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

by Claire Delacroix

  Did he only mean to save her for himself?

  Or did he not mean to rape her at all?

  She stared at the blade between them, recalling too well a tale of Duncan’s in which a man of honor laid his blade between himself and a chaste maiden to ensure her purity was whole in the morn. In the tale, ’twas a signal of the man’s chivalrous intent, and Jacqueline, faced with this sign, could find no other explanation for it.

  She did not intend to wait until Angus awakened to ask him the truth of it. She eased away from him until her back collided with the wall. He made no sign of awareness, though she heartily disliked that she could not see his good eye. Slowly, holding her breath, she began to sit up, certain he would hear the clamor of her heart, and ease out of the cocoon of wool.

  He did not move.

  Jacqueline sat up all the way, carefully settling the cloak between them so that its weight did not fall upon him and awaken him. ’Twas wrought of good heavy cloth, and, indeed, she shivered slightly at the chill in the morning air when she was without it. Protected by the folds of the cloak, she lifted her chemise and peeked beneath herself.

  No blood.

  Edana muttered to herself, then snored once more. Still Angus did not move. Jacqueline could see all of his face now, but his other eye was closed. Oddly, he no longer gave her the impression of a cadaver. Nay, Jacqueline had the sense of his being a man very much alive, a dangerous and unpredictable man, a warrior who had learned the merit of feigning what he did not feel. She did not doubt that ’twas useful to be so still as this, particularly when hunted by a bloodthirsty foe.

  One who might well claim an eye. She watched him suspiciously for a long time, certain he must move eventually and betray that he was indeed awake.

  But he did not and she dared to be encouraged. Aye, the longer she hesitated, the more likely ’twas that he would awaken.

  Jacqueline took a steadying breath, then pulled her knees beneath her slowly and silently. She braced a hand upon the floor behind her and coiled to spring over his legs.

  “I would not attempt that, in your place,” Angus murmured, his words low and surprisingly lazy.

  Jacqueline gasped.

  Now his gaze was fixed upon her, though still he had not moved. His eye was the deepest hue of brown that ever she had seen. It was so dark as to be wrought of shadows and secrets. She felt pinned in place, forced by his gaze and his will alone to be still.

  But Jacqueline would allow no man such easy power over her.

  She lifted her chin bravely. “I have to piss.”

  “Then use the bucket at your feet or wait.” He made no move to rise and accompany her, nor indeed to stop her.

  But one glance at the dirty bucket was enough. “I will wait.”

  His lips quirked so briefly that she might have missed his response had she not been watching him so closely. “I suspected as much.”

  Jacqueline lay back down with a thump, careless of whatever noise she might make now. She pulled his cloak over herself, painfully aware of the minute distance between them. “I am not lying,” she said irritably.

  He said naught, which implied much.

  She turned to look at his profile, irked beyond belief with his certainty that she meant to deceive him and yet more annoyed by the possibility that she was so easily read as that. “You might at least look at me when I am speaking to you.”

  He rolled to his side, propping himself on one elbow to regard her. The span of his shoulders cast Jacqueline in shadow; the glint in his eye was suddenly far too close. There was naught but the width of that sword between them, and she realized somewhat too late the error of her request.

  He smiled at her flush, undoubtedly guessing the reason for it.

  “I did not expect you to comply,” she snapped.

  He arched his brow. “’Tis the task of every honorable knight to cede to the whim of a lady.”

  “What if I were naught but a milking maid?”

  “You are not.”

  “You cannot know for certain.”

  “Milking maids do not ride fine palfreys, much less have an escort of guards.”

  “Oh.” Jacqueline supposed not. She eyed him warily, distrusting how he regarded her.

  That smile quirked the corner of his mouth again, making him look unpredictable and wickedly attractive. Jacqueline’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Nor are milking maids oft so innocent of men as you would seem to be.” His words were low, little more than a rumble in his chest that would not carry far.

