Betrayed
By Claire Robyns

Two Feuding Families

Amber Jardin has no taste for the bitter feud started before her father’s banishment. But now that he’s passed, she’s had to return to Scotland and his barbaric people. After her bloodthirsty uncle kidnaps one of the family’s rivals, Amber is in turn captured by Krayne Johnstone, the enemy laird. Despite their enmity, their attraction is immediate—and unfortunate, as Amber has sworn to escape.

One Lusty Temptation

Krayne is amazed at the wildcat’s repeated attempts to flee. He should steel himself against her beguiling ways—yet with time, he is driven more witless with lust. When the ransom exchange fails and Krayne is left with Amber, he finds he cannot tolerate the thought of her with another man—and she cannot tolerate the thought of returning to her uncle’s home.

Will passion and love win out over mistrust and betrayal in time to prevent an all-out war?

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Acknowledgments

A warm thank you to Judy, Leonie and Liesel; you started this journey with me many years ago and your encouragement and support throughout mean everything to me. To all the lovely and talented ladies of Romance Writers of South Africa, you are my writing safe shelter.

Thank you to my wonderful editor, Melissa Johnson, for seeing the potential and gently shaping the rough edges.

A big thank you to the Carina Press team, for pulling everything together so quickly and wonderfully, and for creating such a warm and open atmosphere to work within.

To my husband and boys, thank you for your endless patience and support, for you enthusiasm and for always believing.

Dedication

For David, my rock in the real world.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the Author

Chapter 1

Amber sensed the tension as soon as she stepped into the charter room. The air was stifled with the macabre gloom of weapons that lined the walls, some stained red where blood had seeped into the wood. Precious little light filtered through the window slits, making the chamber that much darker and colder than any other in Spedlin Castle.

Her uncle had his back to her. William Jardin was a beast of a man, standing at least two heads above her. His plaid hung on a wide girth and looped around the thick mat of ginger hair covering his otherwise naked back.

She frowned when she saw Mary huddled in a shadowed corner, bony fingers clasped over her heart.

“Go,” Amber mouthed urgently, but the older woman seemed to be struck immobile, her eyes glassy with the fear that was a constant presence since they’d come to the Scottish borderland.

Three months past, and it felt like a lifetime. Cornwall and her father, and their pretty manor house tucked into the neat English countryside, were a memory that grew more elusive with each passing day.

Amber turned a hard stare on her uncle’s formidable back, watching as he traced a finger almost lovingly along the edge of a wooden spear. William’s coarse threats and raving had withered Mary into a fragile, timid ghost.

Lord, what I’d do for a whisper of the evil William Jardin accuses me of. I’d strike him down with a fire bolt from hell and flick his ashes with my toe.

Inserting herself between Mary and her uncle, Amber said boldly, “You summoned me?”

“Spittin’ ’ell, woman!” William swung his beefy frame around, slicing his finger open on the spear’s sharp tip as he did so. “Christ,” he growled, licking at the line of swelling blood as he set a scowling gaze on her. “Have ye no more sense than ta creep up on a mon?”

“It would seem not.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes.

“I’ll no take yer git,” he fumed, his chest puffing out at the storm building within. “Christ, yer a snake in mae lair and that be the truth of it.”

Amber shrugged carelessly, well accustomed to the black accusations.

“Where have ye bin?” demanded William.

Mary’s terrified gasp sent Amber a sharp warning.

“Brewing my potions at the Druid’s Hollow,” she claimed. The clump of willows down by the river were said to be an ancient druid meeting place. If her uncle believed she conversed with lingering spirits and solicited their aid in mixing evil spells into her herbal potions, she was more than willing to accommodate him. His ridiculous fear was her only weapon in this strange, barbaric land.

But he did not launch a tirade at her trickery with devil weeds. Instead he strode around Amber and yanked Mary from the shadows by the arm, shouting down from his monstrous height, “Yer a liar. Ye seek ta defend yer charge and make a fool of yer laird.”

“No…No—Oh, Lord Father above, forgive me—”

“That willna protect ye from me.” He swatted her fingers from their attempt to cross her heart. “’Tis clear the air reeks vile of plotting, no fer my benefit but fer that of my enemy.”

“Leave her be,” snapped Amber, pushing the quailing woman behind her.

“Wheesht, I’ll deal with ye.” William’s eyes, a similar green to her own, burned with hate as he fell back a step. “Ye, and the Johnstone scum ye be thick with.”

Amber glanced over her shoulder. By God, whispered her heart to Mary’s bent head, what have you done? Only Mary knew of her secret visits with Stivin at the abandoned forester’s hut.

A twenty-year-old feud tore through the bitter hearts of the two clans as surely as the Black Burn split Jardin land from Johnstone. But Stivin was no “gentle Johnstone,” the ironic name acclaimed widely by many a bard’s ferocious tale of blood and battle and vengeance. Stivin was truly gentle, a scholar, a poet, naught but a lad in truth with a soft sparkle in his heart that fed into laughing blue eyes.

