Mary Reed McCall (16 page)

But it had barely slowed him down.

’Twas clear that she needed to take further measures, and the idea that had come to her earlier, just before Gwynne had made her flamboyant entrance, would suit perfectly. If Aidan couldn’t be made to reconsider what he was doing, throwing away their future for the sake of lust, then perhaps Gwynne would.

Aye, if her plan worked, Diana thought, she’d wager her best gown and jeweled girdle that Gwynne would soon realize the error of her ways and cease this dangerous flirtation with Aidan. She’d be too humiliated to do else.

Keeping that positive thought in mind, Diana set off
across the great chamber in search of the one man who would undoubtedly enjoy participating in what she had planned—the man most fitted to helping her achieve a satisfactory result: Stephen de Segrave, the Marquess of Haslowe.

G
wynne needed to leave; she didn’t know how much longer she could bear it. If she had to listen to even one more slobbering, fawning Englishman praise her complexion, her eyes, her hair, or her attire, she thought that she might lose the little bit of dinner that she’d managed to swallow during the feasting.

The only thing that had kept her from tossing a bowl of steaming soup at her admirers, or simply getting up and heaving the table over on them, was the enjoyable thought of how shocked all these lily-faced wretches would be to learn that they were trying to court England’s foremost enemy—the same Dark Legend who had robbed their castles and held their men at sword-point time and again.

Of course, she hadn’t been able to tell them. Nay, she’d had to endure their maddening attentions in silence. But even imagining the possibility had been enough to sustain her for a while. Thank God that the feasting portion of the evening, at least, was over; even now, servants worked to
clear the tables and move them back against the walls, taking away the benches as well so that there would be more room for the dancing and entertainments. Perhaps now would be a good time to make a quiet departure.

She’d done her best tonight to make Aidan proud of her—to behave in a refined, feminine manner, though her cheeks ached from enforced smiling and her fists yearned to pound some sense into the simpering women and drunken nobles surrounding her. Yet she’d borne it all in the hopes of pleasing Aidan, of attracting his favorable attention. And all it had gotten her was a throbbing skull and nerves pulled tight as a bowstring.

Since taking his leave of her back when William had escorted her to the feasting tables, Aidan hadn’t looked in her direction even once. He’d been studiously attentive to Helene, who’d been seated right next to him at dinner. Further, he’d been conversational with the duke, as well as with most of the other nobles seated near him. But he’d managed to avoid any kind of contact with her altogether.

’Twas about all she could take. The twisting, grinding pain it caused inside her was wearing her down in a way that the grueling rigors of her training had never done. She yearned only to leave and spend some time in peaceful empathy with her men, who rested and awaited her return from this celebration in their rooms back near the old stable.

Sighing, Gwynne watched the people moving and talking all around her, glad to be alone for the moment. Though she couldn’t deny that William had been pleasant enough during the feasting, he, like the others, had complimented her far more often than she knew could be sincere. He’d left her side, finally, a few moments ago, but several other lords kept looking her way, noticing that she stood alone; if she didn’t go, no doubt she’d be stuck exchanging more mindless pleasantries with one of them.

Now was her chance to leave.

A last glance toward Aidan confirmed her decision. He smiled at Helene; his betrothed had taken hold of his arm and seemed to be trying to lead him to where the dances had already begun. Gwynne watched Aidan shake his head as if to decline, but then the duke frowned and said something to him. Even from this distance, she could see the muscle in Aidan’s jaw twitch as his face tightened. With a stiff little bow, he put out his arm and led Helene to the dancers, where, palm-to-palm, they began the graceful series of movements.

The same movements he practiced with you, time and again in the glen where he kissed you for the first time…

Shutting off the mocking voice inside of her, Gwynne squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of Aidan and Helene at the same moment that she turned, intending to slip, unnoticed, through the door that led to the kitchens and then to the yard and outbuildings. But instead she slammed into a seeming wall of stone. Snapping open her eyes, she met the gaze of the most arrogant-looking Englishman she’d ever had the displeasure of bumping into.

“Stephen de Segrave, Lord Haslowe, at your service, milady,” he said in a silky drawl, standing far too close to her. Cocking one eyebrow, he bent forward in a bow, his gaze fixed on her breasts with a leer that even Gwynne, in all of her inexperience, couldn’t mistake.

