The Devil of Jedburgh (24 page)

She decided she didn’t need to know how he’d killed the Armstrong men. “You’re expecting trouble from elsewhere, then?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with such matters.” He took a step to the side so he could pass. “I’ll ensure no harm befalls you.”

“How long do you intend to ignore me?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was ignoring you.” His eyes narrowed on her.

Breghan didn’t heed the warning. “I’m not talking about the mundane niceties you manage in the hall.”

She put a hand on his arm and looked into his hard gaze, willing him to relent just for long enough to see the truth in her eyes. He thought she was up to her neck in another scheme of sorts, a game to win the upper hand. Just another shallow-headed, reckless Breghan manoeuvre.

The truth he didn’t see was that she was playing for survival. She wasn’t irrevocably in love with Arran, she couldn’t be. But she would be, and very soon, if they resumed an intimate relationship. While she yearned for Arran in every way, she couldn’t do it, couldn’t fall deeper and deeper unless he was prepared to bring down some of his barriers.

“I miss you, Arran,” she said at last. “Lately I don’t even know when you’re at Ferniehirst or away. You used to talk about your plans and share your day with me.”

“You miss some of the things we used to share.” He covered her hand on his arm with his and looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Well, so do I, Breghan,” he said softly. He pushed her hand off him and walked away.

“If he will not come to you—” Magellan looked up from her fine stitches to meet Breghan’s gaze, “—you’ll have to go to him.”

“I couldn’t be so bold.” Unable to hold the other woman’s gaze, Breghan went to stand in front of the fire. She should never have started this conversation. Unfortunately when Magellan had given her another bag of powdered herbs, she’d been foolish enough to exclaim that she’d used little of the first bag. Now Magellan knew she and Arran weren’t sharing a marriage bed, but none of the delicate issues that defied the entire point if Breghan attempted to seduce Arran. “I could never force my attentions on him.”

“I’d hope you’d be more tactful than that, child.”

Breghan frowned over her shoulder.

“First, tell me what you want.” Magellan set down her embroidery and rose from the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you prefer the laird to seek his pleasure outside your bed?”

A muscle tightened painfully in Breghan’s breast and she looked forward again. “No.”

Magellan came to stand beside her and said quietly, “Then listen carefully, child, a man is easily manipulated.”

Breghan listened. In truth, it all seemed simple and innocent enough. Until later that night, long after everyone had retired, and she was making her way, shivering from cold and nerves, through the connecting room to Arran’s chamber. Part of her prayed he’d be out, patrolling the border or…or… But that was the problem, the thought that he might be off in some tavern in Jedburgh, seeking out what she refused him.

The door to his chamber stood open. Firelight cast wavering shadows over the white fleece rugs that warmed his floor. There were no other shadows to indicate movement. She put her hand around the corner and rapped lightly on the door before stepping inside.

Her gaze went to the enormous bed in the centre of the room. The covers were neatly pulled and flat.
He’s not here after all.

She gave a sigh that was both relief and disappointment and turned sharply on the heels of her bare feet.
If he’s slaking his lust in a rabid tavern, I swear I’ll…

He wasn’t.

Arran was sitting in the chair beside the hearth, his legs stretched out so his boots almost touched the iron griddle. The rest of him was a dark lump against the flickering light, completely still. Possibly asleep. Something she should have considered before stamping out the fire in her chamber. He had one arm curved around the back of his head, his elbow jutting out and shading his face from her.

She glanced between the doorway and Arran. The fire was still going strong, giving off a blazing heat that reached her where she stood. Breghan moved closer on her tiptoes, not yet sure if she wanted to wake him. She stopped with her feet as close to the fire as she dared and spread her hands out over the flames. Warmth soon spread into her limbs and joints with a tingling sensation. She turned slowly, putting her back to the fire, her gaze starting at his knee-high boots and travelling up the length of thick muscle clad in leather breeches. His linen shirt was loose at the waist, falling over his lap. Beneath his shirt, his chest rose and fell with deep, slightly uneven breaths. A rhythm she knew as well as her own heartbeat.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, her gaze shooting all the way up. Shadows slashed dark angles across his face, making him appear a hundred times more harsh and dangerous than ever before. A longing rose up inside her, a dull ache of raw need to crawl up onto his lap and feel his arms wrap around her. To press her cheek to his chest and allow the beat of his heart to lull her frantic emotions.

