Brigham snorted. “Why aren’t you still at it, then? Ran out of game to run to ground?”
“I am only one man, Brigham.” His friend grinned and leaned his head against the chair back. “I need to rest…upon occasion. Besides, I may tumble the wenches and have a good time doing it, but I never sleep the night through with any of them. You know that as well as anyone. You do the same.”
“Not anymore,” Brigham said, returning his attention to the golden swirls embroidered on the crimson canopy.
Camden raised a brow. “So you are to marry. What of it? A man need not change his habits because he takes a wife.”
Turning his head, he threw his friend a look of barely leashed patience. “I know. I have been lying here telling myself that very thing, but…”
“But what?”
“I do not want anyone else.” Brigham gritted his teeth, disliking the taste of his admission. “Bloody hell, Cam. I am in need of a woman. I even looked some over in the hall tonight, trying to decide which I would take to bed. But I couldn’t find one I wanted other than—”
“The one seated beside you?” Camden raised a brow. Seeing the amusement in his friend’s eyes, Brigham glowered at him. “’Tis not a bad thing to lust after the woman who is to be your bride. Eamon seems to like it.”
“Christ.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Brigham sat with his bare feet flat on the floor and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. “I do not want a wife. They are naught but trouble.”
Camden huffed. “If ever there was a man in need of a wife, Brigham, ’tis you. And Lady Aurora is the perfect choice. Aye, her lands may not be substantial, but they are profitable.”
“I do not care about that. I have enough of my own to see to. I do not need more responsibility.”
“I have been watching her and she is not as…” he paused, weighing his words as Brigham’s eyes narrowed on him. “Consider this: she is not afraid of you as all the others have been. She will meet you equally, not shy away from your temper and reputation.”
“You’ve no need to extol her virtues. I am well aware of her value.”
“Then what is the problem?”
Frowning, Brigham looked at his feet. “She is not willing.”
“Not willing? Of course she wants to wed you. She stood before all in the great hall when you announced your betrothal.” Seeing his expression, Camden sat forward in his chair. Green eyes narrowed, he tilted his head in consideration. “All assumed your late appearance at supper was because you were gaining her agreement to your union.”
Brigham shook his head. “I was gaining her agreement…in a fashion.”
“What the hell did you do to the lass?”
Do? Bloody hell, he hadn’t done much of anything except become intoxicated by the welcoming warmth of her. Just thinking of it made him wince. He’d as much as forced her, giving her no time to consider the consequences of being alone with him. His strategy had been simple. He’d wanted to catch her in the net of passion that so easily flared between them.
He had succeeded…marvelously.
The unfortunate part of his plan—the one he failed to contemplate—was that he’d become snared in the same damn net, getting swept away by the taste and feel of her. In his lust-drenched state, he’d plunged in and forgotten the risks. But worse, he’d shamed Aurora in the process.
“Brigham, what happened?”
With a sigh, Brigham planted his palms on the mattress, locked his elbows, and leaned back. “I compromised her before the Bishop and his lackey.”
Camden coughed, choking on laughter. “By the saints. ’Tis a wonder she hasn’t murdered you.”
“There is time yet for that,” he murmured, raising a brow when Camden snorted. “So now you understand. She will wed me because she was given no other choice.”
“So woo her.” A calculating gleam in his eyes, his friend tipped his chin. “You can be charming when you choose. Court her properly, and she will accept you as husband and warm your bed with all the enthusiasm you require.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then she will give you the legitimate heir your father craved, and you can find warmth with another.”
Throwing the coverlet aside, Brigham stood and walked to his trunk. He pulled a pair of hose from the chest, then glanced over his shoulder at his friend. “Nay, I will have her passion, if naught else. She will warm my bed, and I will be faithful. She will never experience the shame of knowing her husband ruts with another.”
Well aware of his feelings on the matter, Camden shrugged. “As you will. Where do you go?”
