Joanna Fulford

by His Lady of Castlemora

  Ban saw the dainty chin tilt. Far from appearing embarrassed or afraid the look in her eyes was bold, challenging even. It satisfied him. He hadn’t been mistaken. Unusually though, she lacked the hardness he associated with harlots. Perhaps that came with time. As yet she was unmarked by her experiences and, at closer quarters, even more desirable. The strength of his reaction surprised him. His gaze travelled downwards, mentally removing the cloth again. Seeing this, the colour rose in her face.

  ‘How long have you been watching me?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  The blush deepened and the hazel eyes sparkled with anger. ‘How dare you spy on me?’

  ‘Unforgivable I know,’ he admitted, ‘but impossible to look away. Figures like yours are all too rare.’

  She drew in a sharp breath at the sheer effrontery of it. Undismayed he waited, surveying her with keen enjoyment.

  ‘You spy on me and then you insult me,’ she said.

  ‘No insult, lady, I swear. Consider it rather in the nature of homage to your beauty.’

  ‘Such homage I can do without.’

  ‘But it must be paid anyway.’

  She shrugged. ‘A cat may look at a king.’

  ‘Or a queen,’ he replied.

  ‘I do not aspire so high.’

  ‘Why, no, for if you were a queen you would not be alone in such a place as this; nor would you swim naked in the burn.’

  Isabelle’s heart sank and she backed another pace. The stranger came on, moving with apparent nonchalance.

  ‘You need have no fear of me, lady. I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Half an hour of your time, for which I will pay in gold.’

  Her cheeks so pink before turned pale. He couldn’t be serious. Another look at his expression disabused her of the idea. His intentions were unmistakable. Talking her way out of trouble was no longer an option. There was only one possibility now: to run for it.

  He caught her in three strides, swinging her up into his arms. Isabelle shrieked. There followed a few seconds of furious struggle but his hold didn’t alter. If anything he seemed amused. For one brief instant he looked into her face, then bent his head and brought his lips down on hers.

  Her stifled cry of protest was ignored, and the kiss became more insistent, his mouth seeking her response in a more intimate embrace. Being crushed against him it was harder to breathe. Naked warmth pressed close. He drew back a little and again the blue eyes burned into hers, their expression unmistakable. Her heart lurched painfully.

  ‘Please, I beg you...’

  The construction he put on the words was quite other than she had intended. ‘Have no fear, my sweet, you’ll get what you want I promise you.’

  Panic-stricken now, she redoubled her efforts. ‘Let go of me! Put me down!’

  He retained his hold with difficulty. ‘What the devil...?’

  ‘I said let me go!’

  In another woman he’d have suspected playful protest and half-hearted struggle to increase his ardour, but there was nothing coy about her tone or expression and nothing half-hearted about her struggles. He frowned.

  ‘Hold still, you little hellion. I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘Then put me down.’

  Hearing the note of fear beneath her command he hesitated. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘How can you ask me that, you clod?’

  ‘Clod is it? Perhaps I should show you otherwise.’

  She almost lunged out of his arms. ‘You’ll have to kill me first.’

  ‘I have no intention of killing you, you little fool, only of pleasuring you.’

  ‘Never!’

  The challenge was there and the temptation. He gritted his teeth, only too aware of the hot ache in his loins, of understanding that he wanted her more than any woman he could remember, and knowing how easy it would be to see his will met. Then he looked into her face. It reaffirmed the fear and reluctance he had seen before. Passion began to ebb. He’d seen enough of violence and violation to last him a lifetime. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman, least of all this one.

  ‘For one who desires to escape a man’s attentions you are very scantily clad.’

  She made no reply to this but the look in her eyes was eloquent enough. His frown deepened.

  ‘Have no fear. I’ll not take a woman against her will.’

  To her unspeakable relief he slackened his hold and set her on her feet. Grabbing the linen sheet she drew it higher, clutching it close. Her face was very pale, her heart thundering against her ribs.

  He glared at her. ‘I think you’d better explain.’

  ‘I... It’s not what you think. In truth it is not. I thought only to bathe.’

  ‘A foolish thought,’ he replied. ‘Does your husband know you ride out alone?’

  ‘I am not married.’ That much was true at any rate and she had no intention of enlightening him about the rest.

  The news surprised him. She was of more than marriageable age and fair besides. ‘Your father then?’

  She shook her head. ‘He does not know.’

  ‘He should keep a closer watch on you. It’s madness for a woman to ride this country alone. Anything might have happened; rape is the least of it. You could as easily get your throat cut.’

  Her cheeks burned, as much for the knowledge of her own folly as for the justice of the rebuke. The stranger’s expression was thunderous, his strength frightening. When she thought of what he could have done, what he might still do, her stomach wallowed. She just had to pray he’d meant it when he said he’d never forced a woman.

  Though she could not know it, much of his anger was directed at himself, realising what he had so nearly done, what he would still like to do. Imagination sent another surge of heat to his groin. With an effort he controlled it. Then he bent and retrieved her clothes, tossing them to her.

  ‘Get dressed.’

  She caught the garments awkwardly. He made no move to turn away. Annoyance mingled with fear.

