His Stolen Bride BN Page 12

“’Tis only until I launch the boat.”

  His boat, he wanted to hide it. And she wanted light.

  But she wanted freedom more, and could not vie for it until they reached the mainland. Though it chafed her pride and her courage to do so, Averyl bowed her head. No need to alert Locke to her plan. Besides, after today, she would have no need to learn where he’d hidden the vessel.

  Semi-dark settled over her as the blindfolded settled across her face. He left it surprisingly loose. Golden sun seeped in from the top, kissed her cheeks with warmth. Averyl sensed Drake close behind. And though such did not follow logic, the fear did not seize her when he stood near.

  Drake helped her into the boat and heaved it into the sea. Within moments, the water lapped around the small craft as the breeze blew strands of her hair with summer and salt.

  She felt his touch on her face, at the back of her head. Her heart picked up speed at his nearness. Then he lifted the blindfold away and cast her a searching gaze, real concern in his rich earth-brown eyes.

  Knowing not what to say, Averyl nodded and looked away to the island retreating in the distance. It rose up from the sea, an abrupt cliff on one side, a rolling shore on the other. Green and mist-enshrouded, standing stones a tribute to its pagan past, the isle seemed a place of mystery, of secrets. The perfect retreat for a man like Drake.

  Riding the choppy waves of breeze-blown water, Averyl calmed her roiling stomach with deep breaths of salty air and thoughts of escape. The rhythmic swish of Drake’s oar through the sharp sway of the blue-gray waves brought her ever closer to freedom.

  When the movement stopped and Drake disembarked on soft-packed earth, she strained to see or hear anything that would help her gain her bearings. Only Drake’s footsteps sounded in the mist-damp silence. A small, still town lazed nearby.

  After disembarking, Averyl studied the greenery and quaint cottages about. The air smelled of fish, pungent and strong. She made a mental note that Murdoch—and freedom—lay to the east.

  Almost no one inhabited the streets. Where would everyone be on such a bonny day?

  Before she could look about much, Drake gripped her hand, and not out of any affection, Averyl knew. As they walked through the clachan, passing several children who scampered about, chasing a yapping puppy, she searched her surroundings for an escape route. He squeezed her hand tighter and sent her a warning stare. Cursing beneath her breath, Averyl knew she had little choice but to wait to make good her escape.

  When they came to the back of a tiny inn minutes later, Averyl shot him a questioning glance.

  “We will spend the night here,” he said. “I call many in this clachan a friend. No one will aid your escape.”

  “I had no such plans,” she protested in a voice she hoped carried innocence.

  He scowled. “You ought not to lie unless you do it well.”

  With that mocking advice, he knocked on the door. In seconds, a balding, dark-haired man answered. His cheeky, redheaded wife stood behind him, gasping with excitement.

  Drake greeted, “Gordan, my friend. ’Tis good to see you.”

  The older man bellowed a hearty welcome. “Aye, and ye, too.” The two men shook hands, then Gordan clapped Drake on the back. “Edina said just yesterday ’tis been far too long since ye visited.”

  “It has been. I apologize, Mrs. Gibson.” Drake regarded the innkeeper’s wife. “’Twas kind of you to miss me.”

  The plump Mrs. Gibson blushed and waved his words away.

  Averyl tried to close her gaping mouth. Never had she seen Drake smile so sincerely, nor imagined such reputable-looking folk would call him friend. Were they fools?

  Or did they know something about Drake that she did not?

  He smiled, then cleared his throat. “Gordan, Mrs. Gibson, this is Averyl.”

  To her shock, Drake brought her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “She is to be my wife. We will be married this very day.”

  * * * * *

  “I never consented to wed with you,” Averyl hissed once they were behind closed doors.

  “You would rather have Gordan and Edina believe you stay in this room with me as my leman?” he quizzed, dark brow raised.

  She avoided glancing at the room’s lone white-quilted bed. “I care not what they think of me. ’Tis you I am curious about. What would they say if they knew you had abducted another man’s intended and were forcing her to wife?”

