Velvet Angel

by Jude Deveraux

  Less than a year later, Roger had written that the Scottish heiress, Bronwyn MacArran, had pleaded to be allowed to marry Roger but Stephen Montgomery was forcing the poor woman to become his bride. Roger had challenged Stephen in an attempt to protect the MacArran woman, and during the fight, Montgomery had cleverly made it appear that Roger attacked his back. As a result, Roger was disgraced.

  She wasn’t sure why Brian had left his home; Roger would never say. But she was sure it had to do with the Montgomerys. Brian was sensitive and gentle. Perhaps he could no longer stand all the horrors that had been done to his family because of the Montgomerys. But whatever made Brian leave had nothing to do with the lies she’d heard today. She doubted if Roger even knew the Montgomery men had a sister.

  All during the long ride, she’d idly been tucking the torn shoulder of her dress inside the high neckline. When Miles called a halt to the procession, she was startled to see that it was growing dark. Her thoughts had kept her occupied for hours.

  Before them was an inn, half timbered, old but prosperous-looking. The landlord stood outside, his big red face split by a welcoming grin.

  Miles stood beside her. “Elizabeth”—he held up his arms for her—“do not embarrass yourself by refusing me,” he said, a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at her raised foot.

  Elizabeth considered for a moment, then allowed him to help her from her horse, but she stepped away from his touch as soon as she was on the ground. Two of his men entered the inn first while Miles caught Elizabeth’s arm.

  “I have something for you.” Watching her closely, he held out a lovely, intricately wrought gold brooch of a pelican, its beak tucked under its outstretched wing, standing on a band of diamonds.

  Elizabeth’s eyes didn’t flicker. “I don’t want it.”

  With a look of exasperation, Miles pinned the shoulder of her gown together. “Come inside, Elizabeth,” he said flatly.

  Obviously, the innkeeper was expecting them, for the bustle of activity within was enormous. Elizabeth stood to one side as Miles conferred with Sir Guy while the landlord waited for their commands.

  It was a large room set with tables and chairs, a big fireplace to one side. For the first time, Elizabeth really looked at Miles’s men. There were an even dozen of them and it seemed they gave remarkably little trouble. Now they walked about, opening doors, quietly checking for any hidden danger. Did Miles Montgomery have so many enemies he must always be wary—or was he just cautious?

  A pretty young maid curtsied before Miles and he gave her his little half-smile. Elizabeth watched curiously as the maid blushed and preened under Miles’s gaze.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, smiling, bobbing up and down. “I hope ye like the meal I’ve cooked.”

  “I will,” Miles said so matter-of-factly that it made his enjoyment seem a sure fact.

  With another blush, the girl turned back to the kitchen.

  “Are you hungry, Elizabeth?” Miles asked, turning back to her.

  “Not for what you seem to inspire.” She nodded toward the maid’s retreating back.

  “How I wish there were jealousy in those words. But I have patience,” he added with a smile and gave her a little push toward the table before she could answer.

  Miles and she sat at a small table, apart from his men but in the same room. Dish after dish was brought to them but Elizabeth barely ate.

  “You don’t seem to have a big appetite at best.”

  “If you were held prisoner would you gorge yourself on your captor’s food?”

  “I would probably not lose a moment in planning my captor’s death,” he answered honestly.

  Elizabeth glared at him in silence and Miles concentrated on his food.

  Halfway through the long, silent meal, Miles caught the hand of one of the maids placing a dish of fresh salmon on the table. As Elizabeth looked up in surprise, she saw that the maid’s hands were scratched and raw.

  “How have you injured yourself?” Miles asked gently.

  “The berry brambles, milord,” she answered, half frightened, half fascinated by Miles’s attention.

  “Landlord!” Miles called. “See that the girl’s hands are cared for and she’s not to put them in water until they heal.”

  “But my lord!” the man protested. “She’s only a scullery maid. She’s serving tonight because my regular girl has the pox.”

  Sir Guy slowly rose from the head of the table of Miles’s retainers, and all that was needed was the size of the giant and the landlord took a step backward.

  “Come, girl,” the landlord said angrily.

  “Thank…thank you, my lord,” she bobbed a curtsy before she fled the room.

  Elizabeth cut herself a slice of French cheese. “Did Sir Guy come to your defense for the girl’s sake or his own?”

  Miles’s expression went from amazement to amusement. He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “Guy doesn’t like fights over scullery maids.”

  “And you do?”

  Smiling, he shrugged. “I prefer to avoid fights about anything. I am a peaceful man.”

  “But you would have fought a fat, congenial landlord over the scratched hands of a worthless girl.” It was a statement.

  “I do not consider her worthless. Now”—he dismissed the subject—“you must be tired. Would you like to retire?”

  Miles’s men all bid her goodnight and she nodded toward them, following Miles and the landlord up the stairs to the single room—and single bed—that awaited them.

  “So! You have waited until now to force me to your bed,” she said when they were alone. “Perhaps the tent walls were too thin to muffle my cries.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand. “I will sleep on the windowseat and you may have the bed. I cannot allow you to have a room alone because you’d find some way to leave.”

