McBain's Bride

by Tara Hill

  Sauntering in with the tray I gave both the men a saucy wink and with great display of breast and swooshy hips, I placed it on the table. I began uncorking the bottle and decided to play my role with some finesse, so I pulled the cork from the wine bottle with my teeth. I spat the cork in Ian's direction. I caused a wee bit of a reaction in Ian; he raised his eyebrows, he was impressed. After pouring the goblets full of the ruby wine, I turned and passed one to Max and handed the next to Ian. I lounged back against the table closest to Ian, keeping my mouth shut tight. I would let Ian lead this conversation.

  “Ian, my friend,” Max started, “You have let things get out of hand, non? You have allowed, even encouraged those soldiers to stay here in the area. I heard last night’s shipment was seen by an outsider who should have been killed and wasn't. You've got to regain your control, my friend. I have people counting on me and how can I let them be disappointed?”

  “The shipment was not interrupted.”

  “But it was observed, oui? I have my men in place there you know. The woman was removed, taken away but I saw her again today.”

  “You did? Where?”

  “At the inn. I am concerned; she was with the petite child of one dangerous to us.”

  “I am not sure I am following you.” Ian encouraged Max to continue with a wave of his hand.

  “There is a family in the inn, a powerful family. The husband was a distant cousin of the king. He is there with his wife and child. The wife was at the cove the other night. We want the husband to face the guillotine back in France. Here, he might raise an army to fight my friends. I think he may be contemplating how to become our competition to our little business and that could be deadly for us all. My friends want him taken care of.”

  What business is that? I wondered. The smuggling obviously involved wool from Ireland but what of the French families? I watched them through lowered lashes as I sliced the cheese.

  “My boats you have used for years, my friend.”

  “You’ve been smuggling off my coast for years. I only added your fleet to mine two years ago.”

  Ian has a fleet?

  “Black mailed me you mean,” Max sneered

  “I use what’s available.” Ian sipped his wine, seemingly relaxed.

  “You still need me, Ian. I provide the ships to get to France. I provide the brandy you sell to every tavern in Ireland.”

  “And not just a few English landlords,” Ian added, “So who is more at risk? You'll hang as a pirate when the crown catches you.”

  “And you as a traitor with your family's lands forfeit.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say I have a feeling it won't be me or mine that draws the attention of the crown.”

  “You play a dangerous game, my friend.”

  “No more dangerous than you Max.” Ian walked over to me, placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss. I stiffened for an instant, so surprised I was, but my lips opened to his of their own accord. He broke the kiss, his teeth pulled on my lower lip. My hand trembled as I stroked my lip and I caught Ian winking at me. This was indeed a game to him.

  “So the wench will warm your bed after all?”

  “Perhaps and perhaps I will give her to you as a promise for more shipments of wool.”

  “I risk my life for your brandy and not for a bit of skirt.”

  “You risk your life for my gold and the opportunity to terrorize your countrymen hiding here.”

  “No, Ian not to terrorize, to kill.”

  “You think these pathetic fools are any threat to you? You are the one being foolish.” Ian scoffed.

  “They can organize, they have gold smuggled out of France, and they can contact others in Ireland and Amsterdam. My task is to keep that from happening. That is why you must contact that man at the inn for me and you must take care of him.”

  “You want me to introduce you?” Ian bumbled

  “Not taken care of that way, you idiot.”

  I laughed and toasted Max with my glass “Down with idiots” I slightly slurred my French accent, best if he thought I was already drunk.

  “Be quiet wench.” Ian scowled at me. I shrugged my shoulder being as Gaelic as possible.

  “I shot at the wife this morning and she went over the cliff. She was the one who saw the barrels last night. I will go back tomorrow and kill the husband and the child.”

  I spilled my wine as my hand started shaking. It was not a dragoon of the king’s army that tried to kill me, but rather, an assassin sent by the rabble in France. My eyes sought out Ian's. He calmly offered the bread to Max. Max took the cheese from my tray and tore off some bread and began stuffing his mouth.

