Now she stood in relative quiet. Away from a myriad of prying eyes. Entrenched behind a solid wood door. Safe from Brigham, and the flat of his hand on her backside. Question was…would he ever be safe from her? She flexed her hands, balling both into tight fists. The overbearing dolt. He made her so damned angry. So furious she couldn’t think beyond the howl of her temper. Now all she wanted to do was march straight back into the stables and hit him. Just wind up, let fly and….
More tears tumbled over her bottom lashes.
With a furious swipe, Aurora wiped both cheeks. Enough. No more crying. No more feeling sorry for herself, either. The next hour needed to be about calculating the angles and figuring the best way out of the mess. Out from under Brigham’s control and into…God give her strength. The vicious, deceiving, brutish oaf. Her face warmed as Aurora imagined what she must have looked like sprawled face down on his lap. She hoped he had taken a good, long look because that was as close as he would come to touching her bottom—or anything else, for that matter—ever again.
The blackguard.
She muttered under her breath, so incensed she couldn’t stay still.
Seated in one of the chairs in front of the hearth, Quinlyn stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. No doubt waiting for her to expand upon her statement. The one highlighting the fact the Lord of Mornay had warmed her posterior.
Pitiful. ’Twas the only word that aptly described her situation.
“In the stable?”
“Aye! The brute, the overbearing oaf, the unfeeling, conniving clod!”
“But why?” Her best friend shook her head. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Aurora quit pacing and stood facing the fire. Hands on her hips, she sighed and glanced at the ceiling. But not before a hint of guilt flashed across her features.
Quinlyn intercepted that look and raised a brow. “Well?”
“God’s teeth, Quin. I planned to tell you, but I never expected to see him again and then, well, he was there and so quickly…after I only just arrived here myself, and I was so tired…then there was just no time,” Aurora said, her tone half wail, half plea for understanding.
“I think you’d better tell me everything, Rory.”
No doubt a good idea. Especially with the Monster of Mornay out for blood.
Rubbing her sore temples, Aurora gathered her thoughts, then began to talk. All the nitty-gritty details of what had happened in Hexham started to unravel. From her arrival with the musical troupe, to her hunt for food, along with everything else she could remember about her encounter with Brigham. She even went so far as to admit her attraction to him. Which she asserted was over. Completely and undeniably obliterated and banished to the past.
“You kneed him?”
“Aye.”
Quinlyn's mouth fell open. “In the groin?”
Aurora nodded.
“And then you stole his horse?” The question came out choked by laughter.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she might as well admit it. Although why everyone seemed inclined to marvel over her taking the horse was beyond her ability to comprehend.
“Aye. What else was I to do, Quin?” she asked, disgruntled by her friend’s obvious amusement.
“Lord above, you maimed him then stole his horse!”
“’Tisn’t funny,”
Even as the words left her mouth, Aurora knew it wasn’t true. It was funny, in a twisted kind of way. How many people, after all, could say they’d felled one of the fiercest knights of the realm? With naught more than a well-placed knee no less? The thought brought the absurdity of the situation home. Amusement spilled into the void. One snort led to another. The dam broke, spilling hilarity into the chamber. As she joined her friend, laughing, gasping, letting the strain drain away in the face of mirth, her knees gave way. Both settled on the warm tiles in front of the hearth. Unable to breathe, both of them still giggling like a couple of pea gooses, Aurora knelt on the floor and hugged her arms around her middle.
“Oh, nay, Quin…stop.” Her ribs smarting from lack of air, Aurora sucked a desperate breath. Another round of laughter echoed through the chamber, making her insides hurt. “Please, stop. I cannot breathe.”
“Oh, my heavens.” Still chuckling, Quinlyn wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Was he very surprised?”
“Aye, terribly.” Eyes still watering, Aurora pressed her hands to her chest. “You should have seen his face, Quin. ’Tis a sight I am not likely to forget anytime soon.”
“I can imagine.”
