The Bride Quest II Boxed Set

by Claire Delacroix

  He knew not what to say to that. She straightened and he caught his breath, for her woolen kirtle clung to her curves in a most distracting fashion. The chill in the air was revealed by the pert tightening of her nipples—and proved the lady to be as innocent as she claimed, for she was clearly unaware of the provocative sight she presented.

  Aye, he recalled the sweet heat of her kiss rather too well.

  Some hint of his desire must have appeared in his expression, for her laughter faded and her eyes narrowed warily. Angus stepped toward her, noting that though she still recoiled from his outstretched hand, she did not flinch from holding his regard.

  “Is this where you will take what you will of me?” she demanded, her voice unnaturally high. Her gaze flicked to his chausses and back to his face. “Where none can aid me and none might witness your crime?”

  “’Twas you who fled here,” he felt compelled to observe.

  “I fled you and your anger.”

  “I was angered only by your insistence upon risking your own good health. Did you learn naught yesterday?”

  She flushed, but her lips set stubbornly and still she did not take his hand. “Why will you not release me? You could leave me at Inveresbeinn and none would know the truth of what you have done.”

  Angus was surprised that she offered him such a simple solution. “I did not capture you to set you free for naught.”

  “If not for naught, then for what?”

  “No less than my sole desire.”

  “Which is?”

  “Not of import to you.”

  She shivered at that and looked away, her concern more than clear. She wrapped her arms about herself but still did not stand. Her gaze was bright with her desire to know the truth. “But of sufficient import to you that you will release me in exchange for it?” she asked warily.

  Angus could not deny her anything so simple as reassurance. “Aye.”

  “Unscathed?”

  In other circumstance, her suspicion might have been insulting, though Angus could not help recalling that she alone was responsible for the injuries she had sustained. He glanced pointedly to her ankle. “Unless you insist upon continuing to wound yourself.”

  She flushed anew, looking most young and fetching as a result. She was most agitated, though, her uncertainty loosing his tongue when he had no intention of saying anything at all.

  “Your ransom is contingent upon the name of your father,” he asserted gently, “not the beauty of your face, nor even the desirability of your form.”

  She was visibly startled by this claim, but Angus held her regard steadily. “You pledge that you do not mean to rape me?”

  Angus told himself that he had no interest in the details of her tale, though in truth, a dull anger of suspicion rose within him. She was too quick to fret about rape to have been completely spared its ugliness.

  He stepped closer and squatted beside the pool, unwilling to examine his determination to reassure this convent-bound maiden who seemed too lively to abandon the world. “I have told you that I take naught which is not offered to me willingly.”

  “I will not cede to you willingly,” she retorted. Though she spoke boldly, her breathing was quick, as though again she sought to hide her fear of him.

  “Then you have no coupling to fear.” He watched her eyes narrow as she studied him, her uncertainty of him as interesting as her unflinching regard.

  “You will say that I tempted you with my looks,” she said with no small measure of bitterness.

  “As others have maintained?” he guessed, seeing more of the truth that he expected she knew.

  Her lips tightened and she looked away. “I will be no man’s prize.”

  Angus nodded, noting how she evaded his charge. “’Tis true as far as I can see.” When she glanced up in surprise, he held her gaze. “Indeed, you have no fear of becoming mine.”

  She studied him for a long moment and he let her look, knowing she would find no hint that he lied. Then she frowned. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because the deed could have been done a hundred times by now, if it had been my intention to do it.”

  That truth was unassailable and she did not argue it further. The silence stretched between them and he would have given a silver denier to know what she was thinking.

  No less why his claim surprised her so very much.

  But Angus cleared his throat and laced his fingers together, intent upon finishing what he had begun and no more than that. “This madness must halt, if I am indeed to ensure that you are returned to your family unscathed. I shall make you a wager, my beauty. An exchange, if you will.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. I shall pledge to take naught from you if you pledge not to escape.”

  Her eyes lit with hope, a most beguiling sight, though she was not yet persuaded. “Would you leave me unbound?”

  Angus inclined his head. “I would accept the sworn pledge of one intent upon becoming a novitiate.”

  Her lips quirked with surprising humor. “For a greater authority than your own should strike me down if I lied.”

  “Perhaps so.” Angus offered his hand again and this time she took it, hesitating for only a heartbeat before putting her delicate hand into his own. He aided her to climb from the water, then was surprised by the decisive glance she gave him.

  “We shall swear it upon your father’s blade,” she said firmly.

  Angus froze. “How do you know that I carry my father’s sword?”

  She blinked, blushed, then smiled so brightly that he was momentarily dazzled. “You must have told me so.”

  Angus folded his arms across his chest and glared down at her. A suspicion glimmered, but he would know the truth before he responded. He did not like that she knew anything of him, not even this small detail.

  And he knew that he had told her naught.

  “Nay. I told your guardians, but you had fainted.” He arched a brow. “Unless that was a lie?”

  “Nay, I...” She blushed the deepest shade of crimson he had ever seen and nigh fidgeted before him. “Edana must have mentioned it.”

  Edana knew full well that he would not appreciate the telling of his tale and this confession irked Angus beyond all. “And what else did Edana tell you of me?” he demanded tightly.

