Sixteen
 

One week later, Kenneth was standing under the chancel arch of Coldingham Priory beside Sir Adam and the Bishop of St. Andrews, who’d recently returned from Scotland, waiting for his bride.

The journey to London had been easier than he could ever have expected. He knew it was due in large part to one of the men standing beside him. Sir Adam had smoothed the way, first with Cornwall and Percy in enabling Kenneth to leave Berwick, and then, when he’d offered to accompany him, with King Edward.

Thanks to his old friend, he and Mary not only had their permission, but also a tale to explain the surprise announcement of their marriage. A chance encounter in Scotland of enemies, a secret betrothal, and a love so strong as to compel him to change allegiance. Ironically, their marriage would serve not only to legitimize their child, but also his motives for being in England.

If their story were true, they would actually already be married. A betrothal promise to wed coupled with consummation created a marital bond. But as the church frowned on clandestine marriages, they would have a ceremony—albeit a private one. As there had not been time to read the banns, at the king’s bequest, the Bishop of Durham—who had authority over both Coldingham Priory and the Scottish Bishop of St. Andrews while he was being kept in England—had granted them a dispensation to wed without them. Perhaps thinking of Mary and their recent trip, Sir Adam had suggested Lamberton as the officiant. Since Kenneth suspected the good bishop was still in league with Bruce, he knew he had better apprise the king of his marriage soon. A task he wasn’t looking forward to discharging.

About the only thing that could have made the journey a greater success was if Kenneth had been able to uncover any information that would help his mission. But the single nighttime foray into the king’s chambers that he’d managed under the watchful eye of Sir Adam and his men had yielded nothing of value. Indeed, so far Kenneth had done nothing more than corroborate what they already knew: the English were mustering at Berwick, and the king would follow in the spring. All he’d gained on this mission so far was an injured arm and, in a few minutes, a wife. Neither of which was likely to impress the king or his fellow guardsmen with his abilities. He might be on the team, but until he proved himself he was going to feel like a recruit.

When one of the monks approached the bishop to tell him that the lady had arrived, Sir Adam pulled him over to one side. “Are you sure you wish to go through with this? If you are having any second thoughts—”

“No second thoughts,” Kenneth insisted adamantly. It was true. Although he was still angry at Mary for trying to keep his child from him, and he still had every intention of teaching her a lesson, he was thinking more rationally now. He regretted the threat he’d used to force her to agree. He’d lost his temper and wished he hadn’t put it quite that way. He wouldn’t have taken the child from her—he wasn’t a monster—but all he was thinking about was getting her to agree. That was all that had mattered. Which didn’t make sense. Whom he married—as long as she was acceptable—wasn’t supposed to matter to him. He’d like to think it was about the baby, but he knew it wasn’t just that. Part of him wanted to marry her.

God knew why. She gave him more trouble than any woman ever had before and didn’t seem to waste any opportunity to challenge him. She didn’t fit any of his prerequisites. Well, except for lusty.

With the considerably more pleasant thought of the wedding night to look forward to, he added, “I know what I’m doing.”

Not for the first time, he saw something in the other man’s face that gave him pause. The older knight had gone to a great deal of trouble for them, and though Kenneth was grateful, he’d also begun to suspect why. It wasn’t Sir Adam’s friendship with Kenneth or Atholl driving him, but his feelings for Mary.

“The lass has already suffered so much. The loss of her parents, both brothers and sisters—including her twin.” He hadn’t realized she was a twin. “Having her son taken from her when she was so young, and then Atholl …” Sir Adam’s voice dropped off as if he were struggling to find the right words. “Atholl broke her heart well before he embroiled her in his rebellion. Not even she knows how close she came to imprisonment.”

Kenneth felt an uncomfortable stab. He wasn’t sure whether it was the mention of a husband she’d obviously loved or his own guilt about his plans to do the same. Perhaps both. The promise she’d managed to extract from him didn’t sit well. He regretted the need to deceive her about his true purpose here, but even were he tempted to confide in her—which he sure as hell wasn’t—it was safer for her if she were in the dark in case anything went wrong.

She’d made her choice when she gave herself to him in the library that night. They would both have to live with the consequences.

How Bruce would react to the marriage, he wasn’t sure. Certainly, it complicated Kenneth’s mission, and he knew the king wouldn’t want her to be in any danger, but he also knew that if Mary could be persuaded to convince her son to change sides, Bruce would be thrilled to have the young earl back in the Scottish fold. Thrilled enough, hopefully, to overlook the fact that Kenneth had seduced his “dear” sister-in-law and managed to get her with child.

