Bedding the Enemy

Chapter Nine

Helena awoke tired.
She looked at the canopy above her in confusion, the brocade fabric a stark contrast to the attic ceiling. She sat up and the covers fell to her waist. The morning chill hit her chest and her nipples instantly drew tight. She looked down, stunned by the sight of her own coral-tipped breasts uncovered in the morning light.
“Och now. That’s nae a good idea, Helena.”
The bed rocked and two very male arms reached around her to gather the covers up around her. Her memory returned but she froze when the shutters opened. The young maid pushed the large wooden window covers wide until she latched them to the walls. She dropped a curtsy when she noticed Helena staring at her.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Helena shifted her attention toward the door and found several of his men standing there.
“I suppose I cannae fault ye for nae being accustomed to waking up without a stitch on.”
His own lack of clothing didn’t seem to bother him in the least. Keir gathered her up along with the covers and carried her out of the bed. His men stepped closer, peering down at the sheets.
Of course…
It was a tradition so old no one really knew when it began. Dark stains marred the creamy surface of the sheet. Heat burned in her cheeks in spite of the fact that those stains were exactly what she wanted to see this morning. The maid pulled the sheet free, but one of Keir’s retainers took it from her.
“I’ll take charge of that, lass. It’s going home to Red Stone, as it should be flown from the window there.”
Home to Red Stone….
She hadn’t thought of that, either. A shiver left gooseflesh on her arms. Very soon she would be completely at Keir’s mercy. He was the laird on his land; no one would challenge his word.
Just like Edmund…
She hated her mind’s impulsive linking of Keir with Edmund, but couldn’t prevent her thoughts from doing so. There were many similarities.
“The king expects us to hunt with him today.”
Keir’s men grinned. Several of them looked relieved as well. They tugged on their bonnets before quitting the room. Once they were gone she pushed on Keir’s chest, gaining his full attention. Something flickered in his dark eyes that told her he didn’t care for her desire to be released.
He put her down anyway.
“You shouldna be angry over the sheet being inspected.”
“I’m not.”
She spoke too quickly but didn’t wait for Keir to take issue with her. She walking toward the fireplace, where she found her chemise and pulled it over her head.
“Are ye upset over nae having any of yer family members present? I dinnae think yer brother would attend even if I told me men to let him in. Which I’ll honestly tell ye I dinnae.”
“You’ve instructed your men to refuse my brother entrance?”
“Aye.”
And his tone made it plain that he wasn’t sorry about that at all. She couldn’t blame him for that, but it left her feeling very alone as well as vulnerable. The sheet was stained, proving her a virgin and that Keir had consummated their union, but the only witnesses were men who owed their loyalty to him. He had never given her cause to distrust him, but that didn’t stop her from feeling lonely.
“Does that truly displease ye? I planted my fist in his face the last time we met.” Keir was already dressed. His kilt pleated and belted around his waist once again. He was an imposing sight, the lack of court finery somehow enhancing his strength.
He approached her and her belly tightened. It was an instant response and one that she could not control even after getting what she’d desired.
“Maybe he’ll learn to be more forgiving with his own hands now that he’s tasted what it’s like to have someone stronger hit him.”
Keir touched her cheek, tenderly stroking the healing bruise Edmund had left on her.
“I doubt it. Edmund is a law unto himself. Now that my father is ill, I believe that his arrogance will only increase. There is no one to dictate to him.”
“Save the king.”
Helena moved away from him. Her dress was lying over a table but the stays only laced up the back, leaving her helpless to dress alone.
“The king enjoys harmony amidst his nobles.”
“Aye, well, ye willnae have to answer to him.”
No, she would be in Scotland….
It wasn’t that she disliked the country; part of her was curious. But she couldn’t shake the loneliness from her heart. Every effort had been focused on installing her at court. Now that she was leaving it, she was at a loss as to how to move forward.
The door opened and the maid reentered. Two of Keir’s retainers carried a trunk into the chamber. Helena recognized it instantly. She smiled just because it was something familiar.
“Edmund gave you my things?”
She reached out and ran a hand over the wooden lid. One of the men tugged on his cap before offering her a mocking grin.
“His housekeeper did. Dinnae know what yer brother thinks o’ it. We didna ask.”