  “Escape, you mean.”

  “All right, have it your way, escape. Now come here. I want to talk to you.” He pulled her to the windowseat, sat down and pulled her to sit beside him. When he drew her back against his chest, she began to protest.

  “Relax, Elizabeth. I will leave my hands here about your waist and not move them, but I’ll not let you up until you relax and talk to me.”

  “I can talk sitting up, away from you.”

  “But I cannot keep from touching you,” he said with feeling. “All the time I want to caress you, to soothe away your hurt.”

  “I am not hurt.” She pushed at his arms holding her to him. He was a large man, tall and broad, and the outward curve of his chest just fit the arch of her back.

  “But you are hurt, Elizabeth, probably more than you know.”

  “Ah yes, I see now. There is something wrong with me because I don’t salivate with adoration whenever you are near me.”

  Miles kissed her neck, chuckling. “Perhaps I deserved that. Hold still or I’ll kiss you more.” Her abrupt stillness made him wince. “I want you to tell me what you like. Food does not interest you, nor pretty dresses. Gold and diamonds don’t even make you blink. Men don’t rate a glance from you. What is your weakness?”

  “My weakness?” she asked, thinking about it. He was stroking her hair at her temple and in spite of herself, she was beginning to relax. The last two days of tension and anger were draining her strength. His long legs were stretched out on the windowseat and she was between them. “What is your weakness, Montgomery?”

  “Women,” he murmured, dismissing the question. “Tell me about you.”

  The muscles in her neck were relaxing and her weight was easing against him. It wasn’t a bad feeling to be held so safely by such strong arms when the man wasn’t pawing at her, tearing her clothes, hurting her. “I live with my two brothers, both of whom I love and who love me. I am far from being a pauper and I have but to hint at a jewel or gown I’d like and my brother Roger purchases it for me.”

  “And…Roger”—he tripped over the name—“is good to you?”

  “He prot
ects me.” She smiled and closed her eyes. Miles was massaging the tight muscles in her neck. “Roger has always protected Brian and me.”

  “Protected you from what?”

  From Edmund, she almost said but caught herself. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. “From men!” she spat. “Men have always liked my looks but Roger kept them away from me.”

  He kept her hands imprisoned. “You know many tricks for repulsing men and you have wrapped yourself in steel. You are obviously a naturally passionate woman, so what has killed your passion? Was it that perhaps Roger was not always near enough to protect you?”

  Elizabeth refused to answer him and she cursed her momentary trustfulness. After a while, Miles gave an exaggerated sigh and released her. Immediately she sprang away from him.

  “Go to bed,” he said tiredly as he stood, turning his back on her.

  Elizabeth didn’t trust him to keep his word about not sleeping with her, but she would do nothing to entice him. Fully clothed except for her soft leather shoes, she slipped into the big bed.

  Miles blew out the single candle and for a long moment stood silhouetted before the moonlit window.

  When Elizabeth heard no sounds from him she quietly turned on her back to watch him. All her body was tense with fear of what was to come. With resignation she watched him undress, and when he was nude she held her breath. But Miles lifted the thin blanket on the windowseat and stretched out—or tried to. He cursed once when his feet hit the paneling at the end of the cushion.

  It was some minutes before Elizabeth began to realize that Miles Montgomery was not going to force himself on her. But she suspected that as soon as she was asleep he would pounce. She dozed lightly but every noise woke her. When Miles tried to turn on his narrow bed, he woke her and for a moment she would tense, but when she heard his even breathing of sleep, she’d relax again and sleep—until the next noise woke her.

  Chapter 4

  “DIDN’T YOU SLEEP WELL?” MILES ASKED THE NEXT morning as he pulled on his clothes. Tight black hose gripped his powerful legs, an embroidered jacket barely reaching the tops of his thighs.

  “I never sleep well in the presence of my enemies,” she retorted.

  With a chuckle, he brushed her hands away and braided her hair for her, tying the tail with a bit of ribbon. When he finished, he kissed her neck, causing her to jump away while rubbing her neck.

  He held out his arm to her. “I know you will be sad to leave my company but my men wait below for us.”

  She ignored his arm and left the room ahead of him. It was very early yet, the sun only a warm glow on the horizon. Miles murmured that a meal was waiting for them some distance down the road, and that they would ride for a few hours first.

  Miles and Elizabeth stood together on the little porch of the inn, Sir Guy before them, Miles’s knights waiting with the horses and baggage mules behind the giant.

  “Everything is ready?” Miles asked Sir Guy. “The innkeeper has been paid?”

  Before Sir Guy could answer, a little girl, about four, raggedly dressed, came running out of the inn, swerved to miss Miles and fell down the two steps. Instantly, Miles was on his knees, pulling the child into his arms.

  “Hush, sweetheart,” he whispered, standing, the child clinging to him.

  To Sir Guy and the knights, this was a familiar sight, and they waited patiently, with a bored air, while Miles comforted the child. Elizabeth didn’t concern herself with Miles. Her one and only thought was for the injured child. She stretched out her arm, put her hand on the back of the crying child’s head.

