by Mary Wine
Stiffening her resolve, Anne didn’t look back. Instead she looked straight at the wide back of the man she had to outwit. Where there was a will, there was a way.
That was the only thing she had time to think about. Bonnie’s dream would have to pass away this time.
She would make it so
There were not enough saints.
Anne gripped the saddle horn tighter, lamenting the lack of heavenly ears to lay her pleas on. Considering her plight, she needed more holy patrons to intercede on her behalf. Her gaze wandered over the shoulders of the earl. He was so powerfully built, she might not have believed it without seeing it herself. She wasn’t even sure that it was natural for men to grow so broad.
Yet he appeared in harmony with the huge steed beneath him. Confidence radiated from the pair as firm hands held onto the reins. He clasped the sides of the animal with his thick legs, his back remaining straight as the horse climbed the steep trail.
Keeping this man at arm’s length was going to prove a challenge. To his way of thinking, she was his wife.
Yes, many more saints.
Anne frowned. Praying was all well and good but she needed a firm plan if she was going to give her father time to discover her plight. Her belly grumbled as her horse was tugged further along the trail. Warwickshire Castle grew smaller as the sun moved over them in an arc toward the west. The corset dug into her hip where it was too long. Shifting about only moved the pain from spot to spot until her entire side throbbed. She tried to keep her motions small or at least to mask them by adjusting her seat when the horse moved. Every man accompanying the earl found a reason to look her way. They were clever about how they did it, looking over the trail beyond her or inspecting their dirks sheathed in the top of a boot.
Their curious eyes found a reason to look her way.
Yet she was as drawn to them as well. Their bare knees mystified her. Warwickshire was on the borderlands and considered chilly by English standards. The last pair of English knees she’d seen outside the bathing room were on one of the young groomsmen in the stable, who was still more of a boy and prone to forgetting to dress appropriately. Every man with her now didn’t even have their doublets closed. The edges of the leather flapped open, allowing the afternoon air to ruffle the linen of their shirts. The protective sleeves attached to those doublets were tied behind their backs, obviously unneeded to ward off the chill. She shivered just looking at their bare collarbones.
But none of them looked cold. That drew her attention. Each man seemed at ease, most of them eager to be heading home. Their mounts took to the rocky trail expertly. Each horse confident as it picked its way. Not that she might blame them for being jovial. Knowing that you were returning home must be a wonderful feeling.
One she wished she knew. Envy took root in her chest. She hadn’t even been allowed to bid farewell to her family.
She resisted the urge to look behind her. Gazing on Warwickshire so far in the distance just might be more than her composure could bear. At least she might keep herself from tears. Crying would be useless. She had so often considered Lady Mary to be weak for all her sobbing. That doubled her resolve to remain calm as the day drew longer. The earl only drew his men to a halt twice. Both times he did it near a river so that the horses might drink.
Her feet were asleep and dismounting sent prickles of pain up her numb legs. She had never sat on a horse so long. There had never been any need to. Horses were expensive and they generated further cost in stables and feed. Besides, her life had been Warwickshire. The villages and the castle proper. Her feet served her well enough for traveling between them. She didn’t earn enough in an entire year to even buy a horse as fine as the one she was riding today. Giving the mare a pat, Anne smoothed her fingers over its shiny coat.
“She’s a fine animal, to be sure.” Turning her head, Anne found one of the McJames’ retainers a few feet behind her. He studied her with eyes the same shade as a summer sky. He was fair-haired as well; quite the opposite of the earl.
“Indeed, she is very beautiful.”
He lifted a hand to firmly pat the horse on its hindquarter. “Strong. That’s what matters.”
Releasing the reins, Anne let the mare have her freedom. With a soft nicker, the mare followed the other horses toward the edge of the river.
“My brother bred her from his own stock. McJames’ horses are the best in Scotland.”
“I can see that.”
The Scot peered at her trying to see past her face veil. When she didn’t lift it, his gaze slid down her frame, inspecting her exactly as he had the mare.
“I thought English ladies wore gloves to keep their hands soft.”
Anne was grateful for her veil because it hid the sudden widening of her eyes. She curled her frozen fingers into fists.
“I forgot them this morning.” She cringed because she made yet another error. As a lady, her maid should have seen to the task of fetching her gloves. “When you were spotted approaching, I became flustered.”
A grin appeared on the Scot. “Now don’t go telling my brother that. His ego disnae need any stroking.” He actually winked at her. The playful expression stunned her because she’d never quite pictured Scotsmen relaxed.
“Well then, you’d better take care of your needs before we mount up again.” He pointed to a large outcropping of boulders and her face burned scarlet.
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice squeaked as her blush deepened. She felt like every pair of eyes was focused on her as she walked toward the rocks. Returning took a great deal of discipline as she ordered herself to stop being so childish. The body had needs; it was no reason for blushing.
More of the men were turned her way now, studying her as she drew closer to the water. The earl was already back on his steed, watching them from several feet above. He scanned the horizon, his face set in hard lines. He wasn’t relaxed or jovial. Solid determination radiated from him as he swept the entire surrounding area before letting his gaze settle on her.
