The Recruit (17 page)

“There you are,” Gregor MacGregor said, walking toward them from the loch. From the
damp hair and drying cloth wrapped around his neck, Kenneth assumed he’d been bathing.
Half the castle’s population—the female half—was probably still at the beach right
now. “I thought you said you were going to escort Lady Mary to the feast?” His eyes
were laughing. “I bet the king is wondering what happened to you both. I thought she
wasn’t interested in a betrothal. But maybe you convinced her?”

Kenneth froze. The blood drained from his face. “Who?”

MacGregor’s brow creased with his confusion. “Lady Mary. I assumed after you saw us
in the corridor that—”

“Mary of Mar,” Kenneth said tonelessly, feeling as if a stone had just dropped in
his gut. She’d deceived him. The wee nun wasn’t a lady’s attendant at all, she was
the widowed Countess of Atholl. The woman the king had picked out for him as a bride.

Why hadn’t she told him?

His mouth fell in a hard line, anticipating that he wasn’t going to like the explanation.

“You didn’t,” MacKay said under his breath, looking at the veil.

Kenneth stiffened. The tic in his cheek jumped. He glared at him, daring him to say
a bloody word.

But like him, MacKay never backed down from a challenge. That was probably one of
the reasons they were always at one another’s throats.

The bastard laughed. “My God, you didn’t even know who she was! I knew you’d find
a way to screw this up. When the king finds out, your being champion isn’t going to
matter.”

Kenneth clenched his fists, the laughter grating like nails under his skin. Worse,
he knew MacKay was right. The king wasn’t going to take kindly to him seducing his
former sister-in-law. So much for avoiding the gauntlet of dangerous women! He couldn’t
have picked a more inappropriate bedmate if he’d tried.

MacGregor wasn’t any better. He let out a low whistle. “I doubt that was what the
king had in mind to convince her.”

“There will be no reason for the king to find out,” he warned them.

Neither man disagreed, but neither did they agree.

Helen gazed up at him with a worried look on her face. She knew how much this meant
to him and feared he might have just done something he could not undo. “You’d better
do something to make it right,” she said. “And I’d do it quickly. Lady Anna told me
Lady Mary is leaving soon.”

His blood spiked. Lady Mary wasn’t going anywhere, damn it. Kenneth turned on his
heel and stormed toward the donjon, rage surging through his veins. He couldn’t ever
remember feeling this much anger toward a woman. Women were easy. They didn’t give
him trouble. He had no reason to get angry with them. But it seemed Lady Mary possessed
a singular ability to elicit any number of strange reactions from him.

“Don’t take too long,” McKay taunted. “The Games are
about to begin. You wouldn’t want to be late and forfeit your place in the competition.”

Kenneth shot him a black look. “Don’t worry. This won’t take long.”

He and his soon-to-be betrothed were going to have a very short conversation.

The flurry of activity going on around them didn’t stop Margaret from trying to question
her.

“But why must you go now? I thought you planned to stay until after the feast tomorrow.
There will be a great celebration to close the Games.”

Mary turned to give instructions to one of the maidservants on in which trunk to place
the limited jewels she had left, before answering. “As I said, King Edward has given
the bishop leave to stay in Scotland for a few more months to try to effect a truce,
but he is eager for a report, and the bishop thought it best if I give it to him personally.”
At her suggestion, of course.

Margaret didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure that is all? You never did say what
happened to you last night. I sent one of your ladies to see what was wrong, but she
didn’t find you in the room.” Margaret paused meaningfully. “It’s strange. I noticed
Sir Kenneth was missing as well. The king was quite vexed by his absence.”

Mary hid her blush by turning to give another instruction. Margaret suspected what
had happened, but for some reason Mary couldn’t bring herself to confide in her. She
didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. Being wicked no longer
seemed like something she wanted to laugh about.

By the time she finished speaking with the servant, she’d managed to compose herself.
“It was probably when I was at the beach. I needed some fresh air.” She knew she needed
to give her sister-in-law more, so she added, “David will be
at Alnwick Castle soon, and I should like to be there when he arrives. It’s been nearly
a year since I’ve seen him.”

