by E. B. Brown
The interlude broke with the crash of the door flung open against the wall. Reinn stalked into the room, unkempt from his day of labor and his eyes glaring for a fight. Filthy from head to boot and boasting the stink of the docks about him, he immediately strode to Benjamin and grabbed him by the collar.
“Ye think ye can walk in here and take what’s mine?” Reinn shouted. Reinn made valiant effort to lift Benjamin off his feet, but Benjamin was comparable in height if not in width and it was a task Reinn could not accomplish. Instead, Reinn shoved Benjamin away from the table, and as Benjamin recovered his balance, Reinn drew his knife.
“I’ll take what I need, and you’ll abide!” Benjamin snapped in retort. Agnarr stood up, the grin on his face amused.
“Come now, we can discuss this–” Agnarr said, raising his mug to his lips. He looked to egg them on rather than stop them, and his gesture did nothing to calm the tempers ablaze.
“Nay! I’ll not let this lie, Agnarr! We shoulda kilt this stranger from the start, be damned his magic blood or not!”
Benjamin pounced while Reinn was distracted, tackling Reinn to the floor at the base of the meal table. The floor shuddered beneath her feet as the men hit the ground, and she stepped back to give them room as they pummeled each other. Neither had the clear upper hand, and it was after watching them thrash for a few moments that Agnarr finally stepped in.
“Enough!” Agnarr shouted. Agnarr grabbed the back of Reinn’s collar and thrust him aside, then offered a hand to Benjamin. Benjamin stood up yet did not take Agnarr’s assistance, but Reinn saw the motion and uttered a slew of oaths.
“I’ve been at yer side since we were lads. And this is what I get?” Reinn demanded, turning his anger on Agnarr.
Jora held her breath as Agnarr went very still. His amused grin faded, replaced by terse slanted lips stretched thin across his face. Reinn rarely challenged Agnarr, and when he did, it never turned out well for anyone.
“Reinn, we will speak outside. Jora, clean up this mess,” Agnarr said evenly. Jora obeyed immediately, letting her breath out in one long sigh when the two men left the house.
Benjamin dropped down onto a stool. His face was pale beneath the flush of his scarlet cheeks, and he slumped a bit to dab tentatively at his face. Blood trickled down his brow from a jagged laceration over his eye.
“Here. Be still,” she muttered. She grabbed a cloth from the table and moistened it with whiskey, then wrung it out before she leaned over him. He winced when she blotted at the wound on his head.
“Thank ye,” he muttered.
“Yer welcome,” she replied. The wound was not deep and the bleeding slowed with little intervention. “Ye might need a stitch. I can mend it, just stay there.”
“Nay. Leave it,” he said. She felt the press of his knee against the juncture of her thighs through her skirts as she worked to tend him, and suddenly his nearness caused a flush to rise over her skin like a wave. His eyes were level with her breasts, and as she swallowed hard she realized that her shift was gaping at a very inappropriate spot. She was about to step away when she felt his hand on her waist. It was not demanding, nor firm, only a gentle pressure as if to steady her, but it set her heart into a race so fast she thought surely he could see it pulsing in her chest.
She looked slowly down at him. Blazing blue eyes softened, and for a moment she was captured by his gaze. His lips parted and his eyes flickered from her breasts to her mouth, and then back to her eyes.
Oh, my, she thought. His stare sent a bolt of ache into her belly, a throb unlike she had ever known. She uttered a low cry when his mouth covered hers, feeling the rush of desire as he gathered her in his arms.
He was insistent, urgent, and then his lips left her mouth to trail down her neck. When she arched her back to the delicious sensation, the hand on her waist tightened, and suddenly she was pulled firmly against him between his spread knees. Her body molded into his as if it was meant to rest there, and when his finger clenched over her buttock she could felt the hardness of his arousal against her belly.
