One #4
“Don’t say … one more word. Not one.” Brielle enunciated carefully and then stepped back.
Nothing about the morn felt warm. It was cold.
Harsh. Brielle wrapped her arms about her, looked up to face him, and ignored the lurch her body made.
He’d lowered his chin, favouring her with a look she had no trouble deciphering.
He hadn’t been speaking of his condition idly, either.
He was definitely readied for her. His plaid was distorted with size and hardness.
All of which was shocking and frightening.
And yet enticing at the same time. Brielle forced her eyes to stay focused on his face.
“Doona’ look at me that way, Lass. You ken I canna’ take you. Na’ now. And for certain, na’ here.”
“No.” The word sounded strangled but he ploughed right over it anyway.
“Cease looking at me that way. You doona’ ken how ’tis.”
“Nor do I wish to,” she replied.
“What?”
His confusion was real. A line etched across his forehead with his frown.
“I don’t wish … anything to do … with you,” she clarified.
He crossed his arms about his chest, thrusting defined muscles into her line of sight. And then he pushed his upper body forward in an aggressive-looking stance.
“That is a lie,” he stated.
“It is not.” She tossed her hair for emphasis.
“You deny what your frame displays?”
His glance flicked to her completely covered breasts as if he’d find validation. Brielle moved her crossed arms higher and gritted her teeth so hard she heard the sound through her skull.
“I suffer … morning chill,” she told him.
“Morning chill?”
“If … a lady is denied a bed … and then forced to endure the elements … she gets chilled.” Her teeth were chattering. Her voice warbled with it.
“What’s your name?” He surprised her with the change of topic as well as his gentle tone.
“Why?”
“So I have a name other than wench and lass.”
“Either will do … at present.”
He grinned. “Verra well. I’ll state it. You’re the lady Brielle, heiress of Dillbin.”
“No.” The word warbled.
“Another lie? No wonder he placed you in his dungeon.”
“How do you know I wasn’t there … visiting prisoners? Bringing broth … a-a-and thick blankets to the poor souls?”
“Because you escaped with me. And only prisoners do that.”
Brielle clamped her lips shut and fiddled with the bit of lace at her elbow.
“What does your father want with my brother?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her tongue the moment she answered, but it was too late. She didn’t need his chuckle to verify it.
“That … was too easy, my Lady.”
Brielle lifted her chin and watched him for long heart-pounding moments. She didn’t say a word.
“I’m hungry. James had best return soon. And with a full platter.”
With that, Gavynn MacEuann sat down with the wall at his back and tanned bare legs before him.
The wench unsettled, annoyed, and totally frustrated him … yet still he was hard for her. Despite everything he kept telling himself. Gavynn was contemplating the toes of his boots when James walked back around a section of vine-draped stone, carrying a wooden slab that sent steam into the air.
“Lover’s spat?” The man asked it as he set his burden down, winking as he did so.
Gavynn regarded him without expression until the humour faded. “You’d be of more use checking on Rory.”
“Nae need. They’ll be back a-fore long.”
“They could na’ have reached the castle already.”
“Dinna’ have to. His lordship has men out. Armed and mounted. Spanning the demesne. Searching.”
“Go then. Await word.”
“I’d best stay here.”
“Why? I’m na’ much injured. Just a mite sore.”
“You still need a guard.”
Gavynn tore into an oatcake; blew at steam before pushing it into his mouth. He chewed silently, and had the bite swallowed before he replied.
“I’ve na’ turned into a spineless sapling.” Gavynn tore off another bite. Shoved it in. Chewed.
“You canna’ protect much … if you’re occupied.”
Gavynn swallowed. Winced. “You saw wrong, James. The wench means naught to me.”
“You offering her up?”
Gavynn felt her tense. Evaluated it. Lady Brielle feared his answer. Standing beyond reach and pretending, he could still sense it radiating from her.
“Nae,” he finally replied. “She has value. Just as I suspicioned last eve.”
Gavynn folded the last bit of the cake, shoved it into his mouth, and spent his time chewing. He lifted the sporran and twisted the stopper cork from it. He caught her glance while he gulped at whiskey that burned and revived, and then returned his attention to James.
“How so?”
“She wears costly clothing and possesses an educated, albeit sharp, tongue. All signs of value.”
“Why was she housed in his dungeon?”
“She does na’ say. Yet. A bit more time in my presence with naught else for company, and that may change.”
