CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thane found Andrew in the stables.
Torridon had two big banks of stalls lined up against the wall in the outer bailey, walls that had seen some damage in the most recent battle with the Dalmellington forces. The big war horses were crowding up most of the stalls, individually, because they had to be separated. Put too closely together and they would fight. Thane found Andrew in one of the stable banks, right at the mouth of it with his fat, bad-tempered destrier.
“I thought I would find you here,” Thane said. “What would you have of me, my lord?”
Andrew was bent over the right front leg, running his hands along the fetlock. “What do you mean?”
“I mean to ask when you are leaving to ride to kill your brother and what you would have me do in your absence. What would you have me tell the king?”
Andrew let go of the leg and stood up, pretending to busy himself with inspecting the horse when what he was really doing was mulling over the exact plans that Thane was asking about.
“Keep your voice down,” he muttered. “There are king’s men all over this place. I do not wish they should hear you.”
Thane understood. “Then you are riding to Haldane?”
Andrew nodded, glancing at Thane as he moved around the horse. “As fast as I possibly can,” he said. “But this horse is not known for his speed. In battle, he is immovable, but when I need speed, this is not the beast.”
“We have others you can ride.”
Andrew nodded. “And I shall,” he said. “We have several horses corralled outside in the camp. I am thinking of riding that leggy black stallion we received in payment for the job in Bonchester Bridge. Do you remember?”
Thane nodded. “A fine animal,” he said. “Very fast. But is he dependable?”
Andrew shrugged. “We shall find out,” he said. Then, he stopped fussing with his horse and looked at Thane. “I intend to depart before dawn. I intend to cover at least thirty miles every day, which means I shall make it to Haldane in a little more than two days. Give me a day to kill my brother and then I shall return. Josephine, and the king, must remain at Torridon for at least that long. Joey says she can keep the man here, but I have my doubts. The man is wily. She may need your help.”
Thane nodded. “I shall do what I can,” he said. “But… Andrew?”
“Aye?”
“What if you do not return? What then?”
Andrew didn’t want to think of that. He was The Red Fury, was he not? He was as invincible as his reputation, but he knew, deep in his heart, that barging into Haldane and killing his brother would not be a simple thing. He was well aware of the risks and even though he didn’t want to admit it, or talk about it, he knew it was necessary. With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the horse.
“If I do not return in seven days, assume I will never return at all,” he said quietly. “Move the army out and take them to Castle Questing. My cousin, Roan, serves William de Wolfe at Castle Questing. You remember Roan, do you not? Questing would be the best place for Josephine. The king would not dare tangle with de Wolfe or de Longley, or any of those allies. Take the army there and turn Josephine over to Roan. For mercy’s sake, Thane, do not leave her here. I am depending on you.”
Thane nodded sharply. “I will defend her with my life,” he said. “But even if I do give her over to Roan, de Wolfe will want to know the value of the lady. If the king and your brother come for her…”
Andrew was so very disappointed by the mere thought. William de Wolfe was a man of great power, and they were loyal friends, but Andrew understood if William didn’t want to risk his family against the King of Scotland. In truth, only a fool would.
“If de Wolfe will not protect and defend her, then put d’Aurilliac in charge of the army and take Josephine to Cornwall,” he said. “I have another cousin, Dennis d’Vant, who lives there. He is the commander of St. Austell Castle. Tell Dennis that Josephine is my wife and that my brother wants her. Dennis knows Alphonse; he will not let him have her, not under any circumstances.”
Thane knew Roan d’Vant, but he had only heard of Andrew’s cousin, Dennis. He’d never met the man. “Your father and Dennis’ father were cousins, were they not?”
Andrew nodded. “Dennis’ father, my father, and Roan’s father all shared the same grandsire,” he said. “Dennis is a good man. If I do not return… you will tell Dennis that I died protecting Josephine from my brother. He will keep her safe.”
Thane nodded, but it seemed to him as if he was doing an awful lot of swearing to risk his life for a woman Andrew had only known a few days. Still, he knew what the woman meant to Andrew. As Thane had known all along, men in love were fickle and foolish creatures.
But Andrew was his liege and he loved the man like a brother. There was no sacrifice too great that he would not make to preserve Andrew or Andrew’s legacy.
He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
*
It was late afternoon and Josephine and Justine were in the kitchen, overseeing preparations for the evening meal.
