Bedding the Enemy (4 page)

“Lure Raelin McKorey out tonight.”

“That isn't necessary. I am making my own place with the queen.” She knew better but just couldn't stand idle while her brother threatened Raelin. The Scots girl was her only friend.

And she was a kindhearted soul as well. She deserved better than to be lured to her ruin. Especially by someone that she had been kind to. Maybe many at court considered that acceptable in the game of getting ahead, but it stuck in Helena's throat, refusing to be swallowed.

Edmund's eyes narrowed. He was an expert at concealing his true feelings, but she had learned some of his expressions, mostly the ones that promised her the harsh side of his temper.

“A position of your own?” He snickered softly at her. “Any player with a bit of skill can do what you have done, sister.”

Edmund moved toward her, his gait as refined as ever, and stopped within reach of her.

“I will not repeat my instructions. Do it—once the king retires and his nobles have a chance to leave for the night.”

Or suffer his displeasure. She heard that clearly enough. But she refused to aid him in this scheme. Or any others, for that matter. For all his fine clothing, she suddenly noticed just how pathetic he was. Her parents might have spent endless hours drilling her duty into her but they had also taught her honor.

Edmund didn't even seem to know such a trait existed.

“I will not assist you, Edmund. Raelin is not dishonorable.”

His hand struck her quick and sharply, her head turning with the blow. When she returned her gaze to his face, she clearly saw the flush discoloring his skin. Her temper itched to retaliate, but acting on such impulses had never turned out well for her in the past. She clasped her hands together to keep them from returning the blow.

“You shall do exactly what I tell you to do.”

Greed shone from his eyes, sickening her.

“I will not do anything to hurt Raelin. Or dishonor her.”

Edmund suddenly laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, but one filled with mockery.

“Do you somehow believe she is sincere? A true friend of the heart, perhaps?” He pressed his lips closed but she could still hear him chuckling. “She's like everyone else. Don't think for a moment that her family didn't send her here with the very same expectations that you have been given.”

He backed away from her, raking her with cold eyes. “You will do it or I will have to find a means of influencing you.”

Helena didn't answer. A chill shot down her spine, warning her to let Edmund believe her bent to his will. She didn't want to see the cruelty in his eyes, but it sat there glimmering with hot intensity. It sickened her. Sickened her even more to think they shared the same blood. Her throat felt as if there was a noose around it, tightening every day. But she refused to do what was necessary to be free. The only thing she had was her honor. It was the sole item she counted as her possession alone. Even her body would one day be bartered and used at the whim of Edmund. She could not betray the only kind person she had met. But she wasn't sure how to keep her brother from hurting Raelin in spite of her refusals to assist him.

Being born female was a curse.

 

“A pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”

Keir folded his arms across his chest. The fop in front of him scooted back a step, his eyes watching the way Keir's biceps bulged.

“I'll be leaving you to your accommodations then.”

The man fled in a swish of his overpuffed pants. Keir snarled softly.

“Och now, that's sure to get us tossed out in the gutter.” Farrell McQuade clicked his tongue along with the reprimand.

“After that amount of gold he just stole from me for this wretched place?”

“It's a step up from the gutter.”

“For a child's legs, maybe.” Keir looked around the tiny town home. It was ancient. The wood around the doorframes was splintering because it was so dry. Considering the rain pouring down off the edge of the roof, that was an amazing thing. “Personally, I was hoping for a wee bit bigger step. Tell the men I'll keep looking for something more hospitable.” His retainers wouldn't complain, but they had the right. The dozen McQuade clansmen who followed him would be crammed into three rooms and that was only because he planned to share the upper room with Farrell and his captain. But no laird went anywhere without retainers. It was foolish to travel alone, a death wish. The road had plenty of danger for the unprepared man.

“Why doesn't Jamie move the English court to Edinburgh?”

Keir shook his head at Farrell. “He'd no wear that crown long if he tried that one.”

