by Rue Allyn
“My aunt, your second-mother, is English.”
“Aye, perhaps at one time. No’ now, of course.”
“What could you possibly mean by that? Of course, Onora is English. There is not one person more so.”
She flipped a length of hair over her shoulder in agitation.
He whipped it back.
“Stop that,” she said in a voice rife with exasperation.
His low hypnotic laughter plucked at her strained senses.
Desperate to stay focused on her indignation she continued, “You cannot decide a person is something else entirely, only for the simple reason of wishing it so.”
With a light touch, he removed a skein of hair where it lay coiled around her ear. Her pulse leapt. His scent and heat enveloped her senses. She tensed when his lips grazed her earlobe.
“I believe I just did, lass,” he whispered.
What had they been speaking of? She managed to mumble a rejoinder. “Well, it is an unfounded, illogical assumption.”
His low, rasping laughter curled her toes.
She clucked her tongue. “Much as I am enjoying our wee chat — ” she detected the grin in his words, “ — you should try and rest. We have a bit of ground to cover until we are out of harm’s way.”
Rest — an impossible task. The man scarce allowed a respectable distance atween them. Although, she admitted the sheer breadth and width of the man’s upper body made her feel protected. Considering her unusual height, not many men could boast the feat. Of course, being accused of witchery by her sire cooled any potential suitor’s ardor — except Warford’s. She let out an uneasy breath, determined to banish the man far from her mind.
The more ground they covered, the more confident she became. She had no idea how long Warford or her father would search for her, although, she doubted the search would outlast the latter’s purse. The priest, however, infamous for his devotion to the purification rite would return to his demented order to single out his next victim. She shuddered. It was not a subject she wished to dwell upon, and concentrated her ruminations on the chief’s earlier remarks. The sting from his ignorant opinion of the English still smarted. Yet, despite the stalwart defense of her homeland, she’d scarce miss Cadby Hall or its inhabitants.
Aeden’s voice broke into her reflections.
“We will stop a bit further up the trail.”
She almost agreed, but then a troubling notion occurred. “We are stopping to water the horse?”
As she feared, he shook his head. “No, we will make camp. I know of a cave nearby that will give us adequate shelter.”
Speechless, it seemed forever before she could form words. “Uhm — where shall I sleep?”
His look was unfathomable. “With me, of course.”
Chapter Five
Shrouded in darkness, Elisande tipped her head back. The brilliant specks of light strewn across the night sky reminded her of a crystalline encrusted velvet dress favored by her mother at Michaelmas. Aeden shifted his seat, jolting her back to the present. His words echoed in her head once more. Nonetheless, she refused to believe he expected her to share his bed. To be sure, he made another inappropriate jest if for no other purpose than to see her vexed. A quiver of frustration shook her.
Aeden tightened his hold and inquired, “Are you in need of an extra plaid?”
Another plaid? God save me.
Instead of answering his question, she inquired, “Chief Maxwell?”
“Aye?”
She hesitated, uncertain how to frame the words.
“Go on, say your piece,” he urged. “I can no’ imagine why you should hesitate.”
The disbelief in his voice prompted a smile from her. “Yes, you have been an unenthusiastic recipient of my blunt manner.”
He laughed, his tone rueful. “Truer words were never uttered. Go on, let’s hear it.”
Before she lost her nerve she did exactly that — spit out her question in one rapid fire string of words.
“Would it be indecent of me if I took my ease against your chest?”
“No.”
Thrown off kilter by his instant reply, she frowned. “No? Should you not think the matter through first? Truly, this cannot be everything you have to say on the matter.”
He shrugged. “What is there to say? We have been a-horse for some time. No doubt the strain of keeping a respectable distance betwixt us wears thin and you’ve finally reached the sensible conclusion to rely upon my superior strength while replenishing your own.”
