Highland Knight (2 page)

“Cameron, wasnae it one of the Murrays who…” began Donald.

“Aye, it was a Murray,” Cameron growled as he grabbed Avery by one slim arm and yanked her to her feet. “Do ye ken one certain Sir Payton Murray, mistress?”

“He is my brother,” she replied, wondering what Payton could possibly have done to so enrage this man. She leaned away from him, feeling a sharp stab of fear when he finally smiled a cold, hard smile.

“Mayhap old Bearnard has indeed fully repaid his debt to me.”

“My family and Gillyanne’s will pay ye verra weel to return us safely to our homes.”

“Oh, aye, they will certainly pay. ’Tis clear that fate smiles upon me at last. I am given one lass to ransom, and some fool I bested at dice has paid me with the sister of the slinking, cowardly bastard who raped my sister.”

Avery gaped at the man, stunned by his insulting accusation; then pure rage swept over her. She called him a foul name, balled up one small fist, and punched him in the mouth. He bellowed a curse, but her attack and his lack of preparation caused him to stumble backward. A small stool caught him sharply in the back of his calves. He fell backward, taking her down with him. Avery landed on top of him so hard she felt winded, but she did not hesitate to grab his thick hair in both hands and bang his head against the floor. She hung on until the grip he had on her wrists grew too painful to bear, then abruptly released him. He let go of her to rub his abused head and she took quick advantage of her freedom. Even as she started to her feet, she punched him in the face
again. She leapt to her feet and started to run, but he grabbed her skirts, yanking sharply.

A curse escaped Avery as she hit the floor hard. She quickly turned onto her back and, seeing that he was moving to try and pin her down with his body, she kicked him in the face. He cursed but kept on coming. Twisting, kicking, and pummeling him with her fists, she did her utmost to prevent him from pinning her to the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, Avery saw a flash of movement. A moment later, Gillyanne was on the man’s back, her thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Avery punched Sir Cameron yet again as Gillyanne struggled to yank his head back.

“Donald!” Sir Cameron bellowed. “Get this hellborn child off me!”

It did not take Donald long to pull the tiny, cursing Gillyanne off Sir Cameron. It took even less time for Sir Cameron to firmly pin Avery down. She glared at him even as she realized that he had obviously done all he could not to seriously hurt her. That was a revelation she could ponder later, she decided.

“My brother is no rapist,” she snapped.

“My sister says he is,” Cameron replied in a cold, tight voice as he yanked her to her feet, her wrists held tightly in one big hand.

“And ye heard that false claim all the way here where ye serve these murdering swine, the DeVeaux?”

The way she said the name “DeVeau,” as if it were the most heinous of curses, interested him, but Cameron decided he would have to wait to satisfy his curiosity about that. “My cousin Iain, who acts as laird of Cairnmoor in my stead, sent a runner to tell me the news. It has taken me a fortnight to clear myself of all obligation, but I am finally able to go home to deal with the matter.”

Suddenly, Avery recalled where she had recently heard the name MacAlpin. She had read it in the last letter sent from home. Her mother had referred to “a small confusion” that needed to be cleared away between the MacAlpins and the Murrays. Since her mother had then gently hinted that she and Gillyanne might wish to linger with her French cousins, Avery had been writing back to ask exactly what “a small confusion” was when the attack by the DeVeaux had come. Now she knew and now she fully understood her mother wanting her and Gillyanne to stay where they were. The rape of a laird’s kinswoman was a serious crime, one that led to bloody battles over offended honor, one that could easily lead to a long, deadly feud.

“Have ye e’er met my brother or any of my family?” she demanded.

“I met Sir Balfour Murray at court once,” Cameron replied as he dragged her over to the bed and picked up a set of wrist manacles from atop a large chest.

Diverted for a moment, Avery looked at him as he manacled her to the thick wooden bedpost. “Manacles at your bedside? Have trouble keeping the lasses in your bed, do ye?” She heard Donald gasp and saw a slight flush rise and fall beneath Cameron’s dark skin, then wondered if it was particularly wise to so enrage her captor.

“I bought them to take back to Cairnmoor, for they are stronger yet kinder than the ones we use there,” he spat out between clenched teeth, wondering why he felt compelled to explain himself to the impertinent woman.

She just shrugged and set her mind back on the crime he accused her brother of. “And just where was my brother supposed to have committed this heinous crime against your sister and your clan?”

“At court. Iain and my aunt took my sister there to try and arrange a marriage for
her.”