She knew she should object. Already she had slapped him for such bold behavior. Yet at the same time she did not want his touch to ever stop, nor his hands to leave her, or his lips to abandon her flesh. She tried to remind herself of the greater goal, of securing a better life for herself, a life free of Agnarr’s stranglehold and a life free from the abusive Reinn. If she gave everything to him with no assurance of safe haven, where would that leave her?
The reminder fell lost as his mouth explored her flesh. When she twisted in his arms he let out a strangled groan, then lifted her swiftly onto the table behind her with one motion. She heard meal fixings clutter to the ground, saw a jug of ale topple to the floor, but she could think of nothing other than to help him as he tried to gain access inside her shift.
He laid her back upon the table, and his hand slid up her thigh beneath her skirts. She closed her eyes when he kissed her, her breath coming in jagged gasps as his lips darted over her skin.
“What are ye to Agnarr?” he murmured between kisses. His hips fit against hers, and he drew her back up with one hand to access her cleavage. He plucked at the strings of her bodice, and as the meaning of his words hit her she felt a wave of ice wash over her heart.
“What do ye mean?” she whispered. She stiffened to his touch but he seemed not to notice, too caught up in freeing her from her clothing.
“Has he tired of ye? Is that why he marries ye off?”
The pleasure she enjoyed from his attention faded. So he thought she shared Agnarr’s bed. Did Benjamin think she would share his, as well, without a promise of marriage?
“Did he offer ye my hand?” she asked, allowing him to caress her breast with his calloused fingers. She closed her eyes when his mouth slid down to the hollow of her throat, a moan escaping her lips despite her anger.
“Aye. I gave him no answer…yet,” he replied.
She shoved him with both hands at the revelation, sending him sprawling upright as she clutched her shift back into decency. He shook his head as if stunned, as if he had no idea why she might refuse his attentions at that moment.
“If ye think I’ll bed ye without a promise to wed, you are surely a fool,” she said. Her body trembled but her words were even as she glared at him.
He stepped back as if to leave, but then changed his course and strode back to her. When she raised a hand to hit him he deflected it, easily catching her wrist and bending it to her side. He kissed her then, hard and unyielding, much different than the needful way he had stroked her before, and she shrank back away from his touch this time.
“If ye don’t wish to be bedded, then stop flouting yerself at me. I’m no gentleman, lass, and best ye remember that,” he growled. When he loosened his grip she twisted away from him and tried to recover her breath.
She did not know if she was more sickened at herself for her deception and lies, or for her wanton behavior with the stranger in front of her. Yes, he assured her he was not a good man, and by all means his behavior lent credence to his claim. Yet she had seen inside his soul, to the deepest parts where he shielded his heart, and although she could not breech all his past yet she saw enough to know some truth of him.
For some reason, he lied. He held great regret, and had suffered some deep pain she could not fathom, so much so that he even thought of himself as a fallen man. But she saw that one drop of redemption in him, a trickle she knew could turn into a pool if he would forgive himself for his past. No, he was no gentleman, but he was no rogue, either.
“I didna flout myself. I helped ye. And if this is how ye repay my favor, then perhaps I am better off with Reinn!” she shouted.
As he fastened the buttons of his shirt, the edge of his mouth twisted into a wry grin.
“Oh, aye. I call yer bluff on that, lass. If that’s what ye wanted, ye wouldna gone to Agnarr with yer offer,” he chuckled. She uttered a squeal and picked up the nearest object she could find, a heavy st
one bowl, and threw it at his head. He continued to laugh as he deflected it, coming toward her with his hands up when she bent to find another missile.
“Well, I rescind the offer! Stay here alone and rot, for what I care!” she shrieked.
“Did I miss something here? I thought I took the fight outside?”
She dropped the bowl in her hands and it landed with a thud on the plank floor. Agnarr stood in the doorway, a bemused but wary expression on his face.
Before she could respond, Benjamin put a hand on Agnarr’s arm and nodded outside.
“I’ll have words with ye now, Agnarr. I have terms of my own to close this deal,” he said.
Jora watched, stunned, as they left together.
