The Protector's Promise (Border Series Book 7)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “My orders—”

  “What would happen if you did not follow these orders?”

  She asked too much of him.

  “I would suffer. Kenshire would suffer. You yourself could not answer what you might do in the same circumstance. Not to mention Almain could . . .” He stopped. What would the regent do exactly?

  “But you would suffer most of all. Without your precious Halbury, you would not have your land and title.” Her chest rose and fell with indignation.

  “You think that’s all I care about?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Court shook his head. “You’d never understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He knew she’d do anything, say anything to stop this attack, and yet he found himself opening himself to her nonetheless. “I loved her,” he said. Stop, Court. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

  But if he didn’t, she would push and push, and either he’d succumb or he would be forced to ignore her until she had the stone. But he’d tried that, and it didn’t work.

  Marion was not a woman to be ignored.

  “Lady Sara,” he said, the words like acid in his mouth. “But I was not enough. Richard loved me, cared for me, but he never intended me for his daughter.”

  “But you are a knight, a lord—”

  “A title given to me by Richard.”

  “Surely he—”

  “Knew what I did not yet understand. I was foolish, but after this raid—”

  “You will be the very same man I stand before now.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re wrong. I will be the man who was generously rewarded for obeying the king’s regent. Land, title, an advantageous marriage.”

  She pursed her lips. “So that is why you’ve waited, even though Lady Sara has long since married.”

  “Waited?”

  “I wondered why someone like you was not already wed.”

  “Someone like me?” The edge was gone from his voice, and he sounded weak, plaintive. He should have never opened his mouth.

  “Someone strong and protective. A champion for the weak, one who is disciplined, if not a bit arrogant, and who clearly knows how to please a woman.”

  She took a step closer to him.

  “You please me well, Sir William, Lord of Camburg.”

  An instant jolt of lust was followed by an ache in his chest that felt as if it would tear him apart. He had not asked for those words.

  “Don’t, Marion.”

  She took yet another step toward him.

  “Why?” she asked.

  The answer was too painful. He longed to be with her, but he could not go through it all again. Even without having to answer to Almain . . . even if she wanted them to be together, her father certainly would not. It was easier for him to turn the conversation back to her.

  “What of you? As the daughter of an earl, you must have had enough marriage proposals to be wedded and bedded thrice over by now.”

  “Wedded, nay. Bedded . . .” She shrugged her shoulders.

  She deliberately goaded him.

  Court reached for her and pulled her toward him. “You have not—”

  “And what if I had?”

  The thought of Marion lying with another man . . . “No.”

  Her scowl was fierce and instantaneous. “You’ve no claim on me to say such a thing.”

  “And yet I’ll say it just the same.”

  When he brought his lips down on hers, neither of them softened the impact. The kiss was rough and uncompromising. Court reached for her back, her hips, and brought her even closer, showing her the evidence of his words.

  “I want that claim,” he said, gasping as he pulled away.

  She didn’t even hesitate.

  “Then it is yours.”

  After an eternity, Marion finally gathered enough strength to pull away. She could not think with Court’s lips on her own. This was the second time she’d come to speak to him of the attack—and ended up in his arms instead.

  Trust the stone.

  Court was not the enemy. He could be if she didn’t stop him, but the same stone that had given Marion her ability had been guiding her all along. They were not enemies. Court meant no ill toward her, or even to her country. Not truly. If he had, she would have sensed it. He only thought to follow orders—in part because he wanted that which he already had. He simply hadn’t realized it yet. He may have been given Camburg, but even that had been earned. Court was already a man to be admired. There was nothing left to prove.

  Court still held her shoulders. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  He looked terrified. Understandably so.

  His expression softened. “Marion, I—”

  A brief knock landed on the door, and it then swung open.

  “My lord. A visitor has been spotted approaching the gates.”

  Marion looked at Court as the many possibilities ran through her mind.

  “Who?” Court demanded, his eyes locked with hers.

  “The king’s regent,” the guard said with more than a tinge of fear in his voice.

  “Edmund of Almain.”

  The man nodded his acknowledgement and then turned to leave. “Aye, my lord.”

  The implications of her failure to convince Court to abandon the attack finally began to penetrate.

  And now it was too late.

  9

  What was Almain doing here? This was not part of the plan. Court’s mind raced as they walked toward the hall together.

  Then it is yours. The only thing more surprising than Marion’s declaration was his own. He did want that claim.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said, pulling Marion into an alcove just before the hall’s entrance. “There are only two ways a man can claim a woman. And neither of those are acceptable for us. I spoke rashly—”

  Marion reached out and took his hands. The familiar gesture nearly tore Court in half.

  “As did I,” she said. “But how can we deny there is . . . something . . . between us?”

  “Mayhap that something is the stone,” he said. “A connection forged because of it.” It was a thought that had entered his mind on the sleepless nights he’d spent away from her.

  When he looked down to where it lay, her gaze followed.