“Aye, well…imagine all you like, but that was the very least that was unforgettable about that eve.”
Quinlyn leaned forward in her chair. “What else?”
“His vocabulary. I learned a few interesting words, ones I am positive I threw about his head in the stable not long ago.”
That statement set them off on another round of laughter, and Aurora was certain there was more than one guest who looked strangely at the door as they passed on their way down to supper. Shaking her head over their foolishness, Aurora forced her mind to return to the seriousness of her predicament. To find humor in it was all well and good, but that did naught to change the fact she’d yet to deal with the brute masquerading as a lord of the realm. And there was no doubt she would be forced to. She was housed inside one of his keeps, under his vassal’s protection. God help her. What a mess this was turning out to be.
“Quin, what am I going to do?”
“Naught,” Quinlyn said with a shrug. “He took his revenge and now will leave you be.”
“I am not so sure of that. He seemed serious that I make amends. And besides, you are forgetting I seek refuge here from my uncle and Lord Brigham is overlord to this keep. What if he will not allow me to stay?”
“Lord above, I forgot for a moment there is more at stake here than bruised pride.” Her expression pensive, Quinlyn rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and placed her chin in her palm. After a moment spent staring into space, she straightened. “Eamon has given us his word you will be safe at Alvars. He will not go back on his promise, even if it means displeasing his overlord.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye, I am. You do not know Eamon, Rory. He is both strong willed and intelligent. He will make Lord Brigham see the rightness in allowing you to stay. Besides, I cannot believe Eamon would think so highly of the man were he the monster rumor makes him out to be.” When Aurora opened her mouth to argue, Quinlyn gave her a pointed look. “You will trust me in this for I know what I am talking about.”
Aurora rolled her shoulders, combating the tension pulling her muscles tight. “I trust you, Quin, and I will also trust your ability to understand your betrothed.”
Quinlyn smiled. “Aye, well, and speaking of him, we had best make haste to supper before he and his grumbling belly come to find us.”
With a nod, Aurora pushed to her feet and…
Discomfort slapped at her backside. Lovely. The brute had won the day, leaving her with the sting he intended. Grimacing, she rubbed the offended area.
Her friend raised a brow. “That bad?”
“Not really. But enough that I will not be able to sit properly for a sennight,” Aurora said, the urge to find Brigham and kick him spreading like wildfire. ’Twould serve him right. “The big brute.”
Her friend chuckled. “Do not call him that to his face.”
“Too late.”
“Make a note, then. We need to get you a hearty supply of thick cushions,” Quinlyn said, her amusement widening into a grin. “You are going to have your backside warmed a lot if you continue to tempt his temper in such ways.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re all heart, Quin.”
Popping out of her chair, Quinlyn treated her to a big hug. “I am so happy you are here.”
“Me too,” she said, squeezing her friend tight.
And she was. Beyond any shadow of doubt.
Despite her declaration of war with the Lord
of Mornay, no safer place existed in the world. Quinlyn understood how to maneuver. Smarter than a squadron full of battle commanders, her best friend excelled in the art of strategy—her mind forever teeming with wily plans and plots, her deviousness unequaled by anyone she knew. So aye. If anyone could pull her from the mess she’d made with Lord Brigham, Quinlyn would do it. In that instant, Aurora decided to become her apprentice. She needed every advantage, mayhap even a miracle, to climb out of the muck hole and come out clean on the other side.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Let the Wicked Beware
Stripped to the skin, Brigham stood barefoot in front of the fireplace. The embers flickered, casting shadows upon grey stone walls. His flesh steamed as the rainwater wicked away, disappearing into the stillness of the chamber. After wrapping a linen drying cloth around his hips, he rotated his shoulders and rolled his head forward. Taut muscles pulled and lengthened. Relief followed the stretch, pushing him toward relaxation. Grabbing a chair, he dragged it closer to the fireplace and dropped into the velvet seat cushion. Slouched in comfort, he leaned his head back and stretched his legs toward the heat of the hearth.