  It seemed strangely intimate to talk with a man like this, both exciting and frightening. Jacqueline imagined that wedded folk talked abed in such tones, or lovers, and that after they had shared intimacies she had not shared with Angus.

  She felt her cheeks heat and cursed herself for such bold speculation. The memory of his kiss rose in her thoughts at this most unwelcome moment, as did the recollection of the tingle that had danced beneath her flesh. She was well aware of Angus’s intent gaze upon her and did not doubt that he could read her every wretched thought.

  That made her flush deepen, much to her own mortification. She huddled beneath the cloak, took encouragement from the sword’s presence, and tried to seem confident of his intent. Edana was but two steps away, and the knowledge that she was not entirely alone with this knight lent boldness to her manner.

  She could scream and Edana would aid her.

  “Where were you going, Mhairi?”

  “Jacqueline. My name is Jacqueline. I told you as much already.”

  “So you did.”

  “Then why do you not address me as Jacqueline?”

  “Because obviously, I choose not to do so.”

  Jacqueline flushed at his implication. “I am not a liar, if that is your import! If you must address me, then at least do me the courtesy of using my own name.” She froze then, afraid he would not take well to her criticism.

  He studied her silently, then inclined his head slightly in agreement or perhaps merely concession. She did not doubt that his conviction remained unchanged.

  He did not repeat his question. The silence pressed upon Jacqueline as surely as his will and she found herself answering, though she had had no intent of doing so.

  “I was going to the convent. I am going to a convent. To become a novitiate.”

  “You?” Surprise raised his brow for a heartbeat and Jacqueline felt a fleeting sense of victory before his next words made her angry. “Surely such a woman as you would not become a nun?”

  ’Twas too familiar a charge for Jacqueline to hold her tongue. “Why? Because I am fair of face? What has that to do with the strength of the faith that lights my heart?”

  “Naught” His gaze darkened, though she would not have believed it possible just moments past. “Though it might have much to do with the price that could be had for your hand. Not many a father would surrender such a possible reward, even to serve the eternal good of the church.”

  He said this last phrase with a certain harshness that Jacqueline did not fail to note. She could make no sense of that, and, indeed, she was more interested in defending the integrity of her mother’s spouse. “Duncan is my stepfather. He supported my desire in this.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. ’Twas my mother who opposed me.” Jacqueline closed her mouth hard at this confession, for she had never intended to admit as much. She rolled to her back and stared at the roof.

  Angus watched her carefully, and Jacqueline felt that cursed flush flooding her cheeks beneath his scrutiny. “Why?” he asked finally, the word as smooth as velvet.

  “It matters naught.”

  “I think it does.”

  “I think ’tis not your affair to know.”

  He chuckled then, a sound so unexpected that she glanced his way. Again, he had a devilish look about him, one that made her heart race. “I thought you feared me.”

  “I fear naught,” Jacqueline declared boldly, though the words caught
in her throat.

  “Liar.” He eased ever so slightly closer and Jacqueline swallowed carefully. She could not look away from him, even as he bent over her, his eye gleaming. “Why did you flee?”

  Jacqueline could barely catch her breath. “Any woman of sense would flee a man who captured her against her will.”

  “Not without regard for her injuries. ’Twas fear of greater injury that made you risk hurting your ankle more.”

  Jacqueline tried desperately to think of an excuse. “Your companion would surely assert that women have no sense and that you have no knowledge of women.”

  “Aye, he would.” Angus seemed untroubled by this, though his gaze turned suddenly so piercing that Jacqueline wanted to squirm. “But he would be wrong.”

  “You know naught of me!”

  “I know that you had the wits to deceive me.” He leaned yet closer. “And I know that you fear me, perhaps more than circumstance demands.” Jacqueline felt her breath catch but could not tear her gaze away from him. “Is it the look of me that so terrifies you?”

  That question surprised her. She watched him, not wanting to insult him or, worse, anger him, yet unable to shake the sense that he truly wanted to know.

