“That would defeat the purpose,” Bronson said.
“I’m sorry?”
“‘Tis none of your concern. This is the way it is done. Now mount up. We ride.”
It was her concern. She didn’t want to end up spitted for some nonsensical feud of men.
Alex did not see the point of this excursion a’tall. Surely the McPhersons would be long gone by now.
She swung onto Firedancer, who seemed agitated at the excitement. The others took off through the courtyard and Firedancer followed, needing no encouragement.
Casting a surreptitious look around, she could see the Blackmore men smiling. Could they possibly be enjoying this? Was this how men got their jollies?
They crossed into the countryside, over smooth meadows. The full moon cast ample light by which to see, creating the illusion of a cloud covered day instead of the actuality of night.
Lord Bronson led the brood, and she hung towards the back in safety, Lord Gray riding beside her. She wondered if she could slip away in the confusion. ‘Twould likely not be an opportune time to introduce herself to her cousins, but mayhap she could follow them to their castle ... Certes! ‘Twas ridiculous to believe they’d even be there when they arrived.
Perhaps she could discover their motives by questioning the youngest son.
“Lord Gray?” He didn’t answer. “Lord Gray!”
He turned and looked at her. “You need not be so formal. You are a friend of the family now. Call me Gray.”
She nodded. “Is this typical for thieves to await their potential captors?”
He grinned, looking wild and very much like Bronson, though his smile seemed not to strike her in quite the same way. “‘Tis what they do. They attack, we attack them.”
Alex was doubly confused. “You look as though you enjoy this.”
“Aye, I do. But don’t let that fool you, we all do.” He laughed and called to his brother. “Rafael, do we tell him of the time you and Bronson were drug through the pasture?”
Rafael dropped back to more easily speak, his grin wolfish. “Mayhap we should tell Alex when you got hold of one of their she-cats.”
Gray growled. “I bear that witch’s mark to this day. Heed my words, I’ll get the wench for that someday.”
“‘Twould take a more determined man than you to bring that wildcat to heel.”
“And I suppose you’d accept the challenge?”
“Nay brother, I’ll enjoy seeing you earn your marks yet again! Mayhap we’ll see her once more on this raid.”
“I’d welcome the chance.” Gray scowled still.
Alex wondered what sort of mark the woman had given such a large man and if their women truly went on raids as Rafael had stated. “Do the women raid as well?” she asked Rafael.
“Aye, if they have the chance, though they dress as barbaric as the men. Gray thought he’d had hold of one of their men, didn’t you?” Rafael laughed heartily.
Alex was horrified. If the McPhersons bred women into wild things, how was she to be schooled in the art of being a lady? Her plans began to crumble into dust, and she fell into a morose silence.
‘Twas only a matter of time before the king discovered her missing. As a ward of the crown, she would rely solely on his judgment for her marriage. But she had no wish to be a pawn in his intrigues. The only way to avoid it was to be married before discovery, but any man who was caught with her would risk the king’s ire, and treason if he chose not to be lenient. She knew that a king’s fury at being thwarted would not be an attraction to suitors.
What’s more, she had no way of knowing how to get a husband, and she would not make a suitable wife as she was. She had no skills as a woman, since her grandfather had raised her as the son he’d lost to the plague. She wanted only to choose someone safe, of easy temper, a man who would be a comfort to her.
Scotland and her mother’s people had seemed ideal, her only hope to escape, but she had been thrust into the midst of this petty feud. Would her kin see her as consorting with the enemy? Oh, what a tangle she was in, to be sure.
“We’ve arrived.” At her downtrodden expression, Rafael said, “Do not look so. You’ll see, Alex, their males are far easier to handle.” He laughed and rode ahead, Gray scowling in good humor.
‘Twas no wonder he was quiet. Dung permeated the air until she could scarce breathe. Why would anyone want to steal such foul smelling creatures? She’d had no idea how much they reeked en masse.