As the men worried over how to counteract the king’s directive, Josephine found solace in a normal routine, and part of that was the coming meal. The cook was in the process of making cakes in the shape of the de Carron serpent and was entertaining herself by yelling at the kitchen servants. The hot, steamy kitchens were full of targets for her to aim for.
“Now, where is my butter?” the cook asked, fuming. “How can I make the rest of my cakes without my butter?”
Justine was tasting the tangy plum sauce for the cakes and didn’t hear the woman, but Josephine did.
“I shall go to the buttery,” she said.
The cook appeared appalled. “With all of these lazy young things slithering around my kitchen?” she sneered. “Nay, my lady, let me send one of them. Ye there, lad! Aye, ye! Get up!”
Josephine was already at the door. “Never mind,” she said as the small boy struggled to his feet. “I shall return shortly.”
As the cook harassed the boy for not being fast enough, Justine’s attention was on her sister. Josephine had told her of the king’s directive and they’d both had a good cry over it. In truth, Justine was still close to tears. But she knew that by keeping busy, it helped Josephine forget the troubles of the day. Therefore, she picked up her spoon and resumed stirring the plum sauce as the cook shifted from berating the boy to screaming at a hapless young girl.
Outside of the rather loud and hot kitchen, Josephine trudged through the dirt as she headed for the buttery. Given that it was nearing sunset, the soldiers were changing shifts on the walls and the kitchen servants were rushing about madly to prepare for the coming feast. She passed by the postern gate that led from the yard out through the ten-foot thick walls and into the fields beyond. The heavily-fortified gate was open as men brought in supplies from the fields, and she slowed her pace, glancing to the green landscape beyond.
Such beauty out there and such peace. When she’d been a child, she’d run freely beyond the walls of Torridon, but those days were long gone. There was sadness with that thought, but there was also the desire to relive those carefree days. After a moment’s indecision, for she knew she was expected back, she veered from the buttery path and passed through the tunnel to gaze at the freedom beyond. She was aching for just a few brief moments to remind her that all was not troubled in the world.
There was a gentle breeze coming off the rolling hills, blowing at her netted hair until she pulled off the net and shook her head, letting her hair tumble free. The wind tugged at the skirt of her cote, outlining her shapely legs as she took the first bold steps away from Torridon.
As soon as she passed through the gate, something caught her eye. She looked in the distance and saw a redheaded figure sitting under a tree, and a tall blond man sword-playing around him. She realized it was Nicholas de Londres and Donald Muir enjoying what was left of the day. Quickly, she headed in their direction.
The men saw her approach. Nicholas had a quill, ink, and a leather-bound book in his lap, but he rose from his seated position and Donald quieted his swordplay. She smiled at them, slapping her net against her leg as she walked.
“And what might you fine men be doing outside of the safety of the fortress?” she asked.
Nicholas grinned. “It was such a fine day that I had to come up here, away from the noise and smell of the castle,” he said in his sweet tenor voice.
“And I followed!” Donald said wittily, bringing his sword up. “The man needed an escort. Look at him; he’s as gentle as a lamb.”
Nicholas smiled in embarrassment. “Would ye sit, my lady?” he asked.
Josephine folded her legs under her and the blue silk gown bellowed elegantly as she sat on the grass. Nicholas sat next to her and Donald resumed his practicing.
“Donald,” she said, as she squinted up at him. “Your stance is too closed!”
Donald scowled at her, but took her advice. Chuckling at his pride, Josephine turned to Nicholas. He was watching Donald but his gaze seemed to be distant.
“You look pensive,” she observed. “What are you thinking about?”
Nicholas looked at her, smiling with some embarrassment to realize he’d been observed. “I am simply examining my surroundings, my lady,” he said. “It is quite lovely here.”
“My name is Josephine,” she informed him. “Please call me by my name. And I agree; it is quite lovely this time of year.”
Nicholas looked out over Torridon, watching the activity, but his mind was lingering on Josephine. This was the first time he’d seen her since his uncle informed her of his plans for her, and he didn’t want to look at her too closely lest she see the pity in his eyes. He knew about her betrothal to the earl because his uncle, the king, had gleefully told him of it the night before. He’d known much longer than she had but he’d kept it to himself.
Having grown up at court, Nicholas we well aware of the political players and he knew Alphonse d’Vant. He was a beast of a man, cruel and barbaric, and to think of sweet Josephine married to the man gave Nicholas a sour stomach. But his uncle wanted to keep Alphonse and his three thousand man army happy, so the Ayr heiress had been a spectacular match.