“Riding.” With a rough yank, he pulled a black tunic over his head. “I need to get out before any of those drink-dumb fools stir to life and provide me with an endless supply of victims on which to spend my displeasure.”
Laughing, Camden rolled from his chair onto the bed. “Good. I will take the bed since you have no use for it.”
Brigham controlled the urge to throw a boot at his friend’s head. “For the moment, but two days hence, you will find somewhere else to sleep.”
Sprawled in the center of the bed, Camden closed his eyes. “I do believe I’ll manage.”
Aurora watched from her chamber window as the sleek duo flew through the gate to Alvars Keep. Brigham and the black. No one could dispute they were a beautiful pair. Strong and elegant, their dark manes whipped by the wind and the rain, both moved with lethal precision and splendor.
Man seated upon beast, power astride power.
She’d been sitting for hours, curled up amongst the plump velvet pillows that enveloped the bench before her bedroom window. The midnight sky had unfolded in hues of graying orangey-reds while she watched from her perch. But she’d not seen any of it. Her mind had been elsewhere. She’d been too absorbed in her own thoughts and the task set before her. That of finding a way of out of the predicament in which she’d managed to land.
So far she hadn’t come up with a thing.
No clever ruse or excuse came to mind. No pithy argument presented itself, either.
She began to wonder if there wasn’t something wrong with her brain. It had never failed her before, and the fact that now—in a time of dire need—it would do so was more than a little alarming. ’Twas as if she was frozen, all thought suspended in the face of a greater fantasy.
What it would be like to be Brigham’s bride? His companion? His forever love?
The questions circled, taunting her. Tempting her. Forcing her to be honest.
’Twould be heaven to snuggle up with him each night. To feel safe every day, held secure in the knowledge of his love for her. Amazing, really, the power those images had over her. Implausible. Impossible. A dream that would never come true. Even so, Aurora clung to the idea, unable to stop the hope from becoming embedded deep in her heart.
Foolish, her head said. Possible, her heart insisted.
Yet she so wanted to listen to her heart. Yearned to live inside the dream and allow temptation to push aside reservation. The urge was compelling…almost overwhelming.
Taking a deep breath, Aurora caught her heart before it ran way with her wits for the thousandth time and collected her wayward thoughts. She fisted her hands in a velvet pillow and told herself to be sensible. Naught good would come from building a fantasy life with Brigham. No matter how tempting the proposition, such idiocy would land her in more trouble than she could handle.
None of that, however, helped to solve her present dilemma: how to avoid wedding Brigham.
Were she honest, she wasn’t sure she wished to wiggle free at all. How bad could it possibly be? She would have a home, safety, and a man who would give her an untold amount of pleasure in bed. Not bad when considered in such a light. And yet, it wasn’t good enough. The biggest question still lay unanswered. Could she live without the love and respect of her husband? Could she survive being ignored when the novelty wore off and he sought his pleasure elsewhere, leaving her to b
ecome a relic in a dusty corner of his keep?
The answer to that question was an unqualified no.
She’d survived that kind of neglect once. A second time would no doubt be fatal. Marriage without love didn’t interest her. Given the choice, she’d choose spinsterhood over a loveless match. She wanted what Quinlyn and Eamon shared.
Nothing else would do.
Grumbling about the unfairness, Aurora extracted herself from the nest of pillows and crossed the chamber to her wardrobe. A trip to the stables was in order. Now that Brigham no longer lurked in some dark corner of the keep, she would have peace while she sought her distraction. At the very least, it would help clear her mind and organize her thoughts until Quinlyn emerged from the bridal chamber. She needed some advice, and her friend always gave it to her.
Aye, definitely. Quinlyn would know what to do. Two heads, after all, were better than one in difficult situations. ’Twas a good theory, but with one small problem. Nate was the exception to the rule. Putting her head together with his would only lead to more problems. Well, at least, under the present circumstances. Namely, her maybe marriage. Oh, she’d tried to explain. Providing endless excuses. Giving all the reasons she couldn’t go through with it, but…
Dratted it all. Nate refused to listen.
