The Duke's Reluctant Bride
Page 14
Sitting atop a shiny red-brown mare, Caithren shook her head. “Hush up, you two. You don’t mean any of this.” She turned to Kendra. “They love you, the both of them.”
“I know,” Kendra said with both a huff and a smile. No matter that she hadn’t yet quite forgiven them, she knew her brothers would always be there for her. Family. That was what mattered.
Would she ever forge one with Trick?
Not if they didn’t get going. Toying with the stones on her amber bracelet, she looked over at the three carriages—one for themselves should they tire of riding, one for their servants, and one for everyone’s baggage—and knew this journey would be a torturously slow affair. With her husband traveling ahead, blithely unaware of the danger that might lurk at his childhood home.
“Are we not going to leave?” She lifted Pandora’s reins, an impatience in her voice she felt helpless to control. “Trick has two whole days on us—let’s be off.”
TWENTY-NINE
NIGHT WAS falling and Trick was spooning up the last of his soup when his wife blew through the door of the World’s End tavern.
It was storming outside, and the room was dark, and for the barest moment, he wondered if he were seeing things. Heaven knew he’d thought of little else besides Kendra these two weeks past. She’d consumed his thoughts both waking and sleeping.
But she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. She was actually here. He knew that because, had he conjured up his lovely and exasperating wife, he certainly wouldn’t have conjured up her brother and sister-in-law along with her.
He stood, nearly knocking over the small square table. “What on earth are you doing in Edinburgh?”
At the sound of his voice, she turned. Then just stood there, halfway out of her cloak, her mouth hanging open.
“Looking for you,” Jason answered for his uncharacteristically speechless sister, striding forward to shake Trick’s hand. He removed his dripping wide-brimmed hat. “But we had no expectations of catching you. We were planning to bring her to Duncraven tomorrow.”
Aghast, Trick dropped back onto the hard wooden bench. “When did you leave?”
“Two days after your own departure. We were already planning a visit to Leslie, and Kendra talked us into letting her tag along. I can see we made better time than you did. Was your journey unpleasant?”
“It went well.” He just hadn’t been in a particular hurry. The closer he got to Duncraven, the less he looked forward to a reunion with his mother. Half of him was afraid to hope for a reconciliation—afraid she’d disappoint him again. The other half was hoping too much.
“Finding you here is a timely stroke of luck,” Jason added.
Perching her wet cloak on a rack beside Kendra’s, Caithren aimed a coquettish glance over her shoulder. “Does this mean we get our own room at an inn tonight?”
Jason’s green eyes sparkled down at her. “Just like old times, sweet,” he said, referring to their own madcap courtship, conducted mainly on the road.
His wife went on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips.
“Mmm,” he said, pulling back with a grin. “I’m suddenly starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Cait and Kendra chorused.
“Be that as it may, I’m going to get us something to eat.” He took Cait’s hand and drew her toward the bar.
Kendra slid onto the bench next to Trick.
“How long have they been married?” he asked, moving close.
She smiled. “Almost a year.”
“Newlyweds,” he murmured.
“We’re newlyweds, too,” she reminded him. As though he could have forgotten. He moved closer still.
Unbelievably, she leaned against him.
This wasn’t the Kendra he remembered—the one who always shied away from his advances. To convince himself she really was here, he ran a hand through her dark, rain-dampened hair. It felt as real as it looked. “I still like it this way best.”
She pulled something from her pocket and glanced up at him. “What?”
“Your hair. Loose and streaming down your back. And wet isn’t bad, either.”
She blushed, then removed his hand from her head and put a letter into it. “I came all the way to bring you this. Read it.”
“What could be so important?” Pushing his soup bowl aside, he spread the paper on the table and dragged a candle near. The letter was wrinkled and the ink a wee bit runny, but still readable.
“Dear Patrick Iain,” he said under his breath, then scanned the page and whistled.
“It’s a good thing I brought it, no?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “It could mean nothing. My mother might have asked him to write it just in case I’d decided not to come. A last ditch effort, if you will. But it’s difficult to tell. I’m left to wonder what I’ll be walking into.”
“What we’ll be walking into.”
He nodded again, not at all sure he was happy about that.
But he was happy to have her here tonight. Wondering what could have prompted the change in her demeanor, he tentatively laced his fingers with hers, smiling when she didn’t pull away.
Conversation buzzed around them, mixed with the sounds of eating and drinking. “Do you remember this Mr. Munroe?” she asked.
“Aye. He was a jolly type, always hanging around, it seemed. A very old friend of my mother’s—they grew up together.” His other hand gripped his tankard, and beneath the table, he pressed his thigh against hers. “From what I remember seeing through the eyes of a lad, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was sweet on her.”
“Did that not bother your father?”
“He was never home. Still, Father accused my mother of all sorts of things…” Musing, he took a long sip. He didn’t like to think of his mother as an adulteress, no matter what his father had said.
Something brushed his boot, and regardless that Edinburgh was teeming with rats, he’d lay odds it wasn’t one. It was, incredibly, Kendra’s shoe. Looking toward her, he gulped more ale.