A soft sound drew her attention to Keir. He sent his men from the room with a jerk of his head. They nodded to her before leaving, and the maid went along with them, leaving her alone with her husband.
“I hope it pleases ye to have yer things, but I’ll be happy to buy ye whatever else ye deem necessary.” Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. She stared at it, wanting to see someone she might not call a stranger. The trunk was an offering, and one that she needed to meet with her own attempt at forging some sort of friendly relationship.
Tilting her head to the side, she sighed. “Well, I was eying some of those very large hair rolls. Many of the ladies at court wear them.”
He scowled at her. But mischief lit his dark eyes. “Upon further consideration, I believe I like ye as ye are. In naught but that chemise.”
“You want me to wear my chemise hunting with the king?” Helena opened her eyes wide. “I suppose I am expected to obey you as my husband, but…”
His expression darkened. He hadn’t removed his whiskers yet and his chin was coated in a dark shadow, making him appear harder. He curled his fingers into the loose fabric of her chemise and tugged her forward. She tumbled into his body, her hands landing on his chest. Excitement surged through her as her senses filled with the scent of his warm skin. Everything about him was strong and male. It made her aware of the fact that she was female and fashioned to take him within her. It was a carnal thought, but one that sent heat racing through her veins.
“I’ll be interested in seeing just how much obeying ye are willing to do when we are alone.”
“I thought you enjoyed my boldness. Not submission.” She moved her hands over his chest, teasing the ridges of his muscles and forcing her body to press up against his. She quivered, her bottom wanting to curl away from him, but she ordered her body to remain in place.
He threaded his hands through her unbound hair. “’Tis a fact that ye are learning very quickly who I am.” He placed his lips on top of hers. The kiss was hard and full of need. He pressed her lips apart, holding her head between his hands.
She kissed him back, eagerly allowing his tongue to tease her into a deeper kiss. But his whiskers scraped across her skin, drawing a quiver from her.
“I’m going to have to start shaving before dawn.”
Confusion swept through her, and he chuckled before releasing her.
“Do ye think that the only time a couple may lie in bed is at night?”
“Well…I suppose…” She didn’t care for the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I simply have not thought all that much about being with a man. I avoided them to maintain my reputation, even if it is grossly unfair to expect purity from a bride but not a groom.”
She was being too daring. Men never took kindly to women who didn’t accept their authority. Or pointed out that they expected higher standards from their wives than they held themselves to. More than one bride had felt the weight of her husband’s hand for daring to voice such facts. Keir might have treated her kindly but that did not mean the man would be any different from the rest of his sex. He’d won her in a game of cards, after all.
“I’m sorry, that was cross of me.”
“Dinnae do that.”
She bit her lower lip instead of answering. Annoying him was certain to land her in difficult circumstances. For all that they were strangers, the man was her husband and the law favored him in every way. She was his chattel.
“Dinnae hide yer spirit from me, Helena.”
Her eyes narrowed. He drew in a stiff breath.
“I suppose we’d better get to dressing, or the king will be unhappy that we missed his hunt, because I’m going to take ye back to bed in another few minutes of this quarreling. We communicate very well in bed.”
He turned and left in a swirl of wool kilt. Excitement tingled all over her skin, but her temper raised its head.
The man was far too sure of his ability to…to…well, to make her body perform as he willed. It was infuriating.
It was also exciting….
She scoffed at herself. She took a step toward her trunk and shook when her passage gave a slight protest. But lust was gently throbbing in her *oris again. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the details she hadn’t yet committed to memory. Her emotions were tangled. Tears stung her eyes, but she ordered them to remain unshed.
She was a wife now. How many years had she been told about what was expected of her? Keir was not unkind, but he was a man.
And she would have to learn to live with his rule, and someday his mistress.
Two tears eased down her cheeks. It hurt to think of him with other women. It shouldn’t. No noble wife received fidelity. But that didn’t stop her from wanting it. More tears eased from the corners of her eyes. She wanted her gallant knight; wanted a childhood fantasy so badly that it hurt.
But that was only because she wanted something that a marriage could not provide. Such a thing was shattered by reality. Those who loved lost when they gave into lust. The two did not mix.
She could have loved Keir and she mourned that loss.


Rage was strength. Pure, undiluted strength.
