The Conquest (3 page)

A servant approached with warm water. Adelstan glanced at the woman, whose cheeks were flushed a soft pink and grew a shade darker the longer he stared. She gently washed the dirt from his hands, her fingers gentle, taking her time. He guessed her to be younger than himself. Wearing her dark hair up in a tidy bun, she had rough hands that bespoke a life of hard work, the nails cut to the quick, her palms deeply callused.

In recent years he had gained a greater appreciation for servants and the long, arduous tasks they performed each day. Having been born to Saxon royalty and thereby brought up in a wealthy household, Adelstan had taken those hard working individuals for granted, until his life had changed so drastically as a young man when King William had stripped his family of their lands and titles.

The woman patted his hands dry, taking far longer than necessary, but he did not mind. In fact, he yearned to ask her to meet him later, to ease the ache in his loins, but would not do so in front of his guest. “Thank you,” he said, and she glanced up, her dark gaze falling away almost immediately, but not before he recognized the desire there.

“Forgive my daughter for her tardiness,” Laird MacKay said, lifting a handsomely engraved goblet to his lips and taking a long drink. “I am certain it stems from her nervousness at meeting ye, or rather, at meeting her betrothed.”

“That, or she is out swimming again,” Lady MacKay said, her tone full of exasperation.

A young boy approached the dais steps, and instantly Adelstan recognized Laird MacKay’s beefy features and Lady MacKay’s eyes. The lad slid into the seat beside his mother, sighed heavily, and immediately started tapping his nails on the table.

Adelstan was surprised when both father and mother ignored him, doing nothing to reprimand the boy.

“Father, forgive me for having arrived late.”

Adelstan looked up at a young woman with blue, or rather violet, eyes—and his insides coiled. Sweet Jesus, but Rhiannon MacKay was an alluring, exotic creature with long, silky brown hair that fell down her back in thick, soft waves. She wore a kirtle of pale blue linen, which molded nicely to her full, firm breasts and slender waist, and a simple leather girdle accented her slender hips.

Malgor de Cion was a lucky man.

“There ye are, my dear,” Laird MacKay said, standing, and Adelstan followed suit.

He bowed. “Lady Rhiannon, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Rhiannon MacKay looked at Adelstan fully, her gaze shifting from his, down his body and slowly back up again. She could disarm a man with such a look. Indeed, all thought slipped away for a moment as he stared into her remarkable eyes.

“Thank ye. How was your journey?” Her lips curved into a warm smile, displaying small, straight white teeth. Warmth spread through his veins, straight to his already rigid cock. She was perfection. An unrivaled prize that men would be talking about for decades to come.

“Very well, thank you,” he said, all the while thinking this lovely creature could have been his betrothed. He’d been a high-ranking soldier in his liege’s army for as long as Malgor. Ironically, when the fief of Almeron had been offered to one of Renaud’s men, Adelstan had bowed out of the running only because de Cion was getting older and had been yearning to become a father since losing his wife and child.

“I have been most anxious to meet ye.”

Her Scottish accent flowed over him like warm honey, making him forget for a moment that she believed him to be her betrothed. Before he could remedy the situation himself, her father cleared his throat.

“Daughter, I fear Lord Malgor was unable to make the journey himself. But in his stead, Baron de Wulf has sent his most trusted officer, Adelstan Cawdor, to escort ye to Almeron.”

Rhiannon’s smile slipped for an instant but she caught herself. Although her grin returned in force, he recognized disappointment in those incredible eyes, and felt a moment of deep regret.

Intense, bone-jarring regret.

A beauty such as Rhiannon MacKay came around only once in a lifetime and well he knew it. And she would be handed to Malgor de Cion, a man three times her age who despite having a young woman to wed, would no doubt keep his leman nearby.

Or perhaps the new baron would become so enamored with his new bride, so deeply in love, that he would do the right thing and send his leman away. Adelstan’s sister had been fortunate in finding a love match with her enemy, Renaud de Wulf, but their story was a rarity in feudal England.

Adelstan cleared his throat. “Lady Rhiannon, I would like to extend Lord Malgor’s apology that he could not come to claim you himself. My liege, Lord Renaud of Braemere, has sent me on your betrothed’s behalf. I take my duty seriously and will deliver you safely to Castle Almeron, where Lord Malgor will be awaiting you.”

“Why did he not make the journey himself?” she asked, her gaze shifting over him in a way that had him wondering at her innocence. She did not look at him as a virgin would.

“He aggravated an old injury while hunting, and the healer told him it would not be wise to travel.”

Alarm came over her fragile features. “An injury?”

“Aye, Lady Rhiannon. The wound is not life threatening, but serious enough that he could not travel such a distance.”

Her full lips quirked, and he was reminded yet again of her father’s remarks. “Mayhap he should have waited to make the journey until he was mended.”

“Daughter…” MacKay said, his voice firm and resolute as he sat.

Rhiannon took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, and Adelstan’s gaze shifted to her full, firm breasts. The kirtle had been embroidered at the neck, a delicate design of silver thread, which continued down, nearly between the luscious globes. He found himself wondering if her nipples would be pale rose or a darker hue. Someone at his officers table, no doubt Jorden, cleared his throat, and his gaze ripped back to her face. Just in time, too, since her father gave them his full attention.

He most certainly needed to find the servant who had washed his hands moments ago. Perhaps burying his cock deep into another woman would wipe away his traitorous thoughts.

Everything about Rhiannon’s features was fragile, from the sharp cheekbones, to the tiny-tipped up nose, to the luscious lips, the top curving upward. Such a full mouth, perfect for sucking and licking—

He shook away the thought.

In truth, he wished Rhiannon MacKay were homely instead of breathtakingly beautiful. Though he respected Malgor, he could not for a second envision this lovely young woman with the gruff, middle-aged warrior.

“Daughter, please sit,” Laird MacKay said, annoyance in his tone. “Supper is being served.”

“May I sit beside ye, Adelstan?” she asked, already sliding onto the bench beside him.

“Of course,” he replied, taking his seat.

Rhiannon sat so close to him, their thighs touched. His heart nearly pounded out of his chest.

Adelstan shifted a little, easing some of the contact, but she made no effort to move away. Indeed, she almost looked comfortable as she glanced up at him with those long-lashed eyes, her feminine scent surrounding him, pulling him into her web.

His cock strained against his belly, and he was tempted to excuse himself for a while in order to ease the ache.

And to think it was his duty to bring this strikingly beautiful woman across Scotland to her betrothed. How in God’s name would he manage such a feat without touching her?

His liege had told Adelstan to stay at Castle MacKay for as long as Rhiannon needed—within reason, adding that delaying the journey would also give Malgor time to recover from his wound.

“You stare, sir,” she said, her full lips splitting into a soft smile. “Do ye find me displeasing?”

He had not realized he’d been staring.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you, and nay, I do not at all find you displeasing, Lady Rhiannon. It’s just that I have never before seen eyes such as yours. They’re extraordinary.”

A soft blush touched her cheeks. She leaned into him, keeping her voice low. “I was once accused of having the eyes of a witch.”

He frowned, wondering how anyone could be so cruel. He was ready to say as much when the same servant who had washed his hands moments before now poured wine into his goblet and then into Rhiannon’s. The servant stared at Adelstan, her dark eyes telling him she would not deny him.

Her lips curved slightly as their eyes met and held.

Lord knew he could use a tumble this night.

Taking a long drink, he savored the warm effects of the wine and chanced a lingering glance at the servant’s backside. It was then he noticed Rhiannon watching him. Did she guess what was on his mind?

The knowing smirk on her lips answered that question.

He looked down at the lower tables, where his men sat, and noticed every single one was staring at Rhiannon, a woman they had sworn to protect. By their pleased expressions, it was obvious they, too, had not expected her to be such a beauty.

Jorden caught his gaze and grinned with open approval. In Adelstan’s mind, the smile was altogether too cocky and smug.

Rhiannon toyed with her necklace, a lovely silver cross in the Celtic design. Seeing where his gaze was directed, she smiled.

“Forgive me for staring. I meant no dis—”

“It is lovely, is it not?” Her sweet grin instantly put him at ease. “It was my mother’s, a gift from her parents upon her marriage to my father. I have worn it since her death. It gives me peace and makes me feel a part of her still.” She dropped her gaze. “Do ye think me silly?”

“Nay, not at all. It is lovely.”

As are you.

“Tell me, Adelstan, was your journey uneventful?”

“Aye, save for the foul weather when we came upon the Highlands.”

She laughed lightly, the sound pleasant, touching him in a way that surprised him. “Spoken like a true Englishman.”

“I’ll have you know, I lived in Scotland for three years.”

“Did ye?” she asked, her violet eyes brightening, her white teeth flashing. “Where?”

“Near Loch Linhee.”

Her brows furrowed a little, and it did nothing to take away from her beauty. “I do not know of it.”

“Do you not? It’s but two days ride south of here. We will ride past it on our way to Almeron. I shall show it to you, if you’d like.”

Her eyes had changed the moment he mentioned Almeron and he sensed her sadness. “Lady Rhiannon, I know you must be disappointed Lord Malgor could not make the journey himself, and for that I am truly sorry.”

She reached out and touched his hand, her elegant fingers curling around his. He was shocked at the sensation that rushed through him at the casual contact. “My circumstances are not your fault, Adelstan. I trust ye will deliver me safely to my intended.”

His instinct was to pull away from her touch, especially when in a room full of people, his own men included. She meant only to comfort him, but that touch rocked him to the core.

She had no idea of the lascivious thoughts racing through his head. The way his cock strained against his braies, or how his blood coursed hot and thick through his veins as he wondered what she looked like beneath that lovely gown.

Realizing he had not responded, he cleared his throat. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, Lady Rhiannon. I shall not let you down.”

Rhiannon hoped she hid her disappointment well.

When she had entered the great hall and seen the tall, handsome, blond-haired knight at her father’s side, her heart rate had increased with each step that brought her closer to him.

God had truly blessed her, she had thought, a mixture of excitement and desire boiling within her. How beautiful he was with his light green eyes framed by long, dark lashes, a straight, perfectly proportioned nose, and sharp cheekbones. In truth, when her gaze locked with his, she had silently thanked her father for accepting the baron’s offer in marriage.

Oh, the wicked things they could do together, she and this handsome knight. Things that would make even the saucy Elspeth blush.

Her nipples pebbled against the soft linen of her chemise and kirtle, and a strange tingling started between her thighs. Perhaps she would not wait until her wedding night to make love to him. Show him how very eager she was to be his woman in every way.

Aye, if he had been her intended, she would do just that.

But Adelstan Cawdor was not her betrothed.

Cruel, cruel world.

Beneath the table she had touched his hand, her fingers sliding over his. She could tell by his body language he was shocked by her actions…and yet he did not pull away.

She smiled inwardly. Perhaps the attraction went both ways?

“Adelstan, mayhap ye can tell Rhiannon something of her intended?” her father said, breaking into her wicked thoughts.

Rhiannon dropped her hand to her side, conscious of her father’s assessing stare. Was she being
that
obvious?

Adelstan pursed his full lips and Rhiannon wondered what his kisses would taste like. Oh, but he was so handsome. “Certainly, though I know not where to begin.”

“How long have ye known Lord Malgor?” Rhiannon asked, drawing his attention back to her. The warmth in those green eyes sent a rush of exhilaration through her.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and she stared at the moisture there, resisting the urge to capture his mouth with her own.

As though reading her mind, he cleared his throat. “Lord Malgor has been in service to our liege, Lord Renaud at Braemere, for over a decade. It is his skill and devotion that have gained him the fief of Castle Almeron and your hand.”

“I understand Castle Almeron is in the process of being built?” her father asked.

“Aye, it is nearly complete. The keep has been built upon an old Roman ruin and encompasses a large part of a rolling hillside.”

“Is there water nearby?” Rhiannon asked absently.

Adelstan smiled then, a boyish grin she felt all the way to her toes.

“Aye, a river flows by the castle, Lady Rhiannon.”

She would have preferred a loch, or as the English called it, a lake, but a river would do.