Bedding the Enemy (9 page)

Yet today she was seeking out a McQuade. Fate was as intricate as bobbin lace. It was impossible to follow the thread through the pattern no matter how hard you tried. In order to weave it, you had to cast the bobbins over one another until every bobbin had interacted with all in use.

So today she would ask a McQuade to help her friend.

With a whispered prayer she moved forward and felt the man's eyes on her. Raising her chin, she looked straight at him, issuing her invitation with a quick motion of her gaze cutting toward the doorway. Men understood such things and women learned them when they came to court. She walked on by, looking for all the world as if she had never intended to stop.

The hallways that led away from the great hall were full of turns and arches that offered privacy. She paused in one, fingering the fabric of her skirts.

“I'd have thought the queen would keep ye a little closer today, Mistress McKorey.”

His tone implied that he agreed with that notion.

“Be assured that she has ordered it so. I left without permission.”

Raelin turned, rather grateful to see that the man was still several paces from her and holding still. But a shiver still crossed her neck because Keir McQuade was plenty large enough to close the distance quickly if he were of a mind to do so. His father had lunged quick enough to slice her cheek open before she moved.

She shook her head and forced her mind onto the world of the living. Dwelling in the past would not aid her friend.

“I owe ye a debt of gratitude for defending my honor in front of the king.”

Keir scoffed, his expression turning dark. “No ye don't. No woman should suffer such treatment. Be she lady or common born. 'Tis small enough payment for the wrong my father did ye and the name of my clan. It is I who need to assure ye that the raiding my father inflicted on his neighbors will nae be tolerated on McQuade land while I am laird. I only wish I could undo the rumors my kin attached to yer name.”

The scar itched and she reached up before her thoughts forbid her to. Keir's eyes focused on her fingers. She jerked her hand away, humiliated by her own impulses.

“I am stronger than gossip.”

He grinned. “Of course. Ye are a Scotswoman, after all. I expect as much.”

There was a flicker of admiration in his eyes that touched her. But she felt the bite of guilt for forgetting why she'd sought him out.

“Helena has nae come to court again.”

Keir frowned. His lips pressed into a hard line and his eyes narrowed. The expression was dark and foreboding. Raelin watched his eyes, trying to see what manner of man he was.

“Her brother has disobeyed the king. Why didna ye take yer complaint to the queen instead of me?” There was temper edging his words, like he was forcing himself to direct her to someone other than himself. It was a trait that she recognized from her brothers. They were men of action, not prattling discussions. The structure of court, with its necessary steps to doing everything from supping to greeting the king, frustrated them near to death. Hope flared inside her, hope that she may indeed have made a wise choice in seeking out Keir McQuade. But she would have to dispense with polite terms.

“She is the man's sister. He has the right to direct her, and she is no' a maid of honor. I did hope that might change soon, but complaining to the queen will gain Helena nothing. She cannae interfere between a brother and sister without causing a scandal. The king fears his nobles and he would think long before allowing even Edmund Knyvett to be blackened. It is a delicate balance that often claims the sacrifice of a few innocents. Everyone shall be so sorry for her ill fate but that willnae change anything. Her brother can do anything he wants with her.”

Keir McQuade stiffened. His hands tightened around his biceps. Raelin watched the rage dance in his eyes for a moment.

“Why do ye tell me?”

“Ye made her blush.” His expression changed, and this time she stared at his face and felt envy rise. True jealousy blossomed within her. But it was not a bad thing. She clutched at it, absorbing the sight. It gave her hope that love might someday touch her.

Keir shook his head. “Why do you come to me?”

“Because I think ye are nae like yer father and so ye may understand how different Helena is from her brother.”

Keir's face darkened. Raelin stared straight at him. “I dinnae know if ye can help her, but I believe ye are the only man who has enough honor to think on it. Besides, ye are Scots and I have faith in the fact that ye are more a man of action than conversations.”

And she was helpless. It hurt, causing an ache in her heart that nearly sent tears down her cheeks.

“I thank ye for telling me. Forgive me, but I've something pressing to attend to.”

