Authors: Sophia Johnson
Lifting his hand high and making a small circle, he signaled the men to fall behind him as they left the castle grounds.
“Marcus, take them deep into the woods. See they work hard. The Saxon men from the Sinclair estate are now mine as their overlord. They must learn to fight amongst fallen trees and the dangers of rough terrain.” Damron waved them forward, then moved into the deep forest shadows to wait.
Brianna was up to some mischief.
Soon after, she rode from the castle, her guards close
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around her. As he watched, she urged her mare forward until she rode a horse length ahead of them. Their larger steeds were no match for the fleet mare. Had she not learned a lesson when the mare threw her afore? The reckless lass was again putting herself and her mount in danger.
He pressed Angel forward, his body humming with tension.
Why had she left the castle? Did she plan a tryst with Galan? The thought that they might be lovers made him want to strike out.
Genevieve’s treachery ate at his soul, feeding his mistrust of Brianna. He would not tolerate another unfaithful wife.
He pictured a black mantle stretched atop dew-wet grass with Brianna sprawled on it, her glorious brown hair spread around her naked body. His mind’s eye saw Galan approach her.
Cover her. Claim her.
Damron’s jaws clamped tight to stifle a groan of agonizing pain that tore from his chest.
He would kill any man who dared make love to his bride.
Brianna’s exultant laugh floated back to him. The sound tightened his loins. As he drew abreast of each of her guards, he jerked his head toward the keep. After he had sent the last man on his way, he urged Angel to close the distance between him and Brianna.
Brianna glanced over her shoulder, her eyes startled.
She was wise to be wary. Galloping alongside her, he folded his hand over hers on the reins and slowed their horses.
“For heaven’s sake, Demon! What are you doing here?”
Not answering, he brought them to a stop. Her eyes widened at the speed with which he dismounted. Silent still, he hauled her from the saddle to stand before him.
He stared at her. She met his gaze, flinched and looked aside. Clearing her throat, she tried to pull back from him. He tightened his grip on her shoulders.
“All right. I know. There’s no need to remind me. Your name isn’t Demon. It’s Damron. Still, that’s no reason to get your tail
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in a wringer.” She wriggled her shoulders, but the more she moved, the tighter he gripped. “Let go. You’re crushing me.”
“What do ye think ye are doing, lady?” He forced his voice through a tightly held jaw. Her nearness was causing his body to respond against his will. Then, remembering her strange words, he hesitated a moment. “Tail in a ringer? What is this?”
“Oh, blast. It’s an expression.” Brianna thrust her nose in the air, looking like a stubborn wood sprite.
His gaze roamed over her and noted her hair was loose and flowing about her shoulders. Why had she not covered it? His eyes narrowed as he stared. Her clothing clung to her body.
She had not worn a smock under her green tunic. The thought stirred his blood.
“Were ye so anxious to meet yer lover ye did not take time to don proper attire?”
“Why, you nasty-minded Scot.” She threw the words at him like darts, and with each one, she poked his chest with a finger.
“Of course I was meeting a lover. I planned to meet a legion of lovers. Couldn’t you tell? Didn’t you see all those men with me?
They were to keep me from getting lost . . .”
“Dinna be knotty-pated, lady. Ye well know what I mean.
Whom did ye race to meet? Do ye have a tryst with Galan?”
His lips curled in a snarl, and he gave her a light shake.
“What the he—, uh, devil’s a knotty pate? Whatever it is, I’ll soon be one if you don’t stop rattling my brains.” She shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. She shoved all the harder. When he released her, she tottered.
He grabbed for her arm, missed and grasped her breast instead.
Before he could react, Brianna struck at his wrist and yelped in pain. He flushed and drew back, dropping his hands at his sides.
“That’s twice you’ve grabbed me there.” Her voice wavered. “I won’t have it.”
“’Tis sorry I am, Brianna. I did not mean ye harm. If ye
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would act as ye should, we wouldna so oft be at odds.” His voice softened as he tilted her face up to study it.
“Now it’s
my
fault you grabbed me? Act as I
should
? How is that, pray tell? Bow and grovel and beg for you to squash parts of my body? You’re a bleeding tyrant, that’s what you are.”