  “May I?” she asked.

  He could not deny her. He disengaged one hand and took the stone from its pouch, pulling the gold chain upward so that the emerald green shone and spun. He handed it to her. While passing it, a strange jolt coursed through his body. Judging from her expression, she had felt it too.

  “It belongs with me,” she said.

  You belong with me.

  With the chain still wrapped around her delicate fingers, Marion reached for his hand once again. When they joined hands this time, the chain between them, Court saw a glimpse of the two of them in this same pose. They wore different clothes, however, and Marion’s expression was one of contentment, not concern. The vision left him as quickly as it had come.

  “You’ve had another vision,” she guessed correctly.

  “Aye,” he said, unable to bring himself to describe it to her. He could not allow himself to hope. How could they have a future together when Edmund’s decree stood between them?

  If he attacked Moordon, he would lose her. If he didn’t, he would lose everything he’d worked to achieve. And perhaps his head along with it.

  Court leaned toward her, and when her eyes closed, he was nearly felled by the trust she put in him. He didn’t deserve it. But he kissed her anyway. When her mouth opened for him and her tongue hesitantly explored his mouth, he pressed himself against her. Wanting to be closer, to feel all of her. The need to be inside this woman was so strong that Court vowed it would happen. She would be his, one way or another.

  He broke the kiss and stood back, taking the stone with him. “Come,” he said.

  “What will you do?”

  An agreement had passed between them, one he
had initiated. But how that agreement reconciled with his mission, Court could not begin to contemplate.

  “We must go,” he said, turning. He had no answers yet.

  “We?”

  Marion followed him into the great hall, where his guest was due to arrive at any moment. Perhaps Edmund could be convinced of another way, but he didn’t dare voice such a hope to Marion. For if it didn’t work . . .

  “Stay with them.” Court gestured to the men who stood on both sides of the entrance.

  Marion, who was clearly no less confused than he was by his inclusion of her, stood to the side. He walked toward the high table and took a seat in his usual place, opposite the chair that had been positioned in front of it. Court nearly laughed at Marion’s attempt to mesh with the others. She might as well be dancing in the middle of the hall. She was like a lone white cloud in a sea of blue, evident from every direction to all who chanced to look. Beautiful and untouchable but certainly noticeable.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Court heard Almain’s retainers before he could see them. As they streamed into his hall, he counted no less than thirty men.

  When Almain entered, Court stood and waited as the short, beady-eyed earl made his approach. Bowing as the man came closer, he silently rued that he should have to be subservient to a man who had never served in battle, never once bloodied his own hands.

  “Well met, my lord,” he said, straightening.

  Rather than respond, Almain looked around the hall with an assessing gaze.

  “You do well by Camburg,” he said.

  “To honor the memory of Richard, I would do anything,” Court said. And meant it.

  “The girl and her husband are lucky to have you.”

  Lady Sara was no girl, and he was the lucky one to have their support. But Court remained silent. Almain was both older and, if the rumors were true, crueler than the new king. He was not a man to be trifled with.

  “You must be tired from your journey,” he said, still unsure why that journey had been made. “Would you like—”

  “What I would like,” Almain said, “is to know when Moordon Castle will be ours.”

  Nay, it could not be!

  Moordon Castle? It had no men to speak of—certainly not enough to pose a threat to Camburg, or England—and it would have long since fallen into disrepair if it weren’t for her father.

  Did Court know it was theirs? Is that why he’d refused to reveal the location to her?

  When Court’s guest had walked into the hall, a chill had coursed through her at once, so powerful it had nearly brought her to the ground. Certainly her ability had grown stronger since the mark had appeared and she’d first come into contact with the stone. But this was . . . indescribable. When the English earl had walked by her, she’d struggled even to stand. Marion had no doubt this man intended to do harm. To her? To her country?

  And then the man had mentioned Moordon, and thankfully, she began to feel herself once more. Because she would have to act, and quickly. Her own cousin had been sent to Moordon when the king granted it to her father asking for him only to restore the ancient holding to its former glory. But why the regent would want—

  Its position.

  Moordon was not valuable, but its position at the threshold of strategic holdings was very much so. Did this mean Edward would break the thirty-year truce? Did he intend to wage open war with Scotland once again?

  “Your Grace, I believe we should discuss—”

  “Discuss?” Almain spat out, his contempt for Court’s words apparent.

  Marion’s hands began to shake as she watched the proceedings. How could she have so completely misjudged him? She’d nearly given herself to a man who would attack her own people . . . What had she been thinking?

  You were not.

  She’d allowed the man who’d stolen the stone to edge his way into her heart. In doing so, she’d failed to fulfill her destiny. Marion had failed miserably at the one thing she was supposed to do well.

  “Well,” Almain pressed. “When do you attack? I’ve brought some of my own men to ensure victory. You still want Halbury, do you not? And an heiress to go with it?”

