Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  “I have had an idea, Father, that would increase the comfort of your visit to Inverfyre.”

  “Indeed? Truly all is most hospitable.”

  “Ah, but I can improve your slumber this night. The Hawk has seen fit to grant me a lady’s chamber at the top of the tower, with a fine bed within it.”

  “Ooooo!” the whore squealed with delight. “A bed, Nigel!”

  “Aileen…” the Hawk murmured, but Aileen continued undeterred.

  “I insist you use my chamber this night, and however many nights you remain our guest,” she said cheerfully. She laid a hand upon her husband’s arm and took warning from his stillness. Her pulse quickened, for he was surely angry, but she intended to be certain that they shared a bed this night.

  “I shall be slumbering in my husband’s bed at any rate,” she said, feeling herself flush. “It would be a waste of a good plump mattress for you to sleep on a pallet in the hall.”

  “I thank you for your generous offer,” her father said, clearly pleased by the notion. “But what of your ladies?”

  “This lady will be pleased indeed to share your bed, Nigel,” purred the whore, then kissed his ear. She whispered something that made Nigel chortle.

  Aileen ignored the exchange. “I have few ladies as yet, Father. As you have doubtless noted, Inverfyre has been a warrior’s hall.” Aileen slid a fingertip down the Hawk’s arm, knowing she tempted his wrath but not caring. “My husband has granted me the duty of making a proper hall of Inverfyre, but one cannot force change in haste, particularly in the face of such numbers.”

  “Indeed not,” her father concurred. The whore upon his lap gave Aileen a poisonous glance. “The Hawk has told me of his ambitions for a noblewoman’s touch upon his hall.”

  “Indeed?” Aileen was surprised by this and looked at her spouse.

  His expression was grim, his hot glance boding ill for Aileen’s scheme. “Indeed,” he said flatly. “I would have a word with you, lady mine. Immediately, if it suits your convenience.”

  The Hawk’s wife was a madness in his blood.

  He knew he was bewitched and beguiled, and the worst of it was that he did not care. He was consumed with the prospect of claiming his bride abed, when he should have been ensuring that all was in order for this evening’s assault upon the MacLaren clan.

  Instead, he tasted her kiss upon his lips and felt her thigh pressed against his own and feared he would not be able to wait until the meal was completed.

  He was a fool and he knew it. He had never probed her reasons for visiting the prisoner, much less what she had learned from the man. He thought of meeting her abed, and naught else, not even the battle before him this night.

  And while he sat and boiled with lust, she gaily offered her bed to her father. His intellect argued with his desire over her plans—was she genuinely concerned for her father’s comfort, or was there a darker scheme at work?

  The Hawk could not say. His wits were addled, of that there was no doubt, and he guessed that there could be but a single cure—he had to utterly exhaust his desire for his bride, for this alone would clear the fog of lust from his thoughts.

  But first, he had to ensure she understood the folly of what she had just done.

  If she did not know it already.

  If she had not conjured this scheme apurpose to foil his own ambitions.

  He claimed her elbow in silence and walked her from the hall, simmering even as she smiled and charmed every blessed soul in his company. They adored her, each and every one of them, and if ever he decided to put her aside for treachery, the Hawk had no doubt he would have a revolt upon his hands.

  They made the bailey, the sky overhead glittering with early stars, before she turned upon him. Her manner was markedly less sweet. “What complaint do you have with me?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  “Can you not guess the truth of it?” he retorted. “How could you grant your chamber to your father?”

  “How could I not? He is aged, and unaccustomed to a hard pallet upon a cold floor! He has ridden hard to ensure my welfare.” She propped her hands upon her hips and glared at the Hawk, clearly unafraid of his temper. “Would you have my father shown poor hospitality, simply so that you can bed your whore more readily?”

  The Hawk blinked in confusion. “My whore?”

