Let the siege begin.
* * *
She was lasting longer than any of them had anticipated. They were into the fourth hour of their standoff and there was still no sign of surrender on her part. Grif sighed, absently chewing a blade of grass as he lounged on his elbows and watched the foundation. Most ladies of her upbringing and station would likely recognize the futility of hiding under a blasted barn and gracefully admit defeat. Not her, of course. Undoubtedly she was doing this just to thumb her nose at him. She had a rather long history of doing just that, he mused.
They took turns standing guard by the crack, waiting for any sign of a white flag. Conroy was sitting there now, eyelids heavy in the lazy warmth of the late afternoon sun. Thomas was lounging in the grass a few feet away, apparently enjoying their short hiatus. Dreyfus had disappeared two hours earlier after very nearly being pummeled for ramming a stick under the foundation. When Grif had informed the other man that he was not allowed to poke at Lady Kyra with pointy objects, Dreyfus had stormed off to pout. It was just as well. Grif was tired of the snake.
Snake.
Grif bolted upright. Of course! It was so simple. No doubt he would have thought of it earlier had he not allowed his frustration to cloud his thinking. He rose and did his best to dust himself off. Thomas cracked an eye and raised a questioning brow. “I’m going on the offensive,” Grif said. “The very offensive, in fact.”
At that, his friend perked up, mumbling, “This I’ve got to see.”
Grif grinned smugly and sauntered over to the crack, casually kicking a few stones as he went. He crouched down and rapped on the boards, as though knocking on the neighbor’s door for a visit. “‘Allo in there,” he called amiably.
Two eyes peered suspiciously out at him. “Ah, hello, Grif. Is there something I can do for you?”
Grif shook his head. “Not at all. I was just wondering if you’re ready to come out.”
“Are you taking me back to Edmund?”
“That is what I am here to do.”
“Then no,” she said pertly. “I am not ready to come out.”
The eyes disappeared again and Grif sighed. Stubborn little baggage. “You can’t stay in there forever, my dear. We both know that.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“For God’s sake, Kay. You’re in a bloody hole!” Grif reasoned.
“Yes, and it’s quite cozy,” she shot back.
Grif grimaced at Thomas. “She’s always been this damned recalcitrant.”
Thomas raised a brow. “Indeed.”
“All right, have it your way,” Grif called to the foundation. “Oh, by the by,” he said casually. “You should know there was a snake wriggling around out here a moment ago. Nasty-looking thing too. Rather big. I’m afraid you may find yourself sharing your accommodations.” He smirked at Thomas and Conroy.
“Well, I much prefer to deal with the snake in here than the one out there,” the foundation retorted.
“But you’re terrified of snakes,” he grumbled through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the amused grunts at his elbow.
Kyra poked her nose out at him again. “If you will recall, Ethan, it was one of the twins who was afraid of snakes. Simon, I believe. I, however, am quite comfortable with them.” She gave him a pointed look. “Most of them,” she added before ducking back into the shadows.
Damned if he wasn’t ready to tear the building apart piece by piece. Grif glared at Thomas, who was snorting with laughter. Conroy was looking away, but by the large man’s silently shaking body, Grif knew he was laughing too. His temper flared again. He’d had quite enough.
“Well, then, I’m sure you’re also comfortable with the mice that undoubtedly are nesting under there, as well.”
“Oh, please,” the foundation snapped. “That was your sister.”
“Tricia?”
“No, Annabelle. Patricia didn’t like the dark.”
Grif shook his head. “Tricia didn’t like confined spaces.”
The foundation sighed. “That is because most confined spaces are dark. Honestly, Grif, how you ever managed to so thoroughly terrorize us without having even a basic understanding of our horrors is quite beyond me.”
Grif smiled in spite of himself. He had to admire her moxie, even if it did drive him mad. “What about Riley?”
“Heights.”
“Phillip?”
“You and Riley.”
