Darach threaded his fingers through hers. “And you still know naught of your real father? His name, where he is?”
Laurien shook her head. “I do not even know if he is still alive. When I was a girl, I used to imagine that he must be a king, or a prince, and he would come for me, someday, and take me away to my true home, in a beautiful castle. But… that was only a childhood fancy,” she said softly. “Sister Emeline once tried to make inquiries for me, in the town where my mother grew up. Some there remembered that my mother was seen in the company of a handsome young man during the summer of her seventeenth year, just before she left for Amboise to marry Louis. But we were unable to learn more. I will never know.”
She ran her thumb over the back of Darach’s hand. “And that might be for the best, truly. In all these years, I have created such a fanciful idea of him that I fear the real man might prove a disappointment… or that I might be a disappointment to him.”
“That is not possible, Camhanach,” Darach assured her. “No man would be disappointed to have you for his daughter.”
His kindness made her smile. “And what about you? What were your parents like?”
“My mother,” Darach said lightly, “was a Viking.”
She turned to look up at him. “Nay, you jest.”
“Aye. Yseult of Norway. They called her Yseult the Fair.”
“I should have guessed as much.” Laurien reached up to tousle his blond hair. “When we first met, I thought you looked very much like a Viking. But I thought the Norse and the Scots were enemies.”
“We were, for many years. She came with her family to one of the peace celebrations, after the end of hostilities. My father, Ronan, always told us that he was determined to wed her the moment he laid eyes upon her. Mother always insisted it was her idea.”
Laurien noted, with a twinge of envy, the fondness in his voice as he spoke of growing up with parents who loved each other. She also noted the word us. “Did you have many brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers.” The lightness left his voice. “Both gone now. My older brother, Eamon, died in a hunting accident some years ago. My younger brother, Galen…”
“Is the one who was killed by the English, in the ambush.” Laurien felt regret at having touched such a painful memory. “And your parents—”
“Gone as well,” he said gruffly.
Laurien felt his muscles tense, and knew he was increasingly uncomfortable discussing what he had lost. She asked naught more, feeling a wave of sorrow that he had known the joy of a large, happy family, only to lose them all…
God in Heaven, he was so alone. More solitary than she had ever imagined. She did not know how to express her sympathy to him. He would not want to hear her say that she was sorry, would reject pity.
Instead she lifted their joined hands and gently kissed one of the scars that marked what he had suffered.
“Leannan…” he whispered. “I cannot offer you aught more than… I cannot promise you—”
“I know,” she assured him. He was talking about what would happen when they left here: the alliance, the agreement with de Villiers, the dangerous work he did with the Scottish patriots. The two of them could have no promise of anything beyond this one day. All too soon, they would have to face what awaited them outside the walls of this sanctuary.
She turned in his arms, reaching out to cup his face in her palms. “I know,” she said again. “But for now, I am happy.” She kissed him softly. “And if a few stolen hours is all we can have, then I will take every minute of them.”
~ ~ ~
They made love all morning, then fell into a sleepy tangle of arms and legs and napped away the afternoon, Darach holding Laurien in silence, holding fast to the hours that remained.
Malcolm would return on the morrow. And then they must leave for Kincardine.
As he looked down at her sleeping in his arms, so gentle and trusting, the guilt he felt was like a blade in his gut. She offered him everything—her tenderness, her sweet innocence, her newfound sensuality. And he accepted all of it, though he had no right to any of it.
She had told him that she would be happy with a few stolen hours… but for the first time in uncountable years, he realized that a few stolen hours were not enough for him. Physical pleasure was not enough. He did not want to let her go. Not tonight, not tomorrow…
He cared for her. It unnerved him to realize how much.
He had not believed it was even possible for him.
They were still abed hours later, as evening descended, when she woke him with a kiss.
Darach opened his eyes to find her balanced above him, gazing down at him with an expression that was both soft and strong.
“Bon soir,” she whispered.
He reached up to tangle his hands in her hair, drew her mouth down to his, and kissed her thoroughly.
Then she moved, revealing that she was already astride him, her hips positioned just so…
“And good evening to you, sly demoiselle—” The rest of his words were lost in a groan of pleasure as she lowered her hips and took him inside her.
“What better way to greet the night?” She nibbled his ear, teased the sensitive skin of his jaw with lips and tongue, as he had done to her so many times.
“What better way,” he agreed as their mouths met again in a searing kiss.
And even as they tried to think of naught but each other, to forget the world and all that awaited beyond their shelter, Darach felt a fierce determination.
He would find some way to both fulfill his duty and keep Laurien safe from de Villiers.
Even if he had to fight for her to his last breath.
Chapter 16
Darach heard the horses approaching the next morning. He was waiting outside when Malcolm rode up leading two extra mounts.
