Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640)

by St. Harper George; Fuller, Meriel; Locke, Nicole

  ‘And I do not believe it,’ Eva whispered, biting down hard on her bottom lip. ‘That man will do anything, even fake illness to gain what he wants. He knows I have the ruby and he wants it. That’s why he’s asked his brother to find me. I am the only person who knows where it is.’

  ‘But even if Lord Steffen is pretending to be ill, Lord Bruin has said he will protect you, Eva.’ Straightening up, Katherine planted her hands on her hips. She stepped over to the window, glancing down to the snow-dusted grass where the children played. A drawn-out shriek echoed up from below; leaning closer to the wobbly, hand-blown glass, Katherine frowned. ‘Remind me to speak to Peter; he’s being too rough with those girls.’

  ‘I will go down to them,’ Eva said.

  Katherine stalled her. ‘No, it’s nothing serious. Martha is with them. Besides, now everyone knows who you are, you can be my nursemaid no longer.’

  Eva pushed her palm up against her forehead. ‘How I wish that man had never come here; he’s ruined everything!’ A pair of silver eyes mocked her. The sensual curve of his bottom lip. Her heart jolted, edged with resentment. ‘Lord Gilbert has guards posted at every door, but there must be some way out.’

  ‘You are determined, aren’t you?’ Katherine threw her a smile. ‘I bet you’d even jump from that window and swim away down the river, if it meant you never had to see Lord Steffen again.’

  ‘I’ve done it before,’ Eva said in a small voice. Fear snagged her chest at the memory: the walk along the battlements with one of Steffen’s soldiers, her delighted exclamations at the sunshine, the panoramic views, all to put her guard at ease. To him, her slight figure posed no threat. She had shoved at his chest, leaping up on to the stone parapet and then—jumped. The dank green waters of the moat had closed over her head and she had struck out underwater, deaf to the shouts above. Eva was a strong swimmer; after what had happened to her mother, her father had made sure of that. Thank God, for it had saved her.

  ‘Of course,’ Katherine replied quietly. ‘I had forgotten.’

  ‘My God, that’s it,’ Eva said. Her mind leapt on the idea with quicksilver clarity. She knew what she must do. ‘The rope and pulley from the kitchen storeroom. There may not be a boat at the bottom, but there is a narrow shoreline to walk along. I can go that way!’

  ‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Katherine’s voice rose shrilly. ‘I only said such a thing in jest! Listen to me, Eva. Scrap any notion of escape, for that man, Lord Bruin, is sure to catch you, one way or another. Why can you not trust him to protect you?’

  Eva hesitated. A pair of frosted eyes, challenging, intimidating, loomed before her. Firm lips claiming her mouth, her sigh of release, of desire. Hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Because I’ve never had to rely on a man, or need a man’s protection. And I’m not about to start now.’

  ‘Then maybe you should,’ murmured Katherine.

  ‘And what if I end up imprisoned again?’ A shudder permeated Eva’s voice.

  ‘I think you underestimate Lord Bruin.’

  ‘Why do you leap to his defence?’ Eva replied petulantly. ‘Anyone would think you are on his side.’

  Katherine flinched. Her mouth pursed into a grim, straight line, and she began ruffling through the stack of children’s clothes piled on the bed furs, her movements quick and agitated. She snapped the fabric through the air; dust motes swirled, golden specks catching the light. ‘I don’t think you are in a position to choose.’

  Eva glanced at her friend’s tense expression, disquiet trickling through her. She was being mean and thoughtless. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You have been so kind to me and here I am, thinking only of my own salvation. You have so much to bear at the moment.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for trying to think of a way out.’ Katherine’s smile was stiff. ‘Given what you have been through, it would be strange if you did not. But I do not want you to kill yourself in the process.’

  ‘But I have to try to escape,’ Eva replied. ‘You know me well enough. I must try.’

  Katherine nodded, her slim shoulders slumping with an air of resignation. ‘So be it,’ she said. ‘In all honesty, I expected nothing less from you.’ Clutching Eva’s elbow, she gave her a little push towards the door. ‘You must go. But promise me—that you will come back to me and the children.’

  Tears rose in Eva’s eyes. ‘The worst thing about all of this is leaving you. You have done so much for me.’ She threw her arms around Katherine’s tall, elegant figure. ‘Thank you for being my friend and for helping me when I had nowhere else to turn.’

