by Paula Quinn
“Did the thief get much from you?”
“Aye, an opportunity to plead his case before God.”
They shared another stolen smile. Gillian thought she might even have giggled.
“And the holes?” She reached for the gouges along his belly before she realized what she was doing.
He pulled her hand back as Lieutenant de Atre appeared beside them.
“Are you done?”
“A stitch or two more.”
“Be quick about it, wench. I want my turn against the stray next.”
Colin leaned in an inch closer to her and whispered along her ear. “I vow to ye, he will get it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Instead of returning to the courtyard, Colin found himself lingering at the bottom of the stairway, looking up. He didn’t like the fact that de Atre was bringing her back to her rooms alone. The pig had practically grunted with anticipation, and Lady Gillian had stuck him with her needle three more times before she finished mending him.
He watched them reach the landing and then disappear down the dim corridor. He knew what he was doing when he set his boots to motion. What he didn’t know was why he was doing it. He wasn’t here to rescue the Earl of Devon’s cousin. He didn’t even clearly understand what she needed rescuing from, aside from the unkempt swine presently counting the moments before he could begin pawing at her.
Colin hurried the rest of the way. He would simply watch and then report what he saw to Gates. He vowed he would involve himself no further after that. She was Gates’s responsibility, not his.
He crept down the hall, blending in with the rest of the shadowy phantoms dancing against the torchlight. As he drew closer to her door, he heard their voices. Lady Gillian’s, curt and urgent.
“You may go, Lieutenant.”
“Is that all the thanks I get for saving you from having to spend any more time with that torn-up waif? I could see the repulsion in your eyes as you worked, love.”
“What you saw was aimed at you, Lieutenant. Now leave my door, please.”
Colin watched her hand move to a fold in her gown where the hilt of a dagger peeked out from within. He smiled in the shadows. So, the lass carried a weapon. That pleased him more than it probably should have.
De Atre reached his hand out to her, but Colin didn’t wait to see what he meant to do with it—or what she would do with her dagger. Stepping out of the shadows, he caught the lieutenant’s wrist in his right hand and pointed a dagger at de Atre’s belly with his left.
“Lady”—he offered her a reverential nod—“would ye mind repeating yer request once more? It appears the lieutenant failed to hear ye the first two times.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “Lieutenant, leave my door.”
Colin turned to him, his gaze sharp and hard. “I heard her. Did ye?”
“I’ll have your balls for this, Campbell!”
“ ’Tis more likely that Gates will have yers. But if ye would like to give yer threat a go, ye know where to find me.”
De Atre yanked his hand back and stepped away from Colin’s dagger, clearing his oily hair away from his face, his dark eyes gleaming with anger. “I’ll see you in the courtyard then, stray.”
Colin nodded, then watched him pound away toward the stairs. So much for making friends with the men here. Hell, he didn’t know how much longer he could have waited anyway before he knocked out some of de Atre’s teeth. It had little to do with her.
“Thank you.”
He turned to her, knowing he shouldn’t, but feeling his control abandoning him yet again. ’Twas alarming how drawn he was to look at her, risking his wits, Gates’s fury, and God knows what else.
“I think he’s gone now,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. He wasn’t a lady’s champion. Hell, he didn’t possess a single romantic bone in his body. “Ye’re… ehm… safe.” Him, stumbling over words. What was next, writing her poetry? God, kill him before that day ever arrived.
“I am on my way to check on Edmund,” she said hastily when he moved to leave her.
He had to leave. He should leave.
“It would please him to see you. For just a moment. Please, Mr. Campbell.”
How could he refuse such a simple request without sounding like a heartless bastard? But that’s exactly what he was. He befriended his enemies to gain information and then he left, never sparing them another thought. He’d never offered a lass anything more than a few hours of pleasure, and he rarely even enjoyed that. He had a single purpose—to stop William from ever gaining the throne. He would never sway from it.
“Colin.”
“What?” She blinked those huge, round eyes on him. Eyes that had looked at his battle-scarred body with appreciation instead of revulsion.
“My name is Colin.”
Her lips tightened around her mouth before she looked away. “I couldn’t.”
“Of course. Fergive me.” He drew in a deep breath he hoped would clear his head. “I shouldn’t be here. ’Tis—”
But she was already a few steps away from him, heading toward another door, most likely Edmund’s. “You’ve made an enemy in de Atre, you know.”
He smiled, thinking of the day when it no longer mattered who liked him and who didn’t—and watching the way her long braid swayed around her shapely rear. He wanted her to like him. God help him. “I’m certain I will get over it.”
She looked over her shoulder and laughed softly, almost bringing a halt to his steps. ’Twas the first time he’d heard the sound since coming here. ’Twas soft and sweet, like her.
Och, hell, he didn’t care what she was doing to him or how. He wanted to touch her, take her in his arms, and let himself feel something again. “Ye should laugh more, lass,” he told her, aware of his defenses collapsing around him and unable to stop them.
She’d stopped walking and turned to him, taken aback by his boldness, mayhap, the sincerity in his smile. But only for a moment. “You’re right,” she said, her humor restored. “I should. Do you think me a terrible snob that I find little amusement in the Great Hall?”
