“Both are full grown. My brothers Alex and Reid are back home. My sister Catrina is here in England. She was recently married. To an Englishman.”
“And you don’t like him.”
Toren sighed. “It’s a complicated matter.”
“I see.”
But it was clear that she did not, and he had no desire to speak of his brother-in-law or Bristol or any of it.
Toren leaned back against the wall and tried to think of a difference between them that would be a bit safer to discuss. “You’re well educated.”
“How did you. . . oh yes, the abbess. Aye. My father insisted upon it, and the convent borders our property, making it quite convenient. I’ve grown up with the nuns and Sister Heloise.”
“So you can read and write?”
She shrugged, and Toren attempted to avert his eyes from the tempting swell just above the neckline of her gown.
“Aye.”
He sensed she was being modest.
“Aye?”
Another shrug. God help him, he wanted to crush her against him and touch the creamy skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
“In three languages.”
“Let me guess. English, French, and—”
“Latin.” She rushed to finish his thought. “Sister has very strong beliefs about reading manuscripts in their original language. She says the translations sometimes change their meanings. Like Le Livre de la Cité des Dames. Pizan uses Latin-style conventions, but her very French writings would not. . . why are you looking at me so strangely?”
“Not strangely. With fascination. It’s as if you’ve just come alive.”
His Englishwoman bowed her head in what looked like shame.
“I’m sorry. ’Tis just that I do love Pizan. She’s a champion of women an —”
He had not meant to offend her. The opposite actually. She fascinated him. He almost reached a hand out to comfort her, but physical contact would not be a good idea.
“Why are you sorry?” he asked instead.
“Everyone says I read too much. They keep telling me that I don’t live in a story.”
Though she tried to keep her tone light, Toren could tell the words had hurt her, that they still hurt her.
“Everyone? Who says such things? Not your friend?” He gestured toward the hall where drinking and dancing would last well into the night.
“Nay, not Christina. Well, not most of the time. But most everyone else. Except Sister, of course.”
“Your parents?”
“My father mostly. He blames books for my unmarried state.”
Now he was confused. Wouldn’t her intelligence make her more desirable as a wife?
“Please don’t think ill of my father. He loves me very much.”
“But why—”
“So ’tis a difference between us?” she interrupted him. “Being able to read, I mean.”
It was clear she didn’t want to discuss the topic any further. Or perhaps it was her father she didn’t wish to discuss. He could press her, but he didn’t wish to do so. There was something about the lass that made him want to protect her.
“Aye, unfortunately. My brothers and I spent our childhoods training to protect our clan. My sister was tutored, though, and enjoyed reading to us.”
Why was he telling her so much?
“Is she the eldest then?”
“Nay. Catrina is the youngest of our family. But no doubt the most intelligent.”
His sister would very much like this Englishwoman.
“I can tell you’re very fond of her.”
The lass turned from him, lifted her skirts, and ventured toward the semicircle that enclosed the space they occupied.
“What do you suppose is up there?”
She pointed to the set of stone steps behind them, the ones that led to a parapet.
“The inner bailey lays beyond. But I’d not venture there if you wish to remain unseen. Two guards are stationed not far from that tower.”
She nodded, as if he’d satisfied a piece of curiosity for her. This lass seemed curious about everything and forced him to question more things than he was accustomed.
He had so many questions for her, but one more important than all the others.
“Why did you ask me to kiss you? And to meet you here tonight?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch those perfectly formed lips. To run his finger along the same path as her tongue, which had darted out briefly and retreated.
“Would it make you more comfortable if I answered a question for you first?”
“Aye,” she said, her mouth tipping into the suggestion of a smile. She thought for a moment, then said, “Would your siblings say you’re kind?”
That was not the question he’d expected.
“I suppose.” Although they may describe me in other ways first.
“And you love them all very much?”
Love his siblings? What kind of question was that?
“Of course, but what—”
“Oh dear. It did not even occur to me that you might be married?”
He laughed at her stricken look. This was, without compare, the strangest conversation he’d ever had with any woman—it was even the strangest of the conversations he’d had with her.
“I would not be here with you right now if I were a married man.”
Clearly, that answer pleased her—she smiled broadly and nodded. “I think mayhap you should kiss me just once more, if you please, just to be sure.”
Granted, Toren hadn’t much experience with English women. But he didn’t think the ladies of his southern neighbors were much different than the ones he knew in Scotland. Unmarried gentlewomen simply did not make such requests. She was a lady, of that there could be no doubt, and one who did not appear to be free with her wares.
But damn if he didn’t want to kiss her again.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said. And meant it. “But first, you promised me a name?”
Why did she hesitate?
