by Mary Wine
“Tomorrow night you will be his wife.” Edmund leaned closer, sneering in her ear. “After all, the man really doesn’t have any time to squander. He wants an heir and needs to get to deflowering you quickly. I understand he has quite a bit of stamina in spite of his age.”
“Don’t be horrible, Edmund!”
“Me, dear sister? The king has ordered you wed. I have done nothing save try to better your lot!”
And the details did not matter….
Helena turned and paced across the room. Her simple traveling dress was much easier to walk in, the wool skirts flipping away from her rapid steps. Which was good because her heart was pounding. Sweat popped out on her forehead and she could not keep her thoughts from racing. The image of Ronchford looking into her bed, leering at her with a mouth full of blackened teeth made her gag. She hugged herself, trying to fend off the idea of him reaching in to pull the bedding back and bare her for his possession.
“I don’t know why I’m even bothering to suggest helping you escape….”
Helena froze. Distrust shot through her, but the idea of avoiding marriage to Ronchford was too tantalizing to ignore, even if she suspected that her brother was scheming yet again.
“How?”
Edmund smirked at her, enjoying the fact that she was waiting on his whim. Her temper rose. She was suddenly so horrified she wanted to throw something at his mocking face. He had brought her to this terrible fate. She snarled at him, shaking with the need to exact vengeance. His eyes went wide but he whispered the words she was desperate to hear.
“Run away.”
He leaned in closer. “I cannot be suspected of assisting you, so you cannot be seen leaving.”
She swallowed, trying to gain a hand on her panic.
Edmund’s voice was suddenly so welcome because it offered her a solution that did not include spreading her thighs for Ronchford in less than one day. She wouldn’t be the first young bride that found herself at the mercy of an old man once the church blessing was given. She’d be Ronchford’s for the taking, and he would take. Ronchford was every bit as selfish as her brother.
“I am going out as I normally do. My driver is trustworthy. He will wait for you by the market and take you to Bride Dale.”
Bride Dale…their aunt Celia’s home. The woman was in her elderly years and never had anyone to visit. It would be a quiet place to remain out of the notice of nobles. Hope glittered in front of her like water to the parched. All she needed to do was reach for it.
Hope took hold of her, sweeping aside thoughts of thieves in the night. The market was only three short blocks away. Even if Edmund was serving his own interests in assisting her out of London, what did it matter if it was also what she desired? What matter if it took her beyond Ronchford’s reach?
“I’ll tell the king that you ran away, leaving a note about a convent. You can return next year, properly repentant of your maidenly fears.”
Helena didn’t think. She was still held in the grip of panic. Edmund promised her deliverance and she didn’t care about his motivations.
“I will get my cloak.”
Edmund smiled at her. A tingle went down her neck but she refused to hesitate. All of her options were grim but there was something about taking matters into her own hands that felt good. Remaining in the town home would see her pacing throughout the night, dreading the dawn.
She would take her chances.
The streets were far from quiet. But the level of noise was much less than during the day. Helena noticed every sound more—the dripping of water onto the cobblestone street or the faint sound of a horse’s hooves pulling her brother’s carriage down the next block.
Her own steps echoed and she tried to place her feet softly. Light twinkled through closed shutters; only a few front doors were lit with welcoming candles. She left the block where their town house was, turning the corner onto a street that was lined with merchant shops. They were all closed tight against the night. It was darker here; the moonlight guided her.
“Well, now. Look what we have here.”
She gasped, but no sound made it past the hand that clamped over her mouth. It was hard and brutal, pulling her back against a chest. She struggled, kicking and twisting to break free.
“Stop your spitting, it won’t make no difference.”
A sharp blow struck her across her cheek, sending a bright sparkling of stars across her vision. She turned halfway around but didn’t stop her struggle. With space between her and her assailant, she thrust her hand out and smashed her palm into his nose.
“Bloody hell!”
Triumph spread through her, but it was short-lived. Another set of arms gripped her from behind, pulling her arms behind her.
“I’ll teach you some respect.” Another slap hit her face. Pain threatened her vision with darkness. Pulling in a deep breath, she resisted the pull, fighting to remain awake. Leather bit into her wrist as her hands were bound tightly behind her back.
“Sure she’s the right one?” The man behind her asked the question. He reached up and gripped her hair to angle her face toward the moonlight.
“Who else would be scampering down this road right now? Knyvett kept his word, all right.” He stepped up close, breathing his foul breath into her face. The silver moonlight washed over Ronchford’s features, drawing a snarl from her lips. Her panic evaporated, leaving only rage burning inside her. She would not yield to his possession.
“Release me!”
He laughed at her instead. His grubby fingers gripped her chin before boldly stroking down her neck and onto her breasts. Revulsion threatened to choke her.
“I’ve paid a pretty amount to have your brother turn his back. I plan to enjoy what I’ve bought, madam.”
