Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (11 page)

By the time they’d made it back to town, the other three mercenaries were gone.

“Damn,” Gregor growled.

“Sir?” ’Twas Molly. She slinked forward, a bruise darkening her cheek.

“What happened?” Gregor demanded, guilt already riddling his gut before she even spoke.

“They hit me. Stole my coin.”

Gregor knew who. “The bastard’s friends?”

She nodded. “The one was plowed, but the other two, weren’t as drunk as ye might think. When they saw me come in without him, they tugged me out back to search for him. They saw a few droplets of blood on the ground. Thought I’d harmed him. I said the blood was mine, spilled by their friend, and that he was probably sleeping it off, as I’d told Mr. Whisky.”

“I’m sorry, lass, that they hurt ye. I never wanted that.”

“’Tis all right, my laird. Ye paid me well, and I’ve been hurt worse before.”

That didn’t sit well with Gregor. He wanted to speak to the proprietor of the establishment. “Is Mr. Whisky the owner of the tavern?”

“Aye.”

But before he did speak to the man, he had to finish questioning Molly, afore her employer silenced her. “Do ye think the men believed ye?”

“Aye.” She touched her cheek.

“Ye did well, lass.”

“Where did they go?” Samuel asked.

Molly shrugged. “After they attacked me, Mr. Whisky threw them out.”

“Where’s Mr. Whisky now?”

“Right here.” The burly man Gregor had seen behind the bar earlier pushed forward. “What are ye doing back, troublemaker?”

“I’m no troublemaker. I’ve come to apprehend the three men who assaulted your wench.”

Mr. Whisky grunted. “Ain’t nothing she’s never had afore,” he grumbled. “No use in making an arrest.”

“They are wanted for other reasons as well,” Gregor said. “If ye dinna want to share where they went, then ’haps, ye’d like us to take ye instead?”

The tavern owner held up his hands, stepping back and shaking his head. “Nay, nay, nay. They be resting up in the town stables.”

Gregor turned to leave, when Molly pressed her hand to his sleeve. “Sir… My coin?”

“I’ll get it back for ye,” he promised. It was the least he could. Hell, he felt incredibly guilty about the bruises and humiliation she endured. Wished he’d not gotten her involved. But, it was the only way to get the man out back to question him without his friends being the wiser. ’Twas a matter of the country’s defense.

They left the tavern, and Samuel nudged Gregor in the ribs. “Have a nice evening with Molly?”

Gregor scowled. “’Twas not like that.”

“What was it like then, my laird? All due respect, of course.”

Gregor punched Samuel in the arm, hard. “She helped me to get that jackhole alone. Probably why she was targeted by his friends.”
The bastards
.

“She’s a pretty lass,” Fingall said.

“And looking for a man to be kind to her,” Gregor said. “Unfortunately, I dinna have the leisure to be that man.” Leisure had nothing to do with it, but his men didn’t need to know that.

“I can be kind,” Collin said with a snicker, earning him a push from Fingall.

“Enough talk of tail, let us get these arseholes,” Gregor said when the stable came into view.

A darkened wood building, rose up against the night sky. The doors were slightly ajar. Snores of men and snorts of horses echoed out into the night.

“Light a torch, Collin,” Gregor ordered. “Sounds like a hundred men camping out inside. We’ll not find ‘em until dawn if we canna see.”

Fingall pushed the barn doors open while Collin held up the torch. Gregor searched the sea of dark faces until he found the three maggots curled up beside one another. There was only one problem. The mercenaries were likely to put up quite a fight once roused, which might bring a dozen others to their cause. Gregor and his men could take on a dozen on their own, but not several dozen.

“We have to get them out quietly,” Gregor said.

Samuel held up the rope they’d brought and Fingall grabbed it, then he and Gregor tied them up while Colin held the light. The men roused, only after gags had been shoved into their mouths. All the noise they made was muted, and barely stirred anyone around them, beyond a snort and a grumble.

Gregor grinned, chucking one of them on the chin. “Morning, sunshine. Ye’re coming with us.”

Their thrashing and calls for justice were barely noticeable above the sounds of snoring and farting the rest of the brutes inside the stable were making. Gregor’s grin grew. An easy extraction.

They carried the three men out, tossed them over the extra horses they’d brought then quickly disappeared from the village—mission accomplished.

Now if only Gregor knew the name of the mercenary who witnessed Alan murdering the MacLellan man. But he’d find out soon enough.

Though the night started with him going to the tavern for one reason, it had ended up being a blessing in disguise. Aye, he’d not been able to complete his earlier task, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. Kirstin was engraved in his mind forever. No one could ever replace her, and he had to stop searching.

With four prisoners to question and a plot to take down Wallace’s allies afoot, he would be plenty busy. Too busy to think about Kirstin. To yearn for her and for what might have been. Aye, too distracted he’d be now, dealing with traitors and matters of national security.

