by Stone, Lyn
Concealed at last by water up to his chest, Alan scrubbed dutifully and then leaned his head against the padded edge of the tub. He closed his eyes, intending to enjoy the warmth for only a moment.
When he woke, the water had grown chilled. He rose up, water sluicing down his body, and reached for the toweling.
The drying cloth proved no larger than a winding cloth to fit young Kit’s behind. And it was then he noticed. His plaid was gone.
Chapter Nine
Honor knew the very moment Alan discovered the plaid missing. At his audible intake of breath and muttered curse, she pressed her lips together to suppress her laughter. Once he came around the screen, he was hers.
He did want her. It had been there in his eyes the moment he entered the room this morning. She had seen it before, of course. Why he had refused to act on it no longer mattered. He would today. Honor no longer cared what he thought of her reasons, or of her wantonness. The time had come to make this marriage real and she meant to do it. Last evening her self-doubt and temper had made short work of her intentions, but she had herself well in hand now. No more delays.
Her body rippled with anticipation. With desire for him. He kindled that all too easily, but Honor knew that was all to the good. If what she felt for Alan of Strode was truly love, she meant for him to return it in kind.
She arranged herself in what she considered a provocative pose, the bed linen barely covering her breasts and exposing a fair length of one leg. Surely he could not pretend to misunderstand this invitation.
She had taken away his clothes and removed her own.
While he had bathed, Nan had come to take the sleeping Kit to her own chamber. They were alone, undressed, with the door bolted.
The plan lacked any semblance of subtlety, but thus far that trait had gained her nothing with this man. She would be as direct as he always was. He suspected her motive and had even stated it outright, but she could alleviate that suspicion.
In the next few moments, she would convince him that only love for him had prompted her actions. She could do this. She had done it before when it was not even true. That guilt aside, she would do it again, this time with truth on her tongue. He must grow to love her, or he would not fight to keep her when the worst happened.
Honor wet her lips, summoned a smile and made ready.
He stepped around the screen and immediately fastened his gaze on her. Honor couldn’t stifle her sigh. She had seen him unclothed before, but not when he returned her regard.
His expression revealed nothing, not anger, not lust, not humor. A shiver of apprehension skipped along her spine. She allowed the sheet to slip lower, but his eyes did not follow the movement. They were locked with her own.
“You have finished your bath,” she commented, nearly breathless at the sight of him. His hair, darkened by its wetness, gleamed like burnished copper. Wind-tanned skin held a damp sheen, and muscles appeared gilded by the morning light from the window.
He had not bothered drying or covering himself with the small cloth she had borrowed from Kit’s changing basket. Neither did he display any sign of embarrassment at his rampant reaction to her. He merely stepped forward so that he stood in the middle of the room, seemingly at ease except for the state of his rather impressive loins. She held her breath.
“The water is barely warm,” he said, pronouncing each word carefully. “I shall order more for you.”
Honor swallowed hard. “No, I have already—”
A loud clattering of hurried footsteps outside interrupted, followed by a frantic pounding on the door. “My lady, my lady, he is come. He is by the gate, demanding entrance!”
Alan rushed to the door, heedless of his natural state, lifted the bolt and jerked it open. Father Dennis almost fell inside the room, his eyes on a level with Alan’s evident readiness. “God save us!” he gasped, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You are—”
“Aye, more’s the pity. Who has come?” Alan asked calmly, brushing aside the priest’s shock.
“Lord Hume!” Father Dennis exclaimed, now staring at the ceiling. “My lady’s father! He has found her!”
Alan turned away and went for the clothing chest in the corner. In seconds, he had donned smallclothes and tied up the points of his woolen hose. He shook out a longsleeved tunic.
The nightmare had come true. Father was here. Whyever had she sent Alan’s plaid below with Nan? He looked so much fiercer in that than in these English clothes. Honor quickly banished her shock. She cursed herself for bothering with mundane thoughts when disaster threatened.
Scrambling from the bed, she grasped Alan’s sword from its wall mount. She held it ready as his head emerged from the neck of his tunic.
Alan raked her body with a sharp green gaze, which then flew directly to the doorway. He hurriedly stepped between her and Father Dennis, shielding her from view. “Get to the gate!” he barked at the priest. “I’ll be there directly to deal with his lordship.”
Honor grasped his arm. “Alan, wait!”
“Go!” Alan ordered the priest, and the door slammed. Sandals clapped on the hall floor outside. “Dress yourself, Honor, but remain here until I send for you.”
She slammed a fist on his upper arm. “Listen to me, Alan. Heed, for this will not wait!”
He paused in buckling on his belt and glared down at her. “Aye, what is it then?”
“My father has not come here for a visit. He has come to return me to France. To take me away. Do you understand? He will have brought men with him to enforce this.”
The green eyes narrowed. “He cannot know Tavish is dead. Once we explain—”
“I ran away,” Honor hastened to explain. Now was no time for lies. She could only hope Alan would uphold her decision and forgive her deception of her family. And of Tavish. But best he not know that much yet.
“I escaped a marriage I did not want for one which I did. I ran to Tavish and he wed me without my father’s consent.”