At least, it was in Alexander’s opinion. Nicholas hadn’t cared much about it until he actually met Josephine and, now, he felt a great deal of pity for her. He knew his uncle to be a selfish, petty man, but now the man was adding cruelty to the list of his attributes. As he sat there and worried over Josephine’s future, he heard her soft voice.
“Recite a piece of your poetry,” she asked.
Nicholas looked at her, surprised and somewhat embarrassed, as Donald snickered loudly.
“Is that what ye were doing?” he asked. “Writing poems?”
Nicholas nodded hesitantly as Josephine scowled. “Shut your mouth, Donald,” she said, then smiled at Nicholas. “Please? I should like to hear how talented you are.”
Nicholas nodded, quite chagrinned, and looked thoughtful as he peered down at his leather-bound book and tried to select a piece. His poetry was very private to him, so close to his heart. His uncle was so critical of his passion that he was tremendously reluctant to unveil it to anyone, but Josephine seemed very sincere in her interest. He took a deep breath.
“I know not where my destiny lies;
Beyond the blue horizon, or beyond my door; I know not.
Yet I know whatever may come, it is within my own power
To face the throes of the future
With the graceful dignity of the willow;
To bend, yet not break;
To sway, yet not fall.
My body may wither
My eyes may blind,
And my voice may silence;
But my soul will reach beyond the mortal boundaries of this world
To touch the hand of God.
I know where my destiny lies, it lies within me.”
Donald had stopped swinging his sword and was listening. Josephine looked at Nicholas, astonished at the beauty of his words. But somehow, she knew he had selected the piece of prose for her benefit, and she saw the message within it. My destiny lies within me. It was so very true, something Andrew had been telling her as well.
She smiled gratefully at Nicholas.
“That was lovely, Nicholas,” she said. “You have a great talent.”
This time, Nicholas didn’t blush. He thanked her graciously. But Donald apparently didn’t like being left out; he sat down heavily on the hem of Josephine’s gown and kicked out his long legs.
“Touching,” he said. “Are all of yer poems as lighthearted and gay?”
Josephine shot him a withering look, but Nicholas seemed amused. “Not at all,” he replied. “Some are rather gloomy.”
Donald laid back on the grass and folded his arms beneath his head. “I like ye, de Londres,” he announced. “Ye’re not stuffy or insane like the rest of yer family. Ye have sense.”
Nicholas chuckled. Donald was correct in his observation of his family. He looked back to his book to see if there might be any other passages she might like as Josephine used a long stalk of grass to tease Donald. He slapped at it like an annoying gnat and she giggled. Then she beat him on his swollen face with it, laughing. It was good to see her laugh.
“What is yer pleasure, Josephine?” Nicholas asked her. “What do ye like to do, other than annoy Donald?”
She shrugged as Donald ripped the grass out of her hand and tossed it away. “I have had little time to enjoy anything since my father was murdered,” she said. “But I used to like to paint and draw.”
Donald looked up at her. “I remember a skinny, serious young girl who loved to paint scenery,” he said. “And as I recall, ye were very good.”
She lifted her shoulders modestly. “Mayhap once, I was,” she said. “But that was before I assumed the responsibilities of Torridon. I have not painted since that time.”
“I would like to see yer paintings,” Nicholas said. “Do ye still have them?”
Josephine nodded. “Justine moved them all into the North Tower, into one of the rooms,” she said. “Every so often, she’ll go visit them, but I never do. They remind me too much of my carefree childhood. Somehow it hurts to remember.”
“Because ye can never return,” Donald said softly, as if he, too, had experienced the same.
Nicholas watched her as she resumed poking Donald. “Nonetheless,” he said. “Someday I should like to see yer work.”
She thought a moment. “Then I shall show it to you before you leave.”
“Show me now. What else do ye have to do?”
He had a good point. Even though Josephine was supposed to be delivering butter to the cook, she assumed the cook had already sent someone else for it when she realized her mistress was not returning. Besides, she was enjoying the company of Nicholas and Donald.
“As I said, I have not visited them in a long time,” she said. “But if you wish to see them…”
“I do,” Nicholas said resolutely.
Since Nicholas had revealed some of his poetry, Josephine knew it was only right that she reveal her works of art to him. She was a little apprehensive to view them, but with Donald and Nicholas as company, it wasn’t as if she would be viewing her paintings alone, free to relive the carefree days that she missed so much. She would have some support in her two friends. With a nod, she clambered to her feet.
