A Taste of Fire by Hannah Howell (32)

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HIGHLAND KNIGHT!

 

“Why have you brought the girl here?”

The hefty Sir Bearnard idly shifted his thickly muscled arm so that he could more firmly hold the limp girl he had captured and warily eyed his liege lord, Sir Charles DeVeau. “I captured her on the raid,” he answered.

“I did not send you out against the Lucettes to collect women. There are plenty lurking about the demesne who will readily serve the needs of any man.”

“We did all you asked of us, my lord. I but found this woman as we rode away from the burning ruins of the Lucettes keep, and I thought she could be used to pay a debt I owe.”

“What debt?” Sir Charles rubbed his sharply cut chin with the long, beringed fingers of his left hand, and tried unsuccessfully to get a better look at Sir Bearnard’s captive.

“A wager I lost to Sir Cameron MacAlpin.” Sir Bearnard frowned when Sir Charles laughed softly.

“Not only is the woman not much bigger than a child, dirty and bruised, but have you forgotten that our large Scottish knight has taken a vow of chastity?”

“I did notice that he has nothing to do with the women although many beckon to him.”

“Well, do as you wish, but I think you will find that Sir Cameron would much prefer the coin.”

“Mayhap if I offer him both of the women.”

“Two women? I see but one.”

“The other one was even smaller than this one, only a child. Sir Renford took her for he has a liking for such tender ones.”

Sir Charles shrugged. “Go. Try your luck. The man leaves us soon. He may be amiable to some bargain, may even know of some way to get coin for the wench. Just remember, if she causes any trouble, it will be you who pay the price.”

Avery felt her captor bow slightly. Her insides were so twisted with fury it was nearly impossible to remain limp as Sir Bearnard took his leave of the cold-eyed man he had been talking to and started to walk out of the great hall. This brute had just tried to destroy her kinsmen and all they hold dear, and now he meant to use her to pay off some debt.

She could not believe how swiftly her idyllic visit with her mother’s family had turned tragic and bloody. How many of her cousins had died beneath the swords of the DeVeaux? Had everything been destroyed? And where was her cousin Gillyanne? Gillyanne was just a child, barely thirteen. All these questions burned on the tip of her tongue, but she knew the brute carrying her to her fate would never trouble himself to answer them.

When Sir Bearnard finally paused before a thick wooden door and pounded on it, Avery winced. Each thud added to the painful throbbing in her head. The door opened, and she softly cursed as the man walked into the room, callously banging her legs against the frame of the door. She tried to catch a look at the room he was entering, but her tangled hair obscured her vision. Then Sir Bearnard tossed her down onto a thick sheepskin spread before a hearth. The abrupt fall left her dazed, increasing the pain in her head until she feared she would swoon.

“And what is that?” a deep rich voice asked in heavily accented French.

“A woman,” Sir Bearnard replied.

“I can see that. Why should you attempt to give her to me?”

“I have brought her to you to pay my debt,” Sir Bearnard explained.

“Even if I was of a mind to take her in trade,” that cold, deep voice drawled, “she does not appear to be worth even half of what you owe me.”

Avery grit her teeth at that calmly delivered insult and decided she had feigned unconciousness long enough. She brushed her tangled hair off her face and nearly gaped. The man standing next to Sir Bearnard and scowling down at her was huge. She did not think he looked so big just because she was sprawled on her back on the floor at his feet, either.

He wore soft deerhide boots and brown woolen breeches on his long, well-shaped legs. His white linen shirt was undone, revealing a taut rippled stomach and a broad, smooth chest. It also revealed that his skin was as dark as that of many of the Frenchmen he served with. Avery idly mused that even she would look fashionably pale next to such a man. There was no sign of interest on his dark, lean face, no hint of any emotion at all. Framed by thick raven black hair that fell in soft waves to just below his broad shoulders, it was, however, an almost beautiful face. He had a firm jaw, high wide cheekbones, a long straight nose, and a mouth that even she found tempting despite the stern line it was pressed into. What truly held her attention was his eyes. Set beneath dark, gently curved brows and rimmed with disgracefully long, thick lashes, were the darkest eyes she had ever seen, black as coal and nearly as hard. She saw little chance of mercy or aid reflected there. Finally, she let him see her fury and watched his dark brows lift ever so slightly in reaction.

“I heard that you and your men were soon to leave us, Sir Cameron,” said Sir Bearnard.

“In two days,” Sir Cameron replied.

“I fear I cannot gather the coin I owe you by then.”

“Then you should not have made the wager.”

Sir Bearnard flushed a deep red. “It was ill thought of me. But, you can gain something from the woman. Use her, ransom her, or sell her.”

