Bronson scowled. “You both know me better than that.”
Gray chuckled at his fierce look. “He’ll have none of it. He’s saving himself for his bride.” When Bronson looked ready to pummel him, he ran to Rafael and threw his arm around him as they made to go. “Come, brother, he’ll know no pleasures until he rids us of the scamp’s presence.” They left Bronson brooding by the fire.
He sat in silent contemplation for long moments, studying the dying fire, before Constance came back in to bid him good night.
Bronson grabbed her arm before she could leave.
“Brother?” Her eyes revealed her confusion.
“I wouldst speak with you ere you go. Do you speak the truth? That that child bested a man full grown?”
Constance laughed, her manner gone easy once more. Doubtless she thought his fears for her of no pressing concern. “Of course, Bronson. I am not in the habit of telling untruths to father.”
Bronson did not believe so puny a boy could have fought and won against a thief intent on his prize. The lad scarce reached his shoulder and was as slender as a girl. Oh, he didn’t doubt Constance had seen as she claimed.
He knew the ways of men, however, and suspected it had been arranged by the boy. Lord Alex Montague was after a far greater prize than a mere purse.
“You will have naught to do with him, Constance. I forbid it.”
She looked as though she just realized he still held her and pulled herself free. “I am no longer a child for you to protect from every comer. Father is fond of him--”
“Father is fond of everyone. He would take in every stray if he could. Sometimes I must protect even him from himself.”
“You cannot do it all, Bronson. And you go soon to your own house, your own marriage.” She suddenly looked serious, no more the care free girl he’d thought she’d remain. “I would have mine before I am too gray.”
“I do not need be reminded of my obligations, but I will remind you of your place.” He could have kicked himself for the hurt he saw on her face. He always managed to say the wrong thing as far as she was concerned. He had little experience controlling females, and Constance was as headstrong as the rest of the Blackmore brood. ‘Twas hard for him to realize she stood before him a woman full grown, not the little girl who’d once crawled on his lap, crying for a mother.
Constance blinked rapidly, clearing her eyes. “I will do as father has taught me, you can be assured.”
He noted the defiance evidenced by her stubborn chin and squared shoulders as she left the room without turning back. He no more believed she would obey him than she would father.
Father had allowed her her head far too often. He would not allow some deceptive whelp to bring misfortune to their household, nor to her life.
Besides, she was a Blackmore, and she had obligations to the family name. Just as he did, just as his brothers.
Bronson thought of his own engagement with disgust and cursed the chains of duty and honor. As first born son and heir, his life was not his own, far less even than his siblings.
He breathed a heavy sigh and rubbed his stubbled jaw, distracted.
It was time to put the boy in his place.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alex closed the door, sinking against it in relief, her knees weak.
Bidding her strength return, she looked at her surroundings. To the right, a fire burned in the hearth, banishing night’s chill and dark, while a bath had been prepared thoughtfully near its warmth.
The bed looked as though shaped from a single piece of wood, dwarfing the room with its size, mattresses stacked up to nearly her waist. Scenes of wolves hunting, frolicking, living were carved in relief on the head board.
The Blackmore’s propensity for wolves unnerved her. She felt too much a lamb readied for slaughter as it was without reminding her of the predatory nature of men.
Her clothing had been set atop a massive chest at the foot, and she hoped no one had questioned her possession of a jar of paste.
A polished metal mirror completed the contents of the room. The room was functional, sparse, and perfect. Privacy was all she required.
Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it. She had been offered food and drink, but she’d declined--too tense to eat tonight.
A bath was the cure for her anxiety, however. She mustn’t let it go to waste.
Throwing off her cape and plumed cap, and almost her wig, she decided against removing it. She would wash her hair when she felt more secure. Peering into the mirror, her reflection was distorted, but she could see the beginnings of a bruise blossoming on her forehead. It would be a wonder if she suffered no lasting effects from Firedancer’s antics. Blast his training!
She removed her short wool tunic and slashed doublet, dropping them to the floor. Kicking off her shoes, she progressed into the room. Stopping at the bed, she peeled off the short drawers that concealed her sex and flung them and her thick hose onto the bed before moving to the far wall.
Steam wafted through the room as Alex broke through the veil hovering above the water like a mist and eased into the tub. The heat of the water scorched her, but it was a welcome pain that eased the ache of her body and soul. She dared to relax and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment. She’d been on the road far too long....
A frigid breeze blew across her damp skin, banishing her equanimity. Her lids snapped open, and she sucked a sharp breath in at the horrific sight she beheld.
Constance!
Alex huddled in the water, sinking in until only her head remained above drowning level. She summoned the most forceful tone she could muster under the circumstance, “My lady, you must not be here!” Shock closed her throat to only the weakest of squeaks.
Constance shut the door and walked inside, hips swaying, a smile spread across her impish face. Devil take the girl!
She had cleaned herself and dressed in what she supposed must surely be provocative attire. Her sanguine gown made her skin look exceptionally pale, the bodice trimmed in Spanish lace, cut low and tight to enhance her charms. The hanging sleeves were tied up on the shoulders, revealing wide, embroidered undersleeves.
