Not a comforting thought. Nor the least bit reassuring.
An ache opened behind her breastbone. God help her. All of a sudden, being snapped in two by Eamon seemed a much worse fate than dying of humiliation. Besides, Quinlyn would never forgive her newlywed husband should he murder her. And honestly? Selfish or nay, Aurora couldn’t handle being responsible for that bit of unpleasantness on top of everything else.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Aurora tried not to feel sorry for herself. A difficult endeavor. She managed anyway, dragging herself out of wretchedness and back into the tension-filled silence of the room. Still locked on, Eamon’s gaze narrowed on her uncle. Aurora took a fortifying breath. She must do something. Right now. Otherwise the situation would get messy, and she suspected it would be something she had no wish to witness.
Setting the upset of her uncle’s aim aside, she prepared to put herself between the pair. But just as she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, the door creaked. Momentum painfully slow, the oak planks swung open on well-oiled hinges. Between one breath and the next, Aurora’s noble intentions died a gruesome death.
Her line of sight blocked by the door, she didn’t know who stood on the threshold, but she noticed Eamon’s reaction to the newcomer. One would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to miss the sudden chill in the chamber. Aurora shivered as Eamon returned the two front legs of his chair to the floor, then leaned forward to place his forearms on the desktop, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Aurora sat up a little straighter.
Her spine cracked in protest. She didn’t notice, too transfixed by the certainty something awful was about to happen. Her gaze fixed on the back of her uncle’s head, she held her breath and waited for him to sense the change. Preoccupied by his one-sided argument, Uncle Cedric pressed his point, oblivious that a violent thundercloud stood at his back.
Heart in her throat, she watched Brigham step around the door, drawing with him a tempest that wrapped the chamber in an enveloping darkness. As if in protest, the embers in the hearth crackled and popped. The logs shifted and the fire dimmed, withdrawing its warmth from the room. Vibrant shades of blue, russet, and amber in the soft rugs and tapestries paled, bowing beneath the weight of Brigham’s anger. She could almost taste it, a metallic flavor that dampened her palms even as it invaded her mouth, reaching down her throat to churn her stomach.
Aurora ignored the terrible taste, so glad to see Brigham she almost fell out of her chair. The fact she’d been furious with him less than an hour ago ceased to matter. Not even the fact he looked like the devil held sway over her relief. In that moment, naught mattered but the realization he would never toss her aside. The truth was written on his face and in the fierce lines of his body. Her stomach dipped as the message came through loud and clear. He considered her his—his need to protect her stood paramount, trumping all else.
The realization tugged at her heartstrings. Delight surfaced in a heated rush. Aurora blinked, fighting the desire to fly across the chamber and throw herself into his arms.
Realizing she stood, Aurora sat back down. She twisted her hands in the folds of her gown to keep each occupied. Nothing good would come from reaching for him. Not right now. Still, the temptation to touch him jabbed at her, the impulse so strong it took every ounce of her willpower to overcome it. She needed to be in Brigham’s arms again. To feel safe for a change—shielded by his strength, surrounded by his fortitude, and the certain knowledge that he wanted her.
“Eamon,” Brigham said, his tone quiet yet somehow edged with the promise of violence. His gaze swept her once…twice…a third time…before returning to his vassal.
“My lord,” Eamon said, his deep voice even and sure.
Taken by surprise, Lord Cedric whirled around. The fast spin pulled him off balance and, listing sideways, he grabbed the desk edge to reclaim his footing. Faced with the monster glaring at him from just inside the doorway, he lost his composure. Rooted to the spot, he stood frozen before instinct kicked in, and he scrambled to piece together the remaining shards of his self-possession.
No easy feat.
Aurora watched him open and close his mouth twice without making a sound. She fought a smile, wanting to say “take that, you mean-spirited oaf” more than she needed clothes. But as the color drained from her uncle’s cheeks and the hush stretched into a charged pause, she tucked the inclination away. The situation was explosive enough. It didn’t need any more tinder.
“Introduce us, Eamon,” Brigham said, regarding Uncle Cedric from beneath black brows.
