by Sabrina York
“I told you he was a knight. He rescued me yesterday.”
Susana’s heart clenched. “He what?”
“Rescued me.”
“From … what?”
“I was on the roof…”
“Isobel Mairi MacBean! I told you not to go on the roof!” How many times had she told her daughter the mill was far too high for her to climb?
“I know.” She swung her feet nonchalantly. “But I wanted to hunt birds. And the view is much better up there.”
Her pulse slowed. Up there? “Up where?”
“On the turret tower.”
Susana gaped. She was capable of nothing more. Her daughter. On the turret tower …
Holy God.
Oh, holy God.
“I was climbing and I slipped…” The vision played out in her head. A cold hand clutched at her chest. Prickles of sweat erupted on her brow. “But he caught me. He’s verra strong.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“And verra brave. He climbed up and waited there and when I fell—”
“Mother Mary.”
“He caught me.”
Susana swallowed. Gulped a breath. Forced a calm, unpanicked tone. “Darling. That sounds … verra dangerous.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Did he?”
Isobel wrinkled her nose. “He also said I should listen to you when you tell me no.”
“Thank God for that.”
“I thought you would like that part.” She grinned. Her smile was so like his, it made Susana’s heart ping.
“You should never ever do that again. Never. Ever.” Dear God. Her mind spun.
Her daughter put out a lip. “I already decided I probably wouldna.”
Thank heaven for small favors.
And then, “Probably?”
She shrugged. “You never know. The view is verra fine up there.”
“Isobel…”
“Yes, Mama?”
Oh, what to say? What to say to a child who didn’t like to be told no, one who was incited to rebellion by restrictions?
She covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “If anything ever happened to you … I couldna … I wouldna…”
“Mama? Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Your cheeks are wet.”
“I’m not crying. It’s just that you’ve frightened me verra much.”
“Nothing happened.”
“You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” Isobel grinned. “He saved me.”
Aye. He had. As much as he annoyed the hell out of her, she couldn’t deny that in this, she was very glad he’d been here. That he’d been there. That he’d saved her daughter.
And damn it, that annoyed her, too.
Isobel shot her a superior look. “I told you he was a knight.”
This time, Susana did not disagree.
* * *
Isobel sat on the garden bench petting her bunny, though it tried very hard not to be petted. In fact, from its struggles, it seemed to want to get away. She tightened her hold and petted harder.
She glanced up as a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The man named Andrew with the silver-blond hair—the man who had vowed not to pat her on the head and tell her to run and play—strolled along the path, though he wasn’t looking where he was going. He seemed very pensive indeed.
When he spotted her, his jaw tightened and it seemed as though he was going to turn and stroll in another direction, but he didn’t. After a moment’s reflection, he continued toward her and took a seat at her side.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
He peered at the furry bundle nestled in her skirts. “What do you have there?” he asked, although he must have seen one before.
“A bunny.”
“A bunny?”
She nodded. “I was going to kill it and then…”
“And then what?”
She huffed a sigh. “And then it looked at me.”
“It looked at you?”
“And wiggled its nose.” She petted its fur. It was soft and smooth. And the bunny hardly quivered at all. “I just couldna do it.”
“I understand.”
“I couldna help thinking, maybe it’s a mama. Maybe it has babies.”
“I’m sure the bunny appreciates your mercy.”
“And the babies.”
“Aye. Them, too.”
Isobel’s glare was sharp. “Just doona tell my mama. She doesna like weakness.”
He huffed a laugh. “Nae. Mercy is not one of her fortes.” He was quiet for a moment. A butterfly flittered by. A bee landed on a flower nearby and explored it. “Though I have to say, Isobel, mercy is not a weakness.”
She nodded and petted the quivering bunny again. Then she opened her arms and released it back into the wilds of the garden. It scooted away with the flash of a white tail. She sighed again. “Grandpapa would have liked rabbit stew.”
Andrew rubbed her back in a soothing manner that was very pleasant. “I’m sure he’ll be happy with mutton.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you think so?”
He made a face and she laughed. “Nae. No one is really happy with mutton.”
They stared out at the garden for a while before she spoke again. Asked him the question that had been nagging at her. “So … did you do it?”
His brow wrinkled. It occurred to her he really was a fine-looking man. And he was strong. And he had a sword. He was probably a much better choice as a father than the other one. “Did I do what?”
“Did you seduce my mama yet?”
His face went a little green. His lips worked but he couldn’t seem to come up with an answer. She didn’t understand his consternation. Either he had or he hadn’t.
“A simple yes or no will do.”
“Ah, no.”
She grunted, wholly unimpressed with him, and wished she hadn’t let the bunny go just yet. “Do you think you will?”
“I have to say, Isobel, this conversation makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“It’s rather a private matter.”
“But you promised to answer all my questions.”
“I did. But can you understand that sometimes there are things a person doesna want to share?”