  And that he did not underestimate the marring effect of the scar upon his cheek. Indeed, she thought he granted it too much import.

  She stared and knew she had not lied when she called him handsome. There was something compelling about him, perhaps the directness of his glance and his determination, that made a woman disregard the patch upon his eye.

  “Nay,” she admitted, without intending to do so.

  “Indeed,” he breathed, and reached one fingertip to touch her chin. His fingers were warm and she could not draw a breath.

  Jacqueline hastily looked away, cursing her own stupidity. He had nigh granted her the perfect excuse to recoil from him, but she had been too witless to take it.

  Indeed, she had encouraged him!

  She groaned inwardly when he touched her chin with a fingertip, then compelled her to look into his face once more. His touch was tender, his expression fierce.

  “What befell you that you would join a convent?”

  Jacqueline felt her lips tighten in frustration. “I have a vocation,” she insisted.

  He shook his head, smiling slightly again. “’Tis not fitting for one who would become a novitiate to lie so much as you do.”

  “I do not lie!”

  Angus shook his head. “Aye, you do.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I tell you no lie. I have a calling to serve Christ, to use my gifts to bring the love of God into the lives of others. I want naught more in this life than to serve the Lord and serve His will I shall. Surely you can understand what ’tis to yearn for something beyond all other desires?”

  He was listening to her, much to Jacqueline’s astonishment. She was not accustomed to men—other than her stepfather—listening to what she said.

  “Why would I understand?”

  “Because you departed on crusade, because you put your faith before all else.”

  He seemed to find that amusing, though Jacqueline could not guess why. “Did I?”

  He studied her, his gaze flicking over her features, and she feared again that she said too much.

  But he only watched her and she dared to continue. “I was en route to Inveresbeinn yesterday and should have been there by this very evening had you not intervened.”

  There! The accusation was made.

  But if she had expected Angus to be contrite, she was due for a disappointment. He chuckled and lay back once more, granting her a sidelong glance that made her flesh warm. “I owe you an apology,” he murmured. He had that predatory look about him again, and though she did not trust him by any means, still she was curious as to what he might say.

  And she was encouraged that he did not seem to take offense when she spoke her thoughts.

  “For delaying my devotion?” she asked.

  He shook his head, clearly more bemused than angered by her. “Nay. I apologize for stealing a kiss from you. I did not guess ’twould be so horrific that ’twould make you flee.”

  Jacqueline swallowed. “’Twas not so terrible a kiss as that,” she muttered, blushing when he smiled slowly.

  “Was it not?”

  Jacqueline wished the earth might swallow her whole. She tried to turn away, but his fingertip was still upon her face and he gently coaxed her to look his way.

  And once she met his gaze, she was snared anew.

  Angus’s fingers moved slowly over her chin, making her breath catch as shivers launched over her flesh. ’Twas not an unpleasant sensation, but still she trembled slightly.

  “I take naught that is not mine to take,” Angus said with all the vigor of a man making a pledge. “Remember this. If you desire that I take something from you, you will have to offer it. And if you desire something of me, you will have to ask for it.”

  “Then grant me my freedom.”

  He chuckled then, the edge of his thumb sliding briefly over her lips in a disconcertingly intimate gesture. “Nay, not that, my beauty. Not that. Your freedom will be bought when the ransom I demand is paid.”

  Jacqueline gritted her teeth and shook her head. “What will you demand?”

  His eye narrowed, though there was no censure in his tone. “You are a most curious woman, Mhairi. ’Tis an unlikely trait in a novitiate.”

  Jacqueline exhaled in exasperation. “Already I have told you that I am not Mhairi! Do not call me by the name of a dead woman. ’Tis a portent of bad fortune.”

  “While your fortune runs so well in this moment?”

  If she had not known better, she might have thought he was teasing her. His expression was serious, though that eye almost twinkled, in much the same fashion as Duncan’s did when he teased. She stared at him, trying to discern the truth, and his expression changed as he returned her glance.

