After what seemed like an eternity, he raised his head. “I am aware of it, aye.”
“Deserved?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked away. “Some of it.”
The movement slow and measured, Aurora shifted in the saddle. Lifting her leg over the pommel, she took a fortifying breath and settled sideways in his lap once more. Without a thought to the consequences, she raised her hand and traced one of his dark brows. He frowned harder. She applied gentle pressure and turned his face back toward her. Fingertips stroking over his cheek, she looked him straight in the eye. “Then they deserved it.”
Swallowing hard, he exhaled in a rush. His arm flexed, tightening around her. Lowering his head, he touched his mouth to her temple. “Little heart, you are a wonder.”
Oh, if only that were true. She wanted it to be. Wanted to believe he meant every word…that despite the rough beginning, she’d somehow become special to him. A terrible stretch? Well out of her reach? No doubt. But as he murmured her name, Aurora forgot his intentions—forgot all about right, plunged straight into wrong—and rubbed her cheek against his. He returned the caress and nudged her chin up. She went willingly, past caring about his aim or the absence of her own principles.
Merciful heavens, he was warm. So appealing. So strong. So compelling she had difficulty remembering she shouldn’t be— The jangle of harnesses ripped her from beneath Brigham’s spell.
Her attention snapped toward the roadway. The impact of hooves on the compact earth echoed, yanking her mind back to the present. Aurora twisted in the saddle as Brigham’s arms tightened around her.
“Bloody hell.” Expression intense, he growled, the soft sound full of frustration. Palming the hilt of his sword, he shook his head. “I am forever being interrupted with you.”
Ignoring the idiotic comment, Aurora looked in both directions. “From where do they come…which direction?”
“The main road. They are headed for Alvars,” Brigham said, wheeling the black toward the huge oak standing at the edge of the roadway.
Understanding the tree afforded some cover, Aurora held on tight as the black sprinted through the long grass. Fear snaked through her. Alarm seconded the motion. Peril. Vulnerability. No hope of finding any true cover in the wide open space. Not exactly a good combination with a pack of mercenaries already in the area.
Brigham rode beneath the canopy of the oak.
Twisting in the saddle, Aurora reached for the grey’s reins. “Mayhap you should put me back on the mare now, my lord.”
“Nay, not enough time,” he said in her ear. “Be still and silent, Aurora. Do not distract me.”
She gripped his arm and, heart in her throat, waited for the group to round the clump of shrubbery at the bend in the road. A lone rider appeared. His horse’s dark brown forelegs, kicking high, beat a pounding rhythm as he scanned the forest and roadway in front of him. The late afternoon sunlight flashed off a silver helm, rolling down to caress the chainmail encasing his arms. Another just like him followed, leading an impressive procession of warrior knights. At first glance, fifteen, mayhap twenty, men surrounded a covered wagon pulled by a team of six horses. Each wore a purple surcoat with a white cross stamped on the chest. The holy symbol flashed bright, narrowing in the middle of each stroke only to flare out at the extremities.
Intent on the wicked-looking entourage, Aurora jerked in surprise when she felt Brigham’s hand encircle one of her wrists. Dumbfounded, she watched him pry her fingers, one by one, from where each bit into his forearm. He held her hand, palm up, and massaged its center with the pad of his thumb.
She stared at her hand surrounded by his much larger one before turning to look at him. “W-what?”
Dark gaze narrowed on the fast-approaching assembly, he continued to play with her hand. “Relax, little heart.”
The low murmur resonated in the pit of her stomach, making her aware he sat relaxed, no longer tense and battle ready. Relief poured through her. Like warm water, it rippled, unlocking tense muscles until she thought they might slide right off her bones. Glad she remained upright—not pooled in a messy puddle beside his stallion’s hooves—she whispered, “You know them?”
Glancing at her, Brigham nodded and walked the black out from beneath the cover of the oak. “Aye. ’Tis the Bishop of York.”
