Captured by a Laird (14 page)

“You shall not disrespect my wife!”

Both serving women jumped a foot as David’s voice thundered through the room. Then they clutched each other as he came toward them.

“How dare ye accept the shelter of my roof, the protection of my men at arms, and the food I provide,” he said in a low, menacing voice, “and repay me with insolence.”

A warm glow of gratitude spread through Alison. No one had defended her in a long time.

“We meant nothing by it, laird,” one of the women said.

“We’d ne’er dream of doing anything against ye, laird,” the other added.

“When ye mock my lady, ye mock me,” he said, his eyes glimmering like an angry lion’s. “Ye shall not spend another night under my roof. Pack your things and go.”

Alison’s pleasure over his defense of her evaporated. This punishment was too harsh.

“M’lord husband”—Alison licked her dry lips and took a step closer to him—“they would surely die in this storm.”

“What do I care,” he said, turning his ferocious gaze on her, “if they wander the hills in the rain and sleet till death finds them?”

The women gasped.

Alison folded her hands to hide how they were shaking. “I beg ye to forgive them.”

“My forgiveness must be
earned
,” he said, then he turned back to the two women. “I’ll wait until the storm ends before I decide what to do with ye.”

“Bless ye, m’lord,” the two said, dipping their heads.

“Do not give me cause to regret showing ye mercy. I shall not give it again,” he said. “Now get out of my sight.”

After the women fled from the room, David went to the window and stared out at the black, howling storm.

“I am grateful ye wouldn’t permit them to speak to me that way,” Alison said to his back.

“Then why did ye interfere?”

She felt her courage slipping away as she was flooded with memories of Blackadder’s angry criticisms.
Why did ye do that, ye empty-headed fool? Can ye do nothing right?

“I asked ye why ye did it,” David said, turning to face her.

“I didn’t want the women turned out because of me,” she managed to say.

“It was what they deserved.” His eyes burned into her. “Never dispute my decisions before others again.”

***

David hated when Alison looked afraid of him.

“Do not cower,” he commanded her.

Her eyes grew wider still, and though she stood her ground, he could see that it cost her.

“Please,” he said, the word foreign on his tongue, “sit down while I get this fire lit for ye.”

He knelt by the hearth and retrieved his flint from the bag attached to his belt. A wave of tiredness hit him as he leaned over to gather the peat the serving women had spilled on the floor when they saw him. He had not slept much on his wedding night—for the wrong reasons—and none at all the two nights since.

The dramatic raid fed his men’s pride and his reputation, but bringing so many cattle all the way from Tulliallan Castle in stormy weather was a miserable task. And he had returned to the news that his aunt had died of a fever at Dunbar Castle, leaving Robbie and Will’s mother alone in her captivity. All he wanted to do would sleep. Nevertheless, he would get to the bottom of this trouble with the servants now. Ignoring a problem would not solve it.

After he got the fire burning, he settled himself in the chair opposite Alison. She was dressed just as he last saw her, as if no time had passed—in her shift with her feet bare, her hair loose, and a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. This image of her had been his constant companion through the endless hours of riding in the rain and wind, yet the memory did not capture the radiant beauty of the real woman.

How he regretted leaving their bed on their wedding night. He’d had a good reason, but as tired as he was he could not recall it. When Alison fidgeted in her seat, he realized he had been staring at her for some time. He shook his head and forced his mind to the task at hand.

“I’ve seen how the Blackadder servants treat ye, and I’m puzzled how this came to pass,” he said. “Ye carry the blood of chieftains and must have been raised to expect deference.”

Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze to the floor. His intention was not to embarrass her, but neither would her embarrassment deter him.

“Why is it,” he pressed, “that the granddaughter of the famed Bell the Cat, the man who dared to take down a king, is not respected in her own home?”

“My husb—Laird Blackadder—said I failed to inspire the respect of his household because…” She paused and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Because I was unworthy of it.”

“God damn him to hell.” David slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “I knew it!”

