Jennifer August (14 page)

Quinn forced himself to relax his battle-coiled frame and turned to
Stirling
. She no longer stood behind him. As his gaze swept the gathering, he realized she had fled the room entirely. Perhaps ‘twas best for now.

“Millane, attend your lady.” A brief memory of his mother during one of her spells jolted him. Would his own lady-wife benefit from one of her remedies? He stopped the girl at the base of the stairs. “If you have some chamomile to brew, I’ve heard a cupful is often soothing.”

She cast him a startled glance, then nodded. “Of course, sir, my lady keeps many herbs.” She scurried away.

Quinn dismissed the remaining servants then called Sir John. “Post two guards on each road and order the gates closed to all travelers. I do not care if William himself should appear at our door, no one enters unless I say yea.”

“Aye, lord.” John snapped his fingers at a group of soldiers standing nearby. “You men come with me. The rest to the barracks.”

The room emptied quickly leaving only he and Marcus. Quinn sank into his chair, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. He’d come to this land for peace, but found only more deception. He’d had a gutful of lies, hidden loyalties and betrayal.

Marcus cleared his throat, a sober look on his face.

“What?” Quinn growled, in no mood for more talk.

“Are you sure she was a virgin, Quinn?”

Chapter Eight

Quinn surged to his feet, grabbing a fistful of Marcus’ tunic. “Take great care with your words, Marcus. She is my wife.”

Marcus nodded, but did not back down. “Aye, your bride, a Saxon and a traitor’s daughter. Your first loyalty must be to the crown, my lord. Our mission is to -- “

“Bah.” Quinn shoved his friend away, and slumped back to his chair. “I know my duty. ‘Tis branded clearly across my brain.” He poured a cupful of the potent English mead and downed the liquid heat. He gritted his teeth against the nearly painful warmth, then poured another. “Aye, discover the treasonous assassin and dispose of him. Then should we receive our reward.” He snorted and gulped the mead. This draught eased through his throat almost smoothly and he reached for the pitcher once more. “‘Tis never so simple with William. Sit, Marcus, and tell me why you doubt the loyalty of my wife.”

“There is much about this keep and its people we don’t yet know, Quinn,” he hedged. “‘Tis more of an uneasy feeling than aught else.”

Quinn set his goblet to the table with deliberate care. He trusted Marcus’ instinct more than most evidence he could hold in his hands. “About
Stirling
?”

Marcus hesitated, not meeting his eyes. “She did have the opportunity to meddle with the linens. And she has not been most welcoming to you or this union. Her father is a known traitor to the old king. But,” he shook his head, a slight smile drawing up one corner of his mouth. “I have not seen proof of guilt myself. Perchance ‘tis her mannerisms. She is very straightforward, almost manly in nature.”

Quinn chuckled. “Now that I can refute. She may be headstrong, but there is nothing masculine about her.”

“Aye, her form is quite womanly,” Marcus agreed. “And even though she speaks her mind, the people here, knights included, seem to respect her greatly.” He stood, offering a stiff bow. “If I have misspoken, my lord, I beg your forgiveness.”

Quinn rose, clasping Marcus’ shoulder. “We’ve been friends a long time, Marcus. There is no need for such ceremony.”

Marcus offered him a half-smile. “Do I have your leave to seek my bed?”

Quinn sighed. “Aye, go.”

He watched his friend disappear into the shadows of the kitchen corridors then walked wearily to the staircase. He paused and looked up the winding steps, Marcus’ words ringing in his ears. Slowly, he turned and made his way to the war room. He sat behind the massive oak desk and stared at the charts spread across its top, but saw only his wife and the unmarred sheet. He knew, beyond a doubt, that she was indeed a virgin when he took her. Even now he hardened at the memory of her tightness, the slick warmth of her body encircling him in a tender, yet fierce hold. Such innocence could not be pretended, no matter the impetus.

