Читать книгу The Maid of Lorne - Terri Brisbin, Terri Brisbin - Страница 13

Within the space of a day, Dunstaffnage was an armed camp. As the home of the MacDougalls, it had always been filled with warriors and battle plans, but now it was an enemy camp. Lara watched for most of the afternoon as soldiers poured in and out of the gates, carrying all sorts of provisions and weapons into the yard and keep.

After her humiliation this morning and Sebastien’s departure, she felt safer staying in her chambers in the north tower. She could observe all who came and went, but did not have to face them. Knowing it was simply a temporary reprieve, she took what it offered her.

“My lady?” Margaret’s worried voice accompanied the knock on her door. “My lady, he…”

“I cannot hear you, Margaret.” Not hearing her words clearly, Lara walked to the door and tugged on it. Expecting to find her maid, instead she faced the armor-covered chest of her new husband.

“She is warning you that I am on my way here.”

Blunt, if nothing else, he stood before her, helm under his arm, much like the first time she’d looked upon his face. Could it have been just a day ago? Margaret stood a little distance away, worry etched on her features. Lara stepped back and opened the door. Better to meet the devil head-on, if you had to meet him.

“Come in, sir.”

The frown he gifted her with was worth the effort it took to gather her pride around her. After handing his helmet to one of the guards, he walked into the room and turned to face her, uncertainty in his eyes. Examining her from head to toe and back again, his gaze grew intense as it moved over her. When he was finished, he nodded and stood, arms crossed and chin raised.

“You look…well,” he said in a quiet voice.

Lara closed the door and walked over to the window. Facing him, she nodded. “Considering that in the last day my family has been destroyed and taken prisoner, I have been married against my will, taken against my will and now shunned by my own father for it, I am well, sir.”

She did not even try to mask the cynicism and sarcasm in her tone. Actually, when she thought on it, she had described quite accurately the events that had changed her life. Meeting his dark expression, she guessed that he did not agree. Once more his reaction surprised her.

“I would disagree with your interpretation of the events, my lady. Your family is alive—your brother and sister and yourself—here in your own home, and your father alive in his chosen exile in England. You chose marriage, and sealed the choice in this bed.” Sebastien paused and laid his hand on the bed next to them, sliding it over the woolen blankets that covered the place where he had taken her virtue. His frown deepened as though he thought on his words. “And repudiation by a man willing to bargain his own children away for his life and his freedom is not something to be mourned.”

Was he trying to soothe her ravaged feelings? It seemed to her that he was. Searching his eyes for the truth, she saw only honesty there. She opened her mouth to retort, but realized that his words spoke of her siblings. “They stay here?” she asked, offering a prayer to the Almighty that it was true.

“The king has agreed to allow Malcolm and Catriona to remain here in my custody.”

Lara felt tears fill her eyes at his words. She had not heard the king’s decision while listening through the wall. She’d become so overwrought at the revelation that she had surrendered the castle without cause that she’d not stayed to hear the rest. Now that she knew he had counseled his king to leave the children behind, she accepted that she must make some gesture.

“Thank you, sir, for that. I know you petitioned your king and I am grateful.”

She bowed her head in honest gratitude. He could have let the Bruce take the children. Many other men would not choose the side of captured enemies before their sovereign—the risk to their own reputation and safety was too great. But this man had, and had secured their custody.

“Why? Why did you do it?” The question was out before she could decide the wisdom of asking it. And at what cost? She truly wanted to know. Lara raised her eyes now to meet his gaze.

“Too many innocents have died in this fight between kings and countries. I simply did not wish to see your siblings pay the price that another should bear.”

“And now, sir? What is to become of us now?” She clasped her hands before her to stop the shaking. Her fate was in his control. He could put her aside, imprison her, beat her, kill her even, and she had no say in the matter. “What expectations do you have of me and the children?”

“I know that this is difficult for you, lady. One day in charge of this keep and castle, and the next its pris…guest. Many things will change for you in the coming weeks and months, and I cannot give you all the answers you seek. For now,” he said, looking around the room, “I ask that you remain in these chambers unless I accompany you.”

“A prisoner in truth, then?” she asked, using the word that he avoided.

“If it were only my men in control here, I would not restrict you so. But there are others here whose behavior I cannot vouch for. So, until the king moves on, the only way I can ensure your safety and that of your family and servants is to isolate you here. The children, your cousins and other servants have been moved into the chambers on the first level of this tower. The level below this one will serve as your solar, and they may join you there as you wish.”

No mention was made of where he would sleep, and Lara did not ask. Glancing at the bed, she could not bring herself to speak of it. He cleared his throat and gained her attention.

“My obligations to the king will take me from here often. I have appointed a man called Etienne as steward to oversee the running of the estate, and he will act in my name in my absence. He should arrive in a day or two to begin his duties.”