  ‘Are you going to watch?’

  ‘It’s a little late for modesty now, sweetheart.’

  Biting back the hot reply that sprang to her lips, she hurriedly slipped on the kirtle and let the linen towel fall before donning her gown. The stranger’s gaze never wavered. He handed her the woven girdle and watched her fasten it. She turned away from him to put on her stockings, tying her garters with shaking hands. Then she slid her feet into her shoes. He surveyed her critically.

  ‘A little dishevelled but decent at least,’ he observed.

  Isabelle glared at him. Ban smiled faintly, acknowledging her courage, but his blue eyes held a dangerous glint. ‘You are haughty for one who reveals her charms so freely.’

  Anger began to replace anxiety. ‘I did not deliberately reveal myself to you.’

  ‘The outcome might well have been the same. Fortunately for you, I have no taste for raping virgins.’

  Virginity was a state long lost though she had no intention of sharing the irony. If he thought her experienced he might well change his mind and finish what he’d begun.

  ‘No,’ she retorted, ‘only for gloating.’

  He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You ungrateful little vixen! I ought to warm your backside for that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t d—’ Seeing his expression alter she bit the words off abruptly, recognising thin ice.

  ‘Wouldn’t dare? Try me, and you won’t sit down for a week.’

  Isabelle didn’t care to put the matter to the test. She’d suffered quite enough humiliation at his hands.

  ‘I’m minded to take you home myself and tell your father to thrash you,’ he went on. ‘It would teach you better sense.’

  She paled a little, in fury now as much as fear. She’d experienced quite enough thrashings at the hands of men who thought it their God-given right to mete out punishment to the weaker sex. Resentment welled but she repressed it. Caution was needed here. If her
father found out so would Murdo. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about. No matter how much it went against the grain it would be better to play the part of the contrite, young virgin.

  She lowered her eyes. ‘Please, don’t. I won’t do it again, I swear it.’

  Ban had no trouble believing that. She’d had a fright but the lesson had been well learned. Now she seemed only young and vulnerable.

  ‘I suggest you go home and stay there,’ he said.

  Taking her arm in a firm clasp he led her to the waiting palfrey. The hold didn’t hurt but it would not be resisted either. She could feel its heat through the stuff of her gown. They reached the horse but he didn’t wait for her to mount. Lifting her with the same insulting ease as before, he tossed her up into the saddle instead. Then he handed her the reins.

  ‘I doubt if we shall meet again, so I’ll bid you Godspeed.’

  She threw him an eloquent look and turned the horse’s head. ‘We shall not meet again. At least, not if I see you first.’

  With that she touched the horse with her heels and it leapt forwards from a standing start to a canter. Quite unexpectedly, Ban found himself grinning. With grudging admiration he acknowledged her spirit, his gaze following her progress until she was lost to view.

  * * *

  Isabelle urged the horse to a swifter pace and only when she had put considerable distance between her and the stranger did she slow the animal to a walk. Even though the initial shock had worn off she was still trembling. When she thought of what might have happened she shuddered. He had been so strong, could so easily have forced her. What had stopped him? From his treatment of her it was clear he had taken her for a slut. It didn’t help to know she was responsible for that misunderstanding.

  Her cheeks flooded with hot colour when she thought of that passionate embrace. His kisses burned: she could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers; her nakedness against his; strong warm hands on her skin. He’d frightened her but the memory of that intimacy was not entirely repellent even though it should have been. She quashed the realisation, quietly appalled. There could be no place for such thoughts. They made her feel like the slut he’d taken her to be. She’d had a lucky escape and couldn’t afford to be complacent about it. Neither her father nor her brother must ever get wind of this. Above all, Murdo must never find out.

  * * *

  Isabelle reached Castlemora without further incident and, thanking the fates that the men were elsewhere that afternoon, threw her horse’s reins to a groom and hastened to the women’s bower by the back route. In her present state she dared not risk being seen. As she’d hoped the room was empty at this hour and having reached its safety she swiftly divested herself of the green gown, exchanging it for blue. Then she began to comb her hair into order. It was quite dry now and the auburn strands leapt beneath her fingers, fiery in the afternoon light. As she was engaged in this process Nell bustled in.

  ‘There you are, my lady. Wherever have you been?’

  ‘I went out riding.’

  ‘Alone again I’ll warrant.’

  Nell gathered up the discarded gown. Plump and grey-haired, she was in her early fifties. Having known Isabelle since she was a baby, the older woman claimed the privileges of a trusted retainer. One of these was considerable freedom of speech. Nevertheless, she had a kindly nature and, despite an occasionally critical tongue, was also genuinely concerned. Seeing the younger woman’s guilty look now she shook her head.

  ‘You shouldn’t do it, my lady. In these lawless times it’s not safe. All manner of desperate rogues ride the border country and a woman alone would be easy prey.’

  Recalling the events of the afternoon Isabelle shuddered inwardly. More than ever she was resolved not to ride out so far again. Only a fool would risk that twice. The desire for solitude must be balanced against the need for much greater caution.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nell. I promise to be more careful in future.’