The longing in her voice left no doubt of the truth of that, and Margaret was instantly
contrite. “Of course you do! I’m sorry, I can see why you are anxious to go. I can’t
imagine what it would be like to have one of my babies taken away from me.” She shivered
as if the mere thought had sent a chill through her blood.

How could Mary tell her it was so much worse than that? You couldn’t imagine the pain
until you experienced it. It was one of the worst things any mother could ever go
through.

“You are still young, Mary. Have you ever thought about having another child?”

The dull ache in her chest turned into a hard stab. A merciless stab. Even if she
let herself admit that she yearned for another child, the price of having one was
too high. Independence. Control over her own fate. “I believe you need a husband for
that,” she said wryly.

Her words were punctuated by a crash, as the door slammed open.

A half-dozen faces turned as Sir Kenneth Sutherland strode into the room like some
conquering barbarian.

Mary froze, feeling the blood drain from her face. He was looking right at her. Nay,
“looking” was too benign for the fierce, all-consuming black glare that seemed to
reach across the room and capture her in a steely grip.

Instinctively, she took a few steps back.

Despite the fury emanating from him, he cocked a lazy brow. “Going somewhere,
Lady Mary
?” The emphasis he put on her name sent chills racing up and down her spine. “I hope
you weren’t planning to leave without saying goodbye.”

Mary wasn’t fooled by his pleasant banter. He was looking at her as if he’d like to
throttle her. Every word was a threat, a challenge. An invitation to do battle.

His gaze skidded over the piles of clothing and open trunks. “There’s something we
need to talk about before you finish packing.”

Her heart drummed frantically in her throat. This was how a deer must feel when it
turned and found itself in the hunter’s sights, an arrow pointed at its heart. Trapped.
Cornered. With nowhere to run.

She managed to find her voice. “You can’t come barging in here like—”

“Leave,” he ordered the other women in the room. “Your mistress and I have something
to discuss in private.”

To Mary’s horror, they scatted like terrified mice. Only Margaret paused. But even
she recognized his authority.

He had no authority, blast it! This was exactly what she sought to avoid.

Her sister-in-law gave her a worried look. “Will you be all right?”

Mary was tempted to say no, but she read the determination in every inch of his furious,
combative face. From the clenched jaw, to the tight lips, to the piercing blue gaze
locked on her, she knew that he was going to say his peace—with or without Margaret
in the room.

She nodded. Margaret gave her a long, searching look and left.

The shock of his arrival had dissipated, and the brief pause while the others left
was long enough to restore her courage. She straightened her back and turned to face
him coolly. “What right do you have—”

She stopped, eyes widening when he tossed something on the bed. The dark green billowed
in a silken cloud before landing in a pool on the ivory bedsheets, a stark, damning
reminder of what she’d done.

“You forgot something before you ran off last night,
Lady Mary
.” There it was again, that hard emphasis on her name. “Or should I say,
Countess
.”

Mary cringed inwardly at the confirmation of her suspicions.
He’d learned her identity. She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased when he discovered the
truth. But she hadn’t expected this kind of extreme reaction to a little tweak of
pride.

He closed the distance between them in a few steps, but she stood her ground, refusing
to back away even though every instinct in her body urged her to run. Her heart slammed
in her chest. Well over six feet of hard, angry warrior looming over her wasn’t exactly
unintimidating.

But he wouldn’t hurt her. Somehow she knew that. For all his fire and quickness of
temper, she sensed an undercurrent of control.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me and let me believe you were one of
Lady Margaret’s attendants?”

She gave a far more careless shrug than she felt. “It was your assumption. I saw no
reason to change it.”

His eyes narrowed. She could tell he didn’t like her attitude. What had he expected?
That she would get down on her hands and knees and beg his forgiveness? Probably.
It was no doubt what most women of his acquaintance would do. Women who were eager
to please him. Well, she wasn’t one of those women.

