His Stolen Bride BN

by Shayla Black

  Mother of God, to hear of such evidence stunned him.

  “’Tis a lie!” said Murdoch finally.

  “’Tis he who speaks lies.” Robert pointed to the fiend who shared his blood. “Murdoch coerced me. He promised me Campbell land he would own after wedding Averyl. In exchange, I killed his father.”

  Drake growled, restraining himself from killing the loathsome wretch.

  Averyl gasped. “That is why you offered to wed me? That land?”

  Robert nodded. “But your father refused me.”

  “You have no funds. Your clan cast you out.”

  “And the murder of a good man was the only way you thought to win back your land?” Drake challenged, ready to kill.

  “He held the knife, aye,” began Aric, “but remember who ordered its thrust.”

  Wallace approached Drake and stayed his blade with a hand. “Indeed, Robert Campbell’s confession is enough to convince me that you are innocent, Drake.”

  “That is not true!” Murdoch insisted. “Drake did it! Do not believe the words of a Campbell.”

  “We both know he spoke true,” Wallace contradicted quietly. “For I have long wondered if Drake could kill his own father.”

  “Robert Campbell lies,” Murdoch ranted on.

  He turned crazed eyes on Drake and let loose a primal scream, his expression a bloodthirsty snarl. The small blade in his hand gleamed cold and merciless in the sun as Murdoch raised the weapon and charged.

  “Die, you bastard!” Murdoch shouted at Drake.

  Drake watched in horror as his half brother lifted the knife in his grasp. As if in slow motion, Drake pushed Averyl out of the blade’s path, then turned to his half brother, dirk in hand. He scrambled away from Murdoch, trying to avoid danger and swung his own blade at the exposed skin at Murdoch’s neck.

  Drake watched Murdoch surge closer, trying to attack, even as he avoided the blade at his throat, but ’twas too late.

  The little silver dagger sank to the hilt into Murdoch’s neck.

  Blood gushed from the wound, staining his armor. A moment of shock registered in Murdoch’s dark eyes before they glazed over and he slumped to the ground, dead.

  Silence, stillness enveloped the field for a few moments.

  Then Drake heard Averyl gasp as if from a distance, as Duff and the others raced forward. Some seized Robert Campbell, calling for the dungeon. Drake regained himself and approached his brother, hate and regret beating in his heart.

  He took the small blade from Murdoch’s limp hand.

  ’Twas finally over.

  Anguish carved into him like a dull knife. Beside him now, Averyl’s hazel eyes misted with tears. Drake somehow resisted the odd urge to cry himself.

  He moved to her side. He took her cold cheeks between his hands. “’Tis over,” he choked. “You are safe.”

  She put a hand to his cheek as a tear trailed its way down her face. “As are you.”

  “Drake?” Aric asked, his face quiet with concern.

  His answering smile was both sad and hopeful. “All will be well here. And Kieran,” he addressed the Irishman, “forget your earlier offer. Averyl has no need of it.”

  As Kieran laughed, Drake turned, wanting to be away from here, away from death and the disillusionment life had shown him today. “Come with me.”

  Averyl responded to his weary tone with a nod. He needed her now. Her gentle understanding, her quiet touch. Her. Not just for now, but forever.

  He glanced at her trembling profile, unable to discern her thoughts. She’d once said she loved him. Did she still?

  * * * * *

  As long as he loved her, she would stay by his side, Averyl decided, savoring the feel of Drake’s hand enveloping hers. Yet after what he’d been through today, could she expect him to consider such a matter? Nay, but soon, the subject must arise. And then, if he could not admit any feelings for her, she would go. For living with an intimate stranger and raising her child with a father unable to express his love was unacceptable.

  Before they could find privacy, Wallace sought Drake. “The clan has decided. You are free to lead, as you should have been since your father’s murder. ’Tis sorry I am I doubted you.”

  Drake released her hand to shake Wallace’s. “I accept.”

  When Wallace turned away, Drake silently led her into Dunollie, far from the blood and memories. Duff and the other sentries followed them as far as the middle bailey, telling all what had transpired.