A breeze was picking up from the west as the three of them returned to Torridon just as the kitchen servants were bolting the postern gate, finished with their duties for the night. But they let her in and the three of them headed across the yard and in through the kitchen entry where the cook was still harassing the servants around her.
The bedlam had only grown worse. Children were crying and the cook was raging. Justine had vanished and the cook didn’t even notice when Josephine and Donald and Nicholas passed through. She should have noticed when Donald stole a serpent-shaped oat cake, but she didn’t notice that, either. Donald broke it in half and gave the other half to Nicholas as they scooted out of the kitchen before they were caught.
Josephine shook her head reproachfully at men acting like naughty boys as they wolfed down the cake. They passed through the smoky hall and into the foyer but, instead of taking the stone steps to the living levels in the west wing, she took them over to a smaller stone staircase on the east side of the foyer, a spiral staircase that led them up into a single-level series of chambers that smelled very old and damp.
This was the east wing, one used only by the servants and for storage. Josephine sneezed as they ventured further into the chambers.
“I have not been up here in years,” she said, sneezing again. “I am not sure where Justine put my paintings, but she said she put them up here somewhere.”
The chambers were all adjoining on this level, linked together, filled with servant’s beds, trunks, and other things, old and uncared for and stashed away. Passing through a pair of chambers, they came to a corner room and, suddenly, a gala of color and images confronted them.
There were many colorful pictures lined up against the floor, painted on vellum that had been stretched onto wooden frames. They were mostly of landscapes or flowers, and red roses and fields of white heather danced from the frame. Nicholas took a knee besides a group of paintings depicting water lilies, among other things. Carefully, he picked up a picture to look at it.
“These are exquisite, Josephine,” he said with some awe in his voice. “Such beautiful colors. Wherever did ye learn to paint like this?”
Josephine looked at her collected works; so many hours, so many years had gone into the paintings. In truth, it wasn’t as hard to look at them as she thought it might have been. In fact, it made her long to return to the hobby she loved so well. Carefully, she sat down next to Nicholas as he inspected her paintings.
“My nurse was English,” she said. “The same woman who taught me to speak as the English do. She also taught me how to paint.”
Nicholas was studying a particular painting that had a red flower amidst a surreal background. “Ye have a genuine talent,” he said. “It is a tragedy that ye do not continue with yer painting.”
Josephine looked at the artwork in Nicholas’ hand. “It was just something to become proficient at, and I did,” she said. “I never saw it as my life’s work. But… but I do admit that I miss it. Now that I see my paintings, I long for the feel of a brush in my hand again. There is something satisfying in creating an image from my mind’s eye.”
Nicholas set the painting down, carefully, and went to look at another. It was a tree against a stormy sky. “I understand,” he said. “That is how I feel about my poetry. It is as if my soul is speaking. But it is something I do not tell many people of.”
Josephine glanced at him, seeing some distress on his features. “Your uncle clearly disapproves,” she said. “He seemed very harsh with you about it on the night you arrived. Do you recall? We were speaking on it and he told you that you should be warring instead.”
Nicholas nodded. “I recall,” he said. “He has never been supportive of that or anything else I do. Ye see, I am the son of his bastard brother. My grandfather, William the Lion, had several bastards, but this bastard was a favorite. His name was William de Londres. My father sent me to court at a young age, hoping to work my way into the king’s favor, and it has worked for the most part. My uncle has been kind to me. But he also believes I should be a great warrior and poetry has no place in that world. Writing poetry is, mayhap, the only thing I have ever done to disappoint him.”
Josephine could see how sensitive the man was; Nicholas had a gentle soul, something even Donald had commented on. Josephine well understood what it was like to be misplaced, to be uncomfortable with the tasks expected.
“Your uncle wishes for you to fight and you do not want to,” she said. “With me… my brother died, and then my father, and there was no one else to take up command of Torridon but me.”
Nicholas looked at her, seeing a beautiful woman in a very bad situation. “Josephine,” he said, his voice low. “The man ye have been betrothed to… the Earl of Annan and Blackbank… I have met him before. He vies for my uncle’s favor even though he is an English lord. I know there is nothing ye can do about the betrothal, but I must say that I fear for ye. The earl is… he is not a good man.”
Josephine already knew that but she hadn’t met anyone else other than Andrew and Thane who knew of the earl. She glanced at Donald, who was watching her by this time, his bruised face full of concern. Although Josephine new Donald would never tell her secrets, she didn’t know Nicholas well enough to know if he wouldn’t go running back to tell his uncle were she to confess to him that she had no intention of marrying the earl. After a moment, she dropped her gaze.
