Brigham frowned. It wasn’t logical to his way of thinking. Every woman knew that when her man strapped on his armor and picked up a sword, death and destruction followed. But then, knowing something and seeing it firsthand were two very different things. Aye, that must be it. She didn’t need to come face to face with the realities of his life to know they existed. He wouldn’t have her worry without cause.
He would, at least, spare her that.
Realizing he sat in the middle of the clearing staring into space, Brigham scowled and got back to the matter at hand. He scanned the carnage. Finding his quarry on the second pass, he yelled for Nigel and Tobias. He wanted the guards to join him. His men must be made aware of the threat. If naught else, the attack on his guard had brought one thing into sharp focus…Lord Cedric of Garard needed to be watched. The man was too smart by half, and if he was responsible for the ambush, it meant he not only sought to retrieve his niece, but didn’t care whether she lived upon delivery. What the bastard thought to accomplish was not yet clear. But he would defend his vixen at all costs. No chances would be taken with her safety.
Nerves getting the better of her, Aurora squirmed in her perch. Rough bark grabbed at her skirt, tugging at the threads, marring the smooth fabric. She didn’t care. The gown be damned. Her cloak too. She couldn’t stay still an instant longer. She wanted to climb down. Leap to the ground. Scream in frustration until birds complained and Brigham returned.
Too bad she couldn’t do any of it. But…
She chewed on her bottom lip. God help her. Where the devil was he? Dead in a ditch. Face down on the ground. Heart pierced by an enemy’s blade. The images flashed in her mind’s eye. Pressure banded around her chest, closing her throat. Aurora shook her head. No crying allowed. No pounding on the tree trunk either. She must hold the line—have faith in Brigham, but…damnation. If he didn’t return soon, she would go daft.
Aye, indeed. Stark raving mad.
Although, mayhap she was already there…well on her way to lunacy. She’d headed in that direction the instant the faint sounds of battle ceased. ’Twas quiet now. So quiet she heard nothing but the maddening beat of her own heart. The fact the thump-thump meant she was alive did naught to comfort her. Inhaling deep, Aurora exhaled slow. She repeated the process—in, out…again and again—in an effort to calm down. Nothing good came from panic. She needed to remain alert, able to act quickly if the need arose. If push came to shove, she might be forced to defend herself.
A distinct possibility, considering she sat alone in a tree. No rescue in sight.
“Please God, be merciful.” Tucking her mantle beneath her chin, she fought another round of shivers. Fat lot of good it did her. The cold wasn’t airborne. It came from deep inside, freezing her heart solid, making it difficult to draw a full breath. “Please keep him safe. Bring him back hale and whole…so, at the very least, I may have the opportunity to murder him myself.”
The threat hung in the air, and…
Aurora frowned. What do you know? A bit odd, but talking to herself actually helped. The sound of her own voice soothed her, smoothing out the jitters, calming the chaotic thump of her heart, allowing her a moment’s respite…and a second to think.
All good things. Particularly when trying to put together an escape plan.
“‘Tis more than any sane woman ought to bear,” she muttered, continuing with the pep talk. “The brutish, unfeeling clod. If he does come back, I will do more than murder him, I will—”
“Aurora?”
She flinched and, wobbling on her perch, nearly fell out of the tree. “Brigham?”
“Aye, little heart, ’tis me. Come down.”
“Thank you, God,” she whispered, sliding from her roost.
Quick hands and sure feet took her down toward her husband. Reaching the lowest limb, she pushed a thin branch aside and…well, he certainly looked fit enough. Relief slammed home. Irritation shoved it out of the way as worry took a nasty turn into anger. The big brute. He seemed far too well for a man who’d tossed her into a tree only to charge off into battle.
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Where the devil have you been?”
Brigham scowled at her. “Get down here.”
Aurora grumbled, but complied. Gripping the branch with her arms, she swung her feet free and lowered herself toward him. His hands slid over her ankles. She let go, confident he would catch her. She landed in his lap, turned to face him and…sucked in a quick breath. Alarm roared through her. She ran her hands over him, searching for an injury.