“You captured her in the attack upon the Lucettes?”

“Oui, just outside of the gates.”

“Then she could be a peasant and worth nothing in ransom.”

“Non, Sir Cameron, look at her gown. No peasant woman would wear such clothes.”

When Sir Cameron bent down to more closely examine her gown, Avery gave into the rage building inside of her. She kicked out at him, aiming to catch him squarely beneath his firm jaw, but he was quick—alarmingly so. He caught her leg, wrapping his long fingers tightly around her calf. Her skirts fell back, exposing her legs, and, to her dismay, he held her like that for a moment. She gasped in outrage when he suddenly lifted her skirts and peered beneath them, his fine mouth fleetingly curving in the semblance of a smile.

“Braies,” he murmured.

Sir Bearnard chanced a quick look before Sir Cameron dropped her skirts back down. “Strange attire for a woman.”

“So, you have not tasted of the gift you try to give to me,” said Sir Cameron.

“Non, I swear it. I took her only to pay my debt to you.”

Sir Cameron still crouched near her, still held her leg. He moved his left hand over her leg while holding it steady in his right. Avery seethed, her fury intensified by her helplessness. The man handled her as if she were a horse he was about to buy. What held her tense and afraid, however, was not offended modesty, but the fear of discovery. A moment later his long fingers slid up high enough to brush against the dagger sheath strapped to her upper thigh. She cursed. When he looked at her, his dark eyes briefly lightened by what appeared to be amusement, she just glared at him.

“I believe you, Sir Bearnard,” Sir Cameron drawled as he removed her dagger from its sheath, released her leg, and stood up.

“Merde.” Sir Bearnard shook his head. Never thought to search her for weapons. Just a woman, after all.”

Avery kicked out at Sir Bearnard, but he quickly moved out of her reach, and she tugged her skirts back down. As Sir Cameron studied her weapon, the hint of a frown upon his face, a youth stepped over to him. She judged him to be about her age, eighteen or younger. He was as red as Sir Cameron was dark, tall and almost too thin.

“Cameron, that is a . . .” the boy said in English, staring at the dagger and then at Avery in wide-eyed surprise.

“I ken it, Donald,” Sir Cameron said in the same language, cutting off the boy’s words.

Donald continued to stare at Avery and whispered, “She has eyes like a cat.”

“Aye, and I begin to think she can be as feral as the worst of that breed.” Cameron scowled at the door when someone began to pound on it. “I suddenly become most sought after,” he murmured in French, glancing at Sir Bearnard.

“Bearnard, you fat bastard! I know you are in there,” bellowed a deep voice.

“Ah, it is for you.” Cameron nodded at Sir Bearnard. “Better find out what the man wants.”

“Have I paid my debt?” Sir Bearnard asked.

“I am still considering the matter.”

Sir Bearnard strode over to open the door and a large, brown-haired man stomped into the room, but Avery was only interested in the small, thin girl he dragged in with him. “Gillyanne,” she cried and started to move, only to be held in place by Sir Cameron who gently but firmly planted one booted foot on her chest.

“You can have this little bitch back,” Sir Renford growled, shoving Gillyanne toward Sir Bearnard. “She is diseased.”

After one look at Gillyanne, Sir Bearnard hastily stepped away from her, his hands held out wide to avoid accidently touching her. Gillyanne ignored both men and raced toward Avery. The girl came to an abrupt halt, squeaking slightly in fright, when Cameron drew his sword and pointed it at her.

“Ye would kill a bairn?” Avery demanded, too afraid for Gillyanne to be quiet or even play at being French any longer.

“She is diseased,” Cameron said.

Avery stared at Gillyanne and slowly smiled. The girl’s fair skin was covered with blotches, welts and spots. Her faintly mismatched eyes were puffy and reddened.

“Strawberries?” she asked her cousin. “He gave you strawberries?”

“Aye. Weel, nay,” Gillyanne replied. “He had some in his chambers and, when he wasnae looking, I shoved a few down my gullet.”

Cameron hesitated one more moment then sheathed his sword. “So, ’twas a trick.” He took his foot off Avery’s chest and frowned when the young girl threw herself into the slender woman’s arms. “A deceit.”

“Ye would think it more honorable if she allowed that French swine to rape her?” Avery snapped.

“She is just a bairn,” muttered Donald, glancing toward Sir Renford with ill-hidden disgust.

“They speak English,” said Sir Bearnard as he shut the door behind a cursing, departing Sir Renford.

“It would appear so,” Sir Cameron replied. “I believe they may even be from Scotland.”

“The Lucettes have a kinswoman in Scotland. Um, is it a good idea to let that diseased child touch the woman?”