  Drake paused, the angled planes of his face tightened in the harsh silence.

  “Mrs. Gibson will expect us to share that bed,” she argued, pointing to the pillow-laden mattress in the corner.

  He towered over her, an unfathomable stare shadowing his face. “And so we will.”

  Averyl felt her breathing quicken. She dropped his heated stare, unable to hold it any longer. “Why? You do not love me. You care not for me beyond the fact I bring you revenge.”

  “I have told you ’tis not love that makes a marriage.”

  “For me, it is, and I will not share a bed with a man whose heart is so closed.”

  She marched closer, hands perched on her hips. ’Twas a mistake. Averyl hated to admit his nearness made her knees weak. But denying such was useless.

  Locke’s eyes leapt with something before he banked the light. He continued to stare at her, hands on hips, mouth irritatingly closed.

  “Damn you, nor will I sacrifice my maidenhood to your hatred and your schemes.” She whirled away from him.

  “Are you certain? I remember moments last night when you seemed willing enough.”

  With a gasp, Averyl did something she had never done to another in her life; she slapped him.

  Locke’s head snapped to the side. His jaw tightened. Averyl expected retaliation in kind. A severe chastising, at the very least. Instead, he took her assault in silence, his face without expression. His lack of emotion stunned her.

  “You really have no heart, do you?”

  “You know well I do not.”

  His reply was so unequivocal Averyl knew she would never rouse his compassion, much less any tender feelings. Why could he not care, at least a little?

  And why did she care if he did?

  Biting back fury, she vowed, “Enduring your touch is a mistake I will not repeat again.”

  So quickly it dazed her, Drake seized her by the waist and drew her flush against his solid length. Averyl drew in a sharp breath at the feel of his unyielding chest and rigid thighs against her.

  “I’ve no intention of taking a bride in name only.”

  Something in her body weakened at the whispered challenge of his words, at their closeness. Senses leapt to life as she took in the breadth of his shoulders and his heated male scent. Her legs turned to warm butter as aching memories provided the salty-sweet taste of his kiss. Averyl’s insides flared with heat.

  “Your body was made for my hands,” he whispered, sliding his palms down to cup her buttocks and bring her closer. “God shaped you capable of bringing a man supreme pleasure. You will fulfill that promise with me, not Murdoch. Never Murdoch.”

  Averyl closed her eyes and swallowed a lump of heat his words and nearness evoked. Despite his understanding of her fear of darkness and the fact he claimed to find her beautiful, she must remember she served but one purpose for him: Revenge. Why did that cold truth hurt so much?

  “Never with you,” she managed to choke out before she broke from his embrace and turned from him.

  “Only with me,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning the skin at her nape. Fire leapt through her. Averyl wanted to run. She stayed rooted in her spot as his rich voice poured over her with the headiness of spiced wine.

  “I want you in a way Murdoch cannot claim, and I intend to give you every soft pleasure for which your body was made,” he murmured, his finger tracing a fiery path across her shoulder. “And as your husband, I will protect you during our year t
ogether and see to your needs. Murdoch would make no such vow that is not a lie. Think on that whilst I am gone.”

  With a nearly silent click of the lock, Drake departed. She drew in a shaky breath and sank to the bed. What did he mean about wanting her in a way Murdoch did not? What could he mean?

  Averyl shook her head. It mattered not. Drake merely played games with his words. Aye, he might want her, but only as a symbol of hate, never as a woman. Never as one he could love.

  No matter how sweet his kisses, that she must remember.

  * * * * *

  Drake reached the threshold of the kitchen and paused, drawing in a deep breath. Averyl was so damned determined to return to Murdoch. He saw that in her bright hazel eyes, and it soured his stomach. Much as he wanted to deny it, the thought of her giving herself to a craven miscreant like Murdoch clawed at him. In fact, the thought of her in any other man’s bed left Drake scowling and ill-tempered.