And I am no more Jardin than I am Scots, and a name and half a bloodline does not change the fact.

“What devilry do ye conspire with yon vermin that festers on my borders?” William bellowed, bringing her attention forward again.

Amber thought quickly. William was cruel, twisted and demented. He’d banished her father and charged her mother with his childless condition.

You’re a hard, stubborn man, and for that sin you’ll die lonely and bitter with no kin to ease you into old age. Her mother’s famed words were more a sad warning than a dark curse, but this had all occurred before Amber was born and she’d given up trying to convince her uncle otherwise.

“No devilry,” she said carefully. “Give me to Stivin Johnstone in marriage.”

“Betroth ye ta the scholar?” The thunderous roar echoed through the chamber as William charged Amber, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her entire body as easily as a rag doll. “Give ye ta a half mon that ye can befuddle with yer bewitching ways?”

William spat his disgust upon the flagstones and released her with a shove. Amber stumbled back, then she jerked her head up, her chin edged high as she looked him in the eye.

“You blame my father for this wretched feud,” she challenged. “If it began with Papa breaking his betrothal to a Johnstone, then this is one sin within my power to undo. Giving me to Stivin Johnstone will unite the clans and make an ally of your enemy.”

As Amber spoke, doubts assailed her conscience. Stivin had a fancy for her, but she knew it went no deeper than the first flush of manhood. His dream was to go study in Edinburgh. He was the only friend she had since coming to Scotland and she was about to repay that by annexing his freedom.

And yet, she remembered bitterly, his family intended to turn him into a reiving Johnstone this very night. Her regular meeting with Stivin by the burn earlier that day had been rushed and argumentative.

“We ride for Spedlin tonight,” he’d told her in that serious way of his. “Keep well within the castle walls after sundown.”

“Oh, Stivin, no,” she’d cried. “You’re no borderer at heart.”

“I am a Johnstone.”

“What in heaven does your cousin hope to achieve by bloodying your hands?”

“There’ll be no blood and Krayne does not—”

“Krayne! The mighty Laird of Wamphray! How does he sleep at night, knowing he sends a boy to do his filthy deeds?”

When Stivin’s face turned red, Amber hastily amended, “I did not mean—”

“Did you not?” he said quietly. “Never mind, this matter is not up for discussion. I came to warn you, for I know you gather your precious herbs by moonlight.”

Her uncle’s coarse tongue jerked Amber back to the present.

“Those thievin’ bastards think ta restock their fields with Jardin cattle an’ I have the devil’s spawn inside my keep ta help them do it.” He lunged forward and brought his hand up, but caught himself before landing the blow. “Whatever Johnstone blood be spilled tonight be on yer head.”

Amber staggered backward at the horror of his words.

Dear Lord, William could not know of the Johnstone raid. He could not…She turned her back on him, rubbing a hand over her eyes and the sudden throbbing above her brow. How could he possibly have found out?

Slowly Amber removed her hand to stare at the frail woman she’d known all her life. Mary had been with her and Stivin down by the burn. Mary, who refused to leave her alone with a savage Johnstone for even a moment. Shades of frustration, sadness and despair turned Amber hot, cold and numb.

“Dinna fash, fer ye’ll have yer wedding bliss,” swore William in a scathing tone. “Ye’ll be the first ta know, aft I’ve decided between Wee Willy of Roucan and Johnny of Wath.”

The two noxious reivers with their foul-tongued, heavy-handed ways and twisted fornicating preferences were no strangers to Spedlin’s hall. But they were the least of Amber’s worries. She looked at her uncle, slowly shaking her head and feeling sick to her stomach.

That her loyalty lay other side the Black Burn in Johnstone territory bothered Amber not at all. She cared neither for the Johnstones nor the Jardin uncle whom she’d never met until three months ago. Only Stivin mattered.

She came alive when William called out to a nearby guard, “Take my niece up ta her chamber and see that she stays put.”

“Unhand me,” she demanded as the guard locked down both her arms. Her struggling came to naught. As she was dragged out, Amber flung back at her uncle, “If you think you’re cursed now, wait until the morrow.”

“But no fer long,” boomed William. “By God, I’ll keep ye under lock and key until yer wedding day.”

Inside her chamber, Amber finally calmed down. The raid would have been bad enough, now it would be a blood bath. Stivin would be riding into an ambush and she felt directly responsible.

Damn the mighty Laird of Wamphray and his lust for reiving.

Damn her uncle.

Standing with her back to the narrow window, she glanced around the tiny room. She’d come to Spedlin with no expectations, her world shrouded in mourning for her father. And even once she’d seen what manner of man her uncle was, she’d let the days slip by unattended, assumed things could not possibly get worse.

How wrong she’d been.

Amber hurried across the chamber to move the loose stone behind her bed. Hidden there was her leather pouch of herbs and roots. There was no wine for strewing, so she heated a small amount of water over the kindling flames in the hearth and added some flavouring herbs to cover the taste of poppy and crushed mandrake root. She set the brew aside to cool while she stitched the leather pouch into the inner seam of her gown.

