Adrienne Basso (8 page)

Gavin stiffened, cursing his bastard brother beneath his breath. The knave had the most incredible sense of timing in all of Christendom. Was he never to find a minute’s peace from his antics? “Have they caught his trail?”

“Aye. Duncan believes he’s heading fer Dunfield’s Cross. He knew ye’d want to be told of it straightaway.”

“Fine. Ye’ve done yer duty and told me.” The temptation to slam the door and return to Fiona’s warm body tore at his gut, but Gavin couldn’t resist adding, “If the men take the Sterling pass, they should be able to intercept the raiders.”

The young squire nodded eagerly. “That’s just what Duncan said they’re going to do.”

Gavin grimaced. “Have they left?”

“They’re gathering in the bailey right now.”

Gavin hesitated for a moment and that troubled him. No woman should ever come between him and his duty. Especially an English mistress.

“Call fer my squire and have my horse readied. I’m going with them.”

The lad smiled and hurried off. Gavin turned to a silent and still Fiona. She had retrieved her nightgown from the floor and gathered it close to her chest.

“Is there danger?”

“Of a sort. An outlaw who thinks he can raid my villages and frighten my people is once again on the loose. He needs to be taught differently.”

“Must you go? Can you not send your men?”

“’Twould be better if I lead them.”

He was pleased to see she understood his answer, perhaps even approved of it. It took maturity and a serious regard for a man’s leadership position for a female to fully comprehend the notion of duty.

One look at Fiona’s rumpled, doe-eyed countenance was all Gavin needed to dispel that disconcerting thought. He took a long, deep breath, struggling to beat back the lusty demands of his body. Once in command of himself, he placed a knee on the bed and leaned forward, looming over her.

“I’ll not be gone long. Keep the bed warm. Better yet, move yerself into my chamber and keep that bed warm. ’Tis larger.”

Then, giving her hip a hard squeeze, he left.

 

 

With a flushed face and a quivering body, Fiona stared at the closed door. Gavin being called away was a stroke of good luck for her, was it not? A close escape from having to pleasure him, to allow him intimate liberties, to experience feelings and emotions that she could not identify.

No man had ever touched her the way Gavin had. Even more shocking was her answering response and the deep feeling of longing for more of the same. When he encircled her within his arms and kissed her, it felt as though her insides were floating.

She was completely unprepared for the strong rush of emotions that invaded her the moment his lips touched hers. There was promise in his caresses. Promise of fulfillment, yes, but promise of compassion and caring. Dangerous emotions for any woman to expose her heart to, but a vulnerability that no mistress could afford.

It should have felt tawdry, allowing a man who was not her husband to take such liberties. Maybe that was what was bothering Fiona most—it hadn’t felt wrong. It had been comfortable and natural. It had been glorious and she craved more.

How could that be? She had lived her life striving to do what was good and proper and moral. Her reward from the Almighty for following this path had been the tragic death of her husband, abandonment by her blood relations, and days lived in fear.

The earl had changed it all. Fiona knew it was only temporary, knew she would leave his castle one day, would leave him. But while she stayed, was it so terrible to search for and nurture any bits of pleasure she could find?

Was that really so wrong, so wicked?

She needed to find the courage to ask Father Niall. Her priest and confessor had said nothing about this bargain she had struck with the earl, but she knew he must have an opinion.

Was she ready to hear it?

Fiona sat on the edge of the bed, shook out her crumpled nightgown, and then slipped the garment over her head. The earl had asked her if she was afraid. She had lied and said no. But deep inside Fiona acknowledged the truth. She did fear him. But not in the way he thought. Not physically. She feared the emotions he stirred within her breast, the feelings of promise and hope. She feared she would grow to care for him, and no good would ever come from that situation.

Fiona’s mind turned to Henry. Guilt rose up within her like a murky tide. She had never felt this passionate intensity with her husband, had never craved him so completely, longed for him so defiantly.