The flitter of mischief in her eyes told him she was teasing him with her query. She possessed no haughty airs and they both knew it. She was clever though, making him see the foolishness of his advice without calling him an insensitive cad.
And since when did he give a damn about being insensitive?
He blamed his sudden affliction of weakness on his recent visit home. Seeing his sister and his brothers with their families made him ache—from somewhere in the parts of his heart where he didn’t venture—for the same.
“What is it that makes ye laugh then?”
“Many things.” She quirked her lips at him, reminding him of how completely beguiling he’d found her while she was torturing his shoulder earlier. “But they are silly and fanciful and nothing I would ever think of telling a dangerous mercenary such as yourself.”
Damn it, he wanted to laugh right along with her, and then convince her that he was no danger to her.
But he was.
He was about to remind her when they reached the door. She poked her head inside then reappeared, holding her finger to her lips.
“He still sleeps. Come.”
Colin followed her like a lost sailor helpless against the lure of a siren beckoning him toward his pitiful end.
He’d been in this room before, but not while sunlight splintered the dimness through cracks in the shutters. There was not much to see, in truth. Other than a few dolls hand-sewn in the shape of knights, there was little to suggest this was a child’s chamber. A wooden table was butted up against the west wall with two chairs pushed neatly beneath it. The table housed books of different sizes, along with parchment and a quill. A small lute and the rod he’d made for Edmund rested against another wall. Four trunks were scattered about and Colin hoped they contained forms of entertainment for the wee lad who resided here. But for the cabinet where he’d hidden Edmund’s dagger, a
tall bookcase, and the bed where the babe slept, there was no other furniture to be seen.
’Twas dreary as hell.
“He should wake soon,” Edmund’s mother promised while she unlatched the shutters and swung them open, drenching herself in daylight.
He’d seen lasses more beautiful than she. In fact, there were things about her that some might not find appealing at all. Her cheekbones, for instance, were not sharp or painted to appear that way. The flesh below her eyes was a wee bit puffy, too, as if she wept often—or not at all. Her lips were… Hell, her lips were lovely. She was lovely, angelic and untainted.
She was trouble.
He dragged his eyes away from her and looked down at the tiny body curled up in his oversize bed. He didn’t think his chest could grow any tighter than it already was, but he was wrong. He wished he’d spent more time at Camlochlin. His nephews barely knew him. He’d helped their parents tuck them in, had kissed their wee heads, and silently promised to keep them safe from a Protestant king. But hell, he hadn’t been struck with an almost paralyzing desire to protect them the way he felt gazing at Edmund.
And his mother.
“He doesn’t usually nap so long,” Gillian whispered, appearing beside him to gaze at her babe as if he were the only thing that mattered in their world.
Colin guessed he was.
“I suspect your dagger has made his slumber more peaceful.”
He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “He resembles ye,” he told her softly, feeling his heart go even softer at the babe’s wee features and shallow, even breaths.
“Do you have a wife, Mr. Campbell?”
He turned to her, surprised by her question, and found her assessing him with flushed cheeks.
“Nae. I’m not wed.” Hell, why couldn’t he stop smiling like a dimwit?
“A pity. You would be a wonderful father.”
He shook his head and grew serious, remembering himself. “Nae, I wouldn’t, trust me. I don’t possess the heart fer it.”
“Oh, but you do. You’re patient with Edmund, thoughtful and generous. You consider his safety, and he is not even your charge.”
Colin wasn’t sure of what to say, or how to say it. He wasn’t what she believed him to be… what he knew she wanted him to be. She was alone here, raising her son amid mercenaries and soldiers bred to kill. Gates clearly cared for the lad, but he’d managed to remain distant where Colin had failed.
“Why hasn’t Gates taken ye both from here?”
“And bring us to his wife?”
Colin’s gaze lingered on her for another moment before his eyes fell back to her son.
“We are fine here, Mr. Campbell. Leaving is an option I cannot consider just yet.”
Just yet? What did that mean? Did she plan on escaping? If so, with whom? And what did she mean earlier when she told him that her cousin would lose her? What did he want with her? Colin wanted to ask her but Edmund came awake. He couldn’t help but return the babe’s smile when he saw him.
“Colin.” Edmund sat up in his bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Are you bleeding?”
He remembered his bloody shirt and shook his head. “Not anymore, lad. Yer mother mended me.”
“May I see?”
“No, Edmund,” his mother said. “You may not. It will frighten you.”
“No it won’t, Mummy.”
It likely would, Colin reasoned, squatting in front of the bed. Stitched wounds were an ugly sight, but ’twasn’t natural for boys not to see them.
“If ’tis all right with yer mother, in a few days, after it has healed a bit, I will remove the bandage and show ye.”
“Will it be all right?” Edmund turned the same eyes on his mother that she had fastened on Colin a dozen times today. Eyes that were difficult to refuse, and that found his while she considered her reply.
“Ye weren’t frightened, aye, lady?”
She shook her head and turned to Edmund. “In a few days then.”
