A Perfect Knight For Love (7 page)

“This here’s nae maid, Dunn-Fyne. She’s my wife. For nigh a year.”

“So you both . . . say.”

“True. We both spoke on it. You heard. We’re wed. And nae woman has two husbands. You ken the law.”

“She only has a husband while you live. True?”

He finished with a kick against his horse, sending it into a canter and leaving them. Thayne watched him without expression, although the strength and rapidity of his heart beating was impossible to control. The lass was gagging, if her reflexes were accurate. Or perhaps she sobbed. Either reaction was hidden by how she’d turned her head and settled it exactly atop Thayne’s heart, stopping the ragged beat before restarting it in an even faster and harder pace.

Chapter 5

“Well, lass?” His voice came out higher pitched than he wanted it to, and with a hint of tremor. Thayne cleared his throat before trying again. “You’ve na’ much time. Perhaps one eve.”

“This isn’t happening.”

Her whisper sent warm breath over his upper belly.

“You say that oft. I doona’ think you ken what it means.”

“It’s . . . a denial.”

She said it in a hint of voice that heated up the area about Thayne’s heart before turning to a squeeze. Then it moved to a twinge through his arms before it coiled and spread warmth right through his belly. Thayne lifted his head, looked over the woman’s head at the mass of horses before him and gulped. He’d never felt such a thing. It was akin to the weak-kneed reaction he’d had when he’d won his first battle, but much worse. This feeling suffused his features with warmth while everything else about him grew strange-feeling . . . almost soft, pliant, and weak. Thayne narrowed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and looked unseeingly at the rain-washed view until whatever the emotion was abated and left. He couldn’t afford weakness. Not now. Not ever.

“Denial does na’ change anything, lass.”

“I’m not listening.”

She said it to his chest, sending more heated waves with her voice. Thayne needed to move her. It was too dangerous to keep her close to his heart and he didn’t even know why. He shifted her back sideways to him, using his free hand. Then he made certain of her position by placing his hand on her forehead and holding her against his shoulder. He kept the reaction from showing as she snuggled into the spot as if she belonged. His arms trembled slightly before he could stop them.

His arms trembled? Not a good sign. He hoped she didn’t spot it and assign meaning. Getting his voice firm and steady was his next issue. He waited three heartbeats before trying. Then a fourth.

“Verra well . . . lass. Deny it. It does na’ alter it.”

“Verra?”

For a woman who’d just been near faint with weakness she was remarkably cool-voiced and argumentative-sounding. Thayne studied the bleak sight of rain peppering the surface water of the loch before bending his head to whisper in the vicinity of her plaid-covered ear.

“You heard him?”

She nodded.

“He’ll take you. Rough. With little care.”

She shifted as if his words bothered her.

“He’ll hurt you. Purposefully. With pleasure.”

“And . . . you won’t?” she asked.

“Nae.” Thayne stopped, licked his lips, and then continued. “Well, mayhap I will, but I will na’ want to.”

“You’d hurt me?”

She asked it in a little voice that hadn’t much sound to it. Thayne knew he was flushing. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been in such a position, pleading of private matters while surrounded by enemy clan. He wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t actually doing it.

“I’d try and be gentle, lass, but . . . when there’s a maiden wall to breach . . . well. Uh. ’Tis na’ wholly easy. Sometimes . . . there’s pain. Na’ purposeful pain, but it canna’ be helped.”

“Is that your offer? Pain?”

Thayne was exasperated. It sounded in his next whisper. “Sometimes! With the first. Uh . . . regardless of a man’s size or intent! But it can be . . . altered a bit. Made less painful. If you ken my meaning?”

She shook her head. Thayne went a full-bodied flush. Red. He didn’t need to see it, he felt it.

“I’d . . . be gentle. I mean I’d prepare the way . . . but well . . . uh”—he stopped, gulped, and continued with a harsher tone—“dinna’ you receive instruction on things a-tween a man and wife?”

“My . . . husband is supposed to explain . . . things . . . of that nature.”

What voice she had was nonexistent toward the end. Thayne had to bend his head to hear it and that just made the warmth about his heart swell again. He hardened it against her and his voice sounded it.

“Will you just answer?”

“Very well. The answer is no,” she replied.

