Bedding the Enemy

Chapter Six

Edmund slammed into the town house again. Helena simply shook her head. If her brother ever appeared happy, she was afraid she might faint dead away at his polished boot tips.
“You think yourself so cleaver.”
“What vexes you now, brother?” Helena refused to shirk in the face of his temper. Edmund could simply deal with the fact that she was restricted to the town home instead of the attic.
“You and your dim little view of the world. Unable to grasp the fact that I was doing you a favor by trying to disgrace that McKorey witch.” Edmund surprised her by looking down the hallway. She was used to him bellowing for wine the moment he arrived. Instead he shut the door.
“Well, you will be the one to suffer. Unless I help you. I shouldn’t.”
Dread crept down her neck. Edmund was sober, making his words harder to ignore.
“The king has decreed that I am not a fit guardian for you anymore.”
“Am I going home?” It would be too good a turn of fate, but she couldn’t help but hope.
Her brother smiled. It was a cold curving of his lips that sent ice through her heart.
“You’re getting married.”
Expecting such news didn’t make it easier to absorb. Helena felt the announcement hit her as solidly as Edmund’s fist had connected with her face. He watched her face, enjoyment lighting his eyes.
“Your little defiance in front of the king has netted you a change of authority by royal command.”
“Who?”
“Sir Ronchford.”
Helena gagged. She could not hold it back. Philip Ronchford might have been born into a good name, but the man was rotten. He was also old enough to be her father and some to spare. Keir’s face surfaced in her mind, just as she told Raelin it would, and tears stung her eyes.
“Tomorrow night you will be his wife.” Edmund leaned closer, sneering in her ear. “After all, the man really doesn’t have any time to squander. He wants an heir and needs to get to deflowering you quickly. I understand he has quite a bit of stamina in spite of his age.”
“Don’t be horrible, Edmund!”
“Me, dear sister? The king has ordered you wed. I have done nothing save try to better your lot!”
And the details did not matter….
Helena turned and paced across the room. Her simple traveling dress was much easier to walk in, the wool skirts flipping away from her rapid steps. Which was good because her heart was pounding. Sweat popped out on her forehead and she could not keep her thoughts from racing. The image of Ronchford looking into her bed, leering at her with a mouth full of blackened teeth made her gag. She hugged herself, trying to fend off the idea of him reaching in to pull the bedding back and bare her for his possession.
“I don’t know why I’m even bothering to suggest helping you escape….”
Helena froze. Distrust shot through her, but the idea of avoiding marriage to Ronchford was too tantalizing to ignore, even if she suspected that her brother was scheming yet again.
“How?”
Edmund smirked at her, enjoying the fact that she was waiting on his whim. Her temper rose. She was suddenly so horrified she wanted to throw something at his mocking face. He had brought her to this terrible fate. She snarled at him, shaking with the need to exact vengeance. His eyes went wide but he whispered the words she was desperate to hear.
“Run away.”
He leaned in closer. “I cannot be suspected of assisting you, so you cannot be seen leaving.”
She swallowed, trying to gain a hand on her panic.
Edmund’s voice was suddenly so welcome because it offered her a solution that did not include spreading her thighs for Ronchford in less than one day. She wouldn’t be the first young bride that found herself at the mercy of an old man once the church blessing was given. She’d be Ronchford’s for the taking, and he would take. Ronchford was every bit as selfish as her brother.
“I am going out as I normally do. My driver is trustworthy. He will wait for you by the market and take you to Bride Dale.”
Bride Dale…their aunt Celia’s home. The woman was in her elderly years and never had anyone to visit. It would be a quiet place to remain out of the notice of nobles. Hope glittered in front of her like water to the parched. All she needed to do was reach for it.
Hope took hold of her, sweeping aside thoughts of thieves in the night. The market was only three short blocks away. Even if Edmund was serving his own interests in assisting her out of London, what did it matter if it was also what she desired? What matter if it took her beyond Ronchford’s reach?
“I’ll tell the king that you ran away, leaving a note about a convent. You can return next year, properly repentant of your maidenly fears.”
