“You were furious,” she said softly, hoping to placate him.
With his feet braced and his eyes dark as pewter, Arran kept his voice on the same tight leash as the rest of him. “I started at furious.” He stepped closer, brought his head lower. “And then I discovered the extent of your recklessness.”
Ignoring the instinct to drop her gaze, Breghan swallowed hard. “I was in no danger.”
“You were damn well stabbed,” he roared.
Breghan pushed away from the table, never mind that it put them toe-to-toe, chin to chest. She tipped her head all the way back to glare up at him. “One of your men stabbed me.”
“Precisely.” His agreement sounded every bit the condemnation he followed through with. “That same man must now honour and respect a mistress he witnessed stripped and half naked.”
Blood rushed to her face. “You can’t blame me for that. You’re the one who stripped me.”
“You spent the night in a camp of men. We could have each taken our turn at tupping you and what would you have done?”
“That is a blemish on your character, not mine!”
“You had no business being there, alone all night and unprotected. Jesu, Bree, you allowed a complete stranger to take advantage and kiss you.”
“A—a stranger?” Frustration caught up to her anger and Breghan could barely get the words out. “But…but that was you.”
“Your behaviour is intolerable.” His hands came down, one on each of her shoulders. “If you weren’t injured, I’d shake the recklessness from you. Next time, I willna be so thoughtful.”
The man’s logic dumbfounded her. Breghan glared at him, searching for an argument that wouldn’t come. Her mind froze on one certainty.
There will be no next time.
“Your arrogance is abhorrent! Whatever you accuse me of, has or would have been done at your hand.”
“Aye,” was his unbelievable response. “Heed the warning well.”
While she was still gaping at him, he caught her by the elbow and led her across the room, back outside to where his mount awaited.
“Angel is tethered behind the cottage,” Breghan said. “I will ride her home.”
“You’ll ride with me.” He hefted her onto his stallion and swung up behind her.
Breghan scooted so far forward, she was halfway up the poor horse’s neck. “I can’t leave Angel in the woods.”
Arran’s hands came around her waist. He dragged her backward, all the way onto his lap. “I’ll send someone later to fetch your mare.”
Chapter Four
Breghan was stiff from holding herself rigid on Arran’s lap, straining against the arm that kept her pressed close to his chest. The short ride to the castle felt like long hours trapped within his embrace. Her senses were inundated with the scent and touch of the man, stamped with details that should have been too insignificant to remember. The muscles she’d seen flex in the firelight last night were now pressed against her. The memory of that brief kiss nested low in her belly and raised a heated awareness every time his breath caressed her cheek. Each galloping stride rubbed her back against the slab of chest that she’d already seen more of than any well-bred lass aught to have.
She might have been intrigued, even enticed, had her mind not clashed at every turn. This was the man who’d burn down an old woman’s cottage without hesitation. His frigid views on how to choose a bride and on what he would expect from his wife were deplorable. If his arm around her felt strong, warm and strangely comforting, she’d only to remind herself of his stubborn righteousness as he blamed her for his and his men’s shortcomings.
He is a devil and a beast.
Too soon, they were riding into the bailey and Breghan’s gaze skimmed over the few people milling about. She’d prepared herself to accept the consequences of her actions, but now dread folded behind her knees at the prospect of facing her father.
When Arran dismounted, then swiftly pulled her down into his arms, it was too much.
“Put me down.” She slapped ineffectually at the arms around her. “My injury doesn’t trouble me. I’m capable of walking without help.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Arran said, carrying her across the cobbled courtyard and up the castle steps in long strides. He didn’t put her down until they’d crossed the great hall to where her father stood in conference with Tristan. “Your daughter, sir.”
Bristling with indignity, Breghan worked up a scathing response. One look at her father’s high colour and she clamped her lips tight.
“Breghan, my darling.”
She spun about to see her mother running up, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her cheeks. Breghan had just started toward her, when both women were stopped by McAllen’s quiet command.
“Leave be, Lillian. Breghan’s conduct will not be rewarded with coddling.”
Lillian was the first to recover, giving her husband a small frown before returning her fretful gaze to Breghan and advancing once again.
“Lillian,” McAllen roared, adding with a quiet firmness, “you will retire to your chambers at once.”
Breghan gasped at the uncharacteristic outburst. Her father was no gentle man, yet she’d never heard him raise his voice at her mother. Equally astonished, Tristan rescued his mother from her hurt bewilderment and guided her to the stairwell.
“Papa,” Breghan entreated softly.
His scowl settled on her. “Never in my life had I thought to be so disabused of trust and respect, more disappointed in a child of mine. Await me in my solar. Now!”
Nerves already brittle, Breghan jumped at that last order. With a stiff nod, she turned away, miserably aware that no apology would suffice.
A strong hand grasped her arm, pulling her back. She looked up, to find Arran’s gaze on her.
“Breghan is my responsibility, McAllen.”
“No.” Jerking her arm free, Breghan glared up into his cool green eyes. After all that had been said and done, the boar still considered them betrothed. She’d already earned her father’s wrath, she may as well make it worth the while. “I will never be your wife.”
