My Cursed Highlander (7 page)

Self-pity hung heavy on his face. "I fear I am living the end."

"Does your soothsayer know what happened to the other woman?" Viviana offered him no sympathy. Instead, she displayed her intelligence through her inquisition.

"Noreen said she left Scotland with the amulet and the chieftain's unborn child tucked safely in her womb." Taveon dressed Viviana's small wound with a bit of dry cloth.

"And she came to Italy?" Viviana guessed.

"Mayhap."

Viviana pulled her hand away from him when his task was complete. "And what became of Elise?"

"She died giving birth to a son the same as all the brides of Clan Kraig since." He hadn't needed Noreen's leaves to answer that question. The burial ground at Ravenhurst recorded their deaths.

"And you fear your sister-in-law will suffer the same fate?"

"I know she will. Cora-Rose is already tainted with my brother's seed and every day she carries Keegan's bairn is one day less she will live."

"Then Cora-Rose is the reason you wish to break the curse?"

"For her," Taveon closed his eyes, trying to steel his emotions, "and for my daughter."

"And your wife?"

"I never married." The guilt still clung to his conscience. A combination of his lust and irresponsibility had cost a beautiful young woman her life. "My kinsmen fought alongside the lowlanders at King James's appeal for more than a year in Berwickshire. I met Nessa there. She helped deliver food into the camps for the warriors during the day and worked in the tippling house at night."

"And you laid with her."

"Aye." 'Twas one of many mistakes he'd made in his life. "Nessa gave birth to Makayla in the tippling house and died two days after. I returned to Ravenhurst with my infant daughter on a ship riddled with disease and dying Scotsmen. 'Twas only by the grace of God Makayla survived." Taveon warmed inside with thoughts of Poppet. He missed her. "Makayla is six summers now and the only female to descend from the direct line of Kael Kraig."
She is my everything.

Viviana removed the blood spattered smock and tossed it in the corner. He could only assume she'd intended to hit the bin filled with matching gray garments, but didn't. He crossed the chamber and retrieved the smock from the dusty floor and dropped it in the bin for the laundress. When he returned to Viviana's side, she was holding the square cloth Makayla had embroidered for him before he'd left Ravenhurst.

"I presume you'll be wanting this back." She set the trivial gift in his hand, and he folded his fingers over hers.

Her soft tone lifted Taveon's spirits as did the way he could once again see the shadowed crevice between her breasts. God bless the Italians for swooping necklines. The way the woman misaligned the buttons of her gown was not only endearing, but fetching.

"Laird Kraig, had I accepted your offer of marriage, would you have wanted an heir?"

Tearing his gaze from her bodice, he looked into her distant eyes. The woman claimed to be barren. He saw no point to her question and suddenly felt as though she intended to trap him. He needed to practice caution. "I have an heir."

"You have a daughter. Do you not want a son to bear your name?"

"I verra much would have liked a son," he admitted freely unable to see the direction of her inquisition.

"Then I suppose you would have taken a mistress because forcing a child on a peasant whore would fit nicely into your guilt-free conscience."

"Nay!" Angered by her accusation, he grabbed her arm when she tried to rush passed him.

"Release me. Go back to Madame Bianca's where the women are willing to die for a romp in your bed."

He let her go and watched the ripple of her plum skirt as she floated toward the door. How in the name of Zeus could she possibly know he was staying at the bawdy house? The lassie was smart, which forced him to be sharp of wit. "I do not romp with drabs. I'm fully aware of the repercussions of my curse. 'Tis why I'm careful not to spend myself inside a woman."

"The same way your brother was careful, or does he care so little for his wife that he would seal her fate to ease his needs?"

Her words invoked feelings of guilt he'd lived with his entire life. "Keegan loves Cora-Rose." Taveon defended his brother, yet condemned him for his selfishness. Had his brother practiced caution, Taveon would not be faced with such timeliness to break the curse.

