The Crimson Lady (20 page)

Braedan’s surprise only deepened when she pulled him closer to the circle at the fire to say in a warm, bold voice, “Braedan, this is Clinton Folville and some of his men. He and his brothers lead another band of outlaws that work the area just north of us.”

Braedan hid his negative reaction to the man beneath a nod and some murmured greetings. Clinton gave him a wary acknowledgment, while the others grunted their response, at which point Fiona moved up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to Braedan’s cheek, nearly stilling his heart, before whispering something about going, now, to help the women at the other side of camp. Then she was gone, slipping into the darkness outside the fire’s circle of light. He watched her go, amazed as always at her ability to surprise him. He only realized he was still wearing the bemused look her kiss had inspired when he saw Clinton scowling at him as if he’d like to bring a crushing slide of rocks down on his head.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Braedan decided to sit at the spot previously cleared for Fiona.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d get back with my sister,” Will said, still seemingly unaware of Clinton’s antagonism as he offered Braedan the sack to take a drink. “You were gone a goodly time.”

Braedan relished the brew sliding down his throat for
a moment, taking a couple of good swallows before he swiped his hand across his mouth and returned the sack to Will. “She was more than a bit upset. It took a good deal of talking before she was ready to leave.”

“Oh, aye, de Cantor,” Will joked, giving him a knowing grin. “I’ll wager ’twas all talkin’ you were doin’. You’ll have to be more original than that if you want to explain your time away with her.”

Braedan raised his brow and smiled, but he didn’t get a chance to answer thanks to Clinton, who had choked on his drink and started coughing. After the fit passed, he fixed another black scowl on Braedan, and spat, “You’re a de Cantor?” Without waiting for an answer, he swung his golden head toward Will. “What by all the yawning fires of hell is a goddamned
de Cantor
doing married to your sister?”

“’Tis a fine turn, is it not?” Will laughed, raising the sack to Braedan in salute. “I admit I never thought I’d see the day, Clinton, but I’m tellin’ you, a better sword arm you’ll never find than Braedan’s here—or a heart so willin’ to fight on the side o’ right.” He sobered a bit, his focus veering off both men toward the place where the bodies were being tended, as he added, “I’d even go so far as to say if ’tweren’t for him, I’d likely be among those men over there grown cold and stiff as the dirt in which they’ll be lyin’ come morn.”

“You didn’t do so badly yourself, man,” Braedan offered gruffly.

“Aye, well, even with your wound you managed to best Draven, which is more than I can claim,” Will said, taking another swig from his ale. “I confess, learnin’ that you’re his nephew, even if ’tis by marriage, came as a bit of a shock, but—”

“He’s Draven’s
nephew
as well?” Clinton broke in with a growl. “Christ Almighty, Will, what kind of viper have you let in here?”

“The kind who spent years fighting Saracens and learning the best ways to separate men’s souls from their bodies,” Braedan said lightly, though with an unmistakable edge to his voice. “I’ll be glad to introduce you personally to one of those methods right now, Folville, if you think you’d like to offer me another insult. I’ve had just about enough of them from you this night.”

“Is that right?” Clinton growled. “Then perhaps we should just—”

“Ah, hell,” Will roared, lurching to his feet and waving his sack of ale. “Isn’t it enough that three of my best men were took off today? Should we add to the number by havin’ a duel over the same bastard who’s responsible for it?” Without waiting for anyone to answer, Will rounded on Clinton. “And as for you, old friend, I know who my sister’s husband is and what he is, and he’s a damned good man. ’Tis all you need to know, besides the fact that their marriage means you can’t have another chance at her—which is what is
really
at the bottom of all this twaddle, if you want to know the God’s honest truth.”

Clinton mumbled something under his breath and looked away. Will shook his head in the tense silence and sat down again, muttering to himself, before settling in, and saying, “In case you’re wonderin’, I saw it with my own eyes today just how de Cantor feels about Draven, whether the man be his uncle or nay, and I need no further proof of his loyalty to us. But you clearly do—so if you wouldn’t mind tellin’ him, Braedan…”

“It is quite simple,” Braedan said, obliging Will’s re
quest. “I despise Draven, and if given the chance, I will bring him to justice for what he’s done.”

Clinton glared at him, as if measuring the truth of his words, and Braedan returned the stare, his brow cocked in silent challenge. Finally, Clinton looked away, muttering his acquiescence, and the other members of the Folville gang jerked their heads to show their solidarity with their leader’s decision.

