Bedding the Enemy (11 page)

For the moment, it would have to be enough.

 

“Keir McQuade.”

The royal chamberlain called out his name before noon. Keir wasn't surprised. The gossips began feasting on the topic of his newly acquired bride the moment he arrived and his men spilled the information exactly as instructed. Edmund Knyvett scowled at him before the lordling even made it halfway across the great hall, his noble friends hurrying to whisper in his ear.

“Edmund Knyvett.”

The chamberlain sent his white staff into the stone floor with a single bang. It echoed through the abnormally quiet great hall. The king sat on his chair looking regal and angry. The royal guards on either side of him stared straight ahead but their eyes betrayed how much they were listening to everything that happened in the presence of the king.

“The pair of you have had a busy night.” Thick annoyance coated the king's voice. He looked at Edmund. “Tell me ye didna settle a game of cards with yer sister's dowry.”

“I hardly think that a game of cards is anything for Your Majesty to waste your valuable time on. The Scot and I simply found something we have in common.”

“Careful, Knyvett, I'm a Scot myself. Keep saying the word like a curse and I might take insult.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes. “Your mother was an English princess.”

“And my father was a Scotsman. Which is why I am yer king and McQuade's as well. Now enough stalling. Half my nobles are fearing that their daughters might become the winnings of drunken no-goods while the other half are considering putting their own daughters up in exchange for debts that need settling. It's a damned mess the pair of you started.”

Edmund chuckled. He didn't seem to have any more self-discipline in the presence of his monarch than he did elsewhere. Keir was not so foolish. James kept them both standing to drive home their position compared to his.

Keir simply reached into his doublet and pulled out the parchment. James Stuart slapped the arm of his chair.

“And you want to swear yer fealty to me? What sort of man are ye to be accepting something like that?”

“I tracked down the bastard to beat him senseless. I settled for winning a fortune from him.”

“You have nothing but a parchment until I decide that my sister is ready to marry. I am her guardian.”

James rose, his guards instantly stepping a half step forward. “Why did you want to fight with him, McQuade?”

“Because he beat his sister for telling you the truth, and locked her in an attic for nae being willing to watch another girl's reputation become stained. He left her there for days without food while he went gaming. He is nae a fit guardian. I say ye should give yer blessing to our union so that I can treat her appropriately.”

“I say you shall not have anything to do with my sister.” Edmund's voice rose. “Even my king cannot order a peer to marry. Helena is a peer and you are beneath her! I'll see her an old woman before kneeling at the altar beside you.”

Keir's fist connected with Edmund's jaw. He staggered backward, a look of stunned shock on his face. The royal guards lowered their pikes and Keir stared at the deadly ends of the weapons.

“Give me that parchment, McQuade.”

The king waved his guards away and took the document. He scanned it with a critical eye.

“Both yer and yer father's seal's are on this, Knyvett. McQuade can take ye to court and win.”

Edmund tossed his head. Hatred blazed from his eyes. “But that will still not get him a wife.”

“Ye would do that to yer own sister? Drag her through years of legal bickering while her chance to bear children is passed over by time?”

Edmund resumed his poised appearance, one foot placed in front of the other, while his face appeared bored. “Women are meant to be used to further their family connections. Helena is no different.”

The king considered his comment for a long moment. He lifted one thick finger. “Peers are meant to serve their king. I can think of several posts in Scotland that need an ambassador.”

“That is—”

“Is what, sir?” James Stuart gripped the arms of his chair but remained sitting while Edmund sputtered. “It is the will of yer king.”

“McQuade is nothing! My sister is pure nobility.”

“Ye're the one who bartered her like a common whore,” Keir snarled through his teeth.

“You broke into my home. I don't have to discuss anything with a thief.”

“But you do have to serve yer king.”

Edmund sniffed, disdain clear on his face. He shot a look full of seething hatred toward Keir.

The king raised his hand and pointed at Edmund.

“Ye'll be my man on McQuade land, since the last laird was run through by my guards. Laird McQuade will give you accommodations and you shall remain there until I summon ye and yer sister back to court. My own royal guard shall escort ye north.”

Keir sent his fist into his opposite hand. The loud popping sound bounced off the walls of the receiving chamber. Edmund paled, fear showing on his face.

“Unless the man were to marry,” James continued, his voice as smooth as honey. “New couples need their privacy.”

“But he is…common!”