  The child pulled her face away from the hollow in Miles’s shoulder, and through tear-blurred eyes she looked at Elizabeth. With a fresh burst of tears she lifted her arms and lunged forward into Elizabeth’s grasp.

  It was difficult to tell who was more astonished: Miles, Sir Guy or the Montgomery knights. Miles gaped at Elizabeth and for a moment his pride took a beating.

  “Hush now,” Elizabeth said in a gentle voice such as Miles had never heard before. “If you stop crying Sir Guy will give you a ride on his shoulders.”

  Miles coughed to cover the laugh that threatened to choke him. Between Sir Guy’s size and the hideous scar on his face, most people, and especially women, were terrified of him. He’d never seen anyone dare to volunteer the giant to be a child’s horse.

  “You’ll be so tall,” Elizabeth continued, swaying with the child, “you’ll be able to reach up and catch a star.”

  The child gave a sniff, pulled away from Elizabeth and looked at her. “A star?” she hiccuped.

  Elizabeth caressed the child’s wet cheek. “And when you get the star, you can give it to Sir Miles to repay him for the new dress he’s going to purchase for you.”

  The eyes of Miles’s men went to their lord to watch his reaction—and no one dared laugh at his look of indignation.

  The child sniffed again and twisted to look at Lord Miles. She gave him a smile, but when she looked at Sir Guy she clung to Elizabeth.

  “There’s no reason to be afraid of him,” Elizabeth said. “He likes children very much, don’t you, Sir Guy?”

  Sir Guy gave Lady Elizabeth a hard, assessing look. “In truth, my lady, I like children a great deal but they have little use for me.”

  “We shall remedy that. Now, child, go with Sir Guy for your ride and bring back a star.”

  The child, a bit hesitant at first, went to Sir Guy and clung to his head when he set her on his shoulders. “I’m the tallest girl in the world,” she squealed as Sir Guy walked away with her.

  “I’ve never seen you smile before,” Miles said.

  Elizabeth’s smile disappeared instantly. “I will reimburse you for the child’s dress when I am home again.” She turned away.

  Miles caught her hand and led her away from his men’s listening ears. “The child was only a beggar’s.”

  “Oh?” she said offhandedly. “I thought perhaps she was one of yours.”

  “Mine?” he asked, bewildered. “Do you think I’d allow one of my children to run about in rags, with no supervision?”

  She turned on him. “And how do you know where all your children are? Do you keep ledgers full of their names? Their whereabouts?”

  Miles’s face showed several emotions: disbelief, some anger, amusement. “Elizabeth, how many children do you think I have?”

  She put her chin into the air. “I neither know nor care how many bastards you have.”

  He caught her arm, turning her to face him. “Even my own brothers exaggerate about my children so why should I expect more from outsiders? I have three sons: Christopher, Philip and James. And any day I expect to hear word of another child of mine. I am hoping for a daughter this time.”

  “You are hoping—” she gasped. “It doesn’t bother you about their mothers? That you use the women, then discard them? And what of the children? They must grow up with the label of bastard! Outcasts because of some hideous man’s one moment of pleasure.”

  His grip tightened on her arm and there was anger in his eyes. “I do not ‘use’ women,” he said through clenched teeth. “The women who have given me children came to me freely. And all my children live with me, are cared for by competent nurses.”

  “Nurses!” She tried to pull away from him, but couldn’t. “Do you toss the children’s mothers into the street? Or do you give them a little money like you did Bridget and send them on their ways?”

  “Bridget?” Miles searched her face for a moment. His rising temper calmed. “I assume you mean the Bridget who is the mother of my James?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I will tell you the truth about Bridget. My brother Gavin sent a message to St. Catherine’s convent to ask for some serving girls. He wanted girls of good reputation who wouldn’t be tantalizing his men and causing fights. From the moment this Bridget entered our house she pursued me.”

  Elizabeth tried to pull away from him. “You are a liar.”

  Miles caught her other arm with
his hand. “Once she told me that she’d heard so much about me that she felt like a child who’d been told not to play with fire. One night I found her in my bed.”

  “And you took her.”

  “I made love to her, yes, that night and several other nights. When she realized she was going to have my child, I took a lot of ribbing from my brothers.”

  “And you cast her out—after you took her child away, that is.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Actually, she cast me aside. I was away for four months and she fell in love with Gavin’s second gardener. When I returned I talked with them, told them I’d like to have the child and would raise him to be a knight. Bridget agreed readily.”

  “And how much money did you give them? Surely you must have offered some consolation to a mother giving up her child.”

  Miles released her arms, glaring at her. “Did you know Bridget very well? If you did you’d know she was more interested in her pleasures than motherhood. The gardener she was marrying didn’t want Bridget or the child and later he asked for money for ‘what he was giving up.’ I gave him nothing. James is mine.”

  She was silent for a moment. “And what of your other children’s mothers?” she asked quietly.

  He walked away from her. “I fell in love with the younger sister of one of Gavin’s men when I was just a boy. Christopher was born when both Margaret and I were only sixteen. I would have married her but her brother sent her away. I didn’t know about Kit until Margaret died of smallpox a month after Kit’s birth.”