Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) (18 page)

At the dock she slowed to wind carefully between crates yet to be removed to the village. It would not do to cause a clatter that raised an alarm. The ship was still tied to the dock. Time enough remained for her to board.

As Jessamyn approached the gangway, Margery appeared at the point where the planks met the ship.

“Praise the good Lord, you made it.”

“Is all in readiness?” Jessamyn stepped onto the boards.

“The captain is below with his men. Hurry, you’ve only a moment to board before ... ” Margery was nodding then shouting. “’Ware, Lady Jessamyn, behind you.”

Before Jessamyn could look she was jerked off her feet and a blade was pressed to her neck.

She froze.

“Are you running away, Jessamyn?”

Fear prickled along her spine at the menace in Raeb’s whisper. His free arm locked around her.

“Yes,” she replied in a smaller whisper, not wishing to risk his blade cutting her throat.

“Why?”

“Who goes there?” The call came from the ship.

The blade disappeared, and Raeb whirled her round. All in one motion she found herself pressed against his chest, her hands manacled in his steely grip, and his lips demanding her response.

A light illuminated them. The calling voice chuckled. “’Tis naught but a Scots lad kissing his wench, Captain.”

Jessamyn wriggled her arms but could get no room to push against Raeb.

“Then leave him to it and ready the ship. I’ll not miss the morning tide simply to watch a pair of Scots rut.”

The kiss became insistent. Jessamyn would not yield, but neither could she break free.

“But, Captain … ” Distress colored Margery’s plea.

“Whatever it is, Mistress Margery, must wait until we are at sea.”

The thud of loosed lines against the deck rang the death knell to Jessamyn’s hopes and dreams.

And still Raeb kissed her.

The ship’s boards creaked. The sails slapped loudly in the wind.

And she was freed, so suddenly she crumpled to the hard boards of the dock.

The brightening dawn lit the angry face of the man who loomed above her. “Why?”

She shook her head and stared at the boards beneath her. “I’ve no wish to marry.”

“Do you hate me so much?”

She started, sitting upright, looking him in the eye. “I don’t hate you.” Though she did hate what he intended to do, and thanked heaven he had no clue she’d sent word to King Edward.

“Then why sneak away in the night? We made love. I trusted you. My sisters trusted you. My clan welcomed you despite your English background.”

His jaw clenched and his words grated, but did she see a spark of anguish and hurt hiding in the eyes that glared at her?

His feelings couldn’t matter to her. If he discovered she’d sent word to Edward, she was a dead woman. Regardless of his affections, he would not allow a traitor to live, and as much as he betrayed her, she was now betraying him. She held out her hands palms up. “I have no other explanation. I’d not planned to wed. I dreamed all my life of living with nuns, women who would understand how much it meant to me to raise and train horses.”

“And you thought I wouldna understand, that I’d no allow my wife to lead the kind of life she wished?” By the end he was close to shouting.

“No Englishman would want his wife to take up such an endeavor. Why should I imagine a Scot would be any better?”

“Because we’re Scots,” he yelled. “Before she died, we had a woman, a child still, yes, but a woman notheless as our sovereign. I let my sister wed a man whose father most likely murdered my parents, because she asked it of me. I trust her to ken her mind. You should have trusted me. Now I have little choice. I must treat you as a liar, as someone whom I could never trust.”

He bent, reaching for her.

She cowered back on one arm, raising the other to ward off his blow.

“I’ll no strike you.” Disgust filled his voice. But he grabbed her by the shoulders nonetheless, then swung her up and over his shoulder, just as he had that first day.

What would he do with her? Would he do anything, or would he leave her to molder and die, her heart and dreams broken with nothing to live for?

She hung limp, unresisting as he hauled her back through the bailey, into the castle, up the stairs and into her chamber where he dumped her on the bed. She pressed her face into the coverlet, forcing back tears.

“You may consider yourself my prisoner, and this your prison. I willna allow anyone I canna trust to have free rein of my home. Someone will bring you food before night.”

