Betrayed (10 page)

In the meantime, he could begin to soothe the waters. “I spoke ta Red John and am satisfied he didna touch ye.”

Amber supposed it was useless pointing out that she’d already told him as much,
when he’d threatened to gut the poor man.
“May I assume you didn’t pick that satisfaction from his entrails?”

Krayne grinned at her. “He kept his gut intact, but traded places with ye in the dungeon fer the night.”

“You say you believe he didn’t touch me, so why must he be punished?”

“If he’d had time ta taste the dish he bought, I’d have had him flogged and then sent ta the dungeon. As it is, he still pays yer price.”

“Are you always this callous?”

Krayne’s grin turned sardonic and the hardness reached his eyes. His
soothing
had whipped a hurricane into the waters and now he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “If by callous ye mean not hiding the truth behind pretty words, then aye.”

“So you
do
think me a whore,” she exclaimed. “Pity I cannot recall the pretty words you used the last time you denied it so vehemently.”

“Ye play indignation so well,” he drawled, “I wonder ye dinna insist that yer a blushing maid.”

As if to defy him, a mottled flush crept up her throat.

Suspicion stirred his loss of humour to downright anger. “Ye canna possibly be an untried maid.”

“I’ll not presume to know your morals this side of the border,” Amber snapped, “but in England a lady is expected to go pure to her marriage bed.”

“There’s more ta purity than an intact maidenhead,” he retorted.

“Then allow me to rephrase. In England, a lady is expected to go to her marriage bed with an intact—”

“Enough! I’ve only ta look behind me ta see yer trail of conquests.”

Amber sighed noisily. “If by that you mean Red John—”

“Right now I’m thinking of Stivin,” Krayne interrupted again. And himself. And lest he ever be allowed to forget, Red John. Someone had taught this wench to turn a man’s blood to steam that hissed for an outlet like a natural geyser well.

“Stivin is my friend.”

“He’s yer lover.”

“Never.”

Krayne laughed cruelly. “The lad is smitten and ye know it.”

“If I took every smitten male into my bed, I’d never leave my chamber.”

Her brazen words gave Krayne hope. “But there have been one or two along the way.”

“Not a single one.”

“I canna believe that.”

“And I don’t care whether you believe I’m innocent or—” the fight left her voice, “—or not.” She lowered her gaze. “Would it be so terrible if I were?”

Aye, Krayne thought, no longer able to fight the truth. He’d lost her before he’d ever had her.

Her lashes dipped to shadow her high cheeks and the provocative gesture sent white heat spiralling to the tip of his swollen shaft. Christ. Mayhap he should take her as his mistress regardless. She seemed to know all the tricks, whether or not she’d ever actually applied theory to practice.

He had to get out now, or he’d end up ruining her life, and probably his own in the bargain.

“If ye need ta ask,” he said roughly, unable to control the animal she unleashed, “then yer even more innocent than ye claim.”

He leaned in as he rose from the bed, so close to her that his words brushed her eyelids. “And how can that be, when every time ye look at me there’s sin in yer eyes.”

“Go to hell,” she whispered hoarsely.

He looked at her a moment more, then walked out of the room.

“I’m already there,” he swore when he was out of her hearing.

Amber rode in between Duncan and Alexander. Krayne was directly ahead and three men she didn’t recognise brought up the rear. All were heavily armed with broadswords slung across their backs, dirks sheathed at their boots and leather jacks protecting their chests. If that wasn’t sufficient, Duncan had a crossbow across his shoulder, as well.

She felt as if she were riding to war and knew it could well be the truth. With the exchange upon them, she was queasy from nerves and fear for Stivin. Less so for herself. Krayne was black-tempered, unpredictable and far beyond her understanding. She’d decided to never trust him with her heart or soul, but she still trusted him with her life.

They followed the River Annan to avoid the undulating ridges that rose steadily to the east and only turned in after Dinwoodie. Blaeberry Hill was little more than a mound sloping gently into Auchenroddan Forest and deep in Jardin territory. The noonday sky was a crisp blue with no clouds in sight, sunlight shimmering on the rocky crags pushing through the gorse and rough grass.