Ah yes, the older of his twin brothers had taken quite a bit of torture at their hands. He did remember that. Grif stood and kicked at a loose rock. Problem was, he didn’t remember tormenting Kyra as he had the others. He’d left that job to Dev. The only times he’d really ever turned on her was when she’d actively provoked him, which was quite a lot, come to think of it. But in almost every case, or at least those he could clearly recall, she’d been the instigator.
“So what were you afraid of?”
She stuck her head out again and glowered. “Snakes,” she said pertly.
Her answer brought another round of laughter from his companions, and Grif almost reached in to grab her out by the hair. He thought better of it, however, knowing how the tactic had fared for Dreyfus. Instead, he swore and kicked another rock, turning it over with his boot. A large spider scampered forth, disappearing into the tall grass. A vivid memory flashed in his mind, bringing a smile to Grif’s face.
“Spiders,” he announced.
It was a long moment before the foundation murmured, “What?”
“You are afraid of spiders,” he said. “Very, very afraid of spiders.”
She cleared her throat nervously. “You have me confused with someone else.”
Grif’s smile deepened. “Oh, no. I remember it quite well. You were, oh, maybe thirteen, and you were quite put out that Riley refused to take you fishing with us and the twins. So naturally, you thought to yell at me. In the middle of your rant, Phillip threw a spider into your skirts to shut you up. I know this, Kay, because I remember two things very clearly.
“The first is that you actually scaled me in your panic. I had to pull you off of my shoulders and kill the wretched thing, with you screaming and sobbing and wriggling all around. I do believe Riley told you to stop acting like such a girl.”
His memory also included a healthy glimpse of youthful legs, well near the middle of her thighs, but he didn’t feel that was pertinent to the story.
“The second is that after Simon took you in to Mrs. Myrtle, with you still sobbing, Riley and I made Phillip eat it.”
Thomas was near dancing with ill-contained glee. “Damn, Grif. You actually made your brother eat a spider?”
Grif shrugged. “It was dead.” At his friend’s howl of laughter, Grif shook his head with exasperation. “I was a sixteen-year-old boy. Maybe seventeen.”
Grif eyed the foundation, quite certain the breathing coming from within sounded a bit labored. “Now, Kay, I do not want to do what I am about to do. And in light of that little tale, I am quite certain you do not want me to do what I am about to do. But really, my dear, you are forcing me to be not very nice.”
“What are you about to do?” a squeaky voice asked.
He kicked over another rock. Sure enough, a large black spider scurried about. Grif bent over and picked it up in his gloved hand. Hoping to sound more mature than a sixteen-year-old boy, but knowing that was highly unlikely considering he was acting like one, he announced, “If you don’t come out by the time I count to ten, Kyra Deverill, I will pitch spiders at you. Starting with this large, hairy, wriggly black one.”
Ignoring Thomas and Conroy’s uninhibited guffaws, Ethan Ashford, eleventh earl of Griffin, began counting. “One...two...three...”
A head popped out. “You’re bluffing,” she said, her tone uncertain.
> He shook his head and showed her the evidence. “Four...five...six...”
“You wouldn’t,” she announced, her voice rising.
He nodded and continued his count. “Seven...eight...nine...”
She disappeared into the hole. Grif rolled his eyes and shouted, “Ten!” He dropped the spider by his boot. An instant later a small form came screaming out of the foundation, straight into his waiting arms.
“’Allo, Kay,” he said, kicking the spider out of sight.
Chapter Five
They made good time to Elphin with Lucifer leading Apollo, and reached the small inn on the outskirts of town just after dark. Grif rented two rooms, letting Kyra have one all to herself. Then he’d ordered food and bathwater to be sent up to her immediately. As usual, his commands were obeyed without question, despite the fact that he was bloodied and tattered and covered from head to toe in field muck.