England's noblemen were powerful and a king that was not in sight could very easily be undermined, which left Scotland's nobles paying inflated prices for lodging in London. Most noble families maintained residences near the palace. The McQuades had one in Edinburgh for the times they were summoned to court. But now that James was king of both countries, the Edinburgh house stood empty while Keir was putting out coin for a hovel in London. The house pickings were slim, with ambassadors flooding into the city with the news of Elizabeth Tudor's death making its way across Europe.

“Let's hope Jamie doesna keep us waiting too long.” Farrell tried to sound hopeful but Keir shot him a glance. The burly McQuade retainer shrugged.

“Och well, it was a thought.”

“Aye. I suppose we'd best get our doublets out. It looks like we're to court, you and I.”

Keir's voice lacked enthusiasm but not determination. Better to begin; that way they'd finish their business all the sooner. He did not have much to unpack, as he'd not even bothered with a trunk. He would not know what to do with one. His best doublet was a sturdy wool one. He was a Scottish laird and did not have any plans to join the flock of young men wearing lace and silk. He'd wear his kilt proudly. After all, that was the reason he was here. To restore honor to that kilt. Let the court stare at him and know that he was different. He was Scots and here to do his duty.

He was not going home until he'd accomplished it.

 

“I've never seen such women in me life.” Farrell frowned at the court. Keir elbowed him and shot him a reprimanding look.

“Stop scowling at them, Farrell. We've nae the best reputation.”

“Good. Maybe that will keep these females from flirting with us.”

Farrell shuddered. Keir fought his own battle to hide his surprise, or horror, as it were. Never in his life had he ever thought that he'd find boys more pleasing to his eye than women. But the ladies of the court looked so far removed from anything he'd ever seen, he couldn't help but look at the men for a bit of relief.

The women's dresses plunged down in the front with naught but scraps of fabric holding their titties in. The points of the stomachers extended a full forearm's length below their waists. The dresses came out at the hips, straight out for over a foot. It gave them the shape of a cylinder. There was not a feminine curve in sight. The view only got worse when he look up to their faces. Most of them were white with red spots over their cheeks. Their hair stood up several inches above their heads and it was stiff, not one single, flowing bounce in sight.

What confounded him were the extremes in the court. Plenty of women in London wore smaller versions of both hair and dress styles while maintaining a bit of feminine allure. Of course, there was also the need to be able to move that accounted for those abbreviations, but Keir admitted that he liked a more practical-looking woman, as opposed to the ones he was looking at.

Keir suddenly froze, his eyes settling on a woman that he'd not noticed before. It might have been due to her lack of garish face paint or just due to the overwhelming horror he found himself facing.

But she was charming.

He'd never been a man to chase a woman because she had a pretty face. He always needed something more to snare his interest. The stark contrast in her dress drew his attention. The garment did not look like it was a cage laced around her. Instead the skirt flowed simply from her waist over a modest set of underpinnings. The men she walked past did not give her any attention. In fact, a few of them looked down their powdered noses at her modest neckline. Only the very tops of her breasts peeked over the top of her bodice. Among so many bulging mounds it was quite captivating. But what kept his eyes on her was her height. She was slender and too thin for his taste, but her head rose high enough to look several of the men in the eye.

He'd be able to kiss her without bending over.

The sides of his mouth twitched up. Och now, he was being a rakehell with that idea. He did not even know the lass's name and here he was imagining what her lips tasted like. His smile grew broader. At least it was a far better thing to be thinking about than how much he detested the current fashion of court ladies. A fair bit better indeed. Whoever she was, she became blocked from his sight, leaving only her memory.

He did not care for waiting.

His face returned to its pensive expression. He'd never been an idle man. Running Red Stone took all of his time but it was a labor he enjoyed. Awaiting Jamie's pleasure was something that tore at his gut.

 

He was staring at her.