Helena didn’t think. She was still held in the grip of panic. Edmund promised her deliverance and she didn’t care about his motivations.
“I will get my cloak.”
Edmund smiled at her. A tingle went down her neck but she refused to hesitate. All of her options were grim but there was something about taking matters into her own hands that felt good. Remaining in the town home would see her pacing throughout the night, dreading the dawn.
She would take her chances.


The streets were far from quiet. But the level of noise was much less than during the day. Helena noticed every sound more—the dripping of water onto the cobblestone street or the faint sound of a horse’s hooves pulling her brother’s carriage down the next block.
Her own steps echoed and she tried to place her feet softly. Light twinkled through closed shutters; only a few front doors were lit with welcoming candles. She left the block where their town house was, turning the corner onto a street that was lined with merchant shops. They were all closed tight against the night. It was darker here; the moonlight guided her.
“Well, now. Look what we have here.”
She gasped, but no sound made it past the hand that clamped over her mouth. It was hard and brutal, pulling her back against a chest. She struggled, kicking and twisting to break free.
“Stop your spitting, it won’t make no difference.”
A sharp blow struck her across her cheek, sending a bright sparkling of stars across her vision. She turned halfway around but didn’t stop her struggle. With space between her and her assailant, she thrust her hand out and smashed her palm into his nose.
“Bloody hell!”
Triumph spread through her, but it was short-lived. Another set of arms gripped her from behind, pulling her arms behind her.
“I’ll teach you some respect.” Another slap hit her face. Pain threatened her vision with darkness. Pulling in a deep breath, she resisted the pull, fighting to remain awake. Leather bit into her wrist as her hands were bound tightly behind her back.
“Sure she’s the right one?” The man behind her asked the question. He reached up and gripped her hair to angle her face toward the moonlight.
“Who else would be scampering down this road right now? Knyvett kept his word, all right.” He stepped up close, breathing his foul breath into her face. The silver moonlight washed over Ronchford’s features, drawing a snarl from her lips. Her panic evaporated, leaving only rage burning inside her. She would not yield to his possession.
“Release me!”
He laughed at her instead. His grubby fingers gripped her chin before boldly stroking down her neck and onto her breasts. Revulsion threatened to choke her.
“I’ve paid a pretty amount to have your brother turn his back. I plan to enjoy what I’ve bought, madam.”
Betrayal burned through her rage. Edmund’s revenge showed in the gloating eyes of the man fondling her. She should have suspected, shouldn’t have leaped at the hope her brother dangled in front of her nose. The king would never have ordered her wed to Ronchford as a means of giving her a proper guardian. Not Ronchford. The man was worse than Edmund. She should have considered the facts, but had been too caught up in the whirl of emotions to think before leaving the town home. Now she was at the mercy of the night and the men that crept through its shadows.
Ronchford looked quite at ease.
“I’m going to enjoy these tits.” He yanked on the buttoned-up doublet she wore, the sturdy wool resisting his efforts to bare her cleavage. Her flesh crawled, revulsion twisting her stomach. She renewed her struggles, franticly twisting and bucking to escape the two men.
They cursed, both men howling with outrage. Surprise flashed through her, her mind finding it hard to believe that she had hurt them with her bucking. But she was suddenly free and didn’t waste time trying to understand how it had happened. With her hands bound behind her, she couldn’t run without stepping on her skirt. She hurried as fast as possible but came up short as another man blocked her path. He was huge. She lifted her face, tilting her chin up to find his face.
“Ye have a habit of finding rough men, Helena. I believe I’ll have to break ye of yer need to wander.”
Relief flooded her, making her knees weak. Her lungs burned, demanding deep gasping breaths.
“Thank heaven.”
“Nay, thank the fact that I am nay a trusting man, lass.”
Hard suspicion edged his voice. Soft steps crunched on the cobblestones behind her. The shapes of Keir’s men materialized from the darkness, the moonlight glittering off the blade of a knife.
“Nay, leave her tied.”
“What? You can’t mean that.”
Keir stepped up closer. She caught a hint of his scent and noticed instantly how clean he smelled compared to Ronchford.
“Oh, I do. It will be all the better for hauling ye off.”