Edmund Charles Knyvett, heir to the earldom of Kenton, drew a deep breath and gave himself over to the anger burning inside him. He felt the flames licking along his limbs, burning away everything else. His thoughts were consumed until nothing but white-hot rage filled him. It was perfection. He missed the sheer abundance of emotion when he didn’t have enough reason to work himself up into a rage often enough.
Keir McQuade made an excellent target.
That bastard Scot had no doubt spent the night between his sister’s thighs. The image of them f*cking fueled his rage. The stupid bitch had no doubt raised her hips for his damned common cock. Her womb was now stinking with his less-than noble seed. It was like a disease, eating away at her well-born womb. It disgusted him.
But the rage made every muscle in his body hard. He grabbed a goblet sitting on a table in his chamber and swallowed the wine left in it. A snarl left his lips when he turned it all the way up and the wine was finished.
“Wine!”
He hurled the goblet at the door, his rage making his arm stronger. He smiled as the goblet clattered to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the chamber.
All of his senses were heightened. He felt every little thing more intensely when he allowed the rage to rule him. Self-discipline was overrated. All it did was mask the nature of what he might feel when he was unfettered by the bounds of right and wrong.
“Wine, my lord.” Young Avis froze halfway into a curtsy. Her eyes widened when they saw his cock standing tall. His night-shirt was in shreds because his skin needed to be free when he let himself burn with rage. He laughed at her horror. He could smell the fear on her skin. Her gaze darted to the door but there was no way to avoid serving her master.
“Wine!”
She moved forward on hesitant steps, offering the tray with the fresh goblet up in front of her. She was pathetic, a coward like all females. Their whining sickened him, but his cock twitched, recognizing something of which it might make use.
He grabbed the goblet and reached over the tray to grasp her neck.
“My lord! I beg you!”
She whimpered, but the rage burning inside him made it hard to hear such a weak sound. Taking a swallow of the wine, he dumped the goblet behind him.
“I have need of a bitch.”
He forced her across the table, yanking her skirts up. A bucket of water hit him square in the face. Edmund snarled and turned on the person responsible. Avis rolled over the table and ran toward the door, where Margery stood with a bucket in hand.
“Run, girl! The master’s gone insane.” The door slammed behind them.
“I am not insane!”
He wasn’t…wasn’t…wasn’t…Edmund pulled his own hair, slamming his fist against the closed door of his chamber. He was in a rage—burning in the grip of anger caused by Keir McQuade!
Margery grabbed her cloak, as well as one for Avis. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to flee this house. The evil eye is here.”
They had to run before the insanity touched them as it had their master.
“Run, girl! Run!”


“Now that is a fair nicer dress.”
Helena’s husband sounded pleased. In fact, his men looked pleased with her appearance as well. A little flicker of enjoyment warmed Helena when she stepped outside to join them.
“I must admit that I don’t care for court dresses too much.”
“’Tis glad I am to hear that. Those things would have no place at Red Stone.” Her husband stopped for a moment. “Unless ye wanted to wear them, I suppose.”
He looked as though he couldn’t understand why she would want to. Her hunting dress was far easier to move in. Constructed of lightweight wool, it had only a petticoat beneath the skirts. There was no cartwheel farthingale with stiff boning to keep even when she walked, just a hip roll to help support the weight of the cartridge-pleated skirts. Her arms didn’t need to be bent and positioned perfectly, because she had on only one pair of sleeves. While they were not common, they were built to move with the natural motion of her body. She felt freer than she had in years. Her mother had put her into court dresses a full year before she arrived at court, dictating that she wear nothing else so that she would become balanced and poised.
And all of it didn’t seem to matter because Keir McQuade found her quite charming in her hunting dress. She couldn’t help but enjoy the way his lips curved while he took her hand. It was the sort of honest admiration that she liked about him so much.
There was no carriage today. Keir’s men had their mounts waiting in the small courtyard that sat in front of the town house—large, powerful beasts that snorted in the morning air. Keir reached for one, a huge, sable-brown stallion that tossed its head before allowing his master to stroke its muzzle. Man and beast shared a moment of true friendship that was evident in both their eyes. Helena watched it, staring at the way Keir stroked the animal.
She was jealous.
The emotion caught her completely off guard. She looked away to force herself back into a composed noblewoman who did not care about tender feelings. It didn’t work. She was still biting her lower lip when her husband spoke to her.
“Do ye ride?”
