Betrayed (27 page)

The mood had been warm, strangely intimate in the crowded hall, especially with his thigh grazing hers every so often. And he’d developed a particularly disturbing habit. He’d tilt his head low to her ear and whisper some arbitrary comment about the food or an amusing event concerning some person he pointed out, and then he’d wait, until the soft breaths tickling her cheek mounted a whole different tension, until his scent invaded her senses completely, until she had to look his way or die of suspense. And she’d look, each and every time she could not keep her chin from lifting up to him, and each and every time she found his lips hovering so close to hers, she could almost taste his kisses, almost feel his mouth crush down upon her lips.

The kiss that never came.

He’d grin that lopsided grin, and those grey eyes would heat her right through to her toes, and then he’d turn back to his food, leaving her breathless and deflated. Once, he’d thrummed her lower lip with his thumb. And she’d opened for him, so brazen as to slip the tip of her tongue out to lick the pad of his thumb. He’d merely chuckled at that, but his wink held a secret that sent a flame shooting between her legs.

Even his people were cooperative toward inducing the pleasant, warm feeling in her belly. She’d received numerous well wishes and welcomes on her way through the great hall. Some had even smiled at her. And even now, many were watching her with looks suspiciously lacking in accusation. Oh, she was sure that Krayne had ordered them to be nice, but she didn’t care.

The evening had started out with the promise of a reasonable future, her cheeks had flushed at what very well might happen later that night, and then Gayle had come.

She’d just sauntered by the table, laid a hand on Krayne’s forearm and murmured that she was dearly pleased to see him back no worse for wear. Had the gall to beam an innocent smile at Amber, then tossed those honey-blond tresses over her shoulder and sauntered off again.

Innocent. Hah.

It had taken Krayne all of one short moment to utter, “I’ll be back,” before following his precious Gayle through the archway and down the steps to the kitchen like a dog panting after a bone. And no one else seemed to notice or, if they did, care.

That had been a good hour ago. Amber had finished every last morsel on the trencher with sheer determination and gulped down three goblets of wine. Now she had naught to do but sit and wait.

Or leave.

On her own.

Her cheeks were still flushed, but this time the heat came from the fury bubbling beneath her skin. For some crazy reason, she’d assumed Krayne had finished with his leman once they’d wed. Crazy indeed. Why would he? ’Twas not as if he’d been coupling with his wife. Their marriage was not yet even consummated. She was not jealous by nature, but the vivid picture of Gayle perched on that table, groaning and clawing Krayne’s back as he thrust into her, again and again, undid Amber.
I’ll geld the adulterous swine!

“More wine, me lady.”

She came to herself, scowling furiously into the bottom of the goblet she clutched. Wiping her expression, Amber forced a smile on the serving woman and held out her goblet. “Aye, thank you.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady,” the woman said as she poured the wine, “but I jus’ wanted ta say what braw courage ye have. We all be mighty proud o’ our lady mistress, ain’t that the truth.”

Proud of her? For running off without an escort? For throwing the castle into uproar and leaving its people to stew in fear of their laird’s wrath for days?
Amber gave her head a little shake, half-afraid the wine had addled her hearing. But the woman was gone before she could question further.

Krayne paused on the fringe of the great hall, glancing over the rows of trestle tables until he found Amber, exactly where he’d left her. He smiled. His business with Gayle had taken longer than planned and his wife was renowned for never staying put. Mayhap change was in the air.

As he wound his way between the packed benches and tables, Mungo caught his eye. Krayne grimaced and shook his head. He’d clear forgotten Mungo’s request early this afternoon that he have a word with his daughter until Gayle had come up to greet him. Not that it had done any good. Gayle had been adamant that she was leaving and he’d been as adamant that she wasn’t. They’d talked circles around each other, Gayle refusing to give a reason for why she had to go, and Krayne insisting that no woman under his care would venture off alone to God knows where, for it seemed that she didn’t even have a destination in mind. He’d had no other course but to order Gayle, as her laird, to remain within the castle walls until further notice.

His gaze moved across the room to Amber. As he watched, Amber jumped to her feet with a glare that could slay dragons. Whatever he’d done now, Krayne told himself, he was sure to find out soon. His wife wasn’t one for meekly holding her tongue. He reached Amber’s side, losing the grin as he realised her intentions and caught her wrist as she swung her hand out.

