The Protector's Promise (Border Series Book 7)

by Cecelia Mecca

  What had initially seemed a rational decision was proving to be anything but. He’d thought he understood pain. Certainly he’d suffered the day Richard Caiser sent him away from Kenshire. And the day he’d nearly lost his arm in a battle.

  But lying beside this beautiful, willful woman with the knowledge that he could never so much as touch his lips to hers . . . he would take a few battle wounds instead.

  Glad they’d not encountered anyone yet today, he also knew sleep would have to elude him this night. It was simply too dangerous, with potential adversaries all around, including the one lying so peacefully next to him.

  Had he been asleep, he may not have noticed her hand ever so gently lifting his shirt. He’d like to believe he would have woken, though, when those dainty fingers so nimbly pulled on the pouch that contained the treasure she sought.

  Did she really think to steal the stone while he slept? And then? Did she intend to take his horse and escape alone?

  He really had never met such a bold, determined woman before. It was too bad she was attempting to steal that which he couldn’t give her. Part of him wanted to see what she would do next, but he couldn’t risk it.

  He caught her hand, grabbed it, and brought it around his chest. Rolling toward her, Marion nearly lying atop him now, Court watched her expression turn from surprise to something else.

  “Trying to seduce me?”

  Her face was close enough to his that Court simply had to lift his head and their lips would be touching.

  “Of course not.” Her green eyes flashed, annoyance mixed with the same desire he felt for her.

  “Maybe you should be.”

  Before he thought better of it, Court lifted his head and kissed her.

  Or tried to at least. It became immediately apparent she’d not been kissed properly before, so instead of pursuing his suit, Court pulled away. He very much wanted to be the one to instruct her, but with her breasts pushed against his chest and her body so dangerously close to his hardened manhood, he knew it was not a sound idea.

  Regretfully, he pulled his hand away and stood.

  “Go to sleep,” he said, too harshly.

  “Court?”

  He made his way back to the fire. He tossed a log onto it and sat.

  “I will not apologize for trying to take what’s mine.”

  He looked up just as Marion had reached the center of camp. She stood above him looking . . . well . . . damned beautiful. “As I will not apologize for stealing something I wanted.”

  “The stone—”

  “I wasn’t talking of the stone.”

  Why was she so taken aback? Surely she had noticed he desired her.

  “I propose a truce.”

  She sat on her own log, thankfully too far away for him to touch her.

  When he looked up, her expression was completely transformed. Another vision. This time, Marion appeared crestfallen. As suddenly as it came, the vision disappeared.

  She watched him, waiting. “Another vision?” she guessed.

  He swallowed. “Something happened recently,” he said, not knowing if it were true, unable to detect if the vision was a part of Marion’s past or future. “Something that made you feel extremely sad?” he guessed.

  “Likely when I learned you’d stolen the stone from the priestess.”

  But he was already shaking his head. “Nay, before that.”

  She looked down. Toward her hip. Toward the mark.

  “What is it, Marion? What happened?”

  Marion shook her head.

  He stood and walked toward her. He bent down, the desire to comfort her overwhelming.

  “I didn’t want it to be true.” She spoke so quietly, it took Court a moment to realize what she said.

  “The calling,” he guessed. Though her head was still bent, he could see her eyes close briefly. A blessing . . . and a curse. The thing that made her special, or so she believed.

  And he had claimed it.

  Court lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “The truce? If you’ll have it still.”

  Even frowning, Marion was extraordinarily beautiful. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say, and yet the words left his lips nonetheless. “You can have it.”

  God, he was a fool.

  “The stone,” he clarified. “It’s yours—”

  Marion wrapped her arms around him so quickly, the movement nearly toppled them both. As good as she felt so close to him, he pushed her away, not wanting her to misunderstand. “After the attack. I need it to carry out my orders. Then the stone is yours.”

  She sank back down as he continued.

  “You can stay at Camburg until it is over. And then you may take it back to Scotland.”

  Scowling, as angry now as she had been happy a moment ago, she said, “Very well.”

  He propped his hands on his knees, still squatting in front of her. “Will you tell me what the vision was about?”

  “It was that morning.” She looked down at her concealed mark again. “The day it appeared.”

  “Your parents must have been—”

  “Proud.” She laughed—a hollow, empty sound that reminded him of the vision. “They were proud, and excited, and a bit nervous too.”

  “Then why—”

  “I did nothing to deserve it.”

  When she looked into his eyes, Court saw himself. Hadn’t he always questioned whether he deserved Richard Caiser’s sponsorship? The opportunities that had landed in his lap?

  “They were not proud of me. This gift . . . I can’t control it. It’s just like my ability to sense malintent . . .”

  Though she stopped, Court could understand all too well. This was why he felt a burning need to prove himself, to show everyone, once and for all, he deserved the opportunities he’d been given.

  He could have told her she was special for much more than her gifts, that he’d never met a woman like her. That he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to hers and lose himself trying to fulfill his earlier vision. Instead, he stood, reached out his hand, which she took, and guided her back to their bed in the forest.

