The Devil of Jedburgh (26 page)

His blood thickened into a white-hot snake through his entire body as he drove into her, hard and deep. She contracted around him in quick pulses that sent him to the edge of blackness.

“Designed to pleasure each other,” she continued in breathless gasps, “regardless of any finer feelings or—or emotions. I only wanted to know if y—you still believed that, if I was just a convenient body to—to you, or if I was more.”

“Jesu, Bree, must you always choose to play with fire instead of just asking what you want to know?” She was so swollen around his shaft, slick and pulsing, and he knew he’d not last past the next plunge. “Sometimes there’s a connection between a man and woman that goes beyond the mere joining of bodies.”

There was no time to say more. He closed his lips over hers, penetrating her mouth with his tongue in a slow, rolling kiss as he thrust into her tight sheath. He felt her clamp and shudder around him, the world beyond them dissolving, his cry into her mouth a base animal grunt as his seed spurted deep inside her. Her heat pulsed around his shaft, milking every last drop of the ecstasy, eclipsing the enormity of what he’d just done. There was only their bodies, joined and rocking in the exploding blackness.

Breghan collapsed against him with her cheek resting on his shoulder. Her eyelashes were wet against his neck with unshed tears.

“Darling.” His voice was rough with spent desire. “My darling, Bree.”

Staying deeply embedded with her legs wrapped around him, Arran walked to the bed and sat on the edge. He adjusted her on his lap and curled a hand around the back of her neck, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He murmured quietly into her hair, words meant only for his ears, “You are so much more to me than a mere convenience, my sweet.”

A knock at the door was followed by, “Breghan?”

“Magellan!” Breghan lifted her head from his shoulder. Another knock and she pulled herself off him, attempting to cover her chest with the tattered ends of her bodice with little success.

“Naturally.” Arran straightened his plaid, then lay back across the bed with his arms folded behind his head. “That woman knows exactly when and where to interfere.”

“At least she knocks.” Breghan gave up and grabbed a fur-trimmed outdoor cloak from her wardrobe. She’d only just thrown it over her shoulders, pinching it closed in the front with a fist, when Magellan entered on a third knock.

The woman’s wide gaze went from Arran, sprawled across the bed, to Breghan, standing stiffly by wardrobe. “The steward asked me to see if you were awake, child. There’s someone to see you, Janet she says her name is. Says you would be expecting her.”

“Of course.” Breghan gave her a warm smile. “I’ll be right down.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Arran slid from the bed and went to stand in front of Breghan. He tipped her chin up with his knuckles and kissed her thoroughly on the mouth before saying, “Promise me you willna forget to drink those herbs of yours?”

She blinked her eyes open to look at him, hesitated only a moment, then nodded. “I promise. I’ll do it right now.”

Chapter Seventeen

Breghan desperately needed someone close to her own age who didn’t cower in Ferniehirst’s corners or jump with fright at the mention of Arran Kerr. She’d sensed something in Janet from their first meeting in the cottage that made her think they’d be fast friends and she was delighted to discover she’d been right.

She’d greeted Janet down in the hall with the exclamation, “I’m so pleased you don’t believe what your mother said about the laird.”

“Oh, I believe every word of it,” Janet had returned with a wry smile. “But I’d rather live a short life and live it to the fullest than remain trapped in that cottage to a ripe old age.”

Now, a few days later, they were standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the window in Breghan’s chamber, watching the procession of horses and carts until the last sight of Lillian and Magellan disappeared into the thick forest that crowded close to Ferniehirst. The weather had been unusually warm this year and only a light dusting of snow covered the ground even though they were into the first week of December.

“Arran will be in a pleasant mood tonight,” Janet declared. She’d taken to calling Arran by his given name, but only when they were alone.

Breghan turned from the window and admitted, “I’m mostly to blame for his animosity toward Magellan.”

“Oh?”

Breghan laughed at her tone, then went on to explain. When she reached the part about Magellan’s herbs, she omitted the intimate details of their lovemaking. Leaving Janet to draw her own conclusions on why Breghan insisted on drinking the potion and why Arran had resisted.