That was a blessing. Someone up above was looking out for him.

“What
were
ye doing at the tavern anyway?” Samuel asked.

Gregor frowned. “I needed a drink.”

Samuel grunted, knowing when to leave well enough alone.

Chapter Twelve

Kirstin feigned a stomachache, missing matins at midnight, and lauds at dawn. She felt incredibly guilty about it, but she’d had no choice. Her stomach
had
pained her, but it was not from illness. It was from nerves. From memory.

She was weak. She admitted that. A flaw she needed to work on. But she couldn’t rouse herself to face the world—and Gregor. After the apple basket, she was certain he’d be waiting for her, even though she’d warned him not to do any such thing. The man was stubborn.

As stubborn as she.

Plus, she’d been up half the night fighting off the dreams of her past, and yearning for something she likely didn’t deserve.

But now that the sun had risen, if she didn’t show her face, she’d begin to raise more than mere concern. Concern she didn’t deserve, for she was only hiding from Gregor, from her feelings. And she didn’t need the attention.

Being in his arms again had been wonderful, if brief. To sink against his warmth, breathe in his familiar scent. She felt safe, cared for, cherished. All the things she shouldn’t want from him—but desperately did.

  Kirstin shoved away her covers, her toes touching the cold wooden floor as she rose, stretching out the kinks of travel. Donna had left for prayers, enjoying being a part of Melrose in the interim, which left Kirstin by herself, and alone with her thoughts.

Which may not have necessarily been a good thing.

She shuffled to the wash basin, going through the motions of her morning ablutions, and mustering up the strength she needed for the day. She had to meet with the abbess at some point, sooner rather than later so she could continue on her journey back home to Nèamh.

Halfway through washing her face there was a knock at the door. Kirstin wiped the water from her cheeks, and still barefoot, tugged on her robe, and answered the door.

“Gregor!” she gasped, seeing him standing in the corridor, shoulders wide and blocking all else from view.

He’d shaved his face, leaving only a trace of darkened hair on his square jaw, and around his firm mouth. He smelled clean, divine, and she was brought back to the first time he’d lifted her from that boat, smelling of leather and pine. His gaze traveled the length of her settling on her bare toes, which she curled against the cold of the floor and the heat of his perusal.

Every time she saw him, her body reacted, remembering, wanting. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, none of them comprehensible, most of them wicked.

Their worlds didn’t mesh, no matter how much she might wish they did.

“Ye canna be here,” she said, then poked her head out looking both ways to be certain no one had seen him enter.

“There is no one here, and no one saw me coming. Everyone is at their prayers.” He grinned. “Well, except us, and perhaps a few of the men on the other side of the abbey.”

“That doesn’t matter. Ye have to go.”

Gregor shook his head slowly. “I canna.”

Kirstin narrowed her eyes, trying to give him a stern look even if her insides were melting away at her resistance. “Ye must.”

“Nay. I have questions.”

She squared her shoulders. “I have no answers.”

“Aye, ye do.”

He stepped closer and she spread her arms, hands gripping either side of the doorframe to stop his entry.

“Not like this, Gregor. I’m barely dressed.”

“I noticed. Do ye not recall I’ve seen ye—”

“Hush!” She’d not get rid of him so easily, obviously. She grabbed hold of his shirt and tugged him inside, shutting the door before anyone were to see him lurking.

Saints, but the man took up so much space, owning the room, overwhelming her with his presence and all that he stood for. Laughter, teasing, happiness, pleasure.

Leaning against the wood, she crossed her arms to hide the fact that her nipples were pebbling something fierce, and to protect herself from her memories and desires.

“Ye canna do this. If Mother Superior were to find out ye were here she’d toss ye out of the abbey and have me wearing a hair shirt for a month.”

Gregor frowned, eyes roving over her body. “But your skin…”

“Aye, ’tis a penance, and one I would welcome.”

He walked around the sparse room, unfolding his long body in one of the rickety chairs. Kirstin allowed herself a moment to admire his long muscular legs, the flatness of his belly, and the taut muscles beneath his snug shirt.

A beat later, she tore her gaze away, finding a spot on the wall above his head. “There is no need to get comfortable.” Her tone was prim and prissy.

Gregor chuckled. “Ye’ve not changed all that much. Still the same fire within ye.”

Kirstin frowned, the spot on the wall forgotten as she stared at him. “I’m not that lass anymore.”

He sat forward, his gaze burning into hers. “Where did she go?”

Her throat swelled, and she found it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. She didn’t want to tell him and he couldn’t make her. Silence reigned between them for several moments before Gregor drew in a weary breath. Through every precious second she fought within herself. Fought the urge to spill everything she’d kept hidden inside. To grab him by the shoulders and demand to know why he’d torment her so now by saying he’d not leave her be after he’d pushed her away so many years ago. What did it mean? What was his purpose? She was so confused.