  “Why the child?” I asked.

  “Ah, little one. I just want the father to lose something he values before he loses his life. I want to watch his face as his child's head is blown into bits. I love it when they howl,” and again he giggled. I shivered in disgust; Max took it for fear.

  “I will show you soon, little one. I can make you howl in pain and delight and you will never know which you are feeling.” Max leered at me.

  “I think I shall charge you extra for your effort.” I cooed in French and I moved closer to him. I picked up the knife and cut more bread, “The big oaf,” I gestured at Ian with the knife, “rarely makes me pant much less howl.”

  “The oaf pays you well?” Max continued in French.

  “Well enough, but you sound like so much more fun.” I edged closer and closer. I licked the knife blade and watched his eyes enlarge. His breathing was coming in ragged spurts. My free hand rolled the edge of the chemise down, exposing a bit more of my cold English breast. He leaned closer and I sank the knife to its hilt into his stomach, angled upwards. He cried “Mon Dieu!” as I twisted the knife and jumped back.

  At least that is what I wanted to happen.

  But I am a coward; he continued to lean against the table looking down my chemise. I leaned in toward him running my tongue over the rim of my goblet and spun away. I caught Ian's eye and winked. He appreciated my acting if his throbbing veins were any indication.

  “Ian, my friend, lets us continue our discussion without the distraction of your wench; I can come back for her later.”

  ~~~~~

  Ian waved me away. I did not like being so summarily dismissed. I sauntered away drinking wine, hopefully keeping the vile Frenchman’s attention and maybe even Ian’s beautiful eyes on me. I closed the door and retraced my steps down to the bath. I stripped off my shoes and stockings. I dangled my feet in the hot water and drank my wine.

  As I let the heat seep into my body and continued to sip the fine wine, I thought back on all the snippets of conversations I had heard over the past few days. My simple ruse was less than nothing when compared to Ian's life. He was a smuggler and apparently his family was in on the smuggling as well. The Irish wool they brought in could be woven into fine English cloth beneath the eyes of the Crown who denied our mills to the Irish wool industry. The Crown did anything and everything to keep the Irish poor and starving. It was a wonder the Irish hadn't rebelled against the English occupation. Everybody else was doing so. Money was changing hands over this. Did Ian own the mills or did he sell the wool as his own product? And the French? Too many French are here, some hiding, some killing. Ian was getting married soon and so was I. I needed to separate from Ian and make my way to McBain's Doom to find my brothers. Soon, I am afraid.

  I leaned back on my elbows and closed my eyes. I should have remained wary. A hand lifted my hair from my neck to caress me, I leaned into the callused hand, trusting.

  “I was so deep in thought; I didn’t hear you come down. Ian, why was that vile man here, with you? And who was thundering at you to go home?” A second hand began its journey of exploration below my other ear.

  “You heard that part?” His tongue licked my earlobe.

  “Yes, I did. He sounded familiar.”
r />   “Well, he isn't.” His lips found the pulse in my throat.

  “You don't know that, he could have sounded familiar to me.” The lips pulled back.

  “He didn't!” Ian was so easy to annoy. I was starting to enjoy myself.

  “Where did your friend Max go?”

  “He is not my friend.” He emphasized.

  “What is going on? It's about wool and Frenchmen and little girls he wants to kill. You know I won't let him harm that child. I will go back to the inn tomorrow and protect her. I can kill him myself if I need to do so.”

  Ian drank from my goblet and then topped it off with the wine he had carried down to this wonderful pool of hot water. He sat down behind me straddling me to drape his feet into the water. I leaned back into him relaxed. His fingers traced up and down my neck.

  “I know you can lassy, I have seen you in action and I know you can kill when absolutely necessary.”

  “Does that make me a monster?”

  “No.” Ian picked me up and stepped down into the pool. My eyes slammed open.