It was time to leave this place. Once she’d intercepted Stivin and warned his reiving party, she’d steal back inside only to collect Mary. Somehow they’d find their way to England. She no longer felt bound by the oath she’d made at her dying father’s bedside. He could not have known of his brother’s unreasonable paranoia. Whatever promises had been made were lies; William had not hauled her from England and her home so that she could reclaim her Scottish heritage. William was after revenge, after a cure that was not hers to give.

The only curse on this clan was its laird.

William was blinded to the possibility that maybe God, and not her mother, had predestined him to die without issue.

Krayne Johnstone set one foot inside the vaulted hall of Stirling Castle and came to an abrupt halt. “The air reeks foul in this place.”

“’Tis no wonder, with all the maggot-infested rats swarming aboot,” retorted his cousin Adam, referring to the Littils, Armstrongs and Maxwells amongst the barons summoned to Stirling.

“I’d sooner skewer the lot than share a pot of ale.” Krayne knew he was not alone in sentiment. All clans present were tried and sworn enemies.

Adam shoved an elbow in his side. “Keep yerself ta me and shut off that hot temper. I dinna like this anymore than ye, but I’ll nae ignore our King Jamie and have his wrath scatter the Johnstones ta the wind with nae name nor land nor goods ta call their own.”

Jamie’s fancy tables and polished silver flagons were more likely to be scattered, thought Krayne as a ruckus broke out between Johnnie Armstrong of Kilnockie and Sir Alexander Irvine.

Fists came out and clans bounded together. No one dared to draw their sword. Pristine stewards drew up tight against the wall, clutching ledger books to their chests and gaping in horror. Jamie’s court was overrun with English, relics from his days in captivity and tagalongs that had followed his queen, Joan of Beaumont. They were a dour lot and unappreciative of the jolly Scottish ways.

Krayne folded his arms and put his back to the wall, settling in to watch the brawl.

King James I chose that moment to grace them with his presence. His flowing robes of crimson and ermine put shame to the travel-worn plaids of his hastily summoned barons. Tawny eyes, glowing a tiger’s fierce gold, appraised the scene and came to rest on the blood trickling from the Littil chief’s mouth. The fighting men froze midaction.

“Go clean yourself, man,” he ordered, “afore I lose all patience.”

Stewards scuttled from their corners, bodies untangled, and heads bowed down in shame.

Jamie’s look scorched one baron to the next.

“Right now he’s wishing he were back in England,” said Krayne in a low undertone.

“Jamie might hanker aft the well-ordered court of King Henry,” muttered Adam from barely moving lips, “but ne’er forget he was a prisoner, a king denied his country.”

“Well, he’s made up fer eighteen lost years of royal arrogance in the few months he’s been back.”

The young king swept his gaze from one end of the receiving hall to the other, and then came to a rest on Adam Johnstone, chief of the Annandale Johnstones and his appointed warden of the West Marches.

Jamie was not surprised to find the level-headed baron standing apart from the chaos. He nodded his gratification, then moved on to Krayne, Adam’s cousin and chosen heir to the chieftainship. Krayne was a laird in his own right, and stared him right back in the eye. Jamie couldn’t pull back from that penetrating gaze, feeling magnetised and trapped like a puny hare in the fierce show of loyalty and ancient-bred honour that radiated from the silvery grey stare of Wamphray’s laird.

By St Andrew’s Holy Rood, now…now when I am the prey, I understand why they call him the Grey Wolf.

Would that I, he sorely thought, command the honour of such a man.

Knowing he could scarce claim one baron in his entire kingdom who would not openly plot and defy him, the king waved one arm across the room and recited his new parliamentary laws in a booming voice that echoed within the stone walls.

“…that firm and sure peace…if any man presume to make war against another, he shall suffer the full penalties of the law…if any man presume to rebel against the king, he shall suffer pain of forfeiture of life, lands and goods…I will make the key keep the castle and the bracken bush keep the cow through all of Scotland…”

“Christ’s truth,” muttered Krayne beneath his breath. “I’ve Johnstone ships full of wool decorating the Solway while Jamie herds us here for naught but another lecture.”

Adam shut him up with a kick to the shin.

“Throughout Scotland, from the highest crag to the lowest glen, from the Cheviot Hills to the MacDonald’s islands, my word will rule,” finished the king. “I will reward obedience and eradicate those who ignore my laws.”

“Jamie is nae all bad,” Adam said much later as they trotted through the town of Stirling to join the ancient Roman Road.

“Tell that ta Murdoch and Lennox.” Krayne spurred his horse faster as they left the cobbled streets behind.

“Treason flows through their veins instead of blood. Jamie’s dungeon be exactly what the pair of them deserve.”

“They’re still kin to the king,” noted Krayne dryly.

Adam gave him a searching look. “’Twill serve a sharp reminder ta