The Recruit (9 page)

Kenneth felt a prick of annoyance that was no doubt unwarranted. He didn’t expect
more from her than swiving, so why would he expect a more interesting comment than
a reference to the size of his cock?

Lady Moira had collapsed in a well-sated heap on the hay-strewn floor when he’d released
her, but she’d revived enough to put herself in a slightly more elegant position on
her back.

He’d forgotten all about her. Apparently, as had their interloper. He just caught
the edge of her horror-stricken expression before she turned and fled out of the barn,
the Devil nipping at her heels.

He let her go. But part of him actually wanted to go after her.

Lady Moira sat up. “Did you hear something?”

He shook his head and reached for his shirt, wondering what the hell was the matter
with him. “It was one of the horses. You’d better fix your clothes. The lads will
be returning soon.”

The lady babbled platitudes for another quarter hour while he helped her with her
hair and gown before he could finally escort her out of the stables. His mind was
on the other woman. Who was she? And more incredibly, why the hell did he care?

He’d never done anything like that before in his life, and he wasn’t quite sure what
had provoked him to such wickedness. He didn’t usually find himself turned on by prim
little wrens. But something about her reaction—the innocent arousal and not-so-innocent
hunger—had fired his blood in a way that defied explanation, turning something that
should have been forgettable into something … different. Memorable.

What had started out as a taunting game had taken an unexpected turn, leaving him
vaguely unsettled. He’d gone too far, and he knew it. But he hadn’t forced her to
stand
there and watch. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected either of them to enjoy it so
much.

The lass intrigued him. But all his focus right now was on earning a place in Bruce’s
secret army. A lass, no matter how intriguing, wasn’t going to distract him.

Four
 

“I’m glad to see you have recovered, Lady Mary.”

The king paused before her seat on the way to take his own in the stands that had
been set up to watch the competition. Modeled on the ancient Roman amphitheater, a
circular field had been set off by a wooden fence surrounded by tiers of wooden benches.
The king’s party, however, watched from a special viewing platform erected especially
for the Games. As it was a warm day, she was glad for the addition of a canvas tent
overhead.

Mary was seated at the far end near the stairs, with her former sister-in-law, the
MacKenzie chief, and their three young daughters. Their two sons were competing in
some of the events. She returned the king’s smile, hoping he mistook her pink cheeks
for warmth and not embarrassment. “Much better, Sire.”

For four days since that horrible night, she’d feigned illness to avoid the possibility
of coming face to face with
him
. Aye, she was hiding like a coward and had no shame in admitting it to herself.

“I was worried you’d miss all the fun. It’s been an exciting Games so far. One of
my knights is creating quite a stir. He’s won nearly every competition he’s entered
and is on his way to being named champion. He’s the Earl of Sutherland’s brother and
heir, Sir Kenneth. Do you know of him?”

She shook her head, wondering why this felt like more
than polite conversation. “It’s been many years since I’ve been to court, my lord.”

Robert’s face shadowed. “Aye, lass, I know. I would that it had been different. You’ve
been missed. I hope you will return soon.” He paused and gave her an innocent smile.
“Perhaps next time you will bring your son?”

Mary’s mouth quirked with amusement. Robert Bruce had never been subtle about what
he wanted. It had taken a bold man to attempt to wrest a crown from Edward Plantagenet’s
iron fist. Robert had made no secret of his wish to have her son under his banner.
But secreting her son out from under the English king’s nose would be a risky proposition,
and for what? What was there for her in Scotland but politics, intrigue, and men who
would control her future? Things from which she’d been blissfully free in England.
Besides, she remembered what had happened the last time she’d tried to leave.

“I should like that, Sire,” she said noncommittally.

“I would like you to meet him.” At her confusion, he added, “Our soon-to-be champion.
Perhaps you will sit with us at the feast tonight?”

Something about the way he said it set off alarm bells clanging in her head. If the
king wished her to meet a man, it wasn’t hard to guess why. But she was just as eager
for a Scottish husband as she was an English one. “It would be an honor, Sire. I do
hope I shall feel up to it.”

But alas, she suspected her illness was going to return in full force.

The king moved off to have some words with the MacKenzie chief, and Mary settled back
in her seat to watch the contestants who had just begun to gather in the field.

She could feel the excitement growing around her; it was impossible not to get caught
up in it. Even in self-imposed exile in her room she hadn’t been immune. She’d watched
from the tower window, too far to be a part of it, but not far enough away not to
want to be.

She hadn’t been able to stay away. She told herself it was because people were starting
to worry about her health—not just her former sister-in-law, Lady Christina and Margaret,
but also the lady of the castle, Lady Anna Campbell. But she didn’t think she could
listen to one more evening of the ladies she shared a chamber with reliving every
minute of the day’s events without seeing it for herself. The only time she’d been
to the Games, she’d been so enthralled with her husband that she didn’t remember much
else.

All of a sudden she heard a large roar go up in the crowd. She turned to Margaret.
“What is that for?”

Margaret grinned, pointing to a man who’d just entered the field. “Him.”

Mary followed the direction she’d indicated and froze. Oh God, it was
him
! Though he wore a steel helm that masked his face, something about that arrogant
set of his shoulders made every muscle, every nerve ending, every inch of her body
tense with instant recognition. Or perhaps it was that the very breadth of those shoulders,
the bulk of his arms, and every muscle of that imposing chest had been emblazoned
on her consciousness.

Her gaze dipped before she could stop herself. It wasn’t until she’d returned to her
room that she realized she still had her glasses on—she’d tied them around her head
with a ribbon so they wouldn’t keep falling off while she was sewing. That must be
why he’d looked so … 
large
.