  “My chemise!” I laughed at Ian and then got caught in his gaze. His broad chest was bared to me. I wondered what was below the water. His hand started trailing up and down my damp arm and then his fingers gentle brushed against my nipples. They hardened to taut pebbles; I shivered with pleasure. His other hand began the exploratory journey across my shoulders and into my hair at the base of my neck. I leaned into him, expecting to start one of Ian’s lovely long kisses. His head bent close to brush his lips across mine. I lifted my face to his and let him drink his fill. His tongue tasted the corners of my mouth sending shivers down my spine into the heated water of the pool. His teeth and tongue trailed kisses and nibbles across my chin to my ear lobe. I realized my loins, the heart of my femininity, fairly blasted with heat. I surely must be heating the water in the pool by now. This must be lust but it was oh, so delicious. My own hands started down his back to discover what was below the water but right when they got the base of his back and began to go further, Ian pushed away from me with a sigh.

  “We have things that must be done tonight, Robin. I would much rather forget about the world and play with you, but we can’t.”

  I was left with an empty feeling throughout my body, rather frustrated with this start and stop loving of his. “What must we do?”

  “We have to meet up with Max.”

  “Again? Ian, where did he go?”

  “To search for his companions.”

  “Do you think he will be back here tonight?”

  “He'd better not be, love, as I’m not keen on the sharing of you.” Ian gently kissed me.

  “I am not so keen on that either. There will be no sharing like that in our home.”

  “So, lassie, you be thinking of this as your home? When did that start?” Ian sat up straighter.

  “Not my home, I was just referring to your home, not my home. In fact I must leave you soon to go to my home, my real home.”

  “Shouldn't you be going to McBain's Doom to meet up with the Garnet’s?” Ian asked sagely.

  “Yes, of course you are right. I must be there to greet them. Do you think they have arrived yet?” I thought of my brothers, the roof and my virginity. I thought of leaving Ian for my role as a dutiful wife to a stranger. I sighed.

  “Why so sad, Robin?” Ian whispered

  “Not sad, just tired and I guess in shock from my wound, and somewhat confused. How do I walk away from all this? From you? The barrels of whatever you are smuggling in? The French assassin? Irish wool? My head spins. I am expected elsewhere but I am afraid our work here is not finished.”

  “What say you finish this work with me? We can explain things to the Garnets later, and they can explain to me who you really are.” He pulled me back into his arms and sat me in front of him, nestled between his legs. His lips kissed the back of my neck and his very bold hands caressed my breasts.

  “I'm Robin, plain Robin.”

  “You, my dear, are anything but plain but for me to tell you again would only swell you head too much for your hat.”

  “What hat?” I was having a hard time concentrating with his busy hands wreaking havoc on my nerves.

  “The one you are going to wear as a disguise this night when we go meet up with some Frenchmen. You need to pretend to be ignorant of the French plans as well as pretend you speak no French. I need you to be a dull witted stable hand.”

  “I can do that,” I replied. I allowed my hands to rub his legs. His thighs were well muscled and I was thoroughly enjoying the dichotomy of the sense of his hard muscles and soft skin.

  “Can you dull your eyes?”

  Not paying attention to his plans, just his legs, I murmured, “Not sure what you mean?”

  He stopped my hand with his own. “Your eyes sparkle, your gaze is sharp. It bespeaks intelligence about your person.” Ian misquoted back to me from several nights ago.

  “Like this perhaps?” I stuck my tongue between my lower teeth and gums and lowered my shoulders.

  “Better.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Ian paused a bit before speaking. “We will be meeting up with Max and his associates; I think they hired the goon.”

  “Which goon?”

  “The first one. He carried those papers and he was no soldier of the Crown. They are bringing a translator with them tonight. I need you to listen and see if I am getting the whole story and I need to know what they are saying when they think I can't understand.”

  “How do I let you know when they start to lie to you or mis-state things.”

  “I haven't worked that part out yet but you will think of something. We need to get going soon; we have a bit of a ride ahead of us.”

  He helped me from the bath a second time that night and bound my wound. It seemed clean but somewhat raw from being immersed in the tub. He also nibbled my ear lobe for a bit. He brought me dry sheets to wrap myself up in as I went upstairs in search of more clothes. This time less salacious, I believe. I did like the boots so I kept them. I found reasonable clothing and a warm woolen cape. After stuffing my feet into the boots, I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. I was afraid of the unknown husband-to-be, I was afraid of the Frenchman, I was afraid of my feelings for Ian. My back throbbed, I wanted to be with my sisters and brothers; I wanted to be with Ian.

