Betrayed (26 page)

“As a matter of fact I do.” Wary green eyes followed his approach. “You—you can sleep wherever you did last night.”

Beneath the stars?
Krayne grimaced. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, but not because he was sprawled on the hard deck with only the elements for a blanket. He was quite used to sleeping in the open and tonight the elements were unusually kind. So why the hell was he here? He reached the berth and gazed down on his wife. “Ye’d do better ta not remind me of last night.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A friendly warning.” He tugged the crumpled cover free from her grip, glimpsing the briefest display of creamy calves and slim ankles beneath her modest shift before he shook it out to settle neatly over Amber and the rest of the bed. He lay down on top of the cover and puffed the pillow at his head.

“Very well,” Amber huffed. “You take the bed.”

He caught her arm as she scrambled over the lower part of his legs. “Yer not leaving this cabin.”

Her gaze burned into him. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Her cotton shift hid nothing. The satin curve of collarbone, the delicious swell of breasts beneath the wild tumble of black hair. “Yer not leaving this bed,” he growled.

“You will force me?” Amber clawed at the fingers wrapped about her arm.

His lids lowered dangerously. “That accusation no longer works on me and ye’ll do well ta remember it.”

As easily as if she were a rag doll, he pulled her back into the bed and flipped the cover over her.

Amber shut her eyes and made her body go limp. She had not the strength to fight him off and she would not debase herself by begging for mercy. But if he thought to make her respond this time, he was out of his arrogant mind.

After what seemed like an age and a day, she peeked one eye open. Then the other. He was lying on his back, a full arm’s length space between them, and his eyes were closed. The profile of his rugged jaw was firmly set and shadowed from both the lamps and lack of shaving.

So stern. So harsh. So forbidding.

Then why did she crave his touch? Her eyes went lower, to the large, callused hand that lay upon his chest. So big and rough, and capable of such magical tenderness. A little like the man himself. His scent was impossibly masculine, excruciatingly familiar, warm and woodsy and as dangerous as a forest teeming with wolves at the deepest hour of night. But she was safe. For the moment. Or so it seemed.

“Why?” she asked him, wondering if he were truly asleep.

Why?
Krayne wished he knew the answer. Why was he here? And why was he not lowering his taut body over her and taking what was his by right? Every stilted breath she took, every rustle of the sheets beside him, fanned the fire that thrummed his veins and licked at the tip of his rigid shaft.

Why, indeed, was he inflicting this torture on himself?

But he could neither take her nor leave her. “I am yer husband and yer place is in my bed.”

The bed shifted and he knew she’d turned away. He pictured those creamy white bums she’d put to him and imagined flipping that prim shift about her hips, sliding his cock between her lower cheeks with smooth, pressing strokes, then slickly sliding into her from behind. A bead of sweat formed on his brow and he felt a similar pearl of liquid seep from his swollen shaft.

He could coax her to exquisite pleasure. He’d been amazed, and pleased, to discover just how responsive the little vixen was in bed. Aye, he’d have no trouble whipping her into a frenzy of wanton passion. And after last night, he had not one doubt that she wanted it, wanted him.

He’d given her a glimpse of paradise, then slammed the gate in her face.

This was to be her punishment, the only suitable punishment he could come up with in the wee hours of dawn. He understood her fear, her need to see him drugged. He could even accept the elaborate scene she’d painted for him in the aftermath of terror. But that she had witnessed his horror, his complete repentance at the abhorrent act he’d instigated, and then gone on to marry him under the guise of forgiveness, and maybe more…Only to make him suffer, day upon night upon day, until she could flee forever and leave him with the legacy that his wife had been unable to stay married to a monster. That was another matter altogether.

A soft groan came at his right, then the covers beneath him pulled tight. He rolled his head on the pillow to watch her turn onto her back, now soundly asleep. The day had finally caught up to her, his black-haired angel. Krayne sighed and removed his hungry gaze from all that temptation. He wanted only to punish her for a short while, not ruin his marriage bed for all future nights. He drifted off to sleep, wondering who he was punishing more, his deserving wife or himself.

