The Devil of Jedburgh (13 page)

None of that would have been so bad if not for this kernel of doubt that had pushed him into noble action yesterday, for all the good it had done. A gut instinct warned that every day spent with Breghan would raise bloody hell with his expectations of a future wife.

Even so, he knew he wouldn’t leave her be.

Ensconced in his solar, Arran sorted through the handful of letters that had arrived in his absence. One was from a friend at court, the others from sources well paid to keep him informed. Scotland was caught up in the politics of their young queen’s return from France and her new marriage to Henry Darnley.

Arran leaned back in his chair as he read the note from Gavin Huntly. The last time he’d gone to battle in the queen’s name, her half brother James Stewart, the earl of Moray, had ridden at his side as they took on Gavin’s father and won. Now Queen Mary had restored the Huntly fortune to draw the new laird to her side as they hunted down Moray, who’d fallen out with his sister over her marriage to Henry Darnley.

“The tides of Scotland turn faster than a wagon wheel,” muttered Arran to himself.

Moray had been the guiding hand behind the queen; without him she was left to drift in the wake of her nobles’ shifting loyalties.

Moray was his friend, and God knew Arran shared the man’s distaste for Darnley, but couldn’t he see the queen and Scotland needed his council more now than ever before? She’d forgive Moray in a heartbeat if only he’d stand down and beg forgiveness. And therein lay the problem. Moray would never accept Darnley, and Arran was hard-pressed to blame the man.

Arran knew too that secret meetings were being held across the country, of which he’d have no part. John Knox was spreading a wave of discontent amongst a Protestant Scotland as he preached out against the dangers of allowing their queen to practice Catholicism.

Arran crumpled the note and tossed it into the blazing hearth. The queen had already proved herself capable of reacting with force when required, yet she dismissed these dark rumblings about her religion as if they were nothing more than inconsequential banter at one of her banquets.

There was a knock on his solar door and when it didn’t open, Arran called out, “Enter.”

Ewan put his head inside first, glancing from corner to corner before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“My lady isn’t hiding behind the drapery.” Arran quirked a brow at him. “Or perhaps you expected to find her on my lap.”

“I have no idea what to expect,” Ewan said, sitting in the chair across from Arran’s desk. “We’ve had no women at Ferniehirst for years and now suddenly we have two.”

Arran turned the conversation to the topic on his mind. “The queen has set out from Stirling to chase Moray to ground.”

“I know, Bothwell sent word yesterday. They’re riding for Ayr, mustering troops as they go.”

“We’ll meet up with them at Glasgow. Moray will head further south, staying close to the borders so he can hop across if required. Queen Elizabeth has offered him sanctuary, if not actual troops.” Arran thought on one of the messages he’d just read and grinned. “Is Darnley truly riding at our queen’s side?”

Ewan chuckled. “Trussed from head to toe in gilt armour.”

“He’ll be more hindrance than help,” Arran predicted. “Henry Darnley might be styled King Henry, but he’ll never be King of Scotland.” He stood and dropped the last of the letters into the fire. “Prepare the men to set out the day after tomorrow and choose fifteen to remain here.”

Ewan stood as well and frowned. “Moray will never attack Ferniehirst.”

“I happen to agree.” Arran made his way to the door, issuing to Ewan as he went, “Ensure Broderick and Duncan are amongst the men staying behind. Lady Breghan will take comfort in a familiar face if there’s any trouble.”

When Arran went to fetch Breghan for supper, he found her fast asleep on top of the covers. She wore a plain tunic over a white shift and her hair, still damp from her bath, was spread out over the pillow. Long black lashes formed half-moon crescents, strongly contrasted against her flawless complexion. His gaze followed the elegant sweep of her throat to the hollow where her shoulder started, and he knew his kisses there would make her shiver with desire. As he stood watching, as he felt his body react to the gentle rise and fall of her slumbering breaths, Arran conceded that the gift of such exquisite beauty may come at a steep price but was worth every precious moment.

He opened the trunk at the bottom of the bed and found a thick woollen blanket to throw over Breghan. She stirred, rolled onto her side, but didn’t wake.

