Authors: Sophia Johnson
Never had she seen such a display of dirty bodies, bare limbs, unkept hair and beards full of tangles. Here and there, a man with a smidgen of pride wore a tartan that covered his masculine attributes. Others had donned skimpy loincloths.
Her face heated. She averted her gaze from men so careless their nether parts peeked from too short a covering. Damron’s hard scowl sent many a hand down to hide what they had assumed was already hidden.
“’Tis men from my outlying lands, wife. Dinna let them think ye affrighted,” Damron murmured, then introduced her.
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They studied her bruised face, no doubt wondering what manner of woman required discipline when so newly wed.
The men banged their swords against their shields and bellowed, “A Morgan.” It was a frightful din. As she drew close to Angel, he bumped her shoulder with his head. Without thinking, she cuffed the brute lightly on his thick skull.
“Don’t make me have to hurt you,” she warned. She was sure Angel knew it was a game they played.
Spencer grinned and interpreted her comment to the clans-men on their small Highland horses, and they stared wide-eyed at her. No doubt they wouldn’t get close to the huge warhorse, much less threaten their lord’s steed.
Damron’s lips twitched, but he kept his stern expression.
They rode northward, fording a stream at the end of Loch Loyal. They entered the pass between Ben Loyal and Ben Stumanadh, where Damron called a halt for Brianna to refresh herself. They would soon reach the Kyle of Tongue, the narrow strait of Tongue Bay where Blackthorn Castle stood. It loomed on a hill overlooking the inlet on the eastern shore, halfway in the strait.
Damron motioned his piper to the forefront. They passed over the crest of a hill and out of the deep woods, where the land gently rose for miles. The green forests ended at a village, all neatly spread out with fields and lush pastures behind the huts.
On a span of land that ran north and south, parallel to the bay’s inlet, the castle rose. Tongue Bay cut into the western ridge and formed river cliffs protecting the castle from attack.
The rectangular keep sat in the middle of the cleared area, with a walled bailey on either side. Curtain walls surrounded the castle and grounds. To the north, they followed the cliff outline, and to the east was a steep valley.
Brianna’s heart raced. This castle was imprinted on her heart and soul, both with love and fear. In the twenty-first
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century, she had spent many months over the years exploring its ruins. Nothing she had imagined had prepared her for the vastness of the castle she saw before her.
Damron signaled the piper to ride ahead before he urged Angel forward. Brianna kept pace at his side. When the castle lookouts spotted the standard bearer and heard the first skirls of the bagpipe, Blackthorn’s pipers atop the battlement joined in with welcome.
While they climbed the steep trail to the castle’s entrance, the massive portcullis rose, creaking and clanging. The castle entrance was a pointed arch through the curtain, with an outer gatehouse. A rounded tower stood to the right of it, another at the end corner of the curtain wall.
The walkways of the battlements swarmed with men on either side of the pipers. One piper appeared to be a slender youth. Lusty signal cries rose from Damron and Connor’s throats. The sound was so forceful she could hear them above the scream of the pipes. The slender piper echoed the cry.
Thrills of excitement went through Brianna on hearing the horses’ hooves clattering over the wooden bridge. Though in the future most of the castle had been in ruins, the drawbridge and gatehouse had been much the same. Riding through the confining entrance, she studied the slits in the sides made for archers, and the murder holes on the ceiling above. When they came out into the bailey, she saw people awaited them at the foot of the steps to the keep.
The massive door burst open. A tall, beautiful woman picked up her skirts and dashed down the steps, evading hands reaching to halt her progress.
Brianna studied the woman hurtling toward them. Not one iota of doubt entered her mind about the woman’s identity.
She was Damron’s leman.
Her hair was blond, long and straight, pulled back and secured to better show her features. Her face was the color of
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pale porcelain, with ice-blue eyes and lips thin and small. She wore a sheer white smock with long, trailing sleeves under a dark red tunic trimmed in gold. The tunic was cut so daringly low over full breasts, that her pink nipples threatened to burst free.
Never before had Brianna felt inadequate. Even after marrying Gordon, she’d had more admirers than she had cared for, and felt they were a nuisance. Now, with her face bruised and hurting, and after traveling by horseback over God knows how many miles, she knew her appearance was not at its best.