From the way the servants appeared to act out of habit, he had suspected that Blackadder not only failed to require them to accord her proper respect, but had encouraged their disgraceful behavior.

“I’ll not tolerate my wife being disrespected.” He leveled his gaze at her. “If any of the servants give ye difficulty, you’re to tell me.”

“I can’t promise to do that if ye mean to turn them out.”

She licked her lips, a nervous gesture that distracted him so that it was a long moment before he took in her words and realized she was refusing to follow his order.

“Are ye suggesting I excuse their insulting behavior?” he demanded.

“Nay, but frightening the devil out of them is probably sufficient,” she said, glancing at the door through which the maids had fled. “You’re verra good at that.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, the lass was having a wee bit of fun with him. It had been a long time since anyone had teased him.

***

Why in heaven’s name had she not bitten her tongue? That was just the sort of remark that would send Blackadder into a rage. When a smile twitched at the corners of David’s mouth, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ye spoke of the servants,” she said, feeling more sure of herself now, “but what about your men?”

His momentary humor vanished, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “What about my men?”

“What if they should disrespect me?”

“They won’t.”

She thought of how Walter and his close companions had mistreated her. “But if they did…”

Wedderburn leaned forward and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “Has one of them done something?”

She shook her head.

“Understand me, lass,” he said, his eyes sparking green fire. “I’ll not let anyone mistreat ye, no matter who they are.”

“My brothers said much the same,” she said. “Their noble intentions meant naught when they became inconvenient.”

Wedderburn grabbed her by the shoulders, and his fierce expression made her swallow.

“I am not like your brothers or Blackadder,” he said. “I am a Hume, and I protect my family.”

Alison should have felt terrified with Wedderburn holding her in an iron grip and speaking with such ferocity just inches from her face. Instead, she found the notion of his employing all that brawny muscle to protect her rather gratifying.

She did, however, feel a bit breathless locked in his intense gaze. He had the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

Frowning, he looked down to where his thumbs were digging into her shoulders and abruptly released her.

“I didn’t mean to hurt ye,” he said, and moved back to the window.

“Ye didn’t,” she said, though he had a little.

“Or to frighten ye.”

He was looking out into the stormy night with his arm propped against the wall, which gave her the opportunity to examine his strong profile and tall, powerful frame.

“Ye didn’t frighten me either,” she said.

“Hmmph,” he grunted, and cast her a sidelong glance.

“Don’t worry,” she said, venturing a smile. “I’m sure ye can still scare any misbehaving servants witless.”

This time her attempt at humor failed utterly.

“The Blackadders are poisonous,” he said, clenching his hand against the wall into a fist. “I don’t like having any of them in the castle. I won’t toss them out in a storm, but their days here are numbered.”

“What of my daughters?” Alison could not help asking. “Are they not Blackadders?”

“Ach, those wee lasses are sweet creatures,” he said, his expression softening. “There’s none of
him
in them.”

“None at all,” she agreed. Blackadder had ignored their daughters, for the most part. She thanked God she had borne only girls, for Blackadder would have tried to mold a boy to be like him.

Wedderburn stared out the window again for a long while, and she wondered what he was thinking.

“Did ye care for him once?” he asked.

She sensed the question was important to him and hesitated, uncertain how best to answer. No matter how low his opinion was of her previous husband, David Hume placed a great value on loyalty.
I protect my family.
He would surely disapprove if she told him that she loathed the man who was the father of her children and her husband for ten interminable years. In truth, she had not realized the depth of her animosity toward Blackadder until she was free of his constant presence shadowing her days like a black thundercloud.

Wedderburn returned to stand in front of her, increasing her unease. Finally, she settled on an honest, but incomplete answer.

“I disliked how Blackadder made me feel.”

He ran his finger along the edge of the neckline of her night shift from her shoulder to the valley between her breasts shift, sending little shivers of pleasure along her skin. “How do I make ye feel?”

Distracted by his touch, she blurted out the truth. “Confused.”