They entered the dale of Wamphray Water a little after noon. They’d set a tedious pace with Alexander slumped over his horse, necessitating a stop every couple of miles, but Krayne would not leave him behind and his captain had put his foot down at being carted home on a litter. The riders summoned from Wamphray had continued on to Annan the day before after finding the Maxwell peel tower deserted, and Krayne was grateful for the guard. He’d have to deal with the Maxwell bastard sooner or later. Even an irritant flea needed to be swatted eventually, when one had the time and inclination.

Amber rode forward to join him in the front as they approached Nodding Ned. “Are you going to ignore me forever or are we to pretend some semblance of a partnership?”

Krayne’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. He’d left the cabin this morning before she’d stirred and had said little since except to bark orders, but he only wished he could ignore her. What would his wife say if she knew he’d awoken with her in his arms? That they’d slept that way the entire night? That he’d deliberately reached for her on his long fall through drowsiness into sleep and tucked her close at his side?

“I only ask,” Amber continued stiffly at his silence, “so that I know what is expected of me.”

“Yer my wife. I believe I made my expectations of a wife quite clear afore we were married.”

Amber rolled her eyes. She recalled he’d had a long list, but only one item had stuck fast in her mind.
A willing wife would gladly seek ta please me in all ways.
“Then maybe I should add my requirements to this marriage.”

“Ye already did.”

She frowned at the blatant lie.

Krayne glanced at her with an infuriating grin. “If my memory serves correctly, ye had but one requirement. Ta see yer woman brought from Spedlin.” His head tilted to one side. “Ye’ll agree that requirement has been met.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“’Twas yer list, Amber, not mine. If ye consider it unfair, then ye’ve only yerself ta blame.”

Amber snorted loudly, but once again he was ignoring her. She pulled at the reins to slow her mare and fell back to the rear beside Mary. Before long, the pale stone of Wamphray’s tower came into view, followed by the graceful lines of the castle set into the hillside as they rounded the last winding bend. Amber bit down on her lip at a new worry.

This was her home now. These were her people. And to a man and woman, and probably child, they hated her. She said as much to Mary, adding, “Just you see. Every accusing eye will go directly from Alexander to me, as if I’d personally kicked his ribs in. How am I to bear it?”

“I’ve never seen you give up, child, not even after you were defeated. And I’m sorely pressed to name a single person who has not adored you on further acquaintance.” Her lips pursed at that. “With the exception of your uncle and his troop of Scottish thugs, of course.”

“Adore? I’d be happy to be merely tolerated.”

“Then make it so, child. Make it so.”

And so she would, Amber told herself as she lifted her chin and set her shoulders back. Mary was right. She rarely accepted defeat, even when it clubbed her on the head. As they veered from the riverbank and up the gentle incline toward the massive castle gates, however, her optimism floundered. She’d never attempted to ingratiate herself in anybody’s favour before. She usually barged forward, merrily doing things her way, with the view that if someone didn’t like it they could leave it.

Everyone came out to greet them, of course, a steady stream of people flowing down the front steps to fill up the bailey. Chatting, smiling, laughing and waving.

They probably hadn’t seen her yet. Her chin notched a little higher as she sat upon her mare and watched Alexander being helped down. He was immediately surrounded and helped inside despite his growling complaints that he could manage fine on his own. Krayne had already dismounted and was leading his horse to the stables.

Her lips clamped tight, but really, what had she expected? A welcome home speech from her husband? Muttering some worthy expletives, she slid down her mare’s flank to coincide with Peter’s arrival at her side.

“’Tis pleased we are ta have ye back safely, me lady,” he said, his smile so wide it threatened to join at his ears.

She ruffled his blond head. Peter was a dear lad incapable of bearing a grudge.

When he reached for her reins, she forestalled him. “Would you mind helping Mary?” Amber turned to see Mary slide into Brayan’s arms. The McAllister cook’s face was lit in adoration as he swung Mary about, refusing to put her down when she giggled her protests.

“Never mind,” murmured Amber. Dear Lord, when had
that
happened? Was she truly so blind? So absorbed in her own problems?

Amber left them to their happy reunion and made her lonely way across the pebbled courtyard. The crowd parted on her approach, leaving a broad path for her to climb the steps. She held her head high, looking at everyone and no one, refraining from any eye contact whatsoever. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tackle her unpopularity.