Henry is dead.
For once the thought did not bring the usual well of intense sadness. Instead, Fiona felt a calming acceptance of the reality. There was no need for her to lock away the memory of her love for her dead husband. ’Twas better to recall the joy of life and living, to remember what it felt like to love and trust a man.

Henry’s death had taken so much away from her, but it had also given her the strength to move forward, to admit that a part of her hoped to one day find the love of a good man. It felt honest acknowledging these feelings, for they would help protect her. From Gavin. She had agreed to be his mistress and she would uphold her part of the agreement. She would be sweet and accommodating and giving. She would do all that he asked of her—and gladly.

But, she would exercise prudence and self-preservation. She would not fall prey to the earl’s charms. For that road most assuredly led to heartbreak and despair.

 

 

Gavin was awake. He shifted restlessly to his side and pulled the edge of his cloak to his chin. The hard dirt dug into his hip and shoulder, but he knew it was useless to try and find a comfortable position sleeping on the forest ground.

Grunting beneath his breath, Gavin stared out into the thickening woods ahead. The canopy of tree leaves hid the moon and most of the stars, yet he could still make out the silhouette of the man posted on watch.

Closing his eyes, Gavin adjusted his head on the log he was using as a pillow and once again tried to sleep, hoping the rustle of leaves and the creak of the windblown trees might lull him into an hour or two of slumber. But the rumbling sound of the men snoring around him and the hoots and growls of the woodland creatures inhabiting these woods made sleep impossible.

That, and the thoughts running through his mind. When dawn broke, it would be up to him to decide if they would continue the pursuit or make their way back to the castle. Without capturing Gilroy.

They had tracked the outlaws to Dunfield’s Cross, only to discover Gilroy and his men had already come and gone. Discouraged by the now-cold trail, they had ridden another ten miles before making camp. Gavin knew patience was required to vanquish an enemy. Following that creed had proven successful in the past with many of his foes. But in the case of his bastard half brother, Gavin’s patience was gone. He was tired of playing games.

Abandoning the pretense of sleep, Gavin stood.
I might as well relieve the soldier keeping watch. Mayhap that poor sod can get a few hours of rest.
Gavin took a step, then froze at the faint sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Shifting his feet to see through the thick tree leaves, he squinted up at the night sky, surprised to see twinkling stars dotting the blackness.

No storm would be coming on a clear night. Then why the thunder? Gavin turned at the exact moment a spine-chilling war cry shattered the stillness of the night. A line of men on horseback burst out of the underbrush. Swords drawn, they charged the camp.

“To arms!” Gavin roared. “’Tis Gilroy!”

The camp erupted in confusion. Men shouted and cursed and scrambled to find their weapons in the darkness. The ringing of steel on steel soon filled the night.

A rider charged Gavin just as he reached for his sword. He leapt to his right and the warrior swung ineffectively into thin air. Heavy sword clasped between both hands, Gavin pivoted around and slashed his foe in the leg, striking nearly to the bone. The man screamed and fell to the ground while his riderless horse disappeared into the woods.

The night air thickened with the energy of battle. Swords clashed and arrows flew, as each side fought for dominance. Gavin fought his way into the center of the fray, his mobility hampered by the darkness, his determination increasing with each swing of his sword.

A body hit the ground next to him, coming so close it brushed against Gavin’s boot as it fell. Gavin glanced down briefly, noting the arrow protruding from the man’s chest, then felt a stab of relief when he saw it was not one of his soldiers.

Realizing they were outnumbered, and the tide of the skirmish was turning against them, Gilroy and his men fled into the dense forest.

Gavin watched them retreat, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Ignoring the bodies strewn on the hard ground, he faced Aidan. “Did we lose any men?”

“Nay. We sustained some gashes and bruises, but these bodies are Gilroy’s minions.”

Using his foot, Connor rolled one of the prone men onto his back. A single shard of moonlight bathed the corpse in a ghastly glow. Blood seeped from the gash across the man’s chest and pooled onto the soil, making it slippery.