  Within moments, a crowd of clansmen and servants began to gather about Drake, offering their humble apologies, most claiming they never believed him guilty at all. Drake seemed to accept their words with a distracted nod. Averyl wondered at his thoughts. Where they of Lochlan? Of Robert? The future?

  Drake continued to lead her toward the keep, shedding the joyous crowd of his clansmen behind. Averyl wondered at his thoughts, his intent. Her stomach tightened with uncertainty. Did he want her with him now, or should she give him time to grieve alone? Or did he think on their marriage and whether it should continue?

  As they climbed the narrow stairs, her heart beat rapidly in the tense silence. She cast her apprehensive gaze to Drake. His frown revealed naught of his thoughts, his feelings.

  Once inside the solar, he sat on what had once been his father’s four-poster bed with a weary sigh, wincing at the open lashmarks crisscrossing his skin. Quietly, Averyl rose and found a servant in the hall to fetch a bucket of warm water.

  Drake said naught while they waited, only stared at her with unreadable eyes. Though Averyl wished for an answer regarding her future, their future, she made no comment, knowing he had today been through a hideous ordeal.

  The water arrived. Bucket in hand, she approached Drake, who continued to watch her in thoughtful silence.

  “I can have a servant wash me,” he said without tone. “The wounds are ghastly, I know.”

  She shook her head. “I will tend your injuries.”

  Averyl turned his back to her and applied the clean, wet cloth to his wounds. He hissed in a sharp breath.

  “I will make a poultice to help in the healing,” Averyl offered.

  “You know the duties of a wife well,” he commented.

  Averyl frowned. “’Tis something I have been trained for since I learned to talk. Did you expect different?”

  Drake tried to shrug, cursing when he aggravated the open wounds on his back. “I knew not what to expect. Our marriage has not been…common.”

  “That is so,” she answered, then swallowed. Was he trying to say something, or nothing at all?

  “I am certain if your father could see you today, he would be proud.”

  Averyl leaned around Drake until her face hovered mere inches from his. “So would yours.”

  Wearing a tense frown, complete with closed eyes and a clenched jaw, Drake nodded. Averyl could see the emotion he fought now that his ordeal was over and he had been restored to the clan and made their leader.

  Still, his triumph would never bring back his father, nor repair the torn brotherhood between he and Murdoch.

  “What had you planned next?” he asked.

  Averyl felt her heart plummet from her stomach to her toes. His tone told her that he was letting her go. Without hesitation. Without regret.

  She stood behind him, stunned, though she had half expected such. She must not cry. She would not cry! He could never know how completely he had broken her heart. Revealing such a fact ’twould only humiliate her further, while such knowledge would mean little, perhaps nothing, to him.

  She cleared her throat. “I had thought to return to Abbotsford. After all, my people need me.”

  Drake hesitated, pausing to rub the bridge of his nose as if fighting off pain in his head. “Have you given no thought to staying here? You cannot mean to travel with the babe’s time so near.”

  “’Twill
be no difficulty,” she murmured, her heart shattering as she laid the wet rag aside and dried his torn flesh gently with another cloth. “On the morrow, I will go home.”

  “Stay. The babe will need a father. I need a wife, for I know naught of running a castle this size alone. And if war breaks out, I may not be here to ferret out those loyal to Murdoch. I will need your help with that in my absence.”

  Sudden hope made Averyl lightheaded. He wanted her to stay? Then she realized he had spoken of naught except the practical. She pursed her lips. “What say you?”

  Standing, he faced her and took her hand in his. “That we should be married, in the church this time. That you should stay by my side as my wife, my chatelaine, the mother of my children.”

  Averyl’s heart raced as she asked the question her heart screamed to have answered. “Why?”

  “I explained. You need a protector. I need a helpmate. We will soon have a child.”

  All of it true, but he’d said naught of love. Averyl could not ignore that fact. Fighting a new wave of angry tears, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

  Drake frowned. “If you worry about Abbotsford, do not. I once vowed to give you funds to repair your keep, and I will.”