He bent his knees and lowered one shoulder until it was even with her waist. A moment later she was tossed over it like a sack of grain. Her head hung down his back, the blood rushing to it.
“Keir—”
A solid whack landed on her upturned bottom. She sputtered, but had to clamp her lips closed when he started walking and her head swung back and forth across his back. Her face burned with her temper when she heard the faint sound of his men chuckling.
Men—they were impossible to stomach!


“What are you doing, Keir McQuade?” Helena had struggled to see the man. He’d placed her right in the center of a bed. It was a fine bed, the blankets soft and rising up around her weight. But she didn’t have time to be distracted by such things.
“Claiming what is mine.” He stood across the room. Two candles burned on the table near him, their light bathing him in gold. A huge sword was strapped to his back, the handle of it rising above his left shoulder. She stared rather stupidly at the thick leather of the scabbard because it had kept her from being cut while she lay over his shoulder. He reached up and untied it. Twisting around, he pulled it from where it was latched to his wide leather belt and set the weapon aside.
“What are you talking about?” Her thoughts were racing and she honestly didn’t believe that she could absorb any more. Especially something like thinking that Keir McQuade considered her his. Part of her leaped at the idea, but her temper was far past being willing to listen to anyone tell her that she was their property. She sat up and pushed herself off the bed. Even with her hands still bound behind her, being on her feet felt less helpless.
He turned to study her. His eyes darkened, his face set into a hard expression. It was a stark contrast to the teasing look she’d seen from him before.
“I didna want to think you’d be so foolish as to try a stunt like running down a dark street.” His expression darkened. “But ’tis a good thing that I set me men to watching the house. ’Tis the truth, I expected yer brother to try to smuggle ye out of the city.”
Confusion swept through her. Helena clamped her lips closed against the next question that wanted to sail past her lips.
Who to trust…
There were too many men telling her that she belonged to them. Her earlier fascination with Keir had blinded her to the fact that the man was every bit as dangerous as Ronchford or her brother. All of them wanted control of her for their own agendas.
“And I was foolish enough to think that ye would nae be so opposed to wedding with me that ye would flee.” Hurt edged his voice but it was the reprimanding note that gained her full attention. She was sick unto death of being corrected.
“I was on my way to a convent.”
Edmund would have taken exception to her tone. Keir tilted his head and crossed his arms across his chest. The pose made him look larger and more imposing. Her gaze wanted to shift to where the muscles of his arms bulged. There was only the thick fabric of his shirting covering it, the sleeves of his doublet unbuttoned and secured behind his back. In the cool night he should have been cold, but he didn’t look like even the temperature affected him. The strength practically radiated off him. She shook her head, refusing to become mesmerized by him.
“A convent?”
“Aye, a place where men wouldn’t rule me.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, curving slightly upward. His arms uncrossed, sending a shiver down her spine. It was such a foolish response, one she detested. There was no reason she should be so attuned to his movements. It made quarreling with the man near impossible.
“Well now…” He closed the distance between them, watching her while he did it. She suddenly understood exactly how a doe must feel when the hunters closed in for the kill.
“If ye were to become a nun, wouldn’t ye be expected to obey the pope without question?”
He touched her. It was a simple brushing of his fingers across the lower curve of her jaw. But she shuddered. Sensation flooded her, rippling across her skin as quick as lightning.
“At least he would be a celibate man.”
Challenge flared up in his dark eyes. Her memory offered up the way he’d looked the first time she’d encountered him. This was not a man who ever gave up on what he considered a challenge.
“I dinnae think ye are made for the life of sleeping in a cold bed, forever a virgin.” His gaze lowered to her lips and her mouth suddenly went dry.
What would his kiss taste like….
She shook her head to banish the idea. Keir’s fingers cupped her chin to still her.
“’Tis the truth that ye are far too responsive to my touch to devote yerself to such a life.” He brushed a fingertip over her lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from her. Her heart accelerated and her breathing deepened. His scent filled her senses once again. It was full of dark mystery that touched off heat deep in her belly.