“I dinna want to beg ye, lass. If ye dinna want to open up to me, I can understand that. I did ye wrong, telling ye to leave. ’Twas my fault, and I was an arse to make ye think I didna know it. But they were just words, spoken by a lad who’d imbibed in too much and was afraid of what was happening in his heart. I meant naught of them. I wanted ye to stay. To make a life with me.”

Was it possible for her heart to break even more? Because it felt like a thousand shards of glass were cutting deep in chest. He hadn’t meant the words? Hadn’t meant for her to leave?

For the love of all that was holy, did he not realize that his
drunken
words spoken
by a lad
, had changed her life forever? Was that all he could say on it? Anger ripped through her anew.

Tears of rage pricked her eyes and she stormed toward him, slapped him hard across the face, the flat of her palm stinging fiercely. “Get. Out.”

Gregor stood, his hand touching where she’d struck him, gaze penetrating hers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the pain I caused. The years lost. The torment ye must have gone through. I’m sorry, Kirstin. I canna take it back, but I can make it up to ye. If ye would but let me.”

“Ye canna make up what I have lost. No one can.” She spoke before she could pull the words back. Before she could bury them deep down inside where they belonged.

“I know, many years, nearly nine, but—”

He didn’t understand. Because she hadn’t told him. “Ye’re a fool,” she muttered. “And only because ye are unknowing of the truth of it.”

She should tell him. Why keep it a secret? What would change by sharing the truth?

Gregor straightened, the muscle in his jaw flexing furiously. “I’ve suffered, too, ’haps not as much as ye, love, but I have.”

That only sparked her fury more. “We had a child, Gregor. A
child
.” She watched his face change, a barrage of emotions happening all at one. Surprise. Happiness. Sadness. Shock. Questioning. “Our sin created life, and that life, that precious innocent life was lost because of what we did.” Her voice broke, and sadness consumed her, mirrored in his features. “I will spend the rest of my days paying penance for it, and the last thing I need is to hear ye talk of days, years and the pain of your heart. Ye know nothing of pain or loss.”

She was in tears now, the hot salty water making slashes down her cheeks. He reached for her, the warmth of his palm sliding over her arm, but she pushed him away. Not wanting what he offered. Not seeking comfort.

“I didna tell ye this so ye could feel sorry for me. So ye could console me.” She dragged in a ragged breath. “I have dealt with the pain of it. I had come to terms with it. Locked it away. Locked our past away. And then ye had to appear, to dredge it all up again. I dinna want to see ye, Gregor. I dinna want to know ye. I want to forget, and ye’re making me relive it.”

His hands faltered in mid-air, indecisive as to whether he should once more try to hold her or back away. She stared at it, that appendage hanging in mid-air, wanting him to push past her barrier and grab hold at the same time she wished him to leave.

He took a step back.

Coward.

’Twas then she realized how much she didn’t want him to turn from her, how deep down, she wanted him to grab onto her, and not let her go, to force her to let him comfort her, hold her. So hard and brittle she’d become, shielding herself from feeling.

“I’m…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Kay. I’m so damned sorry.”

And then his boot heels were clicking across the floor and the door was opening. A rush of air swirled the bottom of her nightrail, leaving a chill that curled up her body, gooseflesh following in its wake. The door closed, leaving her alone.

Utterly alone.

As it always was.

Kirstin wrapped her arms around herself, then sank to the floor, sobs tearing through her. She covered her face with her hands, not ever having mourned as much as she did right then and there. She’d finally shared the truth with Gregor. Finally told him all he should know. All she’d kept inside.

And he’d walked away from her.

It hurt so much more than she ever thought it could.

Gregor leaned his head against the door, a burning pressure rising from his chest to behind his eyes. Tears. They were tears that he let fall.

He’d had a child.
They’d
had a child.

A child that had died, and she’d had to go through that alone.

He’d not been there. Had pushed her away.

If he hadn’t pushed her away, would that child have lived? Would he be running through the fields, play-fighting with a wooden sword, riding a horse? Or was it a lass, who would have picked flowers and threaded ribbons through her hair, told him she loved him? How many children would they now have if only he hadn’t been such an arse and pushed her away all those years ago. He’d let his own fear get in the way.

Just like he was doing now.

Fear of rejection.

Fear of hurting her.

Fear of the future, the past, all of it.

Standing out in the hallway he felt as though he’d died. The loss was enough to crumple his soul.

“Bastard,” he murmured to himself.

This was his fault, and here he stood, coward again, unable to pull her close when she needed it most.

He recalled that night, saw the light shining in her eyes as she’d rushed into his library, wanting to share something with him. How he’d been scared of that light. How he’d wanted to run from her and the responsibility a relationship with her held. ’Haps he’d known deep down what she was going to tell him, for he knew it with a certainty now.

Kay had come to tell him she was going to have his bairn. And he’d thrust her aside.

No wonder she’d run without a word. Vanished.