  “Naught. Naught at all.” She spoke so quickly and her voice was pitched so high that Angus was not convinced. He noted how hastily she tried to divert his attention. “You do not draw the blade for our vow,” she challenged. “Perhaps you do not truly intend to keep your word.”

  Oh, he would keep his word and he would see this matter finished. But he would have something to say to Edana of this.

  Angus pulled the blade then and made his pledge upon it, offering the hilt to her that she might do the same. She could not bear the weight of the sword, of course, though she made a valiant effort to do so. Angus found himself supporting the blade where she could not see his touch.

  This demoiselle had a merry laugh, one that put him in mind of sparkling brooks and sunlight dancing on the sea. Yet she had expected the worst from the first moment she had glimpsed him, then refused to believe his every assertion to the contrary.

  Angus found it too easy to guess what had happened to make her so fearful of men. Perhaps her desire to join a convent masked an older crime. Perhaps there were men in her family’s dwelling who presumed too much and she sought to be free of them.

  Perhaps her step-father himself.

  Anger rolled within Angus, anger that he had no right to feel. Had he not kidnapped the woman himself? Aye, he had no claim of honorable deeds in this!

  Who was he to feel the urge to protect her?

  She addled his wits, that was the simple truth of it, and he had called the matter right when he had decided to avoid her company for the sake of his sense. He scowled at her, but she was too dissuaded of her fear of him.

  Indeed, she laid her hand upon his arm with concern in a most fami
liar manner. “Why are you angered with me?”

  “Why do you believe my pledge so readily as that?” he demanded in irritation.

  She blinked, then unwittingly told him more than he wanted to know. “Because you are a knight and a man who undertook a crusade to Outremer for the goodwill of his family...”

  “EDANA!” Angus roared, furious that so much of his tale had been shared. He had no doubt that this maiden would be coaxed to recall all she could once she was ransomed. Aye, this Duncan MacLaren would seek every detail he could find of where his daughter had been held captive.

  And then a penance would be demanded of any who had aided Angus in this. Edana undermined all his efforts to protect her by sharing too much with the maid. Indeed, the old woman risked her own safety.

  Angus was livid. He could not bear to think of how a wrathful chieftain might take his due of the elderly woman, a woman who had been good to him and deserved no ill treatment. He should have made her take a vow of silence!

  ’Twas another error he had made, another failure to protect those whom he held dear. He hoped ’twas not too late to ensure that damage was not done.

  “Hasten yourself,” he said harshly to the maiden. “We return to the hut now.”

  “But I have to fill the bucket. And I have to thank the lady of the well.”

  Angus glowered at her.

  She smiled at him, undaunted. “You need not wait for me, if you feel the need for haste. I have given my word to you.”

  Ah, so now he was harmless as well.

  Angus swore in frustration and began to march back to Edana’s hut, his mood dark.

  His had been a good plan, a simple plan destined to be effective, and he knew it well. In hindsight, though, it seemed the most ill-fated decision he might have made.

  He willed Rodney to ride yet more quickly, that the matter might be resolved and soon.

  Perhaps that man spoke rightly when he said Angus had not sufficient experience of women. He certainly had never met one like this demoiselle. He paused and looked back, watching as she dipped the bucket into the well.

  Perhaps Rodney was also correct in insisting that only a fool trusted a woman, even one who had given her word. Angus folded his arms across his chest, stepped into the shadows and watched to see what this unpredictable vixen would do.

  Chapter Eight

  After Jacqueline filled the bucket, she tended to her original mission. She retrieved the cloutie that had been bound around her ankle and sought a likely branch. There were so many clouties that ’twas hard to find one not only empty but sufficiently low that she could reach it. Then, she reached up and knotted the rag securely around the branch, then bowed low to the burbling well.

  “I thank you, lady of the well, for healing my wound. And in my gratitude, I surrender to you—” Jacqueline’s voice faltered, for she was not certain what to offer this pagan deity. She surveyed herself. She wore no jewels, she had no trinket to cast aside. She had no coin, no steed, naught to sacrifice at all.

  Suddenly, she realized what she had learned this morning, and straightened with the surety of what she must do.

  “I surrender to you my conviction that all men other than my step-father are of the ilk of Reynaud de Charmonte,“ she said firmly. “And if you had a part in showing me here that that much was true, I owe you thanks yet again.”

  She bowed low as it seemed appropriate, marveling at her lack of unease in fulfilling this ritual. In surroundings of such tranquility, ’twas hard to believe the wickedness that the church ascribed to pagans and their ceremonies.

  Her ankle was healed, by some miracle. Angus had pledged to not touch her. And he was no demon, but a knight who tried to aid his family’s woes and had evidently paid a terrible price in the East for his noble intent. What ransom would Angus demand for her safe release? Jacqueline nibbled at her lip and stared toward the distant hut. He would want coin, without a doubt, for Rodney had said they lacked coin.

  But Jacqueline’s family had no coin, because they had gathered every coin to make the donation to Inveresbeinn that she might become a novitiate. The convent would never surrender the donation made to them. And Rodney had departed this very morn, undoubtedly to fetch the ransom that could not possibly be paid.

