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IT WAS A horrible, wicked lie! And had she not been eavesdropping on the two tiring women retained by her father to watch over her, Joan Comyn would have told them exactly that. It couldn’t be true. No knight could do that to a woman. Not even Edward of England, the self-proclaimed “Hammer of the Scots,” could be so cruel and barbaric. Could he?
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Too late he seemed to realize that he might have gone too far. He held her up against him as if she were one of the pretty poppets he used to buy her as a child. “I’m sorry you had to see that, daughter. But it was for your own good.” She looked at him as if he were mad. How could that possibly be for her own good? She would never forget it. Just as she would never forget his cruelty in bringing her here.
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The young captain scowled, his face flushed with frustrated desire. With his light eyes, blondish-red hair, ruddy, wind-burned complexion, and sturdy build, he bore the marked stamp of his Irish forebears. He was not unattractive. Not that it mattered. She’d lost her weakness for handsome young knights a long time ago.
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He was a moment away from dropping a kiss on her soft red mouth before he caught himself. Christ, where had that come from? It was as if kissing her were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps guessing his thoughts, she sobered and took a cautious step back. “Thank you, Sir Alex,” she said again before slipping into her chamber. Alex stood staring at the closed door for a long moment before retracing his steps and returning to his own chamber. But the strange interlude with Joan Comyn stayed with him long into the night.
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Ploy or not, he was good and provoked. He was going to take what she offered, damn it, and teach her a lesson about prodding hungry lions with a stick—or in this case, two very firm and barely covered breasts that he’d be picturing for too many nights to come. He slid his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, groaning at how good she felt. She seemed to melt right into him. She gasped at the movement, and his mouth was about two seconds away from smothering the next one, when he suddenly swore and pulled back.
For the first time Joan’s gaze turned to the other man whom she’d only been vaguely aware of. She recognized de Percy’s champion Sir Robert Felton. The vaunted knight was also tall, well muscled, light haired, handsome, and bare to the waist, but for some reason she hadn’t noticed him. Her focus had been entirely on the other knight. Although admittedly, Alex Seton didn’t look like much of a knight right now. She didn’t realize he was so . . . overpowering. Good Lord! Stripped to all his primitive glory, he looked every inch the ruthless brigand. Her gaze absorbed every ripple, every rock-hard
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She’d never felt desire so physically or viscerally—even that first time before everything had gone so terribly wrong—and the intensity of it took her by surprise. Surely that was the explanation for the little gasps emitting from low in her throat. Gasps that seemed to be encouraging him to respond with a deep groan and a deeper swirl of his tongue. His hands moved from cradling her head to down her spine and then to her waist and hips. He was folding her into him, bending her back, bringing her closer. Confusing her.
“Shite.” An instant later, he winced as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that. After raking his fingers through his hair, he stood a little straighter and tried again. “I must beg for your forgiveness. I hope you will accept my apology for the dishonor I have done you. I have no excuse. I do not know what came over me, but I assure you it will not happen again.”
“Is something wrong, Joan?” Alice asked, waving her fan in her direction as if to cool her off. “Your face is as red as a beet.” And no doubt getting redder. Joan cursed her cousin and shook her head stiffly, not daring to look in Alex’s direction. “It’s a bit warm, that’s all.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she forced herself to meet Alex’s gaze. “If you’ll excuse us, my lord, my cousins and I were just about to get some refreshment.”
They had just passed over the second wooden drawbridge and through the final gate before entering the castle when he said, “You and I got off on a bad foot.” She looked up at him, and the feel of those velvety dark blue eyes on his gave him a little jolt. “Don’t you mean bad ankle?”
Sir Hugh must have seen something in her expression and gave a harsh laugh. “Unrequited lust, is that it? I’m not surprised. From what I know of Seton, he holds himself to rigidly high standards for a Scot. Still, he must have ice running through his cock to refuse a tasty piece like you in his bed.”
If she could let herself be courted by this man who had already made her feel more than she thought capable—and more than she wanted. The man who’d filled her girlish dreams of handsome golden knights in shining armor since the first time she’d seen him all those years ago. Could she open her heart? Try to have some semblance of a normal life that she’d thought impossible?
ALEX WAS ALREADY leading his horse out of the stable—trying not to think about what had happened there the day before—when Pembroke intercepted him. “You will not be riding out with us today. For the next few days I need you down by the river overseeing the loading of supplies onto the ships.” He had to be jesting. But it was clear he wasn’t.
“Aye. I will marry you. Though God knows, we both might come to regret it.” He was too happy to heed the words of doom. But they would come to him later.