“Ne’er have I hurt ye apurpose. Had I done so, ye wouldna long be standin’, ye fashious henny.”
“Don’t yell at me, you medieval chauvinist pig!” Brianna’s nostrils flared. Clutching his arm, she rose to the tip of her toes and made a vigorous swing at his face. Before her fist could reach his jaw, he caught her wrist.
“Enough!”
Frighted by the thunder of his voice, birds squawked and flew out of the surrounding trees.
His patience was at an end. Pulling both her hands behind her back, he hauled her close. He didn’t understand her wit-less chatter. Or her willful manner.
Where was the demure, obedient bride William had described? If he did not know better, he would think she was an imposter and not Brianna of Sinclair, the king’s ward.
Studying her flushed face, he admitted she was far more beautiful than he had expected. He felt the softness of her back and, when his hands started to roam, he resisted the overpowering urge to cup her bottom in his palms.
Had another man already done so? Thinking to find answers there, he stared into her eyes. Beautiful. Those eyes so dark a brown and fringed with lush, thick lashes that would surely feather his cheeks when they kissed.
Ah. Kissed.
Gazing at her mouth, he swallowed. Full and luscious.
Ripe. She must have sensed his growing desire to taste her there, for the tip of her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips.
At that moment, she looked delicate and sweet, the perfect
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maiden William had described. His sex stirred and hardened against her stomach.
Until now, he had seen only the strange-talking lass who did not know her place, who mistakenly thought herself his equal. That lass who aggravated him, yet quickened his heartbeat. As he dipped his head preparing to satisfy his craving, he caught himself.
He would wait until he learned what was between her and young Galan. He would not take another man’s leavings.
Disgusted with himself for wanting her, he grasped her waist and deposited her astride Sweetpea.
Brianna’s clothing clumped around her hips as she landed with a thud. More than ever, she was acutely aware of her bare bottom. Well, hell, even her racy red thong would be decent right now. Flushing, she snatched the bottom of her tunic and jerked it down over her legs.
When Damron placed her feet in the stirrups, she saw his gleam of satisfaction. She grabbed the reins, only to have him yank them from her, turn and mount Angel.
Surely this flesh-and-blood Damron couldn’t be the man in the drawing. The man who had stolen his way into her heart.
“Why did ye not use a woman’s saddle, Lady?”
She clamped her lips together and refused to answer.
“Why were ye so mindless as to gallop yer mare as if ye were a warrior? When Sweetpea threw ye afore, were ye not injured enough?” He waited a moment.
Closing her eyes, she listened to her dual memories. He was right. When the early Brianna left the abbey and galloped over the rough ground, she had been reckless. Her face heated.
“Answer me.”
“Had I been astride at the time, I wouldn’t have lost my balance.” She ignored his impatient snort.
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“Have you no feelings for yer beautiful mare?”
“Of course I do. I would never harm Sweetpea.” How could he think such a thing of her?
“And yer men? What of yer foolish disregard for those whose duty it is to protect ye?”
“What do you mean? They were already up and about.
They seemed pleased for the early ride.”
“They will not be as pleased when I mete out their punishment for allowin’ ye to again come in harm’s way, or for aiding ye in a lover’s meeting.”
“What? For heaven’s sake, why would you punish them?
They did nothing wrong. I told you before, I was not seeking a tryst, and I wasn’t in harm’s way.” He couldn’t really mean to hurt them, could he?
“Ye did not know what lay ahead. A wild boar or master-less men could have awaited ye.”
She swallowed and met his gaze. These were cruel times. She was sure a reprimand or slap on the wrist wasn’t what medieval lords called punishment. Did he mean to whip the men or discipline them in some other horrible way? She couldn’t let that happen.
“Please, Damron, don’t harm them. They did nothing wrong. I’ve always liked riding free. If it’s going to cause anyone harm, I’ll not do it again.”
He nodded his head, looking satisfied. She let out the breath she’d been holding. He had accepted her promise.
“’Tis plain yer father neglected teachin’ ye yer place.”