  ~~~~~

  We walked to the stables behind the lodge and again I was overwhelmed with the size of the place. “Ian, this isn't the hunter's lodge I had envisioned.”

  “It's not?”

  “It is huge; you have a bathing chamber in the cellar, stables for a dozen or so horses. The lodge is several stories high – more like a manor. A hunter lodge usually has a cot or two. You have armoires full of ladies clothes and a well stocked wine selection.”

  “You noticed quite a bit.”

  “I was running around looking for clothes, wine and cheese, if you remember correctly. Is this yours as well as the farm house?”

  “It belongs to my family.”

  “And your family is...? Oh, I know, it doesn't concern me.”

  “I wish it could.” Ian whispered.

  I did not believe he had wanted me to hear that so I let it pass. I was so confused. He called me 'love', he wanted me to be of concern to his family and yet he also was using me to interpret French killers while smuggling his little heart out. I had an inkling of who his family might be and was wondering how he might fit into it. We continued into the stables where a couple of horses stood saddled. Not my beloved Thor or his Silly Bruce. These two looked mean and fast. They stomped the ground as if impatient to be off. Ian pointed to a pile of clothes on the railing, topped by a floppy hat. I traded my skirts for some horrible britches and pulled them on as Ian silently turned his back on me.

  “All set,” I told him as I buckled a belt through the trousers.

  Ian nodded at me and gestured to one of the beasts. “His name is Peaches”

  “I
don't think so,” I told him as the animal glared at me daring me to mount him. I wagged a finger at him to let him know who was in charge. Ian helped me mount and I sighed as I watched Ian effortlessly mount his horse. Unbidden, comparisons of him riding me came to mind. I closed my eyes and lifted my head, arching my back, taking in his imaginary scent.

  “What are you doing, love?” Ian’s voice sounded ragged.

  “Remembering something that hasn't happened yet.”

  “How can you remember something from the future?”

  “Perhaps I am remembering a dream.” I smiled coquettishly at him and turned Peaches toward the stable doors, daring Ian to follow.

  “Care to tell me your dream?” Ian asked as he caught up.

  “No. Which way? You lead and I'll follow you.”

  “That would indeed be a dream.” Ian muttered as he rode by me and headed away from the lodge into the dark forest.

  “I heard that!” I hollered at his back. He turned his head back to me with a wolfish grin.

  We rode in silence for several miles. Ian chose the path with care and eventually we came upon a campsite of tents arranged in a circle about a small campfire. Three men slowly rose as we entered their camp. The men were well dressed in warm woolen coats and sturdy boots, not highly polished like a soldier’s but heavy and serviceable not unlike my brothers’. The tents looked to be of good quality as did their tack and saddles all of which were neatly arranged on the ground. These were not poor, lost wayfarers. Ian hailed them in poorly accented French. He certainly was not as fluent as I, but he possessed more than this rudimentary skill.

  “Good evening monsieur...”

  “No names!” Ian cut him off.

  “Oui, no names, and who is this.” He pointed at me. I continued my perusal of their camp as they continued in French.

  “No one, just a stable boy to care for the horses while I hunt. It was easy to explain my absence with the excuse of a hunt. The witless one does what I say.”

  Trying my best to look witless, I dismounted and waited for Ian to hand me his reigns. I petted both horses as he took a few steps away from me to engage in conversation with the men. Ian kept his voice loud; the Frenchmen dutifully raised their voices. I had no difficulty hearing their plans for a murder. I kept my head tucked in next to our mounts to hide my shock at what I was hearing.