“You are correct,” she said. “There is nothing I can do about it. Much like you, I must do as I am told.”
She said it because she wanted to throw him off the track if he thought she was going to rebel. Perhaps with time, she would come to know him better, and trust him, but until that time, he had to think that she was a good little soldier. Where the king was concerned, she could be nothing less.
But Nicholas’ worry was clear on his features. “It is true,” he said. “I… I have not known ye very long, but I feel as if I have made a friend in ye. I do not have many friends, Josephine, and I would be deeply upset if anything happened to ye. I know ye must marry the earl, but if there was a way not to…”
He trailed off and Josephine looked up at him, curiously. “What do you mean?”
Nicholas didn’t want to outright tell her to run. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her at the mercy of such a beast. “What I mean to say is…”
Donald cut him off. “What he means to say is that ye should run,” he said. “He is right, Joey. Run with me; I will take ye away from here and the king will never know what happened to ye. Nicholas will not tell him; will ye, de Londres?”
Nicholas shook his head firmly. “Of course not,” he said. “I would take ye away if I could. Ye should run; run as far away as ye can.”
Josephine looked between the pair. “And what would happen to those I left behind?” she asked. “What of my sister and Sully? What of them?”
Donald was feeling rather passionate about the subject. “They would not be responsible for it,” he said. “Sully is the earl now. Ye gave over yer entire inheritance to him and to yer sister. He has the de Carron wealth now and the king needs that for his support against the barons who are rebelling against him. He would not punish Sully when he needs the man and his army.”
Josephine snorted, an ironic gesture. “What army?” she asked. “We barely have anyone left.”
“What about The Red Fury?” Nicholas asked. “Ye’re betrothed to the man; everyone knows that. Why can he not take ye away?”
He is going to! Josephine thought, but she kept it to herself. She simply couldn’t jeopardize herself or Andrew in such a fashion.
“I am not certain what Andrew intends to do,” she lied. “He told me he would think of something, but I do not know what he has decided upon. Please… mention none of this to the king. For now, his focus is not on Andrew and I wish it to remain that way.”
Nicholas nodded solemnly, as did Donald. Neither one of them liked the future they saw ahead for Josephine, a truly kind and accomplished woman. Nicholas, in particular, thought it was sickening.
“If he needs assistance,” he ventured. “If The Red Fury needs help to take ye from here, please tell me. I should like to help if I could.”
Josephine could sense that he was sincere. Impulsively, she put a hand on his arm. “I could not jeopardize you so, Nicholas,” she said. “Although you are most kind to offer, you must not involve yourself. It would only lead to your doom.”
Nicholas smiled sadly but he understood. He appreciated that she was trying to protect him, but he truly felt as if he wanted to help her.
“At least I would be doing something well and good,” he said. “My life is fairly useless as it is. I am subject to my uncle’s whims, his travels, his moods. I have nothing important that I accomplish. I would like to do something good for someone.”
Josephine believed him. She squeezed his arm one last time before letting go. “And I appreciate your offer, truly,” she said. She thought it best to change the subject considering there wasn’t much more to say on the existing one. “The evening meal will be served soon. I must go and dress, but I will meet you both in the hall. Nicholas, I would expect you to recite your poetry for me whilst I eat. Will you do that?”
Nicholas grinned. “As long as my uncle does not hear me. He says it ruins his appetite.”
Josephine smiled because he was, but she thought that was a rather cruel statement about his uncle. Nicholas then stood up quickly and between him and Donald, they pulled Josephine to her feet. They proceeded to follow her out of the labyrinth of rooms and back to the small, darkened stairwell that led back to the foyer of the keep. Once there, they headed out of the building while Josephine headed to the western wing and to her chamber.
But the truth was that she had no plans to attend the meal that evening.
In fact, she planned to lock herself in her chamber and only open the door to her sister or Andrew. She didn’t want to be around the king in any fashion or discuss the terrible plans he had for her. He was expecting gratitude; she would only give him displeasure. It was better that she not put herself in that situation. Gathering her skirts and taking the first step, she heard someone call her name and turned to see Andrew entering the keep. She came to a halt.
“Greetings, my lord,” she said softly, affectionately. Considering the serious nature of the last conversation they had, she was hoping for a better mood between them now. “I was going up to my chamber in an attempt to avoid joining the king for the evening meal.”