  * * *

  Heart lodged uncomfortably beneath her ribs, her leather bag slung over one shoulder, Eva crept down the steep stairs. She wore a hooded cloak belonging to Katherine over her green-velvet gown; the long train slipped down the steps behind her, a slippery, insidious sound. Her leg was less painful today; the skin around the wound was knitting together. No doubt Bruin planned to come and fetch her from the chamber at the noon bell. By her estimation, she had time to reach the kitchens without meeting him.

  And yet. The man was fearsome, unpredictable. He wouldn’t care about any bell, or any time that he might have told her. He could run up this stair and fetch her at any time he chose, demanding that they leave. Her breath snared. The angled steps, worn, dipped from years of tramping feet, fanned out from a stone column that ran like a spine up the centre of the stairwell. She stumbled, fingers flying to the rope banister for support.

  The kitchens were busy; along the trestle table, servants chopped vegetables, kneaded rounds of dough, the yeasty, fermenting smell permeating the air. Flour dust rose, hazing the air. Heaps of peelings, apple cores, carrot tops, littered the well-scrubbed planks. A great cauldron hung on an iron chain over the fire, the contents bubbling furiously, steam billowing out. Interested eyes turned towards Eva as she entered, covert glances sliding away quickly as the servants marked her rich, expensive garments.

  ‘Eva?’ the cook said tentatively, wiping her floury hands on a cloth and coming towards her. Her sleeves were pushed back to the elbows, revealing strong muscular forearms; her face was flushed, perspiring from the heat of the fire. A look of consternation crossed her fleshy cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lady… I mean, Lady Eva.’ Holding her patched skirts up, the cook bobbed into a brief curtsy. ‘We’re all a bit surprised. We had no idea that you were—that you were a—a lady.’

  ‘Greetings, Maeve.’ Eva gripped the cook’s thick hands. ‘I’m still Eva underneath all this. A title doesn’t change people.’ Her voice lowered, threaded with urgency. ‘Listen to me; this will sound strange, but I need your help. Can you find two men to lower me down on the winch in the storeroom?’

  Maeve’s sparse eyelashes flew upwards in shock.

  Eva rattled on, wanting to explain. ‘I must leave the castle and leave it now, without—without Lord Gilbert’s soldiers finding out. I’m in trouble.’ A pair of sparkling eyes chased across her vision and her heart pleated inwards, creasing with fear. What would Bruin do to her if he found out she was trying to leave? Would he beat her, as his brother had done? A shiver rippled down her spine, unsettling, and she threw a quick, worried glance behind her as Maeve seized her arm, steering her towards a dark corridor.

  The storerooms were on a floor below the kitchens, the castle provisions of beer and ale stacked along both walls, round wooden barrels arranged in neat rows up to the vaulted ceiling. At the far end was an opening that faced out on to the river, the tall arch framing the bright blue sky. Two men, breath puffing white in the icy air, operated a heavy wooden winch, one turning the large handle that wound up the rope on a spindle, the other reaching out to grab and swing the barrel into the chamber. Maeve walked towards them, her thick arms jabbing the air as she explained Eva’s situation in low, urgent tones. They listened with bowed heads. Then their faces sprang up in shock and they looked to
wards Eva with grave concern.

  ‘But, mistress, it’s not possible! It’s too dangerous!’ The older servant, his beard thick and springy over his wide jaw, addressed her directly. ‘We’re too high above the river!’

  ‘It’s my only option, I’m afraid,’ Eva said, walking forward with quick, neat steps. She lifted the long handle of her leather bag over her head and shoulders, feeling the weight of it settle against her back, diagonally across her chest.

  ‘But you might fall,’ said the other man. Sweat coated his brow from the effort of pulling in the barrel, thin wisps of blond hair sticking to his forehead.

  ‘Believe me, it’s a risk I am willing to take,’ Eva said, desperation lacing her voice. ‘I am strong; I will be able to hang on. All I ask is that you lower me down.’

  ‘Please, Giffard,’ Maeve prompted, jostling the older servant’s elbow. ‘She’ll be able to do it.’

  ‘Then stand on the barrel and hold tight,’ Giffard advised. He held on to the rope and the younger servant eased the barrel still firmly attached to the winch rope to the edge of the opening.