“But I know how hard it was for you. I was there—I saw what you were going through. I know Robbie is sorry for some of the things he did and wishes it could have been different.” “I very much doubt that,” Alex said dryly. “He does. You were like a brother to him, though he was too blinded by anger and vengeance to admit it. Maybe . . . do you ever think about going back?”
WITH ALEX GONE, Joan turned to her duties with renewed determination and focus. The date set by Edward Bruce and the commander at Stirling Castle for the English to relieve the garrison was less than two weeks away. King Edward would have to leave in the next week if he was going to make it in time. It would take at least a week of marching—maybe more—for the army to reach Stirling from Berwick.
Though Sir Phillip Gifford had merely been a squire the last time she’d seen him, she would never forget the man who’d raped her.
He was undoubtedly handsome, but now she realized he was just a pale imitation of the man she’d seen all those years ago and unconsciously tried to replicate: Alex. But compared to Alex, Phillip came up short in every respect. Most significantly in the color of his soul.
Joan’s rank had been part of her appeal, and when it was gone, Phillip had lost use for her, but she’d been too much of a fool to see it until too late. But she wasn’t a fool now. She was no longer fifteen and trusting. She was no longer innocent and naive. He’d seen to that.
“It wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. He looked down into her beautiful upturned face and felt his heart swell all over again. “I’ve no excuse other than that I was out of my mind with jealousy at the thought that you might love someone else, when I am completely, thoroughly, and even more out of my mind in love with you.”
“Hello, sweeting,” he said, pulling her against him from behind and breathing down her neck. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Joan froze. Licorice and brandy. Even as her stomach rolled, the sound of Sir Phillip’s voice conjured up the darkest memories of her worst nightmare—one that had been real—and filled her with an icy, mind-numbing terror. Taking advantage of her shock, he pulled her into the storage room where he must have been waiting for her to pass by.
“That’s better,” he said, wedging himself between her legs. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” The crude mockery in his drink-laden voice was enough to rouse her from her momentary terror-ridden trance. Fire replaced ice, and anger replaced fear. Instinct and training returned as well, causing her knee to lift forcefully against the offending bulge between his legs and come down just as forcefully on his instep. He cursed in pain, bending over as if she’d folded him in two. “How does that feel, Sir Phillip? That is what new times feels like. I’m not a helpless young girl anymore who you can
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She had to go. She turned to open the door, and that’s when Phillip made his move. “Never turn your back . . . not even for a minute.” Too late, Lachlan’s warning came back to her.
Alex was just thirty, but there was nothing like a seventeen-year-old to make him feel very old and weary.
He had just entered the corridor outside the Great Hall when he saw a door open and Sir Phillip Gifford straggling out, holding his hand over his hip. Not dead, then. At least not yet. Rage unlike any Alex had ever experienced flashed through him like a lightning bolt. It didn’t build or grow, it didn’t give him time to think or rationalize, it was just there. Dominating. Permeating. Clouding his vision in a red haze. Gifford barely made it out of the room before Alex’s fist to his jaw sent him soaring back into it.
All he could see was the man who’d tried to rape the woman he loved. He struck blow after blow, pummeling him to the ground until he didn’t get up. And still it wasn’t enough. Alex drew out his dagger, lifted the “knight” up by his surcoat, and held the blade to his throat. For the first time in Alex’s life he knew the kind of raw hatred and murderous rage that could make a man forget honor, chivalry, and whatever other tethers of humanity kept him fit for a society. Brigand. The old accusations he’d hurled at Boyd came back to him. Maybe he had more of it in him than he realized. Gifford must
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Alex was out of practice, but his aim was still true—and just as deadly. He was still the best.
“Aye, my love, it’s over.” She allowed herself to be swallowed in his embrace and take all the comfort he offered. His chest was a rock, his arms an anchor, and all that strength and solidity seemed to flow through her. She’d never had to or wanted to rely on anyone like this before, but it was . . . nice. She felt her pulse slow, felt the chill leave her bones, and felt her frayed nerves begin to unwind. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away and took a step back. If he was holding her while she did this, she might cry. After all Alex had done for her, he deserved to know the truth about the
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“You changed that,” she said. “You restored my faith in honorable men and gave me something I never thought to have: passion. After what Phillip did, I’d never thought I’d let another man touch me like that.”
“No matter what it looked like—or what people say—you are the first man I have shared any kind of intimacies with since Phillip raped me.” Alex was stunned; he didn’t know what to say. He was glad, of course. He’d never wanted to believe she was the wanton her reputation made her out to be. His instincts had been correct. She was more innocent maid than jaded seductress.