She had nothing to apologize for. It was he who’d started this with his wickedness
in the stable, and then by taunting her with the feelings he’d aroused in her. He’d
gotten no more than he’d given—and exactly what he’d asked for.

“Not even when you knew what the king intended? That he has proposed a betrothal between
us?”

Her back stiffened. She looked down her nose at him. Unfortunately, as she had a rather
small nose it lost some of its dismissive effect, although from the way his fists
clenched it was enough. “Especially then. I am not in the market for a husband.”

His eyes flashed like a lightning storm. The fury of his temper was truly something
to behold, and she wondered if she’d been too quick to assume she was in no danger.

“But you are in the market for something else?”

She executed a perfect Gallic shrug of indifference that made a muscle jump in his
jaw. She knew she was pressing against the limits of that control, but she couldn’t
seem to stop herself. Something about this man brought out every instinct in her to
fight. “Why are you acting the aggrieved party? You made an offer, I accepted. It’s
something I’ve no doubt you have done
many
times in the past.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn away, hauling her up against him. The heat
of his body engulfed her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She tried to wrench away, but his grip was like a manacle. Did he have to smell so
good? It was confusing her. Reminding her of last night. “It means I’m sure it’s not
the first time you’ve enjoyed a meaningless liaison with a woman whose name you do
not know or can’t remember.”

A hard, angry flush had risen to his cheeks. “So you wanted a tumble in the hay, is
that it?”

Mary felt her cheeks heat at the crassness of his language, even if it was the truth.
“Is that not what you wanted?”

His clenched mouth came closer to hers, and she couldn’t stop the reflexive shudder
that ran through her. Her body didn’t seem to care if he was angry; all it recognized
was hot, fiercely aggressive masculinity. “What I wanted? I prefer to be made aware
that the woman I’m taking to my bed is going to be my wife.”

Mary stiffened. Perhaps if the word had been uttered with any hint of softness it
might have been different. But it wasn’t, and she bristled at both his tone and his
assumption. She met his glare with one that was every bit as fierce as his own. It
seemed she had a temper as well. “You presume much, my lord. I believe it is still
the custom to ask for a lady’s hand before assuming a betrothal.”

His eyes flared at the challenge. “And I believe I did all my asking last night.”
He pressed his hard body to hers, reminding her of exactly what he meant. She jolted
at the intimate contact. “And you answered. A most enthusiastic ‘yes, please yes’
if I recall correctly.”

His voice was low and mesmerizing, sending a blast of melting dampness to the place
that remembered him the most. She shuddered, seeing from the wicked smile that curved
his mouth that he knew what he was doing to her.

Big and possessive, his hand slid down her back and over her hip to cup her bottom,
bringing her more firmly against him. “Should I ask again, Mary?” he whispered, his
mouth only a hair’s breadth from hers.

For one treacherous instant she wanted to say yes. She wanted to lift her lips up
to his and take the pleasure he offered. Her body vibrated—pulsed—with a restless
energy.

But it wasn’t only pleasure. It was far more. Succumbing to him would mean giving
up everything she’d achieved the past few years and losing herself all over again.

She hated how weak she felt. How much she wanted to say yes. How easily he could make
her forget herself.

Kenneth Sutherland wielded a power over her that was far more dangerous than the girlish
infatuation she’d felt for her husband. The desire she felt for him was that of a
woman, a woman who had learned exactly what he could do to her, and how it felt to
experience the pleasure of passion.

But no matter how badly she wanted him, she would not let this control her. She would
not let
him
control her. This too-handsome, too-arrogant warrior who didn’t think she could resist
him. Who couldn’t even trouble himself to ask her to marry him but just assumed she
would jump at the chance. Why wouldn’t she? Look at her. An unexpected blast of heat
pricked her eyes.

For once she didn’t have to think about what her sister
would do. She pushed back. “Let go of me!” Surprisingly, he released her. “How dare
you manhandle me like that! I will not be bullied by you or anyone else into a marriage
I do not want. I told you before I don’t want a husband, and as difficult as it is
for you to understand, that includes you. Especially you.”