Aurora bit her bottom lip. A sudden and very premonitory feeling caused her to stiffen in unease. “My lord, mayhap …”
“Halt, and come no further!” The knight leading the procession raised his fisted gauntlet, signaling to the men behind him to stop before spurring his mount forward. Expression set in fierce lines, he drew rein in front of them. “Your name, sir?”
“The Lord of Mornay.”
The knight paled and, bowing his head, backed his mount away. “My lord.”
“I would speak with the Bishop a moment.”
“Of course, my lord. This way, if you please.”
Curiosity pricked through her as Aurora watched the knight’s reaction to Brigham. Hands fisted over their hearts, each bowed and cleared the way, allowing Brigham to ride alongside the procession toward the Bishop’s carriage. The wind stilled. No one spoke. No one moved but the black, large hooves beating a quiet rhythm as they came abreast of the handsome wagon.
A knight cleared his throat.
“Your Grace, the Lord of Mornay wishes a word.” Meeting Brigham’s gaze for a moment, the warrior bowed and stepped away. “By your leave, Lord Mornay.”
Brigham nodded and turned the black toward the carriage. As soon as they reached the window, the curtain whipped open. A priest in purple robes stuck his head from the opening. An older man, the Bishop’s narrow face was weathered, lined no doubt from years of tending the needs of his flock and the Church. The furrows flowed down to meet a pointed chin covered by a neat gray goatee. Dark eyes alive with intelligence, his thin-lipped mouth curved as he spotted Brigham.
“Ah, my lord. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, Bishop Duvalle, though I am surprised to find you traveling this time of year.”
“Is that so?” The Bishop turned his head to peer down the road. “This is the road to Alvars, is it not?”
“It is, Your Grace.”
“Then you should not be surprised at all, my lord.” His gaze moved from Brigham to Aurora then back again. “I am an official of the church, after all, and we are often called upon to officiate marriage between two people who are in need of it.”
Aurora’s eyes widened. Dread stirred in the pit of her stomach, tossing a bad taste into her mouth. Oh dear. Not good. She had a terrible feeling about the impromptu meeting. Especially since Brigham and the Bishop seemed to know each other far too well. Which left her on the outside looking in. Yet again. Never a safe place to be with Brigham in the mix.
“You’ve come to marry Lord Eamon of Alvars, I take it.”
“He is one of your most trusted vassals, is he not, my lord?” Bishop Duvalle raised a brow. “I could not, in good conscience, leave the blessing of his union to another when he is of such importance to you.”
Brigham inclined his head. “You do us a great honor, Bishop.”
“I am pleased to be of service,” he said, devilry in his gaze. “Now, I require an introduction to the lady you hold captive.”
“Lady Aurora de Marquise, meet His Grace Gereaux Duvalle, Bishop of York.”
Scrambling to remember her manners, Aurora bowed her head. “My lord bishop, ’tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours, my dear.” Bishop Duvalle smiled at her before turning his razor-sharp gaze on the brute holding her. He frowned at Brigham before returning his attention to her. “You will forgive me, Lady Aurora, but I am concerned for your welfare. As such, you must tell me what circumstance finds you unescorted and alone with the Lord of Mornay?”
“Oh, of course, Your Grace.” Alarm beating on her like a drum, Aurora racked her brain. An explanation. She neede
d a good one…right now. Otherwise, the Bishop would think the worst of her. “I—”
“Was thrown from her mare, Your Grace.” Brigham gave her a squeeze, warning her not to interrupt. “She was bruised in the fall, and is now too frightened to remount the mare. ’Twas fortunate I happened along to give her aid.”
Aurora opened mouth, then closed it again. Brigham was going straight to Hell. She knew it without a doubt. He’d just looked a man of God straight in the eye and lied his blooming arse off. Shock echoed, thumping the inside of her skull. The ripple effect knocked the sense clean out of her. ’Twas the only explanation for that fact she couldn’t find her voice. Or come up with a viable retort. Though, come to think of it, ’twas no doubt better that way. She should be grateful, after all. Brigham had come to her rescue, hand-feeding an excuse to the Bishop when her ability to lie failed her.