“Madainn mhath! Good morn to you, lad,” Malcolm called out, swinging down from the saddle. “I am pleased that you are unharmed. After the way you and our lovely demoiselle were snapping at each other when I saw you last, I feared you might tear one another to pieces like dog and cat.” He grinned. “Or mayhap you have. Where is she?”
As he walked closer, as he looked at Darach’s face, the amusement faded from his voice.
“A thighearna,” Malcolm swore softly. “I do not believe I want to hear this.”
“Good, then I will not tell you.” Darach took a deep breath. “I asked Laurien to wait inside while we talked—”
“This is my fault.” Malcolm looked to Heaven in supplication. “I should have known this would happen if I left you alone with her.” He gave Darach an accusing glare. “You could not—for once—try not to be an utter knave where a woman is concerned? You could not leave this innocent lass alone—”
“Morair, I will not defend myself. What I am trying to tell you is that I cannot send her back to de Villiers. I will not send her back to him. We have to find some way to secure our alliance without allowing her to come to harm. We—”
“Darach, it is too late. The news from Kincardine is not good. The English have begun raiding and three of the border castles have been attacked since we have been gone. King Edward has demanded that Balliol swear homage to him within a se’nnight. If we do not return the girl and settle the alliance by then, it will mean war!”
Darach clenched his jaw, swearing. He dropped his gaze to his boots. “I will not sacrifice her, Malcolm. In all honor, we must consider what will happen to her—”
“In all honor? It is too late, lad! We cannot consider it now! Do you not remember what happened when the English invaded Wales? Castles cut off from supplies until the occupants starved. Crofts scorched. Families burned to death as they tried to save their villages. Women raped when King Edward loosed his soldiers on the survivors.” Malcolm shook his head. “When surrender finally came, the Welsh had little left to surrender. We cannot allow thousands to suffer, all for the sake of one woman.”
“Iosa Criost! Have I no say in this?”
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“And if you did manage to set her free from de Villiers, what then?” Malcolm shot back. “You cannot take her to wife. Do you think to keep her as a mistress?”
“Nay, I—”
“She might stay with you, if you asked. She may have lost her heart to you that much. But would you dishonor her like that?”
Darach turned away, clenching his fists, wanting to hit something.
The question was like a knife in his gut. What could he offer her? Not his name, not a family to call her own, not a future. Could he bear to ask her to stay with him, when staying with him would cost her so much?
“Nay, I would not dishonor her like that,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “I will set her free, to return to her convent at Tours. That is what she wants most.”
Even as he said it, he knew what he must do. These few stolen hours that he and Laurien had shared must be their last. Bad enough that he had taken her innocence, selfish bastard that he was. He was not going to ruin her life any more than he already had. As things stood now, she could still return to her convent at Tours.
But if she were with child, that would be impossible.
He needed to keep his distance, keep his hands to himself—and pray that he had not already taken her dream from her.
“Lad, women have always floated in and out of your life like so much dust,” Malcolm said quietly. “They settle for a while only to have you sweep them off before they can work their way into the grain. But this woman…” He paused for a long moment. “She means something more to you.”
Darach stared at the ground. “Aye.”
“Aye,” Malcolm echoed. “There it is, all in that one word. Aye. You look ready to stand rooted to this spot and defend the ruin and the lady inside against all the world.” He sighed heavily. “Do you think I do not understand? Do you think… that I do not know what it is like, to long for a woman who can never be yours?”
Darach knew full well that his friend understood. When Malcolm was newly knighted, he had traveled through France on his way to the last Crusade—and fallen in love with a pretty demoiselle, only to have the lady die before they could marry. Though Malcolm kept his grief well hidden, Darach knew that the years had not dulled his friend’s pain. Malcolm had never taken a wife, never had children of his own.
“And if this were your Adelle,” Darach said. “What would you do?”
“That is unfair, lad.”
“None of this is fair. To Laurien least of all.” Darach turned to face him. “I will not send her back to de Villiers.”
“And what about the alliance? Is it fair to tell the lass that you will set her free—only to break her heart when you must break your promise?”
“We have to find some way to secure our alliance and protect her. I was awake all night, thinking on it, trying to… Morair, together, you and I could devise a plan.”
“Our plan is the same as always,” Malcolm said adamantly. “She has to go back to de Villiers.”
“Will you help me or nay?”
~ ~ ~
Laurien paced back and forth, listening to the men talking outside. Since they were speaking in Gaelic, they obviously did not want her to understand what was being said. But it sounded like they were having a heated disagreement.
Now that she was alone, the tiny chamber no longer felt safe and cozy, but cold and empty. She was dressed once more in the lavender velvet gown, with the long plaide fabric wrapped around her for warmth. The time had come to leave this sanctuary… but the sound of the men arguing only reminded her of the harsh world she would face outside.
She was not a naïve innocent anymore… in truth, she was no longer innocent in any sense of the word, she thought, her cheeks warming.
