The Recruit (11 page)

He thought she nodded, but her jaw was clenched so tight it was hard to tell. “I’m
sure Sir Kenneth has heard enough accolades for the day, Margaret. He doesn’t need
to hear them from us.”

She gave him a smile that made him frown. She had a way of making it sound unflattering.
He was used to reading a certain amount of feminine admiration in a woman’s gaze,
but with her there was only cool challenge. He didn’t think he liked it.

“There is still the sword dance to be held this afternoon. If Lady Margaret doesn’t
object, I would be happy to escort you.”

Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise. “Why would I object?”

“No!” Mary said over her. Her blush deepened as she realized she’d spoken too harshly.
“I mean, I regret that I must return to the castle. I’m feeling unwell.”

Lady Margaret became immediately concerned. She put her hand on Mary’s arm. “Is that
why you rushed off?” She laid the back of her hand across Mary’s forehead. “You do
look flushed.”

Mary nodded, not looking in his direction. Probably to avoid his provoking grin. “I
think the sun was too much for me.”

Lady Margaret turned to him. “Mary has just recovered from an illness. This was the
first time she’s had a chance to see the Games all week.”

“Is that so?” he drawled.

She couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer. He could see a flash of anger in her
blue-green eyes that reminded him of sun glinting on the sea. He hadn’t expected so
much spirit from such a quiet exterior, and his intrigue grew.

“Aye, I’ve been very unwell.”

He swore he could see her chin stiffen, challenging him to disagree with her.

“My sister is a healer. If you like, I could send her to you.”

Her mouth thinned, hearing his challenge. “That is very kind of you, but I’m sure
that will not be necessary. I think I just need to lie down.”

“Lying down sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Though there was nothing suggestive in his voice, he knew she’d understood when he
heard her sharp intake of breath.

She was outraged, as no doubt she should be. But he could also see by the delicate
flutter of her pulse below a surprisingly velvety-soft-looking cheek that she was
more intrigued than she wanted to let on.

The devil! The man had no shame. He was propositioning her right in front of Margaret,
fixing her with that taunting look in his eyes—as if he knew a naughty secret. And
blast him, he did!

There was such a heavy undercurrent of suggestiveness running between them, Mary was
certain Margaret must feel it. Not wanting to guess what he would say next, she was
glad when one of Margaret’s daughters came up and distracted her with a plea to go
with her friends to the sword dance.

Realizing he was no doubt trying to get to her, she schooled her features into a polite
mask and bowed her head. “My lord.”

She turned away to head for the nearest tower, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

She flinched at the contact. The heat of his hand on her arm was like a brand, startling
in its intensity. She could feel the imprint of every one of those thick, blunt-edged
fingers pressing into her. Talented, deft fingers that could bring so much pleasure.

Heat washed over her.
Don’t think of it
.

But all she could do was think of it.

Standing so close to him was hard enough. Her pulse had taken a sudden erratic lurch
and her skin felt strange—as if a thousand bees were buzzing all over her—the moment
he drew near. She felt like very dry kindling hovering over a roaring fire. When he
touched her, her body flooded with a warm, drenching heat that told her exactly what
she was feeling: desire.

Instinctively sensing the danger, she wrenched away.

Surprisingly, he let her go. His hand released her almost as quickly as she’d tried
to remove it. When she gazed up at him, there was a slight frown between his brows,
almost as if he’d felt it, too.
Ridiculous
.

Once again she nearly had to blink from the brightness. When she’d first glanced over
and seen him standing there, she felt as if she were looking right into the sun—or
rather, right at the Sun god himself.

It was only his mail sparkling in the sun like a shimmering star, she told herself.
But with the layer of dirt from battle covering him, she knew it wasn’t just that.
It was he. He shone as brightly as any star. Everything about him flashed and shimmered,
from the golden streaks in his dark brown hair, the dangerous gleam in his challenging
blue eyes, and the lean hard lines of his pugnaciously handsome face to the white
flash of his take-no-prisoners grin. Though the men appealed in different ways, Sir
Kenneth Sutherland could rival Gregor MacGregor for the title of most handsome man
in Scotland, and she suspected he knew it.

Sir Kenneth exuded confidence and brash arrogance. He probably thought she would fall
at his feet just like all the other young, starry-eyed ladies seemed to be doing.
But she was no longer young, and the stars had been wrenched from her eyes a very
long time ago.

Still, she felt an unmistakable thrill shooting through her veins, a spark of excitement
that she hadn’t felt in a very
long time. It was probably her temper. He seemed to bring out a heretofore unknown
streak of combativeness in her.

It was the way he looked at her. Confident and arrogant, yes, but also provoking.
As if he were daring the world to come at him. As if he were always trying to prove
something. He didn’t think she could resist him and was daring her to try.

“Running away again, my lady?” he taunted softly. “This time I might have to come
after you.”

She kept her voice steady, but her heart was fluttering like the wings of a butterfly
trapped under glass. “I told you, I’m not feeling well. I need to rest.”

But he was right. She
was
running away, and she didn’t like him pointing it out.

She turned to face him and looked into his eyes. It was a mistake. She could feel
it again. That piercing, riveting hold. And the heat that pulsed through her body.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed.” His voice spread over her skin like a seductive,
warm caress.

“I’m not embarrassed,” she protested. But the heat that rose to her cheeks told a
far different story.

“It’s much more fun doing than watching, you know.”

Mary blinked at him in shock, not quite sure that she’d heard him right. But she had.
She looked around to make sure no one had overheard him. Fortunately, Margaret was
still speaking with her daughter. There were a few curious stares from passersby,
but no one seemed to be listening.

