Betrayed (16 page)

“The two of ye seem ta have worked out yer differences,” Alexander remarked with a heavy-handed slap on the back.

Krayne’s grimace went unnoticed as Duncan pushed a fresh goblet into his hand. “’Tis a sore sight ta behold a sober groom.”

“Only when the wedding bed holds a sore sight as well,” Alexander jested.

The three friends laughed while Krayne looked on and emptied his goblet, sorely reminded that he’d have no wedding night at all and instantly regretting the reprieve he’d pledged. Her lips had melted beneath his once before. Her eyes had darkened with desire. Her body had caught alight at his touch.

He knew he could pleasure Amber and wipe her memory of last night as blank as his own. Delaying the inevitable was no kindness to her. Every night he waited would strengthen the grip of nightmares. If she hadn’t been a maiden…but he now believed she had been. Her first experience was all she knew, and all she would know until he taught her otherwise.

His balls grew heavy at the prospect.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t see Amber until she pushed her way through Duncan and Aegus. And he didn’t guess her intent until the stinging slap crossed his jaw with a shrill, “You bastard!”

Time slowed down as he watched her twitch her skirts, turn and stride off.

The laughter and smiles of Duncan, Aegus and Alexander froze as he looked further, over their heads, his gaze sweeping the hall from one end to the other. The wall his friends made about him and the boisterous noise level of drunken ribaldry had isolated the incident.

His blood went from iced to boiling and time sped up. Not a word was uttered in his small group, and not one head turned to stare after his condemned lady wife.

Duncan relinquished his last grip on any lingering resentment at being offered, and then refused, the opportunity to take such a beauty as his wife.

Aegus first pitied, then envied his friend the taming of such a vibrant hellcat as he contemplated the reckless courage of her misdeed.

Alexander’s expression was closed. He didn’t know what to think, but he prayed that the good Father Goodlin would not have to be summoned for another burial mass on the morrow.

Krayne worked the tension at his jaw loose, then said cordially, “Excuse me, lads. ’Twould appear my wife requires a speedy lesson in manners befitting a Johnstone mistress.”

Krayne did not rush.

There was no need for haste.

Amber wasn’t going anywhere.

When a grip on his shoulder halted his slow amble through his people, he grinned with the good nature of a pleased groom and accepted the well wishes and goblet pressed into his hand. He’d exerted himself to ensure every Johnstone and McAllister accepted his bride, and he’d be damned to let Amber undo his hard work.

When he was finally alone in the dim passage of the stairwell, his fist closed over the wall railing. Fury blasted through him and whitened his knuckles, heating the iron beneath his fisted fingers. He stood there, allowing the chattering laughter from the hall to wash over him, and waited for control before he continued up the stairs.

Amber was neither in the antechamber nor the bedchamber. His eyes narrowed on the closed door across the room as he approached with slow deliberation. His hand found and turned the knob in one fluid movement while he walked—straight into solid oak. Jolted, he stood back, turned the knob again and pushed. The door wasn’t moving.

She dares lock me out in my own castle?

No door at Wamphray had been barred to him since the age of twelve. He took a moment to still his surge of rage. If he punished his wife in anger, he’d surely kill her.

“Amber.” His fist came up to pound but once. “Open this door.”

When it became apparent that she was going to do no such thing, he paced five steps away. He’d not knock twice. Clamping down his back teeth, he charged. His shoulder made impact and the heavy oak groaned.

“Christ.” He rubbed his bruised shoulder, then swore again when he saw the rip in his shirt. “Amber.”

She wasn’t answering.

The door wasn’t opening.

He rammed the door a second time and heard the oak slab splinter in many places. A mighty kick thrust the door from the hinges and he walked right over it.

Amber lay sprawled across the covers, her face buried in a pillow.

“Stand up,” he commanded as he came to a halt at the edge of the bed, feet apart and arms crossed to coil the fury that wanted to pick her up and shake the despicable games she played loose from her head. “Amber, I’ll not ask again.”

She moved, but only to turn her face out of the pillow and away from him.

His patience had long since expired and he was beyond rage. He grabbed her by the waist and dragged her off the bed. It took but a moment to spin her about and hold her high, putting them eye to eye.

She came to life, hammering his chest with worthy punches. Krayne didn’t notice. He was staring at her blotchy face, eyes swollen from the tears that poured down her cheeks like a river in flood.

“Let go of me,” she croaked, fists still hammering. “I hate you. I hate, hate, hate…” The hoarse voice cracked into sobs.

“Calm yerself, Amber.” His grip tightened from sheer worry. This was no wildcat bent on mocking his sanity. “Talk ta me.”

“Leave me,” she sobbed.

Ignoring the continual assault on his chest, Krayne tried again. “What has happened? Did someone hurt ye?”

“Go away.” Her voice was stronger. Small teeth ravished her lower lip as she glared at him. “I hate you. Do you understand? I want nothing to do with you. I never want to set eyes on you again.”