  She wanted to fling his offer back in his face but could not. The people of Abbotsford would not starve because of her stubborn pride. “I thank you, as do my people.”

  He looked relieved. “So you will stay?”

  “Nay,” she replied, turning her back to him.

  Drake rose from the bed and followed, grasping her shoulders. He cursed when she stiffened beneath his hands.

  “Averyl, please. Do not go.”

  Knowing tears were just moments away, Averyl jerked from his grasp. “I will not have any part of marriage to a man who refuses to love me. You have always known such.”

  Face taut, he nodded. “Aye.”

  When he said naught more, she turned away. “I will go.”

  “Now?” he questioned, following her as she crossed the room to the solar’s door.

  “I have no reason to stay.”

  “Averyl, the words… I know—”

  “Say no more.” She opened the door.

  “Do not leave me! I—”

  “Never fear.” Averyl whirled to face him. “I will raise our child well and with love at Abbotsford. You will have no burden of responsibility.”

  As she made for the door again, Drake grabbed her elbow. “I said stay.”

  She ignored him. “I will send word when the bairn is born and you may visit. But do not darken my doorstep until then.”

  Averyl slammed out of the solar.

  * * * * *

  Drake watched Averyl’s retreating form make for the stairs at the end of the passage. Feeling the cold impact of her absence in his chest, he followed.

  She really meant to leave, before he could make her listen? Did she not know how much he cared, how much he wanted her by his side? Nay. And she would not be happy until he laid bare the contents of his heart.

  She deserved no less.

  Fear consumed him. He had watched his parents destroy each other. But he was not Lochlan, nor was Averyl like Diera, as Aric had once reminded him.

  And only a fool would let her get away.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead, his chest. He loved her. Now he must overcome his fears and tell her.

  She had trusted him enough to overcome her fears of the darkness, the insecurity of her own face, because he had urged her to do so. In return, she wanted only three little words he felt so deeply it hurt.

  The thought humbled him.

  Sprinting now, he ran to the stairwell and followed, catching a swish of her red gown as she rounded the corners of the stairs.

  Drake frowned, his mind tearing from one thought to the next. Leaving her with Guilford had been among the most difficult tasks he had ever seen through. The ensuing six months without her had been naught but hell.

  Her support, her belief in his innocence, her gentle nature had all earned his trust. She had continued to give to him as a lover and a wife at moments when he had not deserved such. And still he wanted her. With the intensity of a fever, with the pitch of a crescendo. God, how he wanted her.

  Loved her.

  Realizing she was fast approaching the bottom of the stairs, panic seized him. She could not leave. He needed her, her sunny smiles, her trickling laugh, her floral scent. Needed her gentle soul, her trusting ways and compassionate deeds.

  He needed her love.

  Swallowing, he ran after her. Quickly, he caught her, her pregnant form having difficulty maneuvering the narrow stairs.

  “Averyl, wait!” He clasped her arm and drew near.

  She spoke without facing him. “We have naught to say.”

  He grabbed her elbow, his desperate fingers wrapping about her arm. Averyl faced him and raised her chin, her face frighteningly devoid of all expression but fury. Had he pushed her so far, waited too long, that he had now lost her love?

  “You may release me now. ’Tis clear we are not suited and that you—”

  “I—” He swallowed hard, holding her face between both hands. He let his urgent gaze delve into hers. “I love you.”

  She cast him a gaze sharp with suspicion. “Do you mean such or say what you think I wish to hear?”

  His heart raced, pounding against his chest. “I say it because I mean it. I love you.”

  Anger melted her expression to wariness.

  “’Tis true.” Tears hovered at the edges of his eyes. “’Twas stubborn of me not to admit it sooner. But I feared you could hurt me, as my mother hurt my father, if you knew I cared.”

  “I’m to believe after all this time that you now love me?”

  Sarcasm and disbelief swirled thickly in her voice. Drake’s gaze delved into hers, imploring.

  “’Tis difficult to believe, I know. But it is God’s truth. I have loved you for months but was afraid to trust you, my own heart, our marriage…”

  “You have been naught but a wretch.”