“That wouldha been a very bad idea,” he said softly, locking her wriggling wrist at his thigh.

“Release me.” She stamped down hard on his boot.

“Time fer bed,” he said dryly, pulling her close to his side and adjusting her arm so that it was firmly tucked in his.

A few heads turned as he marched her down the aisle between two rows of trestles, but he smiled and held her in such a way that it seemed as if he were merely escorting his wife from the hall and up the stairway.

“In future,” he said as he dragged Amber into his chamber and released her to close the door behind them, “ye’ll wait until we are private afore airing yer grievances.”

She whirled all the way about and back to him. “Would you say this is private enough?”

He grunted, then cursed as he was forced to catch her swinging hand again before it came down on his cheek.

“Not even in private, wife,” he warned, flinging her hand from him. “I presume something brought this temper on?”

Amber glared at him. Her fingers itched to strike that condemning look from his face. As if
she
was the one at fault. She turned from him and fled through the archway into his inner bedchamber.

Krayne followed. “I canna read yer mind. If aught is amiss, ye’d do well ta speak it.”

“Naught is amiss,” she declared, refusing to feed his ego with her raging jealousy.
Let him keep a hundred whores. May they amuse him until his manhood rotted off.

“Yer not upset with me, then? Mayhap even a little angry?”

She gave him a sweet smile, though it pained to her teeth to do so. “Why would I be upset or angry?”

“So, ye just got it inta yer head ta slap me.”

“Something like that.” Her brow arched up to meet his quizzical expression.

Krayne didn’t know what to think. Had his wife suddenly decided to cause a scene in some pique of boredom? He should take her in hand, he thought grimly, before this behaviour became the pattern of their marriage. “May I presume that this sudden urge willna be repeated?”

“You may presume whatever you like,” Amber retorted, then shrank backward as a black shadow darkened Krayne’s eyes and hardened his jaw. She thought it wise to add, “I don’t foresee a reoccurrence without suitable provocation.”

“Ye would test the patience of an ox, wife.”

She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “And you would test the endurance of an ox.”

Krayne folded his arms, refusing to be drawn into her games. “Go ta bed, Amber.”

Her chin came up. “I’m not tired.”

“That is an order.”

“It is?” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “Well, then, that makes all the difference. Forgive me, my lord, for not understanding at once.”

With a few quick pulls to the lace bows at her side, her ruby velvet gown slid down her curves to pool at her slippered feet.

“Wh-what are ye doing?” stammered Krayne, a slow burn spreading through his veins as he watched Amber take a delicate step out of the gown. Her shift was sheer white cotton, trimmed with lace and embroidered with tiny red roses along the hem and down a small vee that dipped provocatively between her breasts, then dipped even lower as she bent to remove her slippers.

“Why, going to bed, my lord.” With another of those sweet smiles, she slowly turned and walked toward the bed, loosening her braid and shaking out the long tresses as she went.

To bed.

In his chamber.

The firelight outlined the shape of her tight bums as she moved. Krayne crossed his hands in front below his waist, but his plaid did nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal as she lay down on the bed, on top the covers, and smoothed her shift along her thighs.

Damn the tantalising vixen!

“If I recall correctly,” she said coolly, “you did say my place was in your bed.”

Aye, that he had. And he’d meant it. Krayne took a step toward the bed, anticipation dangling heavy in his balls, then he froze. What in hell was he doing? He’d vowed to bring her to her knees, to have her begging sweet mercy to join with him. He would taunt her with near kisses, overwhelm her with suggestive looks, until she knew no shame. And then he’d make her wait another day.

Krayne ground his back teeth, his jaw locked down in stone. His wife wasn’t begging for a thing. She was laid out on his bed like a bloody ice princess.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Krayne said, turning from her with determined strides. “Ye may retire ta yer own bed until further notice.”

Amber flinched as the outer door slammed shut. Damn the man. She’d buried her jealousy and pride and climbed into his bed, primed to welcome him straight from his leman’s arms.

And what had he done? Left her in his bed while he went back to Gayle! Amber rolled onto her front and pulled the pillow over her head.