James grunted, and left them. Gavynn picked up another cake, motioned for her to join him, and found her amusing when she turned her back on him, preferring hunger and a view of trees.
The wait was the worst part. It was interminable and broken only by the presence of her captor.
Brielle practiced ignoring him as morn lengthened into mid-day, and then further.
This Gavynn rarely rested. If it was weakness causing him to groan, drop his burden, or take a knee with his head bowed and everything taut on him, it didn’t slow him much.
Sweat covered him before long, darkening his kilt and putting sheen to his skin, totally exposing her idiocy in worrying over nursing him.
Brielle surreptitiously watched him about his regimen, even the times he rested, panting for breath while apparently deciding another bit of work. He acted as if he was alone the entire time. And he was rarely still.
It began right after finishing the entire platter of breakfast, once she’d turned her back on it.
He’d started with hand-sized stones before graduating to larger and larger boulders; hefting them above his head, squatting with them, toting them about the area, setting them down, re-lifting them, and occasionally pitching one into the trees, making leaves and deadfall rustle.
Sunlight invaded the area, cursing her with the weight and heft of her velvet over-dress.
It was thickly-woven. Warm. But what had seemed practical in a castle two nights ago was a curse now.
Brielle lifted hair from her neck to cool and dry her skin throughout the day while her belly rumbled and pained with emptiness.
His activities wearied her. Beneath it was the worry of what Father would do. Or not do. The heat added to it. If she dozed, it was to jerk awake, focusing on the stained skirt, the grasses beneath her, or the ruin of stone wall and forest fringe.
The aroma of roasting venison filled the air near dusk, making her mouth water and her belly ache.
Then into her misery came Gavynn, going to his knees to look across at where she slouched against a bit of rock.
He had a bag slung across one shoulder, hooked on his sword.
Everything on him looked sweaty or dirty. Or both.
“Come.”
He held out a hand. Brielle shook her head.
“I’ll force you.”
She shoved his hand aside, went to a crouch before collapsing, her legs spiked with pain of inaction. Brielle held the cry before getting pulled across his free shoulder. As if she was another boulder he’d decided to heft. He stood then, tossing her slightly for balance.
She could kick. Struggle. Beat at his back where her hands kept slipping on sweat-covered skin.
She could also easily lose consciousness from lack of food, two days incarceration, and now being dangled upside down.
Brielle endured until he tipped forward, set her on her feet, then waited for her wobbling to cease.
“What … do you want?”
If she’d eaten when he offered and slept when possible, she wouldn’t be stammering and stuttering, and having to blink through a stupid film of tears. All of which was caused by her own obstinate nature.
“Take off your dress. And whatever else you can spare.”
Brielle’s eyes went wide. “No.”
“You’ll take it off, or I’ll force you. And I tire of the threat.”
He was working at the clasp of his belt as he spoke. Brielle backed a step, then another, before he reached out, snagged an arm, and yanked her back.
“Don’t do this!”
Fright made her voice shrill. He had her twirled into him, bound by an arm while the other hand covered her mouth. And then he was whispering harsh words.
“I’m doing little! You reek. I’ve my fill of the stench. You’ll bathe in yon burn with me or I’ll toss you in. Fully clothed. You ken?”
She nodded. He moved his hand.
“I do not reek.”
He had his hand back. She heard a hissed curse, followed by more words. “Do you ken naught, lass? I want you. ’Tis massive. Hard to staunch. I’ve spent a full day trying and I’ve na’ much left.”
Shock iced her. Staying her tongue and catching at her breath.
“You’re verra bonny … and I’m nae saint!”
She was trembling. With that came even more weak feeling.
“I’m for a swim. In cold water. I canna’ do it and protect you at the same time. So you’re coming with me. To help … or curse us both. You ken what I speak of yet?”
She nodded. At least the limp woman in his arms did.
This time when he removed his hand, she didn’t make a sound.
She wasn’t capable of it as he simply tugged his belt, bent forward slightly, and let his attire fall off.
That left nothing but a strap across his chest holding his sword at his back.
Brielle spun but the movement upset her balance, gaining her the feel of him against her again.
Naked. Taut. Large. She held her breath and watched odd-shaped dots dance before her eyes.
“You doona’ listen to anything! I’m begging here. I need a dunking and I need you to cease fighting. Get that velvet off. Keep the kirtle and what-all else. I doona’ care. They’ll dry. Now move!”
He released her and if she hadn’t felt so faint, her fingers would’ve worked better.
Four
She’d be the death of him yet.