  Aileen scoffed. “Play no jest with me! I heard you roar when your whore sated you early this morn. I know you left my bed to find someone sweeter to warm your own.” She shook a finger at him as he gaped at her in astonishment. “Do not imagine that I am so slow of wit that I do not understand why Guinevere beckons to you across the hall.”

  The Hawk smiled, for he could not help himself. She was jealous! This was no small triumph in winning the lady’s loyalty! “I have no whore, Aileen.”

  Her eyes flashed like lightning, a most delightful sight. “Do not worsen your crime with a lie! I know the truth of it, and if I have to force you to my bed to ensure that I am not shamed before my father, then you may be certain I will do so.” Tears glittered then and he felt a cur for feeding her doubts. She averted her face, proudly hiding her dismay, and his heart swelled.

  She had feared that he did not desire her and he could not blame her, not after his abrupt departure from her chamber the night before. She had meant to compel him to meet her abed, by removing his choice of bedding another elsewhere. And what harm in ensuring that their match could not be readily dissolved? His suspicions faded once again.

  He touched her cheek with a fingertip, not surprised when she did not turn to meet his regard. “I have no whore, Aileen, I swear it to you.”

  “Your hall is filled with whores.”

  “Their presence keeps the men from making trouble in the village. In truth, I had forgotten their presence as their charms do not beguile me.”

  Aileen snorted and granted him a sharp glance. “I heartily doubt that you do not notice those breasts fairly spilled in your face. Such women have no place in a decent hall.”

  “Indeed they do not.” The Hawk smiled at her skeptical expression. “I have already bidden them to depart by the morrow, despite Fernando’s protests. I am encouraged that our thoughts are as one in this.”

  The lady was clearly surprised. “You would rid your hall of them so readily as that?”

  He nodded, noting that her wariness did not entirely diminish.

  “You shouted,” she insisted. “Last night, you shouted, as a man in pleasure. Do not deny this, for I know it to be true.”

  “I did shout.”

  “Ha!”

  “But for another reason than the one you suspect. I am oft visited by nightmares, as I was last night. I awakened, raging at invisible assailants.” He grinned, liking the hopeful light in her expression. “I was quite alone, save for the flask of wine which I soon emptied.”

  “Your demons,” she mused inexplicably. “This is the truth?”

  “I will never lie to you, lady mine.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then heaved a sigh. Concern lit her blue eyes then, concern that warmed his heart. “What manner of nightmares do you have, Hawk?”

  He watched his fingertip as he stroked her cheek. “Nightmares of past deeds, with which I will not burden you. It has been an ugly matter, reclaiming these lands.”

  She leaned her cheek into the palm of his hand. “The prisoner said you were the thief and the MacLarens the rightful lairds of Inverfyre.”

  The Hawk’s finger stilled. “Do you believe him?”

  “No.” She heaved a sigh and frowned. “But I fear he has an ally in your hall, Hawk. He spoke of weakness inside the walls when I told him that Inverfyre’s walls are too newly wrought to be breached.”

  The Hawk’s heart clenched. “Did he name a man?”

  She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest, though she did not move away from his touch. “He solicited my aid in his cause, no more than that.”

  The Hawk’s thoughts flew. Who c
ould be scheming to betray him? Had he rejected Guinevere once too often? Was some servant in his hall discontent? What of those in the village? Aileen had said that the women were discontent to not have a priest, but surely that was not sufficient cause for treachery?

  Aileen shuddered then and glanced up at him. “I confess that I did not trust him. You cannot intend to let these people harass your lands forever.”

  “No, I do not.” Though he was tempted to confide in her, the Hawk could not help but note the timing of her query. On the morrow, he would trust her with his every secret—on this night, silence was imperative.

  She watched him, then looked at her toes. “Why are you so angered with my offer? A mere bed should not have vexed you so.”

  “Turn and look,” he urged. He indicated the tower, catching her shoulders in his hands as she pivoted to study it. He pulled her back against him, though the scent of her rose to torment him. “Where is your chamber?”

