by Bambi Lynn
"I have a child?"
His whisper was so soft she almost could not hear him. "If not for Mrs. Dingwell…" She dropped her gaze. She had to be careful. Kenna had a soft spot for Ty's housekeeper, and although she had never seen the two of them together, she suspected the old woman had her own fears of the master. Morna Dingwell had been a bitter enemy of the Mackintosh and anyone associated with him for the whole of her life. Yet, after Ty's abuse left Kenna on death's threshold, she had cared for her, healed her and accepted her into the family. Mrs. Dingwell had been the one to pull her down from that turret time after time.
She had been there when Isla was born, coaxing the lassie out when the babe seemed undecided on when to make her entrance into the world. She had been so frail, Mrs. Dingwell had held her in one hand. She was a master healer. Isla had thrived from the beginning. Yet at the age of four, she looked barely big enough to walk on her own.
"I have a child," he said again.
Kenna pulled off his boot and let it drop to the floor. She nodded, taking his other in her hands. Dragging it off, she dropped it next to the first. She straightened and stepped away from him, out of reach.
She jumped when he shot to his feet, but stood her ground. He paced the room, staring off toward the ceiling and removing his clothes as he did so.
Kenna watched him, wary as a rabbit with a hawk circling overhead. He peeled off his shirt, so dirty and tattered it would go straight to the refuse heap. She swallowed at the sight of his naked chest, thick and covered with a light sprinkling of dark hair. He hopped on one foot to remove the trews he had worn for riding. The more he took off, the more she gawked. War suited him. He had grown powerful, lethal. But instead of being repelled, Kenna found herself drawn to him.
He seemed to come back to himself when he discovered he was standing naked in the middle of his room. He lifted one arm, ducked his head and sniffed. "I smell powerful strong, don' ye ken?" He wrinkled his nose and grinned at her. "I'll be needin' a bath. I willna meet me daughter in this state."
***
Ian sat chest deep in a tub of tepid water in the center of the earl's bedchamber. He had fought alongside Ty Vass for three years before an English archer had pierced the earl through the throat with an arrow from three hundred paces. He had not died right away. The mayhem of battle had left him lying in the muck created by torrential rain and the blood soaked field. Ian had broken off the feathered end and pulled out the arrow, but instead of making things better, blood had gushed out the hole faster than he could mop it up.
With his own leg injured, possibly broken, Ian had looked around for assistance. His fellow Scots ignored the casualties as the battle raged on. Many stood on corpses as they fought. It could be hours before anyone came around to collect the dead.
Ian lay there, the desolation he had known all his life fled as he awaited death. Finally, he would belong somewhere. Heaven or Hell, he would have a place to call home. He had grown up on the streets of Edinburgh, orphaned so young he did not even know his family name. He was just Ian.
He had jumped at the chance to fight against the hated English. The army would provide the home, the security, Ian had always longed for. His fellow soldiers were the family he never had.
He been assigned to Earl Vass' retinue right from the beginning. They had fought first at Lussac, then a series of skirmishes that led them to Poitiers. The man was a terrible leader, provoking as much bitterness and resentment from his own men as he would from his enemies.
He struck anyone he deemed weaker, and for the slightest offense. In Ian's experience, folks dinna much care for that. He had learned early on the benefit of an easy smile, a kind word. He could teach Ty Vass a thing or two about how to get people to do what you want.
That did not mean he could not fight. Ian could make anything into a lethal weapon if he needed one. He had made many friends among the people of Edinburgh, learning everything anyone was willing to teach him.
Earl Vass had left him alone for the most part. Ian had to demonstrate his skills right away at Lussac. No doubt, Vass recognized a superior rival.
But there was more.
The uncanny resemblance between Ian and Earl Vass undoubtedly raised the hackles on more than one of his comrades. Highlanders were a suspicious lot. Vass kept clear of Ian, often sending him off to sudden death. But Ian always returned unscathed, ready to fight another day.
Ty Vass had suffered an agonizing death. From what Ian knew of the man, it was no less than he deserved. He took pleasure is the suffering of others, inflicting it himself whenever possible. He mistreated everyone. Even his own men hated him.
Ian had looked over at his nemesis. It was like seeing his own reflection in a pool of clear water. Distorted, sometimes unrecognizable, but the same nonetheless. Hair the color of pitch, eyes as green as the emerald isle, their sheer size. They both stood a head taller than the other men they fought alongside, broad through the shoulders and thick-chested. Either of them could pass for the other -
Ian had caught his breath. He let all other thoughts drift away, making room for the kernel sprouting in his mind. He let it spread and grow until it became a picture in his head, all the pieces swirling into place.
He flipped over onto his stomach, propped on his elbows but keeping his head low. The battle had moved on. He was alone among the dead or dying. He glanced around, squirming from one side to the other surveying the area, searching for witnesses. Satisfied that he was virtually alone, Ian wasted no more time stripping off his own clothes and replacing them with those of Earl Vass.
It took a long time and inflicted no end of torture on his injured leg, but Ian was nothing if not persistent. He was clever enough to figure out how to get what he wanted and determined enough to see it though, even if he had to suffer a little along the way.