“Then ’tis as well I no longer offer marriage,” Arran returned roughly. The moment the words were out, an emptiness opened up inside him. He knew full well he couldn’t keep her. Breghan could never be his wife, the mother of his children. He’d only meant to bring her safely home before he went on his way.
He looked at Breghan for a long moment, trying to understand the hollow feeling.
Outrage flashed from within the blue depths of her stare. His gaze slid over the slender curves he’d been pressed against on their short ride here…not so short that he hadn’t been tempted to madness. She was already promised to him. Was she not the daughter of Lady McAllen, the woman who’d borne McAllen a dozen sons?
The madness passed.
He wouldn’t damn his soul more than it already was.
The time had come to leave.
Arran found he could not. He couldn’t keep her and he couldn’t give her up. Not yet.
“I’ve decided on a handfasting instead,” he informed Breghan.
“How dare you.” Her hand came up to deliver a furious slap.
Arran was quicker, grabbing her wrist before her palm connected with his cheek. He hauled her up against him with a sharp tug.
“Have a care,” he warned darkly. “My current mood doesna run to leniency.”
Breghan was beyond warnings as she stared at Arran incredulously, last night’s rejections tumbling to the forefront.
He hadn’t wanted her then and he didn’t want her now.
Then it came to her.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
“I deceived you,” she said hotly. “Last night I made a fool of you. This handfasting is an insult and a mockery and a thin veil for your revenge.”
“Handfasting is an honourable tradition.”
“For a cotter’s daughter when no priest is available.”
&
nbsp; His fingers increased the pressure on her wrist. “Or when two people wish some time to see if they suit.”
“We both know the answer to that,” she scoffed, twisting her wrist futilely. “If you think to use me sorely for a year and toss me back, think again.”
“Perhaps I willna throw you back. A man may grow accustomed to anything given time, even a sharp nose, a small forehead and no chin at all.” He threw her wrist away from him and took a step back. His gaze travelled down the length of her, then slowly up again until the heat in her cheeks was only part anger. “With a strict diet of fish and greens, perhaps you willna run to fat for a good while yet. And a year may well be sufficient to tame your shrewish ways.”
“Why, you—you—” spluttered Breghan, and tried again. “You will never tame me.”
“Time will tell,” he drawled.
Was that amusement tugging down his lower lip?
Too late, Breghan realised he was using her own words from last night to fuel his vengeance now.
No wonder he was amused.
She took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes on him. “We both know you don’t need time for anything. Last night you said you didn’t care an ounce for your wife’s character or looks. You’d douse the candles and keep her quiet in bed and that’s as far as your marriage strategy extends.”
“That is enough, Breghan,” came a rasped rebuke from behind.
Breghan turned, having completely forgotten her father’s presence. His face had gone from red to purple and he breathed so heavily, she feared he was about to succumb to an apoplexy.
How much had he heard? How much had she said? “Papa, please, soothe yourself. Let me explain.”
“Learn to hold your tongue,” Arran whispered near her ear. “Explanations are worse than bog lands, you step deeper into the muck with every misspent word.”
Breghan scowled up at him, not intending to say another word with her father staring them down.
But then he went and did it.
Another damned shrug, so casual and unconcerned.
“Afraid of what I might reveal?” she challenged with mock sweetness. “I knew you were a devil and a boar. Now I discover you are a coward too.”
“Woman,” Arran growled, his fingers folding over her arm in an iron grip.
At that same moment, her father grabbed her other arm with no less force and looked past her to Arran. “I need a private moment with my daughter.”
Breghan held her breath as the two men locked gazes.
Yesterday she’d feared only the Devil of Jedburgh, the Curse of Roxburgh.
Now she feared Arran Kerr, the man. He’d likely have her drawn and quartered for calling him a coward.
He has no right or power over me, she reassured herself, and he never will. Her father would never accept Arran’s humiliating proposal.
She glared first at Arran and then at her father. Neither man took notice. They were still staring at each other, but the tension between them had ebbed, as if some unspoken agreement had already been reached.
Her suspicions were confirmed a heartbeat later when her father’s fierce colour returned to normal.
“Breghan belongs to you, Kerr. I’ll no dispute that with the evidence presented. Now will you grant me a quiet word with my daughter?”
“As many words as you require.” Arran’s grip on her arm tightened fractionally before he released her. “Though I doubt any one of them will be quiet.”
Breghan came to life with a gasping shudder.
“I don’t belong to you and I never will,” she informed Arran, then turned to her father. “What do you mean by evidence presented?”
“I gather McAllen is referring to our night spent together,” Arran supplied amiably.
“We didn’t spend the—” Breghan cut the lie short and changed tactics. Reasoning with Arran was a hard-learned lesson in futility. “Nothing happened,” she told her father firmly.
“You didna kiss me?” Arran taunted.
“You kissed me.” Breghan blinked hard and gritted her teeth. “Papa, it isn’t what you think.”
McAllen’s thick brows arrowed. “’Twould appear it is far more than I was thinking.”