Brigham dodged her attempt. “Aurora, what are you—”
“Where are you hurt?” With quick hands, she tunneled through his hair, examining his head. “Dear God, Brigham, where…you’re covered in blood.”
His brows snapped together. An instant later, Brigham clasped her wrists, staring at her as though she’d lost her mind. She didn’t care and, concern overriding reason, tried to tug her hands away. “Let go. Tell me where you are bleeding. What—”
“’Tisn’t mine.”
“What?” Beyond concerned for him, Aurora fought his hold. “What isn’t—”
“The blood, Aurora. ’Tis not mine.”
“You are unhurt?”
“I am fine.” His mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “You were worried for me?”
She blinked. His smile widened into a true grin. Aurora frowned, the sudden urge to bash him for his cockiness taking hold. God give her strength. His audacity knew no bounds. Why that irked her, she had no idea. Smile or nay, she should be happy to see him. She’d just spent the better part of an hour worrying about him, after all. So aye. No doubt about it. Maiming him at the moment seemed somewhat counterproductive. And yet, as she met his gaze, the need to wind up and whack him clung like a bad smell.
For more reasons than one.
Not the least of which revolved around the fact she’d let the cat out of the bag. Her actions—along with her worry for him—told the tale, packing a powerful punch. Brigham had somehow snuck past her guard, making her feel too much and want even more. Ill-advised. Dangerous. Confusing too…for all of a sudden, she didn’t want to deny it. Even though she should. Men like Brigham enjoyed power and liked the upper hand. Her feelings for him—and the vulnerability that went with it—signaled serious weakness. One he would exploit if she divulged the truth.
But a promise made was a promise kept.
How often had she said that? Too many times to ignore. So nay…no backing away. She must begin as she meant to go on. Which meant caution didn’t belong in the equation. The truth held sway, demanding equal measure and an honest course of action.
Drawing a fortifying breath, she pressed her cheek to his. “Aye, I was worried. Are you sure you are well?” When he nodded, she leaned away and met his gaze. “And Nate, Brigham? Is he also fine?”
Dipping his head, he kissed her softly. As she shivered in reaction, he drew away, glanced over his shoulder, and raised a brow.
“He is well, my lady.”
The deep voice made her flinch. The implications made her cringe. Off all the rotten luck, they weren’t alone. Gripping Brigham’s tunic, she leaned left and…ah, yes. Nigel and Tobais, the dynamic duo instructed follow her around. Wonderful. Just lovely. Nothing like making an idiot out of herself in front of Brigham’s men. Aurora sighed. Blast and damn, how embarrassing.
She drilled Brigham with a look. “You might have warned me they were there, my lord.”
“Why?” he asked, smiling like a rascal.
“Because I would have liked to know, that’s why.” Aurora pursed her lips, then muttered just loud enough for him to hear. “Honestly, Brigham. You and your antics would drive a saint to drink.”
“Then you are fortunate, little heart. Your activities with me today have more than proven you are no saint,” he said in her ear, shifting in the saddle.
His erection rubbed against the side of her hip.
Heat exploded across her face. God help
her. The brute had no shame.
He chuckled—no doubt enjoying his clever comeback—and nipped her with the sharp edge of his teeth. His whiskers grazed her skin. Prickles of pleasure raced down her spine as he drew away, the devil in his eyes. Aurora swallowed an unwise retort, stifling the impulse to return his quip with one of her own. It was rather difficult, after all, to defend her dignity with her foot planted squarely in her mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Homeward Bound
Shifting in the saddle, Brigham adjusted his hold on Aurora. Seated sideways in his lap, she grumbled, protesting the jostle, turning into him instead of away. Eyes closed, shoulder pressed into his chest and head beneath his chin, she shivered in his arms. Her slender form and slight weight made his heart pound and his conscience pang. Christ, he hated her discomfort. She should be fed and well-housed by now…safe and warm inside Mornay Castle instead of prey to the elements, but— “How much farther?” Aurora moaned, her teeth chattering.