Using every ounce of reserve left to her, she quelled her initial reaction to double him over with a well-placed fist to the belly, instead taking a step back to glare at him and mutter, “I was just leaving. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“I am afraid that is one request I cannot satisfy, fair lady,” Lord Haslowe murmured, even as he moved so swiftly that she didn’t realize he’d taken her arm until she felt her elbow clamped in his immovable grip. “Come.
You must allow me a dance before you leave me bereft and alone.”

Shock made Gwynne go still for an instant, but then her instincts leaped to the fore. Yanking her arm free, she tried to remember Alana’s instructions for behaving in a feminine manner. Quietly, she said, “I do not wish to dance. I wish to leave. Now, please step aside so that I may go.”

“Nay, lady. I will have a dance with you—if not at the end of the hall where the others are enjoying the activity, then right here.” He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Right
now
,” he added, punctuating the comment by pulling her toward him, so that her breasts pressed hard against the slab of his chest.

“Let go of me,” she said through gritted teeth, jerking back in an effort to free herself, yet still trying not to make a scene. She couldn’t. As much as this bastard deserved it, she couldn’t strike him down—not if she wished to maintain the outward illusion of femininity required of her.

Just behave like a lady and all will be well. Behave like a lady, behave like a lady…

“Ah, you’re a live one,” Stephen growled softly, his voice thick with excitement as she struggled in his grip.

“Perhaps you’d rather a kiss, then,” he said, his breath hot in her ear. “Or a bit more—”

Reaching down, he cupped one hand roughly over her buttocks, squeezing as he dragged her flush against him, so that she couldn’t help but feel the hard, rutting length of him pressed into her belly.

And then something snapped inside of her.

A red haze washed before her eyes; she felt it seep into her veins, unleashing feral, dark rage. She swiveled her head to Haslowe, hearing his sharp intake of breath even as she twisted out of his grasp and slipped one of her arms beneath his, jerking up and throwing him off balance.
Then, with a growl of fury, she shoved him bodily away from her. He went flying, crashing to the floor and skidding another ten paces before he eased to a stop near the feet of a half dozen of Aidan’s startled guests.

For the second time that night the hall fell deathly silent.

Gwynne stood there, her breath rasping in her ears, her heartbeats coming painful and fast as she looked all around her. The music had ground to a screeching halt and everyone had stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at her, faces aghast; Lord Haslowe, even, lay frozen in place on the floor, half-reclined on one elbow, and gaping at her as if she were the devil incarnate.

Numbly, Gwynne shifted her head to look at Aidan, and their gazes connected with a sharp jolt. She read the shock, the dismay in his eyes, and her heart felt like it was cracking in her chest. And everyone just kept staring…

Oh, God, what had she done…?

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep the hot prickles behind her eyes at bay, Gwynne took in a ragged breath and spun around, heading for the door. After what seemed an eternity, she lurched through to the cool, blessed oblivion of the dark corridor beyond it; leaning back against the wall for a moment, she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

Her mind reeled with the pain and embarrassment of what had just happened.
Lugh’s bones
, she’d just tossed one of Aidan’s guests clear across the floor. Whether he’d deserved it or not didn’t seem to matter. Not if the expressions of horror on everyone’s faces were the judge of it. She closed her eyes against the memory. She was unnatural, their expressions said. Unrefined. Violent. Most certainly not a lady…

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her arm. Gasping, she whirled, prepared to finish off Lord Haslowe once and for
all—if nothing else, for being stupid enough to follow her here after what had happened inside the great hall.

But she stopped short.

’Twas Aidan. He stood in the shadows of the corridor outside his ruined gathering—the celebration of nobles he’d worked so diligently to arrange—and he reached out to brush his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“What happened in there?” he asked gently.

“Do you need to ask?” she managed, choking out a harsh laugh, even as she pulled away from him, unable to bear the pain of his touch. “You saw it for yourself—I just attacked Lord Haslowe in front of the entire assembly.”

“Aye, I know—the question is why?”

She paused, her mouth twisting into a grimace as she considered telling him the truth. But ’twould do no good, she knew; the damage was already done, and besides, she needed no commiseration from him after an entire evening of his neglect.

