Martin led his entourage of soldiers as they patrolled the borders, looking for Scots. It had been months now since he’d had a skirmish of any kind and he was just itching for a fight. What he really wanted was to cross the border and surprise Clan Dunbar. Laird Gregor Dunbar had better not have hurt his brother, Jamesson. If the man touched a hair on his brother’s head, there would be hell to pay.
“Lord de Grey, two riders are heading this way,” announced one of his knights, Sir Troy.
“It looks like they’re wearing plaid,” said Rock, stretching his neck to see the riders coming up the hill.
“Scots,” spat Martin, his hand going to his sword.
“Shall we attack?” asked another of his men.
“Nay. We’ll see which clan they’re from first. We don’t want to do anything to anger the Dunbars yet. My brother’s life is at stake.”
“It looks like one of them is a girl,” announced Rock.
“Rock, Sir Troy, you’ll come with me and we’ll head them off. The rest of you watch our backs in case they have others hiding in the brush.”
“Aye, my lord,” answered his men.
Martin rode toward the approaching couple with Rock and Sir Troy at his side. He pulled his sword from the scabbard and held it with a tight grip, ready to fight if need be. The Scots on horseback noticed his action. As soon as they did, the male Scot had his sword drawn, and the girl with him reached to her back and nocked an arrow in a bow.
“Hold up!” Martin raised his hand in the air. His men stopped, and so did the Scots.
“I can take all three of ye out with my arrows before ye get close enough to use yer sword,” shouted the girl with the long blond braid.
“Aye,” Martin shouted back. “But can you take down the rest of my men as well?” His men appeared atop the hill behind him, their horses lined up in a row.
“We come in peace,” called out the male Scot with the red hair. “My sister and I are headin’ back to our clans and dinna want trouble. But if ye give us trouble, we are no’ afraid to take on all of ye by ourselves.”
“Then you don’t have others with you?” asked Martin, scoping the grounds.
“Did ye want to find out?” asked the girl, raising the tip of her arrow.
“Spring, ye are no’ a warrior anymore,” the man told her. “Ye have bairns at home that need ye. Now put down the bow.”
“Aye. Lower your weapons and we’ll do the same,” said Martin.
The Scots looked at each other and then slowly lowered their weapons. Martin did the same. “Rock, come with me,” he said in a low voice. “Sir Troy, stay here, so they don’t feel threatened by all three of us approaching.”
“Do you believe them?” asked Sir Troy. “How do we know they don’t have an entire clan waiting to attack us just over the knoll?”
“I doubt that,” said Martin. “The man said something about the girl having children. They might just be passing through as they said. I aim to find out.”
Once he approached the Scots, he got a better look at them. The man was rugged with long, red hair, wearing a green and blue plaid. The girl wore a dark green and gold plaid. Martin wasn’t familiar with all the tartans of the Scots, but he was sure they weren’t from Clan Dunbar since the Dunbars had green and red plaids. “Where are you going?” he asked the couple.
The man spoke up. “I’m travelin’ back to my family in the Lowlands, and my sister is travelin’ up to the Highlands to be with her husband and bairns.”
“I don’t recognize the plaids,” he told them. “Which clans do you belong to?”
“Who’s askin’?” said the woman, sounding very tough for a female.
“I’m Lord Martin de Grey of Castle Heaton and this is my squire, Rock. We’re patrolling the borders, watching for raiders.”
“We’re no’ raiders,” said the woman. “What my brathair tells you is the truth. I am Lady Spring from the Highlands. My husband is Laird Shaw Gordon.”
“Lady Spring?” he asked, hearing her odd name. There was only one time he’d heard that name before. He didn’t need to ask the man’s name because there was no doubt in his mind who he was talking to now. He looked at the redheaded man. “You’re one of King Edward’s bastard triplets, aren’t you?”
“Aye,” said the man with a satisfied smile. “I’m Reed - formerly kent as the Demon Thief. We are comin’ from Ravenscar where my sister, Lady Autumn, just married Lord Benedict Grenfell.
“Ravenscar?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was just there as well. I hear the former lord of Ravenscar is dead.”
“Aye, and I hear he was a nasty man,” said Spring.
“You don’t have to tell me. I made a deal with him, and now it’s up to an old blacksmith to make good on forging my sword.”
“Ah, ye must mean Wallace,” said Reed with a nod. “He was once the best blacksmith in all England.”
“What do you mean - was?” he asked.
Reed chuckled. “The man is goin’ blind. My sister, Lady Winter, is helpin’ him in the forge.”
“Your sister?” Martin became suspicious.
“Aye. She is probably the only lass in all of England who kens the trade. Winter is even better than the old man at forgin’ a sword. She’s goin’ to make me a claymore soon and just made daggers for my sister, Autumn, and her husband.”