Thankful. Grateful. Appreciative.
Aye. She ought to be all those things, except…
God help her. Too afraid to mount her own horse, indeed. Aurora gritted her teeth. The brute. Brigham was a charlatan through and through. He didn’t have an honest bone in his body, never mind a thought for her pride. Merciful heavens. Never in her life had someone belittled her skills so well. She scowled at him over her shoulder.
Would his insults never cease?
Bishop Duvalle cleared his throat. Bushy brows raised, he raked her with an appraising gaze. “Hmm, good of you to come to the rescue, my lord. ’Tis never a pleasant thing to take a fall, and ’tis a fact ladies are made timid by such things. I can hardly blame you, my dear, for not wanting to approach the beast again.”
She was going to kill him. Aye, flay the brute alive at the earliest opportunity. “You are most kind and understanding, my lord Bishop.”
“Aye, well, I am but wondering on one more thing, and would be most grateful were you to provide the answer.” Bishop Duvalle waved a hand in their direction. “Where is your escort?”
“My escort?” Aurora curbed the impulse to elbow Brigham when he huffed in amusement behind her. Death was too good for him. All of a sudden, torture seemed a much more attractive option.
“Aye, the one assigned to see to your welfare,” the Bishop said. “Surely, you possess one?”
Giving her waist another squeeze, Brigham fielded the question. “Concerned for her ladyship’s condition, I sent them on ahead, Your Grace … to make ready and see to her comfort upon arrival at the keep.”
“Ah, I see.” Disbelief in his eyes, the bishops pursed his lips. “Most considerate of you, Lord Brigham. I will not keep you any longer, then, as you must be eager to see Lady Aurora well tended. We will follow at our own pace and see you at Alvars.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” With a nod, Brigham turned away from the Bishop’s carriage and urged the black into a canter.
Stiff in the saddle, Aurora remained silent, determined to ignore the man shifting in sensual suggestion behind her. She managed to cling to the fraying ends of her temper until descending into Alvars’ valley. “You are a wretch, you realize?”
He nuzzled the hair at her nape. “Why? I saved you embarrassment before the Bishop and his men.”
“Saved me?” Her teeth clenched, Aurora leaned forward, away from his caress. “You lied…to a man of God, no less.”
“Would you have preferred the alternative?”
“To what?” she gritted out, the need to shout at him making her throat ache. “The fact he now believes me no more than a trollop, who cannot sit her own horse?”
He snorted and tugged, drawing her back until she rested flush against him again. “The one that involves kneeling in a church before a priest.”
Aurora went still as death. “He wouldn’t have…not for such a minor offense.”
“Aye, he would’ve, Aurora.”
“Still and all, you didn’t have to tell him I fell.”
“And I say again, would you have preferred the alternative?” he asked, a growl in his tone, the prickle of his whiskers against her ear.
“Nay.” He stiffened against her. Surprised by his reaction, Aurora hesitated. Her brows furrowed. Had she just hurt his feelings with her denial? His body language said aye. Logic, though, told a different tale. Brigham didn’t want her. Not really. His pursuit was naught but a game. Something to keep him amused while at Alvars, naught more. Still she couldn’t quell the idea that somehow…some way…she’d insulted him. “I mean…that is…would you, my lord?”
He straightened away from her. “I’d prefer you in my bed, not in my life.”
Aurora sucked in a quick breath. Numbness swelled, then spilled over, spreading until the weight of his assertion engulfed her. She tensed, resisting the flow, stifling her reaction, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Nothing good would come from handing him the victory. Especially since he'd done naught but confirm what she suspected all along…that he thought her no more than a fancy bit of fluff. Better to know it now, before she fell hard and her heart got broken. Knowing the truth, however, didn't stop hurt from bubbling up. The turmoil made her ache, cracking her wide open, even as she tried to convince herself his opinion didn't matter.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Trouble in the Hen House
“He’s trying to drive me daft, that’s what it is,” Aurora muttered to herself, vexed beyond redemption. “Aye, ’tis precisely what he means to do—drive me out of my wits so I won’t know any better than to say aye to his outrageous advances.”
