The Devil of Jedburgh

by Claire Robyns

  “This is a silly, reckless custom,” Arran grumbled. “I shouldna have let you talk me into it.”

  “I’ve never been able to talk you into anything you didn’t truly want but were perhaps too afraid to admit.” Breghan snuggled closer to him on the bunk and popped a plum tartlet into his mouth. “For now, you aren’t laird of anything and have no worries or responsibilities other than taking care of me.”

  She smiled up at him and waited, and finally the scowl eased from his brow and laughter crinkled the edges of his eyes.

  His arm slid around her and his hand settled on her waist. “There may be some merit to this madness after all.”

  As they looked into each other’s eyes, Breghan felt the strange sensation that something vital was slipping away from her, right here and now, and no matter how hard she tried, she’d never be able to hold on. The feeling was so vivid, she grabbed Arran’s arm and held tight, as if she could keep him by her side, as if she’d never lose him so long as she didn’t let go.

  “Sweeting.” His head came down, his mouth covering hers in a deep, lingering kiss.

  She would lose Arran, was already losing him.

  Every new day was one day closer to that moment.

  She pushed the panic down and buried it beneath a hundred promises to herself. She would learn to numb these feelings that threatened to overwhelm. She’d resigned herself to the singular fact that Arran didn’t want her forever and she was stubborn enough in her own way to block him from her heart.

  Enjoying his kisses, his caresses and his lovemaking was her preliminary reward for the feat she’d most certainly achieve.

  She’d pave her own future with the kind of husband she’d always dreamed of.

  These things would come true.

  Arran would hold a special place in her heart, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find love and happiness when this ended. She would. She’d make it happen.

  She also knew she’d never give up one moment with him before she had no choice in the matter.

  Some of the men pulled out a haphazard variety of instruments to make music and, soon after, the dancing started. The three females were willingly passed around until their feet were blistered. Most of the men, of course, simply danced with each other, especially after they’d had enough wine and ale.

  Arran took Breghan in his arms, ignoring the lively music for his own slow, swaying steps. She rested her cheek against his chest, their bodies moving in harmony, and he wished this dance could last forever.

  Do you believe in love, Arran?

  He hadn’t, not for himself anyway. Until she’d asked that question, and he’d understood the emotion warming her gaze, the tender urgency in her voice. The longing, the wanting, the need that threatened to consume him whenever he thought of Breghan leaving. For all his promises to never hurt her, he’d done exactly that if her question had been filled with half as much of the love he’d recognised in himself right then.

  She shifted in his embrace, bringing her arms around his neck and looking up at him with a warm smile. His heart contracted over all the words that could never be spoken.

  When I look into your eyes, darling, when I hold you in my arms, when I pretend reality can be changed and I’m allowed to have my heart’s desire…then, yes, I believe in love.

  But Arran wasn’t a dreamer, he couldn’t close his eyes to reality, and admitting to himself that he’d fallen in love with Breghan only made him more determined to let her go when the time came.

  On the third day of Christmas, Janet came down to supper wearing her new velvet gown. The square bodice was cut low, stiffened to hint at the swell of her firm bosom, and the green velvet lay flat against her hipbone before flaring in pleats to the ground.

  “You look absolutely stunning.” Breghan chose to sit with her and Greer that night, leaving Arran to a table of raucous men.

  Janet grinned at her. “I’ve danced with every man present except the one I want.”

  “Perhaps tonight.” Breghan’s thoughts immediately streamed through all the men Janet had danced with, trying to pin her affections by elimination. She couldn’t think of one.

  As soon as the music started up, Janet rose, her hips swaying to the lively rhythm. “I’m going to ask him to dance.”

  “She’s a brazen one,” Greer said with a little frown.

  “She’s not afraid to know what she wants.” Breghan’s gaze tracked Janet’s path through the crowded hall. When she saw where Janet stopped and stooped low, she gasped, “Surely not?”

