MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) (44 page)

Chapter Five

In the five locations around town that had the basements, Faolan assigned a few soldiers to each destination. This ensured that the British were attacked from multiple different angles, and were confused at every turn. Perhaps this was a dirty trick, but Faolan wasn't going to fight fair with men who were trying to steal his homeland away from him.

When the Brits did come, their announcement was the whinny of dying horses being impaled on the traps that everyone worked so hard to lay. However, that simple trap didn't stop the invading force, though it did cull some of their number. Agnes could only hope that the number that were removed from the force were enough to give the small town a fighting chance.

As the sounds of the British exploring the land above them became more obvious, the soldiers all prepared to attack, though they had strict orders not to strike until it was three in the afternoon, which would turn out to be a mere half hour after the British arrived. It was important to work as a team and get the job done with as few casualties as possible. To maximize that, they had to all attack at the same time, and in as coordinated a manner as possible.

The tension, excitement, and the fear, these were all in the air, just as tangible as anything. Agnes particularly felt this because Faolan was in her location, and he was intensely worried about the upcoming battle. However, this worry wasn't nearly as disconcerting as the screaming that she heard pour out of his throat when the time was upon them. This noise was somewhere between a human yell and a guttural howl from a wolf. The unholy sound was inexplicable until she saw that fur had begun to sprout from Faolan's body, and he slowly began hunching over until he was a beast on four legs.

Faolan became the largest wolf that she'd ever seen in her life within minutes. Agnes couldn't believe her eyes, even as she saw Faolan bark to address his men, and then hasten out onto the field. For a moment, Agnes was dumbstruck, but she wasn't going to let these soldiers fight all by themselves. So, she followed the soldiers out mere minutes after they left, and found them on the battle field, plunging spears and swords into one another. From the corpse of a British soldier, Agnes took a spear and joined into the fray.

Agnes was able to kill one Brit by driving the spear into his head while he was still confusedly processing the information that a woman was on the battlefield before him. This was one instance in which sexism actually paid off for. However, the dumb luck she had in her first battle dried up incredibly quickly, and she was soon surrounded by men with spears.

"This is the end," Agnes said softly to herself. "So much for Divine Providence. Well, God, take me when you will, I am yours," Agnes supplicated, wanting her last words on the planet to be in the glory of the creator. While at some point in the future, they may well have been, as she closed her eyes and covered her heart with her hands, the awful sound of screaming and bone crunching echoed around her.             

Agnes opened her eyes and looked around to see that Faolan had protected her from the terrible fate. It was incredible. However, she knew she couldn't continue this battle, and so she ran into the house that she had left and hid there until after the battle was concluded.

Chapter Six

"It looks to me like both of us managed to save the other's hide at some point. If you hadn’t given us the idea for the traps, I doubt we would have won," Faolan said, once they were back at his abode after a successful defense against the British scum.

"And if it weren't for your . . . power, then I know I would have been long gone. Thank you," Agnes said in an unusually gentle and friendly tone. "I owe you my life, Faolan."             

"And everyone in town owes you theirs," Faolan replied confidently,

"No, they only
maybe
owe me their lives. You
definitely
saved mine, Faolan. How did you, or how can you do what you do? With the transforming?" she asked.

"Well, it's always run on my dad's side of the family. The oldest son becomes the heir for this power. The son then carries on the bloodline," Faolan replied.

"That's fascinating," Agnes said, and then a silence ensued while they ate their food and relaxed.

"I thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. The disrespect I showed you before was unconscionable," Faolan said, but Agnes just scooted closer to him and put her hand over his. "I understand how you must feel I bossed you around and you aren't used to a woman doing that. Yet, I was good at it, so you had a hard time refusing me. I understand why that put you in a difficult dilemma," Agnes replied softly.

Faolan didn't know what to make of this advance, but he had to admit, he was attracted to this strong, shapely, powerful woman. He'd never known another woman like her.

He slowly leaned in to give Agnes a kiss, simply to test the waters. Agnes responded by letting out a contented sigh and returning the kiss.

"Agnes, I don't want to ever lose you. You managed to do some incredible things while you were in control," Faolan said, but Agnes interrupted him with a kiss.

"No talking now," she said, breathless. She felt such an attraction to Faolan, even if he did annoy her on more than one occasion during her stay in this little town. He would get better, and see her in a more fair light. Of this, Agnes was sure.