Betrayal burned through her rage. Edmund’s revenge showed in the gloating eyes of the man fondling her. She should have suspected, shouldn’t have leaped at the hope her brother dangled in front of her nose. The king would never have ordered her wed to Ronchford as a means of giving her a proper guardian. Not Ronchford. The man was worse than Edmund. She should have considered the facts, but had been too caught up in the whirl of emotions to think before leaving the town home. Now she was at the mercy of the night and the men that crept through its shadows.
Ronchford looked quite at ease.
“I’m going to enjoy these tits.” He yanked on the buttoned-up doublet she wore, the sturdy wool resisting his efforts to bare her cleavage. Her flesh crawled, revulsion twisting her stomach. She renewed her struggles, franticly twisting and bucking to escape the two men.
They cursed, both men howling with outrage. Surprise flashed through her, her mind finding it hard to believe that she had hurt them with her bucking. But she was suddenly free and didn’t waste time trying to understand how it had happened. With her hands bound behind her, she couldn’t run without stepping on her skirt. She hurried as fast as possible but came up short as another man blocked her path. He was huge. She lifted her face, tilting her chin up to find his face.
“Ye have a habit of finding rough men, Helena. I believe I’ll have to break ye of yer need to wander.”
Relief flooded her, making her knees weak. Her lungs burned, demanding deep gasping breaths.
“Thank heaven.”
“Nay, thank the fact that I am nay a trusting man, lass.”
Hard suspicion edged his voice. Soft steps crunched on the cobblestones behind her. The shapes of Keir’s men materialized from the darkness, the moonlight glittering off the blade of a knife.
“Nay, leave her tied.”
“What? You can’t mean that.”
Keir stepped up closer. She caught a hint of his scent and noticed instantly how clean he smelled compared to Ronchford.
“Oh, I do. It will be all the better for hauling ye off.”
He bent his knees and lowered one shoulder until it was even with her waist. A moment later she was tossed over it like a sack of grain. Her head hung down his back, the blo
od rushing to it.
“Keir—”
A solid whack landed on her upturned bottom. She sputtered, but had to clamp her lips closed when he started walking and her head swung back and forth across his back. Her face burned with her temper when she heard the faint sound of his men chuckling.
Men—they were impossible to stomach!
“What are you doing, Keir McQuade?” Helena had struggled to see the man. He’d placed her right in the center of a bed. It was a fine bed, the blankets soft and rising up around her weight. But she didn’t have time to be distracted by such things.
“Claiming what is mine.” He stood across the room. Two candles burned on the table near him, their light bathing him in gold. A huge sword was strapped to his back, the handle of it rising above his left shoulder. She stared rather stupidly at the thick leather of the scabbard because it had kept her from being cut while she lay over his shoulder. He reached up and untied it. Twisting around, he pulled it from where it was latched to his wide leather belt and set the weapon aside.
“What are you talking about?” Her thoughts were racing and she honestly didn’t believe that she could absorb any more. Especially something like thinking that Keir McQuade considered her his. Part of her leaped at the idea, but her temper was far past being willing to listen to anyone tell her that she was their property. She sat up and pushed herself off the bed. Even with her hands still bound behind her, being on her feet felt less helpless.
He turned to study her. His eyes darkened, his face set into a hard expression. It was a stark contrast to the teasing look she’d seen from him before.
“I didna want to think you’d be so foolish as to try a stunt like running down a dark street.” His expression darkened. “But ’tis a good thing that I set me men to watching the house. ’Tis the truth, I expected yer brother to try to smuggle ye out of the city.”
Confusion swept through her. Helena clamped her lips closed against the next question that wanted to sail past her lips.
Who to trust…
There were too many men telling her that she belonged to them. Her earlier fascination with Keir had blinded her to the fact that the man was every bit as dangerous as Ronchford or her brother. All of them wanted control of her for their own agendas.
“And I was foolish enough to think that ye would nae be so opposed to wedding with me that ye would flee.” Hurt edged his voice but it was the reprimanding note that gained her full attention. She was sick unto death of being corrected.
“I was on my way to a convent.”
Edmund would have taken exception to her tone. Keir tilted his head and crossed his arms across his chest. The pose made him look larger and more imposing. Her gaze wanted to shift to where the muscles of his arms bulged. There was only the thick fabric of his shirting covering it, the sleeves of his doublet unbuttoned and secured behind his back. In the cool night he should have been cold, but he didn’t look like even the temperature affected him. The strength practically radiated off him. She shook her head, refusing to become mesmerized by him.
“A convent?”
“Aye, a place where men wouldn’t rule me.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, curving slightly upward. His arms uncrossed, sending a shiver down her spine. It was such a foolish response, one she detested. There was no reason she should be so attuned to his movements. It made quarreling with the man near impossible.
“Well now…” He closed the distance between them, watching her while he did it. She suddenly understood exactly how a doe must feel when the hunters closed in for the kill.
“If ye were to become a nun, wouldn’t ye be expected to obey the pope without question?”
He touched her. It was a simple brushing of his fingers across the lower curve of her jaw. But she shuddered. Sensation flooded her, rippling across her skin as quick as lightning.
“At least he would be a celibate man.”
