Then, of course, there was the small matter of the details of their bargain… A babe could only be got of their coupling and since Jaime didn’t intend to force her now or ever, she must not only consent, but she must come to him of her own free will.
He cast a glance at Luc, warning him without words to repeat none of what he meant to say, and then he met his wife’s gaze. “Very well,” he acquiesced. “If you should win, I give you leave to send word to your brother.” After all, it would save him the trouble of composing a message himself since he’d already determined to do so. “And if I shouldwin, I would have you seduce me.” Another challenge would suit the occasion well. “Of course, that is, if a woman so bent upon behaving like a man truly can…”
Lael blinked.
Of course she could.
Couldn’t she?
Her sister Catrìona was far better at these matters than Lael, but simply because Lael had spent her days fondling knives whilst her sister spent her time wooing men certainly didn’t mean she didn’t know how to do it.
How difficult could it be, after all?
She knew precisely what to put exactly where and she was fairly certain that men were interested in her womanly parts. However, it would never come to such an end, because she had no intention of losing here today. “Very well. You have a bargain,” she agreed without hesitation.
Much to her surprise, he tossed her the axe. “Ladies first,” he charged and lovely as a gem, the shining blade spun through the air, coming swiftly into Lael’s embrace. She watched it fly with a sense of exuberance that was unparalleled—to hold a blade was the greatest joy she knew. Aye, because she understood what to do with a blade—any blade, be it long or short. Her brother swore she’d emerged from their mother’s womb wielding a knife in her hand. She caught the weapon firmly in her grip, once again reveling in its perfect weight. It was far from an exceptional weapon, but she could love them all even with their flaws. She turned the weapon in her hand, calibrating it. And then again, closing her eyes to commit the weight into her brain.
From nowhere, it seemed they once again had an audience. Shouts rang out, even along the ramparts, and one by one the castle folk wandered cautiously back into the courtyard to watch their laird and lady spar.
Despite the burn in Lael’s cheeks over the thought of anyone overhearing their private wager, she secretly reveled in the opportunity to put the Butcher in his place.
She’d caught the axe skillfully, without flinching, Jaime noted.
Wide-eyed, she held her arm out as though for a lover, willing its wooden curves into her knowing hand. Once it was in her grasp, she spun the weapon adeptly, taking its measure. He saw the tiny smile that played upon her lips, the hooded gaze of a well-sated lover and a spark of jealousy flared.
But jealousy was hardly something he cared to nurture so he ignored it and observed his wife with a burgeoning sense of wonder. This was no simple woman. Indeed, she was a warrior princess to the depths of her soul, and still she knew what it took to manage a household.
What luckier man than he?
More to the point of his thoughts, he suspected she loved the same way she fought—passionately and without restraint.
But this was not a fair fight, no matter how adept she might be with her blades. The axe was Jaime’s weapon of choice. He’d spent every day of his life since the fall of Dunloppe practicing to cleave his foes. Although most assumed he was named Henry’s butcher because he was sent to slay the English King’s enemies, it wasn’t true. Jaime was given the name because of his proclivity for the axe—that and because he wielded it so forcefully and so accurately that he’d decapitated more than a few. His bride could not know this, and he felt no need to reveal it—not when he intended now to win.
“What are your terms?” he asked soberly.
Her lips turned such a lovely curve that he felt his heart skip its normal beat. She eyed the quintain. “One chance only. The heart or head, though you must call your mark.” She swung the blade to test it. “I choose the heart,” she said, and cast him a pointed, smirk-filled glance.
Jaime took a gander about. Even Kieran had been lured from his practice to watch the match, but Jaime did not give a damn. His eyes were solely for his lovely wife, who very soon, if he had his way, would become his bride in truth.
He had a sudden vision of her mounting him and felt renewed tension through his limbs and a tightness in his loins that begged for release. He willed it away, wanting no distractions.
He watched as she assessed the distance, then drew a line with her heel in the muck. “We aim from here.”
Jaime smiled knowingly, anticipating her reaction even before he said the words. “You aim from there. I will take mine from ten paces to your rear.”
Where he could admire hers, in truth.
“Nay!” she refused and erased the line at her feet. She moved back ten paces, perhaps even a few steps more, and drew another line in the dirt, pointing. “We will both aim from here.”
Satisfied, Jaime shrugged, and watched her position herself for her throw. Again, she scarce measured her aim. She reared her arm back as though she were born with an axe and gave a sure-handed lob, hurling metal and wood into the air so forcefully that he could actually hear it fly through the air.
Precisely as it had before, it landed with a crack in the center of the quintain’s heart, embedding the blade so deeply he spied the split even from whence he stood. She then turned to him, lifting a brow, trying in vain to hide the full-bodied smirk that appropriated her lips.
Had Jaime been a praying man, he might have fallen then and there to his knees and prostrated himself before his pagan goddess.
He sent Luc a measured glance, gesturing at the axe and Luc ran to fetch it without a word. By now the bailey was nearly full again and men were watching from the ramparts.