The door slammed when he left, and she heard the knell of the bar being lowered outside. The sound reminded her that though she’d begun to consider the chamber hers, it belonged to Raeb. She shivered despite the braziers lit in every corner. Did he intend to rape her? He could. She was his betrothed and a very long way from any who might wish to stop him. Could she bear it if he, who’d just the afternoon before made love to her with such tender care, took her in violence? The thought loosed the flood of tears she’d held back since Raeb found her on the dock.

Yielding to exhaustion and worry, Jessamyn slept, until a clatter and cursing woke her. She rose to stand beside the bed.

“D … do no think t’ try t’ leave.’ A tankard in one hand, Raeb reached with the other to right the stool he’d stumbled over and ended by falling on his buttocks, sloshing mead across the front of his tunic.

“You’re drunk.” In all the weeks she’d been here, Raeb had never imbibed to excess. Had she caused this? No, she was guilty of much, but Raeb MacKai must take the blame for his own sins.

“Aye.” He laughed without any warmth or humor. “I’m cursed with need for a lying Englishwoman whom I never wanted.”

“What?”

He took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then fixed her with a sodden stare.

“I’m sure you can see the irony. Artis told me that you dinna wish to wed me. Well, I’d nae desire for you as a bride either, until you seduced me into taking your maidenhead.”

Her brows shot upward. “I seduced you?”

He hiccupped and nodded. “Aye, you practically begged me to do it. You had me so randy with need that I couldna deny you, though I gave you plenty of oppurtinnity ... offerpunity ... op-por-tun-i-ty.” He bit off the word as if wanting to be certain he’d finish it correctly. “To change your mind. I want you, you said all innocence and curiosity. I thought ’twas charming, but ’twas really the path to damnation.”

“You make no sense.”

“Aye, the path to damnation for both of us.” His shoulders slumped, and his head lolled. His hands dropped to his sides, and the tankard spilled onto the floor.

She strode to him and knelt by his side with no care for the spilled drink. “What do you mean? How are we damned?”

Bleary-eyed, he looked up at her. “D’you no see? I canna send ye back when ye may carry my bairn. We must still wed.”

Shock fisted in her stomach. She’d considered and accepted the possibility of a child when she’d decided to lay with Raeb. But marriage? Never. She’d give up her hope of heaven first. “No. You cannot force me.”

“The priest will say the words and witness the deed, so I can. To keep my child safe, I will.” He sounded almost mournful, as if he’d no wish to force their marriage.

“But there is no child.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. It is too soon.”

“Aye.” He stared at her, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with liquid that, unlike the tankard, refused to spill. He said nothing more. He just shrugged and slowly toppled over.

His snore told her that he’d passed out. She couldn’t marry him, not now. Not when she’d discovered his treachery. Thank the sweet Lord, she did not love him. But she was locked into this chamber with a guard posted at the door day and night. What else could she do but bow to her fate?

She didn’t know, but she wouldn’t let a dog sleep on cold bare stones. She retrieved the coverlet from the bed, spread the fur on the floor next to Raeb, and by dint of much pushing and tugging managed to roll him atop it.

She thumped down beside him, bent an arm over her raised knees, and cradled her head on her elbow. She wanted to weep but had no tears left. Weariness conquered her, and she stretched out beside Raeb.

• • •

Several days later, Raeb entered his chamber to see Jessamyn seated near the window, sewing by the sunlight streaming through. She looked so innocent, her hair glowing in the light, her face bent to her tambour as if she’d nae a trouble in the world.

“Where did you get that?” he snapped, unreasonably angry that she could find peace when he couldn’t. He’d been restless and irritable since the day he’d locked her in here. He’d fled the morning he’d woken on the floor to find her sleeping in his arms, hoping to find solace in the companionship of his men. All he’d found were sly looks and knowing winks.

If his people chose to believe that he spent hours on end bedding Jessamyn, let them. ’Twould be better when the wedding happened, if the clan believed him in love with her. They’d not tolerate his marriage to an English lady otherwise. But making the clan believe such nonsense required that he spend most of his days and nights locked in this chamber with a woman he must wed but couldn’t trust.