“Not much.”
She grimaced, then scoffed, the sound one of disbelief.
Brigham’s lips twitched. “Truly, little heart. We’ll be home for supper.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, tone full of skepticism. Brigham gritted his teeth, determined not to smile. The moment he did, she would skewer him…with whatever weapon happened to be in easy reach. God’s truth. No word of a lie. Her sense of humor lay in tatters, propelling her past civil into homicidal. Cracking one eye open, she glared at him. “Did you not tell me the very same thing yesterday?”
“I lied.”
“The saints preserve me…I need a club.”
He huffed, fighting a losing battle with amusement. “Why?”
She sighed and lifted her cheek from his chest. “So I may bash you over the head with it.”
Brigham snorted in laughter. He couldn’t help it. She was so damned adorable. He loved her temper even as he lamented the reason she unleashed it. Completely his fault. He deserved her anger…along with the threats. He’d set a grueling pace after the attack. Leaving the wagons in a nearby village, he’d instructed his men to take only what they needed to survive and made for Mornay. The weather had remained fair and the moon bright, allowing them to ride from sunup to well past sundown for the last three days.
He pushed her too hard. Brigham knew it, but could find no way around the necessity. His need to get her home safely trumped all else…her comfort included. Now, though, he worried about the condition she would be in upon arrival. His guard was used to the pace he set. Aurora was not. Though an accomplished rider, her expertise lay in fast sprints and short trips, not riding hard every day—all day—and getting very little sleep at night.
Oh, she’d done her best, fighting to conceal her condition. But exhaustion couldn’t be denied. Despite her efforts, it had overtaken her this morrow when she’d mounted her mare, lost her seat, and slid off the other side. Straight into his lap. Not that she’d liked it or agreed—not at first anyway, but…
Her pride be damned.
He refused to watch her struggle. Or leave room for her to take a tumble. Nay. Not while he breathed. He’d vowed to protect her. And so he would…even while she threatened him with bodily injury. He grinned. Wee spitfire. She suited him to a T, all while making him laugh. A rarity. One he appreciated. How could he not? The way she coped with her frustration pleased him to no end. ’Twas much better than the alternative…praise God. He wouldn’t have known what to do—how to handle her—if she’d resorted to tears instead of mock violence.
He ought to apologize. For pushing her too hard. For causing her discomfort. For laughing at her. But he wouldn’t—not while danger nipped at their heels. Her safety—and that of his men—meant too much for him ever to relent. Besides, if he eased up he would lose out—deprive his vixen of her sport and himself of her inventive threats. He enjoyed them too much. In truth, he‘d begun encouraging her when he realized the only thing keeping her from the tears he so dreaded was her preoccupation with his untimely demise…and finding the words to tell him how she intended to see it accomplished.
Aurora frowned as Brigham’s arms tightened around her. Holding her close, skilled hands at the reins, he put his heels to his warhorse’s flanks. The black obeyed and, lengthening his stride, moved from trot to gallop. The increased pace jostled her…again. She cringed, then muttered, threatening Brigham with an axe. He grinned against the top of her head, no doubt believing she bluffed. She growled another threat. He chuckled and…
If only he knew.
She meant every word. And if she weren’t so blasted tired, she would find the strength to bash him with the club she fantasized about hitting him with every other moment.
The brute was inhuman, the devil’s kin. Surely that was the only reason he rode like a demon, slept not at all, and still seemed as fit as ever while she looked as though she’d been trampled by a hundred horses. And felt it too. Indulging in another dark thought—one in which she smothered him in his sleep—she nestled closer to Brigham, desperate to find a more comfortable position.
A futile effort at best. Any hope of comfort had expired two days ago.
God’s teeth, she hoped Brigham hadn’t lied again and Mornay Castle lay within reach. Another night in the woods would kill her. She was certain of it. Was hurting…everywhere. And even though she borrowed Brigham’s warmth, she shivered with the cold, teeth chattering, bones aching, muscles beyond sore. ’Twas the truth, her condition neared desperate, and were her brain in proper working order, she would’ve sworn she hallucinated—seeing tubs full of hot water and soft feather mattresses everywhere she looked.