Krayne leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to the sun as they topped a crest and Blaeberry Hill came into view. His sharp gaze quickly picked out the small band of men on horseback waiting right at the edge of the forest. Building up to the forest were scattered thickets of birch and beech, becoming denser further up the slope. He identified a lone oak tree that rose to some great height with no low branches to obscure the proceedings, and picked it as a possible exchange spot. He was settling back in the saddle to perform another scan of the area when a silver flicker from inside the woods alerted him.

Krayne pulled sharply at the bit to bring Cronus about and ordered his party to a halt. “The brainless coward has hidden men inside the forest. If he’d more sense than a half-baked salmon, he’d have had them keep their weapons sheathed.” Without pointing or looking back, he described exactly where he’d seen sun glint off steel. “They’re no doubt crawling all over the mound and hiding in the bushes.”

Duncan nudged his horse forward. “Send fer more men.”

“Nay. Jardin will no doubt scurry inta the hole he crawled from if he sees a messenger leaving and I want Stivin back today.” He made eye contact with Amber. “His true advantage is Stivin and ours is Amber. The man knows well ’tis his niece’s life he plays with.”

While his words reassured his men, his gaze hardened on Amber to reassure himself. He was pleased to see she neither flinched nor looked away. He’d avoided her last night and this morning, but had less success in isolating his thoughts. She came to him in sleep and haunted him when awake. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his world would pale when he turned her over to William Jardin. The reassurance he sought now was scant consolation, but she’d come to him with no fear in her eyes, and he wanted to return her that way.

Krayne allowed himself one last lingering look, from her haphazardly braided hair to the outline of slender thigh pressed to her horse’s flank. He cursed her damned maidenhood for the hundredth time, then turned Cronus about to face the secrets of Auchenroddan Forest.

Alexander and Duncan urged their mounts forward to line up beside him.

“I’ll ride on alone,” Krayne told them. “Jardin is sure ta meet me halfway.”

“And if he doesna?” Duncan asked grimly.

“Then I’ll ride inta his wooded camp.” He indicated the disjunct oak. “When I raise my hand ta signal, Alexander will escort Amber ta the oak and no further.” He looked at Duncan. “I want ye ta cover Stivin at all times and use that crossbow if need be.”

Duncan fingered the wooden bow at his shoulder. Seeing the sudden gleam in his brother’s eye, Krayne warned, “Dinna forget that forest is crawling with Jardins and we’ve two hostages ta protect. If ye use that thing, it’d best be ta save Stivin’s life or ye’ll have me ta deal with.”

Duncan’s hand dropped to his thigh, mumbling, “Faith, Krayne, I’m nae a greenling.”

“Jardin’s a wily bastard an’ scared o’ his own two feet,” Alexander said, “but he’d nae risk spoilin’ the exchange with a hidden army unless aught was amiss.”

Krayne met his captain’s eye. “I happen ta agree. If aught goes wrong, make haste ta Lochwood with the lass. Adam will know what ta do.”

“I’ll send the lass off with young Graham,” Alexander said, “but we’ll be at yer back at the first glimpse of Jardin steel and ye canna command otherwise.”

“Aye,” seconded Duncan. “Ye can have me flogged afterwards for disobeyin’ an order, I dinna give a rat’s arse. Yer my brother and a Johnstone and I willna run away.”

Krayne threw his head back in exasperation. “Very well, then. The two of ye leave me no choice but ta ensure naught goes wrong.” He clapped Duncan on the back and resisted one last look at Amber before setting off at a brisk canter.

No rider broke away from the forest’s edge to meet him, and Krayne pushed on until he was in shouting distance. Jardin’s group was deep in shadow, making it impossible to pick out Stivin.

Krayne pulled up reins and called, “Jardin! Ye use Auchenroddan like a woman’s skirts ta hide behind. Show yerself and let’s be done with this.”

A few more moments passed, then Krayne observed the barrel-chested man’s cautious approach with interest. He hadn’t seen William Jardin in some years, and what hair the man had lost on top seemed to have gone to the orange bush of his beard. His girth was wider than ever and, Krayne suspected, not nearly as firm as it had once been. He was amused to see two men-at-arms leave the wooded cover to flank Jardin.