He hesitated over the question, phrasing it simply as though he was a bit afraid to hear her answer. His men watched her, fear lurking in their eyes as well: a fear of getting the chore of hauling a pampered and helpless court lady up to Scotland.
Keir swallowed roughly when she didn’t answer him quickly. She watched the muscles of his throat contract and his lips press into a firm line to conceal his true feelings.
“Of course I can ride.”
She heard more than one sigh of relief. Her husband, on the other hand, eyed her suspiciously.
“Ye’re toying with me.”
She tilted her head slightly to the side. “I cannot help it if you believe all the gossip about English women. If I gave any attention to half the things I’ve heard about Scotland, I’d have fainted dead away the moment I met you.”
His men laughed and a grin split Keir’s lips.
“Ye were too busy staring at me to do that.”
His men chuckled and her face burned. Her husband’s gaze instantly touched on the blush brightening her cheeks.
“We mustn’t be late. The king doesn’t hold his hunts for anyone.”
Everyone found something to do, their amusement dying quickly. She missed it once it was gone.
“Farrell brought ye a fine mare this morning.”
One of his men brought the horse forward. “She’s young and healthy. Built for endurance.” Farrell pulled the bridle down so that the mare was close enough to touch, pride gleaming in his eyes.
“She’s magnificent. You have a skilled eye for horses.” The mare was a lighter brown than Keir’s stallion. But its coat was silky and shimmered in the sunlight. Running a hand over its neck, Helena smiled.
“It was very kind of you to buy me a mount.” She spoke quietly, unused to receiving gifts. Every fine thing she owned had been purchased with the goal of securing her a place at court. There was nothing in her trunk that she valued simply for the emotional enjoyment it gave her.
“I would have preferred to have you ride double with me.” Her husband offered her a roguish grin. “Aye, but we wouldn’t get a whole lot of hunting done if I had to feel ye clinging to my back.”
She blushed again, but this time she reached out and slapped him on the forearm. It was an impulse, one that her discipline should have prevented. Horror gripped her when she realized that every one of his men had witnessed the impulsive, unpolished gesture.
Keir tossed his shoulder-length hair back and laughed. His men followed his example. It was such a contrast to everything she had been trained to expect. But her husband grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. He grasped her waist and lifted her up onto the back of the mare. His strength amazed her. She’d suspected he was strong, but he lifted her as though she were a child.
“I think we may be more compatible than you think, Helena.”
He winked at her. She blinked her eyes because she had never actually had someone do that to her since she was a girl. The footmen used to do it, in a kindly fashion, to distract her from something boring she was being forced to attend, but coming from Keir, it was a very different thing. She tightened her grip on the reins and hooked her knee over the small handle that was placed on the sidesaddle. Her cheeks were still hot and she realized that she was flattered by Keir’s approval of her. His amusement was something to be proud of. He was not a man who laughed with his enemies.
She watched him swing up into the saddle through her lowered eyelashes. Heat traveled down her spine to pool in her belly as she did it. Keir was magnificent sitting there, the powerful stallion suiting him because he was so strong himself.
A gallant knight…
She didn’t chide herself for thinking it. She couldn’t. He embodied it right then, from the way his dark hair curled down to tease the top of his shoulders, to the manner in which he had his doublet sleeves tied behind his back. Only his shirt covered his arms. He tossed his head and cast her an eager glance.
“Let’s ride, lass.”
He kicked his horse and grinned. Helena did, too. There was a freedom in riding that she hadn’t known in months. Keir took the lead and her mare followed out into the street. It was congested by wagons and carriages but their horses cut through the mass of busy merchants and ambassadors with ease, many of them clearing the road when they sighted the party of McQuades.
No…not a gallant knight.
He was a worthy laird.


“The poor thing, wed to a Scot.” Lady Philipa Fitzgerald stared at her and didn’t lower her voice enough to keep it from drifting on the breeze. “Such a waste of blue blood.”
The woman was a notorious gossip. Helena had learned that within days of arriving at court. Lady Philipa was dressed in the highest fashion with no care for the fact that the sky was overcast. The swollen mass of clouds was promising rain. Her silk dress wouldn’t fare very well but the lady sat there in her lace and finery while gossiping with several other ladies. They all cast looks at her, some of them actually wrinkling their noses. Helena offered them a serene expression, refusing to let their sniping get to her. There was another thing she had learned early at court. Never believe what was said about you. If she had, she would have cried herself to sleep every night for a year.
