Betrayed (5 page)

Amber met the stone-grey eyes again. “Are you not?”

“Where would the benefit be in that?”

Not a question she even wanted asked. Her uncle might indeed reward the man responsible for her early demise. William would risk no hand in her death himself, but that wasn’t to say—

“I am not angry with ye for attempting ta escape.” Krayne interrupted her morbid thoughts.

He threw something white and soft upon the bed and strode from the room, leaving Amber staring after him with a puzzled frown.

On the rampart outside his chambers, Krayne drew in a lungful of the crisp night air. He was unwilling to go back inside until his restless energy either burned itself out or was snuffed by the cold. He hated what he’d seen in Amber’s wide-eyed stare, and the idea that he was the man to introduce her to fear was an uncomfortable feeling.

He had only himself to blame that she’d attempted to flee. She’d been half-frightened to death. He could be a cold bastard when he chose, instilling the fear of the devil into the most stalwart warrior. And he was taking no chances when it came to shutting out his lust for Stivin’s leman.

“I am tired.” The blunt-edged voice at his back belied the words.

Krayne rolled his eyes as he turned around, and in that striking instant recognized the flaws in his strategy leading up to this moment that would have seen him and his army slain had they been in battle. The fine quality of the shirt he’d loaned Amber played a bewitching game with the breeze, caressing her skin with the allure of a billowing silk sheet. Hair as black and seductive as sin contrasted with the innocence of the sheer white cotton it fell upon and, Christ have mercy, the firelight flickering behind her enhanced every line and shadow, curve and hollow. His thoughts ran dry as he drank in the creamy swell exposed by the oversized shirt that dipped sharper and lower than any man could take.

If her plan was to slowly disable Wamphray Castle by rendering the laird witless with desire, she was succeeding.

“I said I am tired!”

The shrewish voice shook his thoughts loose.

“Then go ta bed,” he rasped, and immediately regretted the harsh order when she jumped back from him and yelped. This day
would
eventually end, Krayne assured himself as he moved to her side. “Let me see.”

She shrank from him, keeping her gaze level with his chest.

“Amber,” he warned, “I
will
see yer ankle.” He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “I canna say what might happen if ye force me ta take ye in my arms again. Let’s not tempt fate.”

He almost smiled at the spark of understanding in her green gaze. At least she didn’t pretend to be a blushing maiden with no inkling of carnal matters. He held his arm out. “Let’s go ta bed.”

The moment the words were out, his mind flooded with fantasies of long legs wrapped about his waist; her secret triangle, the same raven black as her hair for sure, and parted wide in invitation. Blood drained from his head directly to his shaft. God above, he was being consumed by a lust he didn’t want.
I have no control over this.

“The bed,” he said hoarsely. “Let me take ye back to
the
bed.”

Amber, meanwhile, ignored both his careless blunder and his arm, hobbling a wide berth around him. He shut his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and inhaled a long, clear breath that sucked the storm from his head.

He was wrong.
Too much control is the problem.
His failure came in rejecting his lust and denying the pleasure.

He snapped his eyes open to see where Amber had gone.

She was on the chair beside the hearth, arranging the shirt about her knees while her stubborn glare remained on him. “You may examine my ankle here. Besides, that is what I wanted to know. Where will I be sleeping?”

Krayne obliged by going down before her, gently lifting the leg she’d indicated. One hand supported the heel and the other prodded the tender flesh and delicate bone. “’Tis swollen,” he murmured, prodding a little more. “Nothing appears broken.”

“I could have told you that.”

In response to her sharp tongue, he let his hand roam up her leg, satin soft, firm and slender. It was a glorious experience, knowing he could indulge without restraint. Sweet heaven, and he would no more be denied.

With little obvious distraction, he removed his hand to catch hold of her wrist before she landed an indignant slap. Only he knew how much he already missed that tantalising journey up her leg to paradise.

Replacing her misbehaving hand in her lap, he delivered a lazy smile. “Ye’ll sleep in my bed tonight.”