She offered him a slight lowering of her head, but Keir McQuade was already turning around before she rose. His kilt swung from side to side, betraying how quickly he was moving. A smile brightened her face while she strode back toward the queen's chambers. She did not care if she was discovered. Helena was her friend. A lecture from one of the ladies-in-waiting would be little compared to what her friend must be suffering after she refused to lie for her brother.

He was a snake.

She grumbled through set teeth. There were dangerous men at court, some more trouble than others. Edmund Knyvett was the worst. He used his fine blood to mask a rotten core, his appetite for power having eaten away every bit of decency.

But he was Helena's brother and her guardian. Even the king could not interfere easily. Another noble might. Keir McQuade was a laird. Many of the English did not respect the title, but James Stuart was a Scot.

It was hope. In whatever small fashion, it was the only thing she could think of, and she muttered a silent prayer before slipping back into her place.

“W
hat are ye talking about?” Farrell scratched his head. “We do nae even know the lass is in trouble. We're nae her family. Hell, ye have done no more than flirt with her. Or so I thought.”

Keir shot his man a deadly look. “Ye're a suspicious man. I like to enjoy my tumbles a wee bit more than that. She's in trouble, that much I'd bet me horse on.”

Farrell looked stunned, and with good reason. His horse was a fine animal. One Keir was nae in the mood to lose.

“I think ye're daft. Her brother will likely order us run through.”

But his clansman still reached for his bonnet and tugged it down over his forehead. They would follow their laird but he wanted more than his father had from them.

Keir eyed them. “She's in trouble that stems from her speaking up on my behalf. I've a need to be looking into that. The lass went against her own blood for me.”

Understanding dawned in Farrell's eyes.

“I suppose we cannae stand idle when the lass was telling the truth. Seems like that brother of hers needs a good thrashing even more than we figured. So what is yer plan? We dinnae even know where the lass is.”

“That should be the simple part. Her brother is a powerful man who likes to make sure people treat him accordingly. Sniffing out his trail shouldn't take very long.” What it would require was coin, but he had been managing Red Stone for years. It was the only thing his father had ever praised him for. The estate was profitable, unlike many that failed to change with the times. He'd done it for the clan, for the better life it brought to McQuade families. Today was the first time he was going to enjoy the silver in his purse for purely personal reasons.

He was going to bribe every servant he found until he discovered just what Edmund Knyvett had done with his sister. Maybe he did not have the right to go poking around in the man's affairs, but he did not care.

It was something that was etched into his memory.

“And then what are we going to do? Teach the little lordling a greater respect for womenfolk?”

Keir cut a glare toward Farrell but the man only smiled in return. He deserved the teasing, normally would have welcomed it. Something about Helena Knyvett soured his disposition.

He hadn't needed Raelin to tell him that Helena had blushed for him. He'd known it, seen it with his own eyes and spent too many hours dwelling on it for his own good. Or hers, for that matter. He was a man of action and his mind was spending too much time considering just how much he'd enjoy a little less thinking and more doing in relation to her.

“It's nae completely absurd.” Keir looked at his man. “But that wouldnae be the wisest thing I might do.”

“And how do you figure that?” Farrell asked.

Keir tilted his head to one side. “She's a fine candidate to take to wife. A bit of negotiating might be in our best interests.”

Farrell laughed. “Och now, lad. And here I thought ye were looking for a wife that came with connections. If ye wanted one that was from a family that detested the very thought of ye, we could have stayed home.”

Keir winced. It was a hard truth that his father had made enemies of most of his neighbors. For all that Raelin McKorey had come to him, her family would be furious if he paid her court. His father had raided her family's land for a good decade.

But it was not her that blushed for him. Maybe he wasn't any good at choosing a wife for her worth alone. Gwen's words lingered in his mind, and the way she'd always looked at him, haunting him with something that he'd not ever felt. Gwen loved him but he'd never felt the same emotion for her. It was a fact that he was jealous of that. It was as if she felt deeper and more intensely than he had. He'd have married Gwen but he was relieved when she rejected him. It gave him another chance to find a woman who warmed more than his cock.

“We sound like a pair of old men, flapping our lips when there's work to get done.”

