Bedding the Enemy (8 page)

It did not interest him.

Instead, frustration kept him awake for several hours. He could not help her and that twisted his gut.

But tomorrow would be different. He had the king's permission to court her.

He would be happy to obey.

“B
itch!”

Edmund hit her across the face. Her body spun around with the force he used. She tasted blood, but only stumbled, managing to keep her balance. She turned to see her brother's face contorted with rage.

“Traitor. Stupid bitch.” He aimed another blow at her face, this one popping loudly. Pain spiked through her head, turning her vision blurry for a moment. She sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. The maids standing near the door flinched but they dared not abandon their post. They remained stiffly at attention while the master of the house raged.

“You've ruined me!” He stomped across the floor to a large X-chair and flung himself into it. He pounded the wide arm of it with a fist.

“Ruined! Do you hear me, you idiotic bitch? Why didn't you keep your mouth shut? It was a perfect plan….”

He hit the chair's arm again and looked around for the staff. “Wine!” he bellowed at the maids. They tripped over their own feet trying to serve him. But both made sure to duck their chins and keep as far as possible from his hands.

Helena couldn't blame them. She stood where she was, rather grateful that Edmund had retired to his chair. It was his favorite spot to rail at her from. There was a familiarity about it that gave her strength. Edmund gulped at his tankard, his eyes peering over the rim at her.

“I'm going to find you a husband.” He hit the arm of the chair with the base of the goblet. Dark red wine sloshed over the rim, staining the white cuff of his fine shirt, but he didn't even look down to investigate the damage his negligence had done.

“Someone willing to take half your dowry, because I intend to keep the rest of it. Maybe more.” He snarled at her and drank some more.

“Get out of my sight! More wine! And get someone comely to serve me.”

The older maid sent the younger one through the doorway with a quick flick of her fingers while Edmund was still glaring at her. The younger girl fled without a sound on the wooden floor, a grim testament to how many times they had heard their master order that very thing from them.

Helena began to lower herself, simply out of habit, but stopped, the throbbing in her cheek freezing her before she finished lowering her head. She heard her brother growl but turned her back on him. There was no point in staying.

Nor was there any point in worrying about his threats.

She drew a deep breath once her door was closed. It really was only an illusion of security, but for the moment she would indulge herself in enjoying it. Edmund was master of the house. He would invade her privacy any time he chose, but she slid the small bolt across the metal brackets anyway.

She sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders. Or at least a portion of it. Things were not as settled as she might wish for. Edmund never forgave and he never forgot. But she knew that. Had understood it very well. She straightened her back and began disrobing.

A soft knock on the door sent her teeth into her lower lip. She scolded herself for jumping. Edmund wouldn't be knocking softly. Not in his current rage. She slid the bolt to allow the door to open.

“Ma'am.” The younger maid curtsied before coming into the room far enough that the door might close. She held a basin of fresh water in her hands, and a length of clean toweling was draped over her arm.

There was no conversation. The pair of them were together in their need to escape the notice of the master of the house. Neither might help the other; the only thing they could do was take comfort in each other's company. In spite of blood and station they were both women, struggling in a world controlled by men, leaving them with the task of outthinking the man who believed himself master of the house.

But the water was welcome. Helena drew the toweling over her face, enjoying the feeling of her skin being clean. The endless requirements of court pressed in on her. Just like the tiny room, she felt as though there was so little of herself in anything she did. It was a helpless sensation, one that threatened to sink her into a lake of despair.

She stiffened her resolve. Pity was a poor thing on which to spend her energy. Tomorrow she would think of something to do that would lift her spirits.

Without warning, Keir McQuade's face invaded her thoughts. Her cheeks heated up and the sensation traveled down her body. It seemed to ripple all across her skin, awaking it in a manner that she had never experienced. She was suddenly aware of the way her breasts felt without her long stays pressing them up into position. Lying in her narrow bunk, she could feel her nipples drawing into points. The darkness seemed to grant her permission to focus on the reaction of her body. She was fascinated by the idea that just the thought of him might draw such a response from her hours later.