“Common? He is a laird, which is a title as old as yer own, Knyvett.” James Stuart rose. “The man came to court to kneel before his king while ye are here to further yer own schemes. I've had enough of this. Open the doors!”

Royal servants obeyed, pulling the doors wide to allow them to be viewed by everyone in the great hall. A hush instantly fell over the courtiers as they lowered their heads. Keir's men stood right outside the door and took instant advantage of the chance to join their laird.

The king turned to face him and extended his hand. “I will hear yer vow of loyalty, McQuade. 'Tis clear to me that ye're a man who will tell me the truth even when I don't want to hear it.”

Keir knelt, every one of his men following. His heart was suddenly beating faster. He was almost grateful to Edmund for giving him the chance to prove himself to the king. But that wouldn't keep him from giving the boy the beating he had coming once they reached McQuade land.

“My word, my strength, and my blood forever!”

He took the king's hand and kissed it in a tradition that went back farther than the Roman Empire.

“Ye will rise and be acknowledged as Baron Hurst. I confer yer father's third wife's title onto ye. Yer sister Bronwyn doesna need it since her husband has his own title.”

“Sire…” Enraged, Edmund protested.

“Yer father petitioned me for it several times. Rise, Baron Hurst, Laird McQuade.”

Keir pushed to his feet, certain that his father was screaming in hell. The man had gone to great lengths to get what his third wife held in her name alone. He'd tried to soil his own daughter's name just to keep the land and title that he'd never known was willed to her female offspring, and not her husband. Applause filled the great hall while Edmund stifled his objections.

Keir stared back at the man, the open door providing the perfect opportunity to press him.

“When is my wedding?”

Edmund pressed his lips into a tight line but the silence in the hall rippled with whispers. He ground his teeth, his lips turning white all the while the whispers grew in volume.

“Tomorrow.”

E
dmund slammed into the town house again. Helena simply shook her head. If her brother ever appeared happy, she was afraid she might faint dead away at his polished boot tips.

“You think yourself so cleaver.”

“What vexes you now, brother?” Helena refused to shirk in the face of his temper. Edmund could simply deal with the fact that she was restricted to the town home instead of the attic.

“You and your dim little view of the world. Unable to grasp the fact that I was doing you a favor by trying to disgrace that McKorey witch.” Edmund surprised her by looking down the hallway. She was used to him bellowing for wine the moment he arrived. Instead he shut the door.

“Well, you will be the one to suffer. Unless I help you. I shouldn't.”

Dread crept down her neck. Edmund was sober, making his words harder to ignore.

“The king has decreed that I am not a fit guardian for you anymore.”

“Am I going home?” It would be too good a turn of fate, but she couldn't help but hope.

Her brother smiled. It was a cold curving of his lips that sent ice through her heart.

“You're getting married.”

Expecting such news didn't make it easier to absorb. Helena felt the announcement hit her as solidly as Edmund's fist had connected with her face. He watched her face, enjoyment lighting his eyes.

“Your little defiance in front of the king has netted you a change of authority by royal command.”

“Who?”

“Sir Ronchford.”

Helena gagged. She could not hold it back. Philip Ronchford might have been born into a good name, but the man was rotten. He was also old enough to be her father and some to spare. Keir's face surfaced in her mind, just as she told Raelin it would, and tears stung her eyes.

“Tomorrow night you will be his wife.” Edmund leaned closer, sneering in her ear. “After all, the man really doesn't have any time to squander. He wants an heir and needs to get to deflowering you quickly. I understand he has quite a bit of stamina in spite of his age.”

“Don't be horrible, Edmund!”

“Me, dear sister? The king has ordered you wed. I have done nothing save try to better your lot!”

And the details did not matter….

Helena turned and paced across the room. Her simple traveling dress was much easier to walk in, the wool skirts flipping away from her rapid steps. Which was good because her heart was pounding. Sweat popped out on her forehead and she could not keep her thoughts from racing. The image of Ronchford looking into her bed, leering at her with a mouth full of blackened teeth made her gag. She hugged herself, trying to fend off the idea of him reaching in to pull the bedding back and bare her for his possession.

“I don't know why I'm even bothering to suggest helping you escape….”

Helena froze. Distrust shot through her, but the idea of avoiding marriage to Ronchford was too tantalizing to ignore, even if she suspected that her brother was scheming yet again.

“How?”

Edmund smirked at her, enjoying the fact that she was waiting on his whim. Her temper rose. She was suddenly so horrified she wanted to throw something at his mocking face. He had brought her to this terrible fate. She snarled at him, shaking with the need to exact vengeance. His eyes went wide but he whispered the words she was desperate to hear.

