The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (6 page)

“You
are worth every denier to me, Madeline,” he cried. “Fear not, my beloved, I
shall be stalwart to the end.”

“So
long as victory can be achieved with his father’s coin,” Vivienne said softly.

There
were but five men bidding now, the counterbids coming more slowly each time.
Madeline could scarce take a breath.

“Out
of coin?” Reginald demanded cheerfully as one man reddened and bowed his head,
leaving the fray.

Four
men. Madeline’s mouth was as dry as salted fish.

Roger
Douglas thumbed his purse, then outbid Reginald.

Reginald
pivoted and upped the bid, fairly daring Roger to counter. That man bowed his
head in defeat.

Three
men. Reginald’s manner became effusive, his gestures more sweeping as he became
persuaded of his certain victory. “Come now,” he cried. “Is there not a one of
you willing to pay such a paltry sum for the Jewel of Kinfairlie?”

Then
two men were left, only Reginald and the uncommonly pale Alan Douglas. As much
as she loathed Reginald, it was a sign of her desperation that Madeline began
to wish that Reginald would triumph. At least Reginald did not frighten her, as
Alan did.

Every
bid Alan made, Reginald defeated with gusto. He did so quickly, flamboyantly,
clearly not caring how much he paid.

But
then, Vivienne had spoken aright. It was his father’s coin and though there
would be no more once it was spent, Reginald showed no restraint in ridding
himself of its burden.

Alan
frowned, stepped forward and bid again. The company held its collective breath.

Reginald
laughed, then topped the bid, his tone triumphant.

There
was a heavy pause. Alan glared at Reginald, then his shoulders dropped. He
stepped away in defeat, his pose saying all that needed to be said.

“I
win! I win, I win, I win!” Reginald shouted like a young boy who had won at
draughts. He skipped around the floor, hugging himself with delight.

Madeline
watched him with disgust. This was the man she would be compelled to wed.

There
had to be some means of escape from Alexander’s mad scheme.

Reginald
chortled. “Me, me, me! I win!”

“You
have not won yet,” a man said, his voice low and filled with a seductive
rhythm. “The winner can only claim his prize when the auction is complete.”

Madeline’s
heart fairly stopped as the dark stranger stepped out of the shadows. Though he
was not much older than Alexander, he seemed experienced in a way that
Madeline’s brother was not. She did not doubt that he would win any duel, that
his blade had tasted blood. He moved with a warrior’s confidence and the other
men created a path for him, as if they could do nothing else.

“He
is a fool to wear such an insignia openly,” muttered one man.

“Who
is he?” Madeline asked. She jumped when Rosamunde spoke from behind her. Her
aunt had moved while Madeline had been distracted by the auction.

“The
King of England has set a price upon his head for treason,” Rosamunde said.
“Every bounty hunter in England knows the name of Rhys FitzHenry.”

“I
daresay every man in Christendom knows of me, Rosamunde,” the man in question
said with confidence. “Grant credit where it is deserved, at least.” He spared
Madeline a glance, as if daring her to show fear of him. She held his gaze
deliberately, though her heart fluttered like a caged bird.

Rhys
then doubled Reginald’s bid with an ease that indicated he had coin and to
spare.

* * *

The
lady Madeline was perfect.

She
was the proper age to be the surviving child of Rhys’ cousin Madeline Arundel.
She shared her mother’s coloring and her mother’s name. Her supposed family
were so anxious to be rid of her without a dowry that they resorted to this
vulgar practice of an auction, something no man would do to his blood sister.

And
Rhys had to admit that he liked the fire in this Madeline’s eyes. She was tall
and slender, though not without womanly curves. Her hair was as dark as ebony
and hung unbound over her shoulders, her eyes flashed with fury. Rhys had seen
many women, but he had never glimpsed one as beguiling as this angry beauty.

A
single glimpse of her had been all it had taken to persuade Rhys that buying
Madeline’s hand was the most effective solution to his woes.

After
all, with Caerwyn beneath his authority, he would have need of a bride to have
an heir. And wedding this woman, if she indeed proved to be Madeline’s daughter
and the sole competing heir for Caerwyn, would ensure that no one could
challenge his claim to the holding. He did not fool himself that he had
sufficient charm to win the hand of such a bride any other way. Rhys had no
qualms about wedding his cousin’s daughter, if Madeline proved to be that
woman. In Wales, it was not uncommon for cousins to wed, so he barely spared
the prospect of their common blood a thought.

Indeed,
she would be compelled to wed some man this night, and Rhys doubted that any
would grant her the even-handed wager that he was prepared to offer to his
bride. Rhys had to believe that he could grant a woman a better life than that
offered by her family or this irksome boy, Reginald.

Marriage
was a perfect solution for both of them.

And
so he bid.

And
so the chamber fell silent.

It
was as simple as that. Madeline would be his.

Rhys
strode forward to pay his due, well content with what he had wrought.

The
young Laird of Kinfairlie responsible for this foolery spoke finally with
vigor. “I protest your bid. You were not invited to this auction and I will not
surrender my sister to your hand.”

Before
Rhys could argue, Tynan granted the younger man a poisonous glance. “Did I not
warn you that matters might not proceed as you had schemed, Alexander?”

Alexander
flushed. “But still...”

“The
matter has passed from your grasp,” Tynan said with finality. Rhys knew that
Tynan would indeed have cast him out if Rosamunde had not vouched for his
character. The lady Madeline had some souls concerned for her future, at least.

“You
cannot claim her!” Alexander cried. “I will not permit it.”

Rhys
smiled a chilly smile and let his gaze drift over the younger man. “You cannot
stop me. And you cannot afford to exceed my bid.”

The
young laird flushed crimson and stepped back with a murmured apology to his
sister, which Rhys thought long overdue.