“I see,” said Martin getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The only girl he knew that could forge a sword was Winnie. Was it too much of a coincidence that she came from Ravenscar and her name sounded a lot like Winter?
“My lord,” said Rock. “His sister sounds a lot like –”
“We’re sorry to have bothered you,” Martin interrupted so Rock would tell them nothing. “We’ll be on our way now.”
He nodded to the Scots and turned and rode. When they were out of earshot, his squire spoke again.
“My lord, doesn’t his sister, Winter, sound a lot like Winnie?”
“She is Winnie,” he growled, feeling his anger grow.
“And you didn’t tell the bastard triplet?”
“Now, why would I do a stupid thing like that? If he knew I bedded his sister, it would only give him more reason to come back with his brothers and try to kill me.”
“You don’t want the Demon Thief after you,” said Rock. “I see your point. Well, look at the bright side. Mayhap Winnie isn’t Winter after all.”
“And mayhap she is,” said Martin.
“If so – that would mean she’s Scottish, wouldn’t it?” asked Rock.
“Nay! Don’t say that. I refuse to believe it.”
“But if her siblings are Scottish . . .”
“The bastard triplets are born from our own English king and an English noblewoman. He’s just pretending to be Scottish. The girl probably is too.”
“If Winnie is a noble – and the bastards are her siblings . . . is she a bastard of the king as well?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore, so stop mentioning it.”
“All right, but mayhap it is just a coincidence and she is just Winnie – the blacksmith’s daughter.”
Martin thought of what Winnie had said to him last night in bed. Hadn’t she told him she was a lady? He had felt, at the time, she was only acting out a sexual fantasy. She’d also said she had three brothers. Damn! There was no doubt. She was the sister of the Bastard Triplets of the king. This wasn’t good at all. “Oh, she’s Lady Winter, I guarantee that,” said Martin. “But when I’m through with her she’ll be wishing she never lied to me at all.”
* * *
Winter had been focusing on her work so intently that she hadn’t even heard anyone enter the smithy. Wallace was taking a nap in the chair, and she had the whole sword shaped and almost pounded out.
“You’re a lefty, I see.”
Her head snapped up and she found Martin standing there. It was near the end of the day and, outside, the sun had already set. “Lord de Grey! I’m just . . . helping my father,” she said, realizing how dumb it sounded when Wallace let out a loud snore.
“I told you I didn’t want anyone touching my sword but Wallace.” He moved across the floor with stealth, almost as if he were stalking her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She willed Wallace to wake up, but he kept on snoring.
“I – I’m sorry,” she said, putting down the hammer. “I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, yes you will,” he said, surprising her. “After all, I can’t have a nearly-blind man forging my sword, can I?”
“You . . . know?” Winter peeked up from under her long, black lashes, just about driving Martin mad with want. But his anger for her deception outweighed his lust at the moment.
“Yes, I know that you’ve been deceiving me.” He was about to tell her he knew who she was as well, but decided to toy with her instead. She deserved it since she made a fool out of him. He wanted to let her experience how it felt in return.
“Y-you do?”
He was sure she wondered just how much he knew. He decided to let her sweat from more than just the forge. Curiosity filled him, and he wanted to know what she would do if he took her to his bedchamber again. He couldn’t really make love to her now that he knew she was a noblewoman, but he wanted to test her morals.
“Walk with me,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her to the door. “After all, we don’t want to wake up your father.”
“Aye, we don’t.” He swore he heard her release a breath of relief when he mentioned her father.
“You could have told me you were the one forging my sword. I’m very impressed that a girl knows the skill at all.” They walked to the keep as they talked. The torches lit up the cobbled stones of the courtyard. He’d been gone long, missing the main meal because he saw to other issues that seemed more important at the time.
“I didn’t think you’d let me do it,” she said as he directed her inside the keep.
“Good evening, my lord,” said one of his knights. A couple of servants acknowledged him as well. He nodded and called out a greeting to some of his men and his steward, so everyone would see them going to his bedchamber together. Winter squirmed, trying to remove her hand from his arm, but he made sure to hold her securely. His plan was working well. It was precisely the reaction he wanted from her. He intended to make her feel uncomfortable – just how he was feeling ever since he discovered the truth.
Having kept it to himself that he’d bedded the bastard’s sister wasn’t easy to do without breaking into a sweat when he’d talked with the triplet named Reed earlier.
“Come inside,” he told Winter, entering his room and dragging her with him.
“I really should be going,” she protested.
“Nay, you’ll be going nowhere.” He closed and barred the door. “We had plans tonight, or did you forget?”
Her eyes flashed over to the bed and then the walls with the erotic paintings. Her tongue shot out to lick her lips. “I told you, I won’t do . . . that . . . with you again.”
