Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3)

by Madeline Martin

  Nan huffed and folded the parcel once more. “Mutton’s too fine for the likes of me.”

  Ella folded her arms over her chest. “In that case, I order you to do it.”

  Nan put her fists on her hips. “Ach, you are a saucy lass.” She waved at Ella and Bronson with both hands. “Go on with you. Out of my kitchen so I can finish your supper.”

  Ella laughed and scooted toward the door, grabbing Bronson’s arm as she did so. “Enjoy the mutton, Nan. No one deserves it more than you.”

  “It didn’t work,” Bronson whispered to Ella once they were in the hall.

  “Didn’t it?” She smirked with a sly expression that made Bronson’s blood heat.

  He led Ella to the stairs as they both needed to return to their rooms to ready for supper. “Do you think it did?”

  Ella went up the stairs slowly. “Of course. I’ve never seen Nan so upset about a gift before.”

  Bronson matched Ella’s pace, enjoying the time alone with her before people surrounded them once more at supper. “And that will win her over?”

  “Aye.” Ella gave a secretive smile. “I believe our new butcher has captured Nan’s attention.”

  Bronson nodded slowly. “And she doesn’t want him to.”

  Ella paused at the top of the stairs. “I must ready for supper, but I shall see you down in the great hall soon.”

  Though no one was around, Bronson did not kiss her. He took her hand and gently turned her wrist before pressing his lips to the warmth of her palm. Her fingers curled over the kiss, holding it.

  “I shall see you in a moment’s time.” With that, he bowed and departed. The book he’d taken from the solar sat heavy in his pouch still. He intended to read it, to discover more secrets to Ella’s heart.

  Movement outside caught his attention. He peered through the open window to where three figures ran about below with a slender gray dog at their side. Bronson couldn’t help but smile as Leila took Lark’s hand and pulled her along toward Cat.

  Except then, Cat put a bow into Lark’s hands. And an arrow. Then, little Lark shot at a target some distance away.

  The smile lifting at Bronson’s lips now tugged downward. Regret suddenly nipped at him. Lark was expected to become a lady, one who would fetch a fine husband at court. She was not meant to learn to wield bows and fight like a man when there was no true need for her to do it.

  He would speak with her on the morrow and put a stop to such wild play.

  20

  Bronson stayed up through most of the night, not in Ella’s bed, but reading her book. The story had been one of great love, in which the hero had been a knight who swept his lady off her horse to kiss her.

  While he was not certain how easy it would be to sweep Ella from her horse, especially when Kipper appeared to be jealous, he was still skilled at courtly love. Chivalry was encouraged at court, and Bronson happened to be one of the best. Surely, the aspect of being wooed romantically in front of the whole court would appeal to Ella.

  He made his way to the great hall to break his fast and found her already there. She looked up at him and then cast her attention demurely to her lap, the action flirtatious. It made him want to lift her chin and kiss her soft mouth.

  Lark sat with Leila and Catriona, the three excitedly chattering together, with Hardy at their feet. The dog stared up at them in eager expectation, pausing to glance at one before shifting to the other.

  Bronson took his seat beside Ella. He had not mentioned Lark’s prior activities at supper the evening before. Well, save for a brief comment to Brigid, who had simply gazed affectionately at Lark and said she was pleased to see her daughter so happy. And while Bronson was pleased to see her happy as well, Lark was supposed to behave like a true lady.

  She would be married off at some point, as all women were. Bronson wanted her to have a good future, with a man who could afford to give her a quality life where she would never wear ill-fitting clothes. Where she would never be forced to go hungry again. In order to do that, she would have to do what was expected of an earl’s daughter.

  Bronson broke open an oatcake and drizzled a bit of honey over it. “I trust you slept well, Lady Ella?”

  She stirred at the pottage in front of her. “Aye.” She turned her head in his direction.

  Bronson bit into the oatcake and washed it down with a bit of ale. “I hear you and your sisters have been planning the wedding feast.”