With agonizing discomfort, he pushed to his feet, rising like a phoenix, reborn as Ty Vass, Earl of Castle Vass and laird to its inhabitants.
He started when the door opened, drawn from his reverie by his wife as she entered his bed chamber and crossed to the table set beneath the window. She carried a tray which she set down without looking at him. She went to the wardrobe and busied herself digging through whatever was inside.
He flipped the patch down over his left eye and watched her with the other. God, she was lovely. She had changed while she'd been out. The tight fitting smock she had been wearing when he arrived was gone, replaced with a loose, earth-colored…sack. Her luxurious hair had been pulled taut into a bun and pinned at the nape of her neck. It gave him a headache just to look at it.
He smiled. She could try as much as she liked to make herself unattractive, but it would not work. Even if he had not seen her, he had kissed her, and the rush of desire to his groin had been enough to make him want more. Soon enough he would have her naked, all that hair spread out on the bed clothes around her. She would not be able to hide her allure from him then.
He waited until she turned back to him, her arms laden with clothes, then emerged from the tub without warning.
She squealed, dropping the clothes to the floor and her gaze to his naked body. Her eyes locked on his engorged cock. They widened in fear. She covered her mouth with both hands and glanced at the door behind him. No way to escape.
He actually felt sorry for scaring her. She, more than anyone, must have suffered greatly at the hands of her husband.
His hands, he had to remind himself.
It doesna matter, he thought. The old earl is gone, the new one fair and capable. It would take time for them to see him as anything other than a tyrant, but time was something he had plenty of.
He gave her his most reassuring smile as he stepped out of the tub. She lowered her hands, refusing to cower before him, but continued to look as if she might dart out of reach at the slightest sign of violence.
He had to admire her bravado. He knew the story. The lairds of Munro and Mackintosh had agreed to the marriage between their clans in an effort t
o promote peace. Kenna was not the first maiden to been used as a pawn and would have accepted her fate with the grace befitting the granddaughter of a clan elder. She had only been married a handful of days before her new husband led a small army to aid the French.
She must have suffered mightily in those few days if her response to him was any indication.
He padded across the floor, dripping water in a path to where she stood, trembling but not daring to run from him. He said nothing as he reached down to retrieve the clean plaid. He draped it around his hips, tossing the sash over his shoulder.
She still did not move, but nor would she look up at him. Her little chin jutted out in a small show of defiance, but she obviously awaited his command. His cock twitched, the idea of her prepared to do his bidding, albeit reluctantly, enough to drive lust into the heart of a priest.
Images of her suffering sprang unwanted to his mind, dousing his desire and igniting a fury he had never experienced before. What must that bastard have done to make her so afraid of him? He took a deep breath, repressing his anger and masking the turmoil inside with a reassuring demeanor that could calm a skittish doe.
When her curiosity could be held in check no longer, she let her eyes travel slowly up to his face.
Careful not to startle her, he reached out and took her hand. He lifted it toward the window, tracing a path from her wrist to the tip of her longest finger. With aching slowness he brought her palm to his lips and pressed a kiss in the center. He flicked out his tongue, laving it across the once tender skin, hardened now by years of hard work.
He recognized the change in her immediately. Her stance softened; a quiet sigh escaped her lips.
What he did not recognize was the change in himself.
***
He was already harder for her than he had ever been before. No woman had stirred him like Kenna Cleary Vass. But that was not what surprised him. After all, every woman he seduced was better than the one before. He made sure of it. The greater the challenge, the more satisfying the pleasure.
What surprised him was his need to enfold her in his arms and assure her she need never fear another man, to protect her from harm and keep her safe - always. He turned his uncovered eye to her face. Their gazes locked. He glanced back and forth between those stormy eyes trying to read the thoughts hiding behind them, but she kept her emotions carefully guarded, no doubt well aware of the consequences for openly defying him.
A disturbance outside drew her attention. She snatched her hand from his and moved toward the window. She leaned across the table to peer down into the courtyard below.
She sucked in a sharp gasp, lifting her hand to her throat and jerking back from the window. She began to tremble again, raising his own hackles. What new terror was this that frightened her so?
In two strides, he stood next to her. Through the warbled glass, he saw a party of no less than twenty men, none of whom he recognized. An older man rode at the fore, scattering people and animals alike as he entered the gate. He had the air of a man prepared to run down anyone slow enough to encumber his arrival.
"Who is that?" he asked.
Kenna looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. Her slender brows pressed together as she regarded him. She glanced out the window before turning her inquisitive expression back to him. "'Tis your father."
His heart lurched. Father? It was one thing to fool the people at Castle Vass. Ty had been chief here for less than a year before marching off to France. He was not intimate with any of his tenants.
But this man had known him his whole life and would surely know his own son. The meeting would be a true test of his skills. If he could fool this man, his position was assured.
He sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled on his boots. "Will ye fetch me a shirt?" Kenna grabbed the one she had dropped and handed it to him. He pulled the sash from his shoulder, donned the white shirt and tucked it into the waist of his plaid.