"Will you stay with me, if we do this? Will we work together from now on?" Faolan asked. to Agnes, he seemed more womanly than she did by fretting over whether or not they were getting ready to do what they were getting ready to do out of feelings of love or lust. For Agnes, it was admittedly more of the latter motivation, but she was very fond of Faolan.

"Just don't go changing into a dog on me," Agnes replied and locked her lips with Faolan’s. Though he was shy, like a smiling virgin, he did know how to give Agnes what she wanted when he got into the rhythm of it. His hands began to gradually wander after they had been kissing for a fair while, and they explored her body. He massaged her love handles, ran his fingers over her plump but pleasant stomach, and then rested his hands on her breasts.

He spent ample time massaging her breasts and giving them all the attention they deserved, Agnes all the while moaning out in pleasure. The cottage next to them would undoubtedly hear what they were doing and instantly know what they were up to. However, as caught up in the moment as they were, neither could bring themselves to care.

After doing a thorough exploration of her body, which Agnes wished she could have compensated this fine gentleman for doing, he threw off his own clothes. Agnes’ had long ago been discarded.

Faolan began to gently run his fingers along Agnes' engorged clitoris to stimulate it further. The feeling was so electrifying, so incredibly good, Agnes nearly screamed out in rapture as she enjoyed the sensation. That wasn't to last long, however, because once Faolan managed to loosen up Agnes enough with his fingers, he slowly inserted his cock into her entrance.

The moan she made after that was followed by a series of quick and shallow breaths, obviously trying to cope with the feeling of pleasure that she was experiencing, which was new to her entirely. Those sensations only got better as Faolan picked up speed and began stroking her clitoris as he continued to fuck her. She screamed out in ecstasy as she felt her lower body contract and a wave of white-hot pleasure wash over her. She convulsed in that pleasure and shivered slightly when she was done.

Faolan, being a virgin, had never seen anything like this. So, he stopped thrusting and continuously asked Agnes if she was okay, though Agnes didn't reply until she was finished riding out the waves of her orgasm.

"I . . ." she began, but didn't finish right away. She was too busy catching her breath from all the moaning she had been doing. "I'm okay. You keep going," Agnes encouraged, wanting him to finish as well.

Faolan didn't need to be told twice, and so he kept thrusting until he came, then curled up with Agnes in his arms like a puppy.

"You're going to stay with me, and help me fight, right?" Faolan asked.

"As long as you marry me, then yes. You do plan on marrying me, right?" Agnes replied, meeting his question with one of her own.

"Of course," Faolan said with a chuckle. He wouldn't do it any other way.

Loving the Enemy

Chapter 1

“Izzy! Izzy, lass!”

Isobel Darrow glanced up from her lap where she was trying not to prick herself as she patched up her brother’s leather spaulder. Between the four of her brothers, she’d patched up twelve knife cuts and six sword slashes in the last month. It was a wonder they didn’t leak like sieves at this point. She’d patched two for herself, but that hardly mattered.

Her brother Lundy was bounding up the steps toward her.

“I told you yesterday,” she began before he could speak. “I’ll have it finished by tonight. The sun is yet high, Lundy.”

“Not the leather, Iz,” he said, taking the spaulder from her hand and tossing it aside. “Fraser wants to see you. Now.”

Isobel shot to her feet, hands moving instinctively to pat her wild, fiercely red hair, making sure none of it had escaped its bonds. If the commander wanted to see her right away, it couldn’t be good. She tried to think back over her actions of the past few days, searching her memory for anything that might have caused trouble enough to warrant Fraser’s attention. She could find nothing.

Outside Fraser’s tent, she paused, calming herself for only a moment before pushing the flap aside and  poking her head in. Fraser was sat at his desk, bent over maps and letters, frowning between them. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

He looked up, momentarily confused. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “Aye, lass. Come in.”

She stepped into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind her.

Fraser moved a stack of letters, covering something on the map. “I’ve a mission for you, Izzy girl.”

There were not many women under Fraser’s command, but those there were had come to expect the utmost respect from Fraser. He never judged a soldier by anything more or less than what they did under his command, and he never treated his women any different from his men.

Izzy’s only exception came that when they were alone together, Fraser allowed himself to set formality aside and act like the man she’d known her whole life, who’d watched out for her mother and the boys after her father was killed.

“What’s the mission?” Izzy asked, eyes bright with anticipation.