Not quite ready to abandon the argument, she ploughed ahead. “Put like that it seems absurd to hold myself to such rigid standards if one takes the circumstances into consideration. Still, you have no sense of propriety,” she accused, a bit affronted he considered her sensibilities insensible.
He sighed loud and long. “Woman, you make problems where there are none. Such insignificant concerns are beneath my notice.”
She snapped to attention in her seat. “Concern for one’s reputation is not an insignificant matter. You have no idea the trouble that is caused when rumors spread. For all I know you are a married man with ten children. Of course, your character would little suffer. Mine, however, would be in complete tatters.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How on earth would I expect to make a new beginning if my name becomes sullied afore I even get the chance, I ask you.”
“Settle your feathers,” he muttered.
His exasperation set her teeth on edge. She scooted forward and threw an unraveled hank of hair over her shoulder to punctuate her irritation.
“For the love of — ”
A satisfied smirk pursed her lips as he tugged at a strand of her hair clinging to his whiskers. Her glee was short-lived as wind exited her lungs in a rush the moment he pinned her against his chest. She wanted to protest, but the amount of energy it took to muster maidenly outrage wearied her to the bone. In truth, social status amounted to naught at this point. Extraordinary events unfolded each day and the unreasonable strictures of her stepmother’s manor seemed worlds away. In the end, the weight of her fatigue won out.
Exhausted, she sank into his warmth. The curves of her lethargic body melded with his hard masculine planes, as if he had been fashioned just for her. His strength enveloped her, his solid arms created a band of steel to protect her, and his radiant warmth beat at her from the sensitive curve of her nape down to her bottom snuggled in-between the granite-hard vee of his muscled thighs. Unbidden, a contented sigh slid from her lips. Just this once she ceded defeat, and allowed herself to savor the luxury of his secure embrace.
• • •
Goat willow, alder, rowan and ash trees shielded hills and vales for miles, while sweet pea, thistle and wild rose flowered in lavish tangles of untouched beauty. Yet, despite the splendor of her surroundings, the relentless hours on horseback merged the impressive landscape into a muddle of color. Desperate to break the tedium, she decided any subject no matter how trivial matter would be a welcome relief. She cast about in her brain for an innocuous topic, until a curt command to his horse provided an opening.
“Uhm, Chief?”
“Aye?”
Undaunted by his resigned air, she continued, “By what name do you call your mount?”
He hesitated for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer, and then mumbled the reply. She turned sideways, uncertain she heard correctly, but he righted her seat quick enough.
“Did I hear you a-right? You did say Honeybush?”
Stalwart in his silence, she forged ahead regardless, determined to have an exchange of words.
“Is that not the name of an herb?”
He sighed long and hard. “Aye, ’tis also the name of my mount.”
She swiveled to look at him, “Surely you jest.”
“Unfortunately, ’tis God’s own truth.”
One giggle escaped, then two, until she ended with a snort of laughter over his pained expression.
“Hmm,” she be
gan once she reeled in her mirth. “There’s a story there, I think. No one would have the audacity to christen such a regal beast Honeybush, unless … No,” she shook her head, “it’s of no use. I cannot begin to guess the reason. Now, you have no choice save to recount the tale in its entirety.”
He looked ready to balk, yet, she noticed a slight smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.
“Pretty please?”
His eyes held hers for what seemed an eternity. A fissure of awareness dimpled her skin, as she imagined him leaning in to steal a kiss.
Why do I feel this way, and does he feel it, too?
A cacophony of calls from a murder of crows passing overhead broke the enchantment. Cheeks burning, she scooted forward the same moment he awkwardly launched into his account.
“I … ah, as a foal, Honeybush fed on patches of the herb growing in quantities around the paddock. My older brother, Addis, plagued me by dubbing him Honeybush. Now, ’tis the one name he answers too.”
The smile in his voice warmed her, but confused her as well. On the one hand, he presented an aloof, distant demeanor, and then in one afternoon revealed a thoughtful, caring man. A subtle shift brought her further back between his thighs. His body was heavy, warm and broad as it loomed over hers, and she could not help to think how easy it would be to — she squeezed her eyes shut determined to abandon a thread of thought that would only cause heartache.