With a sigh, he flexed his hands, then laid his forearms flush against the chair arms. The crackle of fire eased him, the rhythmic snap and pop drawing tension from muscle and bone. A moment passed before he turned to a nearby table. Pouring a cup of ale into a silver goblet, he studied the spread laid out next to him. Laden with cheese, bread, various fruit, seasoned lamb and duck, the meal boasted the finest Alvars had to offer.
Well, not the finest exactly.
His vixen wasn’t in the offering. No doubt ensconced with Eamon’s betrothed, he would bet his life she was in the midst of planning his downfall. Not that he blamed her. Any woman would be upset by having her backside warmed. But Aurora? She was too spirited to curl up and die. Something told him she would come out fighting: fists raised, arms swinging, payback in her lovely blue eyes.
His mouth curved. Hmm, he could hardly wait for the next round with her. Going toe-to-toe and head-to-head with Aurora would be entertaining. Engaging. Enthralling even, and…
Christ. There was something wrong with him. No way should he be looking forward to the fight. Or the challenge she presented. But no matter how much common sense dictated an alternative path, he couldn’t let it go. He wanted to see where she—and the battle brewing between them—would lead him.
Which meant he needed to formulate a strategy. And quick. One that would ensure he won not only the skirmish, but the entire war.
Chasing an itch, he rubbed his shoulders against the backrest. As he examined one plan after another, his eyes narrowed in consideration. He needed just the right approach. Her anger would make things difficult. She’d said she would never forgive him, and Brigham believed her. So first things first. He must find a way around her temper—do something, give a little to ensure she forgave him. Which meant he must gain her trust, soothe her ire, and allay any rising resentment. A woman’s grudge, after all, was a tricky beast. Once built, a good grudge became almost indestructible.
So aye. A foolproof plan was definitely—
Hinges creaked across the room. The door swung wide, and his vassal crossed the threshold. Eamon stopped short upon seeing him.
Hot on his heels, Camden plowed into the back of him. “Jesus, Eamon.”
“Don’t blame me,” Eamon said. “Watch where you’re going.”
Brigham grinned. ’Twas forever the same. His two best friends enjoyed bickering almost as much as they did fighting.
With a huff, Camden elbowed Eamon out of his way.
Tossing an annoyed looked at Camden, Eamon turned his attention back to Brigham. “Hell’s fire, Brigham, you are even bigger without your clothes on.”
He glanced down at his chest. ’Twas the truth, he was big. His physique was packed tight with muscle that rippled and moved in concert with the rest of his body. But he didn’t think himself so different from other men. He was larger, that was all.
Gaining his feet, he greeted his friend. “The women never complain.”
“I did not imagine that they would,” Eamon said, only to be brought up short by Camden’s snort.
“They would not dare, so frozen in fear of him their tongues cease to function in a proper manner.”
“Aye, but they do function, and in the most pleasant of ways.” Brigham grinned and slapped his hand to Eamon’s shoulder. Regaining his seat he waved his friends toward the other chairs. Eamon settled in the second armchair. True to form, Camden did as he pleased, and instead of sitting, propped his shoulder against the mantelpiece.
“Camden told me you were late leaving Hexham,” Eamon said, his tone laced with amusement. “’Tis amazing you found your way here at all, what with a horse gone missing.”
Brigham grunted but didn’t take offense, knowing Camden delighted in repeating the story of their late departure to Eamon. He consoled himself with the knowledge he hadn’t told Camden the whole of it. The memory of Aurora’s escape—never mind how she’d managed it—had still been too fresh in his mind this morning to admit the truth.
Meeting his pain-in-the-arse first-in-command’s gaze, Eamon tipped his chin. “Have they found her yet?”
Camden shook his head. “Nay, leastwise I do not think so. I have had no word from Hexham.”
“There is no need, Cam. Call the men back. I have found her.”
“You have?” Eamon said, a brow raised in disbelief. “That was quick work.”