“I’ll give you no pleasure.”

He chuckled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “Ye already have, lass.”

She made to jump up, but he held her down with a gentle, yet firm, hand. “I will bind yer ankle.”

“Why?” she spat. “So you can later enjoy your wild play without guilt?”

“Mayhap,” he conceded after a moment, then pushed to his feet to find a linen strip.

“I’ll not lie with you.”

The force in her words twisted his lips downward, but he quickly disregarded her contempt. It mattered little.

“So ye keep informing me.” He knelt before her, binding the ankle with a solid tension. “One might almost think yer hoping ta convince yerself.”

“Oh—you—you—” She leaned forward and thumped hard at his chest.

Krayne grinned, wondering if she realised that the flush to her cheeks and the flashing green of her eyes were enemies to her cause, inflaming him with a want that could no longer be put off.

He stood abruptly. “Come.”

“No.” She held fast to the arms of the chair, refusing to meet his eyes.

Krayne had lost the taste for taunting. Pleasure had turned to blessed torture and now he only wanted to sate his lust. “Ye will not be disturbed in my bed, Amber. I have no intention of bedding ye.”

Her eyes narrowed on him in blatant disbelief. “Where—where will you sleep?”

His hand swept the floor area by the hearth.

“You cannot sleep here.”

Krayne gave her a blank look. “Yer concern fer my comfort is touching, but I assure ye, this floor is luxury compared ta some places I’ve laid down fer the night.”

“I don’t care about your comfort, you black-hearted oaf.” She uncurled her fingers to rise to her feet. “There’s no door between the rooms. How do you expect me to sleep when I know you’re…when you can…?” Her cheeks reddened as she struggled for the relevant words.

“Go ta bed, Amber. I’ve had a tiresome day and now have urgent matters ta attend.” He was none too gentle as he prodded her into the adjacent chamber, but he did take care with her injured ankle.

On his way out, he stopped beneath the archway to reassure her. To reassure himself. “Ye have naught ta fear. There’s little ta tempt me in here that I canna get elsewhere.”

Krayne found the steward’s daughter folding sheets in the curtained alcove between the great hall and kitchens that served as a linen room.

“Come ta me,” he growled, grabbing the slender beauty around the waist. Her sharp gasp released as a warm sigh when he turned her about in his arms and she saw her attacker.

“Krayne.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, but the rebuke was no more effective than her next words, for the hunger in her fawn eyes told another story. “Dinna think ta jump me whene’er the fancy takes.”

He caught her finger and put it to his lips. “Ah, Gayle, I see ye’ve missed me.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

He chuckled, then sucked her finger with slow, deliberate strokes as he watched her pupils dilate and her lips part on a whimper.

Mungo’s daughter was a young widow of six and twenty, and they’d enjoyed each other for two years now. He knew exactly how to arouse her body to match his every mood, and right now he wanted fast and hot. He felt scant guilt that he saw a raven-haired vixen in transparent white when he closed his eyes. Gayle would not take offence. They’d both agreed that there was nothing more between them than the occasional dalliance.

One might almost think yer hoping ta convince yerself.

Amber came awake with a groan as her dream bled into reality. She was lying on her stomach, her arms hugging a feather pillow. The details were fading fast, but she held on to the flashes of heated skin, tender caresses and intoxicating kisses for as long as she could.

Lord, it seemed so real. She’d spent the night in his arms. Willingly. That savage beauty cut from lines as harsh and unforgiving as the deepest winter had proved too much in the end. The woodsy scent, overwhelming masculinity, intelligent eyes that glinted more wicked than cruel. She didn’t know Krayne, was pretty sure she neither liked nor trusted him, yet her body wanted, demanded and had finally, in sleep, taken.

There’s little ta tempt me in here that I canna get elsewhere.

She was instantly wide-awake, pushing up onto her elbows. “Bastard.”

But it wasn’t Krayne she was furious at.