The king arrived with a fanfare of trumpets. James Stuart swept the assembled group with a critical eye.
“McQuade, my friend! I’m happy to see ye and yer bride.”
Heads turned and Helena felt the weight of more stares than she might count. The variety of their expressions amazed her. Some were merely curious, others glared at her with scorn, while still others smiled at the idea of a wedding. Lady Fitzgerald looked at her friends with a smirk and a shake of her head.
The king didn’t allow them much time to pick at her. He raised a fist and the trumpets sounded again. His fickle court immediately turned their attention to following the king. Most of them did not care for hunting, but the king did.
Groomsmen encouraged the hounds forward, releasing them from leashes. The dogs sniffed at the ground, whining and barking with growing excitement. James leaned down over the neck of his horse, allowing the animal to gain speed. Helena tightened her hold on the mare but didn’t pull the animal up. The wind chilled her cheeks and nose, bringing a surge of excitement to her. The party headed toward the woods that surrounded the palace. It was the king’s private land. The party entered the woods and the birds fluttered in the treetops. The trumpets were silent now, the king searching for a buck or maybe a boar. The hounds yipped and searched for a scent.
Knight and lords jostled one another in their attempts to ride near the king. Helena allowed herself to be pushed back, as all of the ladies did. She searched their faces, disappointment filling her when she didn’t catch sight of the queen’s colors. It was to be expected that the queen would not be present in her condition, but she had still hoped to see her friend Raelin.
“I am so sorry to hear about your wedding, Helena. I knew your mother when she was serving the late queen.” Lady Fitzgerald sniffed and looked down her nose at Helena, disdain evident in her expression.
“The king gave us his blessing.” Helena needed to use all her years of practice to speak to the woman in a sweet voice.
Lady Fitzgerald scoffed at her. “You’re very young and impressionable. The king is a Scot and obviously feels the need to give his fellow Scots what they want. That does not make it a good match.”
The king’s party had separated from the main group. Many of the courtiers who didn’t care for hunting had lagged behind and now clumped together to talk while the king ran down his prize. Other ladies joined them, sly smirks on their lips.
“Such a shame that your brother didn’t perform his duty better. I really am quite shocked to see a Knyvett doing something like gambling away his sister. That is so common.”
The ladies all shook their heads. Lady Fitzgerald offered her a sad smile.
“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I do feel that you should be warned about Scotland.” The lady shuddered, her face contorting with disgust. “I was forced to follow my father there twice, and I must say it is a godforsaken place. The men are barbarians without a hint of knowledge of civilized behavior. Their clans are constantly fighting and they actually steal brides. Can you imagine? In this time? Barbarians! I really don’t enjoy telling you, but I couldn’t help but notice the long sword strapped to your husband’s back.”
“Yes…well thank you very much, Lady Fitzgerald.”
The woman looked astonished and the ladies surrounding her raised their eyebrows. Helena didn’t care. She refused to remain near them and their gossip.
She liked that sword.
No hip sword had ever struck her as powerful. It wasn’t so much the weapon as the way that Keir wore it—exactly like his men. There was no fancy pommel on his sword, either—nothing to set him above those who served as his retainers. She found that lack of pomposity a relief, not a sign of barbarism.
The sky had darkened. She rode out into a clearing without realizing that the storm had thickened above her head. The cloud mass was black, and thunder began to rumble in the distance. The few people in sight were making their way toward shelter. Lady Fitzgerald and her companions were already on their way back toward the palace. Helena pulled her cloak over her shoulders to protect her from the wind. But she didn’t turn her mare toward the palace.
She was quite unexpectedly alone for the moment, and that suited her mood. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the woods fill her ears. There had been a time when she was allowed to run free in the afternoon once her studies were finished. Even if it was childish, she longed for a few moments of freedom from the constant criticism—just a few moments to enjoy the bite of the wind on her cheeks and the sound it made in the treetops.
Overhead the thunder cracked again, this time closer. The wind whipped up, bringing with it the first hint of rain. Not actual droplets, but she could feel it on her face and smell it. Her mare danced nervously, tossing her head.
“There, girl. It’s only a bit of rain.”
