by Ashley York
“Get your damn dog out of here, Robbie, and do not come back to the heat of the fire until you do.” A squat, gray-haired woman smacked the boy’s ear as she yelled at him.
“It’s too cold, Mum. He keeps slipping back in.” Robbie dragged the mangy canine to the wooden door that led outside.
The leader of the newcomers—a young boy, Seumas thought—seemed to freeze in place as he too witnessed the encounter. The lad stiffened, appearing affronted by the treatment of the stable boy. Like a chivalrous knight, he reacted as if he might actually come to Robbie’s defense. The person behind the lad gave him a none-too-gentle shove. When the little knight glanced back, Seumas caught a glimpse of his filthy, childish face. It was indeed a boy and not anyone he recognized. As he suspected, these two were not from the area.
The second person remained a mystery of uncertain sex and age. Though there was something about the way he moved and the protective hold the little knight had on his arm. Seumas stroked his beard. It could be a female, but the big cloak effectively hid any sign.
They were pushing through the mob to get closer to the fire when the little knight dropped out of sight. He had tripped over Perceval, the mute who lived beneath the bridge leading to the castle. He was a mean one, and the jab he gave the boy was intended to do harm. The little knight grimaced.
Seumas moved in quickly before a brawl broke out.
Without a word, he pulled the little knight out of harm’s way. He kept his eye on Perceval. “Now that is no way to act.”
The frantic hand gestures said it all. His mouth flapped of complaints and mistreatment without a sound while the little knight looked on, darting fearful looks between them. Perceval’s eyes had dark circles and his cheeks were sunken from lack of food.
“Methinks there is something for ye somewhere else,” Seumas said. When he moved closer to whisper to him, the smell of urine and feces was overpowering. “Go see Fran. Ye know Fran?”
Perceval’s eyes brightened and he bobbed his head, recognizing the cook’s name. He leaned in to hear Seumas.
“She is holding some sweet cakes for me, and I want ye to get them.”
The boy’s face fell—he no doubt thought he would have to give the morsels up to Seumas.
“But I do not want them. Ye eat them.”
Perceval did not hesitate. He bolted toward the kitchen door.
“Now then.” Seumas turned toward the little knight, still in his grasp. The mystery companion held back, well hidden. “What have we here?”
“I did not do anything to him.” The boy’s eyes were wide and round. “I got tripped up and fell. That is all.”
“Aye. And yet…I see that ye do not belong here.” Better to let the boy know upfront he had been found out.
The little knight caught himself as he started turning to his mysterious companion. “I do, m’lord.” He tipped his head emphatically, a convincing liar.
Impressed by the act, Seumas smiled at him and included his companion when he spoke. “Stay to the right side of the fire. That is where the young’uns sleep. Ye will be safe there unless they realize ye do not belong...then out ye go. Hear me?”
The little knight nodded.
Seumas glanced at the boy’s companion, but the shadowed face turned away. The dirt-encrusted cloak covered him—or her—from head to toe, but the long fingers gripping the edges of the cloak together were just visible. They were also decidedly feminine.
Seumas smiled and returned to his men.
Chapter 3
Someone was watching her. Iseabail woke instantly. Wedged between Calum and the wall, she feigned sleep, keeping her breathing steady though her body tensed. Through half-closed eyes, she scanned the hall. The crackling fire silhouetted Calum’s slumped form. He had turned away in his sleep. The overpowering stench of unwashed bodies gave her a strange sense of belonging after being alone in the woods for so long—she probably stank as much as they. The sounds of snoring and breathing surrounded her.
The men carousing earlier could no longer be heard. They had been well in their cups, so no doubt they were either passed out or had staggered to their beds. Female laughter and low, muffled voices drifted to her from the stairs. Or had they found female companionship? She shuddered. They were mercenaries—hard men who did as they pleased and answered to no one. When she passed the group earlier, she had averted her eyes, hoping to avoid their notice. If Calum had not tripped, they would have been ignored. Now she had unwanted attention.