Her room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was clean. Better yet, her bathwater was steaming. Kyra sighed and sank down further into the sweet-smelling tub. It felt so good to wash away a weeks’ worth of dirt and sweat from her body and hair. It had taken plenty of soap and scrubbing, not to mention several generous rinses, to completely rid herself of the foul muck.
Now she sat in the clear, lavender-scented water of the second bath, for which Grif must have paid dearly, and felt almost content. The maid slipped in quietly with a tray of steaming food and what appeared to be a night rail, placing both on the small table. Then the girl grabbed Kyra’s mud-soaked clothes and left with a quick bob. Leave it to Grif to take care of the last little detail, Kyra thought.
Her mind drifted lazily to thoughts of her lifelong scourge. She was still mad about the spider, of course; it had been quite unconscionable of him. But he’d been rather civilized since then. Charming, even. A slight smile touched her lips as she remembered how he’d raked a hand through his sable locks and surveyed her mud-soaked person in the main room of the inn. He’d shaken his head in disgust, but his green eyes had twinkled with amusement as he’d ordered extra bathwater for her.
As much as she loathed to admit it, he really was quite handsome, she mused, though according to Society’s dictates of masculine beauty he shouldn’t be. His skin was much too dark for a gentleman, for one thing, and he looked scruffy and world-worn instead of polished and refined. His cheeks were too lean to be properly aristocratic, though his straight nose and perfect white teeth might pass as noble. But they were offset by his full lips. There was nothing noble or proper about his mouth, especially when he smiled that crooked grin of his. With his twinkling green eyes and sinful smile, he looked more like a gypsy or a pirate than a proper English lord.
And he was much too tall and broad, for that matter, Kyra noted, further cataloging his, um, faults. Gentlemen weren’t so muscled—or so broad-shouldered. When she’d flown out from under that outbuilding into his arms, he’d pulled her tightly against him, allowing her the opportunity to enjoy the very lean, very solid wall of muscle that seemed to make up his chest. Then he’d just scooped her right up into two nicely muscled arms, cradling her as though she were a mere babe, and carried her to Apollo.
Kyra closed her eyes, giving herself over completely to the moment. She’d even let her head rest against his chest while he’d carried her, feeling his smooth heartbeat beneath her cheek. Not a bad feeling, that. It had made her a bit breathless, which was the usual sensation she got—starting around age twelve, when she’d accidentally caught a glimpse of him swimming naked—whenever Grif was a bit too close.
Kyra frowned. Everything about Grif aggravated her, she reminded herself, including his handsome face. No, especially his face. It was unfair for someone so horrid to be so attractive. The fact that Uncle Cam agreed to relinquish her to Grif—provided Grif could keep her—made her silently fume at them both. No doubt Grif managed to bully her uncle the same way he bullied everyone. It would be just like him to harangue Cam into capitulation.
Kyra bit her lip and tried not to think about how her own actions may have, possibly, influenced her uncle’s decision to relinquish responsibility of her to someone else.
Life in Scotland hadn’t brought the peace she craved after her father’s death.
In fact, her little adventure had proved more than a little trying. Uncle Cameron had received her with open arms, as she’d expected. She had spent a full two weeks grieving over her family and getting to the point where she was finally empty of tears when Sheridan’s first message arrived.
Edmund knew she was in Scotland.
Kyra had known it was inevitable, and yet she’d allowed herself to sink into a false sense of security. That was quickly shattered, however, when Edmund arrived with two men to collect her. He insisted she return to England and marry the troll, despite Cam’s fierce objections. The two men argued for days, even threatening each other—Edmund with legal action and Cam with bodily harm.
When one of Cam’s grooms reported that he’d overheard Edmund plotting to abduct Kyra from her bed, her uncle acted quickly and decisively. Cam sent her into the highlands with the fiercely loyal Lachlan and Dougal to hide with several rural families true to the MacKenzie.