“And why wasnae this trouble sorted out there where the king himself may have aided in the settling of it?”

“Because my sister didnae say anything until they had all returned to Cairnmoor. They pressed her to accept a match with Sir Malcolm Cameron, but she kept refusing. Finally, she told them that she could marry no mon for your brother had stolen her chastity. If that was nay crime enough, she believes he has left her with child. Iain tried to settle the matter quickly and peacefully, but your brother denies the charge and refuses to wed my sister.”

“Ye surely havenae met my cousin Payton, then,” said Gillyanne. He doesnae need to steal anything from a lass.”

“Aye,” agreed Avery. “Why should a mon exert himself to steal something that is offered to him by so many others, willingly and often?”

“Oh? And why should a lass shame herself with such a lie?”

“I dinnae ken. I have ne’ver met your sister.”

“And I think ye are blinded to the mon your brother is.” He grabbed Gillyanne by the arm and started toward the door.

“Where are ye taking my cousin?” Avery made an instinctive move to go after him and cursed when she was roughly yanked back by the manacle on her wrist.

“I am taking her to get clean. Come along, Donald. I will send someone with water for ye to bathe and a clean gown,” he added, giving Avery a brief, contemptuous glance.

“How can I bathe and dress when I am chained?”

“Ye seem to be a clever lass. I am certain ye will think of something.”

Avery looked at her gown as the two maids who had helped her bathe and dress hurried out of the room. It was a lovely deep-blue gown, or it had been until it was sliced open down one side in order to get it on around the heavy manacle on her wrist. The dark lacing used to close it back up detracted from the smooth beauty of the gown. She wondered where that barbarian Cameron had found something so pretty. If he had bought it to give to some lover or kinswoman, it was now too ruined for that, and Avery found a small measure of satisfaction in that.

Glaring at the heavy manacle closed around her wrist, she tried yet again to pull her hand free of it, wincing as the rough edges scratched her skin. The chain linking her wrist to the bedpost was not even as long as the bed itself. She would not be able to move around much. Avery smiled coldly. It was, however, quite long enough to wrap around that black-eyed rogue’s neck. When her tormentor stepped into the room, she idly caressed the heavy links of the chain, imagining his face turning blue as they tightened around his throat. She knew she ought to be alarmed by her own bloodthirstiness, but she was too furious to care.

“Where is Gillyanne?” she demanded when she did not see her cousin or the young squire return with Sir Cameron.

“I left her with the women,” Cameron replied as he yanked off his shirt and moved toward a table where a large bowl of water stood.

“What women?”

“There are a few women who travel with my men.”

“Camp fodder? Ye left a young lass with camp fodder?”

“They arenae whores. Two are wives and the other two will probably soon be made wives.”

“Weel, I want her with me.”

“Ah, me, I fear I cannae oblige you.”

Avery watched him wash up and wished her chain was longer so that she could draw close enough to kick him. He sounded almost sweet, almost believably regretful, but the sneer was there to hear, whispering beneath the false courtesy. She did not think she had ever met anyone who made her so very eager to do them harm.

“She will be frightened and worried about me.” Avery could tell by the look he sent her way as he dried off that she had failed to rouse any sympathy in him for a child.

“The women will pamper her. They were delighted to have her join them.”

Cameron watched her closely as he sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots. There was no doubt that she was furious. Her golden eyes were molten from the heat of her fury. Her small, long-fingered hands were so tightly clenched, the knuckles gleamed white. If she had a dagger she would cut his throat.

He moved to snuff out the candles, then went to lie down on the huge bed. Crossing his arms beneath his head, he glanced across the width of the bed to see her still standing there. Only one branch of candles remained lit, and they were on his side of the bed. The light from them made her eyes gleam despite the shadows she stood in. It only added to the feral air that clung to the girl. Then he looked over her slender body, saw how her gown was laced up the side, and almost smiled.

“Come to bed,” he ordered.

“This bed? Beside you?” She shook her head. “Nay, I think not.”

“Fine.” He closed his eyes. “Stand there all night, glaring helplessly. I care not and it matters not.”

The word
helplessly
made her snarl. If her chain were a little longer she could use that extra length as a mace to beat him. Avery savored the image for a moment, then sighed. Even if she had enough chain to flail him with, it would not work. She doubted Cameron would just lie there and let her beat him senseless.

What truly annoyed her was that he was right to call her helpless. At the moment, she was. He was also right to think it nothing but foolishness to stand there all night, but she heartily wished she could do it. There was no hint of the ravisher about him, but Avery knew how quickly a man could change from friendly to threatening.