The draft on her leg was her only warning.
Someone clamped a hand onto her bare ankle. She opened her mouth but no sound came out; her gasp froze in her throat. She had been discovered. If Calum were older she could have called for his help, but she did not want him to get hurt trying to defend her. As usual, she was left unprotected.
Her attacker slid a calloused hand up her leg. Fear quickened her breath. He caressed her calf before grabbing on to pull her away from Calum. She bit into her lip and clawed at the ground as she fought against being dragged further. Her assailant’s throaty chuckle reminded her of her uncle’s, and panic overwhelmed her senses.
I will not be used again.
Determined, she thrashed and rolled, trying to turn onto her back. He bent to grab her legs at the knees, grunting with the effort. The noise made her sick. Her gown slid further up her thighs, and his low sound of carnal appreciation echoed in her head. On her stomach with her ankles held against either side of her attacker, she could not have felt more vulnerable. Or angry. She twisted and pulled, finally wresting one leg free. She tucked her knee to her chest and kicked as hard as she could, connecting with the man’s tender area. Hope blazed through her. He groaned and dropped her legs abruptly. Her knees hit the ground with a painful thud, and she pressed her lips tightly together to muffle the hiss of pain.
Finding herself released, she pulled her tattered gown over her legs and dragged herself into a sitting position. The unmoving body of a chunky male lay at her feet. She looked up to find a large man with pitch black hair standing there, the leather-wrapped hilt of his dagger visible in his clenched fist. The smear of blood on the silver pommel where he’d knocked out her assailant marked this man as her defender. His dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he searched her face. He was also the man who had threatened Calum earlier.
“So ye are a lass.” He spoke in hushed tones, his soft Scottish brogue sweet to her ear. Alas this was not her clansman but one of the mercenaries. He wiped the pommel on his leg before placing it back into its bejeweled sheath at his belt and crossing his arms in front of him. Motioning to the body that lay unconscious between them, he added, “I would say I was not the only one who figured it out.”
How? She was always being mistaken for a boy at home… Well, maybe not so much of late. But she had been covered from head to toe with the blanket that lay crumpled behind her. It must have slipped off in her sleep. As if reading her mind, the Scot retrieved the blanket.
“Thank you for your assistance.” She blanched at the stupidity of her own words, but nothing else seemed appropriate. She just wanted him to go away.
His eyes were intense before he looked down. “Ye were doing well on yer own, I would say.”
She followed his gaze. It was quite gratifying to see her attacker still holding his private parts, though the goose egg on his head was clearly the blow that had stopped the assault. Her satisfied smile evaporated, however, when she noticed the Scot eyeing her suspiciously.
“Still, I am in your debt.” Her smile froze on her lips. Admitting to a mercenary that you owed them was not the smartest course of action.
His eyes brightened, but she sensed a smirk hidden in that thick, dark beard. “Are ye now? Weel then, tell me what ye are about. I would say ye are not in yer usual sleeping place.”
Her heart raced as he hunkered down beside her, his face so close she could see the laugh lines around his eyes. His low voice resonated through her, and he held her gaze.
She glanced toward the tables, where a few of the mercenaries mumbled and shifted in their sleep. “How, pray tell, have we put ourselves in harm’s way?”
“Pray tell, is it?”
Iseabail covered her irritation with herself with a shake of her head. Pray tell was not a term a peasant used. He was making her feel very defensive.
“I told yer friend,” the man pointed at Calum, his eyebrows raised in question, “brother, perhaps? I told him to stay to the right of the fire.” He rolled his ‘r’s as he spoke.
“We are to the right…” Iseabail stopped herself just short of doing the same. She and Calum were trying to blend in with the local peasants seeking refuge from the cold. It would not do to give herself away as a Scot. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Had he heard her slip?