She brought her fists down on the pillow, pounding into the feather stuffing as she recalled every accusation she’d flung last night. How many times had she denied him? Protested her virtue?

As if
he
burned with lust. As if
he
couldn’t keep his hands and mind off her.

What a laugh.

Krayne had walked off easily enough, while she’d hunted him down in her dreams and clung all night long. No man had ever affected her thus, and she cursed Krayne for being the first.

“Life isn’t fair.” Krayne had more advantages than he knew what to do with, and now he had this too. “It just isn’t fair.”

“Should I come back later,” rumbled an amused voice, “or are ye almost done with that fit of temper?”

Amber’s fists froze. A dull flush crept up her throat as she met the gaze of the man himself, leaning against the wall with folded arms. His britches were black, the supple leather moulded to potent thighs. The white cotton shirt was a stark contrast, open halfway down his chest to reveal a golden tan. He wore his hair loose, falling to his shoulders with a healthy shine.

For a moment, she tried to align the forbidding figure with the intimacy of her dream, but quickly shook her head in disgust when she became aware of what she was doing.

How long has he been standing there?

A mocking smile tipped his lips and fed the creases at his eyes. He was laughing. At her! Amber sat up, dragging the covers with her.

“I’m done,” she said shortly. She’d never succumbed to a fit of anything in her life, and she wasn’t about to explain what and who had brought on her first.

He nodded. “How are ye feeling this morning?”

His smile faded as he walked closer, but the expression on his face held some warmth. She didn’t trust it one bit.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

When Krayne reached the bed and sat down, she bunched the blanket high up her chest. His gaze lingered on her lips, then slipped lower.

She knew he had no interest in undressing her with his eyes.

Knew he saw nothing he especially wanted. Nothing that he couldn’t get elsewhere with much less effort.

And yet, passion’s teeth, it was impossible to remember how safe from his lust she was when that dark glint chased the misty grey from his eyes and turned them pewter. Even more impossible to remember why she did not want that lust.

He sprang up suddenly and went back to his position against the wall.

She closed her eyes on a sigh. Her wanton behaviour had to end. She was a lady, not some serving woman to bed a man not her husband. Not that she would.
I certainly would not!
Her parents’ shame would haunt her from their graves.

She had to make a stand. Krayne was the enemy. She couldn’t afford to dither between fleeing the man and falling into his arms, even if he would have her.

Stivin’s life was at stake. Mayhap her own, too.

“I am neither cold nor heartless,” he said.

Her eyes snapped open to find him frowning at her. “I sincerely doubt that. Since I’ve made your acquaintance, I have been beaten—”

“A pat on the rump,” he interjected.

She glowered at him, raising her voice. “
Beaten,
stripped of my clothing, thrown into some hell pit—”

“Ye deserved worse, according to Duncan.”

“Almost fell to my death—”

“Yer own doing.” His eyes narrowed in warning.

She took pleasure in ignoring it. “Degraded into sharing your chamber—”

“Actually, I slept elsewhere.”

He had? Where?

A knowing grin chased the frown from his brows.

He couldn’t read her mind, she assured herself. And if he could, he’d know that those silent questions were idle curiosity, nothing more.

“Stolen from my home and held against my will,” she finished with a triumphant glare.

But Krayne only shrugged. “The land makes us what we are.”

“That’s right,” she snorted. “Shift the blame.”

“I will not argue circles with ye.”

“Of course not. Very well, you talk, and I’ll just agree to everything you say. That’s what you wish, is it not? And what the mighty laird wishes, he gets!” It was unwise to bait him, but her blood was too hot to care. She was looking for a fight. “I’m not one of the devoted servants you surround yourself with.”

“Nay, yer my prisoner. And ye’d do well ta not forget that.”

“Or what?” Amber challenged, her chin raised in defiance.

His expression darkened as he glared her down.

But just when she thought she’d broken through his restraint, Krayne chuckled. “Pull in yer claws, wildcat, fer I’ll not play yer games.”