Gaining the saddle, Keir wrapped the reins around his fist. His men followed him and they rode into the street without another word. The roads were almost deserted now that the sun was setting. Their horses' hooves echoed off the closed shutters of the shops and homes lining the roads.

For a man with silver in his pocket, no one was hard to find in London. Especially not Edmund Knyvett, heir to the earldom of Kenton.

What sickened Keir was the glee some of the informants took in delivering their information. Edmund seemed to have no fear of those he walked over.

That made him a stupid man, in Keir's opinion. Every man, woman, and child wearing the McQuade plaid owed him their loyalty from the moment they were born, but he would not be making the mistake of thinking that meant he should abuse them. The clan was only as strong as the effort they all put into the new harvest. A wise laird respected his retainers and earned their respect in return.

Edmund did not seem to share that opinion.

The town home wasn't hard to find, the crest above the iron gate proclaiming it a nobleman's house.

It was the sort of town home that most nobles kept for when they were at court—small, rising three stories. The windows were dark, but the shutters on the very top one were open. Keir stared for a long moment at the dark space within the window. A tingle crossed his neck and something gnawed at his gut. An eerie feeling of foreboding clamped onto him, refusing to be swept aside by logical thinking.

“What are you doing now?”

“I'm going to knock on the door.”

Farrell shook his head. “This I have got to witness with my own eyes.”

A uniformed housekeeper answered the knock quickly. But she turned suspicious when she got a look at him. The woman had to tip her head back to meet his eyes.

“I've come to see Lady Knyvett.”

“As if I'd be letting anyone inside without the master home.”

Keir propped a hand on the thick wooden door, refusing to allow her to close it in his face. She looked past him at his retainers, her eyes growing wide.

“But ye are admitting that the mistress is here?”

The woman looked at the ground. “I won't be answering any questions from you. The master wouldn't like it.” Her tone was coated in regret and she raised her face to show him an expression of lament. “I might lose my place just for speaking with ye. Go on now. The mistress cannot come out of her room. The master made sure of that, he did.”

“Made sure? How did he make sure?”

Keir pushed past the woman because she didn't respond quickly enough to suit his mood. She gasped, scampering after him. She reached for him but he dragged her along easily.

“Point me in the right direction, woman, or I'll poke me head into every room until I find what I want.”

His men followed him, cutting the housekeeper off from any curious eyes on the street. Keir did not waste time on the ground floor. He found the stairs that led to the second floor and was up them before the housekeeper found her tongue.

“Where, woman? Ye'll tell me, make no mistake about it. Because I am nae leaving until I see her with my own eyes.”

“Oh, the girl is in the attic. It were none of my doing. I swear I tried to force the lock when the master didn't return home last evening. But it held true. I swear it, I tried to open the door.”

Keir turned so quickly the woman ran into him. He set her back a pace, disgust rolling through him so thick it threatened to push him into a rage.

“How many days has she been locked in?”

The woman wrung her apron. “Three, and the master hasn't come back. He holds the key. I swear on Christ's sweet mother there is no key here. She's up there.”

She pointed a shaking hand past his shoulder. Another set of stairs rose into a dark shadow. The sun was gone and there was no friendly glow of even one candle set on the attic floor.

“Get some light up here.”

The housekeeper hurried to comply, but Keir suspected that the woman was simply happy to be given an excuse to run away from him. A flick of his fingers set two of his men on her heels. The woman glanced behind her and began whispering prayers when she realized she had not escaped. Let her ask for divine help, because he had the feeling there was going to be hell to pay when he laid eyes on Helena.

What manner of a man locked a girl up for three days without fresh bread? Even convicts were treated better at the prison.

Even in the dark he made out the heavy iron lock secured to the wide handle that normally would have been used to pull the door open. So close to the roof, the floor was cooler than the rest of the house. Keir didn't bother to think about what he was doing. He'd worry about the rights and wrongs of the situation later.

“Helena?”