No?

Thayne’s head lifted and his eyes widened, gaining him raindrops for punishment, and then he narrowed them. She’d promised to obey him and already she disavowed her own word. He didn’t know why he bothered asking. “Lass, he’ll take you!”

“So will you,” she informed him.

“But he’ll force you.”

“And you won’t?”

He took several deep breaths and forced a calm state. The lass had no idea how close to a shaking she was. “Of course I’ll force you! To do otherwise means death.”

“See? You offer force with pain. Just like him.”

“I’m your husband,” he informed her.

“No. You are not,” she replied, stretching out each whispered word as if intoning them in that fashion made it more official.

“You canna’ disavow it still. It’s the law.”

“It’s not my law.”

“Jesu’!”

“I’m not used to hearing such words spoken in my presence, either.”

Thayne’s mouth dropped open. He felt like a lad being upbraided by his sire. She sounded exactly like a governess. In the whispered cool tone it felt even more effective.

“You—you—” He was unable to finish. He didn’t know what the rest of it was.

“This continual use of profanity around me. It’s ungentlemanly. . . and unseemly. It’s not furthering your proposition. . . such as it is.”

“I-I. I—”

Anything he attempted would be another curse. They filled his mind. Thayne settled with closing his mouth and watching the hovering mist that obscured where the loch met the mountain they’d soon be climbing.
Women!
He was beset with women trouble! That’s what chivalry reaped—a whole lot of women trouble. He counted more than two hundred heartbeats, until they slowed and took some of his ire with them. He bent his head to hers again.

“You see that drum ahead?” he asked her.

“Drum?”

“The top of the hill. Just ahead. You see?”

She nodded.

“That’s the time you have.”

“T-t-time?”

Her stammer had a shudder that matched it. That could be a good thing, Thayne decided. If it got her seeing sense.

“Dunn-Fyne will call a halt soon. For rest. And food. Ale. And then we climb. A path follows the drum of that hill. And on the other side is a meadow. Surrounded on three sides by trees and rock. Protected. For camp. Anything farther and he’s tempting ambush.”

“Am . . . bush?”

“We’re that near MacGowan land, lass. That near! I can near smell it! Dunn-Fyne kens it as do the others.”

“Why stop, then?”

“You doona’ listen to anything, do you? He continues on and it’s risking ambush. There’s na’ much in cover for a span. MacGowan clan is immense. We hold many leagues of land. And what we claim, we keep.”

“I don’t understand.”

Thayne ground his teeth together. He could feel and hear it. “You’ve got until we reach that meadow to decide. You already ken what’ll happen if you choose wrong.”

“You’ll . . . all die.”

Thayne flicked a glance to her. “Nae,” he replied finally. “I’ll use force. ’Tis exactly as he’d do, only I’ll use a lot more violence to it and hope it works.”

“What? Why?”

“To make certain there’s blood! Jes—!” Thayne bit the rest of the curse off.

“B-blood?”

She looked shocked. She had her eyes wide with it and her lips open for air.

“Make the choice. ’Tis easy! I’m nae braggart, but I’ve been known as considerate. You may even find pleasure. Most women do.”

She stiffened.

“Come along. Decide. You wish me angered, too?”

“I don’t know why you’re angry. I’m the one being forced. My lone choice is which man.”

“Nae, Amalie. Your lone choice is whether I’ll use force!”

She gasped, either at his words or how he said it. Thayne didn’t particularly care. Dunn-Fyne had stopped his horse some distance ahead to let his men pass by in single-file. Thayne watched as each man reached water’s edge and dismounted, letting reins dangle as mounts got watered and men relieved themselves. Not one of them sought privacy. He could tell it bothered her as she sucked for air then swiveled to plant her face into his chest.

Oh, dearest God!

Amalie kept her eyes tightly shut against further assault as her heart beat so stridently it hurt. She’d been warned. She’d been rewarned. She’d been naïve. Even marriage to the Duke of Rochester was better! She might have to put up with his fat moist hands touching her and listen to vacant conversation since he had the mental capacity of a child, but at least she’d be protected! Cosseted! Secure in her position. Safe! She’d never have to watch a pack of bearded, uncouth men acting little better than the horses they rode!