“I can name the men that took part in the raid,” Jardin said, immediately on the defensive. “The king ’imself has promised ta deal harshly wi’ thieving an’ will welcome the opportunity ta add a Johnstone ta the list of barons he’s made an example o’.”

If God gives me but a dog’s life, I will make the key keep the castle and the bracken bush keep the cow through all of Scotland.
More oft than not, a border family was less likely to remember such an unjust law, unless it was to their advantage.

“I see no reason ta bother Jamie’s head with a scuffle on Jardin soil,” Krayne responded amiably. “My kinsmen have been duly reprimanded. I know my cousin Stivin forced his company upon ye, so ye have no fear of reprisal. ’Tis a simple exchange. A cousin fer a niece. Dinna complicate the matter with insults and threats that could cause another Red Burn.”

As intended, Jardin paled significantly. The incident, later known as the Red Burn, had occurred a sennight after the broken Johnstone-Jardin betrothal, five days after Krayne’s mother, widowed and abandoned with child, had gone missing; presumed dead. The Black Burn, running low that late in winter and being a natural barrier between Jardin land and Johnstone vengeance, had been an apt scene for the battle. That the burn had run red for so many days had been due to its almost-stagnant lethargy, for the fighting had lasted less than one hour. The staggering Johnstone victory was not alone responsible for Jardin’s white complexion. Krayne had not led his men against the Jardins in full battle cry since that fatal day, and that day the young laird had been but fourteen years of age.

William Jardin cleared his throat. Ever since that day he’d been waiting, anticipating, well aware that so long he lived, Johnstone vengeance would not be complete. But it had never come. And he’d grown complacent.

He had no doubt that he would not survive Krayne Johnstone a second time. When he spoke, his voice was brittle with tension. “I didna know the lad’s name afore we were inside Spedlin’s walls. By then it was too late and yer cousin refused ta leave.”

“As interesting as this may be,” said Krayne, “I prefer ta hear the details from Stivin in the comfort of my home. I suggest we remove ourselves ta yon lone oak tree and call fer the hostages so we may acclaim their well-being and go our separate ways.”

Jardin knew his time was up. He looked to the oak tree, then beyond to the familiar proud carriage of his niece astride a grey mare. He tried to swallow, but his parched throat would not allow it.

He didn’t want to die.

He feared death.

And he feared Amber successfully petitioning the king for Spedlin and his lands of Applegarth even more. If the witch won, his soul would lay waste in eternal purgatory. He’d never truly expected to make it to heaven, but at least in hell he could count on a few friends.

Jardin said a quick prayer and made an open-ended deal with the devil, then brought his gaze back to Krayne. “That isna possible.”

Krayne cocked his head to one side, his eyes suddenly harder than iron.

In that look, Jardin understood he had nothing to lose. “I’ve fifty men an’ more waitin’ at my back ta yer six. Ye’ll nae doubt take me an’ a few more ta hell with ye, but ’tis pure slaughter fer yer men and I canna see them runnin’ from the fight. I ken full well the bad blood ’tween us, yet I wouldna willingly harm ye or yers.”

“My patience runs dry,” Krayne said. Although his tone was quelling, numbing control had already started to spread inside. “Is Stivin here? What have ye done ta him?”

Krayne kept perfectly still, his cold gaze steady on the bastard’s sweating face. He already knew the answers. ’Twas the details he now sought.

“He wouldna leave,” Jardin reiterated, then went on to the part he thought prudent to revise. “He demanded ta see my niece, Amber, and wouldna go until he’d had his way. When she refused ta come down ta the hall, Stivin accused me o’ harming the lass an’ keeping her away from ’im.”

“She refused to see Stivin?”

“The lass has a mind o’ her own. The hour was late. She bade me have him return on the morrow when she was…presentable. What’s a mon ta do?” He couldn’t quite meet Krayne’s eyes anymore. Jardin knew that the lie was audacious, but the truth would seal his fate. Revealing that Amber had been locked in her chamber would give too much credence to Stivin’s actions, and place guilt he had no intention of bearing on his own shoulders.