“If I tell you and we do not. . . that is to say, if I change my mind and decide you will not—”
Toren could not take this sweet torture any longer. Cutting off her nonsensical explanation, he took advantage of the fact that her mouth was open and plunged his tongue inside. He sought her tongue and, finding it, coaxed her to understand what to do.
When she responded in kind, he was lost.
He pulled her close, finally able to feel those ample breasts crushed against him. Every move she made was unsure, from the soft caress of her hands on his arms to the feather-light touch of her tongue.
Toren decreased the pressure of his mouth to give her time to adjust to the sensations he could tell were new to her. Cupping her face, he slowed the frantic pace and kissed her more slowly.
The effect her soft moan had on his body made him pull away. She was an innocent, and if he let himself savor much more of this, he was likely to forget the fact.
“You’ve not done that before.”
He cupped her cheek and tipped up her face, an angel’s face. So soft and smooth. So perfect.
“Nay, I’ve not.”
She swallowed, and Toren wanted nothing more than to continue where they’d left off. But he was no deflowerer of maids.
“Why not? Surely you’ve had suitors who have stolen kisses?”
He dropped his hands and took a step back lest he become too tempted.
Before she answered that question, he asked another. “What is it you want to be sure of?” And then it occurred to him she hadn’t revealed herself yet. “And what is your name?”
She took a deep breath and cocked her head to the side, watching him.
“I’ve had suitors, one my father is pressing more than others. But I’ve never wanted any of them to kiss me.”
So she was all but betrothed.
“I can’t tell you why I asked you to kiss me just yet.”
A curious statement.
“You may want to reconsider. I leave on the morn.”
“Leave?” The stricken look on her face left no doubt for interpretation. She wanted something from him, and Toren was beginning to understand what that might be.
It was something he could never give.
“I don’t understand. Why would you leave? What about the remainder of the tournament?”
Since he couldn’t very well tell her the truth, he said, “I’m looking for a man whom I expected to be here. . . someone I must speak with immediately. I fear our discussion is more important than remaining here.”
He hadn’t meant for his tone to sound so harsh, but he didn’t want her to ask any more questions.
She was clearly not pleased with this news.
“I believe there’s another question you’ve yet to answer,” he pressed.
Lifting her head, the forlorn expression still in place, she said, “Lady Juliette Hallington, daughter of Stewart Hallington, at your service.” She grabbed handfuls of her gown and curtsied formally, some of the light-hearted wit he’d witnessed returning despite her evident disappointment.
Dear God, no. Toren felt as if she’d taken a poleaxe to his stomach.
He was leaving.
Juliette should not feel so disappointed. She hardly knew the man. Her father would almost certainly not approve. Toren was more than a bit intimidating, and he was, after all, Scottish.
Most importantly, they were not in love. But she still didn’t want him to leave. Especially not after that. Did Christina’s husband kiss her that way? Is that what Lord Wytham would have done if she’d allowed him to steal a kiss when he’d hunted her down in the stables on his last visit?
Her thoughts were so muddled, Juliette did not quite know what to say. At least she was not alone in that. His face had lost all color. She couldn’t understand his reaction.
“Is there something amiss about my name?” He didn’t answer that question, so she followed it up with another. “Do you know of my father?”
He was slow to respond. Juliette listened to the far-off sounds of the banquet. From the sound of music that floated to her from the hall, the celebrations were just beginning. For now, they were safe.
“I do,” he said. His voice was low and. . . commanding.
“Brockburg lies on the border, just north of Bristol,” he said by way of explanation.
A border lord! Perhaps his interests would ally with theirs. “Are you a borderer who aims for peace or discord?”
“Lady Juliette—”
“Juliette.” She’d blurted it without thinking. “There is a curious tradition in my family to not use titles.”
He drew his eyebrows together. She likely could have come up with a better explanation, but that one would have to suffice. The truth was simple—she wished to hear her name from his lips unfettered by any title.
Best to change the subject.
“Of course, I would never presume to call you—”
“Toren.”
“Aye, Toren. I would never—”
“You may call me Toren.”
“I suppose you aren’t able to have a shortened name?”
Toren leaned back against the stone wall. If he was truly leaving on the morrow, he certainly didn’t appear to be in a hurry to begin his journey at the moment. Which was just as well. Somehow, she’d have to convince him to stay.
“What need would I have for a shortened name?”
Would he always be this exasperating?
“You don’t need one. But my brother calls me Jules.”
“Jules,” he repeated. “I very much desire peace along the border, but I fail to understand—”
“Perfect!”
She clasped her hands together. Just one problem remained.
“On the matter of you leaving. . .”
What could she say that would not scare him directly back to the Cheviot Hills? Though she knew little of courtship, he was likely not prepared for talk of marriage just yet.
“I don’t know who you’re looking for. Or what could be so important that you’d leave the tournament after one day. But you should consider staying. Many are already saying that you—”
“I’ll stay.”
