The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (31 page)

“Nay. I won’t ever take it off.” She bit her lip, then decided the truth might serve to shut him up. “My mother took it off only once. To wear a pretty necklace my father had just brought her from Edinburgh. She died that day. Broke her neck when she was thrown from her horse.”

“You blame your father for her death,” Jason said.

“I don’t.” She was startled into meeting his eyes. “I never have.”

Silent for a minute, he watched her drop the dice back into the cup, slowly, one by one. “You blame her,” he finally said.

“Nay.” Maybe she’d thought it, but she didn’t believe it. “Though I won’t tempt fate by making the same mistake.”

“It’s naught but metal and stone,” he said gently.

“It’s more than metal and stone,” she disagreed. “It’s been in my family for centuries.”

“Has it?” He dipped a piece of bread into his soup. “Is there a story behind it?”

“Of course. We Scots have a story for everything.” As he glanced out the window again, she touched the amulet and rolled the dice, smiling when they came up double fives. She moved her last two markers into home court and stacked another two neatly by the board. “I was made to memorize it word for word before the necklace could be mine.”

“I enjoy your stories. Tell me.”

She handed him the cup. “In 1330, Sir Simon Leslie set out to accompany James, Lord Douglas, who was charged with returning the heart of King Robert the Bruce to the Holy Land. On their way through Spain, they fought with the Moors, and Douglas was killed.” She paused for a sip of ale. “Leslie went on to Palestine, and there he fought the Saracens and captured one of their chiefs. When the chief’s mother came to beg for his release, she dropped an emerald from her purse and hurried to scoop it up. Leslie realized it was of great importance to her, and he demanded it as part of the deal for the release of her son.”

She stopped, because Jason was staring out the window again. “Go on,” he said, looking back to her.

“That is it, really.” Gazing down at the amulet, she traced its scrolled setting with a finger. “He had it set in this bezel and brought it home, claiming it had miraculous powers for seeing him through the journey. It’s been handed down through the generations. People once came from far and wide to obtain water it had been dipped in. They would put a bottle of this water by their door, or hang it overhead, for protection against the evil eye.”

His bowl empty, he set down his spoon and rolled the dice. His last two pieces clicked as he dropped them onto his pile. “But not anymore?”

She shook her head. “The old ways and beliefs are dying.”

“Yet you won’t take it off.”

“Maybe it’s nothing more than unwarranted superstition.” She wrapped her fingers around the emerald. “But there will be no change of hands.”

Nor, she thought fiercely, would there be the change of heart the Gypsy had predicted.

His gaze had returned to the window yet again. “You won,” she said, and he nodded without looking at her. Idly she started making his pile of markers into two tall stacks. “Are you seeing something?”

“Not exactly.” He lifted his tankard of ale. “I’m just getting that feeling I had last night…”

One of the stacks toppled over. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean that strange feeling that gives you an excuse to kiss me?”

His tankard hit the table with a thud. “I mean the feeling that we might be followed.”

Cait looked out the window at the red-brick walls of the George Inn across Buckden’s busy High Street. People rode or strolled by. Ordinary people. No one appeared suspicious or familiar. “I see nothing.”

He shrugged.

“Here,” she said, pushing the rest of her Dutch pudding toward him. “I’m not finding myself very hungry.”

He dug into the remains of her dinner. “Still worried about your fortune and future?”

“Of course not. It was naught but a lark. I’ve forgotten it already.”

In truth, she hadn’t, not really. But she was more intrigued than anything, and not by the fortune-teller’s meaningless predictions. More by the fact that the woman had seemed to think Jason was in love with her.

For a moment she stared unblinking at the creamy plastered walls of the Lion’s common room. It couldn’t be true, of course. Chiron was more likely to fall in love with her than Jason was. But something about his attitude must have changed in the encampment. When she’d told the story of her amulet, he hadn’t interrupted her to insist the fellow was a MacCallum, not a Leslie.

Gypsy magic? Would it wear off? Or might he be feeling more kindly toward her?

“Ready?” He shot another glance out the window. “We should be going.”