A baritone shout broke the stillness and all hell broke loose.
Wild cries filled the night as the McPhersons and Blackmores clashed. She could see them, their horses circling each other, chasing, chasing, coming to blows when one was caught. How could they think this a jolly good game? Firedancer, never one to miss action, bucked at his bridle and resisted her frantic efforts to remain safely away from the battle. He ran toward the fray as fast as the wind.
Her nose itched and she wrinkled it, not daring to release her terrific hold on the reins. The tickle persisted, and she realized in horror her mustache was loose. She brought her hand up to clamp over it when a gust of wind blew it betwixt her fingers.
Shrieking like a banshee, with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed, she halted and jumped down to the ground, landing squarely in the midst of a dung pile.
In disgust, she looked at her once immaculate shoes. Firedancer sidled, near unbalancing her, then took off into the fray. “Son of a goat!” She shook her fist at the foul beast.
Her lip felt strangely naked without the mustache. Alex sighed. She had spent too much time in this masquerade.
The damned steam from her bath must have weakened the paste. If they hadn’t flustered her--no matter. It was done. She must fix it.
Squishing into the meadow, she remained heedless to the roars and clanging of her comrades, her eyes fixated on the dark ground. If she couldn’t locate it, they’d know. All of them. Her heart began pounding as her fear increased.
There! She was near tears when she spotted it. Fluttering in a soft breeze, the mustache clung precariously to a pile of dung like the frail petal of a blossom. ‘Twas a pure miracle she’d found it. Alex felt a hysterical laugh bubble from her lips, but she beat it back in submission.
Nose wrinkled, she bent and reached for it with the tips of her fingers just as a jolt from behind hit her, knocked her feet from under her, and immersed her in filth.
A string of curses she hadn’t known she knew erupted from her throat. Her fury disappeared when she saw the savage who had unbalanced her. His hair was plastered to his head with something like mud, and hung in thick tangled locks about his shoulders. He was half naked, his face and body painted with strange markings that shone in the moonlight. He looked like some sort of wild creature of the forest, mayhap a brownie. What shocked her most, however, was that he looked at her as though faced with a ghost.
“Heather? Is it you lass? Have you come back to us?”
‘Twas her first time hearing the Scots brogue, having never heard her mother speak in her lifetime, and she was surprised at his awful clarity.
She thought her astonishment could not scale greater heights. He moved close, and she scrambled back in the mire on her backside, watching him warily.
How had the devil known her mother’s name? Unless....
Her mouth dropped open. She could only be staring at one of her relations. Seeing someone she was related to dowsed her like ice water. A small gasp tore from her.
“Here, lass, before they come.” He speech was rushed as he stretched his hand out for her, his look beseeching. The temptation to risk going was unbearable, but her mind whirled with consequences should she leave now. Would she hinder him? Would he not escape if she went along?
Thundering hooves eating the ground grew loud in her ears.
He looked up, startled. “I’ll get ye out of their clutches, lass, don’t worry yer pretty head. I’ll be back.” The strange man looked as though it killed him to leave and ran of
f, disappearing into the night.
“What on god’s green earth are you doing down there?” Bronson yelled at her from behind.
Uh oh.
She remembered her bare lip, the mustache clutched in a death grip in her hand. She slapped it on her face before turning to him. Grimacing at the filth holding it on, she looked at him and searched her mind for some excuse.
“I--I ... was unseated by one of those savages. As you can see, we fought.”
“Oh, aye. I can see something has happened.” He laughed at her. Laughed. At. Her.
His brothers rode up, and when they clapped eyes on her, began laughing as well--deep, baritone laughter that raised her ire. If they had better sense, they would fear her wrath.
She reached a hand up for help, but one look at her palm and they backed away, laughing so, that they could not even speak. She stood with as much dignity as she could muster, accepting no help from the ogres, which they hadn’t offered regardless. “I don’t find what is so humorous--”
Their laughter drowned out her words. Louder and harder. She hoped their bellies ached when they were finished.