She wriggled within his grasp, sending ineffective kicks to both his shins, the punches still coming at his chest.

“Christ, Amber. What the hell is wrong with ye?”

Her struggles increased, but her face seemed to crumple further beneath his steady gaze. “Stivin is d-dead. That’s wh-what’s wrong! How…How could you…?” The pounding slowed and became more of a scraping. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “D-did you hear me? Stivin is dead. Dear Lord…how could you be so cruel? How c-c-could you keep this from me? What manner of despicable bastard does something like that?”

Krayne pulled her into him. His arms wound around her, crushing them chest to chest. He didn’t know what else to do. He held on, feeling her tears soak through his shirt and wet his skin.

She squirmed and kicked.

He held her closer.

Finally she went limp in his arms, intermittent sobs wrenched from her strained throat. Without a word, he lifted her off her feet and lay down across the bed, bringing her with him. She tried to roll free, but he refused to release her, keeping the full length of her body flush against him. And there they lay, until Amber fell silent in grief-induced sleep. Krayne adjusted their positions, lying on his back and pulling her snug into his side, her cheek resting on his chest.

He didn’t sleep.

The foundation of all he knew and believed of his new bride had been well and truly rocked. There was not one doubt in his mind of her innocence in this instance. She had not known that Stivin was dead. She had not watched his murder from any shadows. All her other sins paled in comparison, for that was the one sin he’d avenged last night and the punishment could not be undone.

His fingers threaded her hair, strumming down her back with tenderness. She stirred, then flung one arm over his belly and settled. The weight warmed and pleased him. He took up the strumming again, marvelling at the contentment her closeness brought him.

Mayhap that was why he did not sleep.

He did not want to miss one moment of his first night with his wife. Not a typical wedding night, yet, as much as he’d lusted after this particular little vixen, his loins were neither full nor uncomfortable. He thought only to hold her near and protect.

Whatever William Jardin’s game, it was over.

Amber belonged to him now and he’d never let her go, no matter that she hated him. She had every reason to. From the first, he’d been drawn to this lass, to her beauty, to the inner fire that lit her spirit and made her shine above any other woman he’d known. He’d once thought her fearless because of some pampered life she’d led. He now knew she drew courage from within to conquer fear, for William Jardin’s tyranny no doubt extended to his niece.

And as for himself, he’d misunderstood her, he’d wronged her, and he intended to set that right.

Dawn came eventually, and soon after weak sunlight spread around the edges of the tapestry covering the window. Krayne gently lifted the arm across his belly and shifted Amber’s head onto the pillow. He slid off the bed with care, grimacing when he saw the evidence of his rage. Even so, as he lifted the broken door and slanted it upright against the wall, he couldn’t regret tearing down that particular barrier. Amber would learn to face her husband instead of hiding, he resolved, and went to draw the tapestry back so the light could spill inside.

When he came to stand over Amber, he could not look away. The silk gown was tossed and tucked between her thighs, revealing smooth skin as far as her knees. Delicate ankles, so slim his fingers could probably wrap them twice. Murmuring in her sleep, she rolled onto her back, giving him a clear view of the rise and fall of breasts that tempted his arousal. A husky chuckle started deep in his chest. He doubted he’d ever pass another night with Amber in his bed and be content to cuddle. For some reason, that thought made him relish his wedding night.

’Twas done. He was married. And he couldn’t seem to find a single regret. Not now. Not after last night. Indeed, he felt blessed by his new wife.

Amber came awake with Krayne looming over her. Sadness engulfed her like a low-hanging cloud. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why. And then her uncle’s departing taunt struck anew. Her husband’s hate would soon eclipse any spell she wove, he’d spat.
Ye’re responsible fer Stivin’s death an’ blood vengeance always wins.

Krayne’s wrath had meant nothing to her.

Stivin was dead.

Her emotions had got stuck then and there.

Stivin is dead.

Fresh tears stung her eyes and she rolled over, unable to look at Krayne a moment longer. He’d known, all this while, he’d known, and decided she wasn’t worthy of grieving Stivin. Aye, her emotions had got stuck on anger. The grief had come later, alone in her room, blocking out the world, blocking out her husband and his infernal ramming at the door.

She was looking into those grey eyes once more. Krayne had moved around the bed to kneel at her side.

“Stivin is dead,” she said dully. She no longer had the energy to be angry at Krayne. What did it matter who knew what and when? The single fact remained. Stivin was gone. Last night, she’d grasped at that anger to block the grief. It had come anyway. “He would have made a fine scholar.” Amber felt a hot tear on her cheek. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

Krayne wiped her tears with his thumb. “I thought ye knew about Stivin.”

“No one told me, no matter how much I asked. I asked you if Stivin had returned. If he was safe.”