“Run away.”

He leaned in closer. “I cannot be suspected of assisting you, so you cannot be seen leaving.”

She swallowed, trying to gain a hand on her panic.

Edmund's voice was suddenly so welcome because it offered her a solution that did not include spreading her thighs for Ronchford in less than one day. She wouldn't be the first young bride that found herself at the mercy of an old man once the church blessing was given. She'd be Ronchford's for the taking, and he would take. Ronchford was every bit as selfish as her brother.

“I am going out as I normally do. My driver is trustworthy. He will wait for you by the market and take you to Bride Dale.”

Bride Dale…their aunt Celia's home. The woman was in her elderly years and never had anyone to visit. It would be a quiet place to remain out of the notice of nobles. Hope glittered in front of her like water to the parched. All she needed to do was reach for it.

Hope took hold of her, sweeping aside thoughts of thieves in the night. The market was only three short blocks away. Even if Edmund was serving his own interests in assisting her out of London, what did it matter if it was also what she desired? What matter if it took her beyond Ronchford's reach?

“I'll tell the king that you ran away, leaving a note about a convent. You can return next year, properly repentant of your maidenly fears.”

Helena didn't think. She was still held in the grip of panic. Edmund promised her deliverance and she didn't care about his motivations.

“I will get my cloak.”

Edmund smiled at her. A tingle went down her neck but she refused to hesitate. All of her options were grim but there was something about taking matters into her own hands that felt good. Remaining in the town home would see her pacing throughout the night, dreading the dawn.

She would take her chances.

 

The streets were far from quiet. But the level of noise was much less than during the day. Helena noticed every sound more—the dripping of water onto the cobblestone street or the faint sound of a horse's hooves pulling her brother's carriage down the next block.

Her own steps echoed and she tried to place her feet softly. Light twinkled through closed shutters; only a few front doors were lit with welcoming candles. She left the block where their town house was, turning the corner onto a street that was lined with merchant shops. They were all closed tight against the night. It was darker here; the moonlight guided her.

“Well, now. Look what we have here.”

She gasped, but no sound made it past the hand that clamped over her mouth. It was hard and brutal, pulling her back against a chest. She struggled, kicking and twisting to break free.

“Stop your spitting, it won't make no difference.”

A sharp blow struck her across her cheek, sending a bright sparkling of stars across her vision. She turned halfway around but didn't stop her struggle. With space between her and her assailant, she thrust her hand out and smashed her palm into his nose.

“Bloody hell!”

Triumph spread through her, but it was short-lived. Another set of arms gripped her from behind, pulling her arms behind her.

“I'll teach you some respect.” Another slap hit her face. Pain threatened her vision with darkness. Pulling in a deep breath, she resisted the pull, fighting to remain awake. Leather bit into her wrist as her hands were bound tightly behind her back.

“Sure she's the right one?” The man behind her asked the question. He reached up and gripped her hair to angle her face toward the moonlight.

“Who else would be scampering down this road right now? Knyvett kept his word, all right.” He stepped up close, breathing his foul breath into her face. The silver moonlight washed over Ronchford's features, drawing a snarl from her lips. Her panic evaporated, leaving only rage burning inside her. She would not yield to his possession.

“Release me!”

He laughed at her instead. His grubby fingers gripped her chin before boldly stroking down her neck and onto her breasts. Revulsion threatened to choke her.

“I've paid a pretty amount to have your brother turn his back. I plan to enjoy what I've bought, madam.”

Betrayal burned through her rage. Edmund's revenge showed in the gloating eyes of the man fondling her. She should have suspected, shouldn't have leaped at the hope her brother dangled in front of her nose. The king would never have ordered her wed to Ronchford as a means of giving her a proper guardian. Not Ronchford. The man was worse than Edmund. She should have considered the facts, but had been too caught up in the whirl of emotions to think before leaving the town home. Now she was at the mercy of the night and the men that crept through its shadows.

Ronchford looked quite at ease.

“I'm going to enjoy these tits.” He yanked on the buttoned-up doublet she wore, the sturdy wool resisting his efforts to bare her cleavage. Her flesh crawled, revulsion twisting her stomach. She renewed her struggles, franticly twisting and bucking to escape the two men.