“I need a message brought to Alistair Finley in Carlisle. I need it there fast, and I need someone who can go through Carlisle without suspicion.”

“You need a woman,” Isobel surmised.

“I need a woman who knows how important this is and won’t slide a dagger through the first Englishman with something nasty to say about the Bruce.”

Isobel straightened, her eyes flashing.

“Now, Izzy,” Fraser said, pulling himself to his feet. He was an impressive figure of a man, still fit and broad as a boulder. Isobel sometimes forgot he was old enough to be her father. “I mean you no disrespect. But your temper does get the better of you.”

“Not so as I’d betray Scotland,” she protested.

Fraser smiled. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear. You’ll leave immediately.”

He pulled a sealed letter from the pile on his desk and held it out for her. She strode to the desk and took it, sliding it into the folds of her skirt. “No one but Finley sees that, lass.”

“Aye,” she answered. “I know.”

Fraser came out from behind the desk and reached an arm toward her. At first Isobel thought he meant to embrace her, but his hand dropped to her belt and pulled her dagger from it. “You’re traveling as a young farmgirl, visiting family, not an armed assassin.”

“You can’t expect me to go unarmed,” Isobel sputtered.

“No, but I can expect you to conceal your weapons better. No one can question you, Izzy. Not if you’re to make it there and back in time.”

She frowned as she took the dagger back from him. It was clear Fraser didn’t truly trust her. She wondered idly if he were granting a favor to one of her brothers. It hardly mattered. She’d prove herself on her own feet. “I’ll not disappoint you, sir,” she promised, and when he dismissed her, she marched from his tent, a determined glint in her eye and a fierce grin on her face.

#

The horse she took from camp was not quite their fastest, but he carried himself lightly enough with only Isobel on his back, and he was sturdy enough she’d not need to rest as much.

The first time she dismounted, she was already saddle sore, though she’d been sitting horses since she could hold herself upright. She led the horse some distance from the road and watered him in a stream before securing him and letting herself drink as well. She took a moment to wash her face, the cool water refreshing her better than anything else would. As she bent to take another handful, she heard a twig snap behind her.

In a moment, she had her dirk unsheathed and had spun toward the sound. What she saw astonished her so that she froze in shock. There was a man by her horse, a hand on the beast’s neck, rubbing and murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear. This was strange enough. What was worse was the crest he wore on his livery: Blackwell. He was English.

“Damn,” he said quietly as he looked over at her, his eyes flicking from her face to her knife and back again. “I was really hoping to be mounted before you noticed me.”

“Step away from my horse,” she said, inching closer, watching him carefully, lest he managed to get the creature untied before she reached him.

“Now, you see...I’d like to do that. I really would. But I need this horse.”

“Step away from my horse,” she repeated, slowly enunciating each word. “Or you’ll feel the bite of a Scottish blade in your soft, English belly.”

“I really wish you hadn’t complicated things so,” he said, and she was taken aback by the genuine regret in his tone just before he leapt toward her. She held the blade in front of her, bringing it down in a sharp arc, meaning to warn him off. She might have been armed, but he far outmatched her in size, and she’d not hold up long against him in a proper fight.

Though he’d moved shoulders first, breaching the distance between them in a flash, it was his foot that shot out to strike at Isobel’s knee. She saw the feint just in time, but he still caught her hard on the shin, and she dropped too quickly to catch her balance again, finding her face full of golden leaves.

By the time she dragged herself to her feet, he’d reached the horse, slicing its reins with a dagger rather than waste time untying them. Izzy charged, knife outstretched, and the horse reared hard. Without reins to help his balance, the man was thrown, and he hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Chapter 2

William Davenport woke with a pounding head to find himself staring into flashing green eyes set in a face so fierce and beautiful it could have belonged to one of the Fair Folk in the tales his mother told him as a child. The effect was spoiled by the tangle of violently red hair that surrounded her face, falling out of its braid in places and decorated with stray leaves, likely from when he’d knocked her to the ground.

He hadn’t wanted to. It was against William’s nature and his upbringing to hurt a woman, but he had a mission to complete, and he’d heard tales of Scottish women so wild they fought alongside their men. His own captain had lost an eye to one in their last battle.

For a moment after he woke, they both simply stared at each other, wariness in their gazes, feeling out the enemy.

The girl spoke first. “The penalty for horse thieving’s the same here as in England,” she pointed out.

