by Eliza Knight
So why was he insisting on claiming her? Even now when she’d given him a chance to deny her, to let her go, in the face of her mother’s anger, he’d held on. Why had the idea of letting her go sent an unspoken emotion to hack at his insides?
The chit was confusing him. Her remarkable green-silver eyes held his captive. When he looked right into them, he was mesmerized, as though she were fey. Ballocks. Liam ground his teeth.
At any second, Cora was going to tell her mother they’d not consummated their marriage, and her mother would then demand an annulment, which she had every right to do. Unless he tossed her onto the sagging mattress, lifted the hem of her gown and sank himself inside her now. Then there would be no question. But that wasn’t how Liam wanted their first time to be. He was no abuser of women. Especially not one he’d held in such a lofty light for so many years. The softer part of him, the part with a heart he kept buried with all the other broken pieces of himself, throbbed and demanded that he give her a choice in staying married to him.
A choice.
The hardened part of him, the relentless warrior who’d won countless battles, had the esteem of the King of Scotland and the fear of every English border lord, scoffed at the idea and tried to justify keeping her as his wife.
The battle within him was real, and he wasn’t certain what to do about it.
For certes he’d like nothing more than to be rid of an obligation that had plagued him for over a decade. But thinking about her had been what kept him going when he’d been lying bleeding on a battlefield. Thinking of her had kept him focused and was a large part of how he’d become so successful. When he trained, he thought of the moment he’d first seen her, thought of the moment when he’d finally go and fetch her, showing her all he’d become and what he had to offer her as a husband she could be proud of.
Liam had been sixteen summers, and on a scout for the king. Serving as a squire to his sovereign had been a great honor, and the chance to go out and scout on his own a major victory for one so young. No one had expected him to return with any sort of news—he suspected that was why his king had sent him. A fool’s errand, but one that would hone his skills. Liam, the king and his army had only arrived at their border camp a few days before, and there had seemingly been nothing amiss. Perhaps that should have been their first clue that something was going to go wrong at some point—something he’d remembered from that day forward, which had saved his and his men’s lives countless times.
Out on his scout, Liam had climbed a rise to look out over the valley below and at an English castle. Men had been assembled in the courtyard, but nothing truly remarkable was happening. Then he’d heard the lass’ terror-filled scream that sent his heart pounding. When he’d peered closer, he saw her being dragged out of the keep. He’d taken in her hair the color of soft earth and her torn gown. He’d estimated her to be his age or close to it. It had been evident by the way they tossed her to the ground that they were going to harm her quite foully. Their words were muffled on the wind, but the sounds of the lass’ pleading and screams as they tugged at her skirts were not mistaken by him.
She’d been terrified, and with good reason. The men were intent on causing injury, possibly even her death. The men who held her in the courtyard had appeared to be Scottish, dressed proudly in their clan plaids, their faces painted to make them look fierce. He must have missed the siege and come upon the castle after they’d taken it, for there had not been any signs or sounds of battle, but now that he looked closer, there did appear to be a small heap of bodies.
The decision to do something had been instant. He imagined that if one of his sisters were in a similar situation, he’d want someone to take care that she was saved, protected.
There had been only one problem. He was a lad—and alone. Aye, he’d been as large as a man from the time he could walk—or at least that was what his mother often told him. He towered over half his father’s army, and even the king. But despite his size even then, he’d still been learning. A squire, not a full warrior just yet. Green in nearly every way. Well, perhaps not every. There had to be a reason the king had recruited him at such a young age and trusted him to scout the border on his own. By the time he’d first seen Cora in the courtyard of her besieged castle, he had several battles under his belt, even a few enemies that would never breathe thanks to his sword arm. But dead enemies and notched belts aside, he’d still been alone, watching helplessly as she was dragged through the muck, surrounded by at least a dozen warriors intent on sinking their teeth into her.
Anger had lanced its way through Liam’s veins. That was when he’d made a split-second decision that had changed his life. He’d jerked to his feet and reached for the reins of his horse.
What a bloody reckless fool he’d been. And a lucky bastard to be sure. He’d not given a wit about whether or not he’d be punished for his actions. He’d always been one to stand up for those who needed a champion. And her being English had made no difference to Liam whatsoever.
If one of his own scouts had acted in such a way, Liam would have made an example of him, if only to set it straight that insubordination was not to be tolerated. Of course, on the inside, he would have silently congratulated the lad for his bravery and chivalry, however foolish it was. Luckily for Liam, the king had never found out.
Liam had untied the horn attached to his saddle, drawn in a deep breath and let out a deep blare that rent the air. The men in the courtyard had stilled, confused as they looked about them. They’d not been able to see him from his position, and he’d used that to his advantage, letting the bastards believe he was an army of more than one.
The men had left the lass, gathered their swords and stood at attention waiting for the attack. Liam had blown again, causing more unease. Then, slinging the horn strap around his neck, he’d pulled out an arrow, and shot three in succession below, run twenty feet and shot several more. Each one had hit its mark. He’d run another twenty feet, shooting as he ran, and then gone all the way back, inspiring the men below to believe he was not alone.