They quickly packed up the backgammon set and slipped it into its burlap bag. She followed him toward the back door to the courtyard and stables. Once there, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “My hat.” She touched her bare head. “I’ve forgotten it.”

“There it is.” He gestured to where it sat on the wide window ledge, right where she’d left it. “I’ll get it,” he volunteered, handing her the backgammon set.

She pushed through the door.

Someone lunged at her.

She saw a flash of silver and heard the shout of a stable boy before she screamed. Though the man jerked back, she felt a sharp sting on her upper arm.

The backgammon set fell with a
bang!
and markers rolled out of the bag, bumping across the cobblestones as she curled a hand into a fist and propelled it into the short man’s face. He yowled and grabbed his jaw, dropping his sword. A metallic twang rang out as it clattered to the stones.

Wat Gothard.

“You murdering cur!” She planted her feet, aiming to follow up with a deadly knee.

“Dunderhead!” a man shouted, thundering into the courtyard on a horse. He scooped up Wat, wheeled around, and rode out the gateway and out of sight.

The stable boy rushed forward as Jason burst out the door, rapier at the ready.

“Go!” Caithren yelled, gesturing out the gateway. The stable boy took off running. She turned on Jason. “Go! It was the Gothards, and he’ll never catch them on foot. Get Chiron and go!”

His eyes frantically searched her. “You’re bleeding.” He dropped his rapier and reached to make a ginger exploration.

“I’m fine!” Bending to sweep his sword off the ground, she shoved it into his hands. “Just go, will you?”

A torn look in his eyes, he backed away a few stumbling steps, then turned and raced for the stables. Moments later, he galloped bareback out of the courtyard.

Reeling with both relief and disbelief, Cait sank to the cobblestones. She gripped her upper arm. It didn’t hurt too badly, considering.

The stable boy limped back into the courtyard, puffing from exertion. “They’re gone,” he said. “No one out front saw what happened, so they were able to flee unscathed.” He knelt to collect all the backgammon pieces, then looked up at her, shoving blond hair from his face. “Are you quite all right, madam?”

She waved aside his concern. “My…friend”—how was she to describe Jason, anyway?—“went after them on a horse. Maybe he will catch them.”

She hoped so. If they got away, he’d likely blame her once again.

At the sound of hooves on the cobblestones, her heart sank.

“They disappeared,” Jason said. “Just disappeared.” He slid off Chiron, and Cait scrambled to her feet as he came close. “Besides this”—one finger skimmed her upper arm, making her wince—“are you hurt?”

“Go back!” With her good arm, she gestured sharply. “You cannot have looked well enough. You cannot give up so soon.”

“What I cannot do is leave you bleeding while I play hide-and-seek. I never did make a very good
It
.” He tugged at the neckline of her bodice and scowled when it wouldn’t budge. His fingers went to loosen the laces. “What on earth happened?”

“Wat,” she said. “He sliced me, but I think he was going for you. He pulled back when he saw who I was.” Frantically she pushed at his hands. “Oh, will you not just leave? Go after them! I can tell you the story later!”

Stuffing the backgammon pieces into the bag, the stable boy glanced up. “She punched the ruffian but good,” he told Jason.

“You what?” Jason’s gaze shot from her arm to her face. “You hit him?”

“You want I should stand there and let him kill me?”

Tossing the hair from his eyes, the boy stood straight and snorted in approval. “She was fixing to unman him as well, I believe.”

Jason stared at her a moment, then reached for her laces again.

“Jason!” Her gaze flickered toward the stable boy.

Jason’s green eyes flashed with impatience. “Come inside, then.” He leaned to retrieve Wat’s sword. The stable boy thrust the burlap sack into his hands and moved to take Chiron.

The innkeeper stood gaping in the doorway.

“If I may see to the lady’s wound,” Jason prompted him.

“Of course.” He ushered them indoors, alternately scratching his head and clucking with sympathy. “Buckden is a quiet town.”

“I will require a room for the lady.”

The lady?
Since when did Jason refer to her so?

And in such a masculine, authoritative tone?

The innkeeper showed them up a flight of wooden stairs to a small chamber. “Shall I bring water and towels?”