He was considering the offer. She could be Benjamin’s wife instead of Reinn’s.
She sat down hard on the stool Benjamin had vacated.
CHAPTER 12
Benjamin
BENJAMIN BUSIED HIMSELF as he had every other afternoon in the last week at Wakehill. Avoiding time alone with Jora and listening to every tidbit that Agnarr tossed his way seemed an admirable plan. The last thing he needed was to get into another uncomfortable situation with the woman, especially since he had not given Agnarr a final answer on his offer to wed the lass.
Agnarr required more of him than he meant to give. For a bride price he asked for the title to Benjamin’s head-right property. Although Benjamin had not given his ownership of the land any consideration since before the Massacre, it now seemed it was a powerful bargaining chip to a man whose secrets he meant to reveal. Moving away out from under Agnarr’s observant thumb would lead to a much more comfortable existence, yet the only way he could accomplish that while appearing loyal to the man was to wed Jora. She was the only way to get off Wakehill plantation without arousing suspicion, yet was she worth the price of his land? He was still not certain.
While Agnarr went over expense ledgers, Reinn gave him report on the tobacco trade at the docks. Agnarr placed his silver letter opener aside with two dainty fingers, rubbing it clean before he placed it on the velvet ledger book and gave Reinn his attention. Agnarr was the only tobacco inspector approved by the Crown in Elizabeth City, and thus, his favor was sought by every planter in town. In addition, Agnarr owned most of the docks that major traders used, and his shipping warehouses were the largest in the city. The man had quite a hold on commerce in the town, and there were few that dared cross him. Benjamin heard murmurs among the men of the unfortunates that questioned Agnarr’s authority. Even the English militia scurried to his call.
“Reinn, have the horses readied. I shall take a ride to Martin’s Hundred today to see my new property,” Agnarr announced, ending his ledger entry with a flourish. He carefully tucked the quill back into the inkwell, then crossed his hands over his taut belly as he sat back in his chair.
Benjamin pretended to be engrossed in his own ledger assignment as Reinn approached Agnarr’s desk. Reinn’s demeanor was nothing near polite, and Benjamin was well aware that last time Reinn challenged Agnarr it did not fare well.
Reinn leaned over on the desk, placing his hands shoulder width apart as he surveyed Agnarr.
“Today we must do that? He hasna given ye the property yet, and ye shouldna waste time without his word. Maybe he willna marry the lass after all–”
Agnarr rose up so swiftly Benjamin could not see the strike, but suddenly Reinn howled like a man afire and collapsed down on one knee. His hand seemed stuck to the ledger, and as the man knelt down in pain Benjamin could see why.
Agnarr stood above him, a blond curl uncharacteristically out of place across his temple, his fist curled around the letter opener which now impaled Reinn’s hand to the ledger. Agnarr shook his head and took a step back, then sighed as he straightened his silk vest. He tucked the wayward curl carefully back behind his ear, and then he turned his attention back to the man writhing on the floor in front of his desk.
“You were saying, Reinn?” he quipped. He peered over the desk and deftly removed the letter opener with one swipe. Reinn staggered to his feet, clutching his bleeding hand.
“I’ll ready the horses,” Reinn choked out.
Reinn scurried out of the room and Agnarr finally looked at Benjamin.
“So ye’ll stay here at Wakehill. Canna leave our Jora alone, now, can we?” Agnarr said causally.
Benjamin nodded.
“Of course. We canna have the lass left alone.”
Agnarr patted him on the shoulder as he went by, and Benjamin let out a sigh of relief.
More proof that Agnarr was not a man to cross. What on God’s earth had he gotten himself into?
*****
“So they left ye here to watch me?” Benjamin commented. He was acutely aware of being alone with Jora all afternoon, as much as he wished to deny it. He kept his eyes downcast, focusing on the book resting on his knees. He heard the telltale creak of the wood as he leaned back in the chair so he let it return flat to the floor. Nothing in the cottage seemed adequate enough for a man of his size, with even the doorways so short he needed to duck through them or risk bashing his brain. He had suffered a head injury in the past and was not eager to experience it again.