Alex had an ill feeling in her stomach, and lack of food was not the cause. This could only bode ill for her.
“My father assures me ‘tis entirely proper for the lady of the house to assist guests at their bath.” She pushed her full sleeves up her forearms and grabbed a washing cloth, proceeding toward Alex with the inevitability of the plague.
“Nay!” Alex shrank back. “It is not done, surely not by a maiden.” Escape plans whirled through her head with the speed of a diving falcon. Saints! Why had she not barred the door with some immovable object?
Alex rose in the water just enough to snatch the cloth from Constance’s hand.
Constance chuckled, eyeing Alex. “You have strange ways, my lord.”
Alex almost laughed herself. The girl hadn’t a clue just how strange....
“Get thee gone, woman. You know not what trouble will arise should you be found here!”
Constance ignored her and took the sodden cloth back, rubbing it with soap. Alex caught hold of it again and they tugged it between them before Alex’s strength of will dominated and it landed with a splash between her legs. Constance reached for it immediately, but Alex was quicker. She grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
They were close now ... too close.
Alex was furious. “Does your father entrust you to my care so implicitly, even for so short a time? He does not know me. I could take advantage of you.”
“Would you?” Constance looked eager, brazen wench, and leaned forward as if to kiss her.
The door slammed open. Alex’s jaw dropped as her gaze flew to it.
Lord Bronson stepped through the doorway.
Death.
Destruction.
TORTURE.
Alex gaped at him, her plight forgotten for a finite moment. Midnight hair, unfashionably long, hung loose around his shoulde
rs, framing his face. Far from looking soft and womanish, he had the look of a dark, avenging angel. And she had the distinct feeling he’d known Constance was with her. He had removed his armor, and she could see he was nearly as broad without it. Alex felt better that he hadn’t come prepared for battle, but then, she would hardly put a dent in his hide with a mace, let alone her bare hands.
He strode into the room like an enraged bull. “Get off her,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet, revealing none of the animosity apparent on his face.
Get off her! If Alex had been able, she’d have been outraged. As it was, she could think of nothing but a chanting prayer--please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.
Constance pulled her arm from Alex’s nerveless fingers.
“Out,” Bronson bit off the word.
Constance wisely said nothing and stood. He held the door open for her then shut and locked it with a key when she’d gone.
“Nothing happened--” She clamped her mouth shut. Her protestations could sound nothing but damning, even to her own innocent ears.
Alex watched his fluid movement across the room, wary, knowing a storm had been brewing and was about to hit. She wondered that he didn’t rend her limb from limb, but the distance provided a flimsy, protective barrier. She couldn’t help but be impressed with his grace, even in anger. She’d always thought large men clumsy. She certainly felt rather maladroit herself--but this was not her doing!
“What made you think you could put your hands on my sister?” He met and caught her stare from across the room, his gaze near physical with its intensity.
Had he gone blind? She was the one who’d been molested.
Alex glared at him, which was apparently the wrong thing to do.
Lord Blackmore trod across the room, quick as a viper, and snatched her half out of the tub, looking confused when he felt cloth instead of skin in his hold.
Alex started babbling. “I assure you, I have no designs on your sister. I wish to leave as soon as my horse is rested. On the morrow I go--”
“Why are you yet clothed?” He looked down her chest, over her belly to where her body disappeared into the water.
Alex felt her skin scorch as he raked in her appearance. A strange heat enveloped her, hotter than the water. Insanely, she wondered what he would think if she’d been completely bare. She looked at herself uneasily, thankful her paranoia had at least allowed her to think ahead to some dire possibilities. The linen shirt clung to her body, her sparse curves diminished with padding and binding that she dared not remove--not while she was under the Blackmore’s tender care.
Thinking fast, she said, “I was washing my garments, milord.”
His mouth quirked and he released her to go sliding back into the tub. “We have washerwomen for that.” A dimple revealed itself beguilingly, and she thought for a moment he would lose his fierce edge and smile.
He did not, and he said no more.
Sitting on the tub’s edge, he measured her with his gaze.
Alex shifted, uncomfortable with his assessing scrutiny. Her shirt had caught air when she’d landed, and began floating slowly to the surface, baring her with its passage.
Casually as she could, she stealthily moved her hand and pushed it back down.
He seemed not to notice and said, “I know why you are here. At first, I thought you some lord’s catamite, for you are far too comely to go unnoticed at court, but I have seen you eyeing your surroundings, judging our numbers, sizing up our holdings.”
What the devil was he speaking of? “I assure you--”
“Cease your prattle. I will say my piece and go.” He paused a long moment and met her eyes. “You will stay away from my sister. She is spoken for. I will not have some pissant fortune hunter trailing after her. Blackmores do not break their vows.”
Without giving her the opportunity for rebuttal, he stood, gave her a last calculating glance, and walked away.
Her drawers lay like a white banner across the deep burgundy bedcovers. They flagged his attention now as he passed. He stopped and seized them from the bed.