  “At the top, of course,” she said with impatience, then caught her breath in sudden understanding. The Hawk smiled, for he had known she would see the truth of it. “From whence you can see all of Inverfyre.”

  “And the final refuge of the laird in a siege. With the summit claimed by another and the hall filled with his men, my chamber is betwixt the two.”

  “Besieged, you would have to defend yourself from both sides,” she concluded, then turned to glance up at him. “But, Hawk, my father will not assault you.”

  He smiled, proud that she had readily understood his concerns. “I do not know him as well as you do. He is displeased with me, that much is true, but I suspect you speak aright. It is his alliances that concern me, though I cede that I am suspicious of all in these times.”

  “And so you will be until the MacLaren clan are ousted from the original site of Inverfyre,” she murmured, looking to the light atop that distant tower. Her fingers tightened upon his and she spoke with vigor. “I would have them routed this very night, Hawk, if the deed would allow your trust of me.”

  He caught her chin in his hand even as her words made his heart jump. He could find no deception in her gaze, save a desire that echoed his own.

  He chose to take her at her word, to follow his instinct and trust his wife.

  Aileen must have guessed his intent for she smiled that slow smile as she turned in his embrace. She rose to her toes, her arms twining around his neck, her fingers winding into his hair. Her lips parted and she reached for his kiss, as tempting an invitation as he had ever been offered.

  He caught her close and claimed her lips, lifting her against him without restraint. She arched her back and pulled him closer, demanding more of him with her ardor. He nigh forgot the many guests in his hall. He caught her buttocks in his hands and lifted her off her feet as she slipped her tongue between his teeth.

  The serpent bared its fangs in his thoughts and he recoiled from vision and kiss in one vehement gesture. He stepped away from his startled bride and wiped her kiss from his lips with the back of his hand. His heart raced in fear and he could not meet her gaze.

  What warning did his instincts grant him?

  “Our guests wait overlong for our presence,” he said flatly and turned to stride back to the hall.

  He took a dozen steps afore he heard Aileen follow him, but still he could not look back at her.

  Terror had him in its clutch. What had she done to him? From whence did she conjure this dark power?

  And why?

  XII

  Aileen had no doubt that she had erred. The Hawk’s eyes had glittered with distrust when he ended their kiss, and his gesture of wiping away her embrace had been almost disdainful.

  What had happened? She knew full well that even if she asked, he would not tell her. Did the Hawk not like a bold woman?

  Aileen doubted that audacity alone could have put that flicker of fear in his eye. Though it had been quickly hidden, she had seen it and she had heard its echo in his terse words.

  What did the Hawk fear?

  What could such a warrior fear from her?

  She stumbled after him, fighting to make sense of what had just occurred. The company greeted them with a cheer. Aileen managed to flush as she touched her swollen lips. They roared approval that the newly wed couple could apparently not restrain their ardor. The Hawk took his seat grimly and quaffed two cups of wine with a speed that set most of the men to chuckling.

  They thought his passion frustrated, though they did not guess the half of it. Aileen sat in silence, thinking furiously. Had she not seen as much of the Hawk’s character as she had, she might have thought him mad or impetuous or rude. She knew though that something had startled him.

  He had been startled the moment she had slid her tongue between his teeth. Aileen caught her breath, covering her reaction by taking a sip of wine herself. Whenever the Hawk kissed her, when he initiated and commanded their embrace, she invariably had a vision of the past.

  What if the inverse was also true? What if her meager attempts at seduction inflicted visions upon the Hawk? She knew Adaira had granted him a vision deliberately on his arrival at Inverfyre, for she had experienced that in her own visions and tasted the Hawk’s response. She knew her enthusiasm the night before had sent the Hawk from their marital bed. Twice she had attempted to join his love play and those were the very two instances when he had spurned her touch.

  Because she had inflicted visions upon him, however unintentionally. Aileen was not so simple that she could not discern the pattern. This man was not so bloodless that a bold wife would prompt such a vehement rejection. No, he did not fear her passion.