Amber descended the front steps and crossed the courtyard to where her husband awaited, his feet set wide apart and his hands behind his back. He’d sent Peter to summon her while she was breaking her fast, and Amber had suddenly developed a hunger that could not be sated. All that she’d achieved, of course, was to bloat herself like a pig and delay the inevitable by maybe half an hour. Shame rushed to heat her cheeks as she met Krayne’s steady gaze.

Last night he ordered me from his bed.

Only a true wanton would defy such obvious lack of interest and lie in wait for his return. Not that she’d purposely done so. She’d fallen asleep halfway through her sobs, but what else could Krayne think? She knew he’d come back to the chamber, for she’d awoken beneath the covers and the crumpled sheet to her left indicated that he hadn’t minded sharing a bed after all. Once he’d slaked his lust elsewhere.

“I trust I didna wake ye,” Krayne said.

Amber shrugged. Let him reach his own conclusions for the delay. “Good morrow, husband. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He brought one hand from behind his back and Amber gasped at the thin sword he held out to her. The blade had been buffed to a brilliant shine and the hilt was engraved in a rambling rose pattern, delicate rubies centred in the many clusters of petals.

Most of her shame faded in her delight. “Is that for me?”

“Aye. After our previous lesson, I commissioned this from Angus.” His hand moved up and down, judging the weight. “’Tis no fearsome weapon, but if ye learn ta thrust with strength, I wager ye can do some harm.”

“Harm?” Amber’s brow rose. She’d been picturing the perfect spot between two tapestries in her room where the bejewelled piece might be shown to best advantage.

He shoved the sword at her and she took it, holding it to her chest. The steel was cool against her fingers, the rubies dazzling in the sunlight.

“Come,” Krayne said, turning on his heel to stride through the castle gates and beyond.

Amber followed, staring at the giant broadsword slung across his back. She had to run to keep up with him, and wished she’d known to wear her boots instead of the soft-soled slippers that picked up every pebble and stick she stepped on. When he stopped at a clearing just inside the wooded area behind the castle, she was flushed and breathing hard.

“Do we have to do this now?” she panted as he reached over his shoulder and came back with the broadsword in one hand.

“Ye have something more important ta do?”

“Actually, I planned a visit to Brayan in the kitchens to oversee the day’s meals.”

He gripped his sword with both hands and lined himself up beside her, so close their arms brushed. “Ye have a complaint with the meals Brayan has prepared so far?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what is there ta change?” A thick brow went up as he glanced her way. “Hold yer sword like this, using both hands. Point the tip inta the ground.”

Amber did as she was told, reluctant as she was to dirty the shiny blade. “I thought to go through the daily schedule with Mungo and take a look over the accounts.”

“Ye read?”

The surprise in his voice ruffled the hairs on her neck. “My father taught me to read and add numbers. Does education in a wife bother you?”

“Not nearly as much as disobedience.” Before she could respond to that, he raised his sword in an arc above his head, instructing her to watch carefully as he swung it down with a lethal swish. “Now ye try.”

Amber lifted the sword and rested the hilt on top her head to take the strain off her arms. Her sword might be far lighter than Krayne’s, but steel was steel. She held it there a moment to regain her balance, then thankfully lowered it, pointing the tip to the ground.

Krayne’s black mood did not take well to her half-hearted attempt at nothing. His brisk swim last night in Wamphray’s frigid waters had gone some way to cool his ardour, but not far enough so that he’d be satisfied with a cuddle. And that’s exactly how he’d spent the night, with his wife’s satin-soft body cuddled against him.

He must be the daftest idiot in the whole of Scotland.

Aye, he was not a happy man.

Without thinking of the consequences, Krayne tossed his sword aside and positioned himself behind Amber, his arms coming around to grasp the hilt of her sword over her slender fingers. He shifted one boot in between her feet to show her how to brace her weight, his knee grazing her inner thigh as he did so. The scent of roses invaded his nostrils and damn if his shaft didn’t rear against her bottom.

In one steady motion, he adjusted her stance and practiced the arc a couple of times, then stood aside and barked, “Now ye show me.”

Amber was at once an exemplary student, lest she find all that potent muscle pressed to her once again. She’d compromised her pride last night, and that was once too many.

When he finally grunted his approval, Amber breathed out a sigh of relief.

Until he strode up to the nearest tree and sliced a thick wedge into the bark with a powerful swing. “Ye’ll only get once chance, Amber. If possible, attack from behind. If the man is wearing a jack, aim fer the legs. Most times a man is only protected at the chest, but some have plates built inta the back as well and ye’ve not the strength ta penetrate.”