She dropped her gaze from his. “Because I would have had to explain about Phillip. And I suppose I wanted to see how much I mattered to you. I didn’t think any man who believed what you did would make me an honorable offer, but you proved me wrong.”
As he approached the stones just after dusk for the second night to wait, he felt the sharp press of a knife against his back that confirmed his worst fear. There was only one man who could sneak up on him like that. He didn’t need to turn around to know that the man behind him was Lachlan “Viper” MacRuairi.
“If you touched her, I swear to God I’ll kill you.” “It’s a little late to play the concerned father, don’t you think? And I have no intention of betraying her, I love her, you bloody arse, and she loves me.”
“You’ve always tried to make it so simple, Seton. But you never understood shite. Not everything is black and white. We all do what needs to be done when the time comes—even you. Like turning your back on people who trusted you.” MacRuairi just stared at him, the accusation gleaming in his eyes. “How the fuck could you just leave like that? After everything we’d been through?”
“Aye, well I was wrong. You were one of us. You were the only one who never saw that.”
Whether he’d thought he was doing the right thing two years ago no longer mattered. It had become painfully clear that it wasn’t right any longer. Even before Joan’s urging him to change sides, Alex had had second . . . third . . . God-knows-how-many thoughts. The early inroads he thought he’d been making with the English had been replaced by doubt and frustration. From the foolhardy attack on the Earl of Carrick, to them thinking he was the spy and shutting him out of meetings, to Despenser’s petty machinations, to the English attack on his people near Hailes, the realization that his efforts
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As MacRuairi had accused him, Alex had tried to make it too simple. But since leaving the Guard, he’d changed. Age and experience had showed him that the world was more gray than he’d realized—especially in war. It wasn’t always clear what was right and what was wrong. It wasn’t always simple.
But it was too late to go back and do it over. The question was what he was going to do about it now. The events of the day had made it clear he had to do something.
Most of the carts and infantry had to stay on the other side of the Bannock Burn, unable to cross, despite the doors and shutters that had been ripped down from houses to give them traction and make the ground more solid. There was plenty of water to water the horses, but moving them about in this type of terrain was slow and difficult.
“And give him a chance to slink back into his fox hole?” King Edward demanded furiously. “Are you a fool, nephew, or merely a coward?” The word fell like the slap of a gauntlet. Gloucester’s face turned nearly purple with anger. Hereford, his enemy who’d been forced into joint leadership with Edward’s favorite nephew, smirked.
With nearly eighteen thousand men—three times as many as Bruce—Edward would not conceive of anything other than an English victory. If Bruce could be persuaded into taking the field, that is. At least on that they agreed. Bruce needed to take the field. And if Alex wanted an end to this war—the right end—he knew what he had to do. “It’s not too late.” He sure as hell hoped she was right.
He knew with every fiber of his being that this was the chance Bruce had to defeat the English and end the war. So he swallowed his pride—knowing he would have to do so many times before the night was over—removed the surcoat that identified him as a knight, and told himself that even if he felt like a dog slinking back with its tail between its legs, he would do whatever it took. In this case, the ends definitely justified the means.
“I know you have had many reasons to avoid pitched battle to this point, but there are some who will never recognize you as king until you defeat the English army to army. This is the battle people want, my lord. Give it to them. You may never have a better chance.”
“What about him?” Boyd asked the king, indicating Alex. “Should I tie him up with the others?” Bruce considered him for a moment, and then surprisingly one corner of his mouth lifted. “Give him back his weapons. Let him fight tomorrow. It’s his life on the line.” They all knew there was far more than Alex’s life on the line, but Alex had his second chance—from the king, at least—and he intended to do what he could to ensure Bruce did not regret it. Ever.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex sensed the threat moving toward him even as he watched the horseman, now with a dagger in his neck, falter and drop his lance.
Alex, who’d fought during the battle alongside his former compatriots but had hardly been welcomed, joined in, but perhaps without the enthusiasm of back slaps, happy embraces, and arm pumping. He stood apart with his men who had joined Bruce at the start of the battle as he’d planned and started to take inventory of their injuries—his own would wait—when he sensed a familiar shadow move up behind him.
“You saved my life,” Boyd said, his expression stony. “I owe you my thanks.” Alex shook his head. “You don’t owe me shite. Forget about it.” Boyd stood there staring at him, almost as if he knew what Alex was thinking. He didn’t want gratitude, but forgiveness was about the last thing he could ever expect from his former partner.
Alex hadn’t betrayed her, Alice had. Her cousin had managed to convey that much before Joan had been taken away. Why she’d done it, Joan didn’t know, but she’d obviously come to regret it. Unfortunately, not before the damage had been done.
