airdfinnan in exchange for Jacqueline? Rodney had been right—the scheme that had seemed so infallible was now ridden with holes.

  ’Twas not this woman who knew who was responsible for the death of the MacGillivray family. The man who currently held Airdfinnan’s seal was certain to know the truth but Angus knew his query would not be welcomed at Airdfinnan.

  Even if ’twas proven that this Duncan of Ceinn-beithe was the man owing restitution to Angus, Angus no longer had any desire to use Jacqueline in his plans.

  Let her flee him in the night if she so chose.

  If she did not, he would take her to Ceinn-beithe, or to Inveresbeinn, whichever was her choice. And she would be readily persuaded to quit his side, if not for the sake of her freedom then for the fear of her own safety.

  Or of fear alone.

  He smiled wryly to himself. Truly, if he wished to frighten her, he need not do so with his touch. Angus unbound the patch over his eye and laid it aside. One look at the monstrosity that had been wrought on his face and she would beg to be released.

  Angus was certain of it. He rubbed the scarred flesh where his eye had been and leaned his head back against the tree trunk. He braced his hands upon his knees and looked once more about the forest, filled with familiar peaceful sounds.

  He had thought that coming home would be the simplest part. He had spent years dreaming of Airdfinnan, of what good fortune his family must enjoy for his willing sacrifice, of how he would be welcomed back to all he had known before. He had thought this place to be innocent, to be safe, to be a refuge.

  But Airdfinnan was lost, his family ashes, his home naught but a haunting memory. There were no true refuges, not from whatever darkness a man carried in his memory. And there were no survivors here, no family to welcome him, no one even to herald his return after all he had endured.

  They were not tears upon his face, nay, they could not have been. Angus of Airdfinnan knew he had forgotten how to weep.

  Jacqueline awakened and stretched before she realized that her wrists and ankles were no longer bound. She sat up hastily, half certain she had been abandoned in the forest, then took a steadying breath when she spied Angus sleeping across from her. His stallion nickered and she turned to find the beast regarding her expectantly, ears flicking.

  Angus did not stir. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, so Jacqueline rose and stretched again, then stirred the coals to life. There were clouds gathering overhead and ’twas early, by the sound of the birds, though the sky was faintly light. Twould rain before midday, she guessed.

  And ’twas damp now, chill enough to make one shiver to the bone. She coaxed more of the collected wood to burn, then went to greet the horse. He nuzzled her ear, sniffing for treats of which she had none, and she chuckled at the way his nose tickled.

  Still Angus did not move, and Jacqueline eyed him. He gave no impression of coiled strength this morn. His head had fallen forward and slightly to one side, hiding the patch over his eye and leaving his hair tousled. His booted ankles were crossed and his arms folded across his chest, his mouth as grim a line as ever. Despite that, he seemed soundly asleep.

  Or perhaps worse. She frowned and abandoned the horse, stepping quietly across the camp until she was before the knight. She crept closer, searching for signs that he drew breath, yet unwilling to awaken him.

  To her relief, his chest rose and fell with the even rhythm of sleep. She crouched and leaned toward him, just to be certain, and ’twas then she realized that he had removed his patch.

  It lay upon his lap, as if discarded there. A lump rose in her throat even as she knew she could not resist the urge to look.

  Angus stirred, murmuring something. He frowned and moved suddenly, making Jacqueline dart out of his way. He refolded his arms and crossed his legs the other way, restless with the impatience of one snared in an unpleasant dream.

  Certainly, his expression
was forbidding.

  But Jacqueline, undeterred, crept closer.

  There was no eye there any longer, she saw that quickly, for his flesh was scarred over the empty socket. It made her belly clench to see the angry furrows left there, for ’twas clear even to her that his face had been burned. The stretched skin could not be mistaken for anything else.

  Whether it had been by accident or by design, she did not know. But she could guess. He had been to Outremer, to holy wars more unholy than any ever witnessed. Aye, she could guess, and her heart ached for the agony he must have suffered.

  The wound had been sealed shut, whether by the original injury or a healer’s choice. His lashes were gone on that side, singed away so surely that they had not grown again. His brow had a quirk in it, by virtue of the way the wound had healed, and she saw that the straight scar on his cheek was just the final ripple in his greater injury.

  She could not begin to imagine what could leave a man’s face so marred. Indeed, this must have happened long ago, but the flesh was still red in places, angered if not raw. Jacqueline stretched out one hand, sorely tempted to soothe away this wound with her fingertips.

  If only it could be done. Her fingers hovered before his face, where she could feel the heat of his skin. Her fingers were halted by the realization that a man who did not like the tale of his family shared would like even less that she had seen the fullness of his scarred face while he slept.

  She sat back on her heels and studied him. Although the damage was terrible, already she grew accustomed to it. He did not repulse her, though she certainly would have been shocked if he had removed his eye patch suddenly and while awake. She watched him sleep, felt her compassion for him grow, and decided that she still found him a very handsome man.

  She would not recoil if he made to kiss her again. Her gaze dropped to the firm line of his lips, and that telltale warmth spread within her.