“My lord, may I make known to you Lord Cedric of Garard. Lord Cedric, my liege Brigham, Lord of Mornay.”
Recalling his manners with alarming acuity, Lord Cedric bowed. “Lord Brigham, ’tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Silence stretched for a long moment. No one spoke. No one moved. Aurora did not even breathe as Brigham said, “You may not think so in a moment, Lord Cedric. What business have you at Alvars?”
“A small matter, my lord. Nothing with which you need concern yourself.”
“Being a landowner yourself, Lord Cedric, surely you realize everything that occurs on my land and within the borders of each of my fiefs is of great concern to me.”
“Of course. However, ’tis a matter beneath your notice, Lord Brigham. I would never presume to trouble you with something so insignificant.”
“Insignificant?” her brute said, a dangerous undertone in each soft syllable.
Eamon stood. “We were discussing his niece, my lord, and her continued presence within Alvars.”
“Aye, my niece.” Dark eyes glittering, her uncle stared at Brigham. The look spoke volumes. None of it good. “So you see, there is no need for you to interfere. All is well in hand.”
“Your niece.” Brigham paused for effect, then raised a brow. “I assume you are referring to Lady Aurora de Marquise.”
Lord Cedric scowled at the deliberate use of her rank, and Aurora saw him biting holes in his tongue to keep from retorting. He had never permitted mention of her rightful title at Garard Castle. So for Brigham to address her by rank was a stain upon all he’d accomplished. And worse—for him, anyway—was the statement restored her worth, confirming her status not only in the eyes of the world but, more importantly, within the confines of the chamber.
Such a small thing. Insignificant really, but so powerful the implications stunned her. God bless him, Brigham had done in one sentence what she’d failed to do in well over a year in her uncle’s custody. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them, desperate to stop the sniffles she knew were not far behind.
“Aye, my niece…Aurora,” Uncle Cedric said, choking her name out between clenched teeth. Distaste twisted his mouth in ugly ways. He flung a hand in her direction. “She left Garard without my permission…”
“She does not require your permission,” Brigham said.
“…and I have come to fetch her back and restore her to her proper place.” Her uncle blinked. Amazement winged across his face an instant before he frowned. “What do you mean she needs not my permission? Of a certainty she does, my lord. I am her guardian.”
“No longer, Lord Cedric. Indeed, she is no longer of any concern to you.” Brigham stepped further into the chamber, his left hand coming to rest upon the hilt of his sword.
Lord Cedric’s eyes narrowed. “My lord, I understand your inclination toward protection. However, I must warn you that if you possessed all the facts, you would understand it is a reaction she engenders in most men. She has made regular use of that lure to bag her quarry in the past. As I was telling Lord Eamon—”
Her hands clenched, Aurora jumped to her feet. “Naught but lies, my lord.”
Eamon gave her a chiding look. “Sit down, my lady.”
“But—”
“Sit down, Aurora.” A muscle twitching along his jaw, Brigham shook his head, his dark gaze fixed on her uncle.
Chilled b
y his tone, Aurora swallowed and sat back down.
“Men, you say?” Brigham raised a dark brow. “How many, Lord Cedric?”
“Several, my lord. Too many for my peace of mind and dutiful conscience.”
“Really?” Brigham’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. As the points of his knuckles turned white, he raised a brow. “I find that difficult to believe as I have it on good authority she is pure.”
“God’s teeth,” Aurora muttered, squirming in her seat. Heat flooded her cheeks, then slid around to warm the nape of her neck. She didn’t know what was worse: having her uncle label her a murderous whore, or Brigham discuss her virtue with total disregard for her sensibilities.
“Lord Brigham, you are misinformed. But regardless of your misconceptions, the woman left my manor without permission. ’Tis an offense punishable by law. Surely you are not suggesting I am permitted no rights in regards to this?” Aiming for the win, her uncle dug in, a nasty gleam in his eyes. “As her protector, I am responsible for her behavior. The law is clear on this matter. Who are you to stand in my way?”