Her cheeks warmed again, the tiny response tingling as it went through her flesh. She worried her lower lip as she found herself staring back at him, unable to break the connection. He actually frowned before looking away. Her pride bristled, the hot stain on her cheeks annoying.
How could she blush for him?
And why did he find her unpleasing?
Her anger stunned her, numbing her mind as she tried to decide why she cared what the man thought of her. If he found her ugly, all the better. It would certainly make avoiding the bedding easier.
Yet she could not deny the surge of disappointment that went through her. It was as real as the kilt-wearing men near her. Quite unexpected but still a firm reality.
“The two of you will just have to wait.”
There was a male chuckle as the earl’s brother returned leading her mare. He smirked at her while offering her a hand to mount. Anne reached for the saddle horn instead, lodging one foot in the stirrup and pushing her body up into the air on her own.
Humph, she’d be very well and good on her own.
“Well now, I’ve never seen an English lady who could do that. Maybe my brother made a better choice than he thinks.”
Looking down at the Scot, Anne was tempted to flip her veil back so that he might see the frown she was aiming at him. It was another impulse, one that was very hard to resist. She found the man grinning from ear to ear, his sky blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Her anger fled as she noted how much he reminded her of Bonnie.
“You know a great deal about English women, do you?”
His lips lowered into a pensive line. “I’ve attended yer queen’s court with my brother, so aye, I know a wee bit.” His eyes flickered with something that looked like distrust. “Ye’re not exactly what I expected when my brother told me we were off to fetch ye home.”
He looked at her with a critical eye that made her wonder just what she was lacking in his opinion.
“As we are strangers, I de
clined to form any opinions of you or your brother before I met you both.”
One of his eyebrows rose. A soft scoff pasted his lips and his eyes glittered with amusement.
“Och well, there’s a tone I recall well. Ye English lasses must be descended from Valkyries because ye have the north wind living inside ye. Icy as snow ye are when ye’re of the mind to freeze a man with your words.”
Anne bit back an apology. Philipa’s words rose above her impulse. Becoming too familiar with any of these men was unwise considering the precarious position of her family. Still, she was not the one casting rude comments about. No matter the situation, she was not weak willed.
“My name is Cullen.” He offered her a folded cloth. “Here’s something to eat. It’s a two-day ride to Sterling castle. Ye’ll need yer strength.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was low as she took the offering. Cullen hooked a leather cord attached to a full wine skin over the saddle horn. Her cheeks heated again, this time in shame for being so outspoken. She shouldn’t allow Philipa to turn her into a bitter-hearted person. But she held her comments, sealing them behind her lips for fear of what might yet happen to her family. She had to play her role, at least until her sire discovered her plight.
Cullen nodded. “Welcome to the family.”
His voice was gruff. She deserved it for being so haughty. Regret pierced her as he walked toward his own horse. She had regret for so many things that weren’t in her power to change. Everything about where she found herself was frustrating. She’d heard a lot of sermons on kindness being the key to unlocking good solutions, but today she was hard-pressed to figure a way to deal with her dilemma in a Christian way.
There was nothing virtuous about her position. It was steeped in sin and the stain was smearing with each word she spoke. Philipa had truly poisoned herself with hatred because no woman with a heart could send someone into such a situation.
But being correct didn’t help her. All of her reasoning and justifications of being the victim failed to fend off the guilt chewing on her. Truly, speaking to the saints was unlikely to bring her any help. Not when she considered that all of those holy figures had martyred themselves rather than act unchristian.
Even knowing that didn’t open her lips. She kept them sealed and sat, firmly resolved to play her assigned role as the earl motioned them forward.
Her counterfeit role.
Chapter Four
The earl didn’t call a halt to their travel until the sun was almost gone. Only a pink stain colored the horizon when his hand rose and the horses all stopped. His men seemed to know exactly what his gesture meant because they dismounted and began making camp.
The spot he’d chosen was sheltered in trees, their branches forming a camouflage of sorts. There were few leaves on them but several large boulders rose up out of the earth to join them. One rock was smudged with dark black soot. Two of the retainers set about building a small fire in the same spot, while another couple of men gathered up the horses. They removed the bits from the mouths of their mounts, but made sure each bridle was secure. They knotted a length of rope to each bridle draping several feet between each horse to keep them from wandering apart during the night. One man climbed up onto the rock outcroppings, propping his back against some of the tree branches. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and propped it against one thigh.
The rest of the men talked in low voices but she couldn’t miss the lightness of their tones. There was also the distinct Scottish sound to their words. Loneliness clamped around her like a steel vise, tightening with each foreign detail she noticed. With a sigh she turned and walked toward the river. She could hear the water rushing and babbling but it wasn’t in sight. She had to walk over a rise and the water was below her. Paying close attention to her footing, she made her way down the slope. The wine skin hadn’t been filled with sweet wine but water. Still it had been welcome as her lips dried out in the winter air. Propping a foot on a rock, she was mindful to toss her skirts over her thigh before leaning down to refill the skin. The night air brushed her bare skin above the edge of the knitted stocking, raising gooseflesh. Once full, she straightened up, placing both feet firmly back on the bank. Giving the top a twist she secured it before looking up.