It wasn’t just stung pride driving him now, but his mission. He had every intention of making sure that when the time came, she was eager to go with him. Damned eager. Over-the-moon-in-love eager. But Mary was proving difficult. Normally women came to him. He had little experience in the pursuit. He’d never wooed a woman before, but how hard could it be?

She wasn’t as indifferent to him as she wanted to think. Godspeed. Her parting words had surprised him. She’d been worried about him. Aye, perhaps this wouldn’t be too hard after all.

For some reason the subject of Atholl bothered him. It seemed once again that he was coming in second, this time as a husband. But it was a chance to learn more about her. “What happened?”

Sir Adam hesitated again, his loyalty to Atholl obviously making him weigh his words carefully. “Mary was only a girl when they were married, and Atholl … well, he was in his prime. He was one of the best knights at court. Handsome. Charming. Everyone loved him. Including his young bride. But he was too busy lifting his sword for glory, and half the skirts of the women at court, to worry about a young girl’s feelings. He found the task of bedding ‘a child,’ as he’d called her, distasteful, but did his duty. After that, I don’t think he ever really saw her as any older. He had his pick of any of the ladies at court, and didn’t see the need to hide them from his wife. I’ll never forget her face when she learned the truth.” There was a far-off look in the older man’s eyes that couldn’t help but rouse Kenneth’s sympathy. But then Sir Adam turned and gave him a sharp look. “I hope you will have more care.”

Kenneth looked away, almost regretting having asked. He’d wanted insight, and he’d gotten it. Profligate. He understood now the source of her disdain and wariness.

But that didn’t mean he was going to bind himself to one woman for eternity. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel so much like frowning. Mary of Mar had certainly occupied his thoughts—hell, his dreams—for five months more than any woman before, but it wasn’t likely to continue much longer.

Still, he wasn’t a completely unfeeling arse—most of the time. He would take care not to flaunt his liaisons. “I will.”

Kenneth could see that his answer hadn’t pleased Sir Adam. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but at that moment Mary entered the priory and all eyes turned to her.

He forgot to breathe. The burning that had made his chest feel so tight a few moments ago intensified. She looked … beautiful. A fey creature. Something not of this world. A ray of sunlight caught her hair in its golden glow, casting a shimmering light around her. Her gown was of such pale, iridescent blue silk it almost seemed to be silver. It, too, shimmered with each step she took as she made her way down the wide aisle toward him.

He barely noticed David walking beside her. All he could see were big blue eyes gazing at him with wariness, and the paleness of her translucent milky-white skin. She loomed so large in his mind, he forgot how small she was. But in the massive church with its high cathedral-worthy ceilings, she looked very tiny and very vulnerable.

She was scared, damn it. And no matter how angry he was with her, it didn’t sit well with him. He strode down the aisle, crossing the distance in a few long steps. He held out his hand, offering for hers. “My lady.”

Her eyes widened a little more at his gallantry, but after a few moments of hesitation she placed her tiny fingers in his. Christ, they were soft—and cold. Tucking them firmly in the crook of his arm, he escorted her the rest of the way down the aisle to where Sir Adam and the bishop waited for them.

Wooing his bride, he suspected, wasn’t going to be as much of a hardship as it should be.

Mary had been more anxious than she could have imagined for word of a marriage that had been forced upon her. Would King Edward be angry? Would he agree? It wasn’t that she was worried about him.

At least that’s what she told herself. But when the note came last night for her to meet Sir Kenneth at the priory, and then when she’d seen him across the church, standing there …

The tug in her chest told a different story.

He looked so big and strong. So handsome. It didn’t seem possible that in a few minutes he would be her husband.

What was she going to do? How would she harden her heart against this surge of emotion every time she saw him?

No matter how open her eyes were, she feared her heart would always be blind.

His consideration only made it worse. When he came forward to offer her his hand—to offer her reassurance—she almost wished for Atholl’s indifference. It was far easier to fight against than kindness.

But she had to admit that the strength of the arm under her hand throughout the short ceremony was like a lifeline. Something solid to hold onto in the daze that threatened to overwhelm her. She might be going into this with her eyes opened, but it seemed to make no difference in the bundle of nerves twisting inside her.

