The Recruit (31 page)

She was doing it again. Putting her life in the hands of a
man. Every instinct seemed to clamor not to go through with it. But what could she
do?

It seemed to happen so fast. One moment they were discussing the terms of the agreement
that had been worked out with the King—Edward had agreed to return some of her dower
properties in Kent, which had been forfeit upon Atholl’s treason—the next they were
outside the church door, going through the formality of reciting their vows in public
(though no one but monks were around to object), and then he was sealing those vows
with a chaste kiss.

At least it was supposed to be a chaste kiss. But the moment his lips brushed hers,
a surge of desire sent a hot rush through her blood that was distinctly
un
chaste. One might even call it
carnal
. He must have felt it, too. His fingers lingered for a moment, softly brushing the
curve of her chin.

When he finally lifted his head, their eyes met in the soft haze of morning sunlight.
They might have been the only two people in the world. Everything around her seemed
to slip away. She couldn’t put a name on what passed between them, except that it
felt significant.

Still dazed—this time from the kiss—Mary was surprised to realize the wedding was
over. Since she was a widow, there would be no blessing and mass by the priest in
the church after the recitation of vows. Nor, given the circumstances, would there
be a feast to celebrate.

Just like that, she was a wife, and their child was legitimate, no matter how “early”
the birth.

She accepted the subdued congratulations of Sir Adam and the far more enthusiastic
ones from the bishop, before turning to her son. If anyone was more stunned by the
haste of this wedding than her, it was Davey. She was too embarrassed to tell him
the truth. She would. She bit her lip. At some point.

“I know this has come as a surprise to you” she said. “I hope you are not disappointed.”

She knew Davey had thought—hoped—she might marry Sir John. But her son’s expression
was impossible to read. His unusual ability to hide his thoughts made her chest squeeze
with the reminder of how he’d learned such a skill. She cursed Atholl, the war, and
the fates for her son’s stolen childhood.

“It’s your life, Mother. I hope Sir Kenneth will make you happy.”

Happy was too much to hope for. Mary would settle for not completely miserable. “I
want you to be happy, too.” He seemed puzzled by the thought, and another stab of
guilt struck her. She reached for his hand and took it in hers, saying earnestly,
“You are an important part of my life. You always have been, even when we weren’t
together. Not one day passed that I did not think of you.”

He looked at her, and for a moment his too-solemn expression cracked. She caught a
glimpse of the longing that so mirrored her own. It struck her then that she and her
son were more alike than she realized—they were both treading new ground and didn’t
know how to reach out to the other.

“I thought of you, too.”

A hot wave of tears pressed against the back of her eyes, and she smiled with happiness
at the gift he’d given her.

Sir Kenneth—her husband—had been speaking with Sir Adam and the bishop, but he turned
back to her. “If you are ready, we should be on our way.”

Mary swallowed a hard lump in her throat. It struck her with cold reality that she
didn’t even know where she was going. He could send her where he willed, and she would
have no say in the matter.

Once again his perception surprised her. “I’m afraid I must return to the castle immediately.
I assumed that you would accompany me, but if you should like me to make other arrangements—”

“No,” she said. “The castle will be fine.” She’d feared he
meant to send her away, and she wanted to be near Davey for as long as possible.

“Very well. I will leave instructions to have your things moved to my chamber. Sir
Adam has graciously offered to give us the use of his.”

Mary paled. Sweet heaven, they would be sharing a room! Why hadn’t she thought of
that? Suddenly, the prospect of being sent away didn’t sound so horrible. Her gaze
went to her son. The desire to be with Davey warred with her fear of all that would
come with sharing a room with her husband.

I will not be barred from my wife’s bed …

Suddenly the night ahead loomed very large. Unlike her first wedding, it wasn’t because
she didn’t know what to expect; rather she knew exactly what to expect. The knot low
in her belly tightened.
It’s not anticipation, it’s not … fool!