  Forcing the foreign thoughts aside, he watched Edina slice vegetables for her hearty soup. The aroma of roasting hen wafted across the room, and to her left sat several pastries, each designed to delight the tongue with its sweetness. No doubt she was preparing this feast to honor the marriage he must thrust upon Averyl. A marriage in which her soft heart was doomed to crave an emotion he could not give.

  A marriage he would not see end in disaster, like his parents’.

  “Mrs. Gibson?” he called.

  “Aye. Come in, lad. Come in. Why aren’t ye upstairs wi’ yer beauty of a bride?”

  Drake cleared the lump in his throat, hoping it would dislodge the tightening in his chest. “I must buy supplies now, for Averyl and I will leave early in the morn.”

  Edina planted plump hands on her hips in disappointment. “Oh, ye canna mean to leave so soon. Where do ye go?”

  “’Tis better if you do not know. Should Murdoch and his henchmen question you, they will be ruthless if they suspect you have information that could lead them to me.”

  “I willna lose my tongue around that devil. Ye canna stay? Ye bring Gordan such joy and laughter. We’ve missed ye.”

  Something in him softened. “I, too, have missed you, but if we stay longer, you would only be in more danger. Until I prove my innocence, I am still a hunted man.”

  “I know, but I was hopin’…” She paused. “Verra well.”

  “And if Murdoch found Averyl, he would use her in any way necessary to bring about my downfall.”

  He paused to touch the older woman’s shoulder. “I’ve locked Averyl in our room, and there she must stay. She believes if I give myself over to Murdoch’s mercies, he and the clan will believe my innocence.”

  “He has no mercy.” Shock tightened Edina’s kind face.

  “And I have told her so, but she does not understand. For her safety and mine, could you see that she does not leave our room whilst I am gone?”

  “Of course, lad. Once she haes been wed to ye for a year or two, she’ll ken she must obey her man.”

  “Aye,” Drake lied.

  Even a lifetime together wouldn’t engender obedience in Averyl. That he knew.

  Odd, he’d always assumed a dutiful wife would please him, if ever he took one. Now such a paragon sounded dull. He frowned.

  “When ye return, we’ll have a feast to honor yer marriage,” Mrs. Gibson offered.

  “I wish you had not troubled yourself.”

  “No trouble. ’Tis excited we are ye’ve chosen a bride.” She raised a red brow. “Surprised, mind ye, but excited.”

  “This marriage surprises me, too.” Drake cleared his throat. At least that wasn’t a lie. “But wedding Averyl is something I must do.”

  The older woman smiled softly. “I ken that, lad. She’s a beauty, and if ye seek to wed her, she maun hiv a good heart.”

  A woman with Averyl’s beauty good of heart? Such seemed doubtful. Still, Averyl was willing to sacrifice herself to a depraved demon to save her people and her home. And instead of demanding jewels and riches in return, she asked to be loved. Her deeds and wishes were definitely not the act of a selfish shrew, as his mother had been. Diera had wanted money and constant attention. She had never cared if her son had been hungry or cold, much less stooped to think of Dunollie’s vassals.

  A furrow settled across Drake’s brow that matched the unsettling whirl of his thoughts. “You always see the best in others, Mrs. Gibson.”

  “’Tis the truth I see, and dinna ye be forgettin’ it.”

  With Edina’s words in his ears, Drake left the inn.

  * * * * *

  Two long hours later, Drake unlocked the door to their chamber. Averyl lifted her gaze to meet his tense one. An uncomfortable moment of silence passed as he scanned her, from the braid wound about her crown to the pointed tip of her leather slippers peeking beneath the hem of her purple gown.

  “Come,” he said, voice hoarse. “The fair has begun.”

  “Fair?” she asked innocently, though her heart pounded.

  “Aye, to celebrate Midsummer Eve. There we will handfast.”

  Averyl thought to protest leaving their chamber. But escape was impossible within these four walls. She managed a nervous smile, one she hoped did not appear too eager.

  Ignoring his suspicious scowl, she approached Drake. As he enveloped her palm in the warmth of his, she noticed he had donned a clean tunic of midnight green that made his dark eyes seem rich like fathomless earth before spring planting.