She was doing it again. Putting her life in the hands of a man. Every instinct seemed to clamor not to go through with it. But what could she do?

It seemed to happen so fast. One moment they were discussing the terms of the agreement that had been worked out with the King—Edward had agreed to return some of her dower properties in Kent, which had been forfeit upon Atholl’s treason—the next they were outside the church door, going through the formality of reciting their vows in public (though no one but monks were around to object), and then he was sealing those vows with a chaste kiss.

At least it was supposed to be a chaste kiss. But the moment his lips brushed hers, a surge of desire sent a hot rush through her blood that was distinctly unchaste. One might even call it carnal. He must have felt it, too. His fingers lingered for a moment, softly brushing the curve of her chin.

When he finally lifted his head, their eyes met in the soft haze of morning sunlight. They might have been the only two people in the world. Everything around her seemed to slip away. She couldn’t put a name on what passed between them, except that it felt significant.

Still dazed—this time from the kiss—Mary was surprised to realize the wedding was over. Since she was a widow, there would be no blessing and mass by the priest in the church after the recitation of vows. Nor, given the circumstances, would there be a feast to celebrate.

Just like that, she was a wife, and their child was legitimate, no matter how “early” the birth.

She accepted the subdued congratulations of Sir Adam and the far more enthusiastic ones from the bishop, before turning to her son. If anyone was more stunned by the haste of this wedding than her, it was Davey. She was too embarrassed to tell him the truth. She would. She bit her lip. At some point.

“I know this has come as a surprise to you” she said. “I hope you are not disappointed.”

She knew Davey had thought—hoped—she might marry Sir John. But her son’s expression was impossible to read. His unusual ability to hide his thoughts made her chest squeeze with the reminder of how he’d learned such a skill. She cursed Atholl, the war, and the fates for her son’s stolen childhood.

“It’s your life, Mother. I hope Sir Kenneth will make you happy.”

Happy was too much to hope for. Mary would settle for not completely miserable. “I want you to be happy, too.” He seemed puzzled by the thought, and another stab of guilt struck her. She reached for his hand and took it in hers, saying earnestly, “You are an important part of my life. You always have been, even when we weren’t together. Not one day passed that I did not think of you.”

He looked at her, and for a moment his too-solemn expression cracked. She caught a glimpse of the longing that so mirrored her own. It struck her then that she and her son were more alike than she realized—they were both treading new ground and didn’t know how to reach out to the other.

“I thought of you, too.”

A hot wave of tears pressed against the back of her eyes, and she smiled with happiness at the gift he’d given her.

Sir Kenneth—her husband—had been speaking with Sir Adam and the bishop, but he turned back to her. “If you are ready, we should be on our way.”

Mary swallowed a hard lump in her throat. It struck her with cold reality that she didn’t even know where she was going. He could send her where he willed, and she would have no say in the matter.

Once again his perception surprised her. “I’m afraid I must return to the castle immediately. I assumed that you would accompany me, but if you should like me to make other arrangements—”

“No,” she said. “The castle will be fine.” She’d feared he meant to send her away, and she wanted to be near Davey for as long as possible.

“Very well. I will leave instructions to have your things moved to my chamber. Sir Adam has graciously offered to give us the use of his.”

Mary paled. Sweet heaven, they would be sharing a room! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Suddenly, the prospect of being sent away didn’t sound so horrible. Her gaze went to her son. The desire to be with Davey warred with her fear of all that would come with sharing a room with her husband.

I will not be barred from my wife’s bed …

Suddenly the night ahead loomed very large. Unlike her first wedding, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to expect; rather she knew exactly what to expect. The knot low in her belly tightened. It’s not anticipation, it’s not … fool!

“My lady?” He held out his hand again, the taunting lift of his brow suggesting he’d guessed the source of her struggle.

With one last helpless look at Davey, she tamped down the surge of apprehension rising in her chest like a tidal wave and slid her hand into his. The sudden warmth that enfolded her proved oddly reassuring. At least for a while. But as the sun made its determined march across the horizon, and the day slipped into night, her apprehension returned tenfold. The night to come was all she could think about.

Mary gazed out the tower window into the courtyard, but she could see little in the torchlit darkness. The apprehension that had been her constant companion as she waited for her new husband to join her had begun to wane as the night darkened. It had grown so late, she’d started to wonder whether he would come at all.

She’d seen him ride out earlier with a large troop of men, but had yet to see him return. Of course, she hadn’t been watching for him. She stared out of tower windows all the time.