“And Callum? What has become of him?” She steeled herself for the inevitable word of the old man’s death. The new conqueror would surely have executed those he could not trust in the keep, especially if he had placed his own in command.

“He, and the others left behind by your father, are being held…for now. You know there is a matter of trust, Lara. And I cannot trust those who were in charge when I took Dunstaffnage.”

Like a slap across her face, the words stung her. As though he sensed her pain, he reached out to take her hand. Lara pulled away and stepped back. She could read the pity in his eyes now and she would not accept it from him.

“As you wish, sir.”

He moved closer and lifted her chin so she could not look away. “’Tis not as I wish, lady, but it is as it must be.”

He must have delivered the message he wanted her to know, for he dropped his hand and walked to the door. “If there is aught you need or want, tell my squire and he will see to it or come to me. His name is Philippe, and he will report to you anon.”

Sebastien tugged open the door, and she saw only Margaret standing in the corridor. Before he crossed the threshold, he looked back at her and spoke in a voice so low only she could hear it. “Are you…well?”

His voice deepened with the huskiness she’d heard the night before, in his ardent whispers. The sound of it, and the heat in his voice and his gaze, were so strong that she could not mistake his meaning. Since he’d left the chambers last evening, they had not spoken of what had happened between them. Not certain she wished to speak of it now or ever, she simply nodded, feeling a burning flush rise in her cheeks.

“I am well, sir. I will survive.”

“Of that I have no doubt, lady.” Stepping to the door once more, he left the chamber and allowed Margaret entrance. “I will return later.”

With a slight bow, he strode down the stairs. Her maid rushed to her side, but Lara waved her away and told her to see to Malcolm and Catriona. Once she was alone, Lara pondered his words and his actions. He behaved as no one else she had ever met. She could sense an honorable heart within him; indeed, honor seemed to guide his every action. How had such a man come to be a supporter of the Bruce?

As she paced the length and breadth of the room, the true question formed in her mind. The one that had bothered her since the king’s words claimed her a vanquished enemy.

How would Sebastien of Cleish respond when his wife denied him? Would he abandon her and her siblings? Would he banish her to a convent, as so many noblewomen were when they were obstinate or inconvenient?

Or would he simply force her to his will and desires?

A shiver coursed through her, one filled with dread and anticipation. Always one to face a problem straight on, rather than dissembling over it endlessly, Lara formulated plans to make her position to the new warden of Dunstaffnage quite clear. Unfortunately, he did not return for four nights, and caught her unaware when he did.

Sebastien struggled up the steps to the top floor of the tower, as quietly as he could in armor and mail. He paused at the landing and walked into the smaller first room. With a nod, he allowed Philippe to remove the accoutrements of war from his body for the first time in days. These last four had been spent on horseback, surveying the surrounding lands and searching for pockets of resistance that would be useful to his enemies, and dangerous to those he served. He ached in places he’d forgotten he could feel.

Standing and stretching his arms up to touch the ceiling of the smaller chamber, he thought on the woman inside the next room. Was she asleep or had his movements awakened her? Would she be welcoming or as defiant as her people were? So tired that he did not care, he opened the door slowly and as quietly as he could.

A wry smile tugged at his mouth as he spied her across the room, in the farthest corner, sitting in the hard chair she’d called her father’s. And she was sleeping soundly. He motioned for Philippe to remain without, and closed the door. Crossing the room, he stood over her and watched her sleep.

The daft woman had wrapped herself in several cloaks before wedging herself into the chair. If she sought warmth, the best place was in the bed, under its layers of heavy woolen blankets, or closer to the fire that burned, low but steady, in the hearth. Then the reason for this cocoon struck him, and he held his laugh inside. Did she realize that even a layer of armor would not stop him if his quest was to have her naked and under him once more?

At this moment, though, he wanted nothing so much as a few hours of sleep, and he hesitated to move her—waking her would bring on a torrent of questions or accusations that he did not want to face now. Crouching down, he slid his arms behind her back and under her legs, and lifted her from the chair. He placed her sleeping, snoring form on the far side of the bed and then, after hiding his dagger beneath his pillow and arranging his sword on the floor within reach, Sebastien climbed in on the side closest the door.

His body was ready for sleep, but his mind kept throwing problems at him. One by one, he analyzed them, sought solutions and came up with methods to overcome them. Finally, just as he felt the pull of sleep dragging him down, Lara sighed and mumbled his name, bringing him back to alertness. Turning on his side, he watched the movement of her mouth and the frown that spread across her forehead.

Was she cursing him in her sleep? Fighting him? When she turned her head and he glimpsed the side of her neck, he frowned as well. Clear on her skin were the marks of his armored gauntlets in the places where he had grabbed her chin. Though fading, the marks of purple and blue and green taunted him. If he’d done this with one hand, what did her arm look like where he had grabbed and held on when she’d tried to accost Robert?