Helena reached down to pat the horse on her neck. The mare quieted for only a moment before her nostrils flared, and she danced in a circle. An answering snort sent the mare backing away from the stallion her husband rode. Steady and silent, he’d emerged from the woods behind her.
“Ye dinnae believe that….”
Her husband was annoyed. His horse felt it and refused to remain still. The stallion pranced in a circle around her mare.
“Believe what?”
“That Scots are uncivilized.”
Thunder boomed across the sky and her mare reared. Keir leaped from his saddle and caught the bridle with a large hand. The mare was not pleased; she snorted and dug at the ground. Rain began to fall in fat drops that pelted the tree limbs above their heads, filling the air with the sound of water hitting leaves. Helena dismounted as the first bolt of lightning seared across the sky. It was not safe to remain in the saddle during a storm—even the most well-behaved mounts might throw you under such conditions. Everyone would be seeking shelter until the thunder quieted. A quick look around showed Helena that no one from the hunting party was nearby. She and Keir were very much alone. Keir pulled her mare toward the thick trunk of the tree and tied her there. He led his own horse there as well, and knotted the leather reins with solid motions.
“Tell me the truth, Helena. I dinnae want to think ye fear going home with me. Red Stone is a wondrous place.”
And he was proud of it. She heard it in his voice, in spite of the rain falling all around them.
“Well, I suppose I will be content to discover you are not uncivilized.” She sighed, unable to resist the urge to tease him. His eyes narrowed.
“Are ye teasing me, Helena?”
“Possibly. You did appear to encourage such this morning.”
His lips twitched and then rose into a grin that flashed his teeth at her.
“Unless you are going to prove Lady Fitzgerald incorrect and tell me to conduct myself with dignity, because you are not uncivilized, not even a bit. I suppose I shall have to endure if that is the case.”
“Oh, I’m pure Scot, have nae doubt about it, lassie.”
Heat filled his dark eyes. She was drawn to it, mesmerized by the flicker of hunger. Thunder cracked overhead and the storm raged. The elements heightened her senses, the smell of rain making her more aware of how Keir smelled pressed against her with nothing between them save passion. She licked her lower lip and his gaze instantly settled on the tip of her tongue. Excitement tightened in her belly. She repeated the motion, licking over the surface of her lower lip slowly this time. The skin was ultrasensitive, and little ripples of delight went down her spine from that simple touch.
“You cannot think that I believe everything I hear at court. Even if you are my husband. I simply must reserve judgment until I experience things firsthand.”
It was bold. But empowering, too. She felt her confidence rise just by watching the effect of her words on his face. His skin darkened and his lips pressed into a hard line.
“Is that a fact?”
“It is best, don’t you think?” She couldn’t remain still. Too much sensation was building inside her. She could have sworn that she felt the energy in the storm through her skin. Her heart accelerated and her breathing grew more labored. “You wouldn’t want me to believe what courtiers say, would you?”
He laughed. It was deep and husky and very male. “Of course not, lass. That would never do. Ye should experience things firsthand.”
He tugged on the fingertip of one of his leather gauntlets, working his way across each fingertip until he slid the leather glove off. He placed it on his saddle and removed the matching one. The bare skin of his fingers sent a chill down her back. Even with the rain, she grew warm enough for sweat to dot her forehead.
She recalled in vivid detail what those bare fingertips felt like on her body. Behind her stays her nipples were hard and needy. He flexed his hands and her mouth went dry.
“Run.”
His voice was soft but his eyes glowed with hunger. If she had ever believed the tales of wild men in the woods, he embodied such myths right then. He bent his knees and stretched out his arms with his hands curled into talons.
“I cannae chase ye if ye are nae running.”
He dragged one foot across the ground like a stallion pawing with impatience. Her hands tangled in her skirts, gripping the fabric, before she really decided what to say.
“Keir…”
“I’m only going to count to five and then I’m going to run ye down.” He took one step toward her and she broke, turning and running out into the rain. Her heart raced as her mind began keeping count.
One…two…three…four…
She didn’t dare look behind her. She raised her skirts to her knees and ran. The rain soaked her hair, cooling her skin that had turned hot. The contrast sent more sensation through her. The back of her neck tingled as though she could feel him bearing down on her. It grew and grew in intensity until she risked a look over her shoulder.
