Grandfather had trained her in the use of her sword because ‘such knowledge can always be put to use,’ but he had never been so merciless. Gray had no reason to be easy on her, and she felt it in the fiber of her being.
By midmorning, her arms and legs ached abominably, heavy as a broad sword, her feet like anvils, but she’d impressed the unimpressable.
“You’ve been taught well, young Alex.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Now ‘tis time you learn moves you’ll need in battle, when savagery and schooling merge. Are you up for it, lad? Think you can best me?”
“Aye, I know I can.” Without another word, she thrust her blade at him and he parried. They circled one another, swords darting in but making no direct hit as the blades clashed and metal screamed against metal.
Alex was determined to prove her worth. The irony of a puny female beating a monster of a man tickled her. She only wished she could take Bronson in such a manner ... or that he’d at least witness her victory.
Abruptly, Gray changed his strategy, and she knew this was what he’d referred to earlier. Gray used fists and hilt, even his legs to battle her, and she felt herself surrounded by him. Nimbler than he, she evaded him, but she was wearing down quickly.
Dimly, she sensed Bronson called out behind her, but she paid him no heed, her mind concentrated on winning. Seeing her opening, she ran at him but misjudged her opponent’s own distracted state.
An arm came across her vision, and before she knew what had happened, she was lying on the ground, Gray looking concerned above her. An instant later, he disappeared as a huge, black shape crashed into him.
Her thudding heart eased into its normal rhythm. Catching her breath, she struggled to a seated position. Bronson had hold of Gray ... or perhaps ‘twas the other way around. They looked to be trying to kill one another.
“I told you be easy on the boy today,” Bronson gritted out, his breath knocked from him as Gray hit his stomach.
“I was,” Gray growled.
“You damn near knocked his head off, I hardly call that ‘going easy’.”
Alex got up on shaky legs, rubbing her soar backside. “What goes on here?”
They stopped abruptly, faces blank with shock, Gray half kneeling and Bronson’s beefy arms wrapped around him.
The two men looked so absurd, their expressions so confused, that she couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. She held her belly and fell back onto the ground, laughing harder. “Y-you look ... as though ... you are going ... to hug him to death.”
Bronson and Gray came and towered over her, faces half grim, half amused. She peered up at them with tear blurred eyes.
“I thought he’d killed you, scamp. I see now nothing could pierce that thick head of yours.”
She grinned just as a cry echoed through the air. They all looked to its source. Constance ran to them, her skirts flying out in the wind, her eyes only for Alex.
“My lord! Are you injured?” Constance helped Alex to her feet, worry wrinkling her brow as she fretted over Alex. “Bronson, Gray, you shall be sorry if I find this has happened ever again.”
“I shall live, dear lady, fear not.”
Alex feigned more weakness than she felt, and Constance glared at her brothers. ‘Twas hard for Alex to keep straight as she saw how shame-faced they were.
‘Twas how sympathy should be doled out for her, after all. She allowed Constance to lead her away, clucking over her hurts, leaving two bemused men behind.
She was thankful the girl had come, thankful to escape their rigors. As they walked away, Alex couldn’t help but waggle her brows in mischief at the men, and their guffaws tickled her well into the trial she would endure at Constance’s tender mercies.
* * * *
Hours dragged into a lifetime for Alex. She had been deemed too injured to accompany the household for the evening meal and been fed like an invalid by Constance herself.
Eventually, Constance left her, but her respite was brief, for a summons delivered by a pale faced servant came from Lord Bronson to see him in his room.
Alex leaned her back against her propped up pillows, debating on whether to venture forth or not. Doubtless he desired to speak to her of her absence this evening. A longing to taunt him with Constance’s attentions brought a smile to her face. Let him think the worst. She would soon be leaving.
Alex swung her legs over the bed and attempted to stand, falling back almost instantaneously as fire erupted in her muscles. She groaned, wishing an early demise would come to end her torture.