Slowly she sat down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed. Her head rested against a down-filled mattress, a luxury that surprised her. She idly wondered if it was his or if his hosts, the DeVeaux, had become so rich they could afford such pampering of their hired swords. It was tempting to crawl up on the bed, to sink her battered body into the soft folds of that mattress, but she fought the temptation. It would be the height of folly to crawl into bed beside a man she did not know, and one who felt he had a righteous grievance against her family.

She frowned and briefly peeked at his long body stretched out on the bed. He had not said how he intended to use her to gain that revenge that he felt was so just. Since he believed her brother had raped his sister, it was quite possible he thought to repay that insult in kind. Yet he made no move to touch her despite the fact that they were alone and she was chained to the bed.

Just the thought of someone accusing Payton of rape made Avery angry all over again. The fact that this fool believed such a tale made her positively furious. He could be excused in some way, she supposed, since the accusation came from his sister. However, before he dragged her into some act of revenge, he at least ought to make certain that the revenge was truly deserved.

And just what form was that revenge going to take, she wondered. The more she watched him, the less she thought him a man who would stoop to rape. He certainly looked big, dark, and dangerous, yet she felt no sense of impending peril. Avery hoped she was not allowing herself to be fooled or beguiled by his handsome face. If she relaxed her guard too much, she could be too slow to save herself if she proved wrong about him.

“What do ye intend to do to me?” she demanded, no longer able to silently endure the confusion of her own thoughts, and in desperate need of a few answers, no matter how chilling they might be.

Cameron opened one eye and looked at her. Sitting as she was, her face barely topped the edge of the bed. Despite the very adult look of anger on her face, she looked young, delicate, even appallingly innocent. There was a part of him that was thoroughly disgusted by what he was planning. There was also a part of him that was so strongly attracted to her fey beauty that it urged him onward with his plan, ruthlessly arguing away each newly born twinge of doubt. Revenge and desire combined too well to ignore or resist. And, he told himself in an attempt to soothe a pang of guilt, he would not hurt her. He would treat her far more kindly than many another would, given the same circumstances.

“I intend to seduce you,” he answered, a little piqued when her expression of
astonishment slowly changed to one of amusement.

“Do ye now?” she drawled. “And ye being such a braw, handsome laddie, ye expect me to just swoon at your big feet?”

He resisted the urge to glance down at his maligned feet. “Nay at my feet, lass, and I would prefer ye to be sensible.”

“And I would prefer ye dead, but we cannae all get what we wish for, can we?”

“Such violence. A wee lass like yourself shouldnae be so quick to promise mayhem and murder.”

“Add mutilation, for I am a wee bit inclined to that too.”

“’Tis clear ye need to be tamed. Someone has let ye run too wild. Ye snarl and hiss at me now, but I will soon have ye purring.”

“Such arrogance.”

Avery squeaked with surprise when he suddenly yanked on her chain. She struggled valiantly, but he still managed to drag her up onto the bed. When she found herself at his side, she tried to punch him in the face again, but he easily pinned her to the bed.

“Truth, my wee cat,” he said, almost smiling as she glared at him.

“I am nay such a weakling or such a slut that I will bend to your wants with but a kiss and a stroke. Nay, especially not when ’tis meant only to shame my brother.” Avery decided the man was far too beguiling when he smiled, despite the fact that it was an annoyingly arrogant expression.

“Your brother shamed me and he wasnae gentle when he did it.”

“E’en if Payton did as ye claim, which he did not, could not, and would not, it isnae your shame. It isnae a shame at all, except that of the bastard who committed the horror.”

“My sister is nay longer chaste,” he snapped.

“Are you?” Avery was not sure how it was possible, but she felt like laughing at his astonished expression. She knew instinctively that few ever saw that expression on his face.

“’Tis nay the same,” he said, beginning to think her thoughts were as odd as her looks.

Avery released a soft snort of pure contempt. “So speaks one of a breed who works so hard to steal a lass’s chastity only to then condemn her for giving it up. And to speak of shame when a poor lass has had it ripped from her through nay fault of her own is the height of injustice.”

There was a lot of truth in what she said, but what interested Cameron more was the anger behind her words. “This subject stirs a heat in you. I wonder why?”