She slipped to the side, away from his disturbing touch. The fact that they were alone suddenly filled her thoughts. Her confidence deserted her in the face of that knowledge. The heat growing in her belly frightened her with the fact that she could not seem to control it.
“I do assure you I have the will to devote myself completely to what I choose. A convent will be devoid of temptations, making it much easier.”
“Well, I agree that ye are a temptation.”
His mouth touched hers. The kiss wasn’t timid but it lacked the hardness that she expected from so large a man. She jerked away from him but he followed her, one arm slipping around her waist to keep her close.
A small whimper passed her lips. She couldn’t hold the sound back. There was too much sensation to keep it inside. No amount of practice or self-discipline could help. She was overwhelmed. It swept over her, drowning her will to deny what she craved.
His lips toyed with hers, playing across their tender surface, slipping and toying with her until she moved hers. Another hand cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up so that his mouth could cover hers more completely. His kiss deepened, demanding more from her. He pressed her lips open, the tip of his tongue invading her mouth. He was suddenly too close, his body too hard and overwhelming. Need pulsed along with her blood and fear rose along with the heat—fear of her own response to him.
She struggled to regain her freedom but her hands were still bound. The leather biting into her wrists provided the leverage to regain her wits. She felt her skin tearing with her fight, the scent of blood rising up to mask the smell of his skin.
“No…release me!”
He muttered in Gaelic. She didn’t need to understand the language to recognize a curse. His tone drove the meaning home.
“Aye, that needs doing. Here, sit up.”
He didn’t remove his hands from her. He shifted his grip until his hand was holding her upper arm. “Hold still, lass. I don’t want to cut ye.”
He was correct, of course, but her body wouldn’t listen to her brain. Standing, she quivered and fought the urge to move away from his disturbing form. He ended up following her, turning in a small circle when she retreated even more.
She clenched her teeth and forced her feet to stand in place. The cool blade of a knife pressed against her wrist the moment she stilled. The bindings popped and she spun away from him.
“Easy, lass. I’m nae the one that keeps laying me hand across yer face when I’m cross with ye.”
No, what he did was far worse because she could not shut it out….
“I should have run that bastard Ronchford through. Yer wrists are bloody.”
“It is nothing.”
With a frown, Keir slid his dagger back into the sheath that was attached to his belt. “It appears that we are back to disagreeing.”
His gaze settled on her wrists for a moment, anger flickering in his eyes. There were only a few cuts that actually bled. Helena forced herself to stop rubbing at the bruises and lowered her hands to her sides.
“I don’t believe we ever began agreeing on anything.”
He grinned, flashing his teeth at her. “Well now, come back here and I’ll be more than happy to remind ye how much we both enjoyed that kiss.”
“No.”
He lifted one eyebrow and took a lazy step toward her. “No?”
“You heard me correctly.”
“Tell me why not.” His voice deepened and took on a thicker brogue. “Ye kissed me back as sure as the sun will rise in the morning.”
She moved away from him. “I didn’t deny that. It doesn’t mean I want to…to…”
“To kiss me again?”
“Stop toying with me.” She snapped at him. She needed him to return to the suspicious man who had watched her from across the room. This teasing Keir was too hard to ignore because she had allowed her dreams to be filled with him. It had been such a foolish mistake to allow her thoughts freedom.
“I do assure ye, Helena Knyvett, I’m nae playing.” He raised one hand and offered it to her with the palm facing up. “Come to me.”
“I will not.” Even if her body was clamoring for her to comply. “It would be wicked.”
His eyes flickered with something that sent a ripple of excitement through her.
“Exactly.”
He captured her in one long stride, his body closing the distance exactly the way she’d suspected he might be able to do. In a mere breath she was surrounded by his heat once again. The scent of his skin filled her senses and triggered a response that threatened to wipe all thoughts from her mind. There was only his touch and her desire for more of it.
“Please, Keir…I am a virgin.”
She hated her weakness. Hated the fact that her body quivered in his embrace. Tears stung the corners of her eyes because the hands she’d placed against his chest didn’t want to push him away. Her fingertips longed to seek out his skin. But her honor demanded she resist, demanded that she not allow him to treat her as though she was a light-skirt. Even if he had found her in the street at night.
