Forbidden Vow

by Diana Cosby

  Aiden made the sign of the cross and prayed his friend reached the Bruce in time.

  Worries of the upcoming meeting with the duke and his knights weighing heavily on his mind, Aiden gathered the few belongings he’d left there the previous night, crossed the room, and tugged open the door. He stilled.

  Paces away, her face flushed, stood his wife.

  * * * *

  Her pulse racing, Gwendolyn lowered the blankets in her arms and stared at the stranger she’d wed. A man who confused and tormented her, a noble at odds with the warrior Sir Pieres had described.

  Except there was no denying that, due to her husband’s involvement, an invading force had moved into her castle.

  Her knees weakened by his commanding presence, how he dwarfed the space around him, leaving little room to put much-needed distance between them, confines that in the dark of the night left the setting too intimate.

  “My lord husband. The Englishmen from the ships have filled all the available chambers.”

  “Which means…?”

  She frowned, irritated to have to explain the obvious. “This morning, in preparation for Lord Comyn’s arrival, I readied the chamber I had promised you for him.”

  “Your point?” he pressed.

  The words scraped her throat, his formidable presence piling atop her omission like a weight as she glanced at the few items in his arms. “Regardless of both our wishes, your other possessions have been moved into my chamber for the duration of his stay.”

  For a moment he did not speak, though his eyes flared with unreadable heat. “I see.”

  To Hades with him for being able to intimidate her. ’Twas her home. More important, there were bigger issues to deal with, those that involved her people. “Our food stores are inadequate for the additional men.”

  With a shrug, Bróccín placed the contents in his arms atop the remainder of his belongings, then walked to the window and leaned against the frame. He glanced out for a long moment, then faced her. “I will lead a hunt.”

  She forced her frustration aside. Her husband wasn’t from this locale, nor had he time to review the ledgers to understand the seriousness the extra mouths presented.

  “Due to the years of war, much of the wildlife and crops are depleted. The few homes still standing have long since been raided, leaving little for those who remain.”

  Bitterness iced his gaze as he shoved away from the window. A pace away, he paused. “There is naught fair in war. ’Tis a violent clash for power. Few win in their lethal quest, for the path to victory is riddled with the bodies of the innocent.”

  His impassioned words cut through her. Shaken, she fought to refocus her thoughts. Any belief she carried of his indifference to the carnage spawned in battle dissolved on her blistering breath and further chipped away at the wall she’d built around her heart.

  Fighting to control the riot of emotions, she walked to the chest. Hand trembling, she flipped open the top, dumped the blankets inside, and then secured the top. She turned. “Earlier this morning, I sent out several fishermen. Their catch will add to whatever game you and the men return with.”

  Her husband nodded. “Sir Cailin returned a short while ago with several rabbits.”

  “I thank you.” Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “I am surprised you didna mention the duke’s coming arrival at our first meeting.”

  “Why?” he asked, his brow raising as if with a careless afterthought. “The Englishman’s arrival or that of his force has naught to do with you.”

  The arrogant ass! “When my home is infiltrated by the English,” she growled, “by men who will deplete our already strained resources, and possibly pose a threat to those I protect, it has everything to do with me.”

  Irritation darkened his gaze. “The time the English will remain at the stronghold will be brief.”

  How dare he dismiss her concerns? “They are here now!”

  Hard eyes held hers. “You dinna like the English?”

  “I am loyal to my liege lord,” she said, her voice unapologetic, “a Scot. But I struggle to condone the presence of warriors in my home who are loyal to a king who seeks to claim Scotland as his own.”

  “The Hammer of the Scots is dead,” her husband said with soft precision as he watched her. “His son isna a man driven to war, to collect lands or power for his own vain purposes.”

  She scoffed. “Yet Edward of Caernarfon sends troops to my castle. Why?” she asked, her voice rising. “To kill Scots in the guise of aiding Lord Comyn in his bid to bring King Robert to heel.”