“Do you fear her worth will be lessened? Do not. What ails the child cannot be caught by others.”

“Will you take them both in payment then?”

“I do not have much choice, do I? If they do not gain me anything, I can always find you again, can I not?”

Avery was a little surprised to see Sir Bearnard pale and nod jerkily as he said, “God speed you on your journey home, Sir Cameron.”

“A Scot,” Gillyanne whispered as Sir Cameron escorted Sir Bearnard to the door. “We are safe now?”

“I am nay sure,” Avery whispered back. “He has accepted us in payment for a lost wager. That doesnae speak too weel of the mon. He doesnae look to be a verra safe mon, either. And, there is something about the name MacAlpin which troubles me, but I cannae recall what it is.” The door shut behind Sir Bearnard and Avery lightly touched her cousin’s face. “Will this soon ease?”

“Aye. It just itches.”

“Let me do the talking,” Avery advised as Mungo strode back toward her.

Cameron stared down at the two tiny females he had just been given. He found the whole matter of bartering women very distasteful, but had realized long ago that he was one of few. The men he had been fighting with for the last three years had proven to have very little in common with him. He and his men had become increasingly isolated from the others they rode with and that caused its own problems. Cameron just wished he had not had one final difficulty thrust in his way before he could reach Scotland, home, and, God willing, some peace.

The one he had been given first caused him the most unease. She was disheveled, dirty, and did not seem to possess the maidenly decency to be afraid. She wore braies and carried a dagger strapped to her lovely thigh. He found her both beautiful and intriguing and that alarmed him. It had taken most of his eight and twenty years to understand that women who stirred his lust brought him nothing but trouble. He did not appreciate this tiny golden-eyed woman reviving the fevers he had kept so tightly controlled for nearly three years. Not once in those long, cold years had he wavered in his self-enforced celibacy, but he was certainly wavering now.

Looking her over carefully, he tried to find something that explained why he was suddenly taut and aching, the blood pounding in his veins. She was tiny, would probably just reach his chest. She was also slender, not the lush-figured sort he had always reached for in the past. Her breasts were small, but high, firm, and temptingly shaped. She had a very tiny waist and gently curved hips. He knew well that she had beautiful, slender, and surprisingly long legs. That faint golden tone to her skin covered her whole lithe body. Donald was right. She did have eyes like a cat. They were not only a golden amber color, but vaguely tilted, enhancing their feline appearance. Set beneath dark, faintly winged brows, and encircled by long, dark lashes, they filled her small heart-shaped face. A small straight nose led to a full mouth. It was all nearly swamped by heavy waves of golden brown hair that were flavored with glimpses of red and hung past her hips.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, Cameron rubbed the back of his neck and inwardly grimaced. She was a golden woman from the tip of her wild hair to her small dainty feet. He could argue with himself until his tongue fell out, but he could not deny that she was exquisite. If he was going to hold to his vow of celibacy, he was going to have to stay very far away from her, something that could prove impossible as they traveled to Scotland.

“Who are ye?” he demanded.

Avery briefly contemplated lying then decided it would serve little purpose. If nothing else, Gillyanne would not be able to hold to the lie for very long, being too young to indulge in any long or complicated deceit. “I am Avery Murray, daughter of Sir Nigel Murray and Lady Gisele. One of the Murrays of Donncoill. This is my cousin Gillyanne Murray, daughter of Sir Eric and Lady Bethia Murray of Dubhlinn.” She frowned when his expression changed from stunned surprise to hard anger in little more than a heartbeat.

“Cameron, wasnae it one of the Murrays who,” began Donald.

“Aye, it was a Murray,” Cameron growled as he grabbed Avery by one slim arm and yanked her to her feet. “Do ye ken one certain Sir Payton Murray, mistress?”

“He is my brother,” she replied, wondering what Payton could possibly have done to so enrage this man. She leaned away from him, feeling a sharp stab of fear when he finally smiled, a cold, hard smile.

“Mayhap old Bearnard has indeed fully repaid his debt to me.”

“My family and Gillyanne’s will pay ye verra weel to return us safely to our homes.”

“Oh, aye, they will certainly pay. ’Tis clear that fate smiles upon me at last. I am given one lass to ransom, and some fool I bested at dice has paid me with the sister of the slinking, cowardly bastard who raped my sister.”