But regardless of what she and Darach had shared during this brief, sweet time together, she realized that he still had to carry out his duty. He could not simply abandon his mission. He could offer her no promises, had told her so clearly.
And she could not even be angry with him for doing what he must to protect his people. His courage and sense of honor were two of the things she loved about him.
But at the same time, she could not allow herself to set aside her own plan: to make herself safe from this deadly chess match of kings and alliances.
She had to escape. Had to leave him. If she could make her way to a convent somewhere, she could go into hiding until de Villiers found himself a new bride and the Scots found some other way to secure their alliance. Then she could return to France, to Tours.
And she would never see Darach again.
Laurien wrapped her arms around her middle, her fingers grasping the soft plaide that Darach had draped around her before he went out to speak to Malcolm.
She had known that she and her fair-haired Scottish knight would have no future together beyond these walls. It was unthinkable.
So why did it hurt so much to acknowledge that?
And why did the men need so accursed long to discuss whatever they were discussing? The three of them were to leave for a town called Kincardine, somewhere to the north. Could they not simply get on with this?
Unable to bear waiting any longer, she walked to the door and stepped out into the morning sunlight.
Darach turned with a look of surprise. “I asked you to wait inside.”
“It sounded as if you two might come to blows. I thought mayhap I should intervene. Greetings, Sir Malcolm.” She nodded to the older man.
“Demoiselle.” He gave her a polite bow, but his expression was grim.
“What is wrong?” She turned back to Darach.
“News from Kincardine. The English have begun raiding.” A muscle flexed in his lean jaw. “We must be on our way.” He headed for the door to their sanctuary.
“And what will happen once we arrive in Kincardine?” Laurien asked as he walked past her.
He paused, but he did not turn toward her, or reach out to her, or even look at her. “For you, milady,” he said gruffly, “a chance to have a few feminine essentials—fresh clothing, a hot bath, whatever you need to make your stay comfortable.”
He went inside to gather the supplies.
Sir Malcolm came over to offer her a few more details. “Milady, we will be staying at the castle of Sir William of Lanark, leader of the Scottish patriots. You will be introduced to everyone as Sir William’s ward, a distant relative from France, recently bereft of family. You will stay with him until…”
He did not finish.
“Until?” she asked hollowly.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Until the comte sends word to Strathfillan Abbey that the alliance has been signed and sealed by King Philippe.”
“I understand,” Laurien said. And she did.
Darach reappeared, carrying the weapons, his cloak, and one of the fur throws.
“Are we not taking any of the food or ale?” Malcolm grumbled.
“The journey is short,” Darach said irritably, putting on his cloak, “but I do not wish to listen to you complain all the way to Kincardine, morair. See what you can find.”
Malcolm went inside the shelter.
Darach went to the horses and secured the weapons. Then he draped the fur in front of one horse’s saddle and led the animal toward her. Watching him approach, she could not find that look in his blue eyes anymore, the softness that had touched her heart so deeply these past two days. He was all warrior again this morn, and he was barely looking at her at all.
She knew that Darach was not a man given to tender words or public displays of his feelings, but she wanted… something from him. She wanted what they had shared to mean something to him.
All at once, she could hear Sir Gaston’s voice in her memory, the warning he had given her in France: Do not give this one your heart.
She had not heeded his words. She had freely given Darach her heart… and so much more.
Every inch of her still felt aglow from their lovemaking, all of her most secret, sensitive places branded by hi
s touch and his kiss; the delicate, feminine opening between her thighs tender where his body had joined to hers. And he was acting as if it had never happened.
Had he been this way with other women, melting them in a heat of passion only to leave with naught but gruff words and a cool look? Did she mean no more to him than that?
When he reached her side, his hands closed around her waist and he lifted her easily into the saddle.
Laurien looked down at him, her whole body tingling with awareness just from that brief touch.
He tucked the fur close around her. “You will need this to keep warm.” As he adjusted the stirrups for her, he met her gaze at last. “All will be well, Laurien.” His voice and his expression were tense. “I will keep you safe. You must trust me.”
Laurien could only nod, her throat feeling too tight to choke out a single word. She did more than trust him.
She loved him.
But nothing had changed. Nothing could change, not for them.
Darach moved away when Malcolm came out of the shelter. The men fastened the rest of the supplies to their saddles and mounted their horses.
Then the three of them turned their backs to the rising sun and set off toward the west, and Kincardine.
Chapter 17
The castle was at the edge of the city. They clattered over the drawbridge and into the bailey, where a servant took their horses. Sir William’s home looked much like a French chateau, Laurien thought as another servant led them into the great hall. Woolens dyed bright shades of scarlet and azure adorned the walls, and she could smell sweet grass and herbs mixed in with the rushes on the floor. The only thing missing, oddly enough, was a hearth. A large metal fire basket in the center of the hall supplied warmth instead.
His Stolen Bride (Stolen Brides Series Book 0) Page 21