  “’Tis traitorous words,” her husband softly warned.

  Fear curled through her. Aware she took a great risk, she couldn’t help but speak her mind about a king who’d so far proven untrustworthy. “However loyal I am to Lord Comyn, I canna trust England’s sovereign.”

  Silence fell between them.

  She awaited his displeasure, the roar of a threat.

  Instead, the hard lines of the earl’s mouth relaxed. Without warning, the moment shifted, and his gaze darkened with awareness. “’Twould seem you are as courageous as you are beautiful.”

  At the appreciation stroking his words, heat slid through her. Floundering at the flare of desire, and needing to shift to safer ground, Gwendolyn touched the cross hanging at her neck. “I have been known to speak my mind.”

  Her husband folded his arms across his massive chest. Genuine amusement flickered over his handsome features. “A trait I have noticed.”

  Warmth crept up her neck as her gaze lingered on his muscles, noticing the raven-black hair on his chest peeking from beneath his tunic. Her fingers bit into the cross as she fought to smother the scorching sensations unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Blast this man to Hades and back. She focused on their conversation, however dangerous, safer than her body’s traitorous yearnings. “Neither will I curb my tongue.”

  “Nor would I expect such.” In a swift movement, he stepped forward and lifted her chin. His fingertips warmed the skin where he touched. “I canna tolerate a weak lass, nor one who blindly follows dictates.”

  His somber admission swept over her like a caress. This close, she reveled in the mesmerizing depths of his eyes, the dark flecks of gold, sinking further into the emerald warmth reflected back.

  He leaned toward her, his scent of man and heat wrapping her within their potent embrace. On a soft gasp, her mouth parted.

  His shoulders stiffened. As if scalded, he lowered his arms and strode toward the door.

  “W-where are you going?” she stammered as she struggled against her body’s traitorous recoil.

  “To gather men to hunt,” he snapped.

  “Bróccín?”

  His intense gaze leveled on her.

  A tremor ran though her as she remembered his request for an heir. Her breathing grew shallow and warmth swept her cheeks. Gwendolyn cleared her throat. “I… I pray you have good luck.”

  Eyes narrowed, Bróccín strode across the room, each step stealing the air around her, caging her as if bound. “That isna what you meant to say,” he stated, his throaty challenge leaving her further off balance. “Where is your courage now?”

  Her pulse slammed in her chest. “I was thinking,” she rasped, “that mayhap we can overcome our differences.”

  Nostrils flaring, he scoffed. “Overcome our differences?” His gaze swept to her mouth, lingered. “Is that what you wish?”

  The raw need of his question slashed her defenses. Never had she been so aware of a man. Aye, she’d endured Luke’s touch, but never had he ignited such longings.

  In stunned realization, she stared at the warrior. For the first time in her life she craved to please a man, to garner his favor.

  “Nay,” he continued in a sultry burr. “I think what you want between us is far more.”


  Overwhelmed by her body’s intense response to him, she stumbled back. “Nay!” She had to get away from him before she did something foolish—like invite him to her bed.

  Eyes dark with heat, he stalked toward her.

  * * * *

  Aiden’s body roared its demand as he caught Gwendolyn’s wrists, stroked his thumb across the silkiness of her lower lip. “I think—” He skimmed his mouth atop hers in a soft caress, “that we could—”

  “N-nay,” she breathed.

  He was pleased at the flush pinking her cheeks, by the way her breathing shallowed, and how against her will she’d leaned closer. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers, pleasing him more. Aye, just one kiss, ’twould end the question of how she would taste, allow him to push thoughts of her aside.

  He pressed his body against hers and, with slow intent, sealed his mouth over hers. An explosion of feelings blinded him to his cause until he lost himself in her sweet taste.

  A low moan rumbled in her throat, and she deepened the kiss, demanded more, igniting a fierce, primal need that shrouded rational thought.