She wished she was close enough to trip the damned woman into the nearest mud hole.
Damron slid from Angel’s back. The woman flung her arms around his neck, and pressed herself so tight against him she’d have to crawl inside his shirt to be more intimate. He steadied himself, but made no move to embrace her.
Her lips locked tight on Damron’s.
Chapter 13
The courtyard was as quiet as snow falling on a deserted moun-taintop. Before anyone could aid her, Brianna gritted her teeth and dismounted with as much grace as she could muster. In seconds, she reached Damron, and the woman clinging to him like a leech.
“Am I to assume this is a member of your extended family, my lord husband, or are you about to introduce me to a
long-time
friend?” Brianna kept her voice calm and smooth, but her gaze flashed over the two with icy regard.
Freeing himself from the woman’s arms, Damron cleared his throat. “My lady wife, I present to ye Lady Asceline de Mon-ceaux of King William’s court. As ye surmised, a special friend from Normandy. Lady Asceline, my wife, Lady Brianna.”
“I see.” Anger buzzed in Brianna’s veins. She had her answer now. He was like Gordon. Short on honor. Along with anger was disappointment. Grief, even. Much as if she had learned of a loved one’s tragedy.
Before she could say more, the young piper launched himself at Damron. A glimpse of shapely buttocks showed Brianna the longhaired piper was no man.
“Ye great gowk! Ye did not make a smart beginnin’ by greetin’
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yer doxy afore ye introduce yer wife.” Light green eyes and a broad forehead were above a wide, generous mouth. Had her eyes been brown, she would have appeared Connor’s twin.
Brianna stepped forward. “Since Damron is otherwise occupied, I’m Brianna Sinclair. I take it you are Connor’s sister?”
“Brianna Morgan, wife,” Damron’s voice was strained.
“And, aye, this is my cousin Meghan.”
Brianna ignored him.
Meghan squinted her eyes and studied Brianna. An explosion of Gaelic burst from her lips, before she whirled on Damron. “Ye eejit. Have ye no decency in yer great, lumber-ing body?” Her fist whipped up to cuff Damron on the shoulder, hard. He didn’t budge.
“’Tis not as ye think, henny.” Connor clamped Meghan’s arms to her side. “A lout abducted Lady Brianna. ’Tis he who harmed her. Damron isna responsible.”
“Aye. He is. He should have taken better care of her.”
Without words, Damron shouldered Meghan aside and turned to a stately older woman. She stood white-faced, her eyes shooting sparks at Damron.
“I am Damron’s mother, Phillipa.” Her arms enveloped Brianna in a gentle hug. “I am most pleased to greet you, daughter.”
“And I you, milady,” Brianna responded. Sensing Nathaniel’s presence behind her, she introduced him as a prince of Wales.
Thankfully, Lady Phillipa’s graceful greetings eased ten-sions, and they turned to enter the keep.
Brianna eyed the formidable number of steps leading to the second-floor entrance. Wooden stairs led to a landing, and the next series of steps ended at great wooden doors. The last time she had stood before the castle entrance, the steps had led up to a shell of what the castle had once been. Now, her heart pounded in anticipation.
As they entered the great hall, Brianna’s gaze darted from one end of the massive room to the other. Brightly colored banners
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hung from the ceiling. One wall was near covered with semicir-cles of broadswords and short swords, a row of maces of all kinds, shields and spears. A large tapestry depicting the castle and grounds brightened the wall behind the dais holding the lord’s table. Fresh rushes covered the floor, and as they walked, the scents of rose, thyme and rosemary drifted on the air.
“Meghan, who will think you a lady if one cannot tell you from a warrior?” Lady Phillipa scolded. She smiled at Brianna. “Meghan is oft called the Warrior Woman of Blackthorn. She is as skilled as many of our soldiers, if not more so.”
Damron, his brows drawn near together and his jaw firmed in a hard line, eyed Meghan. “Lass, are ye hidin’ yer curves to steal outside the walls to meet someone ye should not?”
“Nay, ’tis not so. I have been long in the castle, tryin’ to do as Aunt Phillipa asked. But what I worked on has not come out like what I planned in my mind.”