What would his kiss do to her? A true kiss, that is. One placed right on her mouth….

Helena shivered and drew the bedding up to her chin. She was toying with dangerous ideas. Ones that might see her heartsick. Keir McQuade would never have permission to court her, much less wed her. Not after tonight. Lingering in the sensations that he caused would only make her unhappy when she faced the man Edmund gave her to.

She would never know his touch unless she wanted to join the other noblewomen who sought satisfaction outside their wedding vows. She didn't want to think of him that way. A bitter taste filled her mouth because she wanted to think of him as noble and above breaking commandments.

Like a knight of the round table. Faithful to his honor above all earthly temptations….

She sighed and closed her eyes. Childhood was behind her. Her blushes were not the innocent sort that young girls had. No, the way her nipples drew into hard buttons was proof of that. It was time to be practical and banish Keir McQuade from her mind. Along with dreams of men with honor and noble character. They only lived on the pages of books.

However logical her thoughts might be, they left her cold and unhappy. Compared to the warmth Keir McQuade kindled inside her, it was a bleak night that promised to become frigid.

 

“Put it down.”

Edmund's voice startled her. Helena turned from where she sat in front of a mirror, preparing for the day ahead. The young maid backed up until her shoulders were flat against the wall. The older maid placed a wooden trencher on the side table. It was covered with a cloth.

Edmund looked at the younger girl. “Begone.”

She dropped him a clumsy curtsy and fled.

“You will not be going to court today.”

Dread gripped her with icy fingers. She recognized the tone of Edmund's voice. Her brother was feeling cruel.

“The king ordered me to.”

Edmund snickered at her. “The king isn't ruled by the whims of women, not even a royal one. The queen is meant to be bred. Since her belly is full, the king will have little interest in her.”

“I didn't tell you the queen was with child….” Her words trailed off, horror clogging her throat. Edmund glared at her.

“No you didn't, dear Sister. But rest assured that you are not my only means of gathering information.” His lips thinned. “However, since you have proven your unwillingness to perform as you are directed, I have no further need of you. Nor do I intend to allow you any freedom to further disgrace me.”

“You dishonored yourself.” Perhaps it was unwise to voice her thoughts, but they refused to remain inside her.

“Honor is for girls and soldiers serving in the infantry. It is a pretty tale that keeps them doing what they're told even when the ground is soaked with blood.”

Helena stared at her brother. “I do not even know who you are.”

His eyebrows rose. “How very interesting, Helena. I feel the same way about you. Are our parents really so soft with age that they allowed you to remain a whimsical child?”

Her temper rose. “They taught me not to lie, Edmund. That is not soft. It is in the Scriptures.”

He scoffed at her. “No one at court is honest. Do you think that Scot is anything but another man looking to further his interests? Don't be such a fool.” Her brother raked her with a chilling stare. “His interest in you is pathetically transparent. He wants to fuck you.”

“Edmund!”

His words were so blunt. Never had she heard that word spoken.

“Stop it, Helena. I saw you blushing and simpering at him. Where do you think all that leads?” Her brother leaned toward her. “It concludes with your thighs wrapped around his hips.”

“You needn't be so coarse.”

“And you shouldn't be such a lackwit. Your virginity is valuable. That blue blood filling your veins is the item to be bargained. Knyvett is among the oldest names in England. I have no intention of allowing you to squander it on some Scot because you haven't the intelligence to see beyond your lust.”

He shut the door abruptly. There was the scrape of metal and the grind of the chain. Helena flew across the cramped space, only to hear a key turning. The sound was so cold she felt sure it pierced her heart.

“Edmund?”