On her way to the kitchens, Aurora closed her mouth and nodded to the maid, bypassing her in the dim corridor. The girl threw her a worried look, no doubt wondering about her sanity. Aurora gritted her teeth and waited until she was out of earshot before grumbling, “God’s truth, he may already be succeeding.”
Well, whatever the case, she didn’t have time to worry about the questionable state of her once more than adequate intelligence. With the vows said and Lord Eamon and Quinlyn’s wedding over and done—all without a thing going wrong, thank you very much—the celebrations were in full swing. Which left her with a laundry list of duties. Ones that needed to be done before she kicked up her heels, let her hair down, and participated in the festivities.
Under normal circumstances, Quinlyn saw to the tasks and the myriad of responsibilities that went with them. Today, however, Aurora offered to take them on in her stead, not wanting her friend’s time occupied with endless duties on her wedding day. Besides, as happy as she was to share Quinlyn’s burdens, she knew the position would prove advantageous, allowing her liberties she would never have otherwise.
Devilishly unfair. Terribly sneaky. Absolutely brilliant.
In oh so many ways.
Brigham was in for a rude awakening this eve.
Aurora’s mouth curved as she continued down the corridor. Thank God for the perks…and a fertile imagination. Both allowed her leeway, and the opportunity to manipulate the situation to her advantage. And what constituted a perk? Well, deciding who Brigham would sit beside at the evening meal for starters. For a certainty, it would not be her. She’d had quite enough of his manipulation in that arena, thank you very much. Now it was all arranged.
No going back. Not now. Or ever.
Just as well. The course was set and the battle lines drawn. Not even the thought of Brigham’s fury—which, truth be told, was a force of nature unto itself—would change her mind. And if she ended up with her backside warmed again for her efforts? ’Twas a risk she courted with relish, aware another opportunity for revenge might never come her way.
It was delicious, really. Divine in a hallelujah, raise your voice to the heavens sort of way. Her plan was perfect. Just what the brute deserved—and she needed. Aurora swallowed a laugh, imagining Brigham’s reaction to the plump and talkative Lady Ellwin’s arrival to share his evening meal. She would chatter incessantly, rupturing his eardrums with her nasal whining before the eve concluded.
Goodness, she could hardly wait.
Aurora
made certain to seat herself farther down the table. Close enough to enjoy his reaction to her bit of trickery. Yet far enough away so his glowering didn’t ruin her appetite. And glower he would. She was sure of it.
Well, too bad for him.
Someone needed to teach him a lesson. He deserved a set-down of some sort, didn’t he? She nodded. Of a certainty. Without a doubt. Especially after the scene he’d caused in front of Bishop Duvalle. Thanks to him, the good Bishop now thought her no more than a salacious little tart. Just thinking about it sent a guilty shiver sliding down her spine, urging her to scurry off and do ten Hail Mary’s in an abject fit of conscience.
Brigham was a menace, through and through. And now that she examined her ploy more closely, she decided siccing Lady Ellwin on him was too small a thing to be considered an adequate form of revenge. He would only be made to endure her company for the meal, and afterward, she would no doubt leave, allowing him to find some modicum of peace. Aurora pursed her lips. Nay, ’twas definitely not enough. She needed to devise some other unpleasantness to hurl in his direction before the evening ended.
Occupied with all the devious ways she might further exact her retribution on Brigham, Aurora descended the back staircase that led to the kitchen. She turned the corner and stopped short. Something was not quite right. In fact, something had gone very, very wrong. As the heat and noise poured over her, all thought of plots and payback came to a screeching halt. Transfixed by the scene unfolding before her, Aurora shook her head.
“Lord almighty, what a mess,” she said to no one in particular, surveying the kitchen staff from her vantage point near the door. The servants, it seemed, had taken a temporary leave of their senses. The loss triggered panic induced pandemonium, causing the lot to scurry around like a bunch of beheaded chickens.
Or a pack of panicked squirrels.
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