“Are favored to be champion. And I’d very much like. . . what did you say?”
Though part of his face was shadowed, the other half was touched by moonlight. It was the first time she’d seen him as the warrior from earlier in the day, the one who’d unhorsed a man as if he weighed no more than a bale of hay, rather than the man she’d been speaking to this evening.
“I’ll stay.”
No explanation. No easy smiles. Just a proclamation that should have made her happy. But why had he agreed so readily? And why did he appear unhappy about the decision?
“Juliette?” A frantic voice whispered from the stairwell beside them.
She groaned inwardly. “Christina?”
A moment later, her friend peeked her head out from around the entranceway. She glanced at her, and then Toren, and then back again.
“Come, quickly. Matthew insisted I check on you. I think he suspects something.”
Juliette glanced from her friend to Toren. Would he truly stay?
There was nothing she could do about it should he indeed choose to leave. If Lord Hedford suspected she was up to something, he would watch her more closely, something she could not allow.
“I—”
“Go, Lady Juliette,” he said. “We will speak again on the morrow.”
“Hurry.” Christina tugged on her hand, and Juliette allowed herself to be pulled away.
She knew her friend would ask questions, but she would have much preferred to retire to her chamber, close her eyes, and imagine Toren’s lips on hers again.
She’d dreamed of what a lover’s kiss may be like, but for once, her tales had all paled in comparison to the real thing.
Aye, he was the one.
The man she would marry.
6
“Chief, there’s a woman out here asking to see you.”
Toren had just returned from a joust and was preparing to make use of the lake that bordered the tented city. His armor lay in the corner of the tent, a space large enough to hold his sparse equipment and the bedroll.
A woman. Juliette?
After revealing her identity, she’d fled with her friend, leaving him in a stricken state of disbelief. Hallington’s daughter? What were the chances? The fates were cruel indeed.
It appeared his bad luck had followed him to England. He blamed Douglas for getting him involved in the first place. If the king wanted the warden dead, he could have chosen any number of men to do the deed. He knew Toren wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to protect his own clan and leave the border troubles and politics far behind.
He should have left before meeting Juliette, but stubborn arse that he was, he’d stayed at Condren to rendezvous with an Englishwoman he knew to be an innocent. . . and he was still unclear as to why. Had he expected anything good to come from such a meeting?
Bloody hell. Why did she have to be Hallington’s daughter?
Now he was stuck participating in this bloody tournament, and only the Lord knew where Hallington was hiding. She had not said when her father would be joining her, but the fact that she was here made the man’s attendance at the tournament inevitable.
Which meant there was only one thing he could do.
Avoid her.
Toren’s plan was simple. He would participate in each day’s match and spend the rest of his time in the tent city, as the knights called it, or in Condren’s village. He would avoid the castle, avoid Juliette, and wait for her father to arrive. The timing of his joust this morning had worked in his favor—it had been the first of the day, too early for most spectators.
Unfortunately, his body was not in full accordance with his plan. He’d awoken hard and ready, thinking of her innocent response
to that damned kiss.
And now she was here. Did she not realize how dangerous it was to come to this place unaccompanied? The only women who spent any time near the tents were far less reputable and innocent than Juliette.
Dressed only in hose and a loose tunic, he lifted the flap of the tent and blinked at the sunlight that greeted him.
“Lady Christina?”
Juliette’s friend, quite pretty in a demure sort of way, was clearly nervous. As she should be.
“Did you come here alone?”
“Aye, I did.”
She lifted her skirts and sat quite properly on the stool in front of his tent. Where had that come from?
The squire, Alfred, rushed toward them with another small wooden stool and handed it to him. The boy was proving to be quite handy.
He nodded his thanks and sat.
“You’re quite large, even for a Scotsman.”
Toren raised his eyebrows. It seemed the lady shared her friend’s penchant for addressing indelicate topics.
“So I’m told.”
She strained her neck to look around him. The closest tent was too far for conversation to be overheard, but if she hoped to avoid attracting attention, he feared it might be too late.
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Nay, he would be properly appalled. But I had no other choice. I was told you’d already won your joust, and I needed to speak with you before your meeting with Juliette.”
Meeting? They’d not arranged a meeting.
“I’m afraid for her and saw no other way.”
She held her hands together on her lap, and Toren could see they were trembling ever so slightly.
“You’re quite brave to come here for your friend.”
And he meant it.
“Juliette is like a sister to me. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. Which is what I came to speak with you about.”
She took a deep breath and then let out a great rush of words. “I’ve never seen Juliette quite this way. She’s behaving recklessly. Her stories have always given her some strange ideas, but I’m afraid this one will get her hurt. You see. . .”
She peered around once again, so Toren looked behind him. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a few squires tending fires off in the distance and grooms attending to their masters’ mounts.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 5