“My lady?” He held out his hand again, the taunting lift of his brow suggesting he’d
guessed the source of her struggle.

With one last helpless look at Davey, she tamped down the surge of apprehension rising
in her chest like a tidal wave and slid her hand into his. The sudden warmth that
enfolded her proved oddly reassuring. At least for a while. But as the sun made its
determined march across the horizon, and the day slipped into night, her apprehension
returned tenfold. The night to come was all she could think about.

Mary gazed out the tower window into the courtyard, but she could see little in the
torchlit darkness. The apprehension that had been her constant companion as she waited
for her new husband to join her had begun to wane as the night darkened. It had grown
so late, she’d started to wonder whether he would come at all.

She’d seen him ride out earlier with a large troop of
men, but had yet to see him return. Of course, she hadn’t been watching for him. She
stared out of tower windows all the time.

Although not usually in the middle of the night.

She’d dismissed her attendants hours ago; it had to be near midnight by now. Had something
happened? Had he reconsidered?

She smoothed her hand over her stomach, sizing the swell beneath her palm. She didn’t
feel overlarge, but she was definitely changed from the last time he’d seen her. Had
she become too round? Perhaps he did not relish the idea of bedding a woman heavy
with child?

She hadn’t thought much about her figure until now. What if he no longer found her
attractive?

She would be glad of it, of course. Not being forced to do her wifely duty would certainly
make it easier to keep herself—and her heart—at a safe distance. But relief wasn’t
what she was feeling at all. The hollowness in her chest felt more like disappointment.

Resigned to their marriage, resigned to the fact that he intended to take her to his
bed, she knew it was too much to think that she could control her desire, so she’d
resigned herself to the passion as well. How had he said it?
Come
. Her cheeks burned, remembering his crude boast. As long as she kept it crude—kept
it about the passion—her heart would be safe.

As always, she was determined to make the best of the situation. What else could she
do?

With a sigh, she trod back over to the chair where she’d left her needlework. The
bed loomed to her right, but she did her best to ignore it. Though it had been a long
day of getting settled, answering questions, and avoiding others as the news of their
marriage spread throughout the castle like wildfire, she knew if she tried to go to
sleep she would lie there in the darkness wide awake. She might as well be
productive. Besides, she had almost finished the linen cap for the baby. She’d put
hours into the small piece, and it was one of her finest.

Retrieving her glasses, she slid them on her nose and began to work. She had lost
track of time when the door suddenly opened.

She startled, her pulse jumping to her throat. It was her husband. Apparently, he’d
decided to make an appearance after all.

A blast of heat washed over her as he strode into the room. Awareness, nervousness,
and anticipation all rolled into one jumbled mess. Though he had every right to be
there, it felt like an invasion. He dominated the small room, taking it over with
his mere presence. Given how physically imposing he was, it was strange that she’d
never felt intimidated by him. Aggressively large, his muscles honed to a blade’s
edge of raw power, he looked like a man who was born to fight in an arena. A gladiator
of old. With all the fierce, primitive masculinity and barely restrained fire to go
along with it. But it wasn’t fear that was making her stomach knot, heart flutter,
and skin tingle.

He was so effortlessly handsome. His dark hair was damp and curling in loose waves
around his face. Wherever he’d been, he’d taken the time to bathe. But he hadn’t shaved,
and the dark shadow of his beard outlined a jaw that was already too rugged and masculine.
He’d removed the armor that she’d seen him in earlier, and wore a plaid over a plain
linen shirt and breeches.

Looking at him made her heart ache. If only she were the type of woman who was immune
to a handsome face. It would make this so much easier.

“You’re still awake? I thought you might have gone to bed by now.”

“I was just about to,” she lied. “Where were you?”

Atholl had always hated when she’d questioned him
about his absences, but Kenneth seemed unbothered. “I rode out with Percy to near
Kelso Abbey. There were reports of rebels in the area. There were, but they were long
gone by time we arrived.”