Several archers had returned fire but given they couldn’t get a good view of him, they’d missed their marks each time. As the men advanced, Cora had slowly inched away until she could make a run for it.
Liam had picked up a recently fallen tree, really quite nothing considering he threw cabers for fun, and tossed it through the air to his left, letting the massive bulk knock into trees and crash down the rise. Then he’d caught up the reins of his horse again and hurried in the opposite direction, hoping to cross paths with the lass so he could transport her somewhere safe. It hadn’t taken him long to find her running across a field. Like a mouse quite visible to any birds of prey who might choose that moment to pluck her from the ground for their feast.
When she’d seen him, the look of terror in her eyes had scarred him for life. He never wanted a woman to look at him like that again, for the last thing on his mind was harming her. Just as he’d imagined a hawk would pluck a field mouse, he leaned over the side of his horse and plucked Cora from where she ran. Rather than be grateful for his rescue, however, she’d beaten him about the head with dainty, clenched fists.
“Och, stop it,” Liam had hissed. “I’m saving ye. ’Twas me upon the rise that distracted your attackers.”
She’d stopped hitting him for a moment to stare up at him with those green-silver eyes full of incredulity. That might have been the moment he fell for her. Or at least the idea of her. She was forged from the heavens, with skin as creamy and pink as the paintings of fair ladies at the king’s castle, save for the cut in her brow and the growing bruise from where one of the bastards had struck her.
“Who are you?” she’d asked, proving her English heritage in those words alone.
“Liam Sutherland.” His voice had cracked when he told her his name, and a hot rush of mortification had threatened to coat his cheeks as red as blood. Never before had he felt so out of sorts around a lass. But there’d been something abou
t her that made him stammer.
Accusation pinched her lips. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“Because I’m riding in the opposite direction.” It had been the truth and logical.
She’d grunted, unladylike, just as obstinate as his sisters. He liked her all the more. “Why are you helping me?”
Liam had shrugged, not feeling like any of the words he could use to give her a reason would suffice. “Why not?”
“We are enemies.” Her words echoed in his mind to this day. Enemies. They should have been. But she was anything but to him.
And when he’d spoken next, he’d meant the words sincerely. “I’ve not met ye a day in my life, fair lassie, so I assure ye, we canna be enemies.”
It was only now he questioned the folly of having so naively believed in her. Having so naively believed that giving her his name would protect her. All his life he’d admired and respected his father, wanted to be like him. And hadn’t his father done the same? Plucked his mother from a field of battle and wed her to protect her. Liam had only been doing the same thing—save for one major difference, he’d left his wife alone.
Liam focused his gaze on the two women before him. Lady Segrave looked ready to commit murder, and Cora looked stunned.
“Perhaps ’tis a mistake,” he said, his voice tight, and she was nodding in agreement. “But I am nay a man to go back on my word.”
“You will be forgiven for not honoring the word of your youth,” Lady Segrave said. “An annulment is the best option.”
Cora said nothing, staring at him intently, her thoughts a mystery to him.
Liam shook his head curtly at her mother and turned his attention on his wife. “I’ve nay been a youth for a long time, lass, and I’ve had a long time to go back on my vow to ye. I didna. That’s a man’s choice.”
Her pretty pink lips parted, but no sound came out. It would appear he’d stunned her into silence. Then, quite suddenly, she straightened her shoulders, jutted her chin forward in a show of defiance, and he waited for her to say exactly what he’d speculated she might—that he could go to the devil. Instead, she surprised the hell out of him.
“I respect your decision. But I must insist that you make one more vow.”
This time, it was Liam stunned into silence. Shaking off his shock, he croaked out, “My lady?” She agreed with him? She would ask more of him, when he was certain she had gone behind his back and betrayed him already?
“My mother. She is in need of protection. She cannot go back to our castle for obvious reasons, and given who my father was, I’m not certain he has the alliances she’s hoping for to keep her safe.”
“Cora!” her mother breathed out in an angry rush.
“Mother, please, trust me.” Cora gave her mother a stern look, one in which he expected her mother to fight, but the lady surprised him by only nodding, her eyes wide with worry.
His pretty wife turned back to him then, eyes full of determination, and the stubborn set to her jaw making him want to smile.
“So, husband, will you make another vow?”
“To protect your mother, aye.” He’d set Tad on the woman.
“All right. Then we will go with you.”
She held secrets he had to discover, and they had a week of hard travel to get to Stirling Castle. He would uncover her secrets and come up with a plausible explanation for his king, who was certain to be angry at Liam’s deception.
The truth of what had happened all those years ago would be a hard dram for his king to swallow. And not just because Liam had married an English lass without permission over a decade ago, but he had not told his king about a potential enemy. An attack on Cora’s castle by Scottish regiments had not been authorized, and an unsanctioned attack against the English was a betrayal to their Scottish king and his plans, inviting the enemy to their lands.
Liam had made it a lifelong mission to find out the identity of the Scottish men who’d attacked Cora’s castle all those years before. Most leads led to nowhere. Not only had he not confessed to his king, but he’d also kept the information from his father, that there was an enemy in their midst, afraid all those years ago of disappointing his sire. As the years passed, it seemed too late to utter a word. A mistake he would regret he was certain.