 

She must be going insane. Helena heard her name as clearly as a church bell. The room was dark and it was pressing in on her after three days. But she welcomed the chill of night. Her mouth was dry as dust. A faint glow appeared under the door. She stared at it, mesmerized by the light. It looked like a beacon. She resisted the urge to look at it like salvation. But her belly burned and grumbled, refusing to listen to anything her mind had to say about remaining strong in the face of Edmund's demands. While her will was strong, her body was starving.

There was a grinding of metal and a splintering of wood. It seemed so loud after hours upon hours of only her thoughts.

“Helena?”

She shivered, her mind hearing Keir's voice, which was absurd. She looked around the tiny attic room, her gaze touching on her small bed to force herself to recall where she was. Allowing her thoughts to dwell on Keir McQuade had clearly been a mistake, for now her wits were addled.

The door burst open, allowing the light to flood in. A small cry of happiness passed her lips; she could not hold it back. But she froze when the light also washed over Keir, as large and imposing as she saw him in her mind. She was afraid to move, lest the moment shatter and she be forced to admit it was all nothing but fantasy brought on by lack of food and water.

“Sweet mercy.”

It was her brother's housekeeper who spoke. The woman looked around Keir and covered her mouth with her hand. Horror reflected in her eyes. Helena felt her mind shift back into working order, but it was not fast enough to keep her hand from rising to cover the worst of the bruising on her face. By daylight she had viewed her brother's mark quite often. Half of her face was darkened, the spot on her cheek the deepest purple.

Keir was enraged.

She watched the emotion dance in his eyes, practically felt it leap across the space between them, it was so hot. His attention lingered on her face, studying it for a long moment. Her pride rose, refusing to endure being pitied.

“It is nothing.”

“The hell it isna.”

Keir looked around the room. His face reflected his displeasure. Helena raised her chin but knew what he was seeing. The room was tiny and cold now. Her dress was rumpled from days of use without pressing. On the bed she had piled her traveling clothing to help fight the chill because she had no hot coals to provide heat.

“What are you doing here, Keir?”

His gaze flew back to her face, something different flickering in his dark eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched before his attention settled on her bruised cheek once more. Rage returned to his eyes but it was tightly controlled, which made it even more formidable.

“I'm going to do what needs doing.”

He turned in a flare of kilt. The housekeeper shrank away from him, but that didn't save her from his notice.

“Care for her, or answer to me when I return.”

He was already down the stairs when Helena managed to force her body to break through the chill that hunger, thirst, and pain had locked her into. She followed him down to the second floor.

“Keir…wait.”

Humiliation flooded her when her knees knocked against each other, refusing to hold her weight. She crumpled on the stairs, her hands grabbing at the walls and slipping because there was nothing to hold onto.

Keir turned and caught her, gripping her forearms and lifting her with an ease that astounded her. It also sent a ripple of excitement through her. It was maddening to think she enjoyed the demonstration of how much stronger he was. But she could not lie to herself.

He placed her gently on her feet but maintained his hold on her arms until she proved that standing was not beyond her strength.

“Christ in heaven.”

More expletives followed. Keir's men stared at her, their faces reflecting their disapproval. She was honestly surprised by the disgust on their faces. Many men ruled with their fist.

That sobered her. She could see the rise of anger in their eyes. Every one of them wore a kilt, and the doublets they had on were plain, built for protection against the elements, not for fashion. These were men of action, not hollow words.

Like their leader.

“Keir, you must let it be.”

He reached out and gently cupped her chin. It was but a whisper of a touch. She was shocked that a man so large and powerful might control his strength so completely. She quivered because it struck her as tender, the sort of touch she dreamed of receiving from a lover. But the two thoughts were in conflict, because a lover was only imaginary for her, but the hand on her chin was very real.

“He is my brother. My legal guardian. Even the church will not intercede.”

Keir's face tightened, a muscle on the side of his jaw pulsing. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine because it was deeply intimate.

“I enjoy the sound of my name on your lips.” His voice dipped into a husky tone that shook her. Excitement raced along her skin, raising gooseflesh. But his expression changed, turning hard and determined.

“But I treat my hunting hounds better.”

His voice was cold and hard. Several growls rose from his men. Her pride hated it. Hated the fact that he, that
they,
were right.