The blessed emptiness of the great hall folded about her shoulders and she allowed some of her tension to release. At least she had urgent business to keep her mind busy. She knew a whole lot less about cracked ribs than the ship’s surgeon, but pain was pain, and she knew how to make that go away with reasonable success.

Walking into Krayne’s chamber stirred so many memories, Amber could not help but feel the secure warmth of familiarity lighten her heart. She’d gone through a lifetime of experiences within these walls, good and bad. She’d been dragged in a child, and had fled a woman.

And now she’d returned to grow old at her husband’s side.

Her own room at the back was as she’d left it. The long table she’d had brought up to work on still held the carefully covered jars of herbs she’d painstakingly gathered while waiting for Mary’s ankle to heal. The smithy had fitted a hook neatly across the centre of the hearth on her request, and had then used his initiative to fashion a small iron kettle to hang from it. He’d seemed rather eager to please. Actually, she recalled, only Isla had been openly hateful in the spectrum of attitudes that had ranged from disinterested to respectful to friendly.

But she’d changed all that by running away.

How could they respect a mistress who’d fled, who’d brought harm to one of their own, who was responsible for their laird’s capture?

She kindled a fire at the hearth, and was filling the kettle from a pitcher of fresh water when Mary entered.

“You should be resting, child.”

“I need a remedy for Alexander.” Amber hung the kettle over the fire, then moved to the table.

“Have you made peace with Krayne?”

Amber snorted as she added her ingredients to the clay bowl and ground with excess energy. “That man knows only war.”

“Out.” The quiet command that came from the doorway was as effective as a roar.

Amber spun about.

Mary yelped in fright, took one look at Krayne and ran.

Gripping the edge of the table behind her to prevent her hands from doing something they might later regret, Amber scowled at him. “Honestly, Krayne, is that really necessary?”

“What are ye doing?” He reached the table and swept a hand across, knocking over some of the jars. “What the hell is going on here?”

Amber rescued her tottering jar of mandrake just before it fell and clutched it at her chest. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through to collect these? Half the herbs and roots I need do not even grow this far north and God knows when the gypsies will be back.”

“I dinna care. I want all this gone.” His glare came up to her in dark disgust. “What is this? Or should I ask, who is it fer?”

Her lips twisted as he pressed the bowl beneath her nose. “Alexander.”

His fingers opened and the bowl crashed to the floor in pieces. “What has the poor man done ta ye?”

“He’s done naught,” she spat, green eyes flashing. “That would be you. Always and only ever you.” Dropping to her knees, she gathered the larger fragments of clay and stacked them on the side of the table. She got to her feet, would have liked to storm out, but didn’t trust Krayne with her precious ingredients. “I’m mixing a potion to ease Alexander’s pain and help him sleep.”

“He doesna require potions.”

She folded her arms and tilted her chin at him. “Have you ever had a broken rib? If you had, you’d know that every breath he takes feels like a splinter piercing his lungs.”

“And how would ye know that?”

“He told me.”

“He hasna said anything ta me.”

“Did you ask?” she said with false sweetness and didn’t wait for an answer. “Or mayhap you were so busy ignoring me you didn’t have time to hear the grunts, groans and whimpers as Alexander clung to his saddle.”

Taken aback, Krayne stared at her for a long moment, then at the table for even longer. Finally he muttered something inaudible and turned to her. “Dinna let me ever learn that ye have mixed potions fer any use other than healing, Amber.”

She gave him a tense smile that lasted until he disappeared through the doorway, then fetched a new bowl and started grinding from scratch. “Ignorant despot. As if I’d ever intentionally harm anyone.”

A few hours later Amber was vowing to do serious bodily damage to the man she’d married. He’d come to collect her for supper, politely asking after Alexander as he led her to the top table on his arm, showing no sign of his earlier rage or contempt for her potion making. He’d even nodded at her with something of a grin when she mentioned that his man had taken the remedy gratefully and fallen almost immediately into a peaceful, restorative sleep. He’d ladled a trencher high with softly boiled greens and carved thin slices of beef for them to share.