“Explanations,” Arran tutted.
Breghan sent a glare his way. “Heed your own advice and keep quiet.”
A sharp tug on her arm jerked Breghan forward. She was happy to oblige as her father dragged her off between two rows of trestle tables. Before they reached the small charter room where her father did his business, she was matching his stride.
“Absolutely nothing happened,” she said as they entered, her confidence slightly restored now that Arran could no longer interrupt.
Her father kicked the door shut, folded his arms and gave her a long, gruelling look.
Succumbing to the pressure, Breghan blurted, “I loathe the man. Why would I let him touch me? He feels much the same. ‘I will never marry you.’” She mimicked his husky burr. “‘The act of begetting a child on you appals me.’ He doesn’t want a marriage trial, he wants revenge for some imagined grand scheme he thinks I played him. Arran Kerr humiliates our entire family with this preposterous suggestion of a handfasting.”
“You refused to be his wife,” McAllen pointed out, his blue eyes hard and narrowed.
Breghan backed away warily. “My behaviour has been atrocious. I’m deeply sorry for any trouble I’ve brought upon you.”
“I, too, am sorry. You decided your future when you ran yesterday and denied the Kerr today.”
Something hard hit behind her knees. Breghan glanced down to see she’d backed into a chair and sank into it thankfully as she mustered her dimming spirits. “You cannot mean to do this.”
“I already have.”
Her chin came up, but the disapproval stamped on her father’s brow melted all defiance. “Papa, please…”
“My mind is set, Breghan. This union will give you equal status of wife and at the first indication of you being with child, the Kerr will be obliged to wed.”
“You cannot force me into this handfasting.”
“I can give you to Arran Kerr regardless. You will be his to do with as he pleases. You’ll have no rights and no prospects and your children will be born bastards. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Then we are in agreement.” McAllen turned to open the door. “Half your brothers are still out there searching and your mother hasn’t slept since you disappeared. I trust you will stay put this time.”
It wasn’t a question.
Breghan rose on wooden legs. Of all the punishments she’d resigned herself to, she hadn’t anticipated the physical blow of losing her father’s love.
“No man tolerates wilful disobedience,” he said as she reached him.
Breghan searched his eyes for a hint of softening and found none. “How can you do this to me?”
How can you throw your only daughter away so easily?
“You did this to yourself, Breghan.”
“I have made a terrible mistake,” she said miserably. “Can you not forgive me?”
“Beg your forgiveness from the Kerr. The man has shown remarkable patience thus far and will undoubtedly be pressed no further.”
She tried to form an indignant protest but couldn’t seem to make it matter. Even at her angriest, at her most hurt, she’d never given up loving her father. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d given up on her, given up loving her, maybe even before she’d run off. Why else had he promised her to the Kerr despite her desperate pleading?
She swept past him and into the great hall. A few castle servants were rushing about, continuing with the wedding feast preparations that had been temporarily aborted. The high table was set with polished silver and the floor around it strewn with fresh petals from a variety of wild flowers. The tapestry her mother had been working on for years took place of honour on the wall behind. The picture was of Breghan as a young girl rac
ing her mare across McAllen fields and was intended for Breghan’s wedding chest.
Arran was seated at one of the trestles, deep in conversation with Broderick and Duncan. As if sensing her presence, he looked up, straight into her eyes, and stood.
As he came toward her, she dropped her gaze. Tears were rising in her heart and she was afraid they’d spill. She felt alone, abandoned, cast out of her family. His boots came into focus as he stopped in front of her. She held her breath, staring at the well-worn leather, refusing to meet his triumphant gaze with her watery one. Then he walked on without saying a word. By the time she’d drawn a deep breath and looked up, Arran was following her father into the charter room.
Breghan turned and ran, weaving through the trestle tables and dodging servants until she reached the main entrance. She came to an abrupt stop at the outer steps when she saw Tristan waiting at the bottom. No one would allow her to run free today, to run through the fields until the closeness threatening to choke her slowly shed, one layer at a time.
Spinning about, Breghan ran back through the hall and up the stairwell to the second floor. Once inside her room, she pushed the door shut and fell upon her bed. Her heart was throbbing, not from the exercise but from emotional exertion. She welcomed it. The relentless throb filled the hole inside.
Her thoughts turned to Arran and the discussion no doubt taking place in the charter room. Scrambling up to sit cross-legged on the bed, Breghan pulled a pillow over and hugged it to her chest. Would her father truly hand her over to Arran Kerr, with or without a handfasting? He could cast her out of Donague and then where was she to go? As hard as she thought, Breghan came up with only one alternative. Her mother’s sister, Aunt Mary, was cloistered in a convent north of Edinburgh.
I could join the convent.
I could become a nun.
Breghan closed her eyes, but it didn’t take a lot of imagining to realise the life wouldn’t suit. She wanted to know love, to hold her babe in her arms one day. She wanted to hear laughter echo off the walls of her own great hall. She wanted to dance around the log come Yuletide and chase freedom on Angel’s back when the need took.
The Devil of Jedburgh Page 5