“Three days you’ve refused to speak to me, and the first words you have for me are to question where I got my sewing?” She sighed. “I asked for it from your sisters.”

He clenched his fists and stalked to loom over her. “You spoke with them after I forbade it?”

“No, I sent a message through the servant who brought my morning meal. The servant brought everything to me. I never saw your sisters, although they sent a note.” She spoke as if his orders and his irritableness were of no moment.

He wanted to shake her, to see passionate fire in her eyes, even if it was anger directed at him. “Let me see the note.”

She reached into a basket at her side and withdrew a scrap of vellum.

Every one of his sisters had signed the note.

“Am I to assume that since you are now speaking with me that your temper has exhausted itself?” Jessamyn held his gaze and waited for his answer.

He couldn’t. He was still furious with her deceptions and attempt to run away. But neither could he continue as he had been. He turned and walked to the chest where his clothing was stored.

“I tore my tunic while training and have come for a new one.” Ignoring her question, he threw the words over his shoulder and removed the ripped tunic in one swift movement.

He didn’t wish to yearn for her, nor did he wish to be at odds with her. But as long as he couldn’t trust her, he’d not touch her, and she … well, he hoped she was chafing at their forced proximity as much as he.

“Would it help if I swore an oath to be truthful and honest?”

Had he spoken aloud? Taking a new shirt from the chest, he turned to discover she’d put the sewing aside and now stood a hand-span away from him.

“Nae. An oath is only as good as the trust it is built on, and we have none.”

She laid her fingertips on his shoulder. “Not so—I trust you.”

And with that simple statement she named the source of his problem. He deceived her while he demanded she hide nothing from him.

He locked his gaze with hers. “Even if I tell you that when you came here, I’d no intention of wedding you. I intended to make you hate me and Scotland so much that you would reject the marriage. Then I could send you back to your father but keep the dowry.”

Her hand dropped from his shoulder. “If that’s the way you feel, why change your mind? You can still send me away.”

“Because now I know you. You are kind to my sisters, my clan loves you, you know horses and we—we have anticipated the marriage vows. Yes, you have deceived me, but no more than I have deceived you.”

“I see.” She turned aside. “And you tell me this so I’ll know our marriage would not be based on love.”

“Love?”

“You do not love me.”

“Nae, I dinna. But you dinna love me either.”

“No, I suppose I don’t. I must thank you for trusting me with all your secrets.”

Could he trust her with the plans to take Edward’s ships? No, he wasn’t the only one involved. But without trust, their marriage would be hell on earth, and he was determined to wed her. She was not everything he’d dreamed of in a wife. She was English, not Scot. However, she was a passionate woman who would challenge him. She had the skills to help him manage his keep, lands, people, and sisters. She’d proven that by her handling of the stallion, of Maeve’s difficulties, and myriad other small actions over the past weeks. But she’d not wanted this marriage. So much so, to avoid it she’d planned an escape. And came close to succeeding. His heart hurt at the emptiness he’d feel if she left. Maybe there was another way to bridge the chasm of distrust.

“Aye. But I wonder, do you truly trust me?” he asked. “Enough to wed me and be a loyal wife?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands at her waist and nodded.

“You willna think of running away?”

She shook her head.

“I’d like to rebuild the stables at Dungarob, and have need of your skills with horses. We once had a fine stable. Knights and lords came from Rome and beyond to buy the destriers, coursers, and palfreys we bred and trained here. I now have the MacKai breeding stock, but canna bring them home with the stables in disrepair.”

“I am well aware of the MacKai reputation.” Her eyes rounded, and she leaned forward a bit. “But you’d really allow me to take part?”

He twisted the shirt he still held in his hands. “I’m asking you to help, to be my baroness in all ways. Dungarob will be your home, and I would see you have reason to care for it and Clan MacKai.”

She tilted her head a mite. “You are asking me to wed, not telling me?”