“I’m surprised that you are back so soon. Kelso is quite a distance away.”

“Most of the men stayed. But I was rather anxious to return.”

His smile sent a shiver of awareness racing down her spine. Suddenly, she was very
conscious of two things: they were alone, and they were married.

Surprisingly, he didn’t press the matter. He moved over to the table where a pitcher
of wine had been set out, poured himself a cup, and dropped down on a chair opposite
her. She tried not to notice the muscled legs stretched out before her. But good gracious,
the black leather stretched over the powerful muscles of his thighs like a second
skin! He looked exhausted—she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines
of weariness etched around his mouth—yet he clearly wasn’t in any hurry.

She glanced to the small fireplace on her left between them, but it didn’t seem to
be burning any hotter. It was he. Or she. Or maybe both of them. If only her heart
and stomach would stop fluttering. She couldn’t think.

Growing more nervous as the silence dragged on, she said, “I’m surprised they let
you roam about so freely.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry half-smile. “Noticed my watchdogs, did you?
Aye, well, they’ve relaxed a little. Our marriage helped. Percy is almost convinced
of my loyalty.”

“Sir Adam informed me of the king’s embellishment to our tale. They must not know
you very well if they think you would change allegiance for the love of a woman.”

He lifted a brow. “And you do?”

Their eyes met, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks.
He was right. She didn’t know him; she was making assumptions. It made it easier to
push him away.

“Actually, I think it has more to do with David’s wardship. Why would I do anything
to jeopardize a chance at that? My interests, you see, are in England.”

She felt an unexpected stab of disappointment. “And is that what matters to you?”

“We all do what we have to do, Mary. Isn’t that what keeps you in England? Your and
David’s interests are here. Or is it Bruce that you are opposed to?”

“Of course not,” she said automatically. Then, realizing how treasonous her words
could have sounded, she added, “Robert was my brother-in-law twice over—he was married
to my sister and my brother was married to his sister. I hold a great deal of affection
for him.”

He considered her for a moment, but then changed the subject. “It’s for the baby,
isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to the cap that had fallen to her lap when he entered.

Belatedly, she recalled the glasses still perched on her nose and slid them off as
unself-consciously as she could manage. She nodded.

“May I see it?”

She handed it to him, waiting with a surprisingly anxious heartbeat as he scrutinized
it with a thoroughness that would have made Master Bureford proud. “It’s magnificent,”
he announced finally.

Mary told herself that she shouldn’t be so pleased. But she couldn’t stop the burst
of pleasure and pride that swelled inside her.

“Thank you,” she managed, embarrassed by her own reaction.

“Did you really sell these?”

She stiffened, anticipating his disapproval. “Aye.” And she would continue to do so.
But uncertain how he would react to that, she decided to keep that to herself for
now.

“I’m impressed. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Empathy? That was the last thing she expected from him—and the last thing she wanted.
Being so attracted she couldn’t think straight was bad enough. She didn’t want to
like him, too. “It wasn’t. But that was a long time ago, and a time I would rather
not remember.”

If he noticed the wall she’d erected around the subject of her past, he didn’t show
it. He handed the cap back to her. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stitching something
for me one day?”

Mary flinched. It felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest. He couldn’t have surprised
her more than if he’d actually done so. Pained memories came back to her of the countless
hours she’d spent on the special surcote she’d made for Atholl, only to have him toss
it away with barely a glance when she’d given it to him. She’d poured all her love
into that garment, and he’d rejected it as if it had been nothing. To him, it had
been.

Now Kenneth asked her to make him something? For the first time, she noticed not the
similarities, but the differences between the two men. Though part of her wished she
hadn’t.

“Perhaps,” she managed evasively.

He studied her over the rim of his cup, as if he’d sensed somehow that he’d struck
a nerve and was trying to determine the source.

She went back to work so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, but kept pricking herself
with the needle under the weight of his scrutiny.