  ‘God speed, mistress,’ Maeve said. Her fleshy face creased into a worried smile.

  Eva climbed on to the barrel, grabbing the thick rope. The coarse flax whiskered against her bare hands. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. The younger servant shoved the barrel outwards and into the open air, where it swung slightly before bumping gently against the stone wall. The rope creaked and strained beneath the load. A stiff breeze rising up from the river caught her veil, blowing the material chaotically around her head. The older manservant released the winch slowly and she began to move downwards, her heart pounding rapidly. She kept her eyes pinned to the huge stone blocks that made up the exterior wall of the castle. Her fingers ground into the rope, her knuckles white, aching with the effort of holding her own weight. High above her, in the periwinkle-blue sky, a circling buzzard shrieked.

  Eva was halfway down when the rope stopped with a sudden jolt. She swung violently, bouncing in the air. An angry roar bellowed at her from above, muffled curses raining down. If she looked up she knew she would see Bruin’s face, savage with rage, at what she had tried to do. Fear slid through her like liquid poison.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Eva! You little wretch!’ His voice hammered down.

  The barrel bounced and swung, then slowly started rising again. Her hands clawed the rough, whiskered rope. Bruin had ordered the servants to raise the wooden cask! She glanced down, her eyes watering with the cold, the slip of shingle beach where the river boats moored to unload provisions for the castle shimmering below her. Was she near enough to let go of the rope and jump down? Was she brave enough? Her belly flipped with queasy fear. The drop was only about ten feet, but landing on the hard-packed stones could break her leg or worse. But if she made an effort to push herself back and jump into the river, the deep water would break her fall.

  She glanced up, horrified. From the arch of the storeroom, Bruin glared down at her, his jaw set with grim determination, his mouth hard, unrelenting. His hair flowed out like fire, flaming bronze in the raw, unforgiving sunlight: a Norse god of old, a Viking raider. My God, she thought, her heart plummeting, he looks exactly like his brother. It could have been Steffen staring down at her in that very moment. And he was waiting for her, watching as she slowly rose towards him. He looked like he wanted to kill her.

  Her whirling mind tipped, fled along irrational paths. The thought of his wrath, of what he might do to her, far outweighed any risk of flinging herself into the churning water. Terror drove her. She had no time to waste. A stiff, truncated cry tore from her lips; pushing her boots sturdily against the wooden cask, she flung herself out and backwards, hands relinquishing the rope. Her cloak spread out like a wing around her as she fell, the hem curling in around her legs, her feet bobbing helplessly in the limpid air.

  And then she smacked into the water, skirts catching around her ankles, hampering her attempts to kick her legs out. She knew how to swim; her father had made certain that both her and her brother had the skill after what had happened to their mother all those years ago, but she hadn’t reckoned on the heavy garments pulling her down. She sank, the churning, freezing water enveloping her. Struggling blindly in the sucking flow, she shoved her arms down, fighting to keep her head up. Sunlight danced on the surface, disorientating her. Water filled her nose and mouth, making her splutter and choke; she fought for breath, caught in a powerful vortex of water. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  And then a hand seized her hood, hooking into the neckline of her gown, big knuckles grazing the bare skin beneath her sodden hair, hauling her backwards. She howled in outrage, stretching her arms forward, thrashing at the water in a desperate attempt to try to swim away, pumping her legs out and back. But she couldn’t move. The hand gripping at her clothes would not allow it. Bruin’s hand. She wanted to weep. How had he managed to reach her so quickly?

  ‘Come here!’ Bruin roared at her, his substantial frame dipped low across the bow as he dragged her, kicking and struggling, towards the boat. ‘You foolish woman! What were you trying to do?’

  Two men rowed the boat, adjusting the oars constantly to keep the vessel steady in the brown, choppy flow. Lying flat, hooking his toes over the seat in the boat, Bruin stretched his arms out, seizing Eva’s shoulders, then her waist. Feet kicking out wildly, she struggled against his powerful hold, wriggling furiously.

  ‘God, will you stop fighting me!’ he shouted above the rushing sound of the river. ‘You are not going to escape, do you hear me?’ Exasperated, he managed to hoist her out of the water, dumping her in the bottom of the boat, gasping and sodden. Fuming.