Brigham scowled. “Her betrothed.”
“Betrothed?” Her uncle’s mouth fell open. Snapping it shut, he whirled full circle and glared at her. “What nonsense is this?”
His outrage struck like a well-swung mace. The barbs sank in, tearing at her confidence, making her flinch deep inside. Aurora almost cringed. She caught herself at the last second. Weakness wouldn’t do. At the slightest hint of it, Lord Cedric would find a way to tear her apart.
Pushing to her feet, Aurora leveled her chin and met her uncle’s black rage head on. “’Tisn’t nonsense, Uncle. We were betrothed last eve.”
“The truth, girl,” her uncle said, too angry to care about Brigham’s reaction and what it might cost him.
Wide-eyed, Aurora panicked and glanced at Brigham for reassurance. One peek in his direction—that’s all it took for her to realize he couldn’t help her. Not right now. Rage had taken hold. She could see it in his eyes. Now he fought a losing battle of his own, one that involved keeping his hands from around Lord Cedric’s neck.
Dragging his gaze from Brigham, Eamon jumped into the fray. “’Tis no lie. They will be married by the Bishop of York on the morrow.”
“Impossible,” Lord Cedric snapped, his face turning a vivid shade of purple.
Eamon stepped around the desk. His ice-blue eyes narrowed on her uncle. “Do you call Lord Brigham a liar?”
Brigham’s nostrils flared. He leveled a lethal look on her uncle. “Well, do you?”
Realizing his peril, Lord Cedric paled. “Nay, but certainly…there has been some mistake. She is unsuitable, unstable, not at all fitting for a man of your station.”
“I decide who suits me, Lord Cedric. Do not make the mistake of thinking otherwise, least you reap the consequences.”
Her uncle curled his hands into fists. His nostrils thinned. “I am her guardian, Lord Brigham. I was not consulted, nor have I given my permission. She is in my care until I do. As such, I have the right to forbid this match.”
“You are foolish to believe you could forbid me anything. The only reason you live at this moment is because I’ve no wish to kill you in front of my betrothed bride. Leave now, do you wish to do so intact,” Brigham said with an icy calm that set Aurora’s teeth to chattering.
Lord Cedric’s upper lip curled. Cold fury in his eyes, he regarded Aurora from beneath his brows and pointed a finger in her direction. “You troublesome little bitch. Do not think you have heard the last—”
A snarl rolled across the room.
A second later, Brigham followed, vaulting across the chamber. Aurora gasped. Her uncle shouted. Without mercy, Brigham hammered her uncle in the chest and shoved him backward. Lord Cedric’s skull cracked against the stone wall. Sickening sound ricocheted, making her stomach dip as her brute went after him again. Lightning quick, Brigham grabbed her uncle by the throat, took hold of the finger he’d pointed at her with his free hand and…
Crack! Bone snapped.
Her uncle howled in pain.
Aurora winced. She lost her ability to breathe for a moment. Oh, cripes. Not good. It looked as though she would have a mess to clean up after all.
As the thought sank in, Eamon dragged her behind the desk. Walled behind a set of wide shoulders for the second time in one day, she covered her eyes with both hands, unable to watch the carnage, and waited. And waited…and then waited some more. When she didn’t hear any more bones snapping or cries of agony, she peeked between her fingers and…
Cringed.
Her brute still had Lord Cedric by the neck.
Teeth bared, Brigham leaned in, pinning him to the wall. But miracle of miracles, his fists weren’t flying. And no more bones were cracking, so…no question. She’d take the mild improvement. It could be a whole lot worse. Her uncle, after all, wasn’t dead.
Well, at least, not yet.
Dropping one hand from her eyes, she peered around Eamon. Her uncle moaned in agony. Aurora bit her bottom lip and took inventory. No blood flowed as far as she could tell. An excellent sign. She shuffled left and poked Eamon’s shoulder, wanting a better view. She earned a scowl for her trouble. Which in all probability meant he wanted her to stay where he’d put her.
Sweat pearling on his brow, Lord Cedric gasped for breath. “Lord Brigham…be civilized.”