But Marcus’ words rang true, treachery was afoot at Falcon Fire. He wondered if the rebel leader he sought could be involved.

Quinn reached for his mead, but tipped the pitcher over. The honey liquid streamed toward the parchment maps and he swept them to the floor, fearing the ink drawings would be ruined. The mead trickled over the edge, pooling between his feet but he ignored it, his attention snared by the image carved into the oak desktop. He traced the figure of a knight mounted atop a rearing steed.

He bent closer. The details amazed him, the clarity of the work obviously crafted by a meticulous and patient, artist. Mist swirled around both man and horse as they stood frozen before a stand of trees. “The Knight of the Mist,” he whispered. Quinn pulled away, then squinted again, certain he saw the figure of a four legged beast hidden among the tree trunks, but could not find it again.

A knock sounded and
Stirling
called his name.

“Come, lady-wife.” He stood, legs akimbo and arms on hips, awaiting her. Why did she seek him out?

She opened the door with creaking slowness and peered around the wooden edge, her eyes finding him quickly. She straightened and stepped inside, smoothing the skirt of her gown. She pushed the door closed and leaned against it, silently staring at him, golden eyes round and tinged with uncertainty.

“I wondered -- “
Stirling
coughed and moved closer. “That is, I thought perhaps you were-- Or maybe you decided--” She pursed her lips and glared at him as though ‘twas his fault she could no longer speak coherently. “Do you intend to come to our chambers this eventide?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks pinkened, but she did not look away.

He admired her courage. And well he knew the courage it took to ask such a thing and expect naught but dismissal. He’d been through it enough with his own kin. Skirting the desk, he strode to her, stopping only when their chests met and she was forced to tip her head back to look at him. He smiled. “Most definitely, lady-wife.”

“Oh.”

“Did you think I would not?”

She edged away and walked to the side of the desk. Kneeling, she gathered the charts and maps. “The thought passed my mind, my lord. The events of these hours past have been quite…” she paused. “Unusual.”

He chuckled and drew her to her feet. He bent his head, stopping a hairsbreadth away from the delicate warmth of her lips. Holding her tawny gaze with his he sought to reassure her. “It matters naught.”

Pulling the crackling paper from her clasp, he laid them in a chair, then tugged her to him. Each jerky breath she took pushed the peaks of her nipples into his chest. He fingered the pale expanse of creamy skin left bare by the square neckline of her gown, pleased when her heartbeat quickened. Her lips parted and her eyes sought his mouth.

Softly he kissed her, drawing her closer. Breaking the kiss, Quinn tucked her head under his chin, and wrapped his arms tightly around her lithe body.

“Is this why you sought me out?” he asked, nuzzling her lavender-scented hair.

“The truth, my lord?”

“Aye,
Stirling
, always. Honesty and honor are tightly woven.”

She stiffened and pulled away, seeking one of the covered chairs. With a wan smile, she waved a hand at the map-laden chair. “Join me, Lord Quinn.”

“I would rather view our chambers, my lady.”

She blushed again, but remained seated. “I find it peculiar that you would trust my words, sirrah.”

He leaned against the desk and folded his arms, staring intently. “You’ve done nothing since my arrival to make me distrust you.”

“I am the daughter of a convicted traitor.”

“A
supposed
traitor, lady-wife.”

A glimmer of hope sparked in the golden depths of her eyes. “Do you believe him to be innocent?”

Quinn shrugged. “‘Tis not for me to say. I am concerned only with you and this keep. And finding the person responsible for what happened this eventide.”

She bit her lip and looked away.

“What secrets do you hide, Lady Stirling?”

Stirling
flinched at the soft question, and sought an innocuous answer. “Secrets, my lord?” She laughed nervously and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Had he discovered the hidden tunnels? Or perchance that she was--

“Aye. What have you done to earn such an enemy? One who would seek to destroy your reputation and this match.”