  “Aye, and a selfish rogue, I admit. I had never known such a woman of good heart, of gentle spirit. You made me see love as it should be. You believed in me when no one did and gave of yourself when others turned me away. I treated you badly out of fear. I am sorry. But never again will I hurt you thus.”

  “Truly?” she asked, her suspicion easing.

  He caressed her cheek. “Truly. I love you. Stay with me, as my wife, my love?”

  “What if I never hear those three words again?” She bit her lip in uncertainty.

  Drake restrained an urge to cover those lips with his own. Instead, he swallowed, plunging ahead. “I will profess my love daily, even hourly, should you like.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, turning them to grassy green. “Hourly? That would please me well.”

  He gripped her hands in his, his gaze delving, cherishing, as he held back tears of his own. “Will you love me as I love you?”

  Her eyes softened with a radiant joy that warmed Drake’s heart, filling him up in ways he knew no one else ever would.

  Smiling, she murmured, “You have taken my heart captive. How could I not?”

  HIS REBEL BRIDE

  Brothers in Arms, BOOK 3

  By Shayla Black

  Coming September 15, 2014

  BROTHERS IN ARMS Trilogy

  Return to an age of danger and chivalry, when three daring knights—fostered together since boyhood in the warrior tradition—face their greatest challenge…winning the hearts of the women they love.

  Enemies By Day, Lovers By Night…

  A reckless warrior, Kieran Broderick was half-Irish, yet bound to fight for the English crown. So when King Henry decreed that he take an Irish wife to quell rebellion there, he had little choice. Newly dubbed the earl of Kildare, Kieran travels to Langmore Castle, seat
of the lawless O’Shea family, to choose a bride. When he picks Maeve, a fetching lass who seems sweetly submissive, he soon learns she’s a fiery, clever woman. When she refuses to allow him into her bed or her heart, he finds himself fighting the most daunting battle of his life. But Kieran will never give up. He’s determined to conquer his rebellious beauty—body and soul.

  HIS TO TAKE

  A Wicked Lovers Novel

  By Shayla Black

  Coming March 3, 2015

  Click here to pre-order.

  Racing against time, NSA Agent Joaquin Muñoz is searching for a little girl who vanished twenty years ago with a dangerous secret. Since Bailey Benson fits the profile, Joaquin abducts the beauty and whisks her to the safety of Club Dominion—before anyone can silence her for good.

  At first, Bailey is terrified, but when her captor demands information about her past, she’s stunned. Are her horrific visions actually distant memories that imperil all she holds dear? Confined with Joaquin in a place that echoes with moans and breathes passion, he proves himself a fierce protector, as well as a sensual Master who’s slowly crawling deeper in her head…and heart. But giving in to him might be the most delicious danger of all.

  Because Bailey soon learns that her past isn’t the only mystery. Joaquin has a secret of his own—a burning vengeance in his soul. The exposed truth leaves her vulnerable and wondering how much about the man she loves is a lie, how much more is at risk than her heart. And if she can trust him to protect her long enough to learn the truth.

  Excerpt

  “…What about you? You’re with another government agency, so you’re here to . . . what? Be my lover? Does Uncle Sam think you need to crawl between my legs in order to watch over me?”

  Joaquin ground his jaw. She was hitting low, and the logical part of him understood that she was hurt, so she was lashing out at the messenger because she didn’t have anyone else. But that didn’t stop his temper from getting swept up in her cyclone of emotion. “I’m not here on anyone’s orders. In fact, I’ll probably be fired for pursuing this case because Tatiana Aslanov isn’t on my boss’s radar. When it became obvious the agency intended to do nothing, I couldn’t leave you to that horrific death. So here we are. But let me clue you in, baby girl. Uncle Sam doesn’t tell me who to fuck. I can’t fake an erection, even for the sake of God and country. That kiss we almost shared? That was me wanting you because just being in the same room with you makes me want to strip off everything you’re wearing and impale you with every inch I’ve got.”