Andrew smiled as he reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Wise, my lady,” he said. “May I join you?”
“I was hoping you would.”
He made a sweeping gesture up the stairs, inviting her to continue onward, as he followed. He held her hand as they mounted the steps, her soft fingers in his rough ones.
“I have not seen you all afternoon,” Josephine said as they reached the top. “What have you been doing?”
“Visiting my horses,” he said casually.
They reached her chamber door and Josephine opened it. “I see,” she said, stepping into the chamber where Ola was over by the hearth, stoking the flames for the evening. “I have been with Donald and Nicholas, the king’s nephew. He’s a very nice young man, if you’ve not formally met him yet. But I do feel sorry for him.”
Andrew wasn’t so sure he liked her keeping company with two young bachelors. “Why is that?” he asked, a hint of disapproval in his voice.
But Josephine didn’t catch the tone. She went about lighting a bank of tapers for more light in the room.
“Because he writes beautiful poetry, yet the king disapproves,” she said. “He read me one of his poems. It was lovely.”
Now, Andrew was increasingly certain he didn’t want her keeping company with a young man who read her poetry. “You will stay away from him,” he said frankly. “No man will speak sweet words to you other than me, so I will not hear of you and Nicholas de Londres being companionable.”
Josephine looked at him in surprise, unhappy with his directive until she realized he’d said it because he was jealous. She could just tell by the look on his face, and she fought off a grin.
“I am not interested in him, Andrew,” she assured him. “You need not worry.”
He frowned as he found a half-filled pitcher of watered wine near the window and poured himself a cup. He simply made a face, emitting a rude noise from his lips.
“If I hear you have been listening to more poetry, I will have words with young Nicholas and he will not like what I have to say,” he said. “Spare him my wrath. Stay away from him.”
Josephine was starting to giggle. “You are jealous.”
Andrew scowled. “Nonsense. I simply protect what is mine.”
“If that is not jealousy, what is?”
He was grossly unhappy with the fact that she was correct in her observations and he was too stubborn to admit it. “Quiet your lips, woman,” he said. “Come over here and sit down. Let us speak on something more pleasant than Nicholas de Londres.”
Trying desperately to stop chuckling at him, Josephine sent Ola for food before complying with his command. But she didn’t move very quickly, letting him know what she thought of his attempts to order her about.
“You should understand one thing, Andrew,” she said frankly. “At Torridon, I am the one who gives the orders. There is no one who gives me orders.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “That is about to change,” he said. “The mere fact that we are betrothed means that I am in command. You shall do what I say.”
She pursed her lips at him, irritated. “Or what?”
“Would you really care to find out?”
Josephine couldn’t tell if he was bluffing or not. She was certain he wouldn’t truly harm her, but a spanking might be in order. To be safe, she stayed out of arm’s length. “I have commanded an army quite ably for the past two years,” she said. “Do not think that you can sweep in and start ordering me about. We will be equal partners in our marriage and we will discuss all situations first. There will be no ordering about, from either of us.”
He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. “A partnership?” he said. “Where do you get these odd ideas? There is no partnership in a marriage. The man gives the orders and the woman complies.”
Josephine grew serious. “Then you do not respect my mind or my thoughts?”
Andrew had been teasing her for the most part – he did mean what he said but he didn’t want it to sound cruel or demanding about it, so he was trying to jest his way through the subject to see how she’d respond. Clearly, she didn’t think any of it was funny. But she had to understand that he wasn’t going to go through the rest of his life clearing every order with her.
“Of course I respect your mind and your thoughts,” he said. “You are very intelligent as far as women go. I have never seen brighter. But to deny my wishes and my commands shows a complete lack of respect to me. Did you not think of that?”
She sobered dramatically. “I would never show you disrespect.”
“By arguing with my orders, you are showing everyone that you do not respect me,” he said. “If my men see that my wife will not respect my wishes, it will give them second thoughts about obeying me as well. It could throw my entire command into question.”
Josephine hadn’t thought of it that way. “I would only let your men see my great respect and admiration for you, Andrew.”
“Then that means obeying me, at all times, without question.”
Josephine wasn’t so sure she liked any of that, but she saw his point. “Well,” she said reluctantly. “When we are in private, may I at least question you?”
He nodded, feeling some relief that he was gaining headway with her. “Of course you may,” he said. “And there may be times when I seek your counsel. But I must know I have your obedience, love. That is very important, in all things.”