So much for the hope to never see him again, to bury what had happened in the deepest,
darkest corner of her memory and pretend it had never occurred. Seeing him brought
it all back again.

Heat crawled up her face. What could she have been thinking? Why hadn’t she run away?
She
should
have run away. She still couldn’t believe she’d stood there and watched as first
he’d pleasured the woman and then as he’d …

As he’d pleasured himself.

She’d never seen a man take himself in his own hand before. Surely it was a wicked
thing to do? She just hadn’t realized wicked could be so arousing.

She couldn’t think about it without feeling the heat of shame wash over her (at least
she told herself the blast of warmth that shot over her skin was from shame). Sweet
heaven, she’d never felt anything like that before in her life. For a moment, when
he’d looked into her eyes as he’d found release, she’d actually let herself believe
that she’d done that to him. That all that intensity, all that heat, all that raw
masculine energy as he’d taken his pleasure had been for her.

The way he’d looked at her …

No man had ever looked at her like that. As if she were desirable. Even when she’d
been young and pretty, her husband hadn’t seemed to notice. Not when he had so many
beautiful women falling at his feet.

Listen to her, what a fool she was! After all these years she still thought she could
inspire a man’s lust. She hadn’t been able to keep her husband’s interest when she
was at her best; how could she think to attract a man now, when she’d purposefully
made herself look as unattractive as possible?

Worse, she knew he’d seen her arousal and guessed how much she wanted what he was
giving that woman. The passion and pleasure she’d only glimpsed but had never experienced.

How pathetically ironic that the most sensual moment of her life had occurred when
she wasn’t even a participant!

Mary didn’t know whether she was more horrified at him or at herself. Him for his
wickedness or her for enjoying it. Mostly, she was just embarrassed. He was probably
still laughing at her. The silly little mortal who’d thought a god could actually
be interested in her—even for a moment.

But she couldn’t help asking, “Who is he?”

“Impressive, isn’t he?” Margaret said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Obviously, Mary had given something away in her expression. She shrugged indifferently,
but it didn’t fool either of them.

“It’s the man the king mentioned,” Margaret said. “Sir Kenneth Sutherland of Moray.
He’s been something of a surprise. No one expected him to do this well. His brother
was a champion a few years ago, but Sir Kenneth has never won anything before.”

Mary’s heart lurched for one silly beat before she tamped it back down to reality.
It was only natural to experience a flicker of girlish delight at the prospect of
an alliance to such a handsome man, she told herself. But she wasn’t a young girl
anymore. She was a woman who knew better than to let herself get carried away by illusions.
She’d married one arrogant, handsome knight, and it had led to enough misery for a
lifetime.

“It would be quite a coup, you know,” her former sister-in-law said.

Mary’s brows gathered across her nose in question. “A coup?”

“To bring him to the altar. There isn’t a young, unmarried woman here who wouldn’t
like to do that. Especially since his brother the earl named him heir.”

Margaret appeared to have picked up on the king’s intent, as had she.

“But surely that is only temporary, until the earl has sons of his own?”

Margaret shook her head. “The rumor is that the earl will have no sons. One day Kenneth
Sutherland or his son will be earl. If his handsome face wasn’t enough of a temptation,
a future earldom has made him one of the most sought-after men in Scotland. And it
seems the king is offering
him to you like a stuffed bird on a gold-encrusted platter.”

Mary’s mouth quirked in spite of herself, the image was so ridiculous. She’d had her
fill of overstuffed peacocks. “If that is what Robert intends, then I’m afraid he
will be disappointed.”

Mary could feel Margaret studying her face and kept her expression impassive. “You
can’t tell me you aren’t the slightest bit tempted.”

She was tempted, but not for marriage. The sinful thought popped in her mind before
she could stop it.

Good God, what was wrong with her?

She sighed, knowing full well what was wrong with her. She’d seen exactly what was
wrong with her. She shook her head firmly. “I’ve no wish to marry again.”

Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. She had witnessed the heartbreak and disappointment
of Mary’s marriage firsthand. “Wishing has very little to do with marriage for women
in our position though, does it?”

It was the harsh truth. But Mary would rather enter a nunnery than be forced to marry
again. At least then she would be in control of her own destiny.

“Not all men are like my brother, Mary.” Margaret frowned, watching as Kenneth Sutherland
took the field to square off against his first opponent in the hammer event. “But
perhaps you are right not to be tempted by him. I fear Kenneth Sutherland has left
a trail of broken hearts behind him every bit as long as my brother’s.”

Hearing her suspicions confirmed was oddly disappointing. But the comparison, once
made, was hard to dislodge. As the competition got underway, it only became more solidified
in her mind.

She might have been eighteen again, sitting in the stands watching her husband for
the first time and witnessing a hero in the making. Atholl, too, had been magnificent.
She’d never forget how excited she’d been. How she’d sat in
her seat, heart in her throat, and watched the man she’d been married to for three
years but who was still essentially a stranger to her compete in the various events.

Separated from her by imprisonment during the first year of their marriage, and forced
to fight for Edward in Flanders during the second, Atholl had only been permitted
to return to Scotland a few months prior. He’d joined her at Blair Castle for only
a few weeks before leaving to attend his duties at court. She’d been so looking forward
to the Games, not simply because it was the first time she’d been allowed to attend,
but also because she would finally be spending time with the handsome man to whom
she was married. The unpleasantness of the first coupling on their wedding night had
given way to a slightly more pleasurable experience on his return over two years later,
and she had a very unmaidenly interest in learning more.