“Are you going to string me up, then?” he asked, attempting to push himself upright before he realized she’d secured his hands behind him.

“Do you think I couldn’t manage it?” She nudged his leg with her foot. “You’re hardly more than a slip of a thing. ‘Twould be no trouble at all.”

“But you haven’t,” William pointed out. “You don’t want to kill me.”

“If it would keep the English off our lands, I’d slit the throat of every one of you.” Something in the fierceness of those green eyes made him believe her.

And yet.

“But you don’t want to. You’re not a murderer, and the job doesn’t come easily to you.”

“Keep talking and see how easily it comes,” she said, stepping closer with her dagger drawn.

William shrugged as best as he could manage. He thought he had her worked out, but there was no reason to prod until she snapped. He still had a mission to complete, and he couldn’t do that if he were dead.

She nodded at his lack of response as if satisfied he’d behave for the moment, then she settled herself down on a rock to watch him.

It was a long moment of tense silence, and William took the opportunity to get a sense for his surroundings. Behind the girl, he could see her horse, tethered to a tree with a bit of rope woven through its bridle. He was glad the beast hadn’t run off without its reins. He’d need it still if he were going to escape.

He thought they must be near enough to a road if she were watering her horse here. That was good as well; he’d come this far over open country, but he didn’t know the area this far north well enough to keep on that way. He’d have to take to the roads eventually, which meant he’d have to hide his livery. Blackwell’s man would be an easy mark for anyone with a distaste for the English, which seemed to be most Scots he’d encountered, and since he’d been tasked with stirring up whatever dissent he could find among the ranks, making them doubt and distrust one another and especially Robert, he would have to disguise himself anyway he could manage.

His eyes came back to the girl. She was still watching him, determination in her gaze, like he was a riddle to be solved. Perhaps if he could manage to overpower her, he could steal the tartan she wore across her shoulder and fashion something suitable out of it, something that would hide his identity.

As his gaze followed the length of fabric, trying to determine where it began, where he could unwind it, his mind followed a much more pleasant path, pondering what he would find as he unfurled the fabric from her form.

Despite her earlier words, she was quite smaller than him. He was no mountain of man like many of the Scots he’d seen fighting, but he was sturdy for his youth, muscled as necessary for a message runner. He was tall as well, tall enough to be mocked for it from time to time. The girl came maybe to his shoulders, and her form was slim and willowy. Even the rough-spun dress she wore didn’t hide the narrow hips and pert breasts beneath it. She was almost more boy than girl, but William had enough experience to know that revealing her pale skin under his touch would be no less pleasant for it.

It was only when she stood suddenly, indignation in her gaze, that he realized he must have been staring.

“Forgive me,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t spur her to anger again. “We don’t have many women in our camps. I was simply enjoying the change of scenery.”

Her expression remained fierce, but her cheeks flushed, turning creamy skin to pink, and William’s eyes followed the spread of it to where it disappeared beneath her dress before flicking quickly back up to her face.

“There’s not a man in Scotland who wouldn’t strike your head from your shoulders for looking at me so,” she said, but there was a wavering in her voice that spoke to something other than anger.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” William said, as contrite as he could manage.

She scoffed. “I’m no fine lady for you to speak to me so.”

“But you’ve given me no other name to call you,” he pointed out. Perhaps if he could get her talking, she’d let her guard down, and he’d find a means of escape.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Miss Darrow is acceptable.”

“Very well, Miss Darrow,” he said. “My name is Davenport.”

He could see from her expression that she didn’t believe him, but that hardly mattered just now.

“Where is it you come from, Miss Darrow?” he asked, finally managing to shift himself onto his knees.

“Why should you care to know?”

He shrugged. “It seemed a way to pass the time if you’re going to keep me on my knees forever.”

As she looked at him, it seemed to William she made up her mind about something. She gave a sharp nod and approached him, dagger outstretched, held beneath his chin. “Stand.”

His eyes on hers, he slowly rose to his feet. Her dagger stayed where it had been and ended up pressed against his belly, just enough to remind him how close it was.

“I’m not sure I can mount without the use of my arms,” he said, keeping his tone light and easy.

“You’ll walk,” she said, leading him to the horse and taking a rope from her pack.

“I’ll only slow you down.”

“I can afford the time,” she answered, but she didn’t quite seem sure of that. Her movements were ginger, and he saw that she favored one leg. He must have kicked her harder than he’d thought.