She nodded, but it was with reservation. “You shall have it.”
Andrew smiled at her, reaching out to pull her near the fire. When he sat down in a big oak chair, he drew her onto his lap, feeling the warmth of her soft body against him. It was incredibly arousing, and his thoughts shifted from her obeying his orders to the situation at hand. Things were coming that she had to be aware of.
“Now,” he said, trying to ignore the heat blooming in his loins. “There are things we must speak of. The situation is going to change quite rapidly around here very soon.”
Josephine wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tickling the back of his neck. She sensed his change in mood.
“When are you leaving to confront your brother?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not merely confront, love,” he said. “Kill. I am going to kill my brother.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow,” he said softly, reaching up to push a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “I shall leave before dawn and it will take me a little more than two days to reach Haldane Castle. I will tell you what I have told Thane. If I have not returned in seven days, assume I am not coming at all. Thane has instructions to take you to my cousin, Roan, at Castle Questing, home of William de Wolfe. Roan serves de Wolfe and he will protect you, but much depends on de Wolfe. If the man does not want you there because of the trouble you will undoubtedly bring with you, then Thane has orders to take you south to Cornwall and give you over to another cousin of mine, Dennis. Dennis commands a very big castle and he will ensure you are protected. He will not fear the King of Scotland or my foolish brother.”
Listening to Andrew speak of contingency plans made Josephine realize just what an undesirable commodity she would become should Andrew perish in his quest to save her from his brother.
“I do not want to put so many people in danger,” she said quietly. “I could just as easily flee to France and lose myself there. Andrew, truly, I do not wish to put your entire family at risk from the wrath of the king.”
Andrew looked at her, seeing that she was earnest about it. She was so terribly brave, this woman, something he admired so much. But there was such a large part of him that didn’t want her to be brave. She shouldn’t have to be brave. He should simply be able to protect her, always, so that she never had to worry about it.
But the truth was that there was a very real chance that he might not return for her. The thought of Josephine running from the king and from his brother for the rest of her life made him feel sick inside. God, he didn’t want her to have to worry about it. He just wanted to marry her and get on with their lives.
“What the king is doing is wrong, Joey,” he said. “Even if I did not love you, I would still figure out a way to help you. The king betrothed you to my brother, with the full knowledge that you and I were betrothed, so he is the one in the wrong. We are fighting for what is right and true and good. You must believe that. And when you are fighting for what is right, risk is not a consideration.”
He made it sound so very noble. Josephine put a soft hand against his cheek, watching him kiss her palm.
“Had you not come to Torridon, I would still have been pledged to your brother with no one to warn me what a horrible man he is,” she said. “Your arrival was divine intervention, I think. God knew what was about to happen. He knew I would need you.”
He smiled faintly. “And if the king did not arrive but I had still come, would you still think it divine intervention?”
She grinned. “There would have been no need for Sully to marry my sister, nor me to marry you,” she said. “I suppose we would still be trading insults and arguing about who would lead Torridon’s defenses.”
He shook his head firmly. “We would not have been arguing,” he said. “I would have had command and control, in all things.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
Now, she scowled. “You are an arrogant man, Andrew d’Vant. You assume too much.”
He eyed her. “Not nearly as much as you do.”
Josephine couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but the glimmer in his eyes caught her attention and she realized that he was toying with her. With a frustrated sigh, she turned to climb off his lap but he grabbed her, pulling her close against his chest. Before Josephine could utter a word of protect, his lips slanted over hers, hungrily.
Andrew intended to shut her up, and he did. Josephine was caught off guard by the kiss but, very quickly, she responded. Her arms went back around his neck and she held tight as the man kissed her furiously, with passion and hunger that made Josephine’s heart race. When he began to caress her through her clothing, first her back and then her arms, she was hoping he might do something more, although she wasn’t exactly sure what more. He seemed to be rather tame about his kisses, especially when she’d heard the maids talk about how aggressive the soldiers could be. They touched women’s breasts and even put their mouths on them. She wondered if Andrew was going to be as bold as all that.
She soon found out.
As Andrew suckled her lips, his hands moved for her breasts. He was rather subtle about it at first, coming up from her torso, pretending to be stroking her ribs when his hands brushed up over her breasts. Josephine trembled but she didn’t stop him, so he became bolder and put a big hand over her right breast, squeezing gently. She rather liked the feel of it; he could tell when she arched her back, pressing her breast into his hand. When he began to play with a nipple through the fabric, the woman reacted like a wanton and groaned. Her breathing began to come in pants.