“And here I thought I was the one with more guts than sense.” Janet’s expression went from awe to horror. “Men’s egos require they populate the earth with their sons, as often and as widespread as possible. I’m surprised Arran tolerates you taking such a potion.”

“He can be incredibly lenient,” Breghan said, using the opportunity to break down the wall of rumours that kept Arran in the shadows of the womenfolk’s fears. “Arran is a kind, forgiving husband who oft puts my concerns and wishes before his. I hope you’ll see him the way I do once you’ve got to know him better.”

Janet gave her a mischievous grin. “There’s someone else entirely I’d rather get to know better.”

“Who has won your heart so soon?” Breghan asked.

“Ah, you’ll be the first to know, after him.”

“Very well, then…” Breghan cast an appraising eye over Janet’s grey smock and long-sleeved white shift. “How well do you cut and stitch a dress?”

“I’m an excellent seamstress,” Janet exclaimed. “My mother taught me from an early age.”

“Wonderful. I’m perfectly capable with a needle, but atrocious with styling and measuring the cloth.” Breghan opened the trunk of materials her mother had brought and beckoned Janet closer. “Take your pick, although I think the emerald velvet in particular would be a lovely match for your eyes.”

“For me?” Janet came over and knelt before the trunk. She ran her fingers over the various textures of silks, satins, velvets and brocades. “They’re all so soft and beautiful, I’ve never possessed any garment made of such luxurious fabric.” She shook her head vigorously. “I’m pleased you’re gracious enough to consider me more friend than servant, but I cannot take such liberties. I’d be honoured to work with these materials to fashion you a new wardrobe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Breghan said in a warm voice. “I won’t allow you to go a-wooing without a new dress to mesmerise your suitor.” She saw Janet’s green eyes flare in stubborn resistance and added, “I intend to gift a length of cloth to both Greer and Annie as well.”

Janet glanced up at her. “I suspect Greer will use hers for a wedding gown.”

“Has Greer said something to you? The girl is so timid, she hardly looks me in the eye since our last…well, conversation regarding how she came to be employed.”

“She considers you the devil’s concubine,” Janet snorted, then looked away on a groan. “I shouldn’t have repeated that.”

“It’s been months! She’s never going to believe anything but the worst of Arran, isn’t she?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because I care for Arran.” Breghan gave a helpless smile. “I—I’m falling in love with him.”

“You refuse to give Arran a child. Barren or purposely unwilling, you’ll be gone from here when your handfasting period ends.”

“Perhaps not.”

Janet grabbed her hand, her voice urgent. “Arran sought out a wife because he wants sons, Breghan. Sons to inherit the land or for that evil legacy that plagues the Ferniehirst Kerrs, only Arran and the devil knows.”

“Evil legacy? You sound just like your mother now.”

“Don’t dismiss everything she says about Lizzie and her babe.”

Her babe?
“Lizzie was with child?”

“Arran’s firstborn.” Janet’s grip slipped from her hand. “My mother didn’t tell you?”

Breghan’s knees went weak. “She spoke some gibberish about Arran and a healer woman sacrificing Lizzie… There was no mention of a babe.”

“Mary was the midwife and the two of them cut the babe straight from Lizzie’s womb while the poor girl was still alive. Alive and screaming, as they performed their sacrificial ritual. His hands were locked around the wee babe’s throat when my mother entered that room, claiming its first breath for the devil. They say the laird is bonded to the devil, as was his father, and the devil never stops demanding his due.”

“No, I—I can’t believe—” She wrapped her arms around her waist to hold in the rising panic. “You cannot believe this!”

Janet’s face lost all colour. “I don’t know what or what not to believe, Breghan, but I do know my mother isn’t crazy. She saw the blood dripping from the dagger that Mary held. She saw Arran’s hands around his firstborn’s throat.”

“Your mother said something about Lizzie being a-a tavern whore,” Breghan blurted, clasping on to anything she could. “How do you even know she was carrying Arran’s child?”

“Both are buried in the Kerr graveyard.” Janet reached for her, but Breghan backed away. “Breghan, I’m truly sorry, I don’t mean to upset or frighten you. Perhaps there is more to this tale, another explanation. I only thought you should know.”