Eyes glazed on nothingness, Viviana stood beside the entrance. "Get out. You insult my intelligence if you think I am so naïve to believe you would be faithful to a blind, barren woman."

She might consider herself of no worth, but he saw a strength inside her he wanted to touch. Mayhap her spunk made him want her, or mayhap her denial. Regardless of what drew him to her, he was nigh itching in his skin to touch her. He strode toward the open doorway, but slipped in behind her instead of leaving. He curled one hand around her waist and flushed himself to her curvaceous backside. His cock tingled inside his braies, and his thick sac tightened between his thighs. "If I had ye in my bed, 'tis doubtful I would have need for another."

She sucked in air and dug her tiny nails into his arm.

Ignoring the little dirks piercing his skin, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and kissed the rapidly beating pulse in her neck. "Oh, the things I could have shown ye."

She shivered. "Do not speak to me as if I'm some innocent virgin." Her voice squeaked, and she squirmed against him. "I have suffered the burden of the marriage bed twice."

"If you found the marriage bed a burden, then your former husbands were not doing it right." Arrogance drove his words, and lust encouraged his actions.

Viviana closed her eyes. Her lips parted and her weight settled ever so slightly against him. "Laird Kraig—" Her words broke off when he slipped his hand into her bodice and cupped her breast.

It was everything he'd imagined—full, heavy, aroused.

"Laird Kraig!" Her hands turned to fists. The tremor that wracked her body only encouraged him.

He rolled her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger and bit the outer edge of her ear. "We could have been good together. You and I."

"Viviana?" A sharp angry voice coming from the doorway doused Taveon's seduction like water to a flame.

He made eye contact with a red-faced Lorenzo the same moment Viviana jerked in his arms.

"Messer Lorenzo!" She batted at Taveon's hand still dipped into her gown.

"Shite!" None too gently, Taveon ripped his hand from her favors and put a respectable distance between them.

"I see you have decided to marry the Scotsman after all." Lorenzo looked down his flaring nose at her. "I will see that the arrangements are made."

"No!" she pleaded and shimmied herself back into her bodice. "
Per favore, no. Non è che cosa pensate. Lo scotsman era andare giusto...
" Viviana launched into the Tuscan dialect. Her words spilled from her mouth so quickly Taveon could only understand one word in five.

Shite. Shite. Shite!
He should have turned left. He opened his mouth and waited for a pause to add to her argument, but neither she, nor Lorenzo paid him any concern. The woman had obviously made her decision. She wanted no part of a marriage to him.

He could hardly blame her. She lived like a princess here in Italy. He was selfish to want her for his own. 'Twas best he leave and set her from his mind.

Taveon slipped around Lorenzo and into the corridor, leaving the two Italians in a heated debate.

"You will abide by my wishes!" Lorenzo's voice boomed throughout the corridor and stilled Taveon's flight.

He rubbed his eyes and inhaled the citrus scent lingering on his person. His fingers still tingled where he'd touched her skin.

A hum vibrated through him. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Leave her.

He glanced back. "Fare the well, Venus."

He moved quickly through the palace and into the courtyard abuzz with activity. The courtiers danced via torchlight to the tune set by an ensemble of musicians; a lute player, a string player, and a minstrel. Every attendant was garbed in the finest silks and decorated with expensive baubles. He slowed beside a table laden with viands.

"Good eve," an elderly man greeted him while he ate a quince sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

Taveon dipped his head in reply. A whole calf's head, gilded and silvered, sat in the center surrounded by olives as a condiment. This world suited Viviana far better than a land so boggy a man couldn't grow a turnip. Half his clan would leave if they had anywhere else to go. 'Twas not a place for a woman of her breeding.

He stuffed a few peppery olives in his mouth, hoping to free himself of her taste, then took the downward steps into the orchard.

A nicker and neigh greeted him as he entered the stable and located the stall housing his speckled mare. He fastened the bridle and led the horse from the stall just as a rush of footsteps drew his attention. Ten armed Medici sentries outfitted in gold and crimson marched in time and filled the wide aisle, each resting his hand on the pommel of his weapon.

