by Mary Wine
Edmund Charles Knyvett, heir to the earldom of Kenton, drew a deep breath and gave himself over to the anger burning inside him. He felt the flames licking along his limbs, burning away everything else. His thoughts were consumed until nothing but white-hot rage filled him. It was perfection. He missed the sheer abundance of emotion when he didn’t have enough reason to work himself up into a rage often enough.
Keir McQuade made an excellent target.
That bastard Scot had no doubt spent the night between his sister’s thighs. The image of them fucking fueled his rage. The stupid bitch had no doubt raised her hips for his damned common cock. Her womb was now stinking with his less-than noble seed. It was like a disease, eating away at her well-born womb. It disgusted him.
But the rage made every muscle in his body hard. He grabbed a goblet sitting on a table in his chamber and swallowed the wine left in it. A snarl left his lips when he turned it all the way up and the wine was finished.
“Wine!”
He hurled the goblet at the door, his rage making his arm stronger. He smiled as the goblet clattered to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the chamber.
All of his senses were heightened. He felt every little thing more intensely when he allowed the rage to rule him. Self-discipline was overrated. All it did was mask the nature of what he might feel when he was unfettered by the bounds of right and wrong.
“Wine, my lord.” Young Avis froze halfway into a curtsy. Her eyes widened when they saw his cock standing tall. His night-shirt was in shreds because his skin needed to be free when he let himself burn with rage. He laughed at her horror. He could smell the fear on her skin. Her gaze darted to the door but there was no way to avoid serving her master.
“Wine!”
She moved forward on hesitant steps, offering the tray with the fresh goblet up in front of her. She was pathetic, a coward like all females. Their whining sickened him, but his cock twitched, recognizing something of which it might make use.
He grabbed the goblet and reached over the tray to grasp her neck.
“My lord! I beg you!”
She whimpered, but the rage burning inside him made it hard to hear such a weak sound. Taking a swallow of the wine, he dumped the goblet behind him.
“I have need of a bitch.”
He forced her across the table, yanking her skirts up. A bucket of water hit him square in the face. Edmund snarled and turned on the person responsible. Avis rolled over the table and ran toward the door, where Margery stood with a bucket in hand.
“Run, girl! The master’s gone insane.” The door slammed behind them.
“I am not insane!”
He wasn’t…wasn’t…wasn’t…Edmund pulled his own hair, slamming his fist against the closed door of his chamber. He was in a rage—burning in the grip of anger caused by Keir McQuade!
Margery grabbed her cloak, as well as one for Avis. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to flee this house. The evil eye is here.”
They had to run before the insanity touched them as it had their master.
“Run, girl! Run!”
“Now that is a fair nicer dress.”
Helena’s husband sounded pleased. In fact, his men looked pleased with her appearance as well. A little flicker of enjoyment warmed Helena when she stepped outside to join them.
“I must admit that I don’t care for court dresses too much.”
“’Tis glad I am to hear that. Those things would have no place at Red Stone.” Her husband stopped for a moment. “Unless ye wanted to wear them, I suppose.”
He looked as though he couldn’t understand why she would want to. Her hunting dress was far easier to move in. Constructed of lightweight wool, it had only a petticoat beneath the skirts. There was no cartwheel farthingale with stiff boning to keep even when she walked, just a hip roll to help support the weight of the cartridge-pleated skirts. Her arms didn’t need to be bent and positioned perfectly, because she had on only one pair of sleeves. While they were not common, they were built to move with the natural motion of her body. She felt freer than she had in years. Her mother had put her into court dresses a full year before she arrived at court, dictating that she wear nothing else so that she would become balanced and poised.
And all of it didn’t seem to matter because Keir McQuade found her quite charming in her hunting dress. She couldn’t help but enjoy the way his lips curved while he took her hand. It was the sort of honest admiration that she liked about him so much.
There was no carriage today. Keir’s men had their mounts waiting in the small courtyard that sat in front of the town house—large, powerful beasts that snorted in the morning air. Keir reached for one, a huge, sable-brown stallion that tossed its head before allowing his master to stroke its muzzle. Man and beast shared a moment of true friendship that was evident in both their eyes. Helena watched it, staring at the way Keir stroked the animal.
She was jealous.
The emotion caught her completely off guard. She looked away to force herself back into a composed noblewoman who did not care about tender feelings. It didn’t work. She was still biting her lower lip when her husband spoke to her.
“Do ye ride?”
He hesitated over the question, phrasing it simply as though he was a bit afraid to hear her answer. His men watched her, fear lurking in their eyes as well: a fear of getting the chore of hauling a pampered and helpless court lady up to Scotland.
Keir swallowed roughly when she didn’t answer him quickly. She watched the muscles of his throat contract and his lips press into a firm line to conceal his true feelings.
“Of course I can ride.”
She heard more than one sigh of relief. Her husband, on the other hand, eyed her suspiciously.
“Ye’re toying with me.”
She tilted her head slightly to the side. “I cannot help it if you believe all the gossip about English women. If I gave any attention to half the things I’ve heard about Scotland, I’d have fainted dead away the moment I met you.”
His men laughed and a grin split Keir’s lips.