A shriek left her lips because Keir was almost upon her, his powerful legs closing the distance between them on silent strides. He didn’t stop running; just captured her in hard arms that tossed her up…up and over his shoulder.
He snarled with victory and continued on to a dense grouping of trees. She struggled, caught up in a storm of sensations and feelings. He tossed her down but cradled her before she hit the ground. Her cloak spread out beneath her and he reached for the clasp to keep it from pulling against her throat.
“My prize.”
He nuzzled against her neck, poised just above her. She quivered, her body shaking with need and hunger. She reached for him, craving contact more than she ever had before. She understood what the ache in her passage needed now and it made her too hungry to be docile.
“My captor.”
He lifted his head and stared at her. She reached up until she found the skin above his collar, slick with rain. She pushed her hands along the thick column until she reached his collar and pulled on the ties to open it. He didn’t give her time to stroke the skin she bared. His mouth sought hers, demanding a hard kiss. She responded in kind, gripping his head to hold him in place while her lips demanded as much from him as he took from her.
He pulled her doublet open, the fabric groaning in protest. She didn’t care. Her back arched and she offered her breasts to him. The lace of her corset popped when he pulled the knot loose.
“I’m going to ravish you.”
“Yes!” She gripped his shoulders and cried out when he licked over the swell of one breast. His lips closed around the nipple, shooting fire into her chest. She arched with it, surging up off the cloak. More thunder echoed across the woods, and this time she felt it against her wet skin.
Keir pushed her back down, imprisoning her with his strength. His tongue teased the tip of her nipple, toying with it before he sucked it hard and deep into his mouth.
“Yes!”
There was nothing else in her mind save for that single word. She hit his shoulders, growling through her teeth as she repeated it. He pulled his head up and there was a faint pop when her nipple freed itself from his grasp.
“Yes?” He was demanding but she didn’t care. She needed it, needed to feel his strength. He was part of the violent storm and she wanted to be swept up into it.
“Hard and fast, Helena? Is that how you want it?” He captured her wrists and pinned them above her head. The wind brushed across her bare breasts and nothing had ever sent hunger like it through her before. There was a wildness in the sight of him above her and the feel of his hands gripping her wrists, but there was the secure knowledge of how tenderly he’d taken her the night before to give her the faith to trust him.
“I’ll toss yer skirts above yer waist and sink into ye….”
“Yes!” She was demanding now, her voice full of expectation. “Do it!”
He released her hands and she reached for his hair, pulling the strands into her grasp. He hissed but enjoyment flickered in his eyes. Her skirts were raised with one quick motion of his hands. She spread her thighs eagerly for him, her knees bending, but he pushed them up above her waist and held them. He lowered enough of his body weight to pin her to the ground. The sky shook with another clap of thunder, this one centered directly over them.
The bolt of lightning that followed illuminated her lover. He was savage with bared teeth, but tender too as he slowly probed her open sex with his cock, merely shifting his kilt out of the way. He didn’t push into her quickly. The effort cost him. The muscles on the side of his jaw twitched.
“Keir—”
“Nay!” he growled through clenched teeth. “You’ll be sore from last night.”
She bucked beneath him but he kept her pinned. His eyes burned into hers. “I’m your master and I said nay.”
She snarled at him, but was helpless. His cock pressed forward in a slow thrust that made her whine with need. But he was correct. Her passage protested the penetration, pain snaking through her as he pressed deeper. It seemed forever that she waited to feel full. An eternity of needing and craving his flesh. When he pushed the last bit of length into her, his entire body shook.
“Sweet Christ…”
He said something else in Gaelic, something guttural and husky. She understood it somewhere inside her where words didn’t have meaning. A moment later he was riding her, as quick and as hard as the swirling wind. He released her legs and she clasped him tightly, lifting her bottom to get closer to him, to take more of him into her. Rain filtered through the tree branches, the water hitting her face.
It was pure sensation—all of it. Keir surged forward, growling as he thrust into her over and over. Pleasure tightened under each stroke, pulling tighter and tighter until it burst. She erupted off the ground, crying out with her pleasure.
Keir pressed her back down, pounding his cock deeply into her. With a harsh cry she felt him empty his seed against the mouth of her womb, pumping the hot fluid deep inside her. Another spasm shook her, her passage gripping his length and pulling every last drop of seed from it.