Breathing deeply, using her arms for added leverage, she managed to propel herself to her feet. She caught a bedpost and steadied herself with a weak arm. Gray and Bronson would pay for their ‘training,’ she vowed. Somehow, someday.
Determined, she left her room and was surprised to see the servant awaiting her, and realized she had no idea where Bronson lay his dreadful head at night.
“I am to see you to his chambers, my lord.” The pale man bowed and began leading the way.
Alex’s stomach began knotting as she neared, wondering if she was wise to do this in her weakened state. Her body’s strength and ease of movement improved with each step, and she tossed her worries aside, eager for vengeance.
The servant left her standing before Lord Bronson’s door, hurriedly walking away.
Steadying herself, she knocked three times.
“Enter.” His deep voice was muffled through the thick oak door.
Boldly, she walked inside, the door’s weight causing it to slam behind her unheeded. Her jaw dropped at the sight she beheld, her eyes large as golden tureens.
She backed up until she was trapped against the door, holding it barred with her body, unable to turn around and leave, her feet heavy as though embedded in stone.
He was naked.
But even his nakedness did not shock her as much as what he said once she’d entered the room fully.
“Take off your clothes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Argyle, are you certain she’s kin?” Hugh McPherson asked, pushing his empty plate aside as a serving girl came to take it.
“Aye, brother. She had the bonny look of Heather, I swear it. ‘Twas difficult to see, but I warrant she’s her daughter.”
Kiara slammed her fist on the table and stood, garnering everyone’s attention. Eight pairs of eyes settled their gazes upon her. “Those damned Blackmores are holding her hostage. Are we going to do something about it?” She pressed her palms flat on the table, looking at each in turn with as stern a look as she could muster.
The room erupted into discussion as everyone started talking at once. Hugh, the eldest and patriarch of the family, silenced them by raising his hand. He stroked the braids of his beard in contemplation--a stalling habit that annoyed much of the clan. “We’ll need to see if the lass is endangered as you fear first, Kiara. I’ll send one of the lads to check.”
Kiara laughed. Used to her odd ways, no one took objection to her outburst. “He’ll never get past those brutes and you know it.”
Hugh’s eyes twinkled. “What do you propose, gel?”
Kiara grinned. “That we go inside. I can slip past their guards easily. The Blackmores are so full of themselves, they’d never suspect a wee lass like meself sneakin’ in.”
The table erupted in laughter.
Uncle Argyle finally caught his breath, stolen by laughter. “God above help them should they catch you, gel,” he shouted, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.
Kiara returned his smile. They’d tried before and not succeeded. “‘Twill take better than they to lay hands on me.”
“‘Tis a good plan, daughter. You take Wren and let us know what you see. If you can get the lass out without trouble, bring her along.”
Kiara frowned, looking at her older brother. He waggled his fingers at her, grinning, looking entirely too smug for his own good. “I can do it meself,” she said.
“You’ll take Wren.
” His tone brooked no argument. “I like not you being at that brood’s mercy without some protection.”
“And you think Wren would protect me?”
His bushy brows drew down as he frowned at her.
She sighed, wise enough to know when she’d lost. “Very well. But ‘tis my plan ... and he must follow it to the letter!” She brightened, thinking of what they’d do to get inside. It might not be so bad taking him along after all....
* * * *
The lock clicked behind her. Alex turned frantically and tried to open the door, to no avail. Realizing her frenzied efforts were useless, she dropped her arms and turned to face Bronson, a morbid tension entering her bones. She cleared her throat and asked, “Pardon me?” ‘Twas a noble effort, indeed, to be so calm in the face of his ... his....
He was in the midst of rubbing a soapy cloth on his chest. On his very wide, very hard, very muscular chest. Alex stared, mesmerized as bubbles formed and broke on his bronze skin with each pass of the cloth. The wet sheen glistened gold in the candlelight. She half wondered if he felt as molten and smooth as her eyes led her to believe. A queer curiosity kindled inside her.