Chapter Six
Sweetbriar.
Three days of continual travel except to tend to the basest needs and the lass’s hair still smelt of the bloody flower. The familiar fragrance evoked images of his home, and he knew he would never think of the Lowland’s thriving woodlands and high peaks without recalling her every word and expression, too. A powerful urge to bury his nose in her caramel-colored locks hit him with the force of a ballista. He shook his head in disbelief. That such an acid-tongued female induced the tiniest twinge of desire blindsided him. He wasn’t certain he even liked her, and he certainly did not need the added distraction of pursuing such a prickly woman. Too many precarious situations vied for his attention. He could not afford to lose focus now.
Moreover, painful experience taught him that women, especially beautiful women, found his facial scars too repugnant to disregard. They wanted a man equal to their beauty. Although, a few made it quite plain an unsightly appearance might be overlooked if there was a title to gain. Hell, Fiona would have the banns read before nightfall if he made her an offer of marriage. Tam took it upon himself and nagged him daily to take a wife and provide an heir. Quite aware that in these modern times it wasn’t a requirement to like his wife, much less love her, but he admitted only to himself, he wanted something different — whether he deserved it or not. He blew out a large gust of air. Disgusted by the rabbit trails his mind continued to wander, he stared down at the top of Elisande’s head. This was all her doing. She unsettled him, and he could not account for the why of it, especially since she subjected him to the sharp edge of her tongue from the very first moments of their meeting.
A glossy lock of sun-tipped hair slipped over her slender shoulder and teased the bare skin of his chest. Without a thought, he trapped the errant strand betwixt his thumb and forefinger. The strand was thick, silky, very unlike the women he had known whose courser hair bespoke of harder times. He frowned, then flung the lock away from him, but the wind plastered the long ribbon across his chest once again. He grit his teeth, as an internal struggle between reason and lust commenced. From the start, the woman exuded an overabundance of femininity. Since that moment, he wanted nothing more than to succumb to the enchantment she cast over his senses, and sink into her softness until he drowned in it.
His desire won out and he leaned forward, closed his eyes at the exact instant Honeybush side-stepped a rut in the trail. His awkward stagger rammed Aeden’s nose into the back of Elisande’s head. Her hand shot out.
“Ooh — what was that?”
Before he could pull away, she reached back and her fingers brushed against his whiskered cheek. The innocent caress raised the hair on his arms and he knew his harsh intake of breath alerted her to his disquiet. She maneuvered around and eyed him, but he learned at a young age to mask his state of mind. Although he had no time to mask his wince, he managed to resist an urge to massage his battered nose.
“Goodness, did I injure you?”
Her puzzled eyes studied his face. His stared down at her, his mind blank and hoped to let the incident pass without further comment. He should have known better. The woman never allowed the most trivial event to go unnoticed without some sort of lengthy discussion.
“Chief Maxwell, did you, or, did you not bite your tongue?”
“And why would I want to bite my tongue, lass?” He willfully chose to misunderstand.
She frowned, opened her mouth to speak, though it was several seconds before any sound came out, as she considered his remark.
“Well, I expect no one desires to bite one’s tongue.”
“Then why ask such an odd question?”
He kept his smile in check and his hand loose on the reins, although he longed to smooth the wrinkle in her brow with a finger.
“Well, what else would you have bitten?” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I have not the slightest idea. What would you have me bite?” he deadpanned, navigating the conversation to murkier waters.
“Are you trying to provoke me, or, are you usually this dull-witted.”
“What did you say, lass?” He grinned.
She pursed her lips. “I am quite certain you heard me.”
He had taken in every word uttered, but she was accurate when she accused him of baiting her. He had no idea why, yet, her reactions and the manner in which her mind worked intrigued him. The lack of reverence for his title, an aberration in his world, also appealed to him.