“What ... are ... these?” He held them in one hand like a loathsome serpent, a look of horror etched on his handsome face.
She gulped. “N-nothing. They are my drawers.” They were a design of hers that she’d made for wearing under her tunic, which hung mid-thigh on her rather than upper thigh as most men wore. She’d felt naked without something covering her modesty and wearing a cod piece felt absurd. Since no one would see them, she hadn’t seen the harm in making them appealing to her eye.
The answer failed to satisfy him. “There is lace on....” Words failed him. With a visible shudder, he dropped them as though burned and stomped from the room, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like ‘damned applesquire.’
Alex sighed in relief when he’d gone, quaking. The worst was over. She’d thought for sure her ruse was finished. She laughed at herself and then at Bronson until tears came out of her eyes. Oblivious man that he was, he’d never suspect a female capable of deceiving him. She collapsed back, weakened for some inexplicable reason.
It was a shame she was not more womanly, that she possessed no feminine charms. It angered her suddenly that he hadn’t seen she wasn’t a boy. How could he be so blind? She hit the water with a fist, splashing it everywhere, absentmindedly scratching at her wig.
Her scalp itched abominably beneath the loathsome thing, but she daren’t remove it. There was no privacy guaranteed a’tall here. She would take no more baths inside the house. ‘Twas far too dangerous when all and sundry pranced in and out without a by your leave.
Alex regained her strength and stepped from the tub, preparing for bed. She’d had enough excitement for one night. In the morning, she’d hie herself off to her cousins. They could not be any worse than the Blackmores, and she had no interest in imposing herself on strangers ... nor her enemies.
Glancing around, cautious, she slipped off her shirt and tried to wring some of the water from her bindings. She groaned. They were still soaked but she would stomach them. She slipped a new shirt on as well as her doublet, tunic, and hose, feeling every bit as though she were strapping on armor.
The heavy clothing was uncomfortable, and she could already feel water seeping through the first layer, but it was preferable to being found without protection. She could hardly contain herself at the thought of dressing as a woman. She was exhausted by her charade and, unreasonably, put out that she’d succeeded at it so well that she was now considered a threat to a young maiden’s virtue. Damn their hides!
When she’d set out on her journey, she’d had no idea the difficulties she’d encounter. She was looking forward to becoming the person she was meant to be instead of hiding. Once she was transformed by her cousins, she would come back and taunt the odious Lord Blackmore. He was in sore need of learning a lesson.
Happier than she had been in weeks, Alex blew out her candles and dropped into bed, determined to meet her destiny on the morrow. Her eyes drifted closed just as she heard the alarm raised.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alex bolted from her bed in an instant and raced to the window. The grounds below crawled with activity, men scurried about like bees defending their hive from a bear.
What could have happened? Indecision gripped her in agony, her curiosity strangling her sensibility. Should she venture out or stay?
The door slammed open and Lord Blackmore swept inside like a dark cloud.
Alex began to suspect he’d been raised in a barn. “Do you always enter a room thusly?”
He grinned then, and her eyes widened at his transformation from dark warrior to ... to a handsome man. She felt a shiver course over her and cursed her damp garments.
“There are games afoot. Come, I will see this prowess in battle you possess. I see you’ve already prepared.”
Was that admiration gleaming in his eyes?
Reluctant, she accompanied him. He’d successfully dashed any enthu
siasm she’d once held. Her choices were rather limited, after all. A young buck would never turn down the chance at ... battle? “Where are we going?” Suspicion tinged her voice.
“The McPhersons are raiding. We are going to stop them.”
“So ... ‘tis true then? They are thieves?”
Blackmore spared her a backward glance as they descended the stairs. “I thought ‘twas obvious.”
Doubtless their enemies had compelled them to steal or die. Her enemies--she must keep that clear in her mind. “Then they must surely be driven to thievery.”
He laughed, a mirthless bark of sound. Alex suspected he thought her a fool.
“A more odious bunch could not have been created by the dark one himself. Nay, they do not do this out of need. It is spite, pure and simple. You’d do well to remember that.”
How dare he talk that way of them. If she’d thought it’d do any good, she’d skewer his arse with her rapier. She shot lancets into his offensive hide.
They reached bottom and threw open the door leading into the courtyard.
Their horses had been prepared, and she could see his two brothers awaiting their arrival. They wore no battle gear, save their swords, and looked eager to be about their business.
They were far too darkly handsome for her comfort. She was accustomed to grayhairs in her grandfather’s house, not young, virile warriors too comely for anyone’s good.
She noticed all activity on the grounds had ceased and they were alone. Her steps slowed, and she lagged behind. “Will it be four only going?”
He turned to look at her, his face smug. She wanted to hit him.
“Worried?” Blackmore taunted. The jackass.
“Nay. I thought perhaps ‘twas your inferior numbers which kept you from apprehending the raiders.”
The youngest brother, Gray, recognizable by his leanness, laughed. Doubtless in a few years he would surpass his brothers’ monstrous size.
A look from his eldest brother quelled his laughter, somewhat. Rafael frogged him in the arm and he was silent.
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