“I’m sorry.” His thumb rested on her cheek. The thin line of his lips was grimly set and his warm gaze drew her in. “I am sure ye did. ’Twould appear I wasna listening.”

She closed her eyes. How many times hadn’t she silently accused these Johnstones of just that? His thumb moved to trace the curve of her lips. For such a large, harsh man, his caress was impossibly gentle and touched much deeper than her skin for it.

“At Blaeberry Hill, ye said ye’d tried ta tell me that Stivin was dead.”

Amber’s eyes snapped open. “I knew that my uncle wouldn’t ransom Stivin for me. That was what I tried to tell you. Many times. No one would listen to me. William hates me. He agreed to this marriage in the hope that you’ll seek revenge and kill me at the first opportunity.”

Krayne’s expression didn’t change. Grim, but warm and sincere. “Then I’ll take great delight in proving him wrong. Come…” Krayne stood and held out his hand. “I’ve something ta show ye.”

She allowed herself to be tugged to her feet. Then she took her hand back and straightened her gown. “You sent for Mary? Is she here?”

“Little Jock was ordered ta ride at first light. They’ve not yet returned, but there is something else ye must see.”

They met no one until crossing the great hall, where moss-troopers and the various castle workers were breaking their fast. Krayne didn’t stop, but led her down the front steps and around the west tower, past the dungeon she’d almost spent a night in, and further, to a narrow wooden gate in the outer castle wall. He drew the latch and the gate opened into a small orchard of white-blossomed apple trees, leafy pear and ripe plum trees heavy with fruit. The natural scents were heady and invigorating. Amber breathed in deeply, and some of her sadness lightened.

They walked a little more, and came to a walled enclosure standing apart from the castle. Another gate took them into what looked to be the family graveyard.

Amber paused at the entrance, her throat dry and fresh tears threatening. Krayne let her be and continued through. The entire area was shaded with three red-berried rowan trees, the lumpy ground sprinkled with wildflowers. Except for the one, newly dug grave where Krayne stopped, head bowed.

She gave it a few moments before joining him. He lifted his head at her to share a look of mutual grief and acceptance, then smiled grimly and moved on to a nearby, established grave with a headstone tinged green with moss. Amber sank her knees into the newly turned soil. Her finger outlined the engraved words of remembrance for Stivin Johnstone as she said goodbye.

While she sat, dark clouds chased the sunlight and a misty rain began to fall. She welcomed the elements and lifted her face to the skies, allowing her tears to mix with those sent from heaven, letting go of what was and could not be changed as the running water thinned the raw ache inside. When she finally pushed to her feet, she found that Krayne had quietly left without disturbing her.

For that she was thankful.

She’d made her peace with Stivin.

Now she had to do right by his cousin.

When she saw Mary standing in her chamber, Amber ran into the woman’s arms and held on tight.

“Thank the Lord,” muttered Mary, drawing back to pat her cheeks and adding in stern reprimand, “You’ve turned my last hair grey with worry, child.”

“I didn’t exactly run away.” Amber was too happy to see the familiar face to mind the rebuke. She wanted to bury her grief in Mary’s ample bosom, but found she could not. The wound was too new to speak of.

“Is it true?” Mary demanded, looking the small chamber once over with pale, worried eyes. Her gaze came back to Amber. “Did that horrid Scotsman force you to wife?”

“Actually, he asked quite nicely.”

Mary’s chest sagged in relief. “I know better than to believe anything that uncle of yours spews.”

“I said yes.”

Mary stared at her wide-eyed.

Amber grinned. There was some comfort in being back in a world where she vexed her old nursemaid at every turn. “’Tis not all bad.”

“And naught good either, I’ll say.” Rapid fingers made the cross of Jesus over her chest. “What have you done now, child?”

“Hush, Mary, for I have a plan that will save us.”

But Mary wasn’t soothed. “Your mother will never forgive me for this day. Dear Father above, there’s naught to save us now. Your uncle will be ordering a feast this night, mark my words, for you have dug your own—”

“Be quiet!” Amber ordered before talk of graves and death undid her.

The older woman jumped and Amber chided herself for nearly confiding in Mary. One piercing silver-grey look from Krayne and Mary would crumble. She’d have to keep her plans for running secret until the last moment.

Mary stood there, one hand on her chest and her head bowed. When she met Amber’s gaze again, tears glistened in Mary’s eyes. “Amber, child, I’m so sorry about Stivin.”

Amber felt her own tears rise.

“’Tis all my fault,” went on Mary. “I never meant to—I should not have told him about you and Stivin…about the raid. You have such courage, child, and my own weakness shames me.”

“Hush.” Amber took Mary’s hands in hers. She thought back on her night in the pit. “I am not always brave, and fear is not a weakness to be controlled or to be ashamed of. The fault belongs to William Jardin alone. I will not have you blame yourself.”

“But look where this has ended. I’ve always only wanted to protect you.”