A frown drew lines between his brows. “You defied your father?”
“Yes! He would have wed me to a lord who had already laid two young wives to rest. A cruel man! They are both cruel! Please, I beg you, do not return me to him. Anything, I will do anything you ask, only—”
Alan placed the tips of his fingers over her lips. “Say no more. You are mine and what is mine, I keep.”
A sob of relief shook her as she grasped his sword between her breasts. She leaned forward, resting the top of her head on his chest. The cold steel of the hilt against her skin felt comforting. “And you speak true, always. Thank God you are here,” she whispered against the silk. “You will have to kill him.”
“Nay, I’ll not.” Alan held her away with both hands on her shoulders. “Wear the amber kirtle. It becomes you.” With that, he released her, lifted the sword from her hands and quickly left the room.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She stood naked, alone, and terrified that her life and that of her daughter would soon be shattered, if not forfeit. And the man she had grown to love would surely die did he not act quickly.
The mounting terror threw her into action. Mumbling curses under her breath, Honor snatched up a chemise and slipped it over her head. The amber cotta did nothing to alleviate the chill of fear as she settled it over her body. She fastened a gold-linked belt around her hips and twisted her loosened fall of hair into her golden mesh caul.
If she must face her father, she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that his very presence undid her. She never had and never would admit to his face that she feared him, no matter the cost. Alan would save her. He must. But would he be able? Could he even save himself?
Alan watched the man who called himself Lord Hume. The prancing white steed he rode, comparisoned in silver and black, danced side to side, as impatient as his master looked. The man busily issued orders in French to his hulking second in command.
When he had finished, Alan made his presence on the wall-walk known. “I am S
ir Alan of Strode and hold this keep. What purpose brings you here?”
Hume looked up toward the battlements. Anger and frustration lined the otherwise handsome face. The resemblance between father and daughter was not too remarkable, Alan thought, but was apparent nonetheless. A few features in common, evident determination, proud carriage, but there it ended. Alan could see malice in these eyes, where none existed in Honor’s.
She had the right of it, too. Hume had brought men with him to enforce his will. Many men—at least two score—and they looked to be orderly and well trained. Certainly well dressed and mounted. Weapons abounded. No homewhittled spears for these lads. Helmets shone even in the weak autumn sunlight. Pennons flew Hume’s black and silver, adding their wind-flapped clicks to the clink of harness and squeak of leather trappings. No other sounds invaded the silence as Hume glared upward.
Finally, the man deigned to speak. “Where is Ellerby?”
“Dead.”
“By your hand?”
“By an English sword.”
“Where is my daughter?” Hume demanded. “What have you done with her?”
“Wed her,” Alan stated flatly. He worked hard to prevent showing hatred for the man. It would do no good allowing his knowledge of the man’s cruelty toward Honor to cloud his reason.
“I would speak with her,” Hume demanded.
“Fine. Dismount, divest yourself of weapons, and enter alone,” Alan answered.
Hume laughed. His men did as well. Then the man sobered and inclined his head. The smile he offered would have frozen the loch clear down to the dirt, Alan thought. “You take me for a madman, Strode?”
Alan smiled back. “I take you for my lady’s father, come to wish her well. Unless you reveal another cause for your presence here.”
“I have come to collect an errant female who has shamed her sire. She is betrothed to another.”
“She is wed to me. Where is this man if he is so hot to have her? I would see him.”
“I come in his stead to retrieve the faithless jade. ’Tis a wonder he wants her still, but there you have it.” Hume shifted in his saddle, looked away and then back again. “You have the keep here and whatever else belonged to Ellerby. Send out my lass and I’ll be off.”
Alan shook his head once. “Ah, but she’s my lass now.”
“We will take her if we must,” Hume warned, all pretense of good humor fled.
“Ye can try,” Alan countered. And possibly succeed, he thought to himself. Even if he armed every adult within the keep, they were still outnumbered. And outmatched, even were that not so. The men with Hume were professional soldiers, probably some mercenaries and freelance knights, in addition to sworn liegemen who wore his colours.
Hume leaned forward, resting his forearms on his pommel. “We will make camp. You have until tomorrow noon to hand her over.”
“And should I refuse?” Foolish question, but lack of an immediate answer would give them a little time.
“We will take her, of course,” Hume avowed. “And this place. We will leave you with nothing. Think on that.”
When the force turned in unison and rode off toward the edge of the woods, Alan descended the steps into the bailey. He found Honor, standing stock-still as though she had frozen to the bottom step. “Well, wife, it seems your finery is wasted on him. Your father declined our invitation.”
Honor did not move until he took her arm and threaded it through his own, leading her back to the hall. Her pallor and stillness gave witness to her terror, but the set of her shoulders belied it. What courage she had, he thought proudly. What mettle in the face of her fear.
The vision of her, naked as a newborn and holding his sword for him, filled his mind. She had Hume’s strong will all right. What pluck she had to refuse her father’s choice of a husband. And then to choose one for herself.
Perhaps Tavish had put her up to the adventure once they found themselves in love, but she had obviously carried through with it. He wished Tav had told him all of their story. Alan had assumed until this very day that they had wed with the baron’s eventual blessing.