“I see.” She braced herself before the same tree. Just before her blade made contact, she jumped back in anticipation of the jarring impact and missed.

“What the hell was that?”

She gave him a foul glare. “Let me try again.”

Krayne shook his head, but said nothing as he stood aside and folded his arms.

This time she nipped the surface and a slither of bark went flying. “Aha,” she cried in triumph.

“Aha,” he agreed dryly. “Ye’ve just made yer enemy highly upset by scratching his favourite britches. Brace yer weight on the balls of yer feet and put some effort inta yer swing. Ye want ta kill the man, not irritate him.”

Amber rolled her eyes at him, but tried again, somehow managing to get her blade stuck in the tree while she bounced to the ground on her bottom.

Picking herself up, she put her hands on her hips and turned on Krayne. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“Ye havena even started.”

“This is ridiculous. I’m not a weapon-wielding warrior.”

“Nay, yer not. Yet ye use that body of yers as expertly as any weapon.”

“To protect myself,” she snapped.

“Ye charged that Maxwell Tower like a mounted warrior armed with sword and lance. If ever ye go running inta danger again, I’ll throttle ye myself. And if ye ever need ta defend yerself, then I damn well insist ye do it with proper weapons and not the body that belongs ta me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.” She threw her beautiful sword at his feet. “I’ve no wish to learn how to wield a sword and I certainly don’t want to kill anyone.”

“I dinna care what ye wish.” Krayne picked up the sword she’d thrown down and thrust it into her hands. “This is not a decision ta give up embroidery fer weaving. There is no choice. Yer life may very well depend on how ye use this sword.”

More than a little angry now, Amber raised the sword above her head and seriously considered aiming for his neck. She huffed in disgust and turned to the tree, swinging the blade down and across with all the force she could muster. Some more bark chipped off the poor tree.

“Good.”

She glared frostily at his pleased grin. “Are we done?”

“Try again.”

Despite her tiring arms, she squared her shoulders and brought the sword up.

“This man is yer enemy. If ye dinna take him down, he’ll kill ye fer sure. Concentrate, Amber. Build up that fury in yer blood.”

She grit her teeth as the sword hovered above her head. There was no man. Only an aging oak tree. She didn’t hate the tree and not even in her wildest imagining could she see the gnarled roots rise from the ground to kill her before she killed first.

“Feel the hate, Amber. Take its strength inta yer arms.”

Her sword started its downward swing.

“Ye want blood. Ye want ta slice through both his legs. Ye want ta see him crawl on bloody stumps.”

The only thing crawling was goose flesh down her spine. Her strike went wide, missing the tree and ripping the sword clear from her grasp to land some feet away.

“You’re a raving lunatic,” she shouted at her grim-faced husband. “I’m married to a madman.”

Bloody stumps indeed.
Blinded by disgust and fury, she turned on her heel and ran, not caring where she went, so long it was far away from him. Instinct for survival alone led her to castle gates, and she didn’t stop running until she was inside her room. She tried to slam the door, and then felt stupid that she’d forgotten she no longer had one. She threw herself down on the bed instead.

What was the matter with Krayne?

She’d only wanted to save him. And he rewarded her by training her to be an animal?

“I thought ye might be thirsty.”

The familiar voice, at silly odds with the gentle tone, gripped her gut with suspicion. She peeked from behind one arm to scowl at Isla.

“’Tis only ale, an’ I will have a wee sip first if ye believe I’d poison ye,” Isla sniffed, setting the mug upon the table and filling it from the pitcher. “Nae that I havena had plenty o’ opportunity an’ didna take it, ye ken.”

Amber pulled herself up, watching Isla sip from the mug before handing it over. She cradled the mug at her breast. “Why do you bring me ale?”

The woman shrugged. “I saw ye runnin’ through the bailey an’ ye looked a touch upset.”

Amber shook her head. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Och, me lady, I’ll nae keep a grudge in my breast fer the mistress o’ Wamphray.”

“Hah! And was I not mistress when you slammed that bowl of hot porridge down so hard, it spilled and burnt my fingers?”

Isla had the grace to blush. “Och, now, a wee mistake.”