A faint smile curved her lips. “Now that your father is dead, what’s become of her home, then?”
The question jarred him back to his senses. “Why, it belongs to me,” he said, surprised at that sudden realization. The truth was, he’d done his fighting best to banish all thoughts of home from his mind. “The castle was her dowry, so it belonged to my father, which means it’s now mine. But I won’t be selling it out from under her. She may have been an appalling mother, but I won’t put her out on the streets.”
He drained the rest of his ale, wondering whether to be annoyed or pleased that his wife had materialized in Scotland. Experimentally, he tried to draw his hand from hers, smiling to himself when she held it tight.
He was pleased, he decided. Time spent apart did much to sway a man’s emotions. Not to mention the apparent change of heart in Kendra. Mystifying, to say the least.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only tired.” Her gaze flew over to Jason and Cait, heads leaned close at another table as they talked while Jason shoveled meat pie into his mouth. “We ate but a couple of hours ago.” She yawned, meeting Trick’s eyes. “We’re too far from Duncraven to travel there tonight in the darkness, I presume?”
“Aye. It’s a good day’s ride.”
“Then will we stay here?” she asked. “I hope so. I’m really tired.”
“I’ve already taken a room.” Something in her eyes—something in the way she was acting— made him hopeful. He swallowed hard. “Shall we go up?”
THIRTY
THE ROOM TRICK had rented was upstairs. Once inside, he paused a fleeting moment to set down the candle he was carrying, then dragged Kendra into his arms.
This was a different sort of kiss than she was used to—heated, insistent, wild. Exhausted though she was, she couldn’t help but respond with equal intensity.
It was amazing how much she’d missed him. How much she’d missed this.
&nbs
p; She plastered herself against him, thrilling to the feel of his solid muscles against her soft curves, the feel of his arms clasped around her, the feel of him holding her tight, as if she were something precious.
A long time later they came up for air, and she tilted her head back, gazing up into his compelling amber eyes. How could she have put him off for so long? Just breathing his sandalwood scent made her head swim.
She felt the knots in her stomach finally begin to loosen and unwind. Shivery and weak with relief, she swayed in his grasp.
“Evidently you really are tired,” he said, sounding resigned or maybe disappointed. “When was the last time you slept?”
“Two days ago, it feels like,” she admitted. “I was so worried for you.”
His sudden smile was blinding. “You care, then, and you missed me, aye?” Her heart flip-flopped at his wolfish tone, and when she nodded, he kissed her all over again, even more fiercely, if that were possible.
Her breath was ragged by the time he stepped back. She felt boneless. He lifted one of her limp hands and ran his fingers over the amber stones that circled her wrist. “You’re wearing it,” he murmured.
“I—it matched my dress.”
He pointedly looked her up and down. “Aye. Purple and amber—they go together so well.”
She blushed, but he only laughed, a warm sound that sank into her very skin.
“Come, let’s get you out of this damp dress and into bed. We’ll have a long day tomorrow, and we’ll be needing to leave early.”
She only nodded as, with practiced fingers, he detached the tabs on her stomacher and unlaced her bodice, then drew her dress down and off, leaving her standing there in her chemise.
Lightly, tentatively, he rested his hands on her hips. She could feel the heat of his fingers through the fabric. “I’ve wanted to touch you,” he said softly. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the moment I rode away.”
She froze. A little sound of desperation rose from her throat. She wanted to touch him, too. She’d come here wanting to touch him and more.
But she was so weary. Or maybe she was still a little unsure. What if this was a mistake? What if she gave herself to him, but he never opened his heart to her? Would she come to regret tonight?
“Kendra?”
The anxiety must have shown on her face. He sounded so concerned. She placed her hands over his where they rested and tried to smile.
“It’s nothing to worry about now,” he assured her, “since we both need our sleep. But I promise, truly, you have nothing to fear—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “Caithren told me it wouldn’t hurt. Or at least not much, and only the first time, like you said.”
“When?”
“After you left.”
“You didn’t believe her, though, did you?”
“Yes.” She nodded frantically. “Yes, I did. And I came here wanting…”
“But then…” he prompted, waiting expectantly.
She bit her lip. “I’m just too tired,” she finally said, knowing it was more than that but not knowing how to put it into words.
“Then get some sleep,” he said.
She thought she wouldn’t. But when he pulled back the covers and she gratefully crawled into bed, exhaustion overcame her.
THIRTY-ONE
IT WAS pitch-black when Kendra awakened sometime in the night, the candle long since guttered out. Trick was in bed beside her. In his sleep he was hugging her, his arms wrapped tightly. When she tried to wiggle free, they tightened more, clamping her to his sleep-warmed chest.
She felt smothered, trapped.
But she couldn’t fight him, couldn’t get away. She was too tired…she would try again later, after she got some more sleep…
Dawn was breaking when next she opened her eyes, feeling inexplicably lonely. Squinting in the faint gray light, she looked over to where Trick lay on his back, apart from her, snoring softly, his hands lax by his sides.