  “I…we…are nearly done.” Ella gave him a strained smile and pushed around her pottage.

  “Did I ever tell you how many books there are at court?” He waved over a servant to refill his ale.

  Ella turned slowly toward him. “Books?”

  “Aye, many more than what you have in your solar here.”

  A servant eased a flagon between them and filled Bronson’s goblet. Bronson waited until the boy departed. “And we shall have new gowns made for you.”

  The bright interest in her eyes dulled. Her father’s words came back to Bronson. Don’t make her change who she is.

  “You can keep them simple if you like,” Bronson suggested. “More comfortable. I cannot have my lovely wife unable to breathe.”

  Her face relaxed somewhat, and the tension eased from Bronson’s chest. This was where he excelled. At knowing what people wanted and giving it to them.

  “Fine silks that compliment your beautiful skin.” The back of his hand gently brushed hers. A purposeful accident.

  Color rose in her cheeks.

  “The softest of wool for winter, edged with sable.” He leaned toward her. “You’ll be the loveliest woman at court, the most well-read of all the courtiers in attendance. And you’ll be my wife.”

  Excitement danced in her eyes.

  Bronson pulled her hand into his despite the witnesses present at the table. “When shall it be then, my dove? On the morrow? Two days hence?”

  Ella cast him a coquettish glance and opened her mouth to speak. It was at that exact moment Lark reached for her drink and the sleeve of her gown rose on her arm to reveal skin that was black and blue with terrible bruising.

  Bronson straightened. “Lark, your arm.”

  His sister slunk back in her chair and eased the sleeve back into place at her wrist.

  “Push your sleeve up,” he demanded.

  Lark stared miserably at her lap. Even the blue ribbons threaded through her braids and tied at the ends seemed to droop. Dear God, was someone abusing her? Surely, it was not one of the Lord Werrick’s daughters. And yet, that bruising.

  Someone would die for this.

  “Your sleeve, Lark,” he said in as gentle a tone as he could muster.

  “It was my fault.” Cat sat forward and put a hand to Lark’s shoulder.

  Bronson turned to the young woman in horror. “What did you do to my sister?”

  Cat lifted a shoulder. “I taught her a bit of archery.”

  “Cat.” Ella said her name in a warning tone. “What happened?”

  “My wrist guard was too big for her.” Cat’s voice quavered and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t use it as I never bruise anymore. It’s been so long since I have that I forgot…” She hunched her shoulders forward and looked down. Several tears fell from her eyes and into her lap. “Forgive me.”

  If nothing else, Cat’s sorrow did serve to dampen Bronson’s rage. “She should never have been shooting arrows in the first place,” he said. “She is a lady, one who will attend court with us. There is no need for her to learn to use a weapon.”

  “It is always good for a woman to know how to defend herself,” Ella countered. “Cat did not intend to hurt her.”

  “Lark will have a husband to care for her.” Bronson tried to keep his patience intact. “And in order to attract a man of sufficient title and wealth, she will need to be appealing.”

  “And engaging in archery, or knowing how to defend oneself, is not appealing?” Ella tilted her chin.

  A slight warning tapped in the back of
Bronson’s mind. “Nay, it is not,” he answered regardless.

  “The woman ought to be at the mercy of men to better attract one,” Ella surmised. “By being vulnerable. How romantic.”

  The warning in Bronson’s mind grew louder.

  “You are not her protector.” He indicated where Lark still sat with her head lowered.

  Ella considered him. “Neither are you.” Her brow lifted in such a way as to suggest her words were meant to be a barb.

  And indeed, they were. Her words sank deep into his chest. Because all this time, he had not protected Lark. All this time, he had been carousing at court, oblivious to her suffering, and that of Brigid. He wanted to safeguard them both now and this was the best way he knew how, damn it.

  He shifted his focus onto Lark and found her chair empty, as well as those of Cat and Leila. Even Hardy was nowhere to be found.