  Aye, he sobered in truth. A new heat of awareness rose between them. Jacqueline licked her lips, though she did not recall any decision to do so.

  Angus’s gaze dropped to her mouth and he leaned ever closer. “Many a man might perceive that as an invitation,” he whispered, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

  “Aye.” The word fell breathless from her.

  Angus paused, his lips not the width of a hand from her own. “Is it?”

  She felt the edge of the steel blade forced against her arm by his move, the thickness of the wool keeping its chill and its bite from her flesh. Its presence reminded her that he was a knight. No less, he was a knight who asserted that she was worth more to him whole.

  He had not hurt her—all harm had been done by herself in her panic to escape. He had not bound her tightly or bruised her. He had not terrorized her, beyond the terror that his gender and her circumstance awakened in her heart. He had not raped her.

  He had chased her through the woods when he might have let her flee, perhaps to escape, perhaps to be beset by wolves. He had brought her to this healer to be tended. Angus’s actions confirmed that he intended to keep her unscathed.

  Reynaud, in comparison, had insisted only upon taking whatsoever he desired.

  Was Angus a knight who placed as much value in his vows as Reynaud had not? ’Twas a tempting, and dangerously romantic, possibility. He certainly had been indulgent of her maidenly modesty, even at the cost of looking foolish himself.

  And he had kissed her. Once. Gently. With that, he had awakened an unfamiliar yearning within her. Jacqueline did not doubt he knew how to sate it.

  Now he awaited her answer, as watchful as any predator on the hunt. Her mouth went dry. Jacqueline found herself lost in the depths of his gaze, caught by the heat she saw there. He desired that kiss as much as she did. The very idea emboldened her as naught else might have done.

  Because he awaited her agreement. She held the power to beckon him closer or turn him away; she, an unarmed maiden, co
uld spurn a man so much larger and stronger than herself, and that with a single word. If she said nay, Angus would roll away.

  For the first time since their paths had crossed, she felt powerful and in command of her fate.

  ’Twas all she needed to make her choice. She wanted to know whether her response to his first kiss had been wrought of no more than surprise or fear.

  She was most curious.

  “Aye,” Jacqueline whispered, her voice oddly hoarse. She had not a moment to reconsider before Angus’s lips closed over hers.

  Angus meant only to frighten her.

  ’Twas easier when she was frightened, even when she fainted, for then she was naught but a burden that could win back his prize. ’Twas simpler to think of her as booty he would trade for his true desire.

  But when she spoke, when she smiled, he could not deny that this booty had a name, a life, a heart. She was a woman then, a desirable woman even, one whose very manner and expectations reminded him too clearly of the innocent optimism he himself had lost. Sleep had done naught to bolster his resistance to her; indeed, his desire to know more of her had seemed redoubled this morn. And when she confided in him, ’twas enough to make him want to see her free once more, whatever the loss to himself.

  ’Twas infinitely simpler to have his hostage fearful and silent.

  Angus knew he should not touch her. He had no intent to taint her. Airdfinnan was all he desired, though this woman aroused desires long forgotten. And what man would not desire her, with her lush curves and tempting lips, her clear green gaze and quick wit?

  With her refusal to fear what he had become.

  She was a reminder that he was yet a man, despite his scars. He had been without this particular luxury for far too long. But Angus preferred women well familiar with love’s games. Fear killed his ardor, it always had, and he had teased her only to ensure that his desire died.

  Frightening her, then, offered two benefits.

  Her lips were softer than the fur beneath a hare’s chin, she tasted sweeter than the most exotic fruit. Angus was reminded of the honey of the bees his mother had once kept at Airdfinnan, honey of deep golden hue—precisely like this maiden’s hair, by curious coincidence—sweet yet complex. That honey was laden with mingled hints of the unexpected hint of lavender and heather and clover, the flowers upon which those bees had fed.