She scooted close, throwing an arm across his chest, but he snored on, still motionless. A stab of hurt, tiny but deep, took her by surprise. Tamping it down, she rolled to her back and stared at the beamed ceiling overhead, replaying last night in her mind.
After the kisses they’d shared, she couldn’t believe she’d simply gone to sleep. When she first walked into the tavern and saw him, she’d wanted him more than she could say. She’d embarked on this journey wanting him.
And she knew he wanted her.
And he was her husband, for heaven’s sake! What on earth was she waiting for?
She knew the answer, of course, but she also knew it was the wrong answer. Marriage couldn’t be about giving something to get something else. If theirs was to succeed, they would both have to share themselves, body and soul. And if he couldn’t see that…
Well, she would have to show him.
She would have to stop holding back.
“Trick?” she called softly.
No response.
She poked his shoulder. “Trick?”
“Hmm?” Without opening his eyes, he rolled toward her and flung an arm over her middle.
She snuggled happily into his warmth. “Tomorrow,” she said, struggling to keep the tremble from her voice, “tomorrow night, I want to sleep with you.”
“Sleeping now,” he murmured.
“No. I want…I want…”
His eyes slid open and gazed into hers, so close. “Are you begging, leannan?” he whispered, a tentative note of hope in the words.
“I’m begging,” she answered simply.
He raised up to give her a sleepy smile and an even sleepier kiss. When his head dropped back to the pillow, his arms tightened around her, holding her fast against his body.
And she drifted off to sleep again, not feeling smothered at all.
THIRTY-TWO
“THERE’S THE castle,” Trick said after a long day spent on the road. “In the distance, atop that hill. Just as I remembered.”
Kendra squinted through the half-light of dusk. “It looks…forbidding.” At the end of a narrow, twisty path, twin square towers rose from the hill, thrusting gray and ugly into the leaden sky. “How old is it? Is there no manor house attached?”
“Thirteenth century. It’s just the two connected keeps. They’re large, though—the distance is deceiving.”
“It must be very cold.”
“There are fireplaces.”
“I’m not talking about the temperature. It doesn’t look like a friendly place.”
“It isn’t,” he said shortly.
While two carriages and a luggage cart rolled slowly behind, attended by Trick’s servants, they guided their mounts silently past a somber gray-stone church that stood at the edge of a small village. The simple homes seemed eerily empty, however. Though the rain had stopped, no children had come out to play, no women were hanging out wash, no men were at work.
The clip-clop of their horse’s hooves sounded loud in the odd stillness.
“Where is everyone?” Kendra asked.
“I’m wondering myself.” He glanced up the hill. “Do you hear laughter?”
“Maybe. Far away.”
“Up at the castle.” As they rode closer, he could hear it better. “They must be holding an entertainment that includes the whole village. Strange…I cannot remember anything like that from when I lived here. My mother doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“People change in eighteen years.”
“I expect you’re right.” Lost in memories, Trick remained quiet as they made their way to the hill and started up it. The laughter grew louder. When they crested the rise, they saw athletic events in progress on the lawn that bordered the keeps. Five young men were lining up for a foot race while two other lads executed standing jumps and lassies poked fun at their results.
“Will you test your skills?” Kendra asked as they slid off their horses.
“Maybe later.” Trick gave her a shaky smile, handing his
reins to an Amberley outrider.
A few curious glances were focused their way, but no one made a move to greet them. Shrugging, Trick instructed his staff to find the stables and settle the horses, then took Kendra’s elbow and headed inside. Worn stone steps rose to a landing and a small, arched door that stood open, allowing more laughter to drift out into the cool early-evening air.
Beyond the door, a short tunnel led through the twenty-foot-thick wall. At the far end of the passageway they stepped into the first towering keep.
It was every bit as dark and cold as he’d remembered. Iron chandeliers dripped with candles struggling vainly to brighten the great hall, a vaulted chamber of ancient gray stone.
He stood stock still while memories flooded back: having lessons at the old oak desk with his tutor; taking meals at the long trestle table with his mother; playing at her feet while she sat with her embroidery at the far end where flames roared in the immense canopied fireplace, his toy soldiers lined up on the scarred wooden floor. The Cavalier soldiers had always won, of course, since Father had been away fighting among them.
The chamber was teeming with people, and two children chased around him, but he barely took notice even when one bumped his knees. “I remembered it larger,” he told Kendra. “It’s not nearly the size of Cainewood’s great hall.”
“It’s large enough.”
“I recall thinking as a child that it was so big and high a man on horseback could turn a spear in it with all the ease imaginable.”
“He’d have to get through the door first,” she said with a grin.
Indeed, the entrance they’d just ducked through was shorter than Trick by a head or more—precisely to stop raiders on horseback from entering. Even on foot, a grown man couldn’t enter without stooping, therefore hampering his ability to attack. He remembered asking about that short doorway as a child, over and over, as children were wont to do.
“You look pale,” Kendra said.
“Memories.” He shrugged, looking around. “I believe there’s a painting of Queen Mary of Scots under there,” he said, indicating a rectangle draped in black.