His Stolen Bride BN (25 page)

“My lovely Lady Averyl, forgive my remiss,” said Kieran, rising to take her hand.
“How fare you with this rogue?”

She cast an uneasy glance at Drake, whose dark expression did more than hint at his
interest in her answer. She could not answer. “What of you, after your last journey
here?”

His answering smile was deprecating and charming at once. “I live to see another day
of battle and beauties.” Kieran began to raise her hand to his mouth. “Especially
your beauty.”

Drake stepped between them, taking her hand from his friend’s and grasping it with
his own. “I’ll thank you not to touch my wife.”

“Wife?”
Kieran’s blue-green eyes widened as his mouth dropped open in incredulity. All attempts
at teasing disappeared. “You wed her?
You
took her to wife?”

Averyl blanched, wondering if Kieran was surprised that Drake had married…or that
he had tied himself to so homely a bride. She tried to pry her hand from Drake’s.

He resisted, placing a hand about her waist to bring her against him. “Aye. What of
it?”

Kieran said naught for near a minute. Even the birds ceased their songs.

Finally, a wide smile curled his wide charmer’s mouth. “You rascal, I thought you
would never take a bride, given Diera—”

“This is not a love match.” Drake released her abruptly.

Again, Kieran fell silent. He glanced between Drake and herself, his gaze measuring,
oddly disappointed. “Then why?”

“Murdoch cannot wed her if I have.”

“Unless he kills you, you dimwit!”

“He will do all he can to kill me, regardless. But if Averyl should escape”—he pinned
her with a gaze that consumed and accused her at once—“Murdoch cannot wed her.”

Kieran groaned. “You have enraged Murdoch enough. But to wed her… He will take more
pleasure in your death if he catches you.”

“Why?” Averyl broke in. “MacDougall cares naught for me.”

Kieran faced her. “Murdoch cares for no one but himself. ’Tis money he covets, which
he stands to inherit a great deal of, but not unless he weds you before you turn eight
and ten.”

The infamous will again. Murdoch had the power of the clan behind him now, but none
of the funds, not unless he wed her soon. And only Drake stood between her and Murdoch’s
plans. Averyl trembled as she realized the added danger her handfast husband had placed
himself in by speaking vows with her.

“And what if you live?” Kieran challenged. “What of your wife then?”

“We are but handfast. In a year’s time, she will be free.”

Kieran sighed, shaking his head. “Idiot. Your quest for revenge all but ensures your
death.”

“I knew such when I started.”

“’Tis utterly foolish!” she cried. “You cannot mean to see your life’s blood spilled
over some dead man’s money.”

Kieran grimaced. “Lochlan was like a god to his people. Such was doubly true of Drake,
his—”

“No more,” Drake hissed. “We are wed for the next year. No one, least of all Murdoch,
can change that.”

She looked from Kieran’s chagrined features to Drake’s tense ones. Another secret.
She could feel it, for the very words had hovered on the tip of Kieran’s tongue. How
exactly had Drake and Murdoch’s father known each other to form a strong bond of friendship?
And why did Drake want to keep the secret so badly?

As much as Averyl yearned to know, she turned away. Until Drake could trust her enough
to speak his secrets, until he could care for her as she cared for him, knowing meant
naught.

Certain her wishes were futile, she left the cottage.

* * * * *

Drake stared at Averyl’s retreating back, wondering why he should feel guilt for not
sharing the shame of his secret with her. Aye, she was his wife now, but not forever.
Nor, thank God, would she be witness to the fateful day when his past finally confronted
him.

“Drake,” Kieran began, snaring his attention once more. “Guilford worries for you.
He is an old man now—”

“Not so old he cannot manipulate you into watching me more ably than a nanny.”

“That is so,” Kieran said with a laugh. “But Aric and I worry as well.”

“Do not. Aric has a new life with Gwenyth, while yours is that of a traveling soldier.
Think of that.”

Kieran scowled. “We did not rescue you from Dunollie’s dungeon to watch you die.”

“Revenge will make me whole again,” argued Drake.

“Revenge can do naught but destroy you. Murdoch grows desperate and ruthless as the
days become weeks,” Kieran warned.