He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Meet me tonight. After the feast.” Mary stared
at him in something between outrage at his sinful suggestion and awe at the bold straightforwardness
with which it had been made. He was truly something. “Once you are done with your
duties,” he finished.

A small frown gathered between her brows. “My duties?”

“To your lady,” he said, motioning to Lady Margaret. “You are one of her attendants?”

My God, he didn’t know who she was! Mary was about to correct him when something stopped
her. She wondered what he would do when he realized he’d just propositioned the woman
the king wanted him to marry?

“You certainly don’t waste any time,” she said wryly. She didn’t know why she was
surprised; she’d seen his aggressiveness on the battlefield.

“I don’t believe in playing games. We both know what we want.”

He wanted her? But why, when he had a flock of women following him around like a retinue?
Given the efforts she’d taken to dull her appearance, she was oddly flattered. And
more surprisingly, she found herself oddly charmed by this too-handsome, too-arrogant,
outrageous warrior with his cocky, provoking smile who knew what he wanted and went
right for it.

She tilted her head, looking at that gleaming smile flash in the sun. “Does anyone
ever refuse you?”

His mouth quirked. “Not very often. If you recall, I have much to recommend me.”

She remembered. She remembered exactly what he looked like under all that mail. Remembered
the body that was every bit as steely and hard. Mary was more tempted than she wanted
to admit—the man was a walking platter of confection. A sultan of sin. But she had
no interest in joining another harem.

“Alas, I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you.”

He didn’t seem to have taken her refusal to heart. “Are you married?”

She shook her head. “Widowed.”

He nodded as if he’d anticipated her answer. “Then there is nothing to prevent you.”

“Prevent you from what?” Margaret asked.

“Joining me for a dance after the feast,” he answered
without missing a beat. “With your permission, of course, my lady.”

“My permission?” Margaret said. “Why would—?”

“Lady Margaret is very accommodating to all her attendants,” Mary interrupted.

Margaret was looking at her as if she had two heads, but Sir Kenneth didn’t appear
to notice.

He bowed to Margaret, and then herself, with far more flourish than the situation
warranted. “Then I shall look forward to seeing you both after the feast.”

The look he sent her gave her no doubt of what he intended. He really was wicked.
And a suddenly wicked part of her thought it would be fun to knock this champion-in-the-making
down a few pegs. Mary felt a smile turn her lips. Perhaps she would attend the feast
after all. She was going to enjoy seeing his face when he realized his mistake.

Five
 

Mary managed to avoid an immediate interrogation by Margaret, who was dragged off
to the sword dance by her daughter after Sir Kenneth took his leave, but a few hours
later she came bursting into the chamber Mary shared with her attendants and a few
of the other ladies.

“It was you!” she said excitedly.

Looking around at the curious gazes of the other women, who were already starting
to ready themselves for the feast, and realizing this was something she probably wouldn’t
want everyone to hear, Mary put down her embroidery and steered Margaret over to the
mural chamber inset into the thick stone wall. It wasn’t as much a chamber as a large
stone bench with a cushion, and a heavy velvet curtain for privacy.

After settling on the bench, she folded her hands in her lap and asked calmly, “
What
was me?”

“He was nodding to you, wasn’t he? Oh, everyone is talking about it, trying to figure
out whom Sir Kenneth nodded to after his victory. Lady Moira and Lady Alice both insist
it was they, but I know it was you!” Margaret was grinning like a young girl with
a naughty secret. “It’s so romantic!”

Mary made a face. She knew exactly how much store to put in romantic gestures. She
shifted her gaze. “It could have been anyone.”

But Margaret wasn’t fooled. “It wasn’t anyone, it was
you. Why else would he have come right up to you afterward? I saw the way he was looking
at you. Why didn’t you tell me you’d met before?” Suddenly, her brow furrowed. “But
why did you let him think you were one of my attendants?”

Mary bit her lip, feeling the shame heat her cheeks. She met the kind eyes of her
former sister-in-law and weighed what she should say. It had been so many years since
she’d felt the urge to confide in someone—or had anyone to confide in, for that matter.
Not since Janet. But Margaret had always been kind to her, perhaps pitying the young
girl her brother had married. She, too, had been a young bride, although her marriage
seemed to have turned out well enough.

“I hadn’t met him,” Mary answered. “Not really.” She took a deep breath and gave a
very short explanation of what had happened. Margaret’s eyes widened and her mouth
dropped with every word. Mary didn’t know what the other woman had expected to hear,
but it certainly wasn’t this. Shock was written on every inch of her pretty face.
Although Margaret had to be nearing her fortieth saint’s day, like her brother, her
classical features gave her a timeless beauty.

“So you see,” Mary finished, “it’s merely a game to him. He thinks that because of
what I witnessed, I’m an easy mark, and that I am only too eager to be the next woman
in line to jump in his bed.”

Although Mary had skipped over the more salacious details, such as the position she’d
found him in, the manner of his release, and the embarrassing extent of her reaction,
from the way Margaret was looking at her, she must have guessed. “And are you?”

Mary thought about lying, but instead she let out an exasperated sigh. “More than
I would like to admit.” The heat in her cheeks intensified. She wasn’t used to talking
so openly. “I know it’s wrong, and I would never do something
so sinful. I’ve probably shocked you with my wickedness, but he was quite … impressive.”
She made a face. “As he is well aware. The man is too arrogant and cocky by half.”

A mischievous smile curved up Margaret’s mouth. “I’ve heard quite
cocky
.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s reputed to be quite, um,
generously
formed in a certain male appendage.”