“There is—there must be.”

“I hope you are right, I truly do.”

Breghan stumbled from the room. For every horrific picture that tried to cling to her sanity, there was one of Arran in the forefront of her mind to dispel it. Everything she knew and loved about the man rejected what others took as truth. She wound her way down the stairway, forcing breath into her lungs to stop the walls from closing in on her. Without consciously knowing where she was going, she found herself outside the castle walls, slipping through the gatepost of the graveyard that was a stone’s throw from the south-facing barmekin.

She trod carefully between the mounds covered with grass and clover, pausing for a long while at each gravestone, some so eroded with time and moss it was impossible to make out the inscriptions. When she came upon a headstone that wasn’t only newer than the rest but trimmed in polished granite, she knew she’d found Lizzie.

In Loving Memory of Elizabeth

1529–April 1555

In Loving Memory of Christian

April 1555–

She traced her finger along the grooved inscription. Tavern whore or otherwise, that Lizzie was buried with her babe in the family plot spoke of Arran’s commitment and love for this girl. For their babe.

Childbirth was oft dangerous, and bloody. All the horrific bits and pieces she’d heard fell into place as she realised Lizzie had died giving birth to Arran’s child. Whatever he and Mary had done to try and help had failed.

Was this why he wanted to avoid any possibility of her getting pregnant?

Oh, Arran…
Tears stung inside her lids for both the mother of that child and Arran, and she couldn’t keep them in. He was never looking for a broodmare or full stable, he only hoped to ensure this wouldn’t happen again.

This is the reason he chose McAllen’s daughter.

Now he had her, and he still refused to contemplate a future with her. Breghan wanted to believe it was because he was afraid to risk her life, but he’d been quite prepared to fill McAllen’s daughter with his bairns until he’d met her.

There was much to do in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Annie and Greer were both assigned to candle making whenever they had a spare moment and Arran was sent out into Jed Forest to cut down the Yule log. Every able body was employed in the search for male holly and female ivy and then put to the task of twining it across the halls and up the stairwell.

Breghan had parcels made up of extra wood, mince pies and tallow candles for the crofter families and distributed the packages herself so she could extend an invitation to celebrate each of the twelve days of Christmas at Ferniehirst. She was warmly welcomed and thanked, but had resigned herself to the likelihood that none would venture up to the castle. On top of that, Arran came to her chamber one night with the news that Duncan had requested leave to wed Greer.

Breghan clapped her hands. “That’s absolutely wonderful.”

“The man isn’t in his right mind,” Arran grunted. “His life is soldiering, now suddenly he’s talking about giving up everything and turning to farming.”

“My goodness, you are grumpy. I’ve seen them together, Arran, they’ll be very happy.”

“Greer is manipulating him. She doesna want to be here and Duncan is her way out.”

“She wouldn’t need a way out if you hadn’t forced her into employment.”

Arran came closer, arms folded, his jaw set in grim contemplation. “You know about the threat I made to Greer’s family?”

“She told me.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t tackled me on the subject before and forced me to relent.”

“I was hoping she’d settle in, that everything would turn out for the best. Annie seems to be coping well. Then again, she goes home every night and you’re seldom around during the day.” Breghan nibbled her lower lip. If what Arran believed was true, she didn’t want Duncan used in such a way. “Would you carry through on that threat? Is Greer’s family at risk of losing their cottage if she leaves?”

Arran’s scowl cast a shadow in his eyes. “What do
you
think?”

“You can be ruthless to the point of cruel in some matters, Arran. When it comes to the finer details of what you consider right and wrong, I’m never quite sure what to think.”

“They were never in danger of losing their home, Breghan.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I thought you’d have discovered by now that my bark is far worse than my bite.”

“That doesn’t make your bite completely harmless.” She reached up and brought his hand down from his brow so she could look into his eyes. “What of us, Arran? What does the future hold for us?”

“Our future was mapped out the day we met.” Arran clasped his other hand around hers. “We stand here by mutual agreement, Bree, until a year and day has passed. Naught has changed.”

Breghan narrowed her eyes on him.
Everything has changed.
“The day we met, you said the thought of bedding me appalled.”