“Ye are not!” His voice had become very forceful, and Iseabail’s breath caught in her throat. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “This is the very spot where the women sleep who are looking for a warm bed to share.”
He raised his furrowed brows as if expecting some sort of response. An apology? She knew they should never have tried to come in from the cold. The woods were the only safe place. Tears threatened, tightening her throat. She would not show her weakness.
She dipped her head and pushed to standing. He was a little too close, and she stood a little too fast. Her head slammed into his hard chin, nearly making her lose her balance. He grabbed her with strong hands, righting her. His firm touch sent heat through her body.
Iseabail jerked away from him. The warmth remained, unsettling her as it made its way into her belly. His bright blue eyes were clear, and his hands hovered just above her arms as if about to touch her again. He looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. Her pulse started to race, anticipating his touch.
He glanced at Calum before he spoke again. “I do not suppose ye are?”
His voice was quieter, reassuring. As a hired soldier, this man held authority here and had every right to throw her and Calum back out into the cold, but she did not believe he would. What had he asked her? Was she in her usual sleeping place? No, for that was a soft bed in her father’s castle...
The warmth found its way into her head, turning her thoughts to mush. She fought to clear her mind and think rationally. His expectant look was playing havoc with her innards, but was it fear or that singeing heat? However, when his hands dropped back to his side, there was no mistaking her disappointment. What was she thinking? She needed to protect her family, and this man seemed to be a threat. Underestimating their uncle’s need for revenge when they had escaped was her first mistake. She could not make another. If there were any chance she could make him believe she belonged in the castle, she had to take it.
“Aye, I am.” She tried to sound as forceful as she dared despite the look of disbelief that spread across his face. Had there been disappointment as well? Now why would that be?
A cloud seemed to pass over his face, shifting his disbelief to a beaming smile that showed off the dimple in his right cheek. He now looked quite pleased with himself, and Iseabail feared that did not bode well for her at all.
Chapter 4
Seumas did his best to cover his disappointment, though the lass might as well have slapped his face with the determined look that accompanied her brazen answer. Clearly this girl thought she could look him straight in the eye and lie to him. She was not looking for a warm bed to share, he would wager, and she did not impress him with the winsome smile she kept flashing. It was a rather nice smile, though. As were the legs he had gotten an eyeful of during the tussle.
Patrick was such an arse. Seumas had known his intentions the second the drunkard latched eyes on the lass but was a bit too late to stop him. She had taken care of herself though. This time. Still, she was playing with fire to be in a castle full of unscrupulous mercenaries without protection. Patrick stirred, and Seumas lifted him by the front of his shirt.
“Off ye go now.” Seumas pushed him roughly toward the stairs.
Despite the Irishman’s drunken state, he was able to stumble up the stairs, rubbing his head as he went. He did not seem to realize he was going up unaccompanied.
“Well, then.” Seumas decided to call the girl’s bluff and accept her offer. If this was the game she chose to play, he would teach her a lesson. She would be admitting to her lie and asking for assistance in no time. Using his most persuasive tone of voice, he gallantly offered her his arm. “Let us go.”
Her eyes widened in panic as she stepped away from him. Regret slammed into his chest at her look of fear, but he could not back down now or she would never learn. She took another step… Where was she backing up to? Her own companion would be the next person she would fall over. Not that her fall against him had not been sweet. She weighed next to nothing, but her skin was scorching hot. He could have sworn the hairs on the back of his neck were singed.
Summoning patience, he watched as her gaze darted about the room, no doubt looking for an escape. His irritation mounted. She could not physically stop him from taking her upstairs if that was what he decided upon, and she needed to realize that. The sooner the better. This was a dangerous situation. Women slept in the hall at their own peril and at everyone else’s mercy. There was no yae or nae about it. These soldiers took what they wanted, and they would have no problem sniffing out any females nearby, just as Patrick had.