While the two men guarded her zealously, and the people were kind, she hadn’t felt particularly safe knowing Edmund was willing to drag her back to England. Plus living in the wilds was much harder than she’d expected. The food was a nightmare, for one. If she never had to eat rabbit or potatoes again, she would consider her life a happy one. The people went out of their way to provide her with every comfort available to them, which made her feel guilty...especially since she didn’t find them particularly comfortable. Kyra appreciated the attempt, however, and strove to be as helpful as possible. Sadly, that wasn’t much since she’d never had any experience living as a farmer. She spent hours cuddling infants and telling stories to the children who were too young to work the fields or help in the house. At night, she did her best to practice reading with the older children.
She’d lost track of days during their travels and hard work, though it seemed like an eternity, when they received the happy news that Edmund and his cronies had given up and returned to England. Kyra had no sooner returned to the castle and washed the mud off of her person—a true delight as bathing in the wilds proved to be a weekly event rather than a daily one—when Uncle Cam handed her a list of names and told her to choose a spouse.
It wasn’t that Cam’s suggestion was unreasonable, Kyra admitted to herself. She recognized the wisdom of his words and, under normal circumstances, she most likely would have happily agreed with her uncle. The problem, she decided, had been a matter of timing and delivery. Kyra was quite certain that if Uncle Cam given her a little more time, and been a little less heavy-handed, she might have been a little more...diplomatic in her answer.
Either way, a bit of restraint on either side might have smoothed over the situation. Unfortunately, MacKenzies weren’t known for their patience. The moment she refused to pick a name from his list, the MacKenzie laird made it his life’s mission to find a husband for his wayward niece. Kyra, in turn, decided she must do whatever was in her power to thwart his efforts.
Uncle Cam was persistent, she’d give him that.
The day after her refusal, Kyra went down for breakfast, only to discover a bevy of suitors in the grand hall. Cam shot her an icy glare and ordered, “Choose one.” Impressed and annoyed, Kyra spent the entire day avoiding the flock as best she could, politely refusing those who managed to hunt her down. Everywhere she went, though, she found herself surrounded by men intent on marrying the MacKenzie’s favorite niece.
By the time her uncle uncovered her hiding in the kitchen gardens, she was exhausted. Uncle Cam plucked her from the hedge and asked her for the name of her future husband. One look at her set chin and he simply shook his head. “Tomorrow,” he muttered.
Kyra managed to stall by locking herself in her chambers for two full days. By day three, however, Cam brought a locksmith and personally saw to it that the door to her room was not only opened but removed entirely. Left with no alternative, Kyra dragged herself downstairs to meet, and outwit, the throng of growing bachelors.
It was too easy, really. No one in Scotland would say anything ill about a young lady who’d just lost the last of her family, especially if they wanted to stay in Cam’s good graces. And no one in England—Grif being the lone exception—would believe her capable of such outrageous behavior. Kyra recognized her advantage immediately and capitalized on it shamelessly.
And so it went for weeks. Kyra woke each morning to a dozen or more suitors—young and old, rich and more rich, handsome and hideous. Her uncle must have sent messengers to each and every eligible family in Scotland because the pack grew with each passing day. Every morning, Cam gestured to the hoard and said the same thing. “Choose one.”
She disliked working against her uncle, yet the thought of marrying someone in such a hurly-burly fashion made her balk. So rather than do the sensible thing and consider any of them for marriage, Kyra dug in her heels and spent her days discouraging them. For most it wasn’t too difficult. She had spent years in Society, after all, learning the fine arts of catching a man’s interest. It became a matter of simply doing the opposite of what she normally did. She giggled. She chattered on and on and on...until the sound of her own voice made her head hurt. She spoke about politics as ignorantly and loudly as possible. In other words, she acted as unladylike as she could.
Just to keep things interesting, she occasionally devoted an entire day to one annoying habit. For instance, she spent an entire Tuesday singing her responses. Off-key. Then there was the Friday where she didn’t speak a single original response. She merely repeated what was said to her...in an obnoxious French accent. Uncle Cam especially hated that one.
An Inconvenient Wife Page 6