  He feared madness. It was his intellect that had kept him alive and had brought Inverfyre to his grasp. It was the Hawk’s cleverness that had kept the MacLarens cornered and would ultimately see them evicted.

  Aileen felt a sudden affinity with her taciturn spouse. All the same, she knew their match must be made whole. How could she encourage him to couple with her?

  With passivity, it was clear, though she was cursedly poor at being passive. With Fortune’s grace, intimacy would dispel the power of the visions. Though Aileen might choose passivity abed for one night, she would not welcome a lifetime of passionless coupling.

  She slanted a sidelong glance at her spouse. She did not imagine that he would welcome a disinterested partner abed either. She smiled at him, and ran her fingertip down his thigh. He caught his breath and granted her a look so hot that she inhaled sharply in her turn.

  “Patience, lady mine,” he muttered as his hand closed over her own. Aileen thrilled with the certainty that he had not been dissuaded from meeting her abed this night.

  She liked the resolve of her warrior spouse and his lack of fear. Indeed, the hours could not pass quickly enough for her taste

  Viper in his mind’s eye or no, the Hawk knew he had little choice. On this night, he must claim Aileen or risk losing her on the morrow. He was impatient with the meal, yet did not wish to offend his wife’s father. In the end, he could not resist the weight of Aileen’s fingers on his thigh. He stood as soon as the meat had been removed from the board and lifted his cup high.

  The company fell immediately silent.

  “I salute our guest, Nigel Urquhart of Abernye, and bid him to always be welcome in my hall.”

  The assembly roared approval of this sentiment and Abernye patted his daughter’s shoulder. Aileen granted her father a sunny smile, as if to reassure him, and it seemed to work.

  “And I salute the bride that Fortune chose for me,” the Hawk said, meeting Aileen’s shy smile. Abernye snorted under his breath, as if to say that Fortune had no hand in his daughter’s abduction. “May our match prosper long.”

  “May it, indeed,” the lady said, rising to her feet to sip from his cup. The company stamped their feet and applauded as he sipped from the same place on the cup.

  “Come, lady mine,” he said. “Inverfyre has need of an heir.”

  Aileen smiled and her
eyes sparkled. “At least two, my lord, for the world is filled with uncertainty.”

  The Hawk found himself smiling at her suggestion and she flushed in a most charming manner. “Another cask of wine, if you will, Gregory,” he said to his castellan. “The company has a rare thirst this night.”

  The Hawk kissed his lady’s hand and escorted her from the high table to the accompanying cheers of his household. He paused to grant direction to three of his men to guard the outside of his door, those men nodding as Aileen said nothing.

  They ascended the stairs alone together, silence claiming them as the raucous merrymaking in the hall faded behind them. Aileen carried a lantern that she had lit before departing the hall and the light cast long shadows on the fitted stones.

  The Hawk was aware of her as he had seldom been before. He could smell her flesh, he could see the play of the golden light upon her skin, he could feel the softness of her fingers within his own. The straightness of her spine before him made him think of her rare resolve, the curve of her neck heated his blood with awareness of her femininity. Yet she was no foolish beauty and he found her intellect as alluring as her curves. Were it not for the visions, he would have no fear of confiding his every secret to this woman.

  Perhaps that should have frightened him more than it did, but the Hawk could think only of the deed before him. He heard footsteps behind him, heard Ewen’s muttered comment to Alasdair, and was reassured he would not be assaulted while abed.

  Aileen preceded him into his chamber and lit a number of fat candles in the chamber. She paused once the room was lit, and glanced about herself, no doubt noting the differences between this chamber and her own.

  “You will want to put a woman’s touch upon this chamber, no doubt,” he said gruffly.

  Aileen smiled. “I like it as it is. I miss only the wolf pelts.” She regarded him, her sapphire gaze bright. “Did you kill them?”

  He nodded but once, awkward with an accounting of his own deeds in this situation. “Ewen can fetch them, if you prefer.”