“Please do.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The man bowed and backed away.

My lord
. Jason didn’t seem wont to correct the mistaken form of address. He simply shut the door, turned, and met Cait’s eyes.

Her head swam. From the pain, the shock, the intensity of Jason’s beautiful green gaze locked on her own? She couldn’t tell. It all seemed muddled in her brain.

She stood silent and limp while his fingers went to unlace her bodice. He eased it loose so he draw her shift’s sleeve down to expose the cut on her arm.

His breath hissed in. “Sliced you good, didn’t he?”

She held her bodice to her chest and glanced down. “Not too bad, I’m hoping.”

A knock came at the door, and Jason went to answer, returning with a bowl of warm water, towels, and bandages. As he set everything on the bedside table, the door closed with a quiet
snick,
and they were alone again.

She listened to the innkeeper’s heavy footfalls retreating as Jason sat on the bed and dipped a towel in the bowl of water.

He dabbed at the bloody wound. “It’s clean, but deep.” Warm fingers encircled her elbow, holding the arm still as he leaned in for a better look.

Just as her racing heart had begun to calm, it sped back up. She shifted on her feet. “I’ll make a poultice for it when we stop tonight.”

Frowning, he dabbed some more. “Would it be better to do it now?”

“My herbs are outside, in the portmanteau.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”

He wound a clean cloth around her upper arm. She’d been unconscious while he tended her last cut; used to blood she was, but not necessarily her own. She felt dizzy, from that or from Jason’s nearness—she wasn’t sure which.

He looked very businesslike as he tied the bandage. Apparently he was immune to
her
proximity.

“Why didn’t you go after the Gothards?” she asked.

“Geoffrey Gothard will get his due.” His eyes glittered. “But I won’t see you hurt in the interim. Never that. Never again.”

His voice was quiet, but she detected a tremor beneath the control. His hand went to the neckline of her shift, and she released her hold on it, watching his long fingers draw it up to cover her shoulder.

She began to relace her bodice, yelping at the sting of fresh pain.

“Hush.” Jason stood and moved her hands away. She stared at the dimple in his chin as he slowly threaded the laces and tied a crooked bow. Then, even more slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers trailed up her neck, leaving shivers in their wake, until his hands came to rest on her cheeks.

He cradled her face, tilted it up, drew her closer. He was going to kiss her again, she realized with a heady rush of anticipation. For real, this time, with no excuse of having a nightmare or being followed. Caithren stopped breathing. She could tell he had stopped breathing, too.

Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it in the still, dim room.

He lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were gentle, his hands callused but tender. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her blood sluiced through her veins, and she pressed closer. Her arms went around him, wanting more. Wanting…

Astounding herself with her daring, she parted her lips. He responded eagerly, urgently, one hand hooking around the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. When they sank onto the bed, she felt no pain. She felt nothing but the press of his weight, his warmth, his strength—and a new and marvelous exhilaration.

Another knock came at the door, and he bolted upright.

“Is the lady all right?” the innkeeper called. “Will you be needing aught else?”

As Cait sat up more slowly, Jason ran a ragged hand through his hair. He rose and went to open the door. “She’s fine,” he said. “We were just leaving.”

When the man’s footsteps faded once more, Jason turned to her. “We have to leave,” he said, not meeting her eyes, his voice husky and…apologetic? She couldn’t be sure. “Are you all right to ride?”

The door was still open. She stood and took a steadying breath. “I’ll survive.”

Her arm throbbed, but she wouldn’t have admitted to the pain were it likely to fall off.

There would be time to tend to the injury later. When she wasn’t reeling from that kiss. And its abrupt ending.

“Let me know if you start hurting, all right?” He looked shaken. “Emerald—” He broke off.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t answer to that name. Not after what had just happened between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking like he meant it. “For…for letting things get out of hand.” Somehow she was sure he’d intended to say something else, but he barreled on. “It was wrong of me to—”

“I’ve forgotten it. Like you forgot last night. We’re even now.” Straightening her gown, she pinned him with a look. “And my name is Caithren.”

She pushed past him out the door.