Bronson didn’t look up from his task, continued running the cloth over his flesh, dipping down his belly, forcing her eyes to follow the line of his movement. She’d leaned forward without realizing it, straightened up when his voice broke through the fog clouding her wits. Saints! She acted like some simpleton.
“I need some help washing my back. If you keep your doublet and shirt on, you shall get soaked.” He looked up, arching a brow. “Come, boy, you’ve seen manflesh before.”
Alex blanched. Never in her life had she seen manflesh like this. Somehow, seeing him before in only hose couldn’t compare with this. She knew he was completely bare, and the knowledge struck her with intense awareness of how little stood between them. “This hardly seems proper, my lord--”
“Bronson. There’s naught improper about it. Mayhap if you were a lady, but we both know that not to be true.”
Did his eyes gleam? The corners of his mouth hitch infinitesimally higher? No. It wasn’t possible. Alex swallowed, her throat dry as scrub brush in the summer. “Why have you locked me in here?” she squeaked, refusing to let go of the door handle. She thought perhaps if she let go, she would melt onto the floor.
He smirked. “Just a precaution. I don’t want someone to walk in and gather the wrong impression. Someone will be in later to bring bath linens. If you hurry, you can leave then.”
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him, but he gave her as innocent and blank a look as she’d ever seen. If he’d discovered her secret, she had no doubt he’d have thrown her out on her arse ... or whipped her ... possibly gaoled ... any number of unpleasantness came to mind. No, it appeared he’d decided to take her under his wing as some sort of companion or friend. Men were odd creatures, to be sure.
Frowning, Alex shrugged out of her doublet and laid it atop his mattress. The shirt still afforded some protection, thick as the linen was. She rolled her wide, embroidered cuffs up just above her elbows. If she was to do this, she wanted to be done with it as soon as possible and out of the realm of temptation. Just thinking about the fact he was naked in her presence caused her skin to itch and sweat and her face and bottom to heat as though she sat upon a flame. He was like some dread affliction, and she couldn’t think straight looking on him. He’d addled her brains with a fever of the flesh.
“You’ll get wet.” He wagged a finger at her, grinning.
“I shall survive,” she said morosely, dragging around behind him. Never in her life had she seen a man so willing to bathe ... and often, apparently. Trust God’s luck to thrust her in this treacherous nest of cleanly brutes.
Alex settled on her knees behind him on a folded length of linen toweling to protect her knees from the hard floor. He handed her the cloth over his shoulder and leaned forward, presenting his back. His shoulders flexed as he circled his arms around his knees. Alex swallowed, rubbing the soap on the cloth in a daze. Up close, he appeared more monstrous than before.
Tentatively, she touched the cloth to his shoulder. His skin twitched with the contact, muscles tense as she smoothed it across the taut line of his shoulders. He relaxed as she scrubbed him, and she found she enjoyed touching him, running her fingers over his hard muscles. The blades of his shoulders indented sharply, and her fingers crept into the hollows as she rubbed, feeling how strong his back, how hard. It was a warrior’s back, with a warrior’s strength and old wounds. A thin, white scar skated his right flank. Another patch of pale skin roughed his shoulder, as though he’d struck something with it long ago. There were other tiny nicks spread over him--testament to an active life.
Alex tried to imagine how he could have accumulated the scars during his life as she continued washing him ... washing him. She felt an odd warmth, a lethargy, spread through her limbs at the domesticity of the action. A wife would do this for her husband--tend his wounds, ease his tension. Though she could tell he was a wary sort of man. Even in stillness he seemed to move. She was utterly fascinated.
“There is more to my back than the one spot, boy.” There was laughter in his rough voice. His shoulders trembled as though he shook with silent mirth.
She blinked rapidly, looking at the red swath of skin along his left side. Getting a hold of herself, she scrubbed his skin mercilessly, eager to be done with the task. What madness had seized her? He tensed but said not a word as she stripped the hide from his bones.
“Lower,” he said, leaning forward more.