“When you told Brayan that I prefer salt instead of honey in my apple tartlets?” Her brows arrowed as Isla failed to respond. The air deflated from her lungs. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on? For a start, since when do you address me as mi’lady?”

“Ye be our lady now, ye ken.” Isla’s chin tilted proudly. “Our Lady Wolf.”

“Oh, dear Lord…” Amber’s nerves felt worn-through to the bone. “Where did you come by that title?”

“From Jock’s Hob, me lady. Did he nae ride in jus’ the day afore ye and me laird? Come ta say his farewells ta his cousin, he did. Tellin’ wild stories, he was, of the poor laird’s capture an’ yer grand rescue. I didna hardly believe the mon, but he swore on his life, that he did.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He be proud o’ ye, that be why. We all be proud o’ ye, me lady. Ye nae like that uncle o’ yers, that dung-infested weasel. I swear, ye’ve nae a pinch o’ Jardin blood running in yer veins.”

“I’m afraid I do,” Amber said with a small smile, feeling wretched that Hob had praised her deed and not black-mouthed on her for ruining his life.

“Nae a pinch,” Isla denied hotly. “Ye be Johnstone now, an’ I’ll nae hear a word otherwise.”

“Did Hob mention where he was going?”

Isla grinned. “Och, well, he didna say, but then he hasna left yet an’ I dinna ken he will. His cousin’s lad, Willie, came down wi’ a mysterious fever, the poor lad, an’ Hob be needed ta help wi’ the sheep. I ken the mon has found ’is land legs, fer Hob an’ Willie be out each day at sun up ta muster the sheep yonder ta the grazin’ fields and he hasna said a word o’ leaving agin.”

Amber’s heart felt instantly lighter. Mayhap this harsh land of Krayne’s held more second chances than her husband thought.

Now if only he would be of a similar mind, they might yet have a marriage to speak of. Once he stopped kicking her out of his bed and threatening to throttle her.

Well, Jardin blood or Johnstone, it was rumbling to a boil inside her veins. Amber gulped the ale and gave the mug back to Isla before sliding off the bed. “Thank you, I feel much refreshed.”

Whatever Krayne might think of it, she had a castle to run. Brayan may be an excellent cook, but surely he’d welcome her suggestions and a few new recipes from England? Mungo might be trustworthy and dependable, but her father had taught her how to save coin today for the woes of tomorrow. She’d show Krayne that she was not a total failure as a wife, and then, maybe…

Her plans fizzled inside her head when she left the chamber and found herself staring numbly at Krayne pulling Gayle into the bend that led up to his solar. Not sure what she was doing, Amber followed on wooden legs.

Their voices echoed from the darkness and down the twisted stairwell.

“I hope this means ye’ve come ta yer senses,” said Krayne.

“Ah, Krayne…” The longing in the woman’s voice was painfully evident.

“Naught has changed, Gayle. I want ye—”

The fortified door closed on his words, leaving Amber gaping in shock.

Krayne closed the door behind him and leant back to look at Gayle. “I want ye ta know that this will always be yer home. There’s no reason ta run away.”

Gayle could only stare helplessly at the man she loved with all her heart, her soul, her very being, and wonder at how someone so intelligent could be so very dense at the same time. “Everything has changed.”

He folded his arms, one brow arching high as he considered her statement. “Our arrangement has always been casual, yet I do care fer ye, Gayle. As does yer father. Neither of us will see ye go ta God knows where, and still ye do not say why this must be.”

Because I love ye, and I know I’ll never have ye again.
Gayle braced her shoulders against her own pitiful morals, well aware that a single word, look, move from Krayne and she’d be content to spend the rest of her life as his spare woman.

Indeed, she knew there’d been other women even before his marriage. She also knew that he thought she indulged elsewhere when he was away. She’d kept up the pretence, knowing he’d have severed their relationship if he guessed the extent of her feelings.

“Red John and I wish ta be wed,” Gayle said instead, and hated herself for searching his face for any sign of jealousy even though she knew there’d be none. She’d dismissed Red John’s interest in her until last night, when it had become apparent that she needed a better plan if she were to be done with Wamphray. In truth, marriage to the burly bear of a man would be no penance. She had a fondness for him, and since her first marriage had produced no bairns, she was eager to start a family. The only obstacle, being freely available for Krayne, was no longer an issue.