“Ye were too busy staring at me to do that.”
His men chuckled and her face burned. Her husband’s gaze instantly touched on the blush brightening her cheeks.
“We mustn’t be late. The king doesn’t hold his hunts for anyone.”
Everyone found something to do, their amusement dying quickly. She missed it once it was gone.
“Farrell brought ye a fine mare this morning.”
One of his men brought the horse forward. “She’s young and healthy. Built for endurance.” Farrell pulled the bridle down so that the mare was close enough to touch, pride gleaming in his eyes.
“She’s magnificent. You have a skilled eye for horses.” The mare was a lighter brown than Keir’s stallion. But its coat was silky and shimmered in the sunlight. Running a hand over its neck, Helena smiled.
“It was very kind of you to buy me a mount.” She spoke quietly, unused to receiving gifts. Every fine thing she owned had been purchased with the goal of securing her a place at court. There was nothing in her trunk that she valued simply for the emotional enjoyment it gave her.
“I would have preferred to have you ride double with me.” Her husband offered her a roguish grin. “Aye, but we wouldn’t get a whole lot of hunting done if I had to feel ye clinging to my back.”
She blushed again, but this time she reached out and slapped him on the forearm. It was an impulse, one that her discipline should have prevented. Horror gripped her when she realized that every one of his men had witnessed the impulsive, unpolished gesture.
Keir tossed his shoulder-length hair back and laughed. His men followed his example. It was such a contrast to everything she had been trained to expect. But her husband grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. He grasped her waist and lifted her up onto the back of the mare. His strength amazed her. She’d suspected he was strong, but he lifted her as though she were a child.
“I think we may be more compatible than you think, Helena.”
He winked at her. She blinked her eyes because she had never actually had someone do that to her since she was a girl. The footmen used to do it, in a kindly fashion, to distract her from something boring she was being forced to attend, but coming from Keir, it was a very different thing. She tightened her grip on the reins and hooked her knee over the small handle that was placed on the sidesaddle. Her cheeks were still hot and she realized that she was flattered by Keir’s approval of her. His amusement was something to be proud of. He was not a man who laughed with his enemies.
She watched him swing up into the saddle through her lowered eyelashes. Heat traveled down her spine to pool in her belly as she did it. Keir was magnificent sitting there, the powerful stallion suiting him because he was so strong himself.
A gallant knight…
She didn’t chide herself for thinking it. She couldn’t. He embodied it right then, from the way his dark hair curled down to tease the top of his shoulders, to the manner in which he had his doublet sleeves tied behind his back. Only his shirt covered his arms. He tossed his head and cast her an eager glance.
“Let’s ride, lass.”
He kicked his horse and grinned. Helena did, too. There was a freedom in riding that she hadn’t known in months. Keir took the lead and her mare followed out into the street. It was congested by wagons and carriages but their horses cut through the mass of busy merchants and ambassadors with ease, many of them clearing the road when they sighted the party of McQuades.
No…not a gallant knight.
He was a worthy laird.
“The poor thing, wed to a Scot.” Lady Philipa Fitzgerald stared at her and didn’t lower her voice enough to keep it from drifting on the breeze. “Such a waste of blue blood.”
The woman was a notorious gossip. Helena had learned that within days of arriving at court. Lady Philipa was dressed in the highest fashion with no care for the fact that the sky was overcast. The swollen mass of clouds was promising rain. Her silk dress wouldn’t fare very well but the lady sat there in her lace and finery while gossiping with several other ladies. They all cast looks at her, some of them actually wrinkling their noses. Helena offered them a serene expression, refusing to let their sniping get to her. There was another thing she had learned early at court. Never believe what was said about you. If she had, she would have cried herself to sleep every night for a year.
The king arrived with a fanfare of trumpets. James Stuart swept the assembled group with a critical eye.
“McQuade, my friend! I’m happy to see ye and yer bride.”
Heads turned and Helena felt the weight of more stares than she might count. The variety of their expressions amazed her. Some were merely curious, others glared at her with scorn, while still others smiled at the idea of a wedding. Lady Fitzgerald looked at her friends with a smirk and a shake of her head.
The king didn’t allow them much time to pick at her. He raised a fist and the trumpets sounded again. His fickle court immediately turned their attention to following the king. Most of them did not care for hunting, but the king did.
Groomsmen encouraged the hounds forward, releasing them from leashes. The dogs sniffed at the ground, whining and barking with growing excitement. James leaned down over the neck of his horse, allowing the animal to gain speed. Helena tightened her hold on the mare but didn’t pull the animal up. The wind chilled her cheeks and nose, bringing a surge of excitement to her. The party headed toward the woods that surrounded the palace. It was the king’s private land. The party entered the woods and the birds fluttered in the treetops. The trumpets were silent now, the king searching for a buck or maybe a boar. The hounds yipped and searched for a scent.
Knight and lords jostled one another in their attempts to ride near the king. Helena allowed herself to be pushed back, as all of the ladies did. She searched their faces, disappointment filling her when she didn’t catch sight of the queen’s colors. It was to be expected that the queen would not be present in her condition, but she had still hoped to see her friend Raelin.