Alex obliged, moving down his back without thinking, then froze. A sweat broke out on her upper lip. She could see the curve of his buttocks through the water. Dare she? Being in this guise freed her. She’d never dare this as a maiden, but as a man, it mattered not. More curious than she should be, she slipped beneath the water’s edge and stroked his buttocks.
They were as tight and round as she’d thought. A well of heat flooded her thighs as she rubbed him. She found herself smiling in pleasure.
“That is enough of that, scamp,” Bronson said, shifting in the water, his gruff, husky voice jerking her back to reality. He leaned back, forcing her arms to slip around him so that she could bathe his chest and arms.
Alex’s heart fluttered as his damp shoulders touched her breasts. His heat seemed to seep through the linen straight to her flesh. She prayed to the lord that he could not feel their shape beneath the binding.
“Why is it you travel alone, Alex?” he asked as she slid her soapy hands over his chest. His small, flat nipples hardened beneath her palms as they skimmed over him.
Alex’s mouth went dry at the sensation of his response. She knew it was not sexual, and yet, she could not help but to fantasize what he would do if she was a woman bathing him. She slipped across them again, smiling to herself.
He cleared his throat, shifting in her arms. “Alex?” he prodded.
She blinked the fog of desire from her mind, realizing he’d asked her something and she couldn’t remember what. “Hmmm?”
He turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. “Are you avoiding the question on purpose? Wherefore do you travel?”
It was just the sort of questioning she’d hoped to avoid until she managed to free herself. Alex chewed her lip, grasping his head and forcing him to face away from her as she washed his hair. She searched her mind for a lie capable of convincing him she told the truth. Finally, she settled on a half truth. “I thought to have a tour of the realm before I am married.”
He stiffened, tried to turn his head to look on her, but she held him fast. “You are betrothed?” he asked tersely. “Surely not at your age. You cannot be much more than a child.”
He almost sounded as though the knowledge bothered him. She wished she’d have thought of another tale to tell him. “I have reached my majority.”
He grunted, letting her know he did not believe her. He was silent as she finished his hair,
but when she moved to pull away to leave, he stopped her. “You did not finish my chest.”
“I thought mayhap your own cleansing was enow.”
“Nay, there is more dirt to be washed away.”
Alex swallowed as he leaned back once more. She felt entirely too warm at his nearness, to eager to feel the sculpted ridges of his muscles. Her fingertips tingled to touch him. Her heartbeat quickened, and the bud betwixt her legs answered its call, throbbing with awareness. Saints, she was molesting him with her mind and hands, and he, in innocence, trusted her to bathe him. Surely she should be flogged for the sinful turn of her thoughts, but she could not help their unbidden arousal.
She traveled lower, down his rippled belly, fascinated by the difference of his body from hers. He sucked in a sharp breath, his belly jerking as her hand dipped beneath the water, following the thin trail of hair.
“Mmmm,” he groaned suddenly, startling her.
If he’d struck her he couldn’t have surprised her more. Alex was horrified at the unconscious movement of her hands, at the manflesh she’d sought to take hold. Alex jumped up from the floor, dropping the cloth with a splash. She scooted around him, edging toward the door, keeping her eyes on him lest he make some sudden move for her.
He gave her a quizzical look, one brow arched. “What is the matter?” He raked his gaze down her body. Heat followed the trail of his eyes. “You’ve gotten wet, Alex. Care for a change of shirt? I have plenty to lend.”
Alex glanced down at herself, saw she was soaked through. She hadn’t even realized.... Alex looked up as though stricken. “No, my lor--Bronson. I--”
Was that ... something ... bobbing in the water betwixt his legs? Alex gulped, caught between horror and curiosity.
“You can’t walk about in that wet shirt. Hold a moment, I will get one for you.” He started to rise.
“No, no, no,” Alex shrieked. The door opened suddenly behind her--salvation. She pried her eyes off the sea serpent rising to eat her, scooped up her doublet, and dashed for the door, bolting past the maid bearing linens without pause. She fairly dashed back to her room, where she could have at least the illusion--if not the truth--of safety.
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