Her place! She gritted her teeth and clamped her lips together. For everyone’s sake, she would have to curb her words and be more diplomatic with him. They entered the castle’s grounds and approached the stable. When Damron brought Sweetpea to a stop, she dismounted before he could reach her.
Biting her tongue, she made a dash for the keep. Dealing with
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Damron was stressful enough without provoking his disgusting “lord and master” attitude.
Hearing laughter behind him, Damron whirled. Mirth filled Connor’s eyes. “What amuses ye?” Damron stalked over to stand toe to toe with him.
“You do, of course. You have the look of a frustrated knight, and the lady appears angry enough to slay a dragon. What ruffled her feathers so badly she took off like a frazzled bolt of lightning?”
“Huh! She canna keep her temper for the space of a dozen heartbeats. Dinna mention feathers to the lass. When I dubbed her a fashious henny, she tried to flatten my nose.”
Connor laughed again. A stone flew through the air and clattered between them. Looking up, Damron saw Brianna glaring at them. He turned, slammed a fist in his open hand and took a step forward. She sprinted up the stairway. He nodded, satisfied.
“I told you she would try to bloody your face. Did she find a boulder to aid her height?” Curiosity glinted in Connor’s eyes.
Damron rubbed his chin and chuckled. “Nay. She raised up on her toes and steadied herself on mine own arm. When she tried to bring her fist to my nose, her effort had my undivided attention.”
“For a wee lassie, she has the temper of Mereck. Your half brother’s rage erupts like a crack of thunder. I like this bold Brianna.” Connor’s eyes twinkled.
“Dinna think on it, Connor,” Damron warned. “Do ye know what else she said? That I grab her breast apurpose and am a ‘shovingist pig.’
“Ne’er have I seen a woman so heedless of consequences. She tweaks my anger to the point I yearn to thrash her bottom. Hmmm, I have noted her face betrays her every emotion. She canna hide anythin’ from me.” The thought pleased him.
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* * *
Damron looked over the Blackthorn men he had left with Mereck at Sinclair Castle, Brianna’s ancestral home that was now his.
Once his half brother selected a steward and was sure he would manage the castle properly, he sent the men to rejoin Damron.
Added to his own Scots were twenty men-at-arms Mereck had carefully picked from Sinclair, and the five Norman knights that left William’s service to follow Damron. He and Connor were already training Brianna’s Saxon guards. Although Damron resented being forced to take another wife, he was most gratified for the extra men to defend Blackthorn.
The back of his neck tingled. Knowing what he would find, he turned and glowered upward. Brianna stared out the solar window. Eyeing his men. In a silent demand that she withdraw, he scowled and jerked his head. When she ignored him, Connor snickered. Damron cursed and ordered the men to follow him into the great hall. Among the Saxons in the room, his Norman knights stood out with their darker hair and eyes, his Highlanders because of their greater size.
Brianna descended the stairs, looking beautiful in a yellow tunic, her chestnut curls held back from her face with a light yellow silk veil and a gold circlet. Damron saw her gaze dart around the room. She looked far too interested by his way of thinking. As he approached her, she folded her arms across her breasts, protecting them. Connor chuckled beside him.
Spying Galan from the corner of his eye, Damron moved to block his path. Brianna tried to detour around them both, but Damron grasped her elbow and led her to the raised dais.
“Act with dignity afore my men, Lady,” he whispered with a tinge of menace. Though he did not yet want her to know she belonged to him, he wanted her by his side. It would be his trencher
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that she shared, his fingers from which she accepted choice bits of meat.
“You don’t need to tell me how to act, Damron.”
Her voice was so low he bent closer to her. His gaze met hers; she hooded her eyes. Her soft skin, smelling of a mixture of heather and roses, stirred his blood. After he seated her on his left at the high table, Connor effectively hemmed her in on the other side.
Cook’s servitors soon brought forth steaming platters heaped with roasted duck, venison and mutton, smoked haddock, boiled goose, salmon and bowls stuffed with food that Brianna didn’t recognize. She tried to identify the different spices used when the aroma of the platters reached her. Surely she detected sage, rosemary, bay leaves and ginger? Damron filled their trencher with succulent helpings from each serving.