“I know, lass. I never doubted that.”
His voice was too tender, too sweet. Tears eased from her eyes because she longed to just melt against him. She was so tired of standing firmly in control, as she was expected to do.
He cursed again in Gaelic. But he didn’t release her. One hand cupped her chin, raising it up so that he could view her shame. She shuddered, biting into her lower lip to contain the tiny moan that wanted to escape.
“Ye didna cry when that bastard hit ye.” His voice was husky and full of some emotion she could not name. But it pierced her heart. Two more tears eased down her cheeks.
“Edmund hits harder.”
His gaze lowered to the side of her face that was still black and blue several days later.
“But ye shed tears for me.” He leaned down and kissed one. She shuddered, that single kiss burning hotter than a coal. A moment later she was free. She felt the chill of the night air, her body lamenting the loss of his hard body against it.
“I do nae understand ye, Helena, but best ye understand that I’ll no’ be allowing ye to come to harm. My men will not allow ye outside. Dinnae make a fuss about it.”
“But…why are you intent on keeping me?”
Keir paused with one hand on the door. Creases appeared on his forehead.
“I’m nay a fool, Helena. Dinnae think I’ll be easy to bend because yer tears gained ye what ye want tonight. I’ll be sharing that bed with ye tomorrow night as any groom would expect.”
He shut the door firmly behind him. Helena stared at it stupidly. Groom? For all that she knew of the definition of the word, it made no sense to her mind.
Edmund had told her she was to wed Ronchford, but the man had tried to abduct her.
And Keir had rescued her, only to imprison her….
It was a tangle of deception that nauseated her, threatening to make her retch when she reduced every man down to one thing—his desire to possess her. Like a pair of silver candlesticks.
The memory of Ronchford’s hands clawing at her breasts made her adjust her thinking. Not like a set of candlesticks. Yet still the same sense of ownership. Always what they wanted. Always a matter of what she was expected to surrender to their whim.
Behind her stays, her nipples beaded, the soft tips becoming more erect until they were hard with longing. There was no banishing the need. It lived deep in her belly, growing hotter when Keir was in the same room with her. She was suddenly repentant of every time she had thought herself superior to women who followed their longings into the arms of lovers. She had been so ignorant. Perhaps it was wicked, but it was also more intense than anything she had ever experienced. Dismissing it was impossible, but more importantly she did not want to part with it.
Oh no. She wanted to unbutton her doublet and let the air brush across her skin. The garment was stifling, her skin was begging for freedom. More than her skin. Her body clamored for release from the bonds of her childhood learning. Maybe it was the darkness, but she longed to see Keir back in the room in spite of her rejection of him.
Her tears had sent him away. She shuddered again because it was so tender, so noble of him. How was she to resist her longing for him when he continued to act so gallant?
Maybe you shouldn’t…
Temptation was cruel. Her flesh now warred with her pride. She was so alone, she ached with it. Her groom? Who exactly was she expected to marry and when? Sitting down on a small lounge, she laid her head down on its silk surface. Resting in the bed was out of the question; her mind rejected it. She could barely tolerate the sight of it, so she allowed her eyelids to close.
As much as her body longed to lie with Keir, her pride refused. She didn’t want to give him her purity because he believed it belonged to him. Ronchford was that sort of man. So was Edmund and a hundred others who had viewed her at court like a mare on display with her bloodlines neatly laid out to increase her value.
She wanted Keir to remain noble—untarnished by the marriage game. She wanted to make love with him, not part her thighs so that her blue blood might be bred into children who would be reared to take their place. She’d always been instructed on what was expected.
Tears eased from her eyes for the fantasy that would dissipate the second she opened her eyes again. But for the moment, she allowed her dreams to take her away from the aches and pains of her flesh. The longings remained, keeping her warm as her lover held her.


“Well ye don’t look very pleased with yer victory.” Farrell glanced around the kitchen. “I, for one, am rather impressed with the new accommodations. If ye’re going to have to pay the inheritance taxes on a title, at least ye got something in return.”