“You’re either here to remind me what I’ve been missing or to seduce me,” came his husky drawl. “I’m hoping it’s the latter.”

She still couldn’t quite see his eyes, but she felt his gaze burning her. Her nightgown was cut daringly low across her breasts, the material semi-transparent except where a pattern of rambling roses was embroidered on the bodice. With the fire lit up behind her, Breghan knew exactly how much of her was revealed to him. That, of course, was all part of Magellan’s plan. One she might as well follow now that she was here and he was awake.

“The fire went out in my chamber,” she told him. “I woke up absolutely freezing.”

“Which would explain why you forgot to wrap up in a bedgown as soon as you climbed out from beneath the covers.”

Her eyes were starting to adjust to the dimness and shadows, and she saw a grin reshape the square line of his jaw. “I was half asleep and didn’t even think of it.”

“Naturally.”

She dropped her gaze and frowned. Apparently Arran was less easily manipulated than Magellan had anticipated. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“No bother at all.” He sat up straight, pulling his legs in and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’re welcome to share my chamber.”

His voice was that thick blend of honey and whiskey that rumbled through her like a wave of desire.

Breghan took a step back, not trusting herself. “I only wanted to ask if you’d help kindle the fire.”

“Hmmm.”

Did he have to sound so disbelieving? “Never mind, you stay here and keep your ridiculous suspicions company.” She turned to leave. “I’m sure I’ll survive the icy temperatures until morning.”

Arran was right behind her when she reached her room. She went to perch on the bed, thinking she may have underestimated Magellan’s knowledge of the male species. Then she remembered she was supposed to be showing off everything she had to her best advantage. She slid from the bed to stand near Arran as he rekindled the glowing embers and packed on enough logs to burn throughout the night.

He glanced up at her as he worked. “You should get back into bed.”

“I’m not the least bit sleepy anymore.” She went down beside him. “I’ll sit by the fire awhile.”

Arran swivelled on his knees toward her. His hand came out to curl around her neck, his thumb moving in a slow circle at her nape, sending whorls of tingling heat down her spine. His gaze dropped to her lips and stayed there. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

He exuded male power and raw want. His gaze shifted slowly, along the curve of her throat, to the swell of her breasts, then up again until his eyes were smouldering into hers.

“That depends…” Breghan wet her lips, at once overheated where his gaze touched. “Have you changed your mind?” Her voice was sultry, her breaths flustered. If he kissed her now, she’d be lost without a single murmur of protest.

He pulled her closer. At the same time his head came down. She closed her eyes, her heart racing, her pulse dancing.

“If you had any idea what you do to me, you wouldna play these games.” His lips barely brushed hers before he moved on, his bristled jaw gliding over her cheek. “I’m no likely to remember all your rules while I’m burning up for you, Bree.”

His breath was hot on her skin, melting her to the core. She put her hand out blindly, found the linen folds of his shirt, and held on tightly against the swell of desire that rocked through her. And then he was gone, pushing to his feet and striding from the room on a string of muttered curses.

Chapter Sixteen

When it came to war between the sexes, Breghan was discovering, victories were small, inconclusive, and any spoils were usually claimed with a double-edged sword. While Arran hadn’t capitulated, he was no longer treating her with polite coolness. He went riding with her some mornings, he spoke to her about the truce day he attended at Redeswire and made her laugh when he’d described Sir John Forster as an overfed ferret. He’d sent the captured Armstrongs up to Edinburgh to be put on trial instead of dispensing justice himself, but they were still concerned about the Elliot clan whom, he believed, were receiving financial aid from the English.

With all that, however, came the breathless moments when he seemed to forget what he’d been talking about and simply looked at her with open desire in his gaze. Sometimes he’d lean in, brush his lips over hers, sometimes he’d swear lightly against her cheek in a ragged voice and at other times he’d pull back with a rigid grimace in place. Most times, she came undone in the burning intimacy and would have melted into his arms with little persuasion.

