Seduced (17 page)

He sighed and leaned forward to brace his
hands on her chair's arms.

"You must. Stephen wants Northumbria to wed
with Scotland. He needs peace between the two countries. And Symon
de Mortimer has been his lifetime friend. He requested that his son
be given lands in Northumbria."

"There are other lands he can have. Surely
some other men could also deserve the honors?"

"Aye. There are."

"There are other manors, too. Why must Raik
have this one?" She was so rigid he feared she was about to
cry.

"Because Stephen decided it was to be
so."

He stood back and folded his arms across his
chest. Letia jumped up, spilling the parchments from her lap.

"Wife! I have agreed."

His voice thundered through the room. Never
had he used that tone to her.

Letia started, looking surprised. Hurt.

He had no choice. If she kept fighting the
idea, she would make herself ill.

"Would you rather be under Julian of
Chatton's thumb?"

His voice was as cold as he could make it.
Resignation began to cloud her eyes. Her head lowered until her
chin near touching her chest.

"Raik is a young man. A strong man." His
voice softened. "He will protect you against Julian and men like
him. And you will have the added protection of the Black
Raptor."

Letia gave a slight shrug, lifting her gaze
to stare past his shoulders at the far wall.

"By wedding Raik, you will become part of
Ranald's family. Cousin to him and Catalin. Of all the men you
could wed, this one Scotsman brings more protection than anyone
else in the kingdom."

A shudder racked her as she took a deep
breath.

"Accustom yourself to it, Letia. The king has
decreed Raik will receive Seton—with or without you."

His chest ached for her. Pained.

'Twas a different pain from that within his
beating heart. Anguish filled his soul.

Freki stirred. Lifted his head. His eyes met
Warin's as the beast's voice rose in a long, mournful howl.

After leaving Seton and his futile search for
his unknown lover, irritation snapped through Raik making his ears
throb and his skin so sensitive it prickled. As if he could dispel
his bad mood, he kicked small rocks and debris from the
cobblestones and stomped up the stone steps, his boots ringing out
as if some giant invaded Hunter Castle's keep.

He burst into the great hall and slammed his
sword and scabbard on the first table within reach.

"Satan's puckered arse!"

Ranald looked up, his brows arched. "What
sparked yer temper, cousin?"

"Letia de Burgh. Who else?"

"Nay. Dinna tell me ye were so foolish as
to..."

"Of course not. Do ye think me an eejit?" He
stopped to toss two bundles down in front of Ranald.

"What is this?"

"Gifts for the bairns. Maud said I was to put
this one in Catalin's hand." He shoved the larger package wrapped
in leather forward. "I am too soiled with travel to go above, so
yer hand will do."

He yanked off his helm and held it, his hands
twitching with the need to slam it against the stone walls. He
would have, too, but seeing Ranald's father leaning back balancing
his chair on its back legs grinning at him, he stopped. No doubt,
Laird Broccin would be pleased to have him give a display of temper
as bad as his own.

He placed the helm on the table, satisfied
with the clatter it made. Not as satisfied as if he'd hurled it,
but still more then if he'd handed it to a squire.

"I rode straight up to Seton's barbican and
demanded entrance."

"De Burgh turned ye away?" Broccin's chair
slammed back on the floor with his surprise.

"Nay. But it took long enough for them to
raise the portcullis whilst I sat there with my arse freezing to
the saddle. It had rained," he said in way of explanation.

"So?"

"It was that woman's doings. Warin's greeting
was hearty enough when he learned I had come to give them news of
your bairns. His wife never showed her face. He claimed a winter
cold kept her confined to bed."

"Ah. I begin to understand. Ye are in a
temper because yer arse freezing to the saddle was caused by Letia
having a cold?"

Ranald's lips twitched, trying to stifle his
chuckles. Raik felt ever more the fool.

"Dinna be addle-brained, cousin," he snapped.
"Warin lied. I saw her lurking on the wall walk when I rode down
the hill and approached the drawbridge. She was in no sickbed."

"As little regard as ye have for the lady, I
dinna see why her avoiding ye would matter?" Ranald tilted his
head.