She grated out, “Perhaps it is just my nature to react violently, Aidan.” The damnable burning behind her eyes increased, but she blinked it back. “’Tis bred into my blood and bones, it seems. The man offended me, I tried to restrain myself, and I ended up throwing him across the room.”

She turned, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, even though she knew she needn’t fear the possibility of crying in front of him; she hadn’t indulged in that release for nearly twelve years, and after so long, she didn’t think she could, whether she wished it or nay.

“I have to go.”

She pushed away from the wall, desperate to get away from Aidan and this other life—this other person—she’d tried so hard to mold herself into being. Even if ’twas only
for the rest of the night, she had to get away, out of these clothes and back into her own safe and familiar warrior’s garments. To somehow rebuild her sense of self, so that she could face donning this false persona again tomorrow and every tomorrow after that, until the rest of this cursed bargain between them was fulfilled.

“You can’t leave,” Aidan murmured, gripping her upper arms and keeping her near him. “Damn it, Gwynne, I won’t let you.”

She stiffened in his grasp, but she wouldn’t look at him. Not yet. She hadn’t the strength for it. “There is naught more to be done here, Aidan,” she managed to say. “Unless I am to further damage this illusion you’ve created for me by causing another scene like the one with Lord Haslowe, I must leave.”

She paused, calling on all of her inner focus, on the icy sense of calm that had carried her through battle after bloody battle. When she finally lifted her gaze to his, she filled it with as much cool indifference as she could muster. “But there is something more that you can do—that you
must
do, right now. Return to the celebration. Your betrothed will surely be looking for you, distressed that you’ve strayed from her side for too long.”

“I’ve done my duty by Helene all evening,” he answered, his voice gone husky. “She can wait a few moments more. I need to know that you’re all right.”

Gwynne’s heart lurched at his words, but she subdued its traitorous motions. “I’m fine,” she said, surprising herself with how calm, how unaffected she sounded. “Now, let me go.”

“Nay, I cannot.” Releasing one of her arms, Aidan brushed his fingers gently along her temple, where the delicate silver circlet rested, down the side of her cheek to just below her jaw. “Ah, Gwynne, I don’t want you to go,”
he murmured, following the path of his fingers with soft kisses, feathered across her skin like little bursts of heat.

He continued to kiss her neck, the tender spot just below her ear, and suddenly, she couldn’t suppress the tremble that went through her, or the shuddery, hitched breath that escaped on a sigh. Warmth unfurled through her, languorous desire and sharp need swirling together in a heady mix; she tipped her head back, arching into him, barely stopping herself from sliding her hands up his shoulders to tangle in the dark waves of hair at the nape of his neck.

’Tis your duty to let him kiss you—to kiss him back and make him desire you!
the voice inside her shrieked, but she knew she couldn’t obey its command. Heaven help her, she wanted to, wanted to kiss him with all the emotion and need inside her. But something held her back. Some understanding that told her being here with him was far more dangerous than she’d ever thought possible.

You’re falling in love with him
.

The shadow voice sang out its seductive claim, jolting her to sudden and complete awareness. She wanted to deny it, wanted it to be a lie of the most vicious kind. But she knew it wasn’t.

During these past weeks together her feelings for Aidan had somehow mysteriously changed. She’d witnessed so much that flew in the face of her previous notions of him that she no longer recognized them.

He wasn’t the brutal, cold-hearted Englishman she’d convinced herself he’d be. She’d watched him lavish kindness on Clara and Ella, observed his humor and good-natured friendship with his man, Kevyn—seen the fair way he treated everyone around him, including her. Even when she deliberately provoked him, he’d remained patient, attentive, and generous with her. And all at once she
understood that it was more than simple duty that drove her to want to be with Aidan, to try to please him and entice him. It was much, much more. It was desire, and passion, and the sense of intimacy they shared…

And it was love.

Oh, God, she was falling in love with her enemy.

She was falling in love with Aidan.

Blindly, she pulled back, doing everything in her power to resume the controlled facade she’d feigned throughout much of their conversation. But she couldn’t. There was no way to hide what she was feeling right now. She looked at him, the torn, confused emotions inside of her burgeoning with every additional moment she spent near him, in his arms, feeling him breathe and move against her…