He had the chance to discover the truth when she turned, or tried to turn, onto her side. As she moved, he eased the layers of cloak and gown down her shoulder until he could see the damning evidence for himself.

How had she kept silent when he’d injured her thusly? Although now a week old, the bruises were angry and swollen, a red handprint still visible, among other colors. He guessed that her other shoulder matched this one, and clenched his teeth.

Reaching out, he outlined the bruises with the tip of one finger, sliding around the worst of them. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the urge to follow his finger with his tongue and to taste the fairness of his wife grew within him. He struggled against it, knowing nothing good would come of such desires, and drew the gown back up over her shoulder, careful not to press on the injuries.

They were not the worst he had ever inflicted on someone, not even the worst he’d done to a woman, but they tried the limits of his self-control. Awake, she goaded him with barbed words and taunted him with her quick mind and fairness. Asleep, she tempted him to a weakness that could be deadly to him and to the king he fought to protect.

He shifted to the edge of the bed, as far from her as he could move, and closed his eyes. It would take months before this area was safe and free of the MacDougall clan and their influences. Until her uncle and the rest could be defeated and the Bruce become king in fact, she would remain as she was—a prisoner and a hostage.

His man woke him as ordered just before dawn’s light, and Sebastien dressed quickly without help. Philippe, he knew, would be waiting outside the door with his mail and armor. Looking around the room, he realized that the fire had burned down to almost to ashes during the night. In spite of it being August, the thick castle walls held in the chill and dampness. Using some kindling next to the hearth, he sparked it to life and threw a few pieces of wood on it.

Turning back, he found Lara watching his every move. As she came awake, she seem to realize where she was, and began to struggle with the covers. Before he could reach her, she tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor with a groan. He walked to that side of the bed, but she scrambled away, pushing the cloaks off as she gained her feet. ‘Twas his turn to groan when he spied the small dagger in her hands, pointed at him.

“Lady, put that away. You are in no danger here.”

“I will not…” she whispered. Then her gaze found the crumpled bedclothes and her own disarray. “You cannot…”

When words failed her again, Sebastien took a step closer. She was against the wall in the corner now, with no place to move. He shook his head and waved at her. The dagger wobbled in her grasp. Seizing his chance, he quickly grabbed for her hand and twisted her wrist, causing the knife to fall to the floor. He kicked it away and released her hand before he could do any true harm to it.

“Sir,” she began as she met his gaze. Her sleepfilled eyes were now clear, and he saw that she was completely awake.

“Lady, you were startled from sleep and fell off the bed.” He picked up the dagger from the floor and held it out to her. Such a weapon was truly no danger to him.

“I was in the chair,” she said, accepting it and sliding it back into the small leather hilt on her belt. With trembling hands she pushed her hair back from her face and over her shoulders. “What do you want here?”

A myriad of wants passed through his thoughts in that moment, but none were of a nature that he could speak of now. He retrieved his sword and his own deadly dagger, and opened the door, handing them to his squire.

“I but sought a few hours of sleep here. Now I must go.”

“You slept here?” The confusion in her expression was a sort of reward to him. “’Tis morning?” She’d been so deeply asleep that she had not realized he’d shared her bed. What liberties could he have taken before she woke? His body reacted to the possibilities even as he knew his honor would never permit it.

“Aye, lady.” Philippe stood at the door, so Sebastien bowed and turned to leave.

“Sir? Wait, I pray thee,” she said, walking a few steps closer to him. “I have a request of you.”

He stopped and waited for her words. She had not asked much of him yet and he was intrigued.

“May I visit the chapel?” She took another step toward him as she asked. “I would like to pray there.”

The chapel was a few hundred yards away, between the main camp of the Bruce’s forces and the castle itself. As it had been the site of their wedding, he was surprised she wished to return there at all.

“I could send Father Connaughty to you here if you require his counsel.” It was safer for her than leaving the tower right now. Too many soldiers being cared for in the yard had been injured by her family, and the sight of her might give rise to trouble.

“It is the place that gives me comfort, sir. My mother is buried there and I’ve spent hours praying there. But I understand, sir. I would do the same if I were the victor here.”

Sebastien was not certain at first if her understanding amused, comforted or bewildered him. Then the glint in her eyes gave away her actions. Most women he had met would be moaning and crying, crumpled into a heap after the last days that she’d faced. Yet here she stood, offering him a not-so-obvious challenge to his authority that she dressed up prettily as acquiescence to his rule.

“If my duties permit, mayhap I could take you there before the evening meal.”

“As you wish, sir.” She bowed her head this time, but not quickly enough to disguise the satisfied smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

In spite of knowing she was manipulating him, and in spite of knowing that she did not return his desires, that small needful part of him hidden deep inside reveled at the chance of sparring with her. Of drawing her back from her fear and hurt into the person she must have been when her father still ruled here. Of such…possibilities.