All she heard was her brother's amusement drifting through the door. The sound began fading and she heard his footfalls becoming fainter and fainter. Pushing on the door, all she heard was the sound of the chain rattling. Hurrying to the window she opened a shutter and peered down. A groom stood with her brother's horse. He inclined his head and her brother came into view. Edmund never looked up. He mounted his horse and took the reins from the groom. With a kick of his heels, his horse joined the busy flow of traffic on the street. With the sun rising, wagons and pushcarts were beginning to make their way along the road.

She was locked in.

Helena sat back on the bed, trying to decide what she thought of it. Fear crept around her composure. There was no way to ignore the icy dread filling her.

Her father was ill. She had shied away from dwelling upon it, thinking instead of what possibilities court might present her with, but the truth was as hard as the chain on her door.

Edmund was not delusional. He ran the family now. The only task left unfinished was the passing of the signet ring that her father still wore. She was truly at his mercy and her brother knew it. His ambition would see no boundaries set by her father.

She reached for the wooden tray and uncovered it. The offering was meager: a round of bread, some slices of carrot, an apple, and a slice of cold lamb from the day before. The cook had clearly rummaged among her leftovers for what the trencher held.

Who knew how long it would have to last her. Edmund held the key, she had no doubt. Reaching for the carrot slices, she chewed on one slowly. The day suddenly stretched out before her endlessly, the possibilities for disaster too numerous to endure considering.

But she had little else to distract her from it. Naught save Keir McQuade, that was. Helena willingly let her mind shift to the Scot. She had never found a man she considered handsome before. His body amazed her. Of course, that was to be expected. He was a large man, far greater in height than most of the men he walked among. His shoulders were wide and he had a habit of crossing his arms across his chest that made him look even broader. Certainly it was all those differences that drew her attention.

It is not, and you know it….

That tingle returned to her nape. Reaching up, she stroked the skin and shivered. Her skin was alive and pulsing with a level of sensation she had never experienced. Was that lust? To avoid being coarse, she might call it attraction, but there were so many who would declare it sinful nonetheless.

Whatever it was, her blood seemed to carry it through her body like fine wine. She felt her heartbeat everywhere, from her toes on up to her belly. The rhyming couplets so often recited at court suddenly made more sense. She could understand their passionate words now because this level of sensation was insanity: haunting, intoxicating, and luring her away from pure thoughts. She was not interested in sinking to her knees in order to use prayer to banish the growing feelings. She wanted to savor them, all the while hoping they increased in intensity.

Well, it was not all that bad. She suddenly smiled. There was no lasting harm in her daydreams because Keir McQuade would never know of them. That was the saving grace. She looked at the locked door and sighed. Cold dread resumed its hold on her. Fate was not going to be kind to her. It was best to embrace it now; that way, it would hurt less when Edmund turned the key and pronounced his sentence on her. Just as any convict, she would pay the price for having transgressed against his rule.

She would never set eyes upon Keir McQuade, save in her dreams. She felt that in her heart and it hurt.

 

Many would call her mad.

Raelin McKorey watched Keir McQuade from beneath her eyelashes. It was a skill she'd perfected after five years at court.

His father had tried to murder her. The scar on her cheek itched. She fought the urge to scratch it. The itch was only in her mind—after all, the cut had fully healed now, but anytime she thought about that moment when the old Laird McQuade had sent his dagger plunging toward her, the scar itched. His elder sons had called her a witch. It was a rumor that clung to her. No man had offered for her hand since. She rarely had dance partners who were unmarried and she knew the reason why.

Her temper heated up. Oh aye, she knew. Young men came to court and flirted with her and then they rejoined their relations and never again approached her.

Witch…

That was the legacy Keir McQuade hailed from.

But he did not look the same. She understood Helena's fascination with the man. He was the image of strength, no doubt about it. Uncertainty held her in its grip but she had no other option. Fortune favored the bold, after all.

Besides, she could not shake the memory of him rushing to her aid. He had not known it was her but he had been enraged even after seeing her face. For a moment her heart had frozen when she'd spied the colors of his kilt. She had seen that heather, tan and green wool in her nightmares—dark visions full of terror and the scent of blood.