The bitch
was
stubborn, he remembered, as Krayne had no doubt discovered for himself these last couple of days.

He lowered his head in remorse for what he was about to deliver. “Stivin rushed the stairs ta her chamber. I stepped in his path ta protect her, as be my right an’ duty. When he lunged at me with a dagger he drew from nowhere, one o’ my men brought ’im down. ’Tis a natural reaction, as natural ta a moss-trooper as flyin’ be ta a bird.”

“Brought him down?” Krayne’s cool, placid voice queried.

Jardin wiped his brow beneath Krayne’s stone-grey stare. Gad’s truth, ’twas mostly the truth. Danny Elliot had jumped between him and Stivin, and plunged his sword clean through the lad’s chest before either of them saw it coming. “Stivin fell upon his own dagger. A tragic accident, but an accident nae less. An act o’ self-defence…” He faltered as his throat closed up. “There was nae suffering. Stivin died instantly. I panicked. I shouldha sent a messenger at once. Then Amber disappeared an’ I feared fer her life.”

“Ah, Amber…” The detached voice was sinister.

Where was the fury? Broken grief? Sweat poured down Jardin’s forehead and into his eyes as he regarded the emotionless man.

“Ye have yer back well protected,” Krayne observed, “but surely ye didna expect me ta just hand over yer niece? How did ye imagine ta protect her?”

Jardin hadn’t spared a single moment’s worry for Amber, but he retained the wits to remember that his story was built upon concern for his niece. He shook his head to break eye contact so that he could think clearly. They both knew that the army he’d brought along was a last resort deterrent. Any attack would be an invitation to total extinction before very long. The Johnstone chief would sweep down from Lochwood like the black pox and wipe the Jardin clan from the face of the earth.

“In truth,” hedged Jardin, “I ne’er thought ta see the lass alive again.”

Krayne lifted a mocking brow. “I’m not in the habit of hanging my only hostage.”

Jardin’s fingers flinched close to the hilt of his sword. Krayne sounded almost bored, but he wasn’t deceived. His story was falling apart. He had to do better. “I didna expect her ta hold out against yer interrogation.”

Life flickered in that grey gaze. Dark and blazing. And then it was gone. “She knew.”

“Amber was hiding on the stairs and witnessed everythin’. She was distraught, overcome with guilt at where her vain teasing had led. She lost her mind and ran off. I feared she’d nae have the wits ta keep cool headed an’ silent. ’Tis apparent the lass has more git than I gave her credit fer.”

Jardin bit down hard on his lip. It wasn’t easy defending Amber even as he handed her over to the beast, but he thought he was doing a fine job. She deserved nothing less. She’d lured that Johnstone vermin into Spedlin like a prancy English knight. In retrospect, he should have had her brought down to soothe Stivin’s ruffled feathers. But how could he have guessed the disastrous repercussions?

“The cold-hearted bitch,” Krayne muttered.

Jardin pretended not to hear. He drew his first light breath in days. He was twice saved, once from Johnstone wrath and twice from the damned curse. So far he was concerned, Krayne couldn’t dispense vengeance on his niece soon enough.

Krayne lowered his eyes, taking a much needed respite. He was losing precious control to an inner argument he shouldn’t even be having. So what if Amber had known all along? It made little difference in the end. Johnstone blood had been spilled on Jardin land and he held the contemptuous laird directly responsible. So why were flames licking at the steel resolve that had always allowed him to listen, assess and patiently finalise his plans of condemnation?

He was anything but in control. His blood boiled. He wanted to knock Jardin to the ground and strangle the whoreson with his bare hands for boldfaced lies.

He wanted to ride down hard on Amber and demand she deny every filthy word.

Krayne’s knuckles whitened at his grip on the reins. “If yer not prepared ta meet me in honest battle afore this day is done, then I suggest ye order one of yon archers ta shoot me in the back.”

He jerked at the bit and gave Jardin his back. He wasn’t foolhardy, though, and rode at a full gallop. The air ripped coolness through his hair as he charged across the uneven rocky ground with confidence. The fire inside him flared and curbed to the tempo of his inner arguments.