It occurred to him that if he should lose he would lose far more than a bargain with is wife. This was truly not the time for games—not while he endeavored to forge a place amidst these scrappy Highlanders.
With narrowed eyes, Jaime assessed the quintain. Its head was so large that only David’s bumbling priest could have missed it. The heart was Lael’s mark, and even if he hit it precisely where she had, on center, it was no more a win than hitting a target as big as that bloody head. He had no choice but to try for the heart… or… the neck. It was nearly hidden, protected by a layer of heavy padding, but it was thickly set where it remained visible—a slim target, but a target nevertheless.
He gave his wife a reticent glance. “What happens should we tie?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Then I suppose no one wins,” she replied with a new gleam in her eyes that said she didn’t expect that to be the case.
Haughty wench.
Jaime gave her a nod and took the axe from Luc’s extended hand, resisting the urge to meet Kieran’s gaze—mostly because it was Kieran who’d dared to name him once upon a time.
Axe in hand he walked over to the line Lael had drawn and stood there an instant, calculating the distance with a practiced eye, and then without ceremony he raised his arm to throw.
“Wait! You must call your mark,” his wife reminded.
Jaime smiled. “The apple in his neck,” he called out loudly enough for all to hear him. “And then the post at his back.” And before she could protest he hurled the axe. It spun sideways and met its mark in but an instant, swiftly and surely. The blade bit through the wooden neck, splintering it to needles. The crack of wood resounded through the bailey and the quintain’s head flew across the yard, and then rolled halfway to the gate. The axe itself embedded itself into the tie post three feet at the quintain’s back.
Kieran shouted a huzzah.
His wife was not so much amused. “I said head or heart,” she bit out.
“Neither of which afforded me a clear win,” Jaime argued, and he was prepared to defend his choice but there suddenly came three men carrying a body into the courtyard.
The girl he recognized now as Kenna bolted across the yard to meet them, her hand flying to her mouth.
Jaime and Lael shared a glance before he made his way to where they laid the man down upon the ground. Bloated though he was Jaime, recognized him at once: It was the blacksmith and he was almost certainly dead.
Chapter Twenty Three
They discovered the body, half frozen, at the bottom of the well.
Jaime inspected him personally from pate to foot. Aside from a knot and cut upon the back of his head, there was yet another welt upon his forehead, and scrapes along his arms, consistent with a fall down the well shaft. But that wasn’t likely what killed him. What killed him was that he landed nose down in the well and he probably drowned while he lay unconscious. As far as Jaime could tell there was no sign of foul play, but it gave him pause to know the man had come to him only yestermorn for help in searching for his missing son. As yet the boy had not been found and he questioned Maddog and a few others, learning that the lad was wont to play about the well, climbing up and down the shaft, despite repeated warnings from his father.
Apparently someone told the blacksmith they’d spied his son near the well, and the worried father went to investigate, but not before swallowing a good pint of ale. His clothes reeked, the scent strong despite a good soaking in the well.
And as for that, he’d never scented more stinking well water in all his life. It stank as though a thousand men had pissed down the shaft, and more.
While it pleased him to know his wife was already aware of the problem and that she was in the midst of an effort to clean it, he was hardly thrilled with the loss of their only blacksmith. He did not know Afric well enough to feel personally aggrieved for the man’s death, but he felt terrible for those who had cared for him. The girl Kenna had not taken it very well. When asked if she’d yet seen the man’s missing son, she shook her head, covered her mouth and ran away.
Jaime hated to be so petty, but he was heartily glad the man had at least completed his bolts before drowning himself first in drink and thereafter in the putrid well. The gates could not wait. The rotting wood would never endure an assault, and now that they seemed to have won a reprieve from the weather, he planned to tackle the gates forthwith. Only now they were left with one less man to defend the castle and no blacksmith or armorer, for here they were one and the same.
Jaime ordered yet another pyre, and that evening the entire castle gathered in the bailey to see Afric off to the otherworld. Jaime himself didn’t believe in heaven or hell, but what he believed didn’t matter. It was his duty to provide for his people this side of death, and God’s on the other.
After the funeral, Jaime climbed the steps at the end of the day, tired and ready to seek his bed. He would no more hold Lael to their wager than he would expect her to even remember it after such a harrowing day, but what he found upon opening the door gave him a second wind.
No matter how Lael viewed the wager, she’d lost fairly, despite having stacked the odds against him. Aye, she had knowingly given him two marks that would neither prove his worth, but then, she hadn’t expected him to be as good as she was.
He is not such a terrible scourge.
The thought filtered through her mind as she soaked in the tub. In fact, she could have done far worse, even amidst her own kinsmen: Willie, whose balls hung so low they peeked out beneath his breacan, or Brude, the toothless bugger—both of whom had already asked her brother for her hand in wedlock. Lael had not considered either, nor had her brother in truth. But she’d thought for certain to remain unwed the rest of her days, given her choices.
Whatever else he may be, her husband was no ogre.