"'Twas rude. And de Burgh was hiding
something. Every time I approached his solar, that beast Freki
growled from within. I knew she was there. The servants regaled me
with tales of how the beast stayed at her side and didna allow
anyone but Warin within a hand's touch of their lady."

"Ah, then she did not wish to see ye. Why did
ye not simply return after ye gave the baron Catalin's
message?"

"I was not leaving until I found the lass
whose hair smelled of lilies. Did ye know Seton has women aplenty?"
His fingers raked through hair matted by his helmet. "Every time my
nose came close enough to sniff a woman's face, my back prickled. I
know someone watched me."

He stopped when Ranald near doubled over in
laughter. Broccin was as equally amused, judging by the way he
slapped his son on the back and guffawed loudly. Raik widened his
stance and glowered at them. This was a serious quest he had
undertaken, not some whim.

"How else am I going to find the woman?"

"Dinna tell me ye sniffed after every woman
in the keep?" Broccin near gurgled. "'Twas a wonder Warin didna
lock ye in the dungeons for nosing after his women like a hound
smelling a bitch's arse!"

"Huh. Old Maud near severed my head with her
sharp looks. And I know Lady Letia was watching. I could feel her
like she was touching me."

"Ah ha. By yer temper, I take it ye did not
get to sniff out which one of de Burgh's women was yer mystery
lover?" Ranald's face twitched with the need to keep it composed.
His dark eyes danced with mirth.

"Nay. And I couldn't even tup a lass with
Maud popping out of the shadows, from behind curtains or lurking in
the stairwells. One look at her and the lass I was hot to swive
turned tail and ran." He took a deep breath and let it out in a
great huff. "I near stuck my cock in snow to keep it from
bursting."

He wished he'd clamped his teeth on his
tongue when he heard the laughter that statement caused. When he
noted a handful of strange knights wearing the king's livery
drinking at a corner table, his temper changed to curiosity.

He frowned and motioned with his head toward
them. "Why are they here?"

"'Tis good ye returned. They arrived this
morn. King Stephen summons ye to court. They would say no more than
that ye would be gone 'til spring."

o0o

True to the knight's word, on the tenth day
of April, Raik rode as if the hounds of Hell slavered to feast on
his arse. He couldn't get away from the king's court fast enough to
suit him. What was it with Normans? The rooms were so crowded you
jostled someone if you moved without checking behind you.

Not that bumping buttocks was bad if the
other body part happened to belong to one of the court's beauties.
'Twas not so pleasant when he felt a hard shaft nudge his arse
instead. He'd snarled and swung around, ready to blacken some
perfumed fool's eyes.

So many people piled into a shuttered room
should have no need of a lit fireplace. Huh! Even Lucifer would
have felt at home with the heat.

He listened to men laughing and talking as
they rode behind him, heard their saddles creaking and harnesses
jingling, yet he still could not believe they were there. What
would Ranald say when he saw sixty men in Symon de Mortimer's
livery following him? If he thought Raik's attire too colorful,
wait until he saw these men. At least, he knew now where he
inherited his preference for bright colors.

The thought brought a smile to his lips.

As Storm pounded up to the drawbridge, he
noted the guards atop Hunter's wall walk had taken their bows from
their shoulders and had a quiver of arrows within easy reach of
their fingertips. He shouted up to a knight who stood with his
hands on his hips, his legs widespread, staring down at him.

"Ho, there! 'Tis no need for alarm. They come
with me," he shouted.

"Raik? Shite, man. I thought 'twas an army of
flowers come to tempt Hunter's bees! We near shot yer petals
off."

"Pfft! Ye are too used to Ranald's monkish
black," he yelled back.

The portcullis raised and they rode through.
He looked back and saw the scowls of his men, until they noted the
Hunter black and gray livery.

One thing for truth, his men would stand
out.

Ranald met him at the entrance to the great
hall. His dark eyes scanned Raik from head to toe. He nodded.
Seeing the bruise on his forehead, he looked pointedly at it and
waited.

"Low doorways."

"Ah. Took ye too long to duck?" Ranald took
his arm and led him toward the high table.