Bronson held his stomach, and she strongly suspected he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.
She fumed silently, waiting for their mirth to come to an end, though it showed no signs of abating. Firedancer walked up, her only ally among enemies. She reached for his reins, smiling. He lowered his head to nuzzle her and sniffed, then snorted and tossed his head.
Traitor.
“Oh ho! His own horse will have naught to do with him!” Gray said. As far as she was concerned, she would welcome not hearing another word uttered from his mouth the rest of her stay.
They were men full grown, too old to act in such a way.
“Aye, he looks as though he wrestled a dung pie and lost!” Rafael shouted. “‘Twas that which unseated him. Shot up from the ground and attacked.”
“They’re a dangerous lot!”
“The McPhersons walk on two legs, boy, not hide and wait on the ground. You’ll know better next time,” Bronson said, curbing his mirth.
Restraining her anger, she grabbed her horse’s reins and swung into the saddle. Her toes squished in her shoes. She probably did look as ridiculous as she felt.
“You fail to realize the brilliance of my strategy. We fight battles in a more sophisticated manner in Evenshire. This ... substance catches fire quite easily, why, if my horse hadn’t unseated me, you all would have beheld a grand sight.”
Bronson smiled, looking years younger. “If that is modern warfare, I want no part of it.”
“Oh, you’ll see much more than that when I’m done with you. I have ways of fighting you cannot comprehend.”
“Nor want to,” he replied, grinning.
Alex chuckled evilly despite herself and bowed gracefully from the saddle. “For your insult, you may ride downwind of me.” With that, she took off and they chased her, laughing all the way to the manor.
Perhaps they weren’t as loathsome as she’d first supposed. Perchance she could come to like them.
They rode into the courtyard and dismounted, their horses led away by sleepy-eyed groomsmen.
Rafael and Gray stripped to their hose and cod pieces and began washing off in barrels of water left out expressly for that purpose.
Snatches of their conversation drifted to her on the wind as they caroused and bathed.
“Ah, Rafael, you should have seen the beauty I had to leave this night. Mayhap she still awaits....”
“How much did you have to drink before you saw her, Gray?”
“No more than usual. I am not foxed. Did I look foxed out there tonight when I had hold of that devil? Besides ’twas a damned inconvenient interruption to my wooing.”
“I was under the impression you only wooed in the morning. Mayhap you best. Your vision is much improved with light.”
“Oh, aye, mornings are my forte. But takes the night to properly woo a woman, surely you think only of your own experiences--why do you laugh?”
“‘Tis nothing. I merely thought you preferred them unconscious, as they surely must be so early in the day.”
She found the men entertaining, but the smile fell from her face, and she stopped listening as Bronson neared her. He shrugged out of his doublet and undershirt as he approached her where she stood rooted to the ground. His hose clung to his legs like skin, his cod piece capturing her gaze.
“We wash before we enter the house,” Bronson said to her.
“You most of all,” Gray shouted behind him.
Their words came to her as though underwater. Her blood rushed in her ears, deafening her. Her eyes were level with his chest now. She’d known men were built differently, but she hadn’t imagined there was quite so much difference.
His chest was wide as an oak and looked just as hard and sturdy, muscles and sinew all delineated in perfect precision. Hair encircled his nipples and chest in an intriguing pattern that trailed down his rippled stomach and disappeared into his hose. She wondered where it went, and her eyes strained to follow, her body leaning unconsciously forward.
Alex shook herself from her waking dream and met his eyes. She’d never felt so petite in all the years of her life. A warm, mellow heat suffused her limbs. That strange weakness had returned, swallowing her defenses. Moist heat throbbed between her legs, achy, pleasurable.
Alex looked up, following the movement of his lips, fascinated as they formed words she couldn’t decipher. She might have been deaf for all she listened. She wondered what it would feel like to have those lips brush against hers…. She blushed at the direction of her thoughts, struggling to maintain her composure.