Drake paused. “Where is he now?”

Kieran grimaced. “I could not say. ’Tis as if Murdoch knows someone brings you information,
for suddenly his lips stay as tightly closed as a nun’s thighs.”

That fact filled Drake with dread, for Murdoch had never been a fool. “And Firtha
knows nothing?”

“Even less than I.”

Drake smothered a curse. “Were you followed here?”

“I think not, but Murdoch is anxious. He suspects everyone.”

Drake shrugged his dim thoughts away. “Mayhap you should go elsewhere for awhile before
returning.”

“Aye. Mayhap you should consider the same as a safeguard. I overheard he has doubled
the number of men searching for you.”

Digesting that news with a slow nod, Drake answered, “’Tis no less than I expected,
since I doubt he will give up now.”

Kieran sighed in frustration. “Nay, but what of you? Guilford and Aric think me reckless.
But you, my friend, take risks I would not. Do you have naught else to live for?”

An image of Averyl in his arms this very morn, writhing against her own desire, flashed
through his mind. Such was hopeless. She wanted what he could not give. She wanted
love.

Gritting his teeth, he faced Kieran. “I have nothing beyond seeing Murdoch burn.”

Drake met Kieran’s disbelieving stare with a hard glare of his own.

“Then God have mercy upon your soul—and my hide. For when Guilford hears you mean
to see this through, he will likely try to change the shape of my head with his mace.”

* * * * *

Kieran found Averyl sitting by the shimmering pool at the bottom of the ravine, throwing
rocks into the clear blue depths.

Beside her, he eased onto the short grass and plucked a nearby wildflower. When she
looked up in his direction, he handed the blossom to her. She took it without a word.

“This abduction has not been easy for you,” he began.

Averyl’s mouth pinched tightly, unhappily. She wore so many emotions upon her young
face: hurt, hope, need, fear, anger. He hardly knew where one ended and the next began.
Kieran wondered if she knew that herself.

And if what he suspected was true, Drake’s choice of a mate surprised him. But it
pleased him as well. A woman capable of such feeling, and displaying them without
caution, might be exactly what his isolated friend needed to find his soul again.

And that Averyl was lovely with her innocent eyes and fresh pink cheeks only made
Kieran smile more.

“He makes such difficult, for both of us,” Averyl said.

“Of late, Drake has exceled in difficult, my lady. Fear not, he has a heart. He simply
has trouble hearing it.”

Averyl’s head popped up and she turned her wide hazel gaze upon him. So much green.
So much hope and sadness in so winsome a setting.

Kieran felt his interest stirring. He was, after all, a healthy man. Reminding himself
this particular beauty was not his, he smiled.

Suddenly hope left her features. “He has no heart.”

“Nay, he would only like you—all of us—to believe such.”

She dropped her chin to her knees, now curled up to her chest. The waves and curls
of her golden hair shimmered over her shoulders, past her waist, skimming her hips.
No doubt, Drake was a lucky varlet to have felt the artless sensuality of her touch.

Beside her, he shifted his tight hose when Averyl spoke.

“It must be true. I can see no other way he can hold me with such need, as if naught
else in the world matters, only to revile me come morn.”

The picture she created, along with the tears dusting her cheeks, made Kieran want
to beat Drake senseless. Instead, he brushed her tears away with a thumb.

“As Aric’s wife, Gwenyth, would say, he is a fen-sucked swine and deserving of a swift
kick.”

Averyl lifted her chin and laughed, her sudden smile brightening her face.

“That looks better on you, love.” He reached for her hand. When she gave it without
condition, he squeezed it before raising it to his mouth for a kiss.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly.

A few feet behind Averyl, Kieran spotted Drake standing just outside the bushes. His
friend’s black gaze fell upon Averyl’s loose curls, then her hand joined in his.

Raw fury settled on the abrupt angles of Drake’s face. Thankfully, Averyl saw him
not. Kieran pretended that he had not seen his friend as well and hoped Drake would
not charge in.

Disengaging his hand from hers, he placed it on his belly and rubbed. “I fear I’m
famished.”

“’Twill be my pleasure to help you, since you have helped me,” she said, rising.