“If it looked like what was in your mind, you are a bairn,”
Asceline snickered.
“What are ye talkin’ about?” Damron’s eyes narrowed.
“When we received word that you were to wed, Meghan designed and stitched a tapestry to celebrate the event,” Lady Phillipa began.
“Look at this disgrace,” the Frenchwoman interrupted with a triumphant look. She threw her arms wide, the offending tapestry gripped in her hands.
Brianna’s lips spread in a delighted smile, and Damron’s lips twitched at the corners, ruining his stern expression. The tapestry was done in brilliant colors. Trees in various shades of green made up the background with a trail leading from them. A brilliant blue sky with fluffy clouds was at the top, and along the right side was a sparkling brook. Everything was beautifully done except the people and horses. They were stick figures. By the colors of the hair, she saw what Meghan meant to be Damron and his new bride, along with Connor, riding on the path.
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“It’s wonderful. It’s colorful and lovely. I’d be happy to have it where I can see it each morning.” Brianna pried the tapestry from Asceline’s long fingers and turned to hug Meghan.
“Come, Brianna, I will show ye to yer room so ye may wash the grime away.” Meghan grinned and hurried Brianna from the room and up the stairs into a bright chamber. “This is Damron’s room. The men have brought up yer trunks and Mari here is to be yer lady’s maid.”
Mari smiled warmly after her first shocked expression upon noting Brianna’s injuries.
“I’m sorry for your trouble, Mari, but I won’t be sharing Lord Damron’s room. A small one close by will suffice.” Before she could turn, Damron’s voice spoke behind them. The man was near kin to a giant, yet how did he walk so quietly?
“That willna be necessary, Mari. Ye may leave.” Damron jerked his head at Meghan, and the two women left, closing the door quietly. He crossed his arms and stared at Brianna.
“You lecherous, caterwauling tomcat,” Brianna hurled the words at him. “I’m not sleeping in this room while
she
is in this keep.” Never would she put up with a man who was unfaithful. The anguish of Gordon’s betrayal had taught her not to let her heart, her dignity be torn to shreds again.
“Ye will share the room, and ye will share that bed with me.” Damron eyed her sternly. “Dinna blather about it!”
“Blather? You haven’t heard blather before. You can sleep elsewhere. You sure as the devil aren’t going to crawl into bed with me after being in one with her.”
“I will be in this bed with ye every night. Dinna think to demand I live as a monk when ye deny me yer body.” His glare shot sparks at her. “Be on yer best behavior if ye dinna wish to feel the flat of my hand on yer skinny arse. As for my leman, she is no concern of yers.” The door slammed behind him on his last words.
Fortunately, the walls were too thick for him to hear the futuristic curses she yelled.
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* * *
“How came ye here from Normandy afore I sent for ye?”
Damron shoved her ahead of him up the circular stairway to her room above. He kicked the door shut with his heel.
Asceline whirled, and her mouth clamped onto his. Her tongue plunged boldly while her hips ground against his groin, for she was a tall woman. When he responded, her hand moved between them. It was only seconds afore she had what she sought: Damron’s tarse free from beneath his tartan and hard as a lance. She tugged, greedy. Blood roared in his ears as she cupped his throbbing ballocks and squeezed.
“Bitch!” He shoved her from him and straightened his tartan. “Ye have not answered why ye came here on yer own.”
“You know you can never go overlong without sharing my bed.” Asceline toyed with the bodice of her gown, deliberately baring the tip of one breast. “This marriage to the scrawny Saxon was not of your liking,” she said as she thumbed her pink nipple.
“Only I can satisfy your needs.”
Remembering how she satisfied his needs, Damron’s tarse heated and bucked. His tongue darted out and moistened his lips. He could not take his gaze off the swollen nipple that jutted out at him. Inviting him. His knees brushed hers, and his hand reached to grasp her full breast. He realized what he was about to do and cursed, low and furious. Filled with self-loathing, he turned and slammed out of the room.
Asceline brought out the worst in him. He had not meant for her to come to him. He well knew he should not have his leman housed with his wife. Truth to tell, he did not want her here. When he had seen to all that needed his tending at Blackthorn, and he could spare the men to escort her, he would decide where she should bide. Until then, they would have to make the best of it.