Although not usually in the middle of the night.

She’d dismissed her attendants hours ago; it had to be near midnight by now. Had something happened? Had he reconsidered?

She smoothed her hand over her stomach, sizing the swell beneath her palm. She didn’t feel overlarge, but she was definitely changed from the last time he’d seen her. Had she become too round? Perhaps he did not relish the idea of bedding a woman heavy with child?

She hadn’t thought much about her figure until now. What if he no longer found her attractive?

She would be glad of it, of course. Not being forced to do her wifely duty would certainly make it easier to keep herself—and her heart—at a safe distance. But relief wasn’t what she was feeling at all. The hollowness in her chest felt more like disappointment.

Resigned to their marriage, resigned to the fact that he intended to take her to his bed, she knew it was too much to think that she could control her desire, so she’d resigned herself to the passion as well. How had he said it? Come. Her cheeks burned, remembering his crude boast. As long as she kept it crude—kept it about the passion—her heart would be safe.

As always, she was determined to make the best of the situation. What else could she do?

With a sigh, she trod back over to the chair where she’d left her needlework. The bed loomed to her right, but she did her best to ignore it. Though it had been a long day of getting settled, answering questions, and avoiding others as the news of their marriage spread throughout the castle like wildfire, she knew if she tried to go to sleep she would lie there in the darkness wide awake. She might as well be productive. Besides, she had almost finished the linen cap for the baby. She’d put hours into the small piece, and it was one of her finest.

Retrieving her glasses, she slid them on her nose and began to work. She had lost track of time when the door suddenly opened.

She startled, her pulse jumping to her throat. It was her husband. Apparently, he’d decided to make an appearance after all.

A blast of heat washed over her as he strode into the room. Awareness, nervousness, and anticipation all rolled into one jumbled mess. Though he had every right to be there, it felt like an invasion. He dominated the small room, taking it over with his mere presence. Given how physically imposing he was, it was strange that she’d never felt intimidated by him. Aggressively large, his muscles honed to a blade’s edge of raw power, he looked like a man who was born to fight in an arena. A gladiator of old. With all the fierce, primitive masculinity and barely restrained fire to go along with it. But it wasn’t fear that was making her stomach knot, heart flutter, and skin tingle.

He was so effortlessly handsome. His dark hair was damp and curling in loose waves around his face. Wherever he’d been, he’d taken the time to bathe. But he hadn’t shaved, and the dark shadow of his beard outlined a jaw that was already too rugged and masculine. He’d removed the armor that she’d seen him in earlier, and wore a plaid over a plain linen shirt and breeches.

Looking at him made her heart ache. If only she were the type of woman who was immune to a handsome face. It would make this so much easier.

“You’re still awake? I thought you might have gone to bed by now.”

“I was just about to,” she lied. “Where were you?”

Atholl had always hated when she’d questioned him about his absences, but Kenneth seemed unbothered. “I rode out with Percy to near Kelso Abbey. There were reports of rebels in the area. There were, but they were long gone by time we arrived.”

“I’m surprised that you are back so soon. Kelso is quite a distance away.”

“Most of the men stayed. But I was rather anxious to return.”

His smile sent a shiver of awareness racing down her spine. Suddenly, she was very conscious of two things: they were alone, and they were married.

Surprisingly, he didn’t press the matter. He moved over to the table where a pitcher of wine had been set out, poured himself a cup, and dropped down on a chair opposite her. She tried not to notice the muscled legs stretched out before her. But good gracious, the black leather stretched over the powerful muscles of his thighs like a second skin! He looked exhausted—she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of weariness etched around his mouth—yet he clearly wasn’t in any hurry.

She glanced to the small fireplace on her left between them, but it didn’t seem to be burning any hotter. It was he. Or she. Or maybe both of them. If only her heart and stomach would stop fluttering. She couldn’t think.

Growing more nervous as the silence dragged on, she said, “I’m surprised they let you roam about so freely.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry half-smile. “Noticed my watchdogs, did you? Aye, well, they’ve relaxed a little. Our marriage helped. Percy is almost convinced of my loyalty.”

“Sir Adam informed me of the king’s embellishment to our tale. They must not know you very well if they think you would change allegiance for the love of a woman.”

He lifted a brow. “And you do?”

Their eyes met, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. He was right. She didn’t know him; she was making assumptions. It made it easier to push him away.