“I confess I was hoping for better than confused,” he said with a soft laugh. Then he leaned forward and blew in her ear, sending another thrill of awareness through her. “I see I shall have to work harder.”

***

Alison stiffened at first when he pulled her into his arms, but she softened like butter as he gave her a slow, lingering kiss.

When she slid her hands around his neck and leaned into him, the weariness and frustrations of the last two days melted away. He would have her now. He was almost certain of it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, David was aware of the gate creaking, followed by the snorts and hoof beats of horses in the courtyard. But no one sounded the alarm, so he dismissed it and gave all his attention to how good this dark-haired angel felt in his arms.
His
dark-haired angel.

“Ye smell like heaven,” he said, burying his face in her hair.

Her breathing grew shallow as he ran kisses along the side of her throat. Aye, his wait was over. Alison wanted him. He would take his time and make love to her all night.

He nipped at her earlobe while he eased the blanket off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a soft
whish
. Now the only barrier between him and what he wanted was her thin night shift. Desire burned like fire through his veins as he anticipated seeing her naked and feeling her soft, seductive curves beneath his hands.

He was inching the night shift up her thigh when someone knocked on the door. He ignored it, but the fool only pounded harder.

Bang, bang, bang
!

When he pulled away, Alison’s lips were rosy from their kisses and her eyelids were half closed. Ach, he was going to murder whoever was beating on that door. He stomped across the room and flung it open to find Brian.

“Ye have a visitor,” Brian said.

“Unless it’s our dead king come to life,” David said between clenched teeth, “he can wait.”

“’Tis Laird Cochburn,” Brian said before David could slam the door. “He’s anxious to speak with ye.”

Cochburn was a neighboring laird and an old friend of David’s father. His arrival in a storm at this late hour suggested a matter of secrecy as well as importance. Despite that, David was having a hell of a time persuading himself to put duty before pleasure.

“Pour the whisky,” he said, finally resigning himself to it. “I’ll be down shortly.”

He closed the door and returned to Alison. By the saints, he wanted her. And in his current state, he would not need much time at all. Temptation sang through his veins as he imagined taking her fast and hard against the wall. He forced himself to suck in a slow breath. He should not even think of taking his delicate and refined wife like that—and most definitely not the first time.

He kissed her lips again and left the bedchamber before he could change his mind.

Damn Cochburn.

CHAPTER 17

“We are good Scots—we fought at Flodden with our last king,” Cochburn sputtered. “Yet we’re made to suffer insult after insult!”

Cochburn paused in his diatribe to toss back another draught of whisky and slam his cup on the table. He was a good man, but too excitable for David’s liking.

“How dare the regent appoint D’Orsey, that French outlander, over us as Warden of the Eastern Marches. That position belongs to you,” Cochburn said, pointing his finger at David. “A Hume laird has been our warden since my grandfather’s time.”

Taking the wardenship was the least of the offenses Regent Albany and his friend D’Orsey had committed against the Humes. It was D’Orsey, the famed French commander, who Albany sent to attack the Hume castles and take the wives of the two lairds captive while the Hume men were raiding across the border. Upon the Hume lairds’ execution, Albany declared their lands forfeit. David had taken possession of the Hume lands and badly damaged castles, but his right to them was not recognized.

And D’Orsey still held his stepmother hostage at Dunbar Castle.

“That Frenchman has lands in his own damned country,” Cochburn continued. “He should be home minding them, not ruling over us Scots!”

David shared Cochburn’s outrage, but he was careful to show no reaction. Cochburn had come to ask something of him. David sipped his whisky and waited to hear what it was.

“And now the King’s Council has taken advantage of my nephew’s worthless guardian to quarter a royal garrison—a royal garrison of
French
soldiers, mind ye—at Langton Castle.”

“Ach, I hadn’t heard that.” David understood now why Cochburn was so upset. Placing a minor’s property under royal “protection” was the first step toward claiming it for the Crown. “What do ye plan to do about it?”