He frowned and from the corner of his eye he noticed Jora approach. She probably thought his dismay was directed at her, as usual, but it was not what bothered him. As she leaned over his shoulder he caught a hint of her scent–skin scrubbed fresh with a cake of violet soap–and he swallowed hard. Damn it, he wanted her there. And if he wanted her there, then it meant perhaps death might be less attractive to him.
“He knows ye won’t run. He trusts ye. At least for that,” she retorted. “As for the rest of it, well, ye’ll have to prove yer word.”
He glanced slightly up from the book. He had not read a single word since she entered the room.
“Oh, aye? And what word do I still need to prove? That I will stand by him…or that I want ye?” he replied.
They had played the game for days, but he was determined to see it through. With all of the powers she possessed, Jora was difficult, but not impossible to challenge. He had some strength of mind of his own and he knew she could not glean everything she wished to know from him. Even the few times they touched she could not see through all the barricades in his heart, and for that he was glad. But he would be damned if he let a slip of a woman ruin his plans to protect his family. Marrying her would get him into town, out from under Agnarr’s thumb, and in the best position to watch over his kin.
“Yer a liar,” she snapped. “You gave him no answer. If ye wanted me, ye’d tell him by now.” She turned abruptly away and stomped off to the hearth when he continued to study the book. He tilted his head enough to see her flushed cheeks. She threw some dry kindling onto the fire and then began to poke the logs with a stick, stabbing them as if she pictured him there instead of the wood.
Did it upset her, thinking he was using her? He could think of no other reason for her behavior, but the realization startled him. Underneath her confident disguise he had seen an undercurrent of fear, of a woman with very few options. Perhaps this game they played bothered her more than she wished to admit.
He closed the book and placed it on the table, then approached her. Her back straightened, and his heavy footsteps seemed louder than the crackle of the fire. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and slowly increased the pressure, pulling her back against his chest. She felt rigid in is hands until he bent his head to her ear, and it was then that he felt her tremble.
“He asks a steep price for yer hand. I am a man of limited means,” he murmured.
She let out a sharp sigh.
“Am I not worth a few acres of land?” she whispered.
“Oh, aye, lass. I think ye are. I do want ye,” he said softly, brushing her hair with his lips as he spoke. She let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know why ye lie. But God help me, if I must marry, then I would have ye. I have no other choice that’s decent,�
� she whispered.
So she had thought things over, and decided he was still her best option. Clever. Crafty. Well, it would make things better for both of them if she was more willing. He certainly had not relished the thought of seducing her, after their disastrous last encounter, so he was relieved she changed her tactic. He turned her around to face him.
“Is that so?” he asked. Her skin was flushed scarlet as if the heat of the flame had scorched her cheeks, and her tawny eyes were round and wide. She nodded as she bit down on her lower lip.
“Yes. I will have ye,” she whispered.
His chest tightened at her words, and his breath caught fast. Suddenly his plan was forgotten and all he could see was her white teeth biting down on her pink lip. Losing his thought, he slipped his fingers up into her hair and tilted her head back as he covered her mouth with his. He was stunned when she responded eagerly, meeting his kiss and matching his increasing desire.
He should discover what her game she played, or demand to know why she seemed to want him. He should hold her away and insist on an answer. He should stop kissing her.
But he did not want to.
She clutched his shirt with a closed fist and drew him down with the other, bringing him to her level where she could reach him. He groaned when she twisted her fingers in his hair and her plump breasts brushed against his chest.
“Here,” he said. He bent and swept her into his arms, kissing her as he brought her into his room. He let her slide to the ground as he kicked the door closed, and closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself when she unfastened his shirt.
Her motions seemed practiced, but her fingers shook. He released her gown and pulled it down over her shoulders until it fell into a heap at her feet. She pulled away from his kiss then and paused, her chest heaving as she stood in his arms in only her thin shift.