“’Tis settled, then,” Will said, tossing aside the empty sack and reaching for a new one. “Blood o’ saints, I was beginnin’ to wonder if ’twas possible.”

“Ah, Will, stop your bellyachin’ and have another drink!” old Grady called out from his spot at a nearby fire. A few more grumbles and a shouted jest echoed through the clearing, dissipating some of the tension, and Braedan found himself smiling despite his ill temper. Someone tossed him a full pouch of ale, and he unwound the neck, tipping it to drink, before passing it on to Clinton, who took it with his first indication of acceptance yet this night.

It was a start, anyway. But he wasn’t about to spend the entire night sitting, drinking, and exchanging pleasantries with Clinton or anyone else. Draven’s setup on the road today made clear that he was more of a danger than Braedan had previously anticipated; in truth, he’d hoped to have the advantage of surprise and anonymity over Draven when he’d conceived his plan of using Fiona’s old contacts and knowledge to help him find Elizabeth.

Now it was obvious that such a thing wouldn’t be possible, and he certainly couldn’t allow Fiona to face the danger of entering the
stewes
again in their search, either. Not after what he’d seen with Draven today. He
wouldn’t. And that meant he needed a new plan for dealing with his cursed uncle; if he was lucky, it might very well include some of the disgruntled and vengeful outlaws sitting all around him.

Now was the time to broach the topic, if ever there was one, he decided. Though the hum of jesting and conversations continued, Braedan stood, waiting until it fell quiet and everyone’s eyes were trained on him. Then he let his stare sweep round the clearing, meeting the gaze of young and old before he called out, “All right, then. What say you we get down to discussing some important matters? Namely, what can be done about stopping my bastard uncle—for I’d say it’s well past time he faced his reckoning.”

F
iona lay alone in the silence of their tree shelter a few hours later. She could hear the men still talking where they sat around the fires at the center of the clearing, Braedan’s deep tones and occasional low chuckle weaving naturally among the rest, yet somehow distinguishable to her ear above the others.

She sighed and rolled to her side, looking at the cloth partition Will had hung for them inside the shelter on their second night at the settlement. It was to give them some privacy as a wedded pair, he’d said. Yet here she was on the first night that she might actually have felt as close as a wife to Braedan and she was alone. She longed to have him near her, even if just to feel the comforting warmth of his body lying close to hers, but it looked as though it might well be a goodly time until he came seeking his rest, thanks to their lingering talk at the fires about Draven.

She’d finished helping with the burial preparations not quite an hour ago, retiring with the other women and feeling, as she left, a depth of sadness that surprised her, considering that she had barely known the three men who had died in the roadside conflict that day. But the fact that she remembered too many similar times from her own life, nights of grief and mornings of burial both during her years in the
stewes
and then later in Hampshire, had made it impossible not to feel empathy for the women who were suffering the loss of their loved ones now.

She rolled to her other side, facing the door flap, where she could see the low-burning glow of the fire under the bottom edge, though the conversations continued to elude her. Sighing, she tucked her arm under her head, the need to be near Braedan filling her anew. More than anything, she wanted to be alone with him, she realized, not having to keep a strong front for Will or Clinton or anyone else. After this afternoon and the sweetness of what she’d shared with Braedan, she didn’t think she could maintain the falseness of her cool facade successfully for any length of time. Her feelings were still too tender and her heart too vulnerable.

Aye, she couldn’t deny that she’d been hurt when she’d found the miniature Braedan had carried with him. The thought of his tenderness toward another had stung her to the quick, part of it stemming from the knowledge that Julia Whitlowe was the kind of woman she herself could never be: a respected and proper lady. The kind of woman Braedan had loved.

But she’d realized other things in the hours since then, understandings that had helped to lessen the sting a bit. It would be unfair of her to hold the past against him,
any more than he had with her. She’d lived a life most men would have scoffed at rather than believe, yet Braedan had accepted her with open arms.

And though she might not be a lady of Julia’s pristine virtue and nobility, Fiona was no fool, either. She and Braedan had shared something special this afternoon—a gift that had freed her from Draven’s evil hold on her—and she wasn’t about to discount the power of that. Braedan might not ever be able to feel the same about her as he had Julia, but he cared for her enough to give of himself so that she might be healed and whole. It was enough for now, and she planned to enjoy every moment with him granted to her—and to ensure that he enjoyed it, too, if she had any say in it, she thought with a smile.

As if on the wings of her thoughts, the leather flap at the door was pushed to the side and Braedan himself ducked in.

