One #5
Gavynn ducked his head under the water, then slid his hands though his hair, ignoring where the lass stood, arms wrapped about her while she shivered in place.
The burn was hip-deep on him. Cold. Clean.
Fast moving. Difficult to hear over. Gavynn amended that.
He couldn’t hear much over his own heartbeat.
All of it made him vulnerable. This wasn’t a good idea, but he hadn’t had one since meeting her.
His chest and belly were tender with bruising, his muscles throbbed with the work he’d forced on them, and the woman’s linen under-dress was as useless as a film of white mist would be.
She was true beauty … in form as well as face.
Well-formed. Lush. Curved in all the proper places.
Possessing heavy, handfilling breasts, a narrow waist, and hips well-rounded to greet and satisfy a man.
When she’d bent forward to wash her face, his groan almost made it through clenched lips.
Gavynn grabbed hand-scoops of water, angrily splashing cold and wet all over.
Then he bent his knees, dipping to his armpits in chill.
All in an effort to divert the pressure building in his groin as blood filled the area, engorging and hardening, and angering him with how little his mind controlled anything.
Nothing worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes and thoughts off her.
Gavynn lifted his head to the twilit sky, close to howling his frustration.
And when he brought his head back down he got a full dose of his utter stupidity.
He hadn’t even heard them. Gavynn sent the curses soundlessly before rising to face a solid wall of armour-clad men atop horses.
They carried torches. Full weaponry. And all he claimed was the sword at his back.
Gavynn had it drawn and the woman to his front, ignoring her gasp as their wet, chilled linen-covered flesh contacted.
She’d probably be fighting him, if the steel across her throat didn’t silence her as much as the men they faced.
Nobody said anything as the horses parted.
Gavynn blinked water out of his vision at the sight of a friar picking his way through the knights.
The man shoved the cowl from his shaved head and then he started yelling, sending words into the air at a volume impossible to overlook.
“Greetings, your Grace!”
Gavynn flexed, pushing the edge of steel against her throat in reply.
“Are you Gavynn MacEuann? Duke of Ethelstone, Earl of Euann, Laird and Chieftain of Clans Ethel and MacEuann?”
Brielle sagged, gaining him dead-weight.
Gavynn was forced to move his sword away as helms were removed and weapons lowered.
None of them looked angry. They were mostly smiling.
Amused. Entertained. At Gavynn’s predicament.
He’d faced death before but never against such odds and at such a disadvantage.
“You are the duke … are you not?” The man pestered again.
Gavynn nodded slowly. Once.
“Good. ’Tis for your ears that I address these words.”
“Address them, then.” Gavynn had to be satisfied with the threat his voice carried. He had nothing save his sword. And Lady Brielle’s life.
“I bring words from the earl!”
“Where’s my brother then?”
“At the castle. Awaiting.”
“I’ll na’ give her over unless I have Iain.”
“The earl is aware of it. ’Tis why he sent me. You doona’ care if I join you?” The man squatted at the bank, pulled off his boots, and stepped into the stream. “’Tis powerful cold, your Grace.”
“’Tis deadly, as well.” Gavynn slashed at the air before returning the blade to her throat.
“I am a man of God.”
“You’ll still bleed.”
“Ah. Therein lies a truth.” The friar raised a hand and pointed a finger in the air. “You dare na’ kill me. Or her. Because of your brother.”
The man took a step closer. It didn’t look easy. Gavynn noted how the water darkened and weighed down the cassock he wore.
“Have you na’ wondered why there was no ransom demand for Iain?”
Gavynn twisted the sword hilt, sending glints on to the water from the torches they carried, letting the steel speak for him.
“The earl decided it served little purpose. He’s tired of ceaseless wars and killing with you and your kind.”
“My kind? You’re Scot, too, Father.”
The friar smiled. “’Tis true enough. I’ve also seen too much of war and killing a-tween the Sassenach and us. The earl has decided to change it. Using her. The woman you hold.”
“Call it true, old man. She’s his daughter,” Gavynn answered.
“You ken that?”
“’Tis known the earl’s daughter has beauty, alongside a tongue of spikes.”
“And you dinna’ wonder at why she was there? Easy to reach? Ripe for the kidnap?”