  Ella got to her feet, her movements calm despite the brilliant color showing in her cheeks. “Excuse me.”

  Bronson rose from his chair. “Allow me to escort you where you—”

  “That is not necessary.” Her eyes flashed. “Because even if it is unladylike to do so, I can defend myself if need be.”

  With that, she spun away from him and quit the great hall. It was then Bronson realized she had never given him the answer regarding their marriage. And after what had transpired between them, he might not get his answer any time soon.

  Ella stared down at the open book in front of her. The courtier in her new story was the worst kind of evil. One who sold women off into marriage at a whim.

  She lay down her quill. Even though hours had passed, her heart still thundered in her chest every time she thought of Bronson’s response to Lark learning to fight, of his intent to wed her to someone at court. Some nobleman, of course, one dripping with wealth.

  Her stomach twisted at how any man could be so devoid of caring. And this was who sought her own hand in marriage? “It’s disgusting, Moppet.”

  The squirrel twitched his head toward her and scrunched up one eye.

  Ella huffed out a breath of anger, but it did little to quell the rage knocking about inside her. Still, he did not deserve to be the enemy in her book. A nip of guilt entered her conscience and she slapped the cover closed.

  Restlessness prickled at her nerves. She got to her feet and paced the room. It was not enough. She had tried being alone, writing, even climbing a tree. Nothing would allay the anxiety racing through her veins.

  What she needed was a ride through the countryside. The endless blue sky overhead, the swell of rolling hills beneath Kipper’s galloping hooves, and the wind blowing through her hair as though she were soaring. Aye, that was what she needed.

  Decision made, Ella pushed the book beneath the window seat cushion and made for the stables to have Peter saddle her horse.

  He was changing the straw in a stall when she entered.

  “Peter, please ready Kipper.”

  He straightened from his task and peered behind her through the door. “I don’t see your guard.”

  She indicated the dagger at her waist. “I don’t need a guard.”

  Peter resumed his task, scooping the dirty hay from the empty stall. “Even if you had your axe, I’d have to deny you.”

  “Please, Peter.” She went to him and stood before the stall he was working on. “I have to get away. I can’t stay here another moment.”

  He paused from his work to regard her. “Lady Ella, you know I cannot do that. We’ve all been informed that no one should ride outside the castle walls without a guard.” His brows furrowed with the sincere look he always gave, the one which had buried deep in her heart for so many years. “Not even you.”

  She dragged in a deep breath. “I cannot stay here. I have to get out, to ride, to think.” She clenched her fists. “I just need to be free, Peter. Please.”

  Tenderness shone in his hazel green eyes. “I cannot.”

  Freedom slipped between her fingers and entrapment closed in around her. It echoed in her ears and radiated within her chest.

  “I thought you were happy.” There was a softness to his voice, as though he was afraid of speaking too loudly.

  It plucked at the sorrow in Ella’s heart and tears prickled in her eyes. “I’m not.”

  Somewhere in the stables, a horse neighed, and the heavy clop of its hooves sounded against the floor. Most likely Kipper.

  “I thought I was happy.” She hated that her voice quivered, but she couldn’t stop it. “I thought I was in love. But he is just like every other nobleman out there, wanting a woman to be vulnerable, believing she needs him to take care of her.”

  Peter leaned against the handle of his pitchfork. “Part of your beauty has always been your independence. I’m certain Lord Calville feels that as well.”

  Ella blinked against her tears. “I doubt it.”

  “Mayhap it’s because you don’t see him look at you the way I do.” Peter raised his brows and grinned at her.

  His wonderful, charming grin that somehow did not affect her anymore. In a way, it bothered her to be so unaffected. Because it meant her interest had shifted from Peter and to Bronson, which meant she cared for Bronson enough for him to hurt her as deeply as he had.

  “He wants to take me to court.” The tears were coming now, too fast to stop. “I do not want to go.” She looked away, ashamed of her tears.

  “Lady Ella, please don’t cry.” Peter moved closer and opened his arms.