In the hearth, logs were stacked and ready for Arran to light. Once the sun went down, cold seemed to seep straight from the stone walls into one’s bones whether it was high summer or deep winter.

Chapter Eight

Breghan awoke to sunlight streaming in along the edge of the curtains and a rumbling ache in her stomach. She sat up, disoriented and wondering why she was so unusually hungry. The events of the day before came rolling back.

She was at Ferniehirst! She’d only intended to lie down for a moment after her bath; she must have fallen asleep.

Beside her bed, someone had pulled up a table with a jug of ale and a plate of bread and cheese. Breghan broke a piece of bread off at once but found it dry and hard, probably put out the night before. The cheese was fine and she ate it all before flinging aside the blanket and padding to the window.

When she drew the curtain aside, she was amazed to find the extravagance of a large leaded window. The glass squares were opaque and thick and the window was set in a coarse wooden frame that swung out on iron pins when she unlatched it.

The sweet scent of apple blossoms wafted into her room and she stuck her head out to see an orchard planted directly below. Beyond the barmekin wall, the green dale of Jed Water reached into a band of thick forest that grew sparse as it stretched up the steep slope of a craggy hill.

The soft creak of a door opening pulled Breghan’s head inside. She turned, expecting to see Greer.

Her gaze landed on Arran instead.

Her breath caught as she took in the knee-length black boots and supple leather breeches that hid nothing of his muscular form. His white linen shirt was tied loosely at his throat with a gap revealing dark golden skin. He’d forgone tying his hair back and it fell across his cheekbones to his shoulders in silky waves.

He looked so arrogantly male and virile, she at once recalled how she’d responded to his kisses. “There’s no point in having a door between us, if you’re not civil enough to knock.”

“Should I remove it, then?” he asked succinctly as he came closer.

“I’d prefer you learn to knock.”

When he stopped walking, he was a heartbeat away. “I’m prepared to grant you privacy where I may,” he said, his gaze raking her from head to toe, “but I don’t knock on doors in my own castle.”

“You contradict yourself completely.”

He shrugged and looked past her through the open window.

Breghan rolled her eyes. For every kind deed and word he gave, there were a dozen more to infuriate and remind her that border lairds were bred with sheer arrogance running through their veins instead of blood.

This was precisely why she couldn’t yield to this man, no matter how deliciously he seduced. How cleverly he seduced, surprising her with her own bedchamber and wielding that offer of a reprieve as expertly as he wielded kisses. A reprieve that would last only as long as it suited him, and then he’d find a way around it.

His arm went around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and facing the window. Breghan stiffened to counter his charms, but Arran wasn’t attempting a seduction.

He pointed to the expanse of craggy slopes that rose behind the forest. “That is Dunmon Hill. If the sky is clear this evening, you must watch the sun set between her slopes, ’tis a splendid sight.” He withdrew his arm and stood aside. “I came to escort you to the hall for breakfast.” He gaze fell on the full plate of bread. “If I’d known you’d sleep straight through, I would’ve woken you to eat.”

Breghan realised he must have covered her with the blanket and ordered food sent up. She spread her hands down her sides self-consciously and felt the wrinkles in her linen shift. “I’ll make my own way downstairs once I’ve changed.”

His gaze came back to her, half-hooded and warmed by a slow grin. “You look lovely just as you are.”

He’s doing it again!

“You shouldn’t have left me to sleep in my clothes,” she told him.

“Next time, I promise to remove them.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

He folded his arms across his chest, his grin fading to something far less amusing and far more intense as he studied her. “Your eyes deepen to indigo when your temper rises and colour flares to your cheeks. I find the combination irresistible.”

Breghan spun around, giving him her back as she took a deep breath. “You turn my words against me and use flattery to mock. I find the combination detestable.”

A moment later, she felt his breath tickle her neck.

“I confess to the first,” he murmured at her ear, “but I should warn you, mockery is the last thing on my mind.” His lips brushed her skin where the curve of her throat met collarbone and the sensation trembled all the way to Breghan’s toes. “I could leave you to change in private or I could stay to change your mind. What shall it be, sweeting?”