When they reached the hall, he situated her on the settle by the fire hole and dragged over a stool to sit directly before her. Her hands felt like ice as he pressed them between his own. Softly, he broke the silence. “You had best tell me the whole of it, sweeting. Tell me how you became Tav’s wife when your father was dead set agin it.”
He knew the moment her courage deserted her. Her shoulders rounded and her wee chin quivered a bit.
“Oh, Alan, please do not be gentle! Please do not,” she said. Her voice broke. “I ne-need you to be fierce for me. For us and for our people here. Father will destroy everything if you let him!”
His heart ached for her, so sorely that he could think of nothing save easing her mind.
“Gentle? Me? Ah, lovey, dinna greet. Yer auld da’s got oats fer brains if he thinks he can wrest away a highland-man’s lass! Ignorant of niceties, I may be, but I’ve a few tricks I do well. Fightin’ for what’s mine bein’ what I do best!” He tipped up her face to his and kissed her nose. Then he looked deeply into her tear-filled eyes. “And ye are mine, hinny. Never, never doubt it.”
“Alan,” she said, hesitating as though something had just occurred to her, “I am wrong to expect this of you. I must do something to stop Father. What if you cannot prevail no matter how well you fight? He will lay waste to everything.”
“Not whilst I live,” Alan promised.
“I know that! But after he has killed you, then he will!”
Her words were earnest. Her gaze held regret and anguish. “Listen well to me, husband. If he learns of Christiana, he will get rid of her somehow when he takes me. If you bear me any pity and her any love at all, you will hide her existence for me.”
“He will never take you,” Alan promised. “Nor harm our Kit.”
She sucked in a deep breath and squared herself as though for battle. “I have decided it’s best I go out to him and leave willingly. That way, you and all here should be spared. I pray you take my daughter to someone kind who will care for her.”
She twisted her hands to grasp his, palm to palm. Her fingers twined with his and squeezed. “Do not try to soothe me with promises. I am certain Father has a small army with him, and I am no witless fool. Byelough is strong, but not invincible. Our people are not fully trained to warfare and have never withstood siege. Let me go out tomorrow.”
“Not if I must tie you here,” he declared, and smiled.
“Let me do this!” she cried. “I want my daughter to live! I want you to live!”
“She will live and so will I. Here, with you.” Alan felt his temper loosening its bonds and his voice rose accordingly. “Do you heed me now, wife. Since my seventh year, I have had nothing. No family to speak of. No possessions save what I could hide or defend with my blade. Now my brother of the heart entrusted all he owned and bade me hold it dear, as he would have done had he survived. You think some prickly-arsed ex-Scot can mince into these hills and snatch it from me with threats? Not with thrice that number of sheep in helms! Bleatin’ fools followin’ a fool and no mistake!” He shoved her hands away. “Now hie yerself to the solar, woman, and see to the bairn. I’ve plans to make.”
He stalked away, angry with her for her doubting his abilities. And even more furious at the thought of her sacrificing herself, either to his lust in exchange for protection, or to her father to save him and Christiana.
Suddenly, he stopped and whirled around, shaking a finger. “And do not think to leave that chamber! If you move from that room, I will have you locked below. In the oubliette.”
The new and greater horror that suffused her face did not bear watching. Only then did Alan recall that her father had betimes locked her away. The urge to recant his threat and give her words of comfort did not override his prudence, however. If she feared imprisonment that much, surely she would not dare his wrath by trying to leave the safety of the
keep.
He quit the hall and hurried to the bailey to find Father Dennis. A plan had formed in his mind, the only solution he could imagine for this dilemma. But it required a swallowing of pride that would likely choke him with its bitterness.
If he’d retained any doubts that he loved this contentious woman he had married, this thoroughly destroyed them all. When he first vowed on his soul to do anything to keep her, he never imagined God would test him like this. He looked up at the heavy clouds moving in and imagined he heard a rumble of laughter.
“Well, then, if Yer goin’ ta make me crawl through the dirt like a whipped hound, Lord, the least Ye can do is give auld Hume a braw soakin’!”
It began to rain.
On the morning of the third day, Alan paced the battlements where he had spent most of that time. Hume and his men looked settled in for a siege. Tents lined the edge of the small area of woods that lay just out of bow range. Smoke from their cook fires spiraled upward through the light mist.
The sounds of hammers and axes echoed through the hills. Soon Hume would order the ladders they were constructing to be laid against the walls. A battering ram would test the strength of the oak portals of Byelough.
Hume had sent two knights to escort his daughter to him that next day at noon. Alan gave them the expected refusal. Formal threats ensued, but thus far only the village had been damaged. Hume had fired two cottages and promised to burn more today unless Honor presented herself. The villagers had wisely abandoned their homes and probably sought refuge in the caves that riddled the nearby hills.
Alan searched the trail that wound out of the valley hoping against hope to see the relief he had humbly requested.
“Will he come, sir?” Father Dennis asked softly as he joined Allen on the wall-walk.
“I do not know. Are you certain the player can find Rowicsburg?” Alan remembered the musician’s assurance just before he wriggled into the bolt-hole.