“That?” He chuckled and walked over to a table he had set up next to his bed with a goblet and decanter of wine. He poured a cup and handed it to her. “You sound as if you are reluctant to say what that is. It’s called making love – or coupling – or crying out in euphoric passion.”
Her eyes closed and she held her breath. Martin could see her inner struggle starting to take hold of her. Then she opened her eyes, grabbed the wine and chugged it down.
“Slow down, my little wildcat,” he said with a chuckle, gently running his hand down her neck and chest, letting the tip of his finger trail in between her breasts before turning and walking over to the bed. “After all, we don’t want you wearing yourself out before we get to what I wanted you to experience tonight.” He kicked off his boots and yanked his tunic over his head, noticing how her eyes didn’t leave him for one minute. Her bright green orbs drank in his every move.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her curious nature being her flaw.
“Didn’t you want to experience more of . . . that?” He put his hand out to encompass the erotic paintings all around the bed.
“Is there . . . more?” She took a few steps toward the bed. A smile spread across his face as he realized she’d taken the bait and he was reeling her in.
“There is. Lots more, I promise. And I’m going to make sure you experience every way possible to couple with a man before you leave my castle. You’ll scream out in passion, begging me to take you every minute of the day before I’m through with you.”
Her eyes shot over to the wall and a blush rose to her cheeks. Was she honestly considering taking him up on his suggestion? If so, she was weaker than he’d expected. But then she clutched her neckline and shook her head.
“Nay. I can’t couple with you. I have to leave.”
“You’ll stay,” he told her. “I’m your lord and you are naught but a mere tradesman’s daughter. You cannot deny my command since I’m a noble. I’m surprised I need to remind you of that. Now, take off your clothes and get in bed.” He patted the bed next to him, playing his little game of cat and mouse.
Winter felt a heat between her legs as she drank in the glorious sight of Martin lounging on the bed. His naked chest glistened in the light of the candles burning all around them. The room smelled like roses and cinnamon from the scented beeswax. It made her heady. In the shadows dancing on the walls, she glanced, once more, at the naked people making love, wondering just how many more ways there was to do it. She felt herself getting excited again and that wasn’t good. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be tempted to stay. Struggling with her inner turmoil, she forced herself to turn and run toward the door.
Before she could get to it, Martin jumped off the bed and darted after her. Scooping her up in his arms, he kissed her deeply. All her resolve left when his soft lips touched hers, causing her body to tremble. With one kiss from the dark, dangerous and handsome warlord, she had lost all control.
“You want to do it, just admit it.”
“I do,” she said, closing her eyes as he kissed her again. He put her down and pulled her against his erection, almost making her cry out. Then he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his engorged form, holding her hand tightly so she couldn’t let go.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, his tongue shooting out and about making her jump out of her skin when it entered the canal of her ear. “Do you want to scream out in passion as you reach that place that makes you feel randy and yet fulfilled at the same time?”
She felt his manhood throbbing against her palm. All she could think about was how it would feel inside her.
“I do,” she said, breathing heavily, feeling so hot she would pull off her own clothes if he didn’t do it soon. She couldn’t help herself. Lord Martin de Grey had shown her pleasures that made her crave for more. Never before had she wanted something so desperately as making love to him right now. Anticipation surged through her. If he didn’t take her soon, she was going to be driven mad with want.
“Say it,” he teased her, making her squirm. “Tell me you want me and will do anything to spend more time in my bed.”
“I want you,” she said, no longer able to lie. “Take me, Martin. Please.”
And just when she thought he was going to rip off her clothes or take her to his bed, he released her hand and stepped away.
“Nay.” He picked up his tunic and donned it, putting on clothes instead of taking them off. She didn’t understand it at all.
“Nay?” she asked. “But I thought -”
“Well, you were wrong. Now please leave my chamber, because I can’t make love to you ever again.” He slid the bar hold from the door and opened it, waiting for her to leave.
Tears filled her eyes. He was playing with her, repeating the words she’d told him yesterday. She didn’t like this and wanted no part of his wicked games. Turning on her heel, she fled the room. Total understanding hit her hard when she heard him call after her as she headed down the corridor.
“Goodnight, Lady Winter. Sweet dreams, my little wildcat.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her body going stiff with fright. “You knew!”
“I didn’t at first but, as of today, I do. Do not ever think to deceive me again because, next time, I won’t just let you walk away.” With that, he disappeared into his bedchamber, slamming the door, leaving her feeling rejected and frightened. Servants poked their heads out of dark alcoves to see what was happening. Wrapping her arms around herself, her body now shivered in the cold. It was as if he’d ravished her, though he’d barely even touched her. It was her weakness and desire for him that put her in this position. He knew how she felt and he used it to his advantage, playing his silly, little game. She avoided eye contact with the servants and rushed to her bedchamber, feeling like a strumpet instead of a noblewoman. No one would respect her from now on, and she wasn’t even sure if she would be able to respect herself.