“You have my thanks, lass. I shall be along directly.”

After she made her way from the clearing, Kieran turned to his friend. “She is gone.
You can come out now.”

Drake emerged into the clearing only to grab Kieran by his tunic and pull him to his
feet. “You would seek to bed
my
wife?”

Kieran considered his answer carefully. Though a healthy dose of jealousy might make
Drake see his feeling for Averyl, it might also make him run from such.

Drake roared, “She is not a woman you can chase for sport, to conquer without thought—”

“She is your woman, and I would never deny your claim. But if she is not a woman to
conquer without thought, why do you believe she is a woman to conquer with hate?”

Drake regarded him with silence, scowling in uncertainty.

“Think carefully on that,” Kieran advised, then returned to the cottage.

* * * * *

“I received word from Guilford last week,” Kieran said over their simple supper of
fish and leeks.

Drake did not reply but merely glanced at his friend. Averyl wondered at his silence,
which grew each minute.

“Aric does well with the new king, Henry. His skill as a warrior is valued,” remarked
Kieran.

“As it should be,” Drake finally replied.

Then his eyes flickered across her face before returning to his meal.

“You speak true,” said Kieran. “And Aric makes a fine diplomat as well, which King
Henry has discovered and put to good use with those left in the House of York who
would make war upon the throne.”

In answer, Drake merely nodded.

“And it seems Gwenyth makes him addle-witted with her want of a babe.”

Again, Drake glanced at her. This time, Averyl felt his gaze burn across her mouth,
her breasts, her belly, before it slid away. “They will raise a babe well.”

“Aye, ’tis the getting of one that seems to be the trouble. Gwenyth is impatient to
conceive—and insistent that Aric help her as often as he can spare a moment.”

Finally, Drake directed a frown at Kieran. “And he complains of this?”

Kieran laughed.

Averyl flushed hotly when Drake’s stare passed over her once more. She looked away,
only to see Kieran watching her, the smile on his mouth turning questioning.

“Aric claims exhaustion,” Kieran said, “but never displeasure. And what of you? Any
thoughts of a babe?”

“Nay!” exclaimed Averyl.

“’Tis not possible,” said Drake at the same time.

Silence fell across the table as they looked at one another. Averyl gripped her eating
knife in her hand, absorbing the desire burning in Drake’s black eyes. She glared
in return.

“Soon that will change,” Drake added.

“Never.” Pushing her trencher away, Averyl rose from her chair. “Pardon me,” she murmured
to Kieran, then made for the door.

Emptiness gaped within Averyl as she realized Drake still wanted only to ease his
lust. His heart did not call to hers and never would. She had known thus, but to be
so reminded pained her.

She had no more made her way past the table when Drake followed, gripping her arm.
“We have not finished with our meal.”

“I am finished.” Averyl hoped he understood she meant not only her supper.

After a stiff, silent moment, Drake slipped his hand around her waist and brought
her against his chest and the pounding of his heart. The urgency in his hands flowed
into her body. A part of her longed to melt against him, to take the affection he
surprisingly gave in that moment. But turmoil prevailed in her heart. Naught would
change if she gave in. Drake wanted her available to his hunger, while he gave naught
of himself. And if she let him, he’d shatter her heart—if he had not already.

“Release me,” she whispered, hoping he could not see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Against her, Drake’s body went taut and unwelcoming. A moment later, he stepped away.

“You cannot run forever.”

Averyl jerked open the door. “I have no need. You will discard me soon enough.”

Stomach clenched with pain and fury, she slammed the door, knowing she must put him
out of her heart—or admit that she had fallen in love.

* * * * *

As the door trembled in the portal, Drake stood mute. Disbelief, shock, and anger
warred in his gut, along with something that felt like pain. He cursed, raking a hand
through his hair. Did she no longer care about him? Had she ever cared at all? Had
her fickle affection turned to his friend?

A moment later, he felt a heavy gaze upon him from across the room. When he turned
about, he was surprised by Kieran’s questioning stare. With Averyl rejection, a rejection
that cut him deeply, he had forgotten his friend. But Kieran’s expression said he
had been watching carefully his exchange with Averyl.