“She has a mouth of spikes. As I just spoke.”
The friar chuckled. The others might have, as well. Brielle wasn’t breathing. Or it was so slight he couldn’t feel it.
“The earl tired of her refusals to wed. So … he selected a bridegroom for her. And sent her to the dungeons to consider her refusal.”
Gavynn inclined his head to one side. “My brother, Iain?”
The friar stepped closer, moving his arms against the water for the movement. “Perhaps. I’m not privy to the workings of the earl’s mind. All I ken is that he’s verra satisfied with events. Verra.”
The man was smacking his lips and rubbing his hands as if to demonstrate. Gavynn swallowed and lowered his chin, touching minutely on Brielle’s head before moving away.
“The earl believes a much more suitable union is with you.”
“I canna’ marry her. I’m wed.” Gavynn tried a bluff.
“Nae longer. You’re widowed. A season past.”
Gavynn felt his shoulders twitch slightly.
“You need forgive me, Laird MacEuann, but you doona’ have the choice. Look.”
The friar motioned again with his finger.
Gavynn twisted, taking Brielle with him and swishing water.
Now he knew where his Honour Guard had gone.
As well as the men he’d hired. They were bundled into a group encircled by countless archers, all poised with bows pulled taut, arrows readied.
Gavynn felt an emotion close to fear. And then defeat.
The combination weakened a man. He’d thought them long vanquished.
He could feel it happening now, though, sapping strength.
He’d been hooked, reeled in, and netted like a salmon.
The worst was that he’d done it to himself.
All of it.
“You do see? You’ll marry the Lady Brielle …
right now. And in exchange your brother will be freed.
And wouldn’t we all be better off moving from this water first?
Although I’m na’ averse to wedding you both right here …
but ’tis powerful cold for the consummation.
All of that aside … your roasting sup is making my mouth water. ”
Gavynn lowered his sword, hefted Brielle up against him, and worked at controlling the rage making his heart thump, his muscles tense, and smearing his vision with red. He knew he wasn’t successful.
“Verra well, Father. I’ll wed with her. But from shore. Attired in my feile-breacan. As is proper.”
“And the consummation afterwards?”
“Doona’ force it, Father. I’m warning you. I’ll wed her, and then I’ll bed her. But there’ll be nae witness. Or you’ll be responsible for what ensues.”
Gavynn didn’t care if the friar agreed or not. He was beyond it.
If Brielle could’ve halted her hearing, she would have.
Long before the acid-toned vows Gavynn spoke during the ceremony that included her father’s Man-At-Arm to speak for her, and well before the words pronouncing them wed.
Deafness would be a blessing. Or oblivion.
Despite everything she’d fought against, she was being wed against her will.
Exactly as Father had ordered, and to the man he’d aimed for.
Brielle realized the extent of their treachery while standing motionless and silent at the Highlander’s side, suffering shivers caused by more than a wet under-dress, covered over with a plaid blanket.
It was as clear as the night sky above them.
She’d been na?ve and blind. She’d known the king needed Highlanders at his court.
The most powerful clans. The fiercest warriors.
That was why she’d been sent to the dungeons for arguing; the true reason she’d been put in that particular cell; the purpose behind the marks weakening the stone. They’d planned this. All of it. The cunning amazed her even as the success of it stunned.
She should feel anger and shock. Hatred.
Disgust. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Brielle tried to find even one of those.
And failed. It would be easier if the man they’d forced to her side wasn’t this particular one.
Gavynn MacEuann was more male than she knew existed.
He affected her more in the one day she’d known him than anyone else had managed.
Just standing beside him, she felt him. Everything seemed to spark a reaction; an unbidden glimmer of desire and passion; a stir of longing.
Yearning. She was at a full tremble when he turned, watching the friar bind their hands together, blessing their union.
Her fingers were cold. She wondered if he noticed.
Brielle dared the tiniest glance up before getting held.
An ocean wave of noise went through her ears, her heart fluttered about like a caged bird, and his fingers tightened on hers.
She heard the words pronouncing their union. Until death.
And then she heard all kinds of things. Intruding. Frightening. Extolling. Shouting.