  Greer released a long breath and said quietly, “At least she doesn’t want Duncan.”

  Bringing her attention back to the table, Breghan saw the high colour of Greer’s cheeks and said quickly, “It wouldn’t have made any difference if she did. Duncan may be young, but he is most earnest, sincere and honourable. He loves you, Greer, he wouldn’t be turned by another pretty face.”

  Greer blinked at her. “Thank you, me lady, you are kind.”

  “I speak only as I find.”

  “That man is an uncouth brute,” growled Janet as she slid into her seat, her green eyes wide in indignation. “He says dancing is a trivial pastime and why should he waste time better spent drinking and conversing in sensible conversation.”

  Breghan couldn’t help laughing. “Broderick has the permanent temperament of a bear rudely awakened from hibernation. He’s not fit for civil company.”

  But Janet wasn’t listening. “Does he mean I’m not capable of a sensible conversation? My goodness, one would think I asked him to swear off drink for life.” She put her elbows on the table and entwined her fingers beneath her chin. “I won’t give up.”

  Breghan swallowed her laugh. “You’re not jesting? Broderick truly is the one you fancy?”

  “He is so large and strong,” Janet said dreamily. “A man such as he would keep one safe and…um, satisfied.”

  Greer giggled, then immediately clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “Don’t fool yourself,” Breghan said, concerned for her friend. “He has less charm and warmth than a rock and he appears to hate everyone, women in particular.”

  “He is a little rough,” she conceded.

  “The simpleton stabbed me in the chest with his dagger.”

  Greer shrieked and Janet’s smile froze. A moment later, however, Janet shook her head and smiled. “I’m sure that was a misunderstanding.”

  “He says he mistook me for a wild boar.”

  “See? An easy mistake.”

  Breghan rolled her eyes, then laughed again. “At the very least, this courting will be amusing to witness. I’d love to see you tame Broderick.”

  “Oh, but I don’t want to tame him at all! He’s perfectly agreeable just the way he is.”

  “He insulted your intelligence and refused to grace you with a single dance.”

  “Except for that,” Janet agreed.

  The two friends shared a look, then burst into another round of laughter.

  On the tenth day of Christmas, Breghan was in Arran’s arms again, swaying to the music and wrapped in his warmth. They were across the hall, as far as possible from the game the Lord of Misrule had initiated. John had bade a large half barrel filled with snow and set beside the hearth to melt. Now the men played a drinking game where the last man to down his tankard of ale in each round had to dunk his entire head in the barrel of icy water. The group of men imbibing soon turned boisterous and a quarrel broke out.

  “Stay right here, sweeting,” Arran murmured in her ear as he set her out of his arms. “Let me deal with this before blood is drawn.”

  Before Arran could reach them, however, two men fell upon each other with drawn fists and, in the scuffle, the barrel of water overturned onto the hearth. There was a loud, short hiss of sparks from the hearth. A slow hush filtered across the hall as the merrymakers became aware of the drenched hearth and charred stub that remained of the thick Yule log.

  ’Twas a bad omen for the Yule log to
stop burning before the twelfth day, a sign of bad tidings to come in the new year.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The snow and ice thawed in the middle of February, turning a white wonderland into brown sludgy mess. The first green buds appeared on the trees and Jed Water flowed furiously in an early spring spate as the ice caps on the surrounding mountains melted. With the roads passable once again, it wasn’t long before Arran received disturbing news. He called both Ewan and Broderick to his solar.

  “A letter was intercepted between Moray and Maitland,” he shared with them. Sir William Maitland was Secretary of State and had been a staunch friend of the queen’s half brother. Arran wasn’t entirely surprised their bond remained after Moray had been chased across the border into exile. “What concerns me is the none too subtle reference to Moray’s imminent return to Scottish soil.”

  “The queen is still making plans for her Parliament in March,” Ewan said with a scowl. “Top of her agenda is forfeiting the properties of all the rebel lords, first and foremost Moray.”