But Arran was on a noble mission and he had more iron control than she’d ever come across in any man before.

She couldn’t decide if those moments briefly ruled over Arran or whether the opposite was true, whether he was systematically wearing her down. She did know that he was perfectly capable of resisting her forever, or at least until she explicitly and vocally rescinded her objections.

Possibly even until she went down on her knees and begged.

No matter how much restlessness and frustrated arousal pumped through her, she was determined to enjoy the short time with her mother and Magellan. They went for brisk walks along the river and spent hours around the fire in the hall, sipping hot mead and talking about everything and nothing.

One of the trunks Lillian had brought contained lengths of material for at least a dozen new gowns. There were silks in vivid blues and greens, shimmering satins with silver and gold threaded through, heavy velvets, wool weaved so finely it felt like warm cotton between Breghan’s fingers.

“I’ll make you a new riding outfit while I’m here,” Lillian said, reaching for a velvet the colour of deep wine. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely.” Breghan rose to her feet and went to look out the window for the hundredth time that morning. If anything, the rain was coming down harder and faster, slashing against the window with enough force to rattle the glass. The sky was a roiling blanket of dark grey that wouldn’t clear anytime soon.

“Prowling won’t make the rain stop any sooner,” Lillian said with a smile. “I dare say I can’t compete with Angel, but how do you like the Venice lace for trimming?” She held up the delicate strip of entwined roses for Breghan to inspect. “The dusky pink is a soft contrast to the rich burgundy.”

Before Breghan could reply, Magellan came pushing through the door with a tray balanced in one hand.

“What a contrary being,” she exclaimed. “That enormous bear of a man barrels straight into me and do you know how he apologises?”

“Arran?” Breghan asked.

“‘Wheesht,’ he says, ‘this place is overrun with females.’” Magellan snorted as she handed out the pewter mugs of sweetened ale. “He grabbed the tray and steadied me, then set me out of his path and marched on with that insult.”

“Black hair, big beard?”

Magellan nodded.

“That must be Broderick,” Breghan said. “He confuses pleasantry with torture.”

“Speaking of Arran…” Lillian smiled at Breghan over the rim of her mug. “He seems to be very attentive to you. I confess I worried at Donague, he was so cold and distant.”

“Um, yes,” Breghan said vaguely, shaking her head at Magellan’s raised brow. Arran hadn’t been
that
attentive. “Arran has his finer—”

“Breghan, I’m looking—” Arran burst through the door with his usual elegance. His gaze landed on Magellan. “Ah, there you are, woman. I need to talk to you now.”

“Moments,” Breghan finished telling her mother as Arran yanked Magellan from the room. “This, as you may have noticed, isn’t one of them.”

Lillian frowned at the chamber door slamming closed on them. “Are you entirely happy here, darling?”

Two rooms down, Arran was slamming shut another a door. The older woman jumped at the sound, her face almost as white as her hair. Arran was in no mood to take pity on the meddling witch. He couldn’t believe he was contemplating this, and he blamed the witch for that as well.

He rounded on her with a dark frown. “What are those weeds you gave Breghan?”

“Ah, I see.” Some of the colour returned to her face. “I mix an exotic form of fennel root from the East called ferula—”

“Stop speaking gibberish, woman.” Arran leaned in. “Your magic may reassure Breghan. To me it’s naught but a curse. How do I know these herbs are effective?” he demanded. “Where is the proof?”

“Calm yourself, laird, if you don’t wish to rely on my knowledge, then don’t.”

“I have no choice,” he roared. “You shoved my wife down some path and now she willna turn back.”

“Of course, Breghan doesn’t want to be bound to this relationship,” Magellan mused. “You are afraid Breghan may truly have the means to prevent conceiving your child, of exerting some measure of control over her life. Unfortunately for you, my laird, your fear is validated.”

“I’m afraid of naught, woman, and your incessant babbling is nowhere near the truth of the matter. Don’t pretend to know anything of me or mine.” Arran stepped back, out of reach of the woman before he gave in to the urge to strangle her. “Now give me your proof or go to Breghan and tell her it’s all lies, a trick on your part to play the devil with her life.”