“My cousin was brutally beaten and raped. Gillyanne’s older sister Sorcha. Some of her father’s enemies caught her and another cousin of mine. They beat and raped poor Sorcha and intended to do the same to my cousin Elspeth ere my Uncle Eric, Uncle Balfour, and Fither stopped them. Sorcha is soon to be a nun. Aye, and kenning the horror of such a crime, do ye really believe my brother would then inflict it upon another?”

Cameron had to wonder, but he did not say so. “Simply kenning someone who suffered such an insult doesnae mean the mon would e’erafter be unable to commit it himself. And, mayhap my sister miscalls it. Mayhap it was more seduction than rape, or
she simply waited too long to cry nay. It matters not. He stole my sister’s innocence and refuses to restore her lost honor by wedding her. So I shall have your innocence in penalty.”

“How romantic,” she said, the sneer clear to hear in her husky voice. “I feel near to swooning from the power of your sweet flatteries and gentle wooing.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

It surprised him, but Cameron came very close to laughing. Not only should he not find anything Sir Payton’s sister had to say amusing, but he was not a man given to a lightness of humor. Lady Avery was so small and lithe, he did not dare rest his full weight upon her, but kept himself raised slightly on his forearms, yet she tried to flay him with words, threatened him, and physically assaulted him every chance she got.

Glancing down at her mouth, he decided he also wanted to kiss her. Her full lips were tightened a little in annoyance, but they still strongly tempted him. As he started to lower his mouth to hers, he felt her tense, saw her beautiful eyes start to widen, and knew she had guessed his intent.

“Dinnae e’en think about it,” she said, pleased with the hard, cold tone of her voice, for she did not feel either at the moment—did, in fact, feel almost eager to taste his kiss.

“Ah, but I
am
thinking about it.” He brushed his lips over hers, felt her bare her teeth, and warned, “’Twould be verra unwise to bite me.” He rested his full weight on her, firmly securing her beneath him, and captured her face between his hands. “I but mean to assuage my curiosity.”

Before she could say anything, he covered her mouth with his. Avery fought to ignore the warm, soft feel of his lips, fought to still the slow heat seeping through her veins as he gently nibbled at her lips. When she pressed her lips together to refuse the prodding of his tongue, he nipped her bottom lip. Despite all her efforts not to, she gasped, and his invasion was complete. One stroke of his tongue was enough to kill her plan to bite him. Avery found herself in a desperate battle against her own swiftly rising desire.

Avery was suddenly glad that she was pinned so firmly to the bed. She did not want this dark marauder to know how much she wished to rub her body against his. Or how she ached to touch his smooth, dark skin, to feel the warmth of his strong back and broad chest beneath her fingers. Or how her fingers also itched to be buried in his thick black hair, its rich softness tempting her as it brushed against her face. Avery just wished she could hide how her breath had quickened, how her heart beat faster, and how her mouth had softened so welcomingly beneath his.

As her passion soared, so did her fear. Avery did not understand. The man intended to dishonor her then toss her back to her family, hoping they would all feel her shame. He accused and insulted her brother, thus her family and her clan. He was a complete stranger to her, a man who had accepted her as payment for a wager. She should feel nothing except perhaps, disgust and fear. Instead, one kiss and she was inflamed. She wanted to tear off the soft leather loincloth he wore, wanted to touch and kiss every strong inch of him, wanted him inside her with a fierceness that made her womb ache.

When he finally lifted his head, she kept her eyes closed. Her mother had always teased her father about how easily she could read his lustful thoughts in his eyes. Avery had her father’s eyes and strongly feared Sir Cameron would be able to read her passion
there. She winced faintly when he grasped her chin firmly in one big hand, but still she did not open her eyes.

“Look at me, Avery,” Cameron demanded, not surprised to hear the husky thickness of his voice.

It astonished Cameron to feel so keenly alive with need, his body throbbing with an unrelieved hunger. There was nothing about Avery Murray that should stir his desire. She was too slender, too impertinent, and too emotional. Yet he wanted her with a need stronger than he had ever felt before. The excuse that he had been celibate so long any female body would do, rang hollow in his ears. She called to something deep within him and he wanted to see if she felt any hint of the same. He already knew that her eyes revealed her feelings, and he was eager to look into them. The fact that she was pressing them closed so firmly her brow wrinkled only made him all the more determined.

“Open your eyes, lass,” he ordered again.

“I cannae,” she replied. “I have swooned from an excess of disgust.”

Cameron would have deeply felt the sting of that insult except for the fact that her voice was as thick and husky as his own. She was clearly going to be stubborn, however. A little subterfuge was definitely called for. He shifted a little, easing his weight off her body just slightly, and looked toward the door.