Far from being the helpful ally she needed, he’d gushed at the news of her impending nuptials, then run off in a panic, more concerned about her lack of wardrobe—and the mere prospect of a wedding gown—than the state of her heart. And she’d let him, loath to dash his enthusiasm and spoil his fun.
No matter how temporary.
Besides, making everyone believe she intended to go through with the wedding would buy her some time. Enough, perhaps, to figure out what to do—and where to hide—if things went from bad to worse, and Brigham discovered what she was planning.
EPISODE FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Enemy at the Gate
The familiar smells of hay, musk, and horse combined, welcoming Aurora as she stepped into the shadowy interior of the stable. Taking a deep breath, she stood in the doorway. The sound of nearby horses milling about in their stalls reached out to soothe her. Calm descended, then spiraled out, pulling the tension from her muscles. It always did when she visited her favorite place in the world. With a sigh, she stopped fighting and let it go: the worry and stress, the fear and uncertainty…the need to cling to her dream of a better life with a man who loved her.
Aurora snorted. Right. Love…such an abstract notion. One that held no real possibility at all. At least, for her—a girl her uncle swore no man would ever want.
Pain moved behind her breastbone to grip her heart. She tucked it away. Now was no time to wallow. Later, after she’d enjoyed the stables, would be soon enough to allow the worry back in. Moving further up the center aisle, Aurora paused to stroke and murmur “good morrow” to all who swung their heads from their stalls in salutation. Each whinnied greeting brought her a wealth of contentment. A welcome reprieve considering the last few days of near chaos she’d endured since arriving at Alvars. Planning Quinlyn’s wedding, coupled with Brigham’s persistent pestering, had left little opportunity for her to be alone for any length of time. It surprised her to learn she missed the moments normally spent in solitude.
A disconcerting reaction coming from her.
Until recently, she’d spent her days alone in some corner of her uncle’s keep, seeing to the many chores assigned to her. Not once had she thought to enjoy her time alone, too aware that perhaps she would forever be without companionship. Before befriending Nate, she’d had no companion to speak of and, well, after that she’d never thought to tire of another’s company. Now, it seemed, she had graduated from the desire to be acknowledged to wishing everyone would just leave her alone.
Another sin to lay at Brigham’s doorstep.
The man made her unsociable, irritating her like a rash. Was it any wonder? He was a constant threat to her sanity. His brutish behavior and deliberate forays into her personal space would turn her into a raving lunatic did she permit it. In point of fact, she already felt as though she was behaving like one. If she wasn’t skulking about the keep or peeking around corners to avoid him, she dreamed of him, his too-beautiful mouth and all the decadent things it would do to her…were she unwise enough to allow it.
Aye, well…allow it, ’twas all relative, really.
He’d given her little opportunity to voice her opinion last eve. Had simply charged ahead in his usual fashion—and just look where that had gotten them…betrothed, for the love of God! But then, in all fairness, she’d not thought to protest when he’d picked her up and carried her off, intent on his debauchery. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to admit more than her will had been sidetracked in her descent from decency. Her body and soul had galloped right along with it, cheering in unwavering delight the instant he touched her. Just thinking of it…
Heaven above, she’d participated in gleeful abandon, much as a beggar would if sat before a feast. And while she admitted Brigham was a tempting dish, it simply would not do in their future encounters. Not that she had any idea of what she could do to prevent herself from reacting to him in such a heated fashion. It all came back to that damned mouth of his.
’Twas too tempting by half.
Snorting at her own lunacy, Aurora turned down the corridor that led in the direction of the grey she’d ridden a few days earlier. She’d not named her as Brigham suggested. Naught but heartbreak lay in the direction. Aurora knew it better than most. Knew herself well enough to know that if she named the horse, she would want her for her own. A far flung dream, one she refused to indulge in. Not now. Never again. Pain was a good teacher. Hard to forget. Difficult to push aside or forgive. God, over a year had past and still…
Aurora swallowed past the knot in the throat. She couldn’t shake the anger—the sorrow and hurt either—upon learning her uncle had sold her beloved Misha. More than just her mare had been stripped from her that day. Her autonomy and freedom had gone with her, and that had been almost too much to bear.