  For her?

  Even as she wondered if she ought to accept his comfort, her body decided it would, and she was stepping into his embrace. His arms folded around her, strong and firm, his scent so much like she had expected: hay and sweat and something masculine.

  “You’ll be fine, Lady Ella.” His voice rumbled in his chest against her ear. “You’ll be happy.”

  His warmth surrounded her, his strength, and suddenly she was sobbing against his shirt. Her arms curled around him, drawing him closer to her, not with lust as she had the first time she’d gone to him nearly three weeks prior, but with the need for comfort.

  “I love him,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Peter hugged her closer. “I had hoped this would happen. I only want the best for you, Lady Ella.”

  “It was why you rejected me.” Ella lifted her head and regarded Peter. “Is that why you wouldn’t become my lover? Not because you didn’t think I’m beautiful?”

  Peter flushed, his embarrassment endearing. “I’ve always found you lovely. But I’m the Master of the Horse, and you’re the earl’s daughter. And even if we were not…” He shook his head. “I am not a man for marriage. My heart will never focus on only one woman. My ma was the same way and I saw what she did to my father.” He shifted his eyes away. “I would never do that to a woman.”

  Ella stared up at him, this man who she had been fascinated by for so long, and yet who she never really knew. Apparently, this was a recurring problem in her life. Cat might trust too readily, but apparently Ella loved too quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said.

  He gave a lazy little half-smile. “Don’t be. I just wanted you to know why I couldn’t be your lover.”

  A soft thump came from outside the stables and before Ella and Peter could pull away from one another, the door flew open.

  21

  Bronson shoved his way into the stables, hoping he had heard wrong. After all, it had been difficult to listen from his vantage point and he’d only just made out the words “your lover.”

  He stopped short, halted by the slap of the image before him with Ella held in Peter’s arms, the same way Bronson had so often embraced her. She jerked away, but it was too late. Bronson had seen enough.

  With a roar, he launched at Peter and slammed his fist into the servant’s face. Pain shot up Bronson’s arm at the force of his hit and Peter staggered back, his hands going to his cheek.

  “Stop this.” Ella put herself between the two men, even as B
ronson was drawing back his arm once more.

  “You do not wish me to beat your lover?” Bronson asked bitterly, his muscles flexed to strike again.

  “He is not my lover.” Ella stared at him as she spoke with conviction. Her nose was pink and her eyes red-rimmed. As though she had been crying.

  Why would she be crying?

  Bronson glared at the man behind Ella. Though Bronson’s fist still ached, he longed to drive it into the Master of the Horse several more times. “I heard him say something about being ‘your lover.’”

  Ella sidestepped slightly to put herself in front of Bronson’s gaze once more. “Then if you were listening to the entire conversation, I wager you heard why he had turned down my offer to seduce him.”

  Bronson narrowed his eyes. “Your offer to seduce him?”

  “Aye.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “When I first found out I would have to marry an Englishman I had never met. I decided to enjoy my own life before having to accept what was being forced upon me. I went to Peter to give myself to him, and he rejected me.”

  Bronson flexed and clenched his sore hand. “Then why were you in his arms now?”

  “Because I wanted to go for a ride, and he wouldn’t let me without a guard.” Ella’s eyes flashed. “Because I cannot stand the idea of remaining in this castle one more moment with all the anger and frustration building within these walls. It was more than I could bear. Peter was comforting me. Nothing more.”

  Bronson shifted his glance toward Peter once more.

  The man nodded and dropped his hand from his cheek. “I have far too much respect for my lord’s daughters to ever sully any of their reputations. And I enjoy my employment far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.”

  The Master of the Horse spoke without hesitation, his back straight and his expression earnest. Either the pair were exceptional liars, or they were indeed telling the truth. Then there was Ella’s face, red and puffy, the way it happened when ladies cried. Bronson had seen her face in passion many times, and never once had it resulted in a reddened nose or eyes.