Nate fared no better. Had her condition not been so pathetic, Aurora might have laughed at his effort to keep his seat, clinging to the soldier he rode behind with more desperation than strength. A green cast to his face, he winced each time his bottom connected with the saddle.
Pitiful…the both of them.
Her eyes drifted closed again. Another shiver rolled through her. She pressed closer, burrowing into Brigham and under his mantle to borrow more of his heat.
His arms tightened around her. “Aye, little heart, sleep. Soon you will have—”
“If you mention anything about feather mattresses, I will kill you,” Aurora said, her voice so weak the threat held no weight. “Slowly…in your sleep.”
Brigham chuckled.
Her mouth curved in response. As vexed as he made her, she couldn’t help it. Aurora liked that she made him laugh, even if his sense of humor was bent and sadly out of use. He was too serious by half. Joyless in some respects. Brutal in almost all. Sad, really. But then, he lived the life of a warrior, one she suspected allowed little room for laughter.
Held firm by the thought, Aurora tried to do as Brigham asked. She dozed on and off, but couldn’t seem to get her legs arranged comfortably. Or her head propped at the right angle. Grumbling under her breath about brutes and their lack of compassion, she adjusted and readjusted her position so many times she lost count. Until exhaustion finally claimed her, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Aurora, wake up.”
Moaning in protest, Aurora swatted at the hand shaking her.
“Wake up, little heart,” Brigham murmured, his mouth pressed to her ear. “You have slept the afternoon away, loving. ’Tis time to wake up now.”
“Nay, go away.”
He jostled harder. “Come, Aurora, I want you to view it from here.”
“What?” she asked, more grump than growl in her tone.
“Open your eyes and see. We’re home.”
“Home?” Her mind working under delay, Aurora blinked. Struggling to clear away the last remnants of sleep, she squinted up at Brigham. “Wh-what…home? We’re home?”
“Aye, little heart…home. Look and see.”
Rubbing her eyes, Aurora stretched. Brigham reared, dodging her arms and elbows. With a huff, she hugged herself, sat up and turned in the direction he pointed. Her eye
s widened. An instant later, her mouth fell open. Good lord. She hadn’t expected, well…
Anything so spectacular. Or beautiful. The splendor of the valley took her breath away.
Literally.
A lump lodged in her throat, she gazed over the expanse of wood, marsh and rich farmland before her eyes lit on the castle proper. A magnificent structure, the keep sat in the middle of the vale, dominating the landscape even as it embraced it. The outer wall rose in an impressive sweep. Gray stone intersected with corner turrets and square towers, traveling down to meet a wide moat. Murky blue depths swam around the base of the fortress, then reached out to connect with the marshlands beyond.
Incredible. A sight to behold and fear…despite its beauty.
The fortress might look picture perfect, but the double gatehouse—and the huge drawbridge leading up to it—told the real tale. Strong. Well-guarded. Impenetrable. A fire-breathing dragon made manifest with stone, water, and wood.
“Mornay Castle?”
Brigham nodded. Gaze riveted on her face, he watched her look over his estate. “What think you of your new home, Aurora?”
What did she think? Aurora swallowed, struggling to find her voice. She didn’t know exactly. Wasn’t sure what to think, never mind feel. Her throat closed, the knowledge of what she’d married into hitting her chest level. Stupid. Completely witless, but…dear lord in heaven. It was too much. Beyond the pale. She hadn’t understood at all…should have realized sooner. Brigham was a powerful baron. Was no doubt wealthy and well situated, but…
She had never expected anything like this.
Aurora shook her head, realization striking at her heart. He could have wed anyone of his choosing—a great heiress, an incredible beauty—and made strong alliances with powerful families. Instead, he’d married her. Her—a girl of no consequence and little wealth, whose family would bring him more trouble than good. All of a sudden, she felt wholly inadequate.
“My lord, ’tis magnificent, truly…wondrous. I never…”
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