She thought about the turret tower and the beehives and the tiny little fire she might have set in the mill. No one knew about that, thank heaven. She certainly didn’t want to share it. “Aye. I understand.” She tried not to put out a lip. He seemed sincere. He didn’t seem to be trying to fob her off. She liked that. And though he hadn’t precisely answered her question, he had tried. Aye, she might like him as a father, indeed. If she could convince Mama. “Do you think she’s pretty?” she asked.
He blinked. Again, his lips worked. But this time he answered. “I do. Verra much.”
“Are you fond of her?”
His throat worked. “Aye.”
“Then you should kiss her.” She shrugged. “Otherwise she willna know.”
He nodded. “Verra wise advice.”
“She probably willna like it, though.” It was only fair to warn him. He did seem nice and she didn’t want to see him pummeled with arrows.
Why he chuckled, she didn’t know.
“You should probably sneak it in. From her right side.”
“Her, ah, right side?”
Isobel tried not to roll her eyes. For a warrior, he didn’t know anything. “So she canna reach her bow.”
He seemed to pale. “Ah. I see. I shall keep that in mind.”
They sat together on the bench and watched the bees flitting from flower to flower. Their soft drone was like music. After a while, she asked, because he really needed to be warned, “Are you going to fight my mama today?”
His gaze was sharper than it should have been. “Where did you hear about that?”
“Everyone is talking abou
t it.”
“Are they?”
“Aye.” She pinned him with a knowing look. “You’re going to lose. Mama is quite skilled with a bow.”
He laughed. “I’m quite skilled with a bow as well.”
“Perhaps.” She sniffed. “But you’re going to lose.”
It really was a pity, because Mama had no patience for weakness. She would never kiss a man she’d beaten in the lists. She certainly wouldn’t marry one.
Aye, it was really very sad, because Isobel found she liked Andrew. A lot. He was kind to her and he kept his word, and answered her questions … even when it made him uncomfortable. He was handsome, too.
And he had a very impressive sword.
He would have made a good father. Much better than the red-haired man.
It was a shame that after Mama beat him in the lists, she would never ever let him kiss her. Not in a hundred, thousand years.
* * *
The competition had a fairlike atmosphere. While Susana had probably not shared the terms of their deal, it was clear she wanted everyone in Dounreay to witness their battle. The archery butts were set up in the bailey against the western wall and as Andrew strode over from the stables, tugging on his glove, he was stunned by the sheer number of people milling about.
Magnus met him at the entrance to the lists. “Is it true?” he asked. “Did you really challenge Susana to a duel?”
Andrew blinked. “Actually, she challenged me.”
“But you agreed?” His eyes were wide, his expression perplexed.
“Of course I agreed.”
“She’s the best archer in this parish.”
“And I’m the best archer in mine.” He invested his tone with a healthy dose of assurance, but Magnus wasn’t convinced. He nibbled his lip.
“What was your wager?”
Andrew checked the tension in his bow and added a little chalk. “What makes you think there was a wager?”
The old man grunted. His eyes skated over the assemblage as though he was searching for someone. His gaze landed on Susana and he nodded. “Because I know my daughter.”
Ah, she was breathtaking in a dark-green gown. It brought out the red of her hair and made her alabaster skin gleam.
“Does she often wager with men?”
“Not anymore.” Magnus grimaced. “No one is fool enough to take her on.”
Andrew’s gut shifted. He swallowed. “She’s that good?”
“Better. What did you wager?”
“Control.”
Magnus’s expression made his dismay clear. “Control over what?”
“The defenses.”
He rolled his eyes. “Ach, bluidy hell. Ye should have asked me first.”
“There wasna a chance.” And, in truth, his blood had been running high. Her challenge had only spurred him on. And frankly, it had seemed a good idea at the time.
“She’s going ta win.”
“You doona know that.”
“I’m pretty sure. But good luck.” Magnus patted him on the shoulder, shot him a pitying glance, and then he joined the others in the viewing area.
Andrew stiffened his spine and made his way to where Susana stood at the rail, flexing her bow. He tried to ignore the sinking sensation that he was heading for a dismal fate.
If he lost, and he had to defer all decisions to her, he might as well return home with his tail between his legs. Regardless, none of his men would ever respect him again.
Simply put, he had to win. He had to.
CHAPTER TEN
He didn’t win.
Oh, he came close. He hit the center of the target on his first shot. He should probably not have grinned at her then, because she grinned back and her grin was far more arrogant than his.
She lifted her bow and took aim and let fly. He stared in shock as Susana’s arrow sliced through the air … and then sliced through his, cleaving it in twain. A roar went up in the crowd. He resisted the urge to glare at them, but barely.
Through the entirety of the first round, they were neck and neck, each executing a nearly perfect shot. If he shot first, she impaled his arrow. If she shot first, he flayed hers. The butt was beginning to resemble a hedgehog.
It wasn’t until the final arrow of the first round that disaster struck. Susana had the first shot, which she executed with perfection.