  “Are you thinking treason?” Broderick asked.

  “I’m thinking,” Arran said after a moment’s consideration, “that I’ve been gone from court too long.”

  Once they’d finalised their plans, Arran went in search of Breghan. He found her in the great hall with Janet, their heads bowed over a length of pale blue cloth laid out on a trestle table. He knew they were making a special dress for Greer. The lass was to be wed next week. Not here at the castle, although he’d offered. Duncan was in negotiations with Bryan to take over Greer’s family’s lease on the farming land and cottage. Arran had gifted him the first five years rent free, despite misgivings that love had blinded the lad into making all the wrong decisions.

  Breghan glanced up, then straightened and came to meet him in front of the hearth.

  “Events in Edinburgh require my attention.” He curled his hand around the back of her head, his thumb stroking the short hairs at her nape, unable to resist some form of contact whenever he was close.

  A small frown crossed her brow, there and gone before she smiled and looked up into his eyes. “Will you be gone long?”

  Apparently Duncan wasn’t the only one making wrong decisions, because instead of shrugging he found himself saying, “I was hoping you’d join me.”

  Her smile warmed with unrestrained delight and lit up her eyes. “Yes, yes and yes!”

  She threw herself into his arms and Arran held her tight. He was a selfish bastard to do this, to be so determined to claim all of her firsts, and he didn’t care a damn. One day, some faceless man would have all of Breghan for the rest of their natural life.

  When it came to Breghan and the brief interlude he’d been given with her, his noble aspirations had long since turned to ash in the flames of hell. He’d left his last honourable intention behind in McAllen’s charter room when he’d walked out that door to stand with Breghan before the priest.

  He would let her go when the time came. What he couldn’t do, what he didn’t have the strength for, was to let her go without leaving a part of him with her, stamped upon her body, heart, mind and soul. Whenever she thought about the first awakenings of her body to the sensual pleasures of love, it would be the taste and feel of his lips on hers, his arms she recalled wrapped around her. When she had her pretty life in some townhouse with her fancy, sophisticated husband, it would be his face she remembered as they entered Edinburgh through the Cowgate, his firm hand taking the reins as he guided her mare in a trot through the noisy crowd of the Grass Market, his voice describing the function of the Weigh House as they turned left through the West Bow and up Castle Hill.

  The grey haze of smoke that earned Edinburgh the name of Auld Reekie hung above them. Merchants and soldiers crushed with beggars and peddlers applying their trade on the narrow streets. Breghan saw and heard none of that. Her gaze was high, fixed on the magnificent pile of grey stone perched on Castle Rock and dominating the entire city.

  “I never imagined I’d truly ever see this.” She turned her head to look at Arran with wide, shining eyes. “Thank you.”

  He knew he was a cold, heartless bastard, because he felt no regret that Breghan would never forget he was the man who’d loved her first.

  They clattered through the castle gate and drew to a halt in the courtyard. Arran dismounted and immediately went to assist Breghan. She stayed in the embrace of his arm as she turned to watch his guard of twenty men filter in behind them along with the luggage cart.

  “So,” she murmured, “all it took was two days of jarred bones to finally get his attention.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what are you talking about, sweeting?”

  “That.” She waved a hand at Broderick helping Janet from the cart where she’d spent the journey bundled in blankets and bounced from end to end. “Janet’s been trying to catch his eye for forever.”

  He raised a brow at the proceedings and knew he shouldn’t have asked. “Broderick is merely lifting the lass from the cart.”

  “He beat away two of your other men to do so.”

  He watched the redheaded beauty flutter her lashes at the men who’d been pushed aside even as Broderick set her on her feet. “At least this one won’t lead Broderick from his position and duty,” he said. The lass clearly enjoyed the benefits of living in a castle surrounded by admiring men.

  “He has no heart to give away,” Breghan muttered as Broderick turned abruptly and walked toward them, leaving Janet to skitter glances after him.