His chest tightened at the idea of what could have happened if he had not seen Patrick heading toward them. Though unsure exactly how the Irishman had figured out she was female, Seumas felt compelled to scare her into realizing what every woman of noble birth was taught from day one—go nowhere unescorted. She might not have been a noble, but she needed to heed the same warning. Her naiveté seemed sincere, but how she had remained so innocent with no one protecting her was beyond him. In any case, if she admitted she had lied and was not available, Seumas would try to secure some sort of protection for her overnight.
Or…she could try to talk him out of it. He bit his lip to keep from smiling when she opened her mouth to plead her case. She was a brash one. And intriguing. He stepped closer until she had to bend her head back to continue to look him in the face. Her eyes widened even more.
Ah, now she realizes the size of it. He couldn’t hide the smirk.
“Nay, m’lord, I cannot leave my brother.” The boy snored as if on cue.
Seumas pulled at the edge of the blanket she held in front of her until she let go. He bent down and gently placed it on the sleeping boy, tucking it around him. He looked peaceful enough and would probably be glad to have his sister out of jeopardy. Tipping his head to the side, he offered his arm again. He raised his eyebrows in expectation of her compliance.
Emotions flitted across her face as she evidently tried to think of another excuse not to go with him. Her valor was admirable, but the lass would not get through the night inviolate by staying here. Still, he almost hoped she would not admit the lie now. She intrigued him. He held his breath, awaiting her next move. She clutched her cloak as if to ward off his advances.
The sounds of men shifting awake behind him pushed Seumas into action. Ever a prudent man, he scooped her into his arms then headed up the stairs two at a time. Better to have her safely away than to deal with their ribald comments.
“Oh, nay. Nay, you do not understand. I cannot come with you.” She pushed against his chest, stretching her legs as if to jump out of his arms.
He had to adjust his hold on her to avoid being hit in the face. She struggled against such overwhelming odds, and he felt a growing respect for her.
When he got to his room, he continued to hold her until they were inside and he had turned the iron key in the lock. On the far side of the room, Paul, his squire, lay dozing on the floor in front of the only window.
The fire burned brightly, and the little man’s snoring could be heard above the crackling wood. The rattling door brought his glance back to his determined guest. With all her might, she pulled against the door. She actually huffed when she saw it would not budge then backed herself against it and stood there, rigid as a board. She did not look available for a tumble anymore, and it was just as well. He was done with this farce.
“Ye are safe here.” He sounded angry even to his own ears.
Angry at what? This girl thought he had brought her here to have his way with her. How else would she behave? She looked small against the door, as far away from him as she could possibly get. He watched as she took in the four poster bed, sitting squarely in the middle of the room, and Paul, shifting in his sleep beside a possible avenue of escape. He slept like the dead and would not be awakened by their presence or even by her climbing over him to get out the window. The fall would probably kill her, so it was a good thing she did not realize that.
Overcome with exhaustion, Seumas removed his dagger and sword before untying his tunic. It had been a long, unrewarding day, and he wanted nothing more than the oblivion of sleep. The heretofore intriguing wench stood pressed to the door, unmoving. Why had he taken the lass to his room? Why the overpowering need to protect her? Her brother would be safe in the hall and she would not. Was that all?
Her eyes bored into him. She watched his every move.
“That is yer brother with ye?” He pulled the tunic over his head.
“Yes.” She clipped off the word as if annoyed.
“How old is he?”
“Nine.”
“What is his name?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and he glanced toward the door. She averted her gaze before answering. “Calum.”
This was an exercise in futility, and he sighed in disgust. Fine. If she would not allow him to allay her fear with friendly discourse, she would have to stay petrified. If he had meant to use her, he would have gotten right to it. Why wait? The bed was inviting, to be sure, but for sleep alone—something he intended to do as soon as his head hit the pillow. Unless, of course, the girl decided she could sneak away from him and spent half the night attempting to do so. Damn. He had to prevail upon her to stay.