  Once they were lying down again, he lifted the blanket over them and said, “This time, do try to keep your hands off me.”

  He smiled when she chuckled, but his merriment was short-lived. As she moved into a comfortable position, Court prepared for a long, long night ahead.

  5

  She awoke nestled in Court’s arms, a feeling so unusual that her first instinct was to scramble away. Her second was to move closer, which was exactly what she did until his pained moan from behind stopped her. The sound sent a rush of feeling through Marion. Of all the men her father had presented to her as possible husbands, none had ever made her skin tingle and her heart beat as quickly as this Englishman.

  This Englishman who was now pulling himself away from her.

  “Not yet,” she heard herself saying. “I’m cold.”

  She was no such thing. The heat from his body fended off the crisp morning chill just fine. But when Court wrapped his thick arm around her shoulder once again, she sighed and moved closer to his warmth.

  They had lain that way for what seemed like hours, though only a few moments had passed, when a familiar feeling came over her. But this was not the slight chill that had warned her of danger before. It was as if she’d stepped out into the coldest of winter days. So cold it hurt as she sucked in her breath.

  “Marion?”

  Court must have sensed it too, for one moment she was contemplating the wisdom of her hastily uttered command for him to stay, the next, she was lying on her back, Court peering over her, his eyes wide and brows wrinkled.

  “Danger,” she managed to say, watching Court jump to his feet, sword immediately in hand. The bitter cold lessened, though it did not go away completely. Marion rubbed her arms to warm herself, coming up behind Court.

  “My dagger.”

  He spared her the briefest of glanc
es before walking toward his horse and pulling the weapon from where it had been hidden among his belongings. Handing it to her silently, he looked in both directions, and when she nodded toward the north, Court motioned for her to move around him.

  When she did, he untied his horse, his movements quick and silent, and pointed to the stirrup. Marion let him assist her in mounting, and as she silently grabbed the reins, still holding her dagger, he whispered to her, “Stay here. If you see anyone but me approach, ride away as fast as you can.”

  After pausing to be sure no sounds reached them, Marion whispered back, “I will not leave you.”

  “You can, and you will.”

  With that, he strode toward the ridge that hid them from view but also concealed whatever enemies neared them. Marion looked up to the sky, the sun finally having made an appearance, and waited.

  I will not leave you.

  It was as if her words had forgotten to reconcile themselves before escaping her mouth. She should have said, I will not leave the stone.

  Court moved toward her so silently that she didn’t notice his approach until he was nearly upon her. He mounted behind her and spurred the horse to a slow canter. She wanted to ask what he’d seen, but they sped up before she could speak. And as she had the day before, Marion silently admired his horsemanship. They navigated the terrain effortlessly, and only when he finally slowed again did she ask what had happened.

  “A gang of reivers,” he replied.

  “How many?”

  “At least ten.”

  She didn’t ask if they were English or Scottish because it didn’t matter. A reiver’s allegiance was to clan and family first. Ten of them riding together could only mean one thing—a raid. Besides, had not she felt their intent?

  He navigated off the main road and onto a path marked more by overgrowth than evidence of other travelers. “I’d hoped to be at Camburg by nightfall, but we’ll be lucky not to have to make camp again now.”

  “Will my men be there before us?”

  “More than likely, aye.”

  They rode at a more reasonable pace, Marion’s backside beginning to ache from the brutal pace they’d set the day before.

  “That could have been . . . interesting,” Court said.

  Marion had just been wondering what would have happened had her ability not given them advanced warning.

  “You said you’ve had this—gift—for many years?”

  “Aye, though never like that before. The cold . . .” She shivered thinking about it.

  “Is it the stone, then?” he asked. “Does it make the sensations stronger?”

  Marion thought back to what the priestess had told her—precious little, and nothing of her ability. “I’m not sure,” she said. “There’s much I still do not know. Just that when I’m close to you . . . to it . . . I feel at peace. After the mark appeared, I felt unsettled, as if something were missing.”

  “I felt the same.”

  A noise startled her, but when she saw the movement in a bush just ahead, Marion realized it was an animal of some kind.

  “Are you scared?” His voice was like the blanket he’d pulled over her last eve. Comforting and warm. The voice of her enemy, but he felt less like one with each passing moment.

  “Nay,” she said honestly. Oddly, she had never felt truly scared of him, with the exception of the moment he’d held his sword to her throat. But even then . . . Marion should have been terrified—freezing—but she’d had no premonition of coming danger. Was it the stone that prevented her from sensing a threat from Court? Or could it be that he did not pose a threat at all?

  Impossible.

  So long as he held the stone and intended an attack on Scotland, he posed a very real danger, indeed.

  “Where do you intend to attack?”

  “You know I cannot tell you that.”

  “When?” she tried again.

  “Marion . . .”

  “Then why?”