Aye, that was the thing that would likely get him in the most trouble with his king, for a stubborn and foolish choice all those years ago had left his king vulnerable.
And Liam had yet to find out who it was—though he had a clue.
Bloody hell.
The women were staring at him expectantly.
“I will need something from ye, my lady.”
Cora swallowed, the column of her throat bobbing in a way that made him want to press his lips to her skin and taste her. He shook the thought from his head, trying to concentrate.
“What are ye hiding?”
Cora’s mouth fell open, but it was her mother who responded. “Nothing. We know nothing.”
Liam grunted. He’d have to get Cora alone, for it seemed her mother was intent on keeping their secrets just that: secret.
“We will leave at first light,” Liam said. “Ye’ll ride with me, and your mother will ride with Tad.”
“I will—” her mother started to argue.
“Ye will, and I’ll not hear another word on the matter.” He’d get his answers soon enough.
Chapter 9
If not for the herb-laced ale, Cora was certain she would not have slept well at all, because even with the remedy, she woke at least a dozen times throughout the night. She’d stared into the darkness, making monsters out of shadows, and yet somehow, she’d still managed to will herself back to sleep.
Liam entered her chamber before the sun rose. Cora blinked open her eyes, recognizing the clean, spicy scent of him and his tall, muscular build as he stepped softly across the floor heading toward the table by the hearth. He set down a bowl of what smelled like burnt porridge, then carried a candle to her banked hearth. The light from the wick against the smoking embers illuminated the sharp angles of his handsome face.
“Wake, lass. We ride within the hour.” There was a hard edge to his voice, and he avoided meeting her gaze. His tone and demeanor were in strict contrast to the caring way in which he’d sneaked into her room.
Instead of tampering with her feelings, why not simply crash in, toss the foul-smelling porridge in her face and storm out? Why did he have to tiptoe? Light a candle… Why not leave her to fend for herself in the dark?
When he made a move to leave her chamber, she stopped him, croaking out, “Wait.” She struggled to sit up, using the muscles in her core, along with her elbows, to force herself up. “If I knew anything about Ughtred, I’d tell you.” She wanted him to trust her, and she’d have to be blind not to see that he didn’t. “Please, believe me.”
Tension filled his broad shoulders. The angles of his face appeared harder somehow. Chiseled from stone and incapable of reforming into anything other than disappointment as he stared into the fire. When he jerked his gaze back toward her, he seemed ready to give her an earful, but he kept his lips firmly clamped, as if he feared what he might say.
Cora thrust aside her blankets as best she could and stood. She approached him, ignoring the chill of the floorboards beneath her feet that made her want to dance on her toes.
She reached for him, then remembered her hands would not work and let them float there in the space between them awkwardly. “You have to believe me. I would never betray you.”
“So says any betrayer.” He reached forward and pressed her arms back down to her sides, so they were no longer extended toward him.
Cora chewed her lip to keep it from trembling with all the emotions colliding inside of her. She nodded. “Aye,” she whispered, drawing out the word. “That may be true, but what reason could I have to deceive you? Why would I want to? You’ve only ever been good to me.”
“I am Scots, and ye’re English.” He shrugged,
making her wish she had use of her hands to throttle him. “Sometimes, there is no other reason beyond that.”
Cora wanted to reach out again, to touch him, wishing that touch would soothe him, but knowing for a fact it was impossible. Stroking him with her bandages would only remind him of all that had gone wrong. Instead, she’d have to convince him with her words alone.
“That didn’t stop me from marrying you, Liam. Why would it hinder me now?”
If possible, his jaw tightened all the more. Any tighter and he’d shatter. “Ye were a child back then.”
Cora took a tentative step forward, wanting to be closer to him. “I’m not a child now. Just as you said it was a man’s choice not to put an end to our vows, it was a woman’s choice, too.”
The corner of his eye twitched, and the tension in his jaw started to diminish ever so slightly.
Cora sighed, feeling her shoulders slump a little bit as she stared toward her toes, curling them against the cold. “This was not the reunion I had imagined.” Oh, why did she declare such a thing? She knew why. Because she wanted him to think of her as anything other than an enemy. Because she wanted him to see her for who she was—his wife, his ally.
He sucked in a breath, and she dared not look at him, fearing what she’d see in his eyes. She might as well have told him she’d been in love with him all these years, laid herself out on the ground to be trampled. Confess that since they’d parted, she’d dreamed he’d ride through the gates of her castle, lift her off the ground as effortlessly as he had before and take her away from her mundane existence, take away the guilt of having lied to her parents.
For years, she’d dreamed of an end to all the ways in which she’d had to avoid marriage. And there had been plenty… Faking illness, purposefully creating a menu filled with oysters when she knew the prospective husband had an aversion, insulting one man’s horse, calling another as pretty as a plum. She’d become adept at getting the men her parents paraded before her to turn their backs. There was only one man she wanted to waltz through her door and declare his undying love. Too bad that man was standing before her now with a cautious look in his eyes rather than one of adoration.