She swallowed her relief. “You refer to the bedclothes.”

“Of course. What else?”

She nodded. “I have pondered this, my lord and I believe that,” she hesitated, then cleared her throat. “That is, do you not think Calvin must have been involved somehow? Or perhaps the man in the bailey?”

“Ah yes, the intruder you spied from your window,” he drawled, a hint of mockery in his deep voice.

Lucifer’s tongue, she’d not intended to rouse his suspicions again.

“Neither Calvin nor your trespasser had the time or opportunity. ‘Tis more likely someone within the keep.”

She gasped and shot to her feet. “Nay. None of my people would harm me thus.”

He grunted, but his closed expression did not ease. “And ‘tis a fact that not one of my men would dare.”

An impasse. She titled her chin, braving his stern contemplation. “Then who, my lord? If not yours, nor mine?”

“I’ve not yet ruled out the people of this keep, lady-wife.”

She gasped and marched forward, poking her finger against the ungiving planes of his chest. “And I’ve not yet ruled out your warriors.” She narrowed her eyes, angry with his high-handed declaration. “Indeed, your man Marcus likes me not. ‘Tis possible he could have done this.”

“You go too far, Lady Stirling.” His voice, silky and menacing, wrapped around her, but she refused to back down.

“As do you.”

He gripped her arms, his touch no longer tender and soothing, and hauled her against him. “God’s toes, but you test my patience. No other woman would dare.”

“I dare much, my lord. ‘Tis my nature.”

He scowled. “An unseemly habit in a woman, lady-wife, this boldness you display.” He released her, but she remained close, staring him full in the face.

“I trust you shall become accustomed, my lord. ‘Tis not in me to cower before any man.”

His eyes narrowed further and she wondered if she’d gone too far with her boasts. In truth, her knees quaked and her heart raced, but whether ‘twas caused by his nearness or his anger, she knew not.

“You must learn humility,
Stirling
.” He leaned against the desk once more, crossing his arms and staring down his hawkish nose.

“To what end, my lord? To be a quiet and unassuming wife who says naught, thinks naught, does naught?” She spat the words with disgust. She would never survive such a life.

Sensual overtones cloaked his deep chuckle. “A wife warms her husband’s bed, breeds his heirs and graces his arm.”

Stirling
gaped at him, certain she misheard his arrogant words. She frowned. “Would you not rather have a wife able to manage your estate when you’re away? Or one who can calculate the grains needed to feed the whole village?”

“‘Tis the job of the chamberlain to do these things, not a wife.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, his dark tunic rippling with the motion.
Stirling
batted away the distraction he presented, ignoring the flutter his long, muscular legs caused in her stomach. She refused to acknowledge the intriguing play of his bunching thigh muscles when he shifted. This would not do at all. She scowled.

“Then I shall be both wife and chamberlain. And that is the way of it.”
Stirling
nodded sharply, certain he would see the clarity of her thinking.

He moved swiftly, standing in front of her before she could blink. He smoothed gentle fingers over her forehead. “Be at ease, lady-wife. I find your boldness tempered by other traits.” He kissed her lightly, his warm lips come and gone in a breath.

She clasped his hip to steady herself, luxuriating in the solidness of his flesh beneath her palm. “Such as?”

“Loyalty.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “Compassion.” He leaned closer, filling her nose with his heady masculine scent. He closed her eyes with gentle kisses. “Courage.” His lips covered hers in a deep, rough kiss. He invaded every part of her, thrusting his tongue into the hidden recesses of her mouth, demanding submission. She refused to give in and curled her arms around his neck, returning the penetrating kiss stroke for stroke.

He pulled away and looked down, eyes gleaming with hungry intent. “Shall we retire and continue this battle above-stairs, my lady?”

She flushed, the smoldering desire in his gray gaze fueling her own. How quickly he muddled her thoughts and her intentions. “I would have the matter of the bridal clothes settled first, my lord.”