Catch & Hold-Legend (Legend series) (30 page)

She gave him a tentative smile and shook her head. “No … oh no. I am merely out for some air.”

He brought his horse up alongside of them, and she reached out and stroked the magnificent animal’s nose. “Lovely, isn’t he?”

“Aye, and a gentleman as well,” Breslyn said softly. “Would … my lady allow me to join her in her walk?”

She laughed. “I do not want to keep you from your purpose …”

“My purpose was to enjoy the day. I wasn’t until this moment.”

She blushed, and it made him hard. Emotion rushed through him, and he savored the sensation. His eyes swept over her as her cloak blew away from her figure, and he stared a moment at her full breasts. Hard? He was so damn hard he felt he could put his dick through a wall!
 
Bloody hell, but he had a sudden urge to scoop her into his arms and kiss her! He settled for putting a finger to her pretty chin. “Blushing, my lady?”

She looked away and said on a hushed note, “I am a married woman …”

“Are you? And who has the honor of calling you wife? Tell me at once so that I may put him in the ground and eliminate my competition.” The tease was there, and it made her giggle. Breslyn understood, in spite of her marriage, how very young and innocent she still was.

“I am wife to Francis Bouthe, Laird Dumfries,” she said on a quiet, resigned note.

“Never say so! Upon my word … but that is not possible …” In truth, of course, Breslyn knew about her husband—perhaps more than she herself did. Breslyn’s stance with the Scots was loyal, and his service to Robert the Bruce was from a genuine belief that the Scots were in the right of it. Therefore, he had not been above spying in his endeavor to produce beneficial information to aid that cause. That spying had brought Dumfries to notice, and he was a weasel of a traitor to Scotland. Breslyn had already developed a hatred of the man. That she could be married to such a wart both distressed his sense of honor and fermented his resolve to have her—steal her away from the villain!

She appeared startled by his remark, and she asked hesitantly, “Do you know him?”

“Of him
, my lady …” Breslyn frowned darkly and then looked about. “But you are not near enough to have walked from Dumfries?” He knew better but meant to lead her where he wanted to go.

She smiled, and it was genuine. “No, I am visiting with my family. My father is Laird of Belfor and has been ill. We—I was clan MacClean.”

Breslyn grinned. “I am sorry to hear about your da, but this is quite wonderful for I do know your brother Storm MacClean. Met him only a few weeks past, and we struck up a quick friendship. Odd name—Storm.”

She laughed. “Yes, he was born in the midst of a raging gale, and his name suits him, I think.”

Breslyn looked up at the dark clouds moving in and offered, “My lady, I fear we are about to have a shower. Let me give you a ride home … and keep you dry.” Breslyn watched her flitting thoughts cross her beauteous face and made a decision. He picked her up before she could answer, set her side saddle on his horse, and jumped nimbly up behind her to whisper in her ear, “It is upon us.” So saying he urged his horse forward and worked him into a gentle canter across the open field.

All at once she laughed right out loud and accepted her situation to ask, “But who are you?”

“I am Breslyn, Pri—” He corrected himself. “Lord of Dagda.”

* * *

He is like a god—this Laird of Dagda. Where did he come from? His accent soothing as it is sounds arcane in tone, and it is mesmerizing and seductive. He isn’t a Scot, of that I am certain.
Chartelle’s thoughts
slammed into one another as she leaned against him in the soft leather saddle
.

His height—oh my—is exceptional, his body muscular and scarcely concealed in his leather tunic and trews. His trews … unusual … form fitting his long strong legs …

He is so handsome … so very unusually handsome, and his eyes of silver sparkle and make me forget …

He radiates intelligence. He emits sensuality … he seems somehow ‘otherworldly’, and he causes my body to tremble … with … no … I am a married woman, and yet …

His eyes make me burn … and the color of his long, dark blonde hair seems streaked with gold. I like the manner in which he ties it at the back of his neck. His smile charms me and makes me feel young and free again—and his arms around me make me feel more than safe. They make me feel like the woman my husband has never made me feel—and I must be a wanton creature to endure these thoughts!

But—my husband? It is a lie—the life we lead. He has his boys—children really—the serving boy I saw him take into his room the other day could not have been more than ten!
 
He is disgusting! At least he no longer touches me now that we have a son. I can’t bear that my son is his … John, beautiful John, named for my father. He is the only thing that makes my life bearable at Dumfries …

My home has always been Belfor. In my heart, it is still. It is magical … it has been home to Druid priests for centuries. It whispers tales of our history with its turrets and its balustrade that looms high in the distance against the dark, misty sky and craggy landscape. I love it so.

I have accepted many things from a husband who will never love me and who I will never love, but there is one thing I cannot accept—he might be a traitor. And I must never leave him alone with our son … it worries me to distraction. And, if he has as I fear betrayed Robert the Bruce … if he is a traitor … what then shall I do?

She felt Breslyn gently slow his horse to a complete halt, and she turned to look up at his handsome face. What she saw there sent a flurry of desire through her body. “Why have you stopped …?”

“Because I must—forgive me, beauty, but I cannot proceed without taking a liberty …” Breslyn’s hold on her tightened as he bent and leaned in to put his lips softly against hers.

His tongue sweetly parted her lips and teased her for an introduction. Chartelle immediately surrendered to him. She was young and had been yearning for more, and Breslyn was everything she had dreamt of …

His kiss sent tremors rushing through her body, and she pressed into him, wanting more. Chartelle had never been kissed like that before.

Burning
! Her body sizzled and crackled and demanded more of the same. She didn’t, couldn’t chastise herself. She couldn’t, didn’t make excuses for caving to temptation. She was too lost in the ‘wanting’ and ready to forgive herself for taking.