Helena looked through her lowered eyelashes at him. He was a Scot and no mistake about it. Held in place around his waist was a great kilt. Folded into pleats that fell longer in the back, his plaid was made up in heather, tan and green. She knew little of the different clans and their tartans but she could see how proud he was. The nobles she passed among scoffed at him but she didn't think he would even cringe if he were to hear their mutters. She didn't think the gossip would make an impact. He looked impenetrable. Strength radiated from him. There was nothing pompous about him, only pure brawn.

Her attention was captivated by him. She had seen other Scots wearing their kilts but there was something more about him. A warm ripple moved across her skin. His doublet had sleeves that were closed, making him look formal, in truth more formal than the brocade-clad men standing near her brother. There wasn't a single gold or silver bead sewn to that doublet, but he looked ready to meet his king. It was the slant of his chin, the way he stood.

“You appear to have an admirer, Helena.”

Edmund sounded conceited and his friends chuckled. Her brother's words surfaced in her mind and she shifted her gaze to the men standing near her brother. They were poised in perfect poses that showed off their new clothing. One even had a lace-edged handkerchief dangling from one hand.

She suddenly noticed how much of a fiction it was. Edmund didn't believe them to be his friends but he stood jesting with them. Each one of them would sell the other out for the right amount. It was so very sad—like a sickness you knew would claim their lives but could do nothing about.

“A Scot, no less.”

Edmund eyed her. She stared back, unwilling to allow him to see into her thoughts. Annoyance flickered in his eyes when she remained calm. He waved his hands, dismissing her.

She turned quickly before he heard the soft sound of a gasp. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath. It was such a curious reaction. Peeking back across the hall, she found the man responsible for invading her thoughts completely. He had a rugged look to him, his cheekbones high and defined. No paint decorated his face. His skin was a healthy tone she hadn't realized she missed so much. He was clean-shaven, in contrast to the rumors she'd heard of Scotland's men. Of course, many Englishmen wore beards. But his hair was longer, touching his shoulders and full of curl. It was dark as midnight and she found it quite rakish.

He caught her staring at him. She froze, her heartbeat accelerating. His dark eyes seemed alive even from across the room. His lips twitched up, flashing her a glimpse of strong teeth. He reached up to tug lightly on the corner of his knitted bonnet. She felt connected to him, her body strangely aware of his—even from so great a distance. Sensations rippled down her spine and into her belly. She sank into a tiny curtsy without thought or consideration. It was a response, pure and simple. Her heart was thumping against her chest and she felt every beat as if time had slowed down.

A woman crossed between them, interrupting her staring. It was enough time for her mind to begin questioning what she was doing. Fluttering her eyelashes, she lowered her gaze, forcing herself to move through the court with slow steps. She ordered herself not to look back. She was warm, warmer than the day warranted. The reaction fascinated her but it also struck a warning bell inside her mind. She should not look back.

But a part of her didn't care for that. It clamored for her to turn and find him again. His eyes were as dark as his hair but lit with some manner of flame. She wanted to know if he was still watching her, wanted to know if she glimpsed the same flames in his eyes that she felt in her cheeks.

Ah yes, but fire burns…

Helena smiled. She enjoyed the way she felt, a silly little sort of enjoyment that made her want to giggle. The reason was actually quite simple. The way he looked at her made her feel pretty. Court was full of poetry and lavish compliments, but none of it had touched her. His eyes did. The flicker of appreciation was genuine.

She had never felt such before.

“Good day to ye.”

She froze. The man must be half specter to move so quickly. But she wasn't afraid of him. Quite the opposite. Her gaze sought his, curious to see if his eyes continued to fascinate her up close.

She was not disappointed. Her breath froze in her lungs, excitement twisting her belly. His gaze roamed over her face and a pleased expression entered his eyes. In fact, it looked a bit like relief.

She was suddenly grateful to Raelin all over again for having freed her of the heavy makeup. The way he looked at her made her feel pretty for the first time in her life.