Amalie shuddered in place with distaste and fright. And defeat. She was ice-cold. She’d been warned about how uncivilized the Highlands were. How castles and lands were held by chieftains acting like kings . . . making laws and dispensing justice. Here a man’s worth was based not just on which clan he hailed from and how rich they were, but on how strong he was, how many men he commanded, and how many obeyed. Amalie had been told Highlanders thrived on proving a man’s worth. They took land and belongings as a sign of it. Women were nothing more than chattel, to be used and discarded once they’d served their purpose.

Amalie had listened to the woman from the posting coach with skepticism. She’d suspected envy, since the other lady was old and plain, and going to a position in a much lower ranking household. She’d dismissed the warnings as little more than bedtime tales to frighten and entertain. Now she realized the other woman had spared the sensitivities with her descriptions.

How stupid and naïve could she have been?

Amalie missed Dunn-Fyne’s first words once they reached him. She guessed at their content from Thayne’s reply as it rumbled through where her nose was pressed.

“Well . . . I did have her gagged,” he said.

“You need help . . . you ask.”

Amalie shoved closer to Thayne’s bulk as the sound of a whip slashed the air. But neither horse moved, so it had to be her imagination, or her fear, combined with how open and insecure and out-of-place everything felt.

“You’re blocking us from our rest, and the bairn is crying for her mother.”

Thayne’s solid tone of voice matched the solid strength of each heartbeat. Hers were flying through her ears, each one making her more and more light-headed, while his sounded as steady as the lap of waves upon the shore.

“You still claiming the wee one?” Dunn-Fyne queried.

“I sired it. Why would na’ I claim it?”

“And the wench?”

“Wife, Dunn-Fyne. Wife. This here’s my wife. I’ll be thanking you to speak correct about it.”

The man grunted something. Thayne moved the hand with the reins to hold her back, cushioning and protecting. Or hiding her shaking.

“Until this eve,” the man replied.

Thayne’s hand started moving, running up and down her spine, where her plaid should be muting the feeling. Amalie sagged into it, trembling in place, while hearing the same words and seeing the same things over and over in her mind.

“I take it you’ve decided in my favor?” he finally asked.

“Don’t let him touch me! Please? I’ll do it! I will! But . . . don’t let
him
touch me!”

A breath carrying what sounded like amusement brushed her cheeks, warming the skin. Amalie cracked open an eye, then the other, and blinked. He was looking down at her with eyebrows lifted and his lips pursed in amusement. He had his hair pulled back, looking dark and shiny with the wet, and then a drop of rain dripped off his nose onto hers.

“You’re the oddest thing. You argue endlessly with me, yet one word from Dunn-Fyne—”

“Please?”

“Lass.” He lifted her, speaking the words against her chin and then along her jawline. Amalie sucked on a gasp filled with moisture. “You doona’ listen to the smallest thing. I already told you. What a MacGowan claims . . . he keeps.”

Amalie opened her mouth to answer, but he didn’t give her the time. She was already smashed against him and that was made more intimate and more grasping and more everything with his kiss. Hard lips melded to hers, completely halting everything and then there was nothing but her and him and a surge of something warm and thrilling and breath-stealing.

She was in its thrall as he lifted his head, sending hard breaths all along her that matched the increased thump of his heartbeat. He was also holding her atop that strange hard lump of him again, and pushing against her hips to make certain of the connection, and groaning slightly.

“We must . . . slow this. Jesu’, woman, but you’re blessed. Fully. We need to cease this! And rapid-like. Right now. Or Dunn-Fyne has his vengeance full score.”

Amalie had been swaying atop him, enjoying the tremor that scored the skin in front of her eyes. She stopped the moment she heard their tormenter’s name.

“We canna’ have witness to our tupping. You ken?”

“Tupping?”

“Aye. Tupping. You and me. ’Tis what happens with a man and woman. Can you na’ listen to a word I speak?”

“I am listening. I’ve just never heard . . . it called . . . uh.” Her voice trailed off. She’d never heard it referenced at all.

“’Twould be pure shame within hearing of the pipers, too.”

“Pipers?”

“Aye. MacGowan pipes. Now, turn about like a good lass. We need a bit of rest and the bairn sounds as if she needs a cuddle or two, as well.”