  His blood pounding hot, Aiden backed her up against the door, his hands gliding over her curves as his mouth devoured. He shoved aside her garb, needing to touch her, to cup her soft flesh in his hands, to strip her until—

  Stunned by his loss of control, Aiden jerked his head back. God’s sword, never had a woman made him lose control! He scowled at her mouth, swollen from his kisses, her rumpled garb exposing a hint of her tempting breasts, and her eyes dark with need that seduced him into crossing every line he’d ever drawn.

  Damning his weakness, Aiden whirled and strode away, before he did something reckless, like take her.

  Chapter 7

  Hues of soft golds, purples, and reds shimmered upon the clouds in the western sky, announcing the oncoming night. Pleased with the several deer the hunt had provided, Aiden halted his mount on the rock-strewn knoll and peered at the sea of grass coating the summer-warmed land, Latharn Castle but a speck down the coast.

  Sir Pieres drew to a halt on his right. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  My lord. He stifled a grimace at the reminder of his duplicity. “Nay. Take the men and return to the castle. I will follow shortly.”

  “With King Robert’s troops about, ’tis unsafe for you to be without escort.”

  “If not for a fleet of English troops sitting off shore, I would agree.”

  A frown creased the stocky knight’s brow. “’Tis possible the Bruce’s men havena sighted Lord Comyn’s reinforcements.”

  “Scotland’s king is one not to be underestimated,” Aiden said. “’Tis my belief he has men hidden along the coast to report any unusual activity, and they have already passed the arrival of the English to the Bruce.”

  “Mayhap the dense fog shielded the fleet from the king’s men?” The stalwart knight shrugged. “Regardless, if the Bruce’s men havena seen the English ships, with the size of the Duke of Northbyrn’s force, ’twill not be long before they do.”

  “Indeed.” Aiden’s fingers tightened on the reins. “Leave me.”

  “I will see you at the meeting with the duke this night.” With a nod, the knight nudged his steed to rejoin his men.

  A smile curved Aiden’s mouth as the hunting party, bearing proof of their day’s success, cantered toward the stronghold. Aye, with Rónán and Cailin on their way to inform the Bruce of the English troop’s arrival, King Robert would soon know. A crucial fact Sir Pieres and the Duke of Northbyrn would discover too late.

  His smile faded. Far from anxious to return to his enemy’s fortress, he stretched in the saddle. Throughout the morning, however much he’d tried to erase thoughts of Gwendolyn’s kiss, the sweetness of her mouth lay etched in his mind, her lips designed to lure a man, to invite fantasies that would drive him mad.

  Leather reins bit into his palms as Aiden’s fingers tightened at memories of her soft moan, and of how her lips had moved beneath his, demanded more. Aye, he remembered, cursed the clarity of the kiss that seeped into his every pore and haunted his every thought.

  God’s sword, how had he convinced himself that ’twas prudent to touch her? His plan to create distance between them had failed, miserably so. It had taken sheer will to not bed her then. From the desire in her eyes, intimacy she’d wanted as well. As if her wanting him blasted helped anything?

  He kicked his steed into a gallop. The thrum of hooves upon the turf wove within the steady breeze as he guided his mount down a well-worn trail. In the distance, swells tumbled ashore to storm the beach with relentless fury. White-tipped swirls smothered rocks, enveloped the jagged shore, and then slid back.

  Blast it, he had been attracted to her from the start, and with the way her strength and intelligence intrigued him, he should have considered the possibility that his feelings for the lass would grow.

  Over the years as a Templar, he had faced many problems, however difficult, challenges he’d overcome. ’Twould seem Gwendolyn was such a trial. Regardless of the feelings she inspired, she was a temptation he would resist.

  Nor could he forget she believed him to be Bróccín MacRaith. Thankfully, the arrival of the English fleet had turned their disaster of a marriage into a boon, one he would use to his advantage.

  At least she would never learn of his duplicity. Once the Bruce had seized Latharn Castle, she would receive word that Lord Balfour had died, and never would she see him again.