Mayhap she could not give him her heart, but giving her body would be no terrible burden. Simply the knowledge that he wanted her affected her in ways she would never have expected. And now… The thought of him touching her made her breasts burn and summoned an exquisite heat to her nether regions.
Swallowing hard, she skimmed her fingers across her belly, marveling over these new, but strange sensations, and then she wondered how she’d reached this age without experiencing such a delicious ache.
Her fingers curled into her woman’s hairs, tugging gently as the door opened. Startled by the intrusion, Lael shot to her feet, nearly slipping in the tub.
There in the tub, she stood naked and unashamed.
The breath caught in Jaime’s throat.
Tall and willowy, her body was graceful and well muscled. Her belly was flat and her skin golden everywhere but where she’d worn her body harness. There it remained milky white, her nipples dark against that unblemished skin, and puckered against the cool night air.
Or is she aroused?
His body responded quickly, his cock rising at the sight of her.
When finally his gaze rose to her face, he found her eyes wide with fear… for the first time since he’d met her. Stark green, they glistened by the firelight, like precious gems.
“I thought mayhap you’d like me better bathed,” she disclosed, and he realized belatedly that their door was open wide. He slammed it shut behind him, glad to his bones that no one had followed him up the stairs.
At least for now, she was for his eyes alone.
Still, though he tried, he could not find his voice to speak. He wanted to reassure her that if she were offering simply because she thought she must, then she needn’t do so, but words stuck like paste in the back of his throat.
Long minutes passed without a spoken word.
The fire in the brazier chattered endlessly along with Lael’s thoughts, but the room itself remained so silent she could have heard a mouse walk.
In those seconds she felt more vulnerable than ever in her life, and it wasn’t a very good feeling. She waited with bated breath to see what her husband would say, but he merely stood there, until a frown darkened his face.
He must not like what he saw, she determined, and her heart sank a bit. “Is this not what you asked for? Does it not please you?”
He arched a dark brow. “Since when do you care what pleases me?”
Lael shrugged, unable to answer that question, and not entirely certain she meant to please him even now. But they’d made a bargain, and she could hardly keep her word if he would not do his part.
The room was warm—she’d made certain of that—but the night air tickled her breasts and she reached up to cup one. His reaction was immediate and unmistakable. Even from whence she stood, she saw his pupils dilate and his breath falter. He shuddered softly and closed his eyes for the briefest instant.
What had he said? That she should seduce him?
If she could?
In truth Lael didn’t know what precisely that entailed, but she understood by the look upon her husband’s face that he was far more affected by her than he might confess. That fact emboldened her.
She dropped her hands at her sides and gave him a little knowing smile, then dared to step out of the tub.
Steam rose from the bath… and from her flesh where it met the cool night air. Jaime froze where he stood.
She lifted one hand, beckoning him to her. “’Tis been a long day, husband,” she entreated softly, and that one little word—husband—was like a siren’s whisper to his ears. Still he refused to move, unwilling to be given such a treasure only to lose it on the morrow.
“Lael… if you give yourself to me now, I may never let you go,” he warned, his throat husky with desire.
Her green eyes sparkled by the light of a dozen candles. “A man’s word is all he is,” she reminded him, tossing his own creed back in his face. And it was true. He felt a cold sweat break upon his brow as she moved toward him, gliding like a spirit on the wind. “If I keep my word, you are sworn to keep yours. Come and let me lave you…”
“I shall rue this day,” he whispered, and bade his feet to move. Be damned if he cared what tomorrow might bring. This moment she was his desire—a temptress from his deepest dreams.
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br /> He took her by the hand, allowing her to lead him to the bath, and then stood still before her as she removed his tunic, submitting to her will.
Whatever she would do with him he would allow it.
Holding her breath as she undressed her husband, Lael revealed all of him to her hungry gaze. Tomorrow was another day, she determined, but tonight—this instant—she knew deep down that she wasn’t compelled by duty alone.
Nay… she wanted this as well.
She wanted to know this man as a woman knew a lover.
He hadn’t flinched at her wager simply because she was a woman born. And more, she’d spied the pride in his silver eyes as she’d challenged him—as well as his unmitigated approval when she’d hit her mark so expertly. His steely eyes hid very little, and he didn’t seem to try. There was no mystery to him and that was probably why Luc knew exactly when to press him and when not to do so.
Lael was learning as well.
And now she would have her way with him and that thought emboldened her beyond measure. Beneath his gaze, she felt like a goddess of yore, a lovely faerie bride whose temptation was beyond endurance. That was how he was making her feel.
“Lael,” he whispered when she reached for his trews, and her heart beat a staccato in her ears. The feeling of unrestrained power was headier even than that she knew by simply wielding a sword. The muscles in his arms flexed but he didn’t move to stop her and she quickly unlaced his trews, falling to one knee and marveling over the sensations that swept through her own body—the prickle of excitement that lifted the hairs of her nape—the cool breeze that caressed her between her legs.
Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) Page 22