Challenge flared up in his dark eyes. Her memory offered up the way he’d looked the first time she’d encountered him. This was not a man who ever gave up on what he considered a challenge.
“I dinnae think ye are made for the life of sleeping in a cold bed, forever a virgin.” His gaze lowered to her lips and her mouth suddenly went dry.
What would his kiss taste like….
She shook her head to banish the idea. Keir’s fingers cupped her chin to still her.
“’Tis the truth that ye are far too responsive to my touch to devote yerself to such a life.” He brushed a fingertip over her lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from her. Her heart accelerated and her breathing deepened. His scent filled her senses once again. It was full of dark mystery that touched off heat deep in her belly.
She slipped to the side, away from his disturbing touch. The fact that they were alone suddenly filled her thoughts. Her confidence deserted her in the face of that knowledge. The heat growing in her belly frightened her with the fact that she could not seem to control it.
“I do assure you I have the will to devote myself completely to what I choose. A convent will be devoid of temptations, making it much easier.”
“Well, I agree that ye are a temptation.”
His mouth touched hers. The kiss wasn’t timid but it lacked the hardness that she expected from so large a man. She jerked away from him but he followed her, one arm slipping around her waist to keep her close.
A small whimper passed her lips. She couldn’t hold the sound back. There was too much sensation to keep it inside. No amount of practice or self-discipline could help. She was overwhelmed. It swept over her, drowning her will to deny what she craved.
His lips toyed with hers, playing across their tender surface, slipping and toying with her until she moved hers. Another hand cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up so that his mouth could cover hers more completely. His kiss deepened, demanding more from her. He pressed her lips open, the tip of his tongue invading her mouth. He was suddenly too close, his body too hard and overwhelming. Need pulsed along with her blood and fear rose along with the heat—fear of her own response to him.
She struggled to regain her freedom but her hands were still bound. The leather biting into her wrists provided the leverage to regain her wits. She felt her skin tearing with her fight, the scent of blood rising up to mask the smell of his skin.
“No…release me!”
He muttered in Gaelic. She didn’t need to understand the language to recognize a curse. His tone drove the meaning home.
“Aye, that needs doing. Here, sit up.”
He didn’t remove his hands from her. He shifted his grip until his hand was holding her upper arm. “Hold still, lass. I don’t want to cut ye.”
He was correct, of course, but her body wouldn’t listen to her brain. Standing, she quivered and fought the urge to move away from his disturbing form. He ended up following her, turning in a small circle when she retreated even more.
She clenched her teeth and forced her feet to stand in place. The cool blade of a knife pressed against her wrist the moment she stilled. The bindings popped and she spun away from him.
“Easy, lass. I’m nae the one that keeps laying me hand across yer face when I’m cross with ye.”
No, what he did was far worse because she could not shut it out….
“I should have run that bastard Ronchford through. Yer wrists are bloody.”
“It is nothing.”
With a frown, Keir slid his dagger back into the sheath that was attached to his belt. “It appears that we are back to disagreeing.”
His gaze settled on her wrists for a moment, anger flickering in his eyes. There were only a few cuts that actually bled. Helena forced herself to stop rubbing at the bruises and lowered her hands to her sides.
“I don’t believe we ever began agreeing on anything.”
He grinned, flashing his teeth at her. “Well now, come back here and I’ll be more than happy to remind ye how much we both enjoyed that kiss.”
“No.”
He lifted one eyebrow and took a lazy step toward her. “No?”
“You heard me correctly.”
“Tell me why not.” His voice deepened and took on a thicker brogue. “Ye kissed me back as sure as the sun will rise in the morning.”
She moved away from him. “I didn’t deny that. It doesn’t mean I want to…to…”
“To kiss me again?”
“Stop toying with me.” She snapped at him. She needed him to return to the suspicious man who had watched her from across the room. This teasing Keir was too hard to ignore because she had allowed her dreams to be filled with him. It had been such a foolish mistake to allow her thoughts freedom.
“I do assure ye, Helena Knyvett, I’m nae playing.” He raised one hand and offered it to her with the palm facing up. “Come to me.”
“I will not.” Even if her body was clamoring for her to comply. “It would be wicked.”
His eyes flickered with something that sent a ripple of excitement through her.
“Exactly.”
He captured her in one long stride, his body closing the distance exactly the way she’d suspected he might be able to do. In a mere breath she was surrounded by his heat once again. The scent of his skin filled her senses and triggered a response that threatened to wipe all thoughts from her mind. There was only his touch and her desire for more of it.
“Please, Keir…I am a virgin.”
She hated her weakness. Hated the fact that her body quivered in his embrace. Tears stung the corners of her eyes because the hands she’d placed against his chest didn’t want to push him away. Her fingertips longed to seek out his skin. But her honor demanded she resist, demanded that she not allow him to treat her as though she was a light-skirt. Even if he had found her in the street at night.
“I know, lass. I never doubted that.”
His voice was too tender, too sweet. Tears eased from her eyes because she longed to just melt against him. She was so tired of standing firmly in control, as she was expected to do.