“I dinnae recognize him,” Duncan said, bending low to peer closely at the man’s features.

“I’m not surprised,” Aidan said. “Outlaws and brigands are the only kind of men who would follow Gilroy and ye don’t know many of them.”

“They can fight,” Connor said. “I’ll give them that.”

“Not as well as they die.” Gavin felt the intensity of his emotions blazing in his chest and knew he needed to ignore them. Calm, steady, controlled. ’Twas the only way he would win this contest.

“There were at least two dozen of them that attacked us,” Aidan said, as he wiped the bloodied end of his sword on a nearby bush and carefully sheathed the weapon back in its scabbard.

“Did anyone see which way they went?” Connor asked.

“They scattered like leaves in the wind,” Aidan replied.

“North,” Duncan said with confidence.

“Leave one man to care fer our wounded and bury these bodies,” Gavin commanded. “The rest of ye mount up. We ride north.”

 

 

The constant sound of a ringing church bell startled Fiona awake. Rubbing her eyes, she tried taking in her surroundings, but it was too dark to see much.
’Tis not yet dawn. Why do they rise so early?

Shaking her sleep-clouded head, Fiona reached out and fingered the unfamiliar heavy bed curtains, realizing they were the reason for the dimness surrounding her.

Cautiously she pulled them back and a shaft of daylight caressed the length of her bare leg. Opening the fabric a fraction wider, she peeked out and peered about the room.

It was empty. Gavin was nowhere to be seen. Actually, judging by the neatness of the chamber, it appeared that he had not returned last night. She probably should not have heeded his command and slept in his chamber, but her mind had been occupied and in the end it seemed easier to obey.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Fiona froze, hoping it meant the household was answering the toll of the bells and going to Mass. But one pair of feet did stop, opening the chamber door and entering without a knock.

Fiona wasn’t certain who was more surprised—her or the female servant who entered.

“Glory be, what are ye doing in here?” the woman asked as her disapproving gaze swept Fiona from mussed hair to bare toes.

Fiona smiled mysteriously. She was not about to explain herself to this sour-faced servant. “Has the earl returned?”

The servant propped her hands on her hips and assumed an indignant air. “And why would ye be needing to know that?”

Deciding it was too early in the morning to be answering questions, Fiona sprung from the bed. She stalked out of the chamber and returned to her own and found Alice waiting for her.

“A group of wounded men arrived in the bailey not a half hour past,” Alice reported in a rushed whisper. “I heard two squires speaking of it when I went to the kitchen to fetch some food for you to break your fast.”

“What of the earl? Was he injured?”

“I don’t believe he was hurt. Apparently, they were set upon by a man the squires called Gilroy and his band of brigands, but the earl and his men fought off the attack.”

“Where is he now?”

“Giving chase. The squires were arguing over whether he would take Gilroy prisoner or kill him the moment he was captured.”

Fiona shuddered. As much as she understood the need to vanquish one’s enemies, killing always left a bitter taste. “From what I understand, this Gilroy is a fierce fighter, an enemy of long standing.”

“Oh, my lady, there is more to this sordid tale.” Alice took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Gilroy is the earl’s brother.”

“What?”

“ ’Tis true.” Alice’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “He’s his half brother. His bastard brother.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. They share the same sire, and according to the squires, much of the same tenacity. They spoke almost with admiration as they declared he might call himself Gilroy, but he was a McLendon through and through.”

“That is indeed a peculiar way of referring to one’s enemies,” Fiona agreed. She selected a simple, formfitting green kirtle with tapered sleeves, a full skirt, and a short train, and Alice assisted her into the garments.

“’Tis only one of the many things I don’t understand about these people,” Alice commented, as she tied the silk ribbons across the bodice of Fiona’s gown.

The maid efficiently brushed, then plaited and pinned Fiona’s hair on the top of her head. She added a delicate pure white veil and over that placed a gold circlet mitre to keep it in place.