“Trust me, this is no game.”

“I truly hope ye remember that when the next foolish notion ta escape fills yer head.”

“I’m a prisoner,” she pointed out. “’Tis my duty to escape.”

“Yer duty is ta Stivin.” His gaze turned black, straining at the edges of control. “Or have ye already forgotten yer lover?”

Lover?
Her jaw dropped at the preposterous notion.

“Let me remind ye,” Krayne continued in a hard voice. “His name is Stivin, and every time ye run, I personally see that as twisting the knife deeper inta my little cousin’s gut.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Ye said so yerself. Ye will remain in my keeping ’til such a time as I can arrange the exchange. This much, ye owe Stivin.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Unfortunately, I understand too well.” His arms unfolded, his hands dropping to his sides. “I came here ta reassure ye that I mean ye no harm. That there was no reason ta be afraid and run away. But I can see now I’ve wasted my time. Yer not afraid, are ye? Yer merely so spoilt and pampered and selfish that a few days’ inconvenience is too much ta ask in return fer Stivin’s life.”

She started to protest, but he cut her short. “Only, I’m not asking. Attempt another escape and I
will
find ye and bring ye back. And next time I’ll take great pleasure in tossing ye inta the dungeon myself.”

With that, he stormed from the chamber.

Amber slumped against the wall behind her.

She didn’t doubt him one bit. He probably would find her. And he
would
dump her back into that hole.

She imagined her uncle bent double, clutching his gut with raucous laughter when Krayne presented her for the exchange. William would likely kill Stivin right then and there in the hope that Krayne would retaliate by killing her. An eye for an eye. A cousin for a niece.
To be free of the curse.

She had no choice. She had to make Krayne listen to her, before it was too late. And if he still refused to believe that her uncle hated her, then she’d have to risk another escape, otherwise neither she nor Stivin stood a chance of coming out of this alive.

His blood raging, Krayne marched through the great hall and down the outside steps, taking scant notice of the men breaking their fast at the long tables. The conniving wench! He’d truly intended to soothe her fears, use gentle persuasion to show her that they were on the same side. Stivin’s side.

Hah. Amber thought of herself first and others not at all.

And still his pulse hummed at the vision she made in his bed. Her hair a tempest black cloud spilling over pillow and cotton as she shifted restlessly…the soft moans that could not be mistaken.

Whom had she been dreaming of?

Stivin? Some other lover?

An ugly sensation invaded his gut. Krayne inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He did
not
care, he reminded himself. Amber was a means to an end. And the sooner she moved on from Stivin to someone more evenly matched to her feminine wiles, the better for the entire Johnstone clan.

Peter came running from the stables, a scraggly lad of no more than eight years, but as wise and serious as the hills. He had an extraordinary manner with the horses, and it was whispered that he spoke to them in a language not quite human. In his haste, he was halfway up the steps before he spotted Krayne standing beneath one of the elder trees that guarded the castle’s main door.

“Me laird…” Out of breath, Peter slid under the wooden rail and jumped the short distance to the ground. “Me laird, he comes. Jus’ turned the bend at Noddin’ Ned.”

Nodding Ned was a stately oak that stood in isolation on the north bank of Wamphray Water just before the river snaked out of sight. Its trunk as thick as the spread of four men’s arms, Nodding Ned was an invaluable measure of the gale forces that habitually tore through crag and dale with no mercy for unattended beast or vulnerable sapling. When Ned stirred, men jumped to attention. When Ned nodded, it was too late.

Krayne looked up to the gate tower for confirmation. The gatekeeper was already preparing to raise the portcullis.

“Go,” he told Peter. “Call Duncan and Red John and Alexander ta me. Ye’ll find them in the hall.”

“Aye, me laird.” Peter took off again, scooting up the steps.