Andrew lifted his bow and drew in his breath, carefully sighting along the length of the arrow. Just as he let fly, a gust of wind whipped through the yard and his missile went wide, landing an inch from hers. Dismay curled in his gut as he realized he’d lost the first heat.
Susana turned to him and fixed her features in something resembling sympathy. She patted his arm. “Bad luck, that,” she whispered. “Better luck next time.”
He attempted not to growl. Instead, he gathered all his determination and focused on winning the second bout. The arrows were quickly cleared, fresh butts set up, and they were at it again.
It was obvious they were well matched. Arrow after arrow flew true, landing in the butt just where it should, with a satisfying thud. The onlookers were silent, all watching in an awed hush. Andrew glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds had begun to gather, but no one on the grounds moved a muscle.
When another breeze rose up just as Andrew was about to shoot, he dropped his bow and waited.
“Well?” she prompted.
He simply grinned at her, which seemed to irritate her.
Excellent.
When the breeze died down, he lifted his bow, sighted it, and let fly. His arrow landed perfectly.
Susana frowned at him and took her place.
Just as she released her arrow, a fat raindrop landed on her hand. It must have startled her, because she jerked, and the arrow went high.
The crowd groaned.
Well, it was nice to know who they were rooting for.
Her dismay was evident. She stared at the butt in disbelief. Andrew patted her shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. “Bad luck, that,” he whispered. “Better luck next time.”
Her response was a glower. “One more heat,” she snapped and whipped a hand in the air, ordering the men to clear the butts.
But just then the sky opened up and the sprinkle of rain became a deluge.
The onlookers squealed and covered their heads and ran for shelter.
Andrew, however, did not. He turned to Susana—ignoring the spatters of rain on her the bosom of her gown, although they did rather lure his attention. “What do you say?” he asked. “Shall we continue?”
“I’m not afraid of a little rain.”
“Nor am I.”
When lightning sizzled through the sky, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, they both flinched.
“Later, perhaps?” he suggested.
He was relieved when she nodded. “Aye. We shall finish this later.” She spun and headed for the armory.
Naturally, he followed.
The armory was dimly lit by the watery shafts of light trickling in through the high windows. Susana headed for the back wall.
“Your aim is verra impressive,” she said as she set her bow on a rack littered with other bows and rafts of arrows.
He set his beside hers. “As is yours.”
She sighed and raked her fingers through her damp hair, shooting a look up at him. It was tinged with a grudging respect. “We are well matched.”
“Aye. We are.”
Their gazes tangled. He was fairly certain neither was taking about their shooting skills. Not really.
The room was close, musty and dusty, and it smelled of their damp clothes. But Andrew was aware of another scent on the air. He knew it and he knew it well. Their battle had aroused her.
Hell, it had aroused him. A woman who could stand up for herself? A woman who could stand up to him? Who could meet his challenge? Best him? The urge to kiss her scoured him. Although if he was being honest it was, truly, the urge for something more.
“I havena been ab
le to stop thinking about it,” he said.
Her brow quirked. “You keep saying that,” she muttered on a sigh.
“It’s true.”
And she knew. She knew what he meant. He could tell from the glint in her eye, the tinge of pink on her cheeks … she knew.
He stepped closer and though her nostrils flared, she allowed it. He cupped her cheek, holding her still, though he suspected he didn’t need to. His thumb traced the soft skin of her neck. She shivered.
His pulse thrummed as he lowered his head, homing in on those pink and slightly parted lips. He knew their taste, their feel. He ached to possess them again.
“What are you doing?’ she murmured, though there was no heat in her words. She trembled before him like a hummingbird.
“Kissing you.”
She frowned but didn’t step away.
When his lips met hers, that familiar sear of heat raced through him along with a welling excitement. Her taste, her scent, engulfed him. When her mouth parted beneath his, encouraging him, inviting him in, a flame flared in his chest, sending shafts of heat to his groin. His cock, never quiescent around her, rose. The urge to press against her, feel her body melded to his, scorched him.
With a growl, he pushed her back, against the low table. He’d intended to be gentle—probably—but he was not. They hit the table and it banged against the wall. Several arrows fell with a clatter.
He ignored them.
As did she.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and twined her fingers through his hair. Tipping her head to the side, she deepened the kiss. It moved from a tender exploration to a scorching demand in a heartbeat.
Glory and exhilaration rang in his heart and soul. There was such perfection in this damp, heated exchange. Such promise.
Arousal rose within him.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders; his sought and found the dip of her waist, then slowly rose until he claimed the delectable curve of her breast. As his hand closed on her, on the soft, warm weight of her flesh, he moaned. It was delicious. He took her acceptance of this caress as an encouragement to continue.
He’d only intended to steal another kiss. He’d only intended a flirtation, but now, now with her in his arms, warm and willing, with her belly pressing, rubbing against his cock, he was incited to greater daring.
Oh, certainly, this was Susana Dounreay, and there were far too many weapons within her reach. But judging from her sighs and moans, she would probably not skewer him if he tried for more.