They cursed, both men howling with outrage. Surprise flashed through her, her mind finding it hard to believe that she had hurt them with her bucking. But she was suddenly free and didn't waste time trying to understand how it had happened. With her hands bound behind her, she couldn't run without stepping on her skirt. She hurried as fast as possible but came up short as another man blocked her path. He was huge. She lifted her face, tilting her chin up to find his face.

“Ye have a habit of finding rough men, Helena. I believe I'll have to break ye of yer need to wander.”

Relief flooded her, making her knees weak. Her lungs burned, demanding deep gasping breaths.

“Thank heaven.”

“Nay, thank the fact that I am nay a trusting man, lass.”

Hard suspicion edged his voice. Soft steps crunched on the cobblestones behind her. The shapes of Keir's men materialized from the darkness, the moonlight glittering off the blade of a knife.

“Nay, leave her tied.”

“What? You can't mean that.”

Keir stepped up closer. She caught a hint of his scent and noticed instantly how clean he smelled compared to Ronchford.

“Oh, I do. It will be all the better for hauling ye off.”

He bent his knees and lowered one shoulder until it was even with her waist. A moment later she was tossed over it like a sack of grain. Her head hung down his back, the blood rushing to it.

“Keir—”

A solid whack landed on her upturned bottom. She sputtered, but had to clamp her lips closed when he started walking and her head swung back and forth across his back. Her face burned with her temper when she heard the faint sound of his men chuckling.

Men—they were impossible to stomach!

 

“What are you doing, Keir McQuade?” Helena had struggled to see the man. He'd placed her right in the center of a bed. It was a fine bed, the blankets soft and rising up around her weight. But she didn't have time to be distracted by such things.

“Claiming what is mine.” He stood across the room. Two candles burned on the table near him, their light bathing him in gold. A huge sword was strapped to his back, the handle of it rising above his left shoulder. She stared rather stupidly at the thick leather of the scabbard because it had kept her from being cut while she lay over his shoulder. He reached up and untied it. Twisting around, he pulled it from where it was latched to his wide leather belt and set the weapon aside.

“What are you talking about?” Her thoughts were racing and she honestly didn't believe that she could absorb any more. Especially something like thinking that Keir McQuade considered her his. Part of her leaped at the idea, but her temper was far past being willing to listen to anyone tell her that she was their property. She sat up and pushed herself off the bed. Even with her hands still bound behind her, being on her feet felt less helpless.

He turned to study her. His eyes darkened, his face set into a hard expression. It was a stark contrast to the teasing look she'd seen from him before.

“I didna want to think you'd be so foolish as to try a stunt like running down a dark street.” His expression darkened. “But 'tis a good thing that I set me men to watching the house. 'Tis the truth, I expected yer brother to try to smuggle ye out of the city.”

Confusion swept through her. Helena clamped her lips closed against the next question that wanted to sail past her lips.

Who to trust…

There were too many men telling her that she belonged to them. Her earlier fascination with Keir had blinded her to the fact that the man was every bit as dangerous as Ronchford or her brother. All of them wanted control of her for their own agendas.

“And I was foolish enough to think that ye would nae be so opposed to wedding with me that ye would flee.” Hurt edged his voice but it was the reprimanding note that gained her full attention. She was sick unto death of being corrected.

“I was on my way to a convent.”

Edmund would have taken exception to her tone. Keir tilted his head and crossed his arms across his chest. The pose made him look larger and more imposing. Her gaze wanted to shift to where the muscles of his arms bulged. There was only the thick fabric of his shirting covering it, the sleeves of his doublet unbuttoned and secured behind his back. In the cool night he should have been cold, but he didn't look like even the temperature affected him. The strength practically radiated off him. She shook her head, refusing to become mesmerized by him.

“A convent?”

“Aye, a place where men wouldn't rule me.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, curving slightly upward. His arms uncrossed, sending a shiver down her spine. It was such a foolish response, one she detested. There was no reason she should be so attuned to his movements. It made quarreling with the man near impossible.

“Well now…” He closed the distance between them, watching her while he did it. She suddenly understood exactly how a doe must feel when the hunters closed in for the kill.

“If ye were to become a nun, wouldn't ye be expected to obey the pope without question?”

He touched her. It was a simple brushing of his fingers across the lower curve of her jaw. But she shuddered. Sensation flooded her, rippling across her skin as quick as lightning.

“At least he would be a celibate man.”

Challenge flared up in his dark eyes. Her memory offered up the way he'd looked the first time she'd encountered him. This was not a man who ever gave up on what he considered a challenge.