“Where?” Camden asked, curious to know.
“In the stable, talking to the black.”
Brows furrowed, both of his friends paused to puzzle over the surprising bit of news.
Eamon recovered first. “Talking to your… I don’t understand. Who is she?”
“Aye, who?” Camden echoed.
“She was cloaked in your colors, Eamon.”
Eamon’s eyes narrowed a moment before understanding struck. “Lady Aurora.”
“Aye, the very one.”
A frown on his face, Camden pushed away from the mantel “Who is she?”
“It fits Brigham.” Leaning forward in his seat, Eamon planted his elbows on his knees. Fingers laced between the spread of his thighs, he nodded. “She arrived early this morning, traveling through the night to reach us.”
“Was she alone?”
“Nay, her servant accompanied her.”
“Who the devil is she?” Annoyed at having been left out of the discussion, Camden scowled at them.
“Lady Aurora de Marquise,” Eamon said, his gaze steady on Brigham. “My betrothed’s best friend.”
Camden blinked. “Quinlyn’s?”
“Aye.”
“Tell me what you know of her,” Brigham said, beyond intrigued by Aurora’s impromptu arrival.
“She arrived at dawn, haggard and tired,” Eamon said without hesitation. “’Twas obvious she had been traveling for some time, alone and without protection but for a servant, who in truth cannot protect himself, much less her. And she was hungry, not having eaten for long enough she was faint with it.”
Brigham remained quiet, trying to be patient when Eamon paused to collect his thoughts. A moment passed before he continued, “’Twas a surprise to find her here. I had just received a missive from her uncle explaining she would be unable to attend the wedding due to her illness.”
Concern roared to life. The cause and effect tied a knot around Brigham’s heart, making his chest go tight. Bloody hell, he didn’t like the sound of that.
Frowning so hard his temples stung, Brigham leaned forward in his chair. “She has been ill?”
“So her uncle said. Aurora claims otherwise…and that the only reason she was aware we are to wed at all is because Quinlyn sent her a missive, delivered to her without her uncle’s knowledge.” Anger sparked in his pale eyes as Eamon shook his head. “Lady Aurora didn’t even know I had sent a messenger to Garard Keep requesting her presence at our wedding.”
“Then how exactly did she arrive here?” Camden shifted, placing his shoulders flat against the mantel, blocking out the firelight.
Lips pursed, Eamon shrugged. “She left.”
Brigham’s eyes narrowed, disliking the trail of facts Eamon laid out for him. Turning the information over in his mind, he stayed silent, knowing Camden and his inquisitive nature would ferret out all the necessary details.
Per usual, his first-in-command didn’t disappoint. “She just left?”
“Aye. She snuck out of the manor in the dead of night with no more than the clothes on her back and her trusted servant in tow.”
“And what of her uncle?” Camden asked, curiosity pricked by the intrigue.
“From what I can understand, Lord Cedric of Garard Keep holds no love for his niece. He took her from her home over a year ago, gifting the manor to his eldest son and making Aurora little more than a slave in his home. Quinlyn has told me of the abuse.”
“She was beaten?” Brigham growled. The low, lethal sound snaked through the chamber.
His vassal shared a quick look with Camden. The exchange spoke volumes. His friends knew what his quiet, almost melodic tone meant. And neither of them wanted to be in the way when the full force of his fury unfurled. Both had seen him demolish more than one man with his bare hands when that kind of anger took hold.
He tightened his grip on his temper. “Was she, Eamon?”
His friend nodded. “No small beatings either. Quinlyn was concerned for Aurora’s life and asked me to see to her safety when we became betrothed. I planted two men inside Lord Cedric’s keep to get her out when the time was right.”
“But she reached you before your men got to her.”
“Aye, Cam, she did. Very resourceful is the Lady Aurora, although why I am surprised, I do not know.” A look of resignation on his face, Eamon shook his head. “She is Quinlyn’s best friend, after all, and there are bound to be similarities in their natures.”
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