Captured by a Laird (40 page)

“Come have some supper,” his mother said and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a steaming bowl. “I’ve got your favorite fish stew.”

Ian’s stomach rumbled as the savory smell reached him. He was near starved.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the back of Sìleas’s skirt disappearing up the stairs.

He stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth as it occurred to him he had the right to follow her up and take her to bed. Tonight. Right now. Before supper, if he wanted. And again, after. The part of him between his legs was giving him an emphatic “Aye!”

His reaction startled him. For five long years, he had planned to end the marriage as soon as he returned. He’d harbored not a single doubt. The only question had been how to do it with the least embarrassment to Sìleas—and the least difficulty for him.

But he made that plan before she turned into this enchanting lass with a voice that was like velvet sliding over his skin—and curves that would have him dreaming of her naked as soon as he closed his eyes.

Aye, he most definitely wanted to take Sìleas to bed. Any man would. The question, however, was whether he wanted her to be the last woman he ever took to his bed. He wasn’t prepared to decide that tonight. Hell, he didn’t even know Sìleas anymore. Was the woman anything like the wild-haired bairn who used to follow him about and always need rescuing?

Ian knew he should say something to her. But what? He couldn’t tell her he was ready to be her husband and bind his life to hers forever. Though he had no idea what he would say, he got up from his chair, stomach rumbling, to follow her upstairs.

***

Sìleas ran up the stairs. She slammed the bedchamber door, leaned against it, and gulped in deep breaths. Damn him! She had wept for Ian MacDonald too many times over the last five years, and she was not going to do it again.

Her head pounded, her chest hurt, and she could not get enough air. She had lied to herself. Lied, when she told herself she had put her childish dreams away. Lied, when she said she’d ceased expecting Ian to want to share a life with her when he finally returned.

If she had given up her dreams, her heart would not be breaking from the loss of them now.

When Ian embraced his mother first, she understood. That was only right. And she hardly resented it at all when he greeted Niall next, for Niall had missed Ian almost as much as she had. But then, it was her turn. She fixed her gaze on the floor and held her breath, waiting. He was the one who left; he should come to her. In any case, her feet would not move.

Then the room went silent, and she felt his gaze on her. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked into the bluest eyes in the Highlands. Her fingers were ice, her palms sweaty, and her bodice felt too tight. For five years, she had waited for this moment.

She had imagined it a thousand times. Ian would give her a wide smile that warmed his eyes and pull her into his arms. He would tell her how much he missed her and how glad he was to be home. Then, in front of God and his family, he would call her “wife” and give her a kiss—her first real kiss.

In her more realistic moments, she thought it might be awkward between them at first, but that Ian would attempt to make it right and seek her forgiveness. Never did she imagine he would not speak to her.

Not a single word.

With her heart in her throat, she implored him with her eyes to do as he ought. Instead, he stared at her as if she had grown a tail and fins. If he didn’t want to claim her, he could have had the courtesy to greet her as the old friend she was, then told her in private he did not wish to be her husband. His public dismissal was both insulting and heartless.

Sìleas paced up and down her bedchamber, clenching her hands until her nails pierced the skin. The boy she had known would never have been so unkind. The angry young man who had called her repulsive, however, was capable of such cruelty.
All this time, she had made excuses for him. Even now, she was tempted—but failing to acknowledge her in some small way was simply unforgivable.

Ian’s words from their wedding day rang in her ears.
Have ye taken a good look at her?
Ach! She tilted her head back. “Dear God, did ye have to make him more handsome than ever? Was that truly necessary?”

Ian had been a lovely boy, with kind, sky-blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes—the sort all the mothers cooed over. But there was nothing left of the sweet lad in the man who strode into the house tonight. True enough, his eyes were as blue as ever and his hair the same shiny black of a selkie. But the man had a rough, dangerous air about him.

It was possible he’d been like this when he returned from fighting on the borders, and she had been too young to recognize it. But the moment he burst into the room tonight, she felt it, recognized it, knew it for the danger it was. And instead of making her wary, a ripple of excitement shivered through her, right down to the tips of her toes. She wanted to be next to him, to feel the power of his presence, to touch the vibrating energy that coursed through him.

She felt it, wanted it…and Ian ignored her.

She needed to be gone from this house. Nay, she would not be married to a man who did not want her. She jerked the cloth sack off the hook on the back of her door, threw it on the bed, and started tossing things into it.

Not all men found her disgusting. She knew several clansmen who would be pleased to have her for a wife—and not just for her lands.

As she looked around the room, deciding what to take with her, her gaze lingered on the quilt his mother had made her…the colored stones Niall had collected with her…the wooden box Ian’s father had carved for her.

She’d lived here for five years, but she’d been wrong to think of this as her home. No matter how much she loved Ian’s family, they were his blood, his family. Not hers.

Sìleas looked down at the gown in her hand and remembered how she and Ian’s mother had talked by the fire as they worked on it together. All her life, she had longed for a family, for a home where people laughed at the table and cared for each other. She had been happy here, despite the waiting.

Ian’s family had welcomed her from the start, and eventually accepted and loved her. His father had taken the longest to win over—but she had. Losing the family she had come to think of her own would be hard. Very hard, indeed. But she was here as Ian’s wife. If she wasn’t that, she could not stay.

But where could she go?

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Excerpt: KNIGHT OF DESIRE

All the King’s Men
#1

by Margaret Mallory

PROLOGUE

Monmouth Castle

England, near the Welsh Border

October 1400

The creak of the stable door woke him.

William’s hand went to the hilt of his blade as he lifted his head from the straw to listen. Soft footfalls crossed the floor. Soundlessly, he rose to his feet. No one entering the stable at this hour could have good intent.