“Once again you give the illusion of choice to hide the iron shackles.” Breghan whirled about to glare at him. “You refuse to knock and insist on the right to barge through any door in your castle. Seems to me, the matter of my privacy is thrust firmly into either your hands or the luck of timing.”

“Seems to me,” he said, an edge of hardness layered over the timbre of his tone, “you bristle like a porcupine at every opportunity purely for the sake of it.”

I bristle because there’s something about you that draws me like a moth, even though I know all my hopes and dreams will burn to cinders in the flame.

His jaw worked as he looked at her, and yet she doubted it was anger. His eyes were a shade of smoky slate that warmed instead of chilled. Darkness hid in the dales carved into his face and twilight skimmed the ridges. His character, both inside and out, was a reflection of the tumultuous Mistress Scotland, who slaughtered man with her brutality even while she claimed their passions with her imposing magnificence.

Arran stamped his will where and when he chose, but he did so with a soft hand that tugged the wings of her spirit. She’d far prefer he demand and roar, so she’d remember who and what he was. The thought of submitting to Arran didn’t disturb her half as much as the fear of yearning for his kisses.

Suddenly Breghan understood the danger lay in the seducing and not in the bedding.

She fisted her hands at her side and said calmly, “I have no wish to spend the year quarrelling. I’m well aware of my duties and never intended to deny you any rights. I neither desire nor need your gracious reprieve. If and when you want me in your bed, I’ll come quietly and obediently.”

“I wouldn’t have offered that damn reprieve at all if I wanted quiet obedience in my bed.” He turned abruptly and marched to the door. There he flung it open but didn’t leave before he said, loud and clear, “I
will
take quiet obedience everywhere else. Don’t linger overlong with your appearance. I expect you in the hall and sitting at my side to show my men how amiably we get along.”

The door slammed and he was gone.

Breghan sank onto the edge of her bed and bit down on her lip.
I am my own worst enemy.

How could she not build walls to hide behind, even if each stone fired his fury? Arran, cold and fuming, was safer than Arran, warm and charming. Because even were she to succumb with more than body, Arran wouldn’t keep her past the end of one year. In this one thing, he never contradicted himself and he never wavered.

Neither shall I.

A knock at the door startled Breghan to her feet. It was Greer, the timid girl who’d helped her bathe. Last night Breghan had been too exhausted to bother, but now she was determined to put the young maid at ease.

“I’m so pleased to have your service,” she told Greer with a bright smile. “I’m afraid Ferniehirst is much larger than the home I’m accustomed to and I hope you can help me find my way around.”

Greer bobbed and returned the smile while her fingers twisted in the blond braid that fell over her shoulder. “I’ll do me best, me lady, though I’m new to the castle me self.”

“You didn’t work here before?” Breghan neatened the covers on her bed and folded the blanket.

“No, me lady.” She rushed to take the blanket from Breghan and tucked it away in the trunk at the bottom of the bed. “I’ve no experience at being a lady’s maid.”

“Well, I believe you’re doing fine.” Breghan untied the ribbons at her side, removing the wrinkled tunic and fetching a fresh one from the wardrobe. “That tunic only needs a hot iron, but I’m afraid my travelling clothes from yesterday are stained with horse and sweat. I trust Ferniehirst has a washhouse?”

“I’m sure I’ll find it, me lady.” Greer scooped the velvet riding gown and undergarments from the chair.

“Ask Bryan if you need assistance.” Before Greer could shoot out the door, Breghan called out, “Do you think you could call me Breghan?”

“That isna proper, me lady.” Greer almost dropped her load. Her brown eyes stretched wide. “Whatever will the laird say?”

“I don’t care a hog’s tooth about proper and the laird is my concern.”

“Very well, me lady.”

Breghan sighed. “What is your age, Greer?”

“One and twenty years last winter, me lady.”

“Are you wed?”

Greer giggled. “No, me lady, the lads all come up to castle as soon as they’re able and…”

“And?”

“I must see to these clothes.” Greer bobbed and left.

Content that she’d at least won some of the maid’s confidence, Breghan combed the tangles from her hair while pondering a course of action for Arran and herself.

She needed to keep her temper bridled, she decided. She’d be cordial in and out of bed, leaving him no recourse to either fault her or expend any effort on that fatal charm.