  ‘You cannot get away with this!’ Eva hissed at him. ‘Treating me like a…’ she paused, struggling to find the words ‘…like a sack of grain!’

  The corner of Bruin’s mouth quirked upwards. ‘A sack of grain would be far easier to deal with.’ His tone was dry, mildly scathing. ‘For a start it doesn’t talk back.’ Water droplets spotted his red surcoat, the metallic links of his chainmail sleeves. ‘What on earth possessed you to jump into the water?’

  ‘To get away from you, of course! From what you’re making me do!’ Eva replied. She thumped her fists down on the planks beneath her, annoyed for not having succeeded. ‘You had guards posted on every door; it was the only way out.’ Her veil and circlet had disappeared; a good portion of her hair had come adrift. The tangled strands rippled down in curling tendrils, glossy seaweed across her green-velvet gown. Touching her hips.

  Bruin cleared his throat. In the clear, undiluted sunlight, his hair shone like golden filaments, ruffled by a sharp little breeze. ‘You could have been killed,’ he said slowly. Fear shot through him, a visceral pulse of pure, undiluted terror. Echoes of the past. What if he had been too late, what if he had pulled her, limp and lifeless, from the surging river? He leaned forward, his face looming close to hers. ‘It was stupid and thoughtless. Don’t you ever, ever do that again!’

  The boat rocked violently, caught in a vicious eddy; Eva’s hands flew out, clinging to the sides of the boat to keep her balance. ‘It’s not likely now, is it?’ she replied sarcastically. Her teeth started to chatter; her words juddered out through frozen lips. The wet fabric of her hood gathered lumpily around her neck, water trickling over her damp cheek, behind her ear. ‘I’ve ruined my one and only chance of escape. You won’t let me out of your sight now.’

  Her voice held a forlorn note. In her lap, her hands trembled, like white, upturned flowers rocked in a fierce breeze. Beneath her bulky cloak, her gown, sopping with water, clung to the luscious curve of her hips and thighs, the sweet indent of her waist. A bluish tinge played across her mouth. Despite her fighting talk, she reminded him of a hunted animal, cornered, broken, with nowhere left to turn.

  ‘Row us to the shore, now!’ Bruin ordered the men a
nd they nodded, turning the vessel expertly in the current, steering a bouncing path across the river. Eva stared numbly at her knees, beaten, exhausted. Her eyes paled to a shimmering turquoise, the light leaching from her face. Guilt swung over him. He had driven her to this; he had made her so desperate to escape the trip to visit Steffen that she had been prepared to jump into the river. To risk her own life.

  A tendril of hair stuck to her cheek; Eva pushed it away with a shaking hand. Snow dusted the opposite bank of the river, the land rolling upwards to a copse of trees. The strength of the current had been too great for her; she never would have managed to reach the other side. Shivering, she wrapped her arms across her belly, her chin jutting out in grim determination. The stark, dancing light bounced up from the waves, lapping the boat, reflecting against the gold-threaded embroidery on Bruin’s tunic. ‘How did you manage to reach me so quickly?’ she asked resentfully.

  He had to admire her courage, despite her foolishness. What other woman would have done such a thing to avoid him? Maybe he should let her run and lie to his brother about having found her. But he was in no doubt that while Steffen was alive, his brother would find others to track her down. Steffen was used to his orders being followed; it was not in his nature to back down. The thought of another man searching for Eva made him feel acutely uncomfortable. A surge of protectiveness flooded through him, sudden, surprising. He shifted his hips, adjusting his position on the wooden seat. His reasoning made no sense.

  ‘I climbed down the rope and into the boat,’ Bruin explained. ‘The men were already there, about to row out to you. They thought you had fallen.’ A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Little did they know the truth of the matter.’

  She flinched beneath his silver-bright perusal. Drew her knees up to hunch herself into a tight bundle, trying to control her erratic shivering. ‘I told you I didn’t want to go with you! I told you I didn’t want to see Lord Steffen—ever again. But did you listen? No, you did not.’ Her voice was shrill, punctuated by short gasps, aquamarine eyes flaring over him with irritated hostility. She caught the musky tang of his breath as his eyes levelled with hers; her chest quivered, flexed in response to his nearness. The memory of his mouth from before.