“I am so sorry to hear about your wedding, Helena. I knew your mother when she was serving the late queen.” Lady Fitzgerald sniffed and looked down her nose at Helena, disdain evident in her expression.
“The king gave us his blessing.” Helena needed to use all her years of practice to speak to the woman in a sweet voice.
Lady Fitzgerald scoffed at her. “You’re very young and impressionable. The king is a Scot and obviously feels the need to give his fellow Scots what they want. That does not make it a good match.”
The king’s party had separated from the main group. Many of the courtiers who didn’t care for hunting had lagged behind and now clumped together to talk while the king ran down his prize. Other ladies joined them, sly smirks on their lips.
“Such a shame that your brother didn’t perform his duty better. I really am quite shocked to see a Knyvett doing something like gambling away his sister. That is so common.”
The ladies all shook their heads. Lady Fitzgerald offered her a sad smile.
“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I do feel that you should be warned about Scotland.” The lady shuddered, her face contorting with disgust. “I was forced to follow my father there twice, and I must say it is a godforsaken place. The men are barbarians without a hint of knowledge of civilized behavior. Their clans are constantly fighting and they actually steal brides. Can you imagine? In this time? Barbarians! I really don’t enjoy telling you, but I couldn’t help but notice the long sword strapped to your husband’s back.”
“Yes…well thank you very much, Lady Fitzgerald.”
The woman looked astonished and the ladies surrounding her raised their eyebrows. Helena didn’t care. She refused to remain near them and their gossip.
She liked that sword.
No hip sword had ever struck her as powerful. It wasn’t so much the weapon as the way that Keir wore it—exactly like his men. There was no fancy pommel on his sword, either—nothing to set him above those who served as his retainers. She found that lack of pomposity a relief, not a sign of barbarism.
The sky had darkened. She rode out into a clearing without realizing that the storm had thickened above her head. The cloud mass was black, and thunder began to rumble in the distance. The few people in sight were making their way toward shelter. Lady Fitzgerald and her companions were already on their way back toward the palace. Helena pulled her cloak over her shoulders to protect her from the wind. But she didn’t turn her mare toward the palace.
She was quite unexpectedly alone for the moment, and that suited her mood. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the woods fill her ears. There had been a time when she was allowed to run free in the afternoon once her studies were finished. Even if it was childish, she longed for a few moments of freedom from the constant criticism—just a few moments to enjoy the bite of the wind on her cheeks and the sound it made in the treetops.
Overhead the thunder cracked again, this time closer. The wind whipped up, bringing with it the first hint of rain. Not actual droplets, but she could feel it on her face and smell it. Her mare danced nervously, tossing her head.
“There, girl. It’s only a bit of rain.”
Helena reached down to pat the horse on her neck. The mare quieted for only a moment before her nostrils flared, and she danced in a circle. An answering snort sent the mare backing away from the stallion her husband rode. Steady and silent, he’d emerged from the woods behind her.
“Ye dinnae believe that….”
Her husband was annoyed. His horse felt it and refused to remain still. The stallion pranced in a circle around her mare.
“Believe what?”
“That Scots are uncivilized.”
Thunder boomed across the sky and her mare reared. Keir leaped from his saddle and caught the bridle with a large hand. The mare was not pleased; she snorted and du
g at the ground. Rain began to fall in fat drops that pelted the tree limbs above their heads, filling the air with the sound of water hitting leaves. Helena dismounted as the first bolt of lightning seared across the sky. It was not safe to remain in the saddle during a storm—even the most well-behaved mounts might throw you under such conditions. Everyone would be seeking shelter until the thunder quieted. A quick look around showed Helena that no one from the hunting party was nearby. She and Keir were very much alone. Keir pulled her mare toward the thick trunk of the tree and tied her there. He led his own horse there as well, and knotted the leather reins with solid motions.
“Tell me the truth, Helena. I dinnae want to think ye fear going home with me. Red Stone is a wondrous place.”
And he was proud of it. She heard it in his voice, in spite of the rain falling all around them.
“Well, I suppose I will be content to discover you are not uncivilized.” She sighed, unable to resist the urge to tease him. His eyes narrowed.
“Are ye teasing me, Helena?”
“Possibly. You did appear to encourage such this morning.”
His lips twitched and then rose into a grin that flashed his teeth at her.
“Unless you are going to prove Lady Fitzgerald incorrect and tell me to conduct myself with dignity, because you are not uncivilized, not even a bit. I suppose I shall have to endure if that is the case.”
“Oh, I’m pure Scot, have nae doubt about it, lassie.”
Heat filled his dark eyes. She was drawn to it, mesmerized by the flicker of hunger. Thunder cracked overhead and the storm raged. The elements heightened her senses, the smell of rain making her more aware of how Keir smelled pressed against her with nothing between them save passion. She licked her lower lip and his gaze instantly settled on the tip of her tongue. Excitement tightened in her belly. She repeated the motion, licking over the surface of her lower lip slowly this time. The skin was ultrasensitive, and little ripples of delight went down her spine from that simple touch.
“You cannot think that I believe everything I hear at court. Even if you are my husband. I simply must reserve judgment until I experience things firsthand.”