“Actually, I think it has more to do with David’s wardship. Why would I do anything to jeopardize a chance at that? My interests, you see, are in England.”

She felt an unexpected stab of disappointment. “And is that what matters to you?”

“We all do what we have to do, Mary. Isn’t that what keeps you in England? Your and David’s interests are here. Or is it Bruce that you are opposed to?”

“Of course not,” she said automatically. Then, realizing how treasonous her words could have sounded, she added, “Robert was my brother-in-law twice over—he was married to my sister and my brother was married to his sister. I hold a great deal of affection for him.”

He considered her for a moment, but then changed the subject. “It’s for the baby, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to the cap that had fallen to her lap when he entered.

Belatedly, she recalled the glasses still perched on her nose and slid them off as unself-consciously as she could manage. She nodded.

“May I see it?”

She handed it to him, waiting with a surprisingly anxious heartbeat as he scrutinized it with a thoroughness that would have made Master Bureford proud. “It’s magnificent,” he announced finally.

Mary told herself that she shouldn’t be so pleased. But she couldn’t stop the burst of pleasure and pride that swelled inside her.

“Thank you,” she managed, embarrassed by her own reaction.

“Did you really sell these?”

She stiffened, anticipating his disapproval. “Aye.” And she would continue to do so. But uncertain how he would react to that, she decided to keep that to herself for now.

“I’m impressed. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Empathy? That was the last thing she expected from him—and the last thing she wanted. Being so attracted she couldn’t think straight was bad enough. She didn’t want to like him, too. “It wasn’t. But that was a long time ago, and a time I would rather not remember.”

If he noticed the wall she’d erected around the subject of her past, he didn’t show it. He handed the cap back to her. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stitching something for me one day?”

Mary flinched. It felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest. He couldn’t have surprised her more than if he’d actually done so. Pained memories came back to her of the countless hours she’d spent on the special surcote she’d made for Atholl, only to have him toss it away with barely a glance when she’d given it to him. She’d poured all her love into that garment, and he’d rejected it as if it had been nothing. To him, it had been.

Now Kenneth asked her to make him something? For the first time, she noticed not the similarities, but the differences between the two men. Though part of her wished she hadn’t.

“Perhaps,” she managed evasively.

He studied her over the rim of his cup, as if he’d sensed somehow that he’d struck a nerve and was trying to determine the source.

She went back to work so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, but kept pricking herself with the needle under the weight of his scrutiny.

As the moment of silence stretched, her heartbeat seemed to quicken. Her hands dampened. Her throat grew dry. The bundle of nerves knotting in her stomach returned, as did the butterflies fluttering in her chest.

He, too, appeared increasingly edgy. He stood to replenish his cup, muttering something about whisky. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him toss back the cup and take a long drink of wine before slamming it down on the table.

“Are you going to do that all night?” he snapped.

She put down her embroidery slowly, realization dawning. My God, he’s nervous! It seemed inconceivable that this arrogant, cocky warrior with his own retinue of female admirers could be nervous. It was charming—and rather sweet. Two words she’d never thought to use to describe him.

“I can put it aside now, if you’d like.”

All of a sudden his demeanor changed. He swore and dragged his hands through his still damp hair. “Hell, I’m sorry.” He gave her another one of those boyishly wry smiles that landed in her chest with a thump. “I’ve never done this before.” She lifted her brow, and he laughed. “Had a wedding night,” he clarified.

She had, but nothing about that night reminded her of tonight. Then she’d been a frightened girl, ignorant of what was to come, and in awe of her much older husband. She’d been so shy and intimidated, she’d barely said a word to him. She remembered disappointment, pain, and shame.

Now she was a woman, only a few years younger than he, scarred by the past, perhaps, but also stronger. Bolder. Wiser. She was no longer in awe of a handsome knight, knowing there were no heroes, only men. She was still frightened, perhaps, but by the anticipation. By how much she wanted this. How much she wanted him. He had spoken to her more in the past few minutes than Atholl had their entire marriage.

“I should think it would be like any other night,” she said, trying to hide her amusement. “But if you like, we can wait—”

It was the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps the right thing. He crossed the room in three strides and lifted her from the chair to her feet. His arms wrapped around her. “Not a chance, my lady wife. You won’t get out of it that easily.”

Get out of it. As he took her in his arms, and that delicious warmth spread over her, she was certain that was what she should want to do. Should.