  Arran had sent ahead with notice of their arrival and the castle steward was in the vaulted reception to greet them.

  “My Lord Earl Bothwell has kindly offered his apartments for your use,” he told them as he led them through the narrow, drafty passages. “The Earl has taken up residence in Holyrood House.”

  They would be far more comfortable at Holyrood too, but this was where the king held court with many of his wife’s estranged nobles. This was where Arran needed to be. Bothwell, as always, seemed more intent on untangling the queen than untangling plots. The man was drawn equally to beauty and power, and Queen Mary had an abundance of both.

  “Where there is power to be had,” Arran commented softly, “you may be sure Bothwell will be found.”

  “As opposed to any other baron?” whispered Breghan with a sweet smile his way.

  “Bothwell is a snake, all simple charm until the music stops playing, and then his spit turns lethal.”

  “If you detest the man so much, perhaps we shouldn’t accept his gracious offer.”

  “The alternative is a dark chamber with no hearth to light a fire.” He cupped her elbow in his palm and slowed his step so that they fell back a few more paces from the steward. “The guest accommodations here are notoriously uninviting. Besides, I didn’t say I dislike Bothwell.”

  They were shown to a modest chamber with a decent bed and small fireplace stacked and ready for lighting. Wood panels on the walls and a thick woven rug beneath their feet added a warmth missing from the lesser apartments. As soon as the steward departed, Arran walked the full circumference of the room, knocking up and down the panels until he was satisfied there were no secret compartments or passages. He was pleased to find a second room tacked onto the main chamber.

  “Janet will sleep in there,” he decided as he went to kneel before the hearth to light the fire. “You must take care, darling, don’t wander about on your own. Darnley is a vindictive peacock who believes the right to everything, and everyone, is his royal due. King or no, I willna tolerate any of his antics when it comes to you, so dinna let the man intimidate you.”

  When he stood and turned, he saw Breghan was sprawled on her side across the bed, resting on her elbow. She looked at him from beneath the fringe of thick lashes that gave her eyes a sleepy, seductive quality. He guessed more sleepy than seductive. Now that the initial excitement had worn off, their restless night spent in the hall of McAllister’s peel tower was catching up to
her.

  He came to sit beside her on the bed and placed one hand on her thigh, massaging gently through the heavy velvet of her riding dress. “Close your eyes and rest, darling. As soon as Janet and our luggage is brought up, I’ll send for a hot bath.”

  She smiled and stretched flat onto her back. Arran flipped the edge of the bedcover over her and made a mental note to order supper brought up as well.

  Directly after they’d broken their fast the next morning, Arran took Breghan abroad in the city. He kept to the main thoroughfares, avoiding the alleys where one was as like to step on human excrement tossed from the narrow buildings as cobbled stone. They walked arm in arm down Lawn Market and past Parliament Square where they bought roasted chestnuts and hot ale from street vendors. The merchant shops spilled onto the High Street, their wares artfully displayed beneath awnings to tempt those passing by. Breghan spent close on an hour browsing in a trinket stall before choosing a thin silver strand beaded with red and yellow stones that could be wound in her hair.

  On their way back up the High Street, he ushered her into the dressmaker. “You need court gowns.”

  “Janet will help me alter some of my dresses to meet the fashion,” she protested, but her features were animated as her gaze slid over the modiste’s display dresses.

  Arran chuckled. “Indulge me.”

  The dressmaker appeared from a back room and, her keen instinct sensing a man disposed to spend coin on his lady, took charge. “You have a lovely figure,” she said, walking around Breghan. “Simple lines, I think, to show off your slender waist. We’ll keep the extravagance for the bodice detail and ruff.”

  Breghan shot him a helpless look. Arran merely grinned and stood back as the dressmaker clicked her fingers to summon an assistant. He stayed until Breghan was measured and a selection of gowns brought out, then he departed with the promise to return shortly.