“I am nowhere near civilized when it comes to my bride.” Nose-to-nose with her uncle, Brigham growled, then laid out his conditions. “You will leave Alvars and never return. Should you be found on any of my lands or attempt to contact your niece, your execution will be long and painful. You will never see Aurora again, so help you God, and you will relinquish control of her lands. All she owns now belongs to me, and I guard closely what is mine. Do you comprehend? Nod.”
The instant her uncle acquiesced, Brigham shoved him so hard he landed in an undignified heap in front of the door. Cradling his injured hand, her uncle struggled to his feet. Eamon seized him by the scruff of the neck, and with a jerk, dragged Lord Cedric through the open doorway and into the corridor beyond. Heart hammering, Aurora listened to Eamon’s footfalls fade and glanced at Brigham.
He stood motionless, a small muscle twitching along his jaw. Eyes almost as black as his tunic, he stared at her from across the chamber. A quiver traveled the length of her spine and out through the soles of her feet.
He was absolutely furious.
Aurora didn’t care.
Not wasting a moment, she dashed across the room and launched herself straight into her brute’s arms.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Resistance Is Futile
The instant Brigham’s arms closed around her, Aurora burrowed into his warmth and held on hard. Turning her head, she pressed her face to the base of his throat. His scent, full of woodsy delight, curled around her, cocooning her in heat, chasing the chills away, making her grip on him tighten. Strength. Solace. Acceptance. Brigham engendered them all. Relief mingled with awareness, then slid into tumultuous emotion. The backlash struck. Her battered defenses crumbled, cracking her wide open, making her quake from the inside out.
Raw. Broken. Beyond repair.
She was all three. And as she clung to Brigham, the tears she fought to hide rushed to the surface. Aurora couldn’t hold them back anymore. She’d spent a year trying and, for the most part, succeeding. But here…now…in the shelter of Brigham’s arms, she could no longer stem the tide, never mind fight the inevitable. She yearned to feel safe again. She wanted what he offered too much to push him away. Or pretend to be strong without him. Just once—if only for a little while—she needed someone else to carry the burden. So instead of turning away, she hung on tight, nestled closer, and let the tears fall.
A violent tremor racked her frame.
Brigham’s arms tightened around her. And wasn’t that a kicker? His warmth and support should’ve helped her gain control. It split her wide open instead. Now she bled from
the inside out, unable to stop the deluge, helpless in the face of desperation. Both hands fisted in his tunic, Aurora cried for all the times she’d been hurt, abandoned, and bruised. For her parents. For Misha. For the girl she’d been and no longer was—for everything she could think of and all the things she couldn’t—all the while struggling to close the gaping hole in her defenses.
All to no avail.
Pride in tatters, she surrendered it to Brigham. He accepted it all, big hands stroking circles on her back, molding her body against his, standing strong when she couldn’t. Resting his cheek atop her hair, he murmured and hugged her close. Warmed by his body and soothed by his voice, she leaned on him, craving the understanding he offered without hesitation. He gave, and she took until the last tear fell, leaving her drained and hiccupping, still burrowed in the comfortable curve of his shoulder.
Only after she stopped did she realize the significance of who held her…of who provided comfort in her moment of need. Reputed to be a monster, people called him cruel, accused him of being without conscience. Yet he’d tucked her against him, speaking nonsense while he settled her with a gentleness that brought more tears to her eyes. Who would have thought Brigham—a hardened warlord—capable of tenderness in the face of such idiocy? ’Twas remarkable. Insanity with a dash of the spectacular. As lovely as it was surprising.
The thought led to another and…
Aurora frowned as reality returned in a blinding flash.
Good lord, Brigham must think her a complete ninny. She couldn’t blame him for believing it either. Not when she agreed with the assessment. She’d lost all control, leaning on him instead of herself. A big change. An unprecedented shift from the norm, one that lit a fire under chagrin. As she burned with embarrassment, feeling her cheeks heat and her heart pound, Aurora flipped through possible escape routes. She needed one. Faster than fast.
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