When he struggled with the belt, she came to his aid. Her demeanor timid and fearful, she gently pushed his hands away and straightened the sash. Laying it across his shoulder, she moved around behind him.
Ty stood still, ever afraid of startling her. He looked forward to the day he did not have to worry that she would bolt at his slightest movement. Her hands on his back as she adjusted the sash sent a thrill through is body that made him want to toss her onto the bed and remain there with her for the rest of the afternoon.
When he was sufficiently presentable, she stepped away from him, forever out of reach. With a quick nod, he left her there and descended the stairs. He entered the hall to find his father standing there with four other men.
"There is my boy!" The older man met him and slapped him on the back hard enough to knock the wind from a weaker man.
"Greetings, Father." Ty busied himself pouring a couple of drams from the decanter on the sideboard. He handed one to his father who tossed it back like spring water and held the empty cup out for more.
Ty downed the contents of his own cup and refilled them.
His father wasted no time getting to the point of his visit. "The Munro has agreed to a union between Mira and his eldest."
Who is Mira? He poured himself another drink. "That is good news. When is the wedding?"
"Not until harvest time. The boy is still with the king and will not return until midsummer."
Ty remained silent, letting the information settle and hoping his father would divulge enough clues to allow him to maintain his ruse. He refilled the other man's drink and waited.
"You will hold a gathering to announce your sister's betrothal to the laird's son." He lifted the cup to his lips and watched Ty over the rim.
My sister. "Why have the gathering here?" Ty asked. His father fixed him with a grin so filled with malice, the tiny hairs on the back of Ty's neck stood up. A tremor of foreboding skittered up his spine.
"You will have your wife write a letter to her grandfather, inviting them to Castle Vass. The family will be more likely to attend a gathering on what they believe to be neutral ground." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a more conspiratorial tone. "You can shed yerself of that whore, and we will finally wipe out the fucking Cleary's once and for all."
Chapter Two
Kenna watched her father-in-law leave, more relieved than when her husband had left her alone in his room. She had fully expected to be a heap on the floor by now, but thus far he had been benevolent and undemanding.
What was this game he played at? What new level of torment did he have planned?
In the few hours since his return, she had already seen the change in the household. Where everyone normally tiptoed around him, afraid of drawing his wrath, the atmosphere remained much the same as it had been for the past five years since he departed. Had everyone forgotten the vile, evil lord who struck fear into the hearts of his charges?
He might have his people fooled, but not her. She saw through the false smiles, the gentle look in his eye, to the devil beneath. She knew him for the monster he was and reminded herself to stay on guard.
The castle was quiet as she made her way down the stairs and through the corridors to Isla's room. She was determined to shield her from her father, but knew she could not keep them apart indefinitely.
She pushed open the door and froze. Isla sat on the floor, playing with her favorite doll. Across from her sat Ty.
Kenna's heart jumped to her throat. The scene was as non-threatening as it could be, yet the sight of her most feared enemy sitting alone with the person she cherished most in the world almost sent her into a fit of sheer panic.
She forced herself to remain calm. With deliberate steps, she crossed to where Isla sat cross legged on the floor and stood behind her. Isla ignored her, enraptured as she was of her father. She had asked about him often, and Kenna had done her best not to instill fear in her, always hopeful that Ty would never return.
Yet return he had. And now he sat on the floor, complete
ly entranced by the doll Isla held out to him. He was the picture of a doting father.
"Pleased to meet you, Ester."
Isla giggled. "Not Ester. Estrild."
He grinned at her. "Ah. Beg yer pardon, milady."
Kenna leaned over and plucked the doll from his grasp. She handed it to Isla and scooped the little girl up in her arms. Hugging her close and pressing a kiss to her temple, Kenna carried her to the door. "Go find Mrs. Dingwell and have her get yer supper." She set Isla down and nudged her across the threshold.
With a wave at the mountain of man filling the room, she scampered off, clutching her doll and calling for the housekeeper.
Kenna turned back to find him looming over her. Would there ever come a time when she did not feel terrified by his attention?
"She is the most beautiful child I have ever seen," he said. His voice was soft and held a hint of sincerity that would have fooled anyone else. She forced herself not to flinch when he reached out to cup her cheek in one massive hand. "She looks just like you."
Her heart fluttered. He had never said a kind word to her before today. She wanted desperately to believe he had changed, that the man standing before her was no longer the tyrant she had married. But it would take more than a kind word to erase the terror of her wedding night.
Still, she knew better than to refuse him, so she stood still as he caressed her lips with the pad of his thumb. She took a deep breath to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. His touch ignited something within her that made Kenna question her sanity. Her insides quivered, not out of fear but something else. Something that made her want more. Something that made her want him to touch her all over. A slow burn started in the pit of her stomach and spread to the center of her body.
When he took her in his arms and clamped his mouth over hers, she actually leaned into him. She told herself she was only trying not to provoke his anger. He slipped his tongue between her lips, tangling with hers. A moan escaped her, an involuntary reaction to a swell of longing that left her completely baffled.