  The tone was genuinely contrite. Surprised that she did not even try to argue the point, Nell regarded her keenly for a moment. However, Isabelle was apparently absorbed in removing a tangle from her hair and thus avoided the knowing eye.

  ‘It were as well you did,’ the nurse went on. ‘Who knows what you might suffer at the hands of outlaws or marauders?’

  Isabelle’s colour became a shade more pronounced and she concentrated harder on her task. Nell crossed the room towards her.

  ‘Here, best let me do it.’

  She surrendered the comb and sat still while Nell took over, braiding the wilful mass into a thick plait and interweaving a ribbon to match the gown.

  ‘If Murdo finds out he’ll compel you to take an escort next time,’ Nell went on, ‘and you know fine well who it’ll be.’

  ‘I will not let him force his company on me in that way.’

  ‘Do you really think you’d be able to avoid it?’ The nurse paused. ‘His power is second only to your father’s now. No one dares to challenge his orders or his actions for fear of retribution. His thugs swagger about as though they own the place.’

  ‘I know, but things will change when Hugh is Laird of Castlemora.’

  ‘Your brother is full young. It remains to be seen whether he can be his own man. In the meantime it’s Murdo who will control Castlemora, make no mistake about that. His ambitions don’t stop there either.’ Nell paused. ‘His interest in you has not abated.’

  ‘I have none in him. He knows that.’

  ‘He has spoken on the matter?’

  ‘He has.’

  Nell pursed her lips. ‘The brute grows bolder.’

  ‘I told him plainly that he could have no hope of me.’

  ‘He’s not a man who takes no for an answer.

  The words were an uncanny echo of a former conversation, and Isabelle inwardly acknowledged their truth.

  ‘You must marry again and soon,’ Nell continued.

  ‘By that you mean Lord Ban.’

  ‘Who else?’

  For a moment Isabelle saw the face of a stranger with tawny hair and blue eyes. Resolutely she tried to banish it, but it was not so easy when the memory of his kiss lingered on her lips. He had held her in his arms. He had seen her naked. Again she grew hot with shame. It was a mercy she would never see him again.

  ‘If you do not,’ Nell went on, ‘you may be compelled to wed Murdo later.’

  It was the plain truth and Isabelle inwardly acknowledged it. The thought filled her with dread. ‘I’d rather take holy orders.’

  ‘That’s the other choice.’

  ‘I might as well be a bale of goods for all my opinion matters.’

  ‘A woman’s opinion never matters when it comes to marriage. You know that perfectly well.’

  ‘At one time my father would never have countenanced such a husband for me, even to please Glengarron.’

  Her father received several offers for her hand before settling on Alistair Neil. Nor had she been averse to such a glittering match. Her bridegroom appeared to be all that a maiden could desire: handsome, brave, rich, courtly. Being young and naïve it never occurred to her to look deeper, until it was too late.

  ‘That was then,’ replied Nell. ‘Things are different now.’

  ‘If the Neils had returned my dowry this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘It was wrong of them to act so.’

  ‘Hugh wanted to go and get it back. I almost wish he had.’

  ‘It would have meant bloodshed and death. Is that what you really want?’

  Isabelle sighed and shook her head. ‘I loathe the Neils for a pack of cold-hearted, rapacious thieves, but Castlemora doesn’t need a blood feud. Nor would I have my dowry returned with blood on it.’

  ‘Neither should you. No good could come of it.’ Nell tied off the heavy braid. ‘And if you’re wise you’ll not reject Lord Ban out of hand. He’s all that stands between you and Murdo.’

  Isabelle repressed a shudder, yet the unspoken fear persisted that she mig
ht be jumping from the cooking pot into the fire. Would history repeat itself and Glengarron prove to be the mirror of Dunkeld; her prospective husband a brute like Alistair Neil? Even if he was not, there was still the matter of producing heirs. What if the fault had not been wholly with her late husband? What if she really was barren? A man could put his wife aside for such a reason. Perhaps the cloister might be her lot after all.

  These gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the chamber door. Then a servant entered.

  ‘My lady, your father bade me tell you that the riders from Glengarron have arrived, and that your presence is required below.’

  She took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘I will come directly.’

  The servant bowed and withdrew. Isabelle rose from her seat, wondering if Lord Iain would be among the visitors. It had been many years since she had set eyes on him, not since she was a little girl, but she remembered the powerful charismatic figure very well. Now there was a man. Would Lord Ban be such another? Would he find her attractive? What if he did not? She had been so preoccupied with her own misgivings that she hadn’t given any thought to possible doubts on the part of her intended groom. What if he rejected the match? Murdo’s image returned with force. Her stomach knotted.

  ‘Do I look all right?’

  Nell smiled. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Isabelle smoothed the front of her gown and then quit the chamber, heading for the hall where her father would be entertaining their visitors. Already she could hear the sound of men’s voices. No doubt they would be refreshing themselves with a mug of ale and delivering messages from their lord. On reaching the doorway she paused a moment to take in the scene. With her father was Hugh and beside him another man, several inches taller than both, who had his back to her.

  Isabelle took a deep breath and then, summoning her courage, moved towards them. Her father saw her approach and, after a swift appraising look, he nodded.