  Court’s eyes met hers.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  The traitorous English bastard. The son of Satan. How could she have trusted him? Listened to him?

  Fallen in love with him?

  He could keep the damned stone. Marion had to warn her people.

  She fled the room, running as quickly as her feet would carry her, out of the hall and into the courtyard. How could she have been so utterly foolish? She should have . . . what? Stolen the stone? Court was too intelligent to have allowed that to happen. Seduced him first and then stolen it? Injured him and taken it by force?

  She chided herself even as the thought crossed her mind. But certainly the worst thing she could have done was wait around for him, trusting him and believing, even for a moment, that he’d begun to care more for her than his own ambitions.

  Fool. You are a fool.

  “Pardon,” she said to one of the gatehouse guards. Trying to keep her voice calm, she inquired after her men.

  “They are just above,” a young knight, mayhap even a squire, said. He disappeared and emerged a short time later.

  “What’s wrong?” Kenneth said.

  They didn’t have much time. Moordon needed to be warned.

  “We must leave,” she said. “Now.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Marion rushed across the courtyard to the stables. She would find out soon if Court had been lying about her status here. Guest or captive?

  “My men and I are leaving,” she said to the stable master just inside the entrance.

  Kenneth caught up to her as their horses were being readied.

  “What is happening?” he demanded in his typical condescending tone.

  She was having none of it. She would treat the man who protected her with his life with the respect he deserved if he could give her that same courtesy. If he could not, she didn’t need him.

  “Kenneth,” she said, “that is quite enough. I will remind you that I am the daughter of Archibald Rosehaugh, 3rd Earl of Ormonde, and the Protector of the Stone of Scotland. You will either speak to me with the same respect you give my father, or any other man of status for that matter, or you may remain here, relieved of your duties to me and my family.”

  The other men arrived during her speech. The stable master and one of his hands gawked at them openly, and Marion couldn’t blame them. By the time she finished, her voice likely carried back into the hall, where Court and the king’s regent plotted her people’s demise.

  “Aye, my lady,” he said. They stared at each other a moment longer, a new understanding dawning between them.

  “Circumstances have changed, and we need to leave. Now.”

  Kenneth’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth but promptly closed it. Instead, he gave her a quick nod and turned to the others.

  “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”

  Marion would have smiled had the situation not been so dire. In a flurry of activity, she and the men prepared to leave Camburg.

  I may have failed to retrieve the stone, but I will not fail Moordon.

  As she rode away from the stable and through the courtyard, Marion wondered why Court had allowed her to leave. Though she looked over her shoulder, once, twice, as they rode through the gatehouse and beyond, there was no sign of pursuit. Nothing.

  And just like that, the stone, and the man to whom she’d inadvertently given her heart, were gone forever. She ignored the pull that tried to lure her back. The stone would not protect Moordon now.

  She would.

  10

  Court watched as his unwanted guest was led from the hall.

  He had to find Marion to explain. When she’d dashed out of the hall, Court had very nearly run after her. But he’d reminded himself of her words, her pledge, and trusted she would understand. Whatever happ
ened next, they would be in it together.

  He should have questioned Almain’s motives earlier. But he’d been too stubborn, too blinded by his own ambition to see what was before his eyes. The stone had revealed the truth to him—everything had become clear as he spoke to the king’s regent.

  A vision had nearly knocked him off his feet. In front of his very eyes, Edmund of Almain had transformed from an elegant agent of the crown to a snarling, vindictive man. The man’s eyes had narrowed as he looked at Court in greedy anticipation of the spoils at Moordon. As the vision peeled away, Court fully understood the ability the stone gave him for the first time.

  He could see things as they truly were. Or in some cases, how they would be.

  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Edmund’s intentions were not honorable. Was it because Scotland would suffer or was it more than that? Either way, he had to find out. He also needed to speak with Marion, but first he would need to find her. It was only after he searched her rooms that Court’s pulse began to race.

  She wouldn’t have left, not after everything they’d shared. Would she have?

  Every step he took toward the stables brought him closer to the truth. Marion was nowhere to be found because she had left. Did she have so little faith in him? He’d agreed to Almain’s plan for one reason—he needed to pacify him until he had an alternate plan. But had he ever told Marion he wouldn’t make the attack? What precisely had he said to her?

  A connection forged because of it.

  Nay. That was not true. There was so much more than simply the stone between them. So why had he said it?

  Because it was easier than facing the truth. Court had fallen in love with a woman who circumstance dictated was his enemy. One who likely despised him now.

  Damn, Court. What have you done?

  He needed to go after her, but he could not do that. Not yet. One of the most powerful men in all of England, powerful enough that he had been chosen as a regent to Edward, would be returning belowstairs for dinner, and Court needed a plan before then.

  Preparations for the meal were already underway. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Almain expected him to lead an attack he was not prepared to conduct. He strode to a table where a handful of Almain’s men sat. Court had to be careful, but he recognized one of them and could hopefully get information from him.