A hooded figure carrying a candle moved along the row of horses, causing them to snort and lift their heads. William waited while the man reached up to light a lantern hanging on a post. No matter what the intruder’s purpose, fire was the greater danger. The moment the man blew out his candle, William closed the distance between them in three running strides.

As he launched himself, the intruder turned.

William saw the swirl of skirts and a girl’s face, eyes wide with alarm. Reflexively, he threw his arms around her and turned mid-air to cushion her fall just before they slammed to the ground.

“Please forgive me!” he said, untangling his limbs from hers and scrambling to his feet. “Have I hurt you?”

He would have offered his hand to help her up, but she sprang to her feet as fast as he, her hair falling free of the hood in a mass of bright waves. She stood with her weight forward on her feet, eyeing him warily.

William stared at her. How could he have mistaken this lovely and fragile looking girl for a man? Judging by the fine silk gown showing at the gape in her cloak, this was a highborn lady he had assaulted. Her features were delicate, her full lips parted.

He squinted, trying to tell what color her eyes were in the dim light. Without thinking, he reached to pull a piece of straw from her hair. He drew back when he caught the gleam of the blade in her hand. He could take it from her easily enough, but it unsettled him to know he frightened her.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded. She was breathing hard and pointing the blade at his heart. “Answer me at once, or I will scream and bring the guard.”

“I am a knight in the service of the Earl of Northumberland,” he said in a calming voice. “I arrived late and the hall was filled with guests, so I decided to bed here.”

He was not about to tell her he was hiding in the stable. When he delivered Northumberland’s message in the hall, he glimpsed a certain widow he knew from court. Preferring to sleep alone, he made a quick escape.

“Now that you know my purpose in being here, may I ask the same of you?” he said, cocking his head. “I believe it is you who should not be found out alone at this hour.”

She did not answer him, but even in this poor light he could see her cheeks flush.

“Surely you know it is dangerous for a young lady to be wandering about alone at this time of night—especially with the castle crowded with men and the wine flowing freely.”

“I could not sleep,” she said, her voice sharp with defiance. “And so, I decided to go for a ride.”

“You cannot go out riding by yourself in the middle of the night!” Consciously lowering his voice, he added, “Really, you cannot be that foolish.”

Her eyes flashed and she pressed her lips together—and a disturbing explanation occurred to him.

“If it is a man you are meeting, he does not value you as he should to ask you to come out alone like this.” He judged her to be about sixteen, half a dozen years younger than he was. Young enough, he supposed, to be that naive.

“Running to a man?” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Now that would be foolish.”

She slid her knife into the sheath at her belt, apparently deciding he was not a threat after all. Before he could feel much relief at that, she turned and reached for the bridle hanging on the post next to her.

“I am going now,” she announced, bridle in hand.

“I cannot let you,” he said, wondering how he would stop her. It would cause considerable trouble for them both if he carried her to her rooms, kicking and screaming, at this time of night.

“Surely this can wait for the morning,” he argued.

She stared at him with a grim intensity that made him wonder what trick she would try to get past him.

“If I tell you the reason I cannot wait,” she said finally, “will you agree not to attempt to prevent my going?”

He nodded, though he still had every intention of stopping her.

“Tomorrow, I am to be married.”

The surge of disappointment in his chest caught him by surprise. Although he was told the castle was crowded with guests for a wedding, it had not occurred to him that this achingly lovely girl could be the bride.

When he did not speak, she evidently concluded more explanation was required to convince him to let her go. “I do not expect this will be a happy marriage for me,” she said, lifting her chin. “My betrothed is a man I can neither like nor admire.”

“Then you must tell your father—perhaps he will change his mind.” Even as he said it, William knew that with the wedding set for tomorrow it was far too late for this.

“I am the only heir to an important castle,” she said impatiently. “I could not expect my father or the King to take my wishes into account in deciding what man will have it.”

“What is your objection to the man?” William had no right to ask, but he wanted to know. He wondered if this young innocent was being married off to some lecher old enough to be her grandfather. It was common enough.

“He has meanness in him, I have seen it.” Her eyes were solemn and unblinking. “He is not a man to be trusted.”

Her response surprised him once again. Yet, he did not doubt she gave him the truth as she saw it.

“Tomorrow, I will do what my father and King require of me and wed this man. From that time forward, I will have to do as my husband bids and submit to him in all things.”

William, of course, thought of the man taking her to bed and wondered if she truly understood all that her words implied.

“Tonight, you must let me have this last hour of freedom,” she said, her voice determined. “It is not so much to ask.”

William could have told her she should trust the judgment of her father and King, that surely they would not give her to a man so undeserving. But he did not believe it himself.

“I will ride with you,” he said, “or you shall not go.”

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him for a long moment. With the lamp at his back, the girl could not see him nearly as well as he could see her.  A double advantage, since he did not want to frighten her. He was well aware that, despite his youth, there was something about his strong features and serious countenance that even experienced warriors found intimidating.

“You must let me do that for you,” he said, holding his hand out for the bridle. He almost sighed aloud in relief when she finally nodded and dropped it in his hand.

As he saddled the horses, he tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him this was madness. God’s beard, the King himself had a hand in arranging this marriage. If he were caught taking her out alone at night on the eve of her wedding, the King would have him flailed alive.

“Keep your head down,” he instructed as they rode across the outer bailey toward the gate. “Make certain your cloak covers your gown—and every strand of that fair hair.”

The guards remembered he arrived carrying messages from Northumberland, the “King-maker.” They gave him no trouble.