The guard leading the small battalion drew his sword.

Taveon looked behind him.

The stable was vacant, save for him.

"Damn-it-to-Hell!" He unsheathed the two weapons he had on his person. Where was Monroe when he needed him?

The remaining nine guards wrenched their swords from their scabbards with a screeching hiss and stared at him with intent.

Taveon's eyelids stretched wide. His pulse quickened. He studied his opponents and wished for his broadsword. Since entering this peaceful nation, he hadn't had need for such weaponry.

Until now.

"Surrender your weapons," the guard at the forefront ordered.

Not one of them matched his size, but their numbers tipped the scale in their favor. This was not going to end well. Determined to outwit them, he twirled his dirks in unison, making a show of his expertise.

"You are outnumbered,
Signore
Kraig. Stand down." The Medici leader demanded while the other sentries formed a circle around Taveon.

"I think I'll fight, if it's all the same to ye." He took a warrior's stance; knees and elbows bent, eyes narrowed, senses alert. His muscles flexed, waiting for them to act first.

A droplet of sweat fell from the leader's temple. A breath later, an odd noise came from the back of the man's throat just before he advanced, sword drawn.

Taveon battled steel with the Medici guard, but only briefly as he was attacked from behind. A rope looped around his neck. He sliced his dirk in an arc, but before he could draw blood, he was rendered immobile. Human binds clamped his arms and legs. He struggled, pulling all four men into his chest, but a blow to his back brought him to his knees. A fist caught him in the jaw, vibrating his back teeth. Then a jab to his gut pushed the air from his lungs.

The slow rusty taste of blood pooled over his tongue as the Medici guards took turns playing havoc with his body.

"Enough." The wayward voice sounded distant, but was most welcome.

Chest heaving, muscles throbbing, Taveon raised his head and spit a mouthful of blood onto the tips of Lorenzo the Magnificent's expensive calfskin boots.

"Filthy savage." Lorenzo reached inside Taveon's doublet and retrieved the amulet. He held the stone in front of Taveon's face. "Viviana decided to accept your proposal. You will show up at Santa Reparata on the Sabbath, dressed in your finest garb. After you speak your vows, you may have the stone back as part of Viviana's dowry. I might add that it would be in your best interests to make her happy."

"And if I refuse?"

"You will not leave Italy alive." Lorenzo stood upright, spun on his heel, and left.

The Medici guards dumped Taveon onto the ground and followed their leader out of the stable.

"Ouish." He exhaled, moaned, and hugged his aching ribs.

He should have turned left.3

Chapter 5

"Ye look like Venus herself wrapped in a pool of buttermilk silk." Goliath's tone grated over Viviana's skin as Lorenzo handed her over to Laird Kraig at the altar.

"I would not know," she bit out between grinding teeth and dug one of the many pearl-tipped pins binding her hair out of her skull. Lorenzo had assured her Laird Kraig wouldn't abandon her at the altar. Why Lorenzo was so confident, she didn't know. The Scot had what he came for. It would have been simple to leave Firenze with the amulet and without the burden of an unwanted wife. Yet, here he was, holding her hand and speaking sweet words to her as if he'd courted her properly.

A final chord echoed throughout the dome of Santa Reparata and rang in her ears while the heavy train of her gown weighted down her shoulders. Lorenzo had spared no coin on the ceremony, regardless of the three days she'd spent begging him to cease the wedding.

Propriety, morality, and inappropriate conduct were a few of the choice words Lorenzo had tossed around while denying her undignified pleas.

The loud shuffling of attendants behind her told Viviana all of Firenze turned out to witness the lavish display of Medici wealth. The courtiers undoubtedly whispered their praise regarding Lorenzo
il Magnifico's
generosity. Their great patron was certain to be hailed for graciously finding his blind, barren ward yet another husband.