So aye, ’twas foolish to visit the grey.
Too bad. Aurora refused to heed the warning bells ringing inside her own head. She wanted to visit the mare upon occasion, at least until a new owner could be found for her.
Making another turn, Aurora strolled along the gloomy corridor, content in the quiet comfort her haven afforded her. ’Twas a touch eerie, but she didn’t mind, taking pleasure in the way the immense, blackened support beams cast shadows across the straw-strewn floor and stone walls on their way up to greeting the yellowish-brown of the thatched roof. All was tidy and trim, tucked away in its proper place, though there was no one about at that early hour.
Not even Brian.
No doubt still wrapped in warm blankets, the stable-master was late attending to the needs of his charges. Aurora suspected many would be the same—feeling too ill to see to their duties this morn. Amused by the idea, she grinned, grateful she hadn’t imbibed at last eve’s festivities. Not that she hadn’t been tempted, but drowning her sorrows in drink didn’t appeal to her. It served no purpose, and as far as she knew, never made a situation better. Besides, a headache was the last thing that needed adding to her present troubles.
Arriving at the grey’s stall, Aurora threw her cloak over her shoulders. The mare wheeled toward her, whinnying a greeting. Happiness stole through her. She murmured back and stretched out her hand. An instant before she touched the horse’s soft muzzle, instinct whispered a warning. She stopped cold and turned in the direction from whence she’d come. Holding her breath, she listened. The noise came again. Almost imperceptible, it sounded like a boot scraping over wood.
Tilting her head, she stood motionless in the shadows and listened harder.
Nothing.
Not a whisper of a sound.
Not a thing that might indicate someone followed her. Strange, she could’ve sworn…but then, naught seemed amiss.
All remained quiet. Unconcerned, the horses munched on the hay tossed about their stalls, shifting first this way then that in their bid for the choicest morsels. Aurora frowned. Perhaps her mind played tricks on her, and she was beginning to hear things that were not there. ’Twould not be the least bit surprising. She already surmised Brigham and his antics would drive her daft soon enough.
With a sigh, Aurora turned back toward the grey and—
“Well, well, what have we here? Our little runaway, in all her finery.”
Dark with malicious undertones, the voice scraped her raw. Her heart picked up a beat, then another as her breath stalled in her throat. She suppressed a shiver, knowing without turning around she was in extreme peril. Dear God, she must be imagining things. It couldn’t be him. But even as Aurora tried to convince herself of that, she knew the truth. True to form, he’d snuck up behind her, slithering in like a poisonous snake. But the true problem, the one she couldn’t avoid? She had nowhere to go.
Which left her one choice.
She must turn and face him.
Swallowing her fear, Aurora pivoted—head high, shoulders back, courage set—and looked into the face of a man she’d hoped never to see again. He stared back, raptor-flat gaze intent as though amused by her show of bravado.
But she knew better.
Lord Cedric was rarely ever amused, and never with her. She pushed all the wrong buttons, the ones that unleashed his violent streak. Why her uncle hated her, Aurora couldn’t understand. All she knew was that he did. Not that he showed it in public. Oh nay. Never that, but even as a child she’d been aware of it. Her parents, though, had never guessed the truth. Little wonder. Uncle Cedric was nothing if not canny. Not even she had suspected the extent of his malevolence until he ripped her from her home and installed her in his. Not surprising, really. Her uncle excelled at subterfuge. Cold and calculating, he didn’t act rashly, and only on rare occasions allowed his temper to goad him into moving before he was ready. That she—a mere pawn on his chessboard—pushed his temper beyond its natural boundaries baffled her.
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