When Breslyn gently pulled away and rested his chin on her lovely head, she felt a wave of yearning for more until she heard his husky voice utter, “Chartelle, I promise I will never harm you, but I tell you here and now—you are mine, and I make my declaration to you. There will no longer be any other for you—
only me!
There is no husband … there is no other …
only me
.”

Oddly enough, it was what she had been wishing for, only him. She had felt from the moment she saw him a connection, as though she was meant for this laird who had arrived out of nowhere. However, the realist in her knew she was still stuck in a loveless marriage, and she had a son she had to protect. She hesitated and then offered worriedly, “My son … I have a son …”

“He is part of who you are, and I will protect you both. Mark me in this, Chartelle.”

“It is so strange … you here now … I wish we had met three years ago … I wish … but then, I don’t know how you even know my name.”

“Your brother spoke of you.”

“I … I am a shameful creature … a married woman …” She avoided his eye.

He took her chin and forced her to look up at him. “You could never wear the mantle of shame. You are perfection in my eyes, and that is all that will matter, but I promise you, Chartelle, you will not be married for long.”

“What mean you?”

“I mean to make a widow of you,” Breslyn snapped irritably.

She pulled back and looked sharply at him as though looking for the truth on his face. Breslyn sighed and cupped her cheek with his open hand. “No, my lady, as much as I wish it, and am capable of it, I shall not kill the father of your son. I wouldn’t do that—because I mean to be in his life as well as yours. And even so, you shall be mine.”

“You must not say anymore. Take me home … please, Laird of Dagda,” she said softly, turning away from him; however, his touch, his hold, the memory of the feel of his mouth on hers still made her body tremble.

He turned her back to face him. “Do not fear me—do not fear this. It is what it is, and I shall protect you from all others. Do you believe me, Chartelle? Tell me that you believe me.”

“
This moves too fast …”

“Your lives move too fast, and they are over too fast. I don’t mean to allow you to waste it …” Breslyn said nearly under his breath.

“What mean you?
Our lives
? You speak in riddles as though you are not a part of …” Chartelle looked deeply into his eyes, and a whisper made its way through her brain, but she swooshed it away. “This is all nonsense … you must not make of me a fallen woman.”

“I will not. I will raise you up and make you mine. You are above all other women. No man will challenge me when I take you for my own.”

“Stop this foolish talk … please—you frighten me. You present me with a future that is uncertain at a time when so much of my life is falling apart. ”

* * *

Nothing could have silenced him faster. The prince realized he had moved in too quickly. His need to savor every moment with her because human life was over so swiftly had led him to rush her.

What he wanted was to make her feel safe and comforted. He wanted to reassure her but all the while set a stage where he could openly take her for his own and make her happy. He would not allow her to return to Francis Bouthe of Dumfries. That simply was not an option. Chartelle would be his before the night came and went, the consequences be damned!

He looked up at that moment and saw Castle Belfor at the ridge of the craggy hill. He smiled. The feudal structure was stunning in the mist with its turrets, pinnacles, and carved walkways between the balustrades. He could see that the MacClean clan was a wealthy one from the flurry of military activity, the marching and jousting outside the oversized and open arched gateway. Just inside were the outbuildings that housed a huge garrison of soldiers, all busy, some of whom were patrolling the buildings’ surrounding rooftop walkways.

He smiled as he urged his horse forward, excited at the prospect of mingling and interacting with the men he was about to help lead against Edward II of England.

He saw the look of surprise on some of the soldiers’ faces as he rode by with the laird’s daughter in the saddle before him and grinned to himself.

He slowed his horse to a walk inside and past the outbuildings that garrisoned the soldiers. An enormous courtyard full with servants and soldiers alike, all going about their chores of the day, met them as he weaved his horse through the crowd towards the feudal stables.

Just outside one of the stone-built barns, Breslyn jumped nimbly down and reached for Chartelle, taking her small waist into his hands and allowing her to slide down against his body. He whispered in her ear and had the satisfaction of hearing her breathe harder.

A young groom came rushing forward to take his horse, and Breslyn hesitated only a moment as he whispered to his stallion in ancient Danu and turned to the groom. “He’ll want the open field after he has been fed. Let him have it. He’ll come to me when I want him, fear not.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide, but he wasn’t arguing with anyone the size and statue of the man who stood before him. Breslyn laughed and slipped the boy a few hefty coins. “Feed yourself and your family well tonight. Now off with you.”

Chartelle had been staring at the prince with admiration, and she said on a quiet note, “You are generous and kind … thank you.”

Breslyn took her hand and kissed it long and lovingly. “Now lead me … wither thou goest …”

She laughed and tried to take her hand away from his, but he would not let go. Finally she scrunched up her beauteous face and pleaded, “Please, my laird, people will see.”

“Breslyn … I am Breslyn to you, for always, and I care not for what people see or don’t see.”

“For me then, Breslyn … everyone will look askance …”

He shrugged. “’Tis of no consequence. I mean to make my claim.”

“You cannot … I am married. I have never heard of anything—”

“And still I shall make my claim.”

They reached the two ornately embossed oak doors that were flung open before they could bang the knocker. Chartelle smiled impishly. “They must have been watching from the windows.
You 
…
your horse
and the manner in which we arrived has made quite a stir.”

They were met at the arched double doors by an elderly, plump woman in a dark gray fustian smock with a wimple held to her brow with a simple fillet. The light cotton wimple hid most of her gray curls although some peeped out. She stood smiling warmly just off the doorway while making affectionate baby sounds to the boy she jiggled in her ample arms.

The child saw his mother and reached out with his arms as he giggled a welcome. Chartelle took him at once and made strange cooing words as she kissed his face until the child screamed with delight.