  “That you already know. I’ve been ordered—”

  “To do so. But that does not answer my question.”

  As they rode through an open field, the marshland giving way to rockier and slightly steeper terrain, Marion decided she would learn everything she could about her English knight in order to convince him to relinquish the stone before his planned attack.

  “Do you always follow orders?”

  “Of course,” he said, without hesitating.

  “Even if it hurts others?”

  He hesitated. “In war—”

  “But we are not in war, Court. We are at peace. Our countries—”

  “Peace,” he spat. “What do you believe those men back there intended? To break their fast with us?”

  “Reiving is a way of life along the border.”

  “And stealing cattle or sheep is one thing. Murdering innocents, quite another. Surely you know the borderlands become more dangerous with each passing day? Bribery abounds, mistrust threatens to rip apart the tenuous peace.”

  She turned to peek at him. “An attack will most certainly help matters, then.”

  Court’s eyes narrowed and he slowed until they were at a complete stop.

  “What do you want from me, Marion? You want me to call off the attack? Tell the king’s regent I refuse to follow his orders on the request of a beautiful Scottish woman I met while on my way back from the pools? The very same place I was called to find after a mark appeared on my hip one morning, one that apparently signifies I am the nemesis of the protector of Scotland?”

  She turned her body as much as was possible in the saddle they shared. Though his words mocked, Marion heard something behind them that gave her hope.

  He did not want this attack any more than she did.

  “Do you believe it is the right thing to do?”

  He continued to glare at her.

  “Would you do it if—”

  “Nay.” His hard tone was directed at himself, and not her. She would not let him intimidate her.

  “And your overlord? Geoffrey and Sara of Kenshire, do they believe—”

  “Nay,” he said again. “Is that what you want to hear?”

  “I just want the truth. Nothing more.”

  “The truth?”

  Court’s eyes darkened and dipped to gaze at her lips. When he looked back up, Marion’s heart began to thud so loudly it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

  He dismounted and helped her do the same. Without looking at her, Court moved his horse off the road. He tied their mount and walked back toward her.

  “The truth is that I want you, Marion. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman before. Though you’d sooner slit my throat than come willingly to me, it hardly seems to matter. I’m drawn to you as surely as I am to the stone.”

  I want him to kiss me.

  “That is not true.”

  “I am not drawn to you?” He took a step closer. So close she could smell the mint he’d chewed earlier that morn.

  “Nay, that I would sooner slit your throat than come willingly to you.” A dangerous statement, but a true one nonetheless.

  “Do not,” he said, shaking his head. “Do not give me permission.”

  This time, it was she who took a step toward him. It made little sense, but Marion would have plenty of time to rue her actions later. For now, she’d speak from the heart.

  “I want you to kiss me,” she said, proud of her bold proclamation.

  For a moment, it appeared as if he would do it, but instead, Court looked away. She’d been a fool to say such a thing. Marion turned from her adversary and walked away.

  Court watched her go from the corner of his eye. It was for the best. Nothing good would come of giving into that which could not be. There were too many reasons not to kiss her.

  She was a noblewoman and therefore a virgin. The exact kind of woman he had done well to avoid all these years. Even if it were not for the fact that she claimed they were mortal enemies . . .

  Dammit.
>
  Court reached her in a few strides. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pulled her toward him in one swift motion. When she parted her lips just before he lowered his own, Court’s body immediately responded, and he reminded himself to slow down.

  His tongue showed her how to respond, and she did, opening her mouth almost immediately. Court took full advantage, his tongue capturing hers as his mouth slanted to the side for greater access. When her arms wrapped around him, Court pulled her closer.

  She learned quickly, and soon the kiss spiraled deeper into a descent that would be hard to pull out of. He could not get enough of her. Court was desperate to tear off the travel-worn gown and touch every inch of skin beneath. In anticipation, his hands moved to her cheeks, wanting to come into contact with her smooth skin. He guided her, kissed her, and nearly lost himself to the sweetness that was Lady Marion of Ormonde.

  Pulling away from her took every bit as much strength as lifting a broadsword for the very first time. Only his honor—and the horror of disrespecting her—gave him the ability to do so. Her lips, swollen from his kiss, were slightly parted. Her eyes, wide and bright, just as they’d been in his vision.

  “My apologies,” he said, taking a step back.

  “But I asked you to do it. What are you sorry for?”

  Indeed, what?

  “That we had to stop.”

  Her look told him he hadn’t needed to stop at all. The reivers had obviously taken the main road or they’d have caught up with them before now. Only his honor had forced them apart at this moment.

  “You don’t know what you ask for,” he said, realizing the truth of his words. Marion’s dazed expression told him as much. This was likely the first time she’d been thoroughly kissed. Experience told him where a kiss like that would lead, so it was his duty to stop it.

  By God, he’d wanted anything but.

  “We need to go,” he said before he changed his mind. Her expression closed down at once, and she merely nodded.

  It was only hours later, when they stopped for a brief respite, that either of them spoke again.