  Jacqueline swallowed in new fear. A true brigand, denied his ransom, would kill his captive. One heard such tales. But Angus, Jacqueline was certain, was more a disappointed and grieving man than a true brigand. He fully expected to win his way in this, oblivious to the truth of her family’s circumstance.

  ’Twas then that she understood at least some small bit of the divine plan at work. Though Angus had captured her in error, he had ensured that she was in his company. Which could only mean that she had been chosen to aid him. She had to keep him from plunging down a path of lawlessness, where each poor choice could only lead to a greater crime. She had to help him to see past his grief.

  Somehow.

  Aye, Jacqueline had to save herself—and the only way she might accomplish that was by persuading Angus to abandon the course of wickedness before he truly embarked upon it.

  It did indeed sound as a divinely inspired plan or at least a quest from an old tale: she had to save his errant soul in return for her own earthly release. She had to tell Angus the truth of her family’s resources, and then she had to persuade him to take her to Inveresbeinn without his ever receiving his ransom.

  Jacqueline was not entirely certain how she would manage that deed, for Angus seemed to have no lack of resolve. But she had been chosen for the task and she did not dare to fail.

  Her own fate, most certainly, hung in the balance.

  Jacqueline hefted the pail with a grunt and began to walk back up the hill. She realized that she truly had been mad to run down this twisted path. Roots stuck out of the ground at every angle, ferns hung so low that the uneven terrain was hidden beneath their fronds. She might have sorely injured herself.

  Duncan would have been furious with her for her carelessness alone—which made her reconsider the cause of Angus’ anger. Aye, he had accused her of risking too much as soon as he arrived at the pool.

  ’Twas reassuring to have his behavior now make some sense, let alone to discover that his objectives were as noble as one might expect from a knight.

  Aye, she would change his thinking in this, without doubt.

  She confidently rounded a tree and jumped to find that knight himself standing in the shadows just ahead. She squeaked at his forbidding expression and nearly dropped her burden.

  But Angus snatched the bucket before the water could spill. He cupped Jacqueline’s elbow in his other hand and fairly marched her back to the hut.

  Jacqueline was touched by his gallantry. The bucket was cursedly heavy when full and the hill was steep. Her heart warmed yet more to this reticent man.

  “I thank you for your aid...” Jacqueline began but Angus interrupted her tersely.

  “Do not be so hasty to credit me with chivalrous motives,” he said through clenched teeth. “At this point, I have no means of knowing the value of your pledge.”

  “But...”

  “But you lied in saying that Edana had told you naught. We shall discover shortly what other lies you have told.”

  Jacqueline opened her mouth to argue the matter with him, then judged the moment not to be the best one to challenge him. Aye, she was content to try to match his pace.

  * * *

  Angus could have spit sparks. This woman had no understanding of the dangerous situation in which she found herself, nor indeed of the forces that drove him to seek vengeance. He showed her a small measure of kindness and she decided that he was harmless.

  She knew naught of him. She knew naught of what he had seen and what he had done and what he had endured. She knew naught of which he was capable.

  He hoped she had no reason to learn of it.

  He kicked open the door of the hut and set the bucket down with a thump. Edana did not so much as glance up
from sorting her leaves.

  “Have you no care for your own welfare?” Angus demanded of her. “Or have you lost your wits in the years I have been gone?”

  “I have no less care for my survival than any other sensible soul,” Edana said tartly, then impaled him with a glance. “’Tis you who seem bent upon ensuring your own demise. ’Tis a strange manner of homecoming you have made for yourself, Angus MacGillivray.”

  He released the maiden and folded his arms across his chest. “What have you told her?”

  “I see no reason why it should trouble you to know. You left we two alone.”

  “I thought you would have the sense to hold your tongue!” He paced the width of the cabin restlessly. “You have always been most circumspect in the past.”

  She granted him a strange glance, one that did naught to ease his irritation with her. “Fifteen years is a long time. Much can change in so many days and nights.”

  Angus crouched down beside her and granted her his most quelling glance, his words falling low. “Why did you tell her of the origin of my blade?”

  Edana blinked. “Did I?”

  “How else would she know of it?”

  The old woman smiled. “Then I must have told her. Undoubtedly I did so because she asked.”

  “If you answered every question the maid asks, then she knows more of us than we know ourselves!” Angus retorted, then rose to his feet. He paced the hut again, and shoved one hand through his hair.

  Edana laughed. “Aye, Jacqueline is most curious.” The women shared a smile, which did naught to ease Angus’ annoyance with them both.

  Angus spun to face Edana, jabbing one finger through the air to emphasize his point. “There is naught amusing in this!”

  “There is no harm in entertaining the maid!”

  “Is there not?” Angus pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to a dozen, then pivoted to face the old woman again. “Perhaps I might recount the truth of it to you,” he said silkily, and both women drew back at the heat underlying his words. “Even if all goes well and her ransom is paid, then her step-father will undoubtedly yearn for vengeance after this deed. The MacQuarries are known to be a vengeful lot, and I know the price of their quest for vengeance better than most.”