The Recruit

by Monica McCarty

  “Aye.”

  She shivered. “Is it safe to be so close without a guard?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, Mary. You have nothing to fear.”

  She held his gaze. He could tell she didn’t believe him, and it struck something cold in his heart. A wry smile turned her mouth. “I’ve heard that promise before.”

  His mouth hardened, and he tried not to feel the prick of jealousy. Atholl. “But not by me. I’m not your first husband, Mary.”

  She looked up at him, blinking in the sunlight. “No, no you’re not.”

  “What did he do to make you so cynical?”

  “Cynical?” she repeated, as if she’d never made the connection. “I suppose you are right. Atholl swore to protect us, but he gave no thought to what would happen to us when he rebelled. He cared more about glory and being a hero than he did about a wife and son. Aye, he protected us as long as it didn’t interfere with what he wanted to do. I asked him to take us with him, but he refused. He said we would be safe. That he would come back for us if something went wrong. I trusted him. But of course, he never did. He abandoned us to Edward’s mercy, and I was left to pick up the pieces of his decisions. Decisions that took everything from me—my son, my home, my family—but which I never had a say in.”

  Kenneth felt a prickle—nay, a stab—of unease. “That’s why you wanted me to give you that promise?”

  She gazed up at him. “Aye. I swore I’d never let a man put me in that kind of position again.”

  Ah hell. It wasn’t the same, he told himself. He would protect her. He didn’t just care about the glory. That wasn’t why he was so intent on joining the Highland Guard. At least not all of it. He wasn’t making choices for her. She would want to go when the time came.

  But all the rationalizing in the world couldn’t erase the flicker of unease that had crept over the day like a dark shadow. “Come,” he said, taking a bag from the horse. “I’ve a surprise for you.”

  The wariness was back. “I don’t need any more surprises.”

  “Perhaps not, but you’ll like it all the same.”

  He was right. A few minutes later, after he’d led her over to the circle of stones, spread out a plaid for her to sit on, and handed her the bundle, she moaned with delight at the scent of cinnamon and caramel that wafted from beneath the piece of linen. “More sugar buns? I’m going to be as fat as that old cat that hangs around the barn, if you keep having the cook bake these for me.”

  “I like you curvy.”

  She didn’t respond; she was too busy biting into the crusty sugarcoated round of bread. The sounds she made went right to his cock—as did the look of rapture on her face.

  Jesus. He adjusted his breeches. A woman shouldn’t look like that unless she was naked and under him.

  She finished chewing and looked up at him, realizing he was watching her. “Don’t you want any?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather watch you.” He reached over, running the pad of his finger over her upper lip.

  She sucked in her breath, wide-eyed.

  He lowered his mouth to hers. “You have a little bit of sugar right here.”

  He wanted to lick it off, but instead he swiped it with his finger and brought it to his mouth. “Hmmm. Very sweet.”

  Mary pulled back. “Why are you doing this? Why are you going to all this effort? What do you want from me?”

  It almost sounded like fear in her voice. “I want you.” He was surprised to realize it was the truth. It wasn’t just about stung pride and proving she wasn’t immune; it wasn’t just about winning her heart for his mission. He wanted her for himself.

  “We’re already married. You have me.”

  “Do I?” He smiled. “I very much doubt that.” He leaned back, eyeing her speculatively. “What is it exactly that you object to?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ll not hear a recitation of your finer points from me, my lord. I’m sure you’ve heard them well enough from others.”

  Perhaps she was right, but he was surprised how much he wanted to hear it from her. Not her admiration but her respect. The thought made him frown. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”

  “One who doesn’t fall at your feet?”

  She was teasing him, he realized. He shook his head. “You sound like my sister.”

  “The one who was married at Dunstaffnage?”

  “Aye, I only have one sister. Her name is Helen.”

  A frown gathered between her brows. “I wish I’d had a chance to meet her. Whom did she marry?”

  “The son of the MacKay chief.”

  Her eyes widened. Obviously she knew something of the feuding history between the MacKays and the Sutherlands. “I remember meeting him. That must have been an interesting wedding feast.”

  He laughed. “It was. You should have seen Will trying to keep the peace. You’d have to know my brother, but he’s one of the fiercest warriors I know and always ready to fight. He’s not a peacemaker. I think he spent the better part of three days trying to prevent fights by threatening to beat the men senseless if they did.”

  “That sounds familiar,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure there must have been a lot of fights between you when you were young.”

  “Drubbings, you mean. One-sided, for the most part.”

  “It’s hard to think of you being on the losing end.”

  He shrugged as if it meant nothing to him. “It made me work harder. My brother made me the warrior I am today.”

  “You are close?”

  Suddenly, he realized his mistake. Damn it. He’d been jabbering on as if he hadn’t just broken from his family.

  “Were close,” he corrected.

  But from the way she was looking at him, he feared she’d picked up on the mistake as well. “Why did you change your allegiance?”

  Damn. “It’s complicated,” he hedged, and then turned the question back to her. “Did you ever consider returning to Scotland?”