Rhys
then turned to the huffing Reginald Neville. “Have you no more coin?”

Reginald’s
face turned red and he threw his gloves onto the floor. “You cannot have that
much coin!”

Rhys
arched a brow. “Because you do not?”

Anger
flashed in the boy’s eyes. “Show your coin before we continue. I insist upon
it!” Reginald flung out his hands and turned to the assembly. “Can we trust a
man of such poor repute to honor his debts?”

A
murmur passed through the company and Rhys shrugged. He sauntered to the high
table, removing a chamois sack from within his leather jerkin. The lady caught
her breath when he paused beside her and Rhys studied her for a heartbeat. Her
eyes were wide, a glorious simmering blue, and though he sensed her uncertainty
of him, she held her ground.

It
was not all bad that she was as aware of him as this. He liked the glitter of
intelligence in her eyes, as well as the fact that she had tried to halt this
folly. He was accustomed to women who spoke their minds and a bride who did as
much would suit him well.

He
smiled slightly at her, hoping to reassure her, and she swallowed visibly. His
gaze lingered upon the ruddy fullness of her lips and he thought of tasting
her, knowing then how he would seal their agreement.

But
first, the agreement had to be confirmed.

“You
need not fear, sir,” Rhys said coolly. “I will owe no debt for the lady’s
hand.” There were more than enough gold coins in his sack, but Rhys was not
anxious to flaunt his wealth. He cautiously removed only the amount necessary,
and stacked the coins upon the board with care. Tynan bent and bit each one of
them to test their quality, then nodded approval.

“Then,
have her!” Reginald spat in the rushes with poor grace and stormed from the
room. His gallantry, in Rhys’ opinion, was somewhat lacking.

There
was utter silence in the chamber as Rhys reached out and laid claim to Madeline’s
hand, such silence that he heard her catch her breath. His hand was much larger
than hers and her fingers trembled within his grasp.

But
she did not pull her hand from his and she held his gaze steadily. Again, he
admired that she was stalwart in standing by the terms of agreement. He bent
and brushed his lips across her knuckles, feeling her shiver slightly.

Alexander
placed a hand upon Rhys’ arm. “I do not care for convention and broken
agreements. You cannot wed my sister - you are charged with treason!”

Rhys
spoke softly, not relinquishing the lady’s hand. “Do not tell me that the Laird
of Kinfairlie is not a man of his word?”

Alexander
flushed scarlet. His gaze fell upon the stack of coins and Rhys knew that he
had desperate need of those funds.

He
leaned closer to the boy, the lady’s hand yet firmly clasped in his own, and
dared the new heir of Kinfairlie. He would show the lady, at least, what manner
of man her brother was. “I will grant you a chance to rescind your offer,
though it is more than you deserve. Reject my coin, but solely upon the
condition that the lady shall not be sold to any man.”

It
was clear that the younger man struggled with this decision. He appealed to his
sister with a glance. “Madeline, you must know that I would not do this without
cause.”

And
he reached for the coin.

“Cur!”
she cried, her scorn matching Rhys’ own. Rhys turned to her, his breath
catching at the fury that lit her expression. “Take it then, Alexander! Take
it, for whatever debts you have, and reject whatsoever loyalty Papa might have
thought you owed to your siblings.”

Alexander’s
hand shook slightly as he claimed the coins. “Madeline, you do not understand.
I must think of the others...”

“I
understand as much as I need to understand,” she said, her words as cold as
ice. “God save my sisters if you think of them as you have thought of me.”

“Madeline!”

But
the lady turned her back upon her sibling, her bearing as regal as that of a
queen, her gaze locking with Rhys’ own. He saw the hurt that she fought to hide
and felt a kinship with her, for he too had been betrayed by those he had
believed held him in regard.

“I
believe there is a meal laid to celebrate our pending nuptials, sir,” she said,
her words carrying clearly over the hall.

Aye,
this bride would suit him well. Rhys lifted her hand in his grip and bent to
brush his lips across her knuckles in salute. She shivered and he smiled,
knowing their nuptial night would be a lusty one.

“Well
done, my lady,” he murmured, liking that she was not readily daunted. “Perhaps
our agreement should be sealed in more fitting way.”

A
beguiling flush launched over the lady’s face and her lips parted as if in
invitation. Rhys gave her hand a minute tug as the company hooted, and she took
a pace closer. He could fairly feel the heat of her breath upon his cheek and
her own cheeks flushed. Still she did not look away, though her breath came
quickly in her uncertainty.

Rhys
entwined their fingers, then lifted his other hand to her face. He moved
slowly, so as not to alarm her, well aware of her uncertainty. She would be a
maiden, without doubt. It would not do to make her fearful of his touch. Rhys
tipped Madeline’s chin upward with his fingertip. Her flesh was soft beyond
belief, her valor admirable. He smiled slightly, saw a spark in her eyes that
reassured him as little else might have done. This was no fragile maiden who
would fear her own shadow.

Rhys
bent and captured Madeline’s sweet lips beneath his own. To his satisfaction,
the lady did not flinch, nor did she pull away.

Aye,
this was a wife who would suit him well.

* * *

Chapter Two

Rhys’
kiss was more gentle than Madeline had anticipated.

Indeed,
his kiss fairly melted her bones. An intoxicating heat rolled through her, the
pressure of his lips against hers making her yearn for more. He smelled of wind
and rain and leather, altogether masculine and alluring.

Yet
he was gentle with her. And patient. Madeline knew that he coaxed her caress,
that he believed her to be innocent, and though she guessed it to be his
intent, her fear of him faded like night at the dawn.

Truly,
the man could addle the wits of any woman with a kiss like this. Madeline had
never guessed that such pleasure could be launched from such a gentle caress,
nor had she imagined that she might become a willing participant in this
embrace.