Edmund grinned at her, and then at Colin. “Have you come to play?”
Colin shifted slightly on his haunches, uncertain of how to reply without disappointing the lad yet again. “I’m afraid I only came to—”
“To what?” Captain Gates’s voice brought Colin back to his feet. He stood by the open door, his body poised and ready to pounce. “I’m curious to hear your reply after I warned you about coming up here without me.”
“Captain.” Lady Gillian stepped forward, placing herself between both men. “He—”
“Let him answer,” Gates commanded sternly. “I wish to hear what he has to say before I skewer him.”
Colin cast the heavens a frustrated look. De Atre was one thing, but it wouldn’t serve well to make an enemy of Captain Gates. He understood the man’s concerns, but he didn’t want to fight him again. Especially right here in front of Edmund.
“Captain, ye will have my answer in the hall.”
“Very well,” Gates approved, eyeing Edmund in his bed. “After you.” He stepped aside elegantly, clearing a path for Colin to take.
Before he left, Colin bent to Edmund again and winked at him. “You and I will speak another day, friend.”
He glanced at Gillian on his way out, then muttered something unintelligible when she picked up her steps behind him. He thought about telling her to stay here with her son, but she took orders from enough men. He didn’t want to be another.
“Well?” Gates demanded the instant the door shut behind them. “You have but a moment to speak before I toss you out of Dartmouth on your arse.”
“I would wonder why ye haven’t already done so to yer lieutenant.”
“De Atre?” Gates narrowed his eyes on him, and then on Lady Gillian. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He grew bold after escorting me to my door.”
Gates’s expression went black in an instant. Even keeping Colin off him in the courtyard hadn’t enraged him as much as what he was hearing now. “What do you mean, he grew bold? What did he do?”
“Och, Captain,” Colin said incredulously, interrupting her when she would have replied, “surely ye are aware of his desire fer her.”
Gates might not possess the endurance for an all-out fight, but he was quick enough to yank Colin’s dagger from his belt and point it at his throat.
Gillian leaped for him, but Colin held her back with his arm. He remained utterly still, his eyes fastened on Gates, waiting, knowing his own reflexes were quicker.
“Rest assured, Campbell, I’m aware of every lewd glance cast her way.”
“Mayhap,” Colin said calmly, “ye should train yer eyes more toward the fear in hers when ye give de Atre leave to have her alone.”
Horror replaced the fury staring back at him, slowly moving from him to the lady he swore to protect. Colin didn’t know whether to pity the captain’s duty against so many, or loathe him for failing at it.
“What has he done?” Gates asked her quietly, sounding sickened to his soul.
“He has done nothing, George. But he grows ever bolder.”
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“And have Gerald Hampton take his place when you are seeing to other things? I could never fight off that giant. Or perhaps Mr. Alvarez, whom I suspect would not leave me alive to tell you anything?”
“Gillian…”
She closed her eyes when he lowered Colin’s dagger and reached his fingers to her jaw.
“You should have told me. And you—” He looked at Colin again. “It seems your eyes have been trained on her well enough to see what I have missed.”
“He protected me, George.” Gillian’s soft voice stole across both men’s ears. “I will not let you punish him for that.”
Gates nodded and handed Colin back his dagger. “You and I will speak of this after I’ve seen to de Atre. For now, you may go.”
Gillian watched Colin leave and then turned to George. “I would prefer it if Mr. Campbell escorted me when you cannot do
so.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then who, George? Whom do you trust?”
Her captain scored his fingers through his hair. He looked more miserable than Gillian had ever seen him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him about de Atre.
“No one. Not him.”
She knew George’s fears, but she didn’t think Colin would try to take her and Edmund away. She practically had to beg him to spend a moment with her son, and though his smile on her was captivating, he fought the urge to offer it to her.
“Perhaps”—she put her hand to Edmund’s door and turned to her captain before she entered it alone—“it is not him you don’t trust, but me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Colin stepped out of the path of what would have been a sharp blow to his head, and brought the flat end of his waster down hard on Gilbert de Atre’s back, bringing him to his knees for the second time. He didn’t fight the arrogant pig with the skill he’d used while fighting Gates. He didn’t have to. This time, he kept his head and blocked more blows than he issued. Most of the other men had gathered in the courtyard and were watching, and Colin wished to remain underestimated.
Still, he took enjoyment in bringing de Atre to his knees and making him look cumbersome and clumsy in view of the others.
His pleasure, though, came to an abrupt halt when someone shoved him out of the way and filled the yard with the sound of his blade scraping against its sheath as it left it.
“Captain Gates.” De Atre held up his hands and dropped his waster. “Whatever Campbell told you—”
“He told me nothing.” Gates sliced his sword through the air and cut a deep gash through de Atre’s palm. “Lady Gillian did, as she has been instructed to do with all of you.” He raked his gaze over the others and brought the tip of his blade back up, catching de Atre across the cheek and lip. The lieutenant finally attacked but only found himself staring down at the tip of Gates’s blade butted up against his heart.
“Go near her ever again and I will cut away what I merely wounded today. Do you understand?”