Andrew took that as an invitation to disrobe her. She wasn’t stopping him and he didn’t want to be stopped. He’d bedded many women, too many to count, and they were all simply a means to an end – the end being his pleasure. He couldn’t even recall one woman that had been remotely special to him because he simply didn’t have that mindset. He’d never been looking for anyone special.
But now, he had a special woman in his arms and she consumed him like nothing else. The stays on her surcote were ties, and he managed to untie most of them, yanking the cote right over her head. The shift came next, very swiftly. Josephine gasped as he bared her naked skin to the warm, dark chamber.
Quickly, she was up in his arms, and he swept her over to the bed, laying her gently upon the mattress. Josephine was a little startled by it all, perhaps even apprehensive, but not enough to tell him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop. In fact, when he suddenly turned and headed for the door, she was very disappointed. She thought he was going to leave. But she saw him throw the bolt on the door, ensuring their privacy, and her excitement knew no bounds. She knew that her maidenhead, the thing most of value to a woman, was about to be given over to the man she loved.
The man she would marry.
As Andrew made his way back over to her, pieces of his clothing were coming off – his tunic, under tunic, boots, and finally his breeches. He’d nearly tripped trying to pull his boots off, flinging them aside as they hit the wall of the chamber. Next, Josephine realized, he was throwing himself on the bed and pulling the coverlet over them both.
Josephine wrapped her arms around him as he fell atop her, his mouth hungrily finding hers. His hands, big and warm, were all over her flesh, touching her, caressing her, as he wedged his large body in between her legs.
She was simply moving on instinct, obeying the man’s silent commands as he settled himself atop her. His mouth left hers and moved down her jaw to her neck, nibbling on her shoulders, his hand fondling her warm breast.
“I love you, Joey,” he murmured, his mouth against her flesh. “Until the end of time, I will love you and only you. You belong to me.”
Josephine gasped as he suckled a nipple. “I belong to you,” she whispered. “All of me, forever.”
Andrew’s hand moved to her pelvis, touching her where only Josephine had ever touched herself. She was uncertain with it at first but, quickly, she grew to like it. He was so very gentle with her, acquainting her with his touch. Everything he was doing to her was marvelous and delicious, like nothing she could have imagined. Gone were the thoughts of gossiping maids and clumsy soldiers; what Andrew was doing was soft and beautiful. When he finally lifted himself up and she could feel his erection pushing at her threshold, she didn’t even flinch. She welcomed it. She wanted it.
She wanted him.
Coiling his buttocks, Andrew thrust into Josephine’s quivering body, listening to her gasp as he breached her maidenhead. But he didn’t give her time to dwell on the shock or the pain of it before he was thrusting into her deeply, with full and measured strokes. He wanted her to know the pleasure, not the pain. Never in his life had he known such satisfaction. This was more than a primal mating act; this was his demonstration of his feelings for Josephine, of the love and admiration and respect he had for a woman who had very quickly consumed his being. It was more than taking what was his.
It was a melding of souls.
Beneath him, Josephine gasped with each thrust, but it was a pleasurable gasp now. He could tell by the way she was writhing beneath him. She was even starting to respond to him, to move her hips against his, and it was all Andrew could to do keep from releasing himself inside her. He wanted the experience to last, something for him to remember during the time of separation that was soon to come, but the way she was moving underneath him was bringing him to a climax whether or not he wanted it to.
Knowing his release was imminent, he put his hand down where their bodies were joined, expertly manipulating her. Very quickly, Josephine experienced her first release and Andrew joined her, filling her with his seed and, for the first time in his life, thinking on the strong sons she would bear him. Magnificent sons. Lads with his strength and her sensibilities. Surely no greater sons in all the land.
Bodies cooled and breathing slowed as he lay on top of her, he felt her heartbeat against his chest. He gathered her up so tightly in his arms that he was certain he was crushing her, but she didn’t complain. She held on to him tightly as well, her face pressed against his shoulder. He could feel her hot breath against his skin, eventually slowing and becoming more even.
Andrew didn’t even want to speak; he didn’t want any words to spoil the beauty of the moment that needed no words. He just lay there and held Josephine, feeling her steady breathing against him. When he finally thought he should say something, at least ask her if she enjoyed it, the woman in his arms suddenly let out an old-man snore. Deep and loud, she was passed out cold in his arms.
Andrew had never tried so hard to keep his laughter quiet in all his life.