She gasped as she came face to face with the earl. He was only two feet behind her, his huge body impossibly large. She jumped away from him without considering how close the river was. Her heels sank into the moist soil, the wine skin dropping into the mud as she tottered off balance.
His hand snaked out, capturing her wrist. Warm, hard fingers curled around her limb, jerking her away from the river. She slammed into his chest, unsure if she wouldn’t have preferred the cold water behind her. Her eyes widened as his arm slid right around her back, securing her in place.
“Are ye actually intent on running off into the night?”
There was no mistaking the anger that colored his voice. He frowned at her, distrust etched into his face.
“I simply wanted to refill the skin.”
He snorted at her. “And ye just did that little chore without telling anyone where ye were going. Slipping off into the darkness quiet as may be.”
“I certainly didn’t think of it like that.”
But she should have. It was another error. Mary would have sent someone to fill the skin, never mind that there were the horses to tend to.
“I’d appreciate ye staying with my men. We don’t need to be fetching ye away from the men of any other clans that stumble upon ye without escort. If ye’ve no care for the harm they might do ye, have a bit of concern for the blood that will be spilt when we have to fight to take ye back.”
Her mouth formed a little round expression of horror. “I want no one fighting over me.”
His face was as serious as an executioner. “Be very sure of that. I dinnae let anyone take what is mine, madam. Run away and I’ll fetch ye back.”
His words were as hard and unrelenting as the arm binding her to him.
“I wasn’t fleeing.”
He snorted, clearly doubting her. Anne snapped her lips shut because her temper was rising. Labeling him a presumptuous clod wouldn’t help matters. However, she could at least take solace in the fact that insulting him was definitely something Mary would have done. His lips pressed tightly together as she failed to answer.
“Are ye ever going to take that thing off yer head? I thought it was against the law to be a nun in England.”
Anne raised her chin to find the earl frowning at her again. His eyes were a darker blue than his brother’s.
Midnight eyes…
She shivered, a chill shooting down her spine. His eyes narrowed as the hand pressing across her back felt the ripple of reaction. Heat bled across her cheeks once again as she inhaled the scent of his skin. Her belly suddenly tightened with the oddest sensation. With a hard shove she tried to escape from his hold.
He scoffed at her. A soft sound of male disgruntlement. “Since ye’ve been at court, I don’t see the need for feigning innocence, Mary. I’m nae the first man that’s held you.”
Her eyes widened as he retained his hold. His arm was like steel, binding her to his body.
How presumptuous. “I pretend nothing, sir.”
His gaze narrowed once more. A moment later her French hood was tugged off her head, pulling her hair as he plucked it free. He studied her face for a long moment before releasing her.
“I’ll be the judge of that matter myself.”
One foot plunged into the mud as she placed distance between them. A flicker of amusement entered his eyes as he stood blocking her path, using the river and his larger size to keep her at his mercy.
“If ye’ve become accustomed to loose morals at yer English court, best ye ken that I will not be shamed.”
Her chin lifted, no amount of better judgment interfering. “You’ve made yourself clear.”
She pushed past him, uncaring of how close she was to his body anymore. There were
very few things she had the right to call her own, but she wasn’t a lightskirt.
“Good.” Command edged his voice. He followed her up the bank. “It pleases me to find yer face beneath that veil instead of a courtesan’s, all covered in paint.”
He reached out, stroking a finger over one of her cheeks. “Aye, I am pleased.”
She shivered again, this time in some odd response to the way his tone had softened. He was no longer angry with her.
Anne turned quickly to hide the strange reaction from his keen stare. Her face was hot where he’d touched it, the skin oddly alive with sensation. There was a part of her that liked hearing that he approved of her. A man such as he was far above any that she might hope to have of her own.
“Face me, Mary.”
Hearing her half-sister’s name was like icy water being tossed onto her feet. She turned slowly, struggling to conceal her emotions before facing him once more. This man would not take being deceived very well. Now that her face veil was gone, she needed to be more attentive to concealing her feelings.
“I’ve no taste for timid women.”
The gruff tone of his voice annoyed her once again. “You may always return me home.” She looked at the ground, doing her best to look like a coward. For one brief moment hope flickered in her heart that he might reject her.
“You should take me to my father. He is returned to court.”
A hard hand cupped her chin, raising it to lock stares with him. “It’s clear you’ve been at court. That place is ripe with schemes.” His lips lost their hard line as he stepped up closer holding her jaw in a firm grip. “Do I really look like a man who would cry surrender so soon after greeting ye?” He chuckled, the sound sending a quiver through her belly. His warm scent filled her head with each breath as he tilted his head so that his breath teased her lips.
“You dinnae know very much about Scotsmen, Wife. We’re nae intimidated by a few cold glances. In Scotland, we’re more practiced in the arts of warming up our women.”