Avery gaped at the man, stunned by his insulting accusation, then pure rage swept over her. She called him a foul name, balled up one small fist, and punched him in the mouth. He bellowed a curse, but her attack and his lack of preparation caused him to stumble backward. A small stool caught him sharply in the back of his calves. He fell backward, taking her down with him. Avery landed on top of him so hard she felt winded, but she did not hesitate to grab his thick hair in both hands and bang his head against the floor. She hung on until the grip he had on her wrists grew too painful to bear, then abruptly released him. He let go of her to rub his abused head, and she took quick advantage of her freedom. Even as she started to get to her feet, she punched him in the face again. She leapt to her feet and started to run, but he grabbed her skirts, yanking sharply.

A curse escaped Avery as she hit the floor hard. She quickly turned onto her back and, seeing that he was moving to try and pin her down with his body, she kicked him in the face. He cursed but kept on coming. Twisting, kicking, and pummeling him with her fists, she did her utmost to prevent him from pinning her to the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, Avery saw a flash of movement. A moment later, Gillyanne was on the man’s back, her thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Avery punched Sir Cameron yet again as Gillyanne struggled to yank his head back.

“Donald!” Sir Cameron bellowed. “Get this hellborn child off me!”

It did not take Donald long to pull the tiny, cursing Gillyanne off Sir Cameron. It took even less time for Sir Mungo to firmly pin Avery down. She glared at him even as she realized that he had obviously done all he could not to seriously hurt her. That was a revelation she could ponder later, she decided.

“My brother is no rapist,” she snapped.

“My sister says he is,” Cameron replied in a cold, tight voice as he yanked her to her feet, her wrists held tightly in one big hand.

“And ye heard that false claim all the way here where ye serve these murdering swine, the DeVeaux?”

The way she said the name DeVeau, as if it was the most heinous of curses, interested him, but Cameron decided he would have to wait to satisfy his curiosity about that. “My cousin Iain, who acts as laird of Cairnmoor in my stead, sent a runner to tell me the news. It has taken me a fortnight to clear myself of all obligation, but I am finally able to go home to deal with the matter.”

Suddenly, Avery recalled where she had heard recently the name MacAlpin. She had read it in the last letter sent from home. Her mother had referred to a small confusion that needed to be cleared away between the MacAlpins and the Murrays. Since her mother had then gently hinted that she and Gillyanne might wish to linger with her French cousins, Avery had been writing back to ask exactly what a small confusion was when the attack by the DeVeaux had come. Now she knew and now she fully understood her mother wanting her and Gillyanne to stay where they were. The rape of a laird’s kinswoman was a serious crime, one that led to bloody battles over offended honor, one that could easily lead to a long, deadly feud.

“Have ye e’er met my brother or any of my family?” she demanded.

“I met Sir Balfour Murray at court once,” Cameron replied as he dragged her over to the bed and picked up a set of wrist manacles from atop a large chest.

Diverted for a moment, Avery looked at him as he manacled her to the thick wooden bedpost. “Manacles at your bedside? Have trouble keeping the lasses in your bed, do ye?” She heard Donald gasp and saw a slight flush rise and fall beneath Cameron’s dark skin, then wondered if it was particularly wise to so enrage her captor.

“I bought them to take back to Cairnmoor for they are stronger yet kinder than the ones we use there,” he spat out between clenched teeth, wondering why he felt compelled to explain himself to the impertinent woman.

She just shrugged and set her mind back on the crime he accused her brother of. “And just where was my brother supposed to have commited this heinous crime against your sister and your clan?”

“At court. Iain and my aunt took my sister there to try and arrange a marriage for her.”

“And why wasnae this trouble sorted out there where the king himself may have aided in the settling of it?”

“Because my sister didnae say anything until they had all returned to Cairnmoor. They pressed her to accept a match with Sir Malcolm Cameron, but she kept refusing. Finally, she told them that she could marry no mon for your brother had stolen her chastity. If that was nay crime enough, she believes he has left her with child. Iain tried to settle the matter quickly and peacefully, but your brother denies the charge and refuses to wed my sister.”

“Ye surely havenae met my cousin Payton then,” said Gillyanne. “He doesnae need to steal anything from a lass.”

“Aye,” agreed Avery. “Why should a mon exert himself to steal something that is offered to him by so many others, willingly and often?”

“Oh? And why should a lass shame herself with such a lie?”

“I dinnae ken. I have ne’er met your sister.”

“And I think ye are blinded to the mon your brother is.” He grabbed Gillyanne by the arm and started toward the door.

“Where are ye taking my cousin?” Avery made an instinctive move to go after him and cursed when she was roughly yanked back by the manacle on her wrist.

“I am taking her to get clean. Come along, Donald. I will send someone with water for ye to bathe and a clean gown,” he added, giving Avery a brief, contemptuous glance.

“How can I bathe and dress when I am chained?”

“Ye seem to be a clever lass. I am certain ye will think of something.”