Keir had to agree. The Hurst Barony came with little. Most of the land was bound to his sister Bronwyn, but the king had settled a small estate on him along with the title. There were taxes due on the inheritance of such a title, but it had gained him a town home that he was not ashamed to bring his bride to.
There would no doubt be wages due the staff as well.
He looked around the kitchen. Nothing was rundown. The long table used for preparing food showed use but not more than any in the kitchens of Red Stone castle. He decided that he did not need to know why the house was in such good repair if the title had been without a lord for over thirty years. It was his now and that was what mattered.
“I need the men to take shifts tonight. My bride is nae to leave the house or send any letters.”
He clenched his teeth, grinding his jaw with the tension that held him. Farrell abandoned his lazy position.
“She doesna want to marry with ye?”
She’d wept….
Keir snarled and poured himself a glass of whisky. Farrell watched him for a moment before standing up and leaving to post the guards Keir had ordered. The whisky failed to burn away the bitter taste in his mouth.
She’d wept….
Why?
The whisky burned but his question burned hotter. He needed to know.
The little drops had stabbed into him deeper than any dirk ever did. It did not make any sense. She’d enjoyed his kiss. He knew the difference between a woman who kissed a man back because she desired him and one who merely wanted to stroke his ego. Being the third son of a laird, he’d experienced plenty of girls trying their hand at deceiving him with false affection in the hope of securing a future by his side.
Helena had trembled against him and offered him innocent little kisses that were enough to burn away any sense of control he had. All he wanted to do was go back into that chamber and kiss her until she shivered again.
The candles had burned low in the bedchamber. Keir opened the door slowly, taking care that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. It was a fine chamber, the windows hung with velvet and the bed canopy made of rich brocade. There was a fireplace but it was cold because the staff hadn’t realized that they were getting a new master.
The bed was empty.
Keir swept through the room, stopping when he found the cause of his mental dilemma. Small wet spots marked the silk beneath her cheek, but the smile on her lips made his own curve up. Maybe he was a fool to care about a woman at all; there were plenty of men who would tell him that.
But he enjoyed knowing she was in his care.
Aye, the knowledge settled a great deal of his unsettled thoughts. There would be plenty of time to discover what caused her tears. They were not the first couple who married while still mostly strangers. Pulling a blanket from the bed, he covered her with it. She looked too content to move and there was a part of him that wanted to join her in that bed too much to risk carrying her there.
He was not sure he had enough self-discipline to walk away.


“You imbecile.” Edmund Knyvett, heir to the Earl of Kenton, felt fear creep into his heart for the first time in a very long time. He was not a man who feared. In fact, he was not a man who worried very often. His place was secured and he had been born to it by divine decision.
“It was such a simple plan. I sent her right into your hands!”
“Well, that Scot took her out of my hands!” Lord Ronchford snarled and reached up to gingerly test the lump on the top of his head. He winced and cursed. “I want my money returned.”
“No. I did what I promised. The money is mine. It is not my fault you couldn’t conclude the transaction on your end.”
“Now see here!”
Edmund hit the table with a fist. His men leaned forward, lending their weight to his side of the argument. “I did what I promised.”
“But I didn’t get to marry her.” Ronchford’s eyes glowed with his rage. He lowered his voice and leaned forward to keep his words from carrying across the tavern.
“Don’t cross me. You’ll regret it. I swear that on my mother’s tits.”
Edmund looked down his nose at the man. “As I said. I completed my obligation. This business matter is finished.”
He stood up and left, never looking back. He was a peer. It was not his responsibility to get Helena to the church. For Christ’s sake, he’d managed to get her to run off into London in the dead of night. All in all, his little sibling had managed to deliver a fortune into his keeping. It was a shame that the king wanted her wed in the morning. With a few more months and another parchment bearing his father’s seal, he might be able to sell her a few more times.
Well, what mattered was the gain he’d managed to get for the trouble of housing her. Maybe in a few years he might pressure the Scot to do his bidding. All in the interest of Edmund using his position to ensure a good place for his nephews at court. Even the Scot would bend for that. Even the proudest man crumpled when it came to his family. Once Helena was bred, he’d have an entire new bunch of opportunities to exploit.