The next clap of thunder was farther away. But she flinched, collapsing against the cloak in a heap of quivering muscles. Keir caught himself above her, his chest heaving.
“Sweet Helena…I cannae wait to take ye home to Red Stone, away from this place of false tales.”
He trailed soft kisses over her jaw and down her neck.
“But you just proved that you are uncivilized.”
He raised his head and showed her a cocky grin. “Aye, but ye enjoyed it. So I’m going to take ye home and ravish ye as often as possible.”
“I will hope.”
The storm was moving on, the rain subsiding into a soft sprinkle. A horn sounded in the distance and another one answered it. Keir groaned. He climbed to his feet and slid a hand beneath her waist to lift her up. Her skirts fell back into place, concealing their deviation from the prim and proper.
But little ripples of delight still moved down her legs, making her knees weak. Keir pulled her cloak from the ground and gave it a snap to dislodge the leaves that were stuck to it. He swung it around her body while she laced her stays and buttoned her doublet.
His hands cupped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. “Did I hurt ye?”
Concern filled his eyes and her pride rejected it.
“You really must stop believing everything you hear about Englishwomen. Some of us are quite hearty.”
He grinned. “A good thing, too, considering how uncivilized Scotland is.”


“You’re insane.”
Edmund slapped the table in front of him but kept his rage from flaring back up. Not now. There was a time and a place to allow the flames to control him. Now he needed to apply his wit to the matter at hand.
“If you aren’t good enough to do the job, admit it and stop wasting my time.”
The man in front of him flinched. But it was a tiny movement of his cheek, nothing more. His eyes didn’t betray his emotions; in fact, the cold gaze coming from him fascinated Edmund. He had so much control; it was mesmerizing.
“I’m good enough. I know just where to stab you and make sure you live. I keep my knives sharp and clean. Only the best steel.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t say I would take the job. You’re a peer. I’d be tortured for attacking you if you are playing some sort of game. And my execution wouldn’t be something as merciful as a beheading.”
Edmund felt his confidence growing. Oh, he was plotting and he intended to win.
“It’s about my sister. I have to get her away from a Scot before he breeds her.”
The assassin raised one eyebrow. “How’d he get her?”
“The king has a soft spot for him and allowed him to wed her.”
That did it. The man narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Even a king shouldn’t play favorites. I’ve seen too many men dead in battles that were commanded by noblemen who had the ear of the queen. Good men. Friends of mine.”
Edmund smiled. “Then we are agreed?”
The assassin fingered a long scar that ran down the side of his face. “Double the price and I’ll make it fast and clean.”
Edmund slid a folded parchment and a torn piece of McQuade tartan across the table. “Don’t forget to drop this on me when you stab me. And remember I’m hiring you to make sure you don’t kill me. Be very sure that I’m leaving a letter with a reliable source should you make a mistake and kill me.”
“I’m a businessman. You shall receive what you paid for: a wound that looks as though you were lucky enough to escape murder.”
“Good. Drop that letter and plaid on me once the deed is done. It will pin the blame on the Scot. He’ll be the one in the Tower and my sister will be a widow before next spring. Once I declare it was the Scot that tried to kill me, the king will have no choice but to have him executed.”
Edmund looked around the tavern. It was the sort of place where men kept a sharp eye on anyone who walked too near them, but beyond that they ignored every face and expected the same in return. No one had names here, and no one was ever remembered being in the place.
It cost a pretty piece of gold to ensure it, too. Edmund didn’t care. He dropped a full pound on the bar in front of the proprietor and never looked behind him. He was confident in the power of money.


The assassin watched him leave. He tapped the table with a finger, contemplating the job. Oh, it was nothing more than a job to him—one that would net him a purse that he could labor for a year and not earn at some sort of decent duty. It wasn’t his responsibility to instill morality in the men who came to him looking for murder. He was just the instrument. He wasn’t a murderer. The men who paid him were the ones stained with that crime. It was a truth that he was merciful to their victims. He killed them swiftly, most of the time before they even saw the knife. There was no fear, no terror. Not all of his clients liked that aspect of his service. God had blessed him with a steady hand and keen wit that helped him decide how to get the most profit. There was no killing if the silver wasn’t there. It was up to him to make his way with the gifts his creator had given him.
It was only a job.