  Aiden guided his steed toward the cliffs. The vastness of the ocean drew him, and he inhaled the salty tang. What if his worries were for naught? Although she’d responded to the kiss, mayhap her actions weren’t out of desire but duty? Previously wed, she understood the expectations of marriage. Hadn’t she stated as much?

  Relief slid through him, and his body relaxed. Gwendolyn hadn’t responded to the kiss, nor had he seen desire in her eyes, her reaction only what she believed was required, a prelude to the expected bedding.

  An intimacy that would never occur.

  The error of kissing her he could forgive, but with her believing him to be Lord Balfour, he refused to allow familiarity between them to go further.

  A cool breeze battered his face, and he glanced skyward. Dark gray clouds moving in from the west brought the threat of a storm. With a sigh, he glanced toward the fortress. He couldn’t linger. Much remained to be done. Meeting with the duke and culling information to pass on to the Bruce. As for the lass…He grunted. With her on edge about the upcoming night, no doubt she would avoid him.

  Confidence in his plan restored, and with his men safely on their way to King Robert, Aiden reined his mount toward the stronghold.

  * * * *

  “Lord Balfour arrives,” a guard called from the tower.

  Heart pounding, Gwendolyn shifted her gaze past the battlements to where, against the fading ball of sun on the horizon, Bróccín cantered toward the gatehouse. Forcing an expectant look on her face, she tamped down the fear and walked to the turret. However much she wanted to bolt down to the bailey to meet him, she refused to raise suspicion.

  Hurried steps echoed from below. Torchlight wavered with violent shadows as an English guard appeared, rushed past.

  Thank God he hadn’t stopped. Alone, she quickened her pace. Pulse racing, she exited the keep, moved across the sun-dried turf, praying those watching attributed any signs of nervousness were due to her being a new bride anxious for her husband’s arrival.

  Bróccín cantered beneath the arched stone entry with the confidence of a warrior, his air unapproachable, and his stalwart bearing commanding respect. For the first time since they had met, Gwendolyn found herself grateful for his daunting presence.

  He drew his steed to a halt before her. Eyes unreadable, the earl dismounted, handed the reins to an awaiting lad.

  Forcing a smile on her face, she rushed forwar
d. “Welcome home, my husband,” she said loudly, forcing cheer into her voice. “Put your arms around me as if you welcome my presence,” she whispered, “then draw me close as if to kiss me.”

  His entire body stiffened. “Wh—”

  “Do it,” she ordered, leaning in.

  Green eyes narrowed, then strong hands wrapped around her waist, pulled her flush against him.

  Gwendolyn lifted on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. A fraction of a second passed. On a soft groan, his arms tightened, and his mouth claimed her, hot and hard. A shudder ripped through her as his taste, touch, poured through her until her mind blurred.

  Until she almost forgot why she had initiated this demonstration.

  Almost.

  Heart pounding, she broke off the kiss and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That should appear believable,” she murmured. “Dinna look around, but cup my chin as if in affection.”

  He complied.

  “We are in grave danger,” she whispered. “The duke has seized the castle.”

  His thumb slid along her lower lip as his gaze covertly skimmed the stronghold and then shifted to her. “Explain.”

  The calmness of his voice belied the fury blazing in his eyes, an anger that matched her own. “This morning, after I saw to the health of an elder in a nearby crofter’s hut, I returned to the keep. As I walked down a corridor, from an open door ahead, I overheard the duke informing one of his nobles that my guards were taken care of and Latharn Castle was now under English control. Worse”—she rasped, damning the tremor in her voice—“he stated that his hosts could now be disposed of.”

  Bróccín’s jaw tightened, and he skimmed his mouth along the curve of her jaw. “Why would he betray Lord Comyn?”

  “I canna be sure.”

  “Thank God you are safe.” Her husband lifted her face, his gaze intense. “You should have escaped and then tried to find me.”

  Though she’d once dreaded his existence, she couldn’t help feeling comforted by his presence. “I needed to warn you.”