His words finally caught her wayward thoughts, thrusting her into the present. Her voice found, she said, “I am afraid I cannot bathe. Not down here.” Of its own accord, her gaze kept creeping down to his chest and stomach. And the cod piece! That huge cod piece that locked the beast in its cage. Blasted eyes! She rubbed them in revenge, remembered how filthy she was and stopped. She only hoped she didn’t go blind.
Bronson studied her, a strange look on his face, one she’d never seen before and couldn’t begin to decipher in her limited experience. “Whyever not?”
“Pox scars. They’re hideous. I would spare you.”
“You are most kind.” His hand shot out and gripped her jaw, tilting her face from side to side. “I see no scars here.”
Was his hand lingering? She sincerely hoped not. Never in her life did she anticipate exposure more than now. He was so very large, his hands huge and encompassing and deliciously rough from sword play and God only knew what else…. What was wrong with her that she’d lost her concentration and hoped he’d reveal her for the woman she was?
Not trusting herself to say more, she remained silent. When she said nothing, he released her. “Very well. Go upstairs to your room.”
She wasted no time and scampered inside quick as a mouse, away from danger. Away from all that hard, tempting flesh.
CHAPTER SIX
Inside, all was dark and silent. The only sign of her passage--a trailing, redolent cloud of odor. Apparently, Derwin Hall was used to these midnight raids, which she found odd.
Weary beyond belief, she climbed the stairs to her own room. She was not accustomed to the out of doors and did not appreciate her smell. How foolish she was to think him attracted to her. And she certainly didn’t want him to be attracted to her as she was—a young lord. She shuddered at the thought.
Alex shut the door, then searched about for additional barriers. Spying the chest at the foot of the bed, she struggled and pushed until it blocked the door.
Satisfied, she eased out of her ruined doublet and noticed her own crude reflection in the mirror.
It was cloudy and warped, but she laughed at the bedraggled picture she presented. She looked as though she’d been dragged through mud by her hair. Only her face remained virtually untouched.
Her wig would need washing she
saw. And her hair beneath. The mustache would also--she gasped and leaned closer. It was upside down! She looked at it in horror, as one would a third eye grown on one’s forehead.
Had they noticed? She tried to remember and then chuckled at her own foolishness. If they had, she would not be standing here now.
She giggled as her hysteria eased. Thankfully, her clothes had borne the brunt of the grime.
She tried to think of what to do. She couldn’t summon a bath, not at this hour, and she couldn’t go back downstairs....
Alex paced the room, going to the window and looking out at freedom. An insane thought struck her, one she would never dare had misfortune not pressed its thumb upon her head.
She stripped the bedcovers back and tore off the sheets, gathering more from the chest. She was not but on the second story. The grounds were quiet since the expected attack had come and gone--she’d seen that outside.
She would go to the river and bathe. If no folly befell her tonight, she would make ready and use it as a means of escape the next.
‘Twas harder than she’d expected to knot the sheets and tie them together, then tie them to the bed. Her hands ached, but she was satisfied the results would hold. Opening the window, peering down and seeing no one, she threw the make shift rope out, gratified to see it was long enough to reach the ground.
She had a more difficult time going out. Strange how she’d never known she had an aversion to heights until now. Her legs dangled against the wall as she sat on the sill, debating.
Enow! Gritting her teeth, she turned carefully and took the plunge.
The bundle of clothes she’d tied around one shoulder and her neck near strangled her as she went over, but she wouldn’t spare a hand to ease her strangulation. She’d trust in god not to pass out before she reached bottom.
The going was slow, painfully so, but her feet touched the blessed ground before she knew it. She regretted having to go back up but shrugged. She would tackle that obstacle when she came to it. Almost tempted to kiss the earth, she bounded off toward the stream, unaware of the shadow that detached itself from the manor and followed her.
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