"Aye. They claim low openings keep the heat
from escaping."

"Sounds likely. Come, ye have a lot of
tellin' to do. I saw the men with ye and guessed something of great
import has occurred."

"I met my father."

Ranald stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes
widened. He looked around then changed his direction to the
stairwell leading up to his chambers.

"I think 'tis best we discuss yer travels
where 'tis a bit more private."

Ranald took the stairs three steps at a time,
holding his scabbard so it wouldn't scrape against the stone walls.
Their boots made such a clamor they didn't try to speak. As they
entered the solar, Ranald's lips lifted in a bright smile.

A brisk breeze blew through a window opening,
cooling the spacious room. Raik took in a deep breath and sighed
with pleasure, enjoying the sharp contrast to the hot English rooms
with their fireplaces and closed shutters.

"What is it?"

"Air. Do ye ken the English are afeared fresh
air will cause them to fall ill? And they dinna dunk themselves in
streams, either. I grew weary of smelling perfume soaked
clothing."

"Aye. The English are not hardy." Ranald
poured red wine from a pewter carafe setting in the window
opening.

The goblet felt delightfully cold to Raik's
fingers as he took a sip.

"Tell me. For what reason were ye asked to
the English court?"

"My father wanted to meet me."

"Hm. I wonder why he has waited so long? Does
he have no other sons?"

"I asked the king why now, after all these
years, the man was even interested in me." He rubbed his chin, then
around to the back of his neck. "I believe the king has heard tales
of my eyes seeing what sometimes a man wishes to hide. He would
never meet my gaze for longer than ye can count to ten."

"Well, man. Dinna keep it a secret. Who is
yer sire?"

"Symon de Mortimer. Stephen told me a little
about him afore he called him in. He said de Mortimer was an honest
man who fell in love too late. His own father had already sworn him
to the alliance with the d'Aunay's of York. I have two
half-brothers. Always into one mischief after another. They prefer
spending their time in Normandy, though they have lands and estates
in England."

"What is he like?"

"Very suspicious. He refused to believe that
mother had kept her secret all these years. And he demanded proof
that I was his son."

"Proof? How could ye give proof of such a
thing?"

"Oh, I could, all right. He demanded I drop
my breeches and display my arse to him and the king!"

"What?"

Ranald's shout startled a cat sleeping on a
fur rug onto all four feet. It arched its back and its hair stood
on end. The cat yowled in fright and scrambled up a nearby
tapestry.

"Foolish creature," Ranald muttered as he
carefully plucked the cat's claws from the threads before it ruined
his wife's work. He came back and anchored the cat on his lap,
petting it until it calmed.

"Tell me. For what reason did he insist on
seeing yer arse?"

"Ye know that mark on my left hip? It seems
'tis proof that I am his get. He claims every male for three
generations has carried it."

"Did ye...?"

Raik huffed. "Bare my arse? We were not
alone, ye know. 'Twas a small crowd of men. Women, too."

"I'm thinking ye did."

"Aye. But I wasna pleased about it." Raik
smirked at him. "I deemed if I had to prove I was his son, then de
Mortimer must do the same for me.

Ranald's laughter spat wine he had just taken
into his mouth.

"Nay. Ye didna!"

"Aye. Did too. Stood there with my arms
crossed. Refused to speak until he proved himself. The man's as
arrogant as Lucifer. Gave me some satisfaction when Stephen told
him 'twas only fair."

Chuckles burst from Raik at the memory. "Did
ye know a Norman's arse is white as a fish's belly? I dinna think
their bodies have ever seen the light of day."

"Thankfully, I have been spared the sight.
Did he admire my handiwork where that arrow caught ye?"

"Aye. Wanted to know if I was slow escapin' a
lass's father." Raik sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his
hands hanging between his outspread legs. "Once he had seen my
birdie, he demanded details about near every day of my life. I must
have answered hundreds of questions."

"I ken that. He had much to catch up on." His
fingers stroked the cat's head, then down its back all the way to
the end of its fluffy tail. Contented purrs hummed from its
chest.

"Aye. He said he wanted to claim me as his
natural son at a dinner the next evening. He did, too."