  Feeling a rush of heat skip across her skin, Averyl looked away, but not before she realized he had shaved away two days’ growth of beard. In honor of their nuptials?

  However, Averyl had no doubt that Drake would be much admired by ladies wherever he went. Today, he would reign supreme over all other men at the fair with his courtly dress and warrior’s mien. His lips alone made a woman stare, to yearn for the feel of that wide mouth over her own.

  Averyl raised her gaze to his profile and bit her lip at the tense set of his jaw and brows. She could only imagine his reluctance to take such a homely lass to wife, despite his words to the contrary. Well, she would never comply with him. A year of his loveless but tender pity was more than she could bear.

  Following him out to the bright sunlight, he led her into the heart of the village. In the distance, waves churned against the shore, their sound competing with the merriment of voices raised in cheer somewhere within the dust cloud of shuffling feet. Drake led her into the heart of the melee.

  The brown mist parted to reveal scampering children. Fair maidens sported ribbons in their flowing tresses while dancing around bonfires. Men set about to prove their strength in all manner of contests. The aroma of turkey legs, fruit tarts, and St. John’s bread wafting through the air made her mouth water. Jugglers and fiddlers plied their trade. Above the din, a young boy announced the next showing of a revue of traveling players. His hand gestures alone portended the show’s bawdy nature.

  Awed, Averyl stared, wide-eyed. Never in all her years at Abbotsford had she seen anything so busy, so chaotic and magnificent at once. Drake turned to her with a questioning glance. She answered with wide eyes.

  Drake smiled with surprising indulgence. “You like the fair, do you?”

  “I have never been,” she admitted, “though I can most earnestly say aye.”

  A collection of gaily colored ribbons caught her eye. She gasped as a weathered man held out a strip of purple-and-gold satin that perfectly matched the hue and trim of her gown.

  “A bonny bauble for a bonny lass?” he asked Drake.

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She refused to look at Locke beside her. “Good sir, nay. I have no need—”

  “Give her the length of ribbon and be gone,” her would-be husband instructed, tossing two pence over her head.

  With disbelief, Averyl saw the coins land in the leather-like hand of the merchant. The man grinned and handed the scrap
of satin to Averyl.

  Her numb fingers closed around the ribbon. Drake had bought it for her. Why? Averyl raised her gaze to his, seeking an answer amidst the churn of hopeful anxiety inside her.

  Drake glanced into the crowd ahead. “The trifle will make you look more the bride if you tie it ’round your braid.”

  Before she could swallow her disappointment that his gesture was no gallant gift, he grabbed her hand again and pushed farther into the crowd, the ribbon pressed between their joined hands. Ale and wine flowed freely, despite the early hour. Joviality and play ruled the afternoon as it settled into dusk, yet she could not revel in the mood, now reminded of the purpose for their visit.

  Following Drake’s lead past two gossiping women hovering about their pastry stand, they circled a pair of men arguing over a lady’s honor. Beyond them stood a crowd of couples, many eagerly holding hands, a few risking a stolen kiss. Blushes and knowing smiles abounded. Here, Drake stopped.

  “Hiv ye come to handfast, like us?” a thin-shouldered blond man asked Drake.

  Before Drake could form an answer, the shouting men behind them erupted in fury. One pushed. Another shoved, then followed with a fist. The stricken man stumbled backwards, knocking her hand from Drake’s.

  A moment later, the crowd rushed to look upon this latest sport. Vaguely, Averyl noted that challenges were issued as women tittered and pointed to the champion of their choice. She spared the combatants no glance, only Drake, who stood on the other side of the crowd, scanning the faces about for hers. His intent, searching expression told her he saw her not. Her breath caught in her throat.

  This was her chance for freedom, and she knew she must seize it—now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Heart pounding, Averyl crouched low and crept from the fight. She ducked beside the pastry stand, then slid behind a weathered oak. A quick peek back revealed Drake nowhere in sight.

  As she sneaked away, hidden in the crush of townsfolk, her hope soared. A juggler followed her, performing for coin. She waved him away and glanced over her shoulder again.