Krayne made his way to the stables to await Little Jock and news from Spedlin. As the man and horse cleared the gates, Krayne knew a certain relief. Soon, this would be over. Soon, Stivin would be home safe and the consequences of that damn raid forgotten. And he’d gladly string and quarter the next man to so much as move or breathe without his say-so.

“Aboot bloody time,” shouted Red John as he descended the castle steps with Duncan. Another yellow-haired McAllister with broad shoulders and a wide chest, Red John took his name from a fiery ginger beard that had snuck in from some distant Viking ancestor.

“What news?” Duncan called to Little Jock, but the man simply shook his head and slid from his horse to stand before Krayne.

“The Jardin laird wasna there when I arrived,” Little Jock told Krayne. “I hoped ta wait inside, so as ta look aboot, ye ken. The filthy bastards put guards on me in the stables.”

“Ye heard naught of Stivin?”

Little Jock shook his head again. “I didna see a soul other than the guards and, this morn, the laird himself.”

Krayne scrubbed his jaw, wondering if Jardin’s tardiness should disturb him. Nay, he decided, the man would have been out searching for his niece. He couldn’t stop the grin as he thought on Jardin’s reaction to learning her whereabouts. “What are his terms?”

Little Jock grimaced. “Midday tomorrow at—”

“The firkin’ rat,” Duncan swore as he reached them. “What’s he waitin’ fer? Let’s do it now, I say. Nae more of this—”

“Enough.” Krayne motioned Little Jock to finish.

“At Blaeberry Hill, he said. And ta ride with no more than six men.”

“That be Jardin land,” Red John pointed out as he too joined them.

Krayne nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not taking any chances.”

“He always did run scared of ye,” Duncan snorted. In their earliest youth, the families had not been unfriendly. William Jardin had eighteen years on Krayne, had been a man in his prime when Krayne was a mere lad, but even then he’d shown a certain wariness of Krayne. Since then, of course, William had developed a new lease on fear.

“Aye,” Krayne muttered. “’Tis the only reason I haven’t eradicated his sorry stench from this earth yet.” One of the reasons, anyway.

Duncan knocked Krayne’s shoulder to get his full attention. “I dinna hold with this waitin’. Fer what? He doesna need time ta collect any ransom.”

“True,” agreed Krayne. His gaze went to Red John, then further to Alexander, hurrying across the courtyard toward them. He waited for his captain to be filled in before speaking. “Jardin is the mouse that’d play games with the cat afore being devoured. He has this little power, and ’tis all he’ll ever have.”

“We could take Spedlin,” declared Duncan.

“And incur the wrath of Jamie, our chief, and probably God above as well,” Alexander said sternly. He’d been well informed on what had transpired at Stirling.

“Do we know if Stivin be well and fine?” Red John asked.

“Jardin willna touch him,” Duncan finally admitted. As much as he wanted to tear Spedlin down, one stone at a time, they all knew that Jardin would no more kill one of Krayne’s immediate family than dive head first into the bowels of hell. In fact, given the impossible choice, he’d sooner choose the eternal inferno over the Grey Wolf’s vengeance. William Jardin was probably cursing his own bad fate this very moment, what with having a Johnstone hostage forced upon him.

“We wait,” decided Krayne.

Amber shouldn’t have been surprised when she stepped onto the battlement and found two well-placed guards. She gave them a sweet smile and quickly retreated, pulling the heavy tapestry back over the opening.

She paced the floor in front of the dying embers, her stomach rumbling. Her last meal had been two nights past. She’d found some paltry remains of hard bread and white cheese, but that could only sustain her so long. Thirst was a lesser problem. The large clay jug on the table by the door was kept filled with ale throughout the day and night.

“I’m not cold and heartless.” She snorted her captor’s ridiculous denial out loud. “Then try feeding me now and then.”

At least she was clothed. She’d found her gown tossed into a corner and had even managed to beggar a needle from a young serving girl who’d come in to tidy the chamber for Krayne. She smoothed her hands down the uneven seam that she’d stitched down the front, not particularly caring that she looked like a crumpled scarecrow.