She swiveled forward in exasperation just as Honeybush hit a deep rut on the trail. She lurched sideways and before she flew headlong over the side, Aeden pulled her roughly to him.
“Take care, lass.” His speech was thick and unsteady. Conditioned to keep his emotions concealed, he was certain she had no idea of the effect her womanly curves had on him. Yet, it hardly mattered since she would never belong to him. Addis would have that privilege. He loosed his grip.
“I’m beginning to wonder if this is a test of my fortitude, or possibly retribution,” she muttered.
He smirked at the notion. “You need not worry I shall retaliate.”
The delicate wings of her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Retaliate for … ?”
“Your inclination to bite,” he finished.
She gasped. “Now see here, whatever happened upon our first meeting was an unfortunate incident.”
He nodded. “Aye it was unfortunate. I believe you left a mark.”
The corners of her mouth drew down. “I did no such thing.”
He flexed the hand in question and held it in front of her face. The faint indentation of teeth along the outside of his palm still showed red.
“Oh!” Embarrassment heated her cheeks.
His laughter erupted. The sound, lust-filled to his ears, had a different effect on her. She whirled around so fast he’d not been surprised if she notched a groove in the saddle leather.
“I have come to the conclusion that a conversation with you is akin to herding cats.” She threw the scathing comment over her shoulder.
He let the remark pass unanswered, amused by her clever rejoinder. Never before had he encountered a woman who spoke her mind without fear of reprisal. He never thought himself the kind of man to indulge such behavior. Unquestionably, he should prefer a docile, compliant woman and give Elisande a wide berth. Nonetheless, and for reasons known only to his maker, she fascinated him. At first, he found it hard to stomach that of all the females dotting the earth, an Englishwoman riveted his interest. The irony was her heritage shaped her wit. He supposed he could appreciate
the absurdity of his epiphany. He chuckled to himself, rubbed the tip of his nose, and pitched forward.
Chapter Seven
He grunted in her ear moments before the blunt force almost knocked Elisande off the horse. The shock of bearing the brunt of weight against her back scared her. She managed to wedge her shoulder in the center of his chest and pivot a bit to her left. Eyes wide in undisguised shock and pain greeted her probing gaze.
“My God, Aeden, please tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded frantic.
“B … back.”
She blanched at the size of the dagger lodged in-between his shoulder blades. Bright red ribbons of blood flowed down his bare back to soak the plaid at his waist and beyond. A geyser of fear erupted in her. She tamped down on the impulse to scream and tried to align her thoughts, his life depended on her. A sudden calm clarity washed over her.
“Aeden, if you’re able, hold on to my waist.”
She prayed to God he stayed on, made a grab for the reins dangling from his nerveless fingers and plunged into the brush. Guided by instinct, she urged the horse down a steep slope scattering rocks and pebbles into a deep ravine off to one side. At the bottom, she steered Honeybush toward the backside of a rocky bluff and waited. She intended to follow Aeden’s original plan and seek shelter in a nearby cave. She lifted her eyes heavenward and implored God to guide her to the cavern before their attackers discovered them. She noticed his hands slackened a bit. He seemed too motionless. Much too heavy against her to twist around and examine him, it took an iron will to remain upright. She refused to believe he was anything other than alive. Her stomach heaved at the thought of his death, and she breathed through her nose willing the panic to recede. Falling apart would solve nothing.
Thunderous hoof beats weren’t too far off, Honeybush was flagging and she knew she must disappear quickly before their assailants caught up with them. Resolved, she backed into a lush thicket, surprised to discover it concealed a rock wall. She forced the horse against the rock, slid off his back and pressed her ear to the side of Aeden’s chest. To her relief, she detected a faint heartbeat. Gently, she smoothed back the hair that obscured his face. A muscle quivered in his jaw and his eyes were open, though she knew it wouldn’t be long before he went into a faint.