  A sharp look of pain crossed her face. She nodded.

  “Aye. Once.”

  “What happened?”

  For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer. She reached over and picked a piece of grass, making tiny knots over and over. “I lost my sister.”

  She gave a brief rendition of what had happened. How her sister had appeared one night at Ponteland to bring her home after Atholl’s arrest, how Sir Adam had arrived ahead of the king’s men, how they’d raced across the countryside only to be caught in the middle of the battle. “I’ll never forget that moment. One minute I was looking at her and the next, the bridge exploded into flames. It must have been lightning, though I didn’t recall hearing any before. There was a loud boom—the strangest thunder I’ve ever heard—and then everything went black. I woke up, and my sister was gone.”

  Something about the story niggled at his consciousness. “Sir Adam was there?”

  She nodded. “I heard his voice right before I fell. He was a godsend. Were it not for him, I’m sure David and I would have been imprisoned. He had his men look for Janet for hours, but it was as if she’d vanished.”

  All his instincts were hammering now. Could it be possible? God, if it were true, it could be just what he needed.

  “Do you remember anything about the smell?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “How strange that you should ask. I remember it smelled like rotting eggs.”

  Damn. It was true. Sir Adam Gordon shared the same knowledge his nephew had. He knew how to make black powder.

  Mary knew she had said too much. She was supposed to be guarding her heart, and here she was spilling all her secrets to him. But for such an outwardly hard and imposing man, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. He listened, and actually seemed interested in what she had to say, which was a novelty among men of his station. At least it was in her experience. But she was beginning to realize that her experience wasn’t the only experience. Kenneth was right; he wasn’t Atholl.
>
  But eventually his interest in her—in this game—would wane, and when it did, she wasn’t going to let him break her heart.

  She was going to have to be careful, very careful. She could see how easy it would be to slip and let herself believe in faerie tales and happy endings.

  He had married her, given their child a name, and promised not to do anything reckless that would put them in danger without telling her. It was enough. She would be content with what she had.

  And the passion. Aye, he’d given her that. She was going to savor every minute of it, knowing that it wouldn’t last.

  He was strangely contemplative after she’d told him about her sister. She finished eating the bun, forcing herself not to eat the second, and accepted the wine he offered her from a leather pouch to wash it down.

  When she was finished, she handed the pouch back to him and reclined against one of the large stones where he’d set the plaid.

  It was still warm, and the sun felt so good on her face, she felt her eyes fluttering.

  “You aren’t going to fall asleep again, are you?”

  She blinked. How had he moved so close without her realizing it? “Are you ready to leave?” Her heart was fluttering so fast, her words came out high-pitched and nervous.

  One corner of his mouth curved in a very wicked smile. “Not quite yet.”

  She thought about scooting away but knew it would be useless. He’d only catch her. And kiss her. And make her dissolve into a mindless bundle of sensation.

  She tried to sound unaffected. “What else did you have planned?”

  He leaned closer, his mouth achingly close. She could smell the wine on his breath and it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”

  His mouth fell on hers with a groan that tore through her heart. It was only for a moment, but long enough to make her breathless and hungry for more. His mouth slid over her jaw, down her throat, to the bodice of her dress. He started to tug at it, when she stopped him. “We can’t. Not here.”

  “Why not?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “It’s the middle of the day. Anyone could see.”

  He grinned. “There isn’t anyone around. I won’t undress you.”

  She eyed him skeptically, not trusting him. “I thought you offered to take me on a ride, not seduce me.”

  A wicked glint appeared in his eye. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and put her on his lap so that she was facing and straddling him. She gasped, feeling the hard swell of his erection against the intimate juncture between her thighs. “You’ll have your ride, Mary.”

  He lifted her over him and showed her exactly what he meant. She muttered a protest, but only halfheartedly. She was hot and achy, her body already melting for him.

  With a quick fumble of his breeches, he released himself, and then a frantic heartbeat later he surged inside her, impaling her on the long sword full hilt.

  She cried out in pleasure. Wave after wave of delicious pleasure, as he showed her how to ride him. How to find the perfect rhythm. How to take him in deep circular strokes. How to take her pleasure.

  In the warm afternoon sun, she took her pleasure over and over. She just had to remember that was all she should take.

  Nineteen

  Mary kept her eyes closed and tried to ignore the slight slam of the door as Kenneth left their chamber. She told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of the fact.

  The way he’d been making love to her had been so poignant—so sweet—she’d reacted in fear, attempting the whore’s trick she’d overheard some women talking about once.

  It had worked. Mary knew she should be happy. She’d won. Yet it hadn’t felt like a victory. Increasingly, her attempt to keep herself at a distance, to not let an emotional entanglement complicate the passion they shared, felt wrong. No, she corrected—it always felt wrong.

  The past weeks had been some of the happiest of her life. She was spending time with her son, enjoying every moment of the baby growing inside her, and experiencing passion that she’d never thought could be hers. But she knew that wasn’t all of it. It was her marriage—or, more specifically, her husband. He’d eased some of the burden she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. With him she felt safe for the first time in a very long time. It didn’t seem to matter that the war was coming, that he would be riding off in some not-too-distant future to fight against their countrymen; he made her feel safe and protected.

  Slowly but surely, he was chipping away at her defenses. The passion they shared at night had spilled over into the day—and not just because of the romantic gestures like the bath, flowers, sweets, and ribbons. It was hard to stay distant with a man who knew every part of her body, who could make her weep with pleasure, and who slept beside her every night. Even watching him dress in the morning had taken on a new fascination. All these little things that she’d never shared with a man—with anyone—before were drawing them closer. It was so different from her first marriage. She had never shared a bed with Atholl. Never shared a washbasin in the morning. Never helped him with his shirt and surcote. Never jested with him. Never talked with him. She’d never known him. Not in the way she was coming to know Kenneth.

  She liked challenging him. Liked the combat of wills that had risen between them. He made her feel bold and strong. Nothing like she’d felt with Atholl; with him she’d been timid and accepting. Kenneth not only listened to her, he seemed interested in what she had to say.

  More and more, she could see that her new husband was nothing like her first.

  He was funny and smart, wicked and passionate, and the fierce attraction was wearing her down.

  She liked him. And it terrified her.

  Had she misjudged him?

  He’d given her no cause to doubt him. Indeed, he was attentive almost to the point of doting. It was clear he was trying to win her heart, but why? Was it just some kind of game, or was it something more?

  Could she dare to hope?

  But she knew it was too late to ask that question. Hope had been lit that first night and had been stoked hotter every day since.

  She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her defenses up. Perhaps … perhaps tonight, she wouldn’t.

  A slow smile curled her mouth. Buoyed by the thought, she tossed off the covers and called for her maid. She had a busy day ahead of her and wanted to make sure she was back in plenty of time to get ready for the massive feast planned for later today.

  With tomorrow being Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, this would be the last celebration until Easter. Anticipating the deprivations of the next forty days, the castle inhabitants would be celebrating to great excess. Given Cornwall’s lavish taste for entertainment, it felt more like a long celebration than a preparation for war.

  Though Kenneth had grumbled, she’d extracted a promise from him to dance with her. She knew it was silly, yet she felt like a young lass at her first dance being picked by the most handsome knight at the feast, and she was looking forward to it.

  Dressing quickly, she hastened downstairs to break her fast and nearly ran into her son. He was clutching a sword and muttering to himself, and didn’t see her right away.

  She clutched his shoulders before he plowed into her. “Davey, where are you going in such a rush?” He glanced up, and she caught a look at the dark expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  He twisted out of her hold, refusing to meet her gaze. “Nothing.”

  But it was obvious something was wrong. She’d thought he’d seemed preoccupied the past week but had attributed it to his duties. Now, she wondered if it was something more. “Is there something I can do? Does it have to do with your duties? Shall I talk to Sir John?”

  He drew back in horror. “God’s blood, no! That will make it worse.”

  “What worse?”

  His face twisted with an emotion she couldn’t read, except that he was in turmoi
l. She wanted to reach for him and comfort him, but instinctively she knew that was the last thing he wanted right now.

  “I have to go,” he said, pulling away even more as if he sensed her impulse. “I need to get this done.” It sounded like he muttered “again,” before he hurried out of the Hall.

  Mary watched him go with the familiar sense of helplessness rising up inside her. Being the mother of a thirteen-year-old lad was like walking through a thick forest. At night. In the snow. Without a guidepost. Just when she thought she found the path out, another obstacle blocked her path.

  She startled, an idea taking hold. Maybe what she needed was another set of eyes.

  That was it! Who better to have insight into the mindset of a young lad than someone who’d been there? Perhaps Kenneth would be able to help?

  Feeling as if a weight suddenly had been lifted from her shoulders, Mary hurried about her tasks. For more reasons than one, she was looking forward to the night ahead.

  Kenneth stormed out of the tower after breaking his fast and headed across the yard to the armory. For a man who had spent the morning being pleasured in the way every man dreams of being pleasured, he was in a foul mood. His body might be well sated from more than three weeks of increasingly passionate lovemaking, but the rest of him was teeming with frustration.

  Nothing about this mission was going well. Bruce was furious that he’d married Mary without his permission; Kenneth hadn’t been able to offset his anger with any information of value; they were annoyed at him for straying from his task (apparently, someone was watching him and had informed them of his little journey to Roxburgh with Clifford); each day without practice he felt his battle skills withering like a grape in the sun, Felton lost no opportunity to give slight and offense, making MacKay look subtle by comparison; and to top it all off, his wee wife was proving infuriatingly resistant to his attempts to woo her.

  He didn’t understand it. He—one of the most elite warriors in Scotland only months away from what might be the biggest battle of his life—had been dancing attendance on her for more than two weeks like some lovesick swain from one of the troubadours’ songs. The worst part was that he didn’t even mind. He liked spending time with her. Which was odd, as he could hardly characterize her as uncomplicated and eager to please. Complicated and constantly challenging was more like it.