He stood for a moment in the gloom, letting his eyes adjust to the light. It was quiet in here, compared to all the talk and boasting that had gone on round the fires. But it was winding down now, and none too soon, he decided, tormented as he’d been by his need to find Fiona and pull her into his arms.

He shouldn’t be indulging in such thoughts, such yearnings, he knew; what he had experienced with Fiona had been wonderful, more special than anything he’d known before, and yet a part of him ached with the knowledge that what they shared was only for a time and no more. It couldn’t last, not with their vastly different histories and the uncertainty of their futures.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Braedan breathed deep, resolving not to think more on it now. There were more pressing concerns to be faced, like whether or not
her seeming easiness with him and the enigmatic kiss she’d pressed to his cheek had been sincere or for the benefit of those sitting round the fires.

He was about to find out.

“Fiona,” he called softly, lest he wake her from sleep.

“Aye, Braedan?” she answered, and his heart thudded at how wide-awake she sounded. He’d seen her enter the shelter nearly an hour ago, and yet she wasn’t sleeping. Perhaps, then, she’d been waiting for him and wanting him, too….

He knelt beside her, his eyes adjusted enough now to make out her features and the soft expression she gave him. His heart leapt anew, and he smiled, drawing a matching look from her. Reaching out, he pushed the edge of the hanging partition back a little, peering into the shadows at the rear of the shelter and the empty pallet there.

“Where is Joan? I thought the preparations finished and all the women abed by now.”

“Aye, it is all done. But Joan decided to stay with Ella this night to give her comfort. The loss of Jepthas sits especially hard with her, as they were new-married only last year,” Fiona explained. He saw her glance toward the door flap of the shelter, clearly noting the quiet that had settled over the clearing. “And what of Will? Why hasn’t he come to bed?”

“He fell asleep by the fire, exhausted, likely, as much from drink as from the nagging of his wound,” Braedan answered, stretching out beside her. “But Clinton and the others are sleeping there as well, and it is a warm night. He will be fine,” Braedan assured her, adding wryly, “though I cannot say how his head will feel come morn.”

He felt her nod from where she lay, having rolled onto her back when he’d stretched out beside her; they lay silent, staring up into the dark recesses of the hollowed-out trunk. Quiet settled all around, everything still but for the sound of the night breeze and the occasional call of an owl heard faintly from the wood.

Braedan remained still, though it was one of the most difficult things he had ever done, wanting to hold Fiona as he did. But she’d offered no indication of wanting the same, and he
had
resolved to let her take the lead in such matters, he thought, cursing himself for his brilliant ideas. Loving her this afternoon hadn’t banished his need for her, as he’d naively thought it would all those weeks ago at the pond. Nay, it had only increased his desire; she was like a fire in his blood, so much so that he doubted he would ever be able to quench the flames. But her comfort mattered more to him than his own need to touch her, to taste her…to feel her warm, naked skin pressed against him.

He shifted in torment at the images that shot through his mind then, his groin hardening and his fists clenching to keep from rolling over and reaching out to her. He wouldn’t be a selfish brute like Draven or any of the men who had thought to take their pleasure with her. Her needs would come first with him, and he was loath to disturb her peace if such was all she sought from him now. Swallowing a groan, he closed his eyes, resolving to think of other things. Of anything other than what he wanted to do with Fiona right now.

“It seems we are going to be alone here this night, Braedan.”

The husky, suggestive undertone in Fiona’s voice broke through his tortured thoughts, unhinging the last
of his restraint and jerking him to total awareness. He snapped his head sideways to look at her, half-believing he’d imagined her speaking in his near delirium of want, but she was already facing him, running the smooth length of her palm over his chest. Her hand found the opening in his shirt to brush across the skin beneath, and he nearly jumped from the pleasure of her touch, his body rising to an even more unbearable level of readiness, as if he was a green boy again and she the first woman he had ever known.

It was almost shameful, in truth—but when Fiona leaned forward to press her mouth to his, he forgot about anything but the taste of her, the sweetly seductive feel of her. The gentle weight of her breasts pressed into his chest, and he reveled in the silky fall of her hair spilling over him in a perfumed curtain. Pulling his senses together enough to react at last, Braedan reached up, touching one hand to her face as she kissed him, the other reaching up to stroke along her back, drawing a shudder of pleasure from her.

“I was waiting for you to come to bed,” she whispered into the dark, pulling back enough that he could see the playful light in her eyes, set off by the sweet curve of her lips. She smiled deeper, then, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she gazed at him. “You took a very long time to get here.”

“Aye, well, there was much to discuss tonight,” he answered, smiling, too, as he added, “Though if I’d known you were waiting for me like this, I’d have hurried things along a bit more.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she murmured, before pressing her lips to his again. She continued to kiss him, moving to the very corner of his mouth, using her tongue there
to tease him gently. His body throbbed in response, and he shifted, intending to roll to his side and take her in his arms. But she stilled him with her hand to his chest, shaking her head so that her hair feathered over his skin with the movement and sent shivers of longing sweeping through him.

“Nay, Braedan,” she said, with a hesitant smile. “If it is meet with you, then this night I would like to do something…different. To share with you all of myself, in the many ways that I know…”

“Ah, Fiona, I—” Braedan couldn’t finish he was so taken by surprise, so he swallowed at the tightness in his throat and reached up to stroke his fingers through the hair at her temple, tucking it behind her ear. After a moment he managed to continue hoarsely, “You do not need to do this, lady. It was no hardship for me to make love to you the first time, nor would it be again, a thousand more times if you were willing.”

“It is true that I am hoping what happens will lead to such again as well, eventually,” she said softly. “But first I wish to make love to
you
.” Her words and her expression grew more confident—bold, even—as she spoke. “Let me love you, Braedan, as I yearn to do.”

His head fell back on their makeshift bolster, then, his breath escaping in a rush as she followed her words with the magic of her touch, her fingers deftly opening his shirt and pushing it aside before loosening his breeches and
braies
; she eased them down from his hips, her hands flitting over him, setting him on fire with each gentle brush of her skin against his, until he was naked before her. He lay there, watching her, seeing the openness and beauty of her face as she paused only long enough to remove her own clothing, pulling up over her
head first her bliaud, then her shift. Moonlight spilled into the tiny chamber from the slits at the edges of the door flap, bathing the smoothness of her skin and the rosy tips of her breasts in pearly light, alternating with spans of teasing shadow.

But in the next instant all rational thought vanished as she leaned over him, her face tilted down and the silken sweep of her hair caressing him, to press gentle, tender kisses across his chest, her hands stroking and her mouth traveling in a leisurely trail to his shoulders, his arms, down to his sides and to the flat of his abdomen. She paused there, her mouth stilling, the moist, warm puffs of her breath tantalizing that steel-hard part of him that lay just beyond her lips, while her hands continued to sweep gently over the sensitive flesh at his hips and the tops of his thighs.

He hung, suspended in pure, sensual torture, waiting, tensing, until with one smooth and perfect movement, she took pity on him and stroked her hand up the aching hardness of his shaft to take him into her mouth. His world exploded into a blinding whirl of unbelievable sensation, and he groaned aloud, his back arching up at the red-hot pleasure of it. She caressed him in ways he’d never imagined, no less experienced before. Her hands moved gently, tenderly, cupping and kneading, the path of her touches followed by the wet heat of her mouth.

After a few moments she shifted away a bit from that point of ultimate sensation, and the world started to come back into focus; dimly, he was aware that his chest was heaving with his gasping breaths, and that she was murmuring soft endearments as she stroked her hands over his entire body, her lips brushing feather-light kisses again over his chest and arms, down his legs and up
again, all while she kept touching him, sweeping ever closer to the hotly jutting part of him once more…

Abruptly gripping her hand, Braedan stopped her progress and pulled her up to rest on his chest, bringing her face into direct line with his. He searched her with his gaze, unable to stop from staring with heated fascination at her lips, which looked rosy and wetly plump from their recent ministrations on him. His breath still rasped, his mind awhirl with the sensations flowing through him; he tilted his head back for a moment, took a deep breath, then tipped his face up to her again to murmur huskily, “I think that perhaps it would be best if you waited for a little while before doing that again, Fiona. I do not know how much more of such sweet torture I can bear right now.”

“But we have only just begun,” she said, smiling gently down at him. “There is so much more I want to share with you…”

“Aye, well, we can space it out a bit, can’t we?” he groaned, laughing with her then, before reaching up to twirl a silken auburn curl around his finger. Tugging gently, he guided her face down to his, taking her lips tenderly, sweetly, wanting to give her even a glimpse, if he could, of all of the feeling that was inside him.

Her weight atop him felt delicious, and though he ached with the need to bury himself inside her, he held back from initiating that next step, kissing her instead. When she finally lifted her head to look down at him, he was struck anew at her unusual beauty…her delicate features, that luscious mouth…and those eyes. They looked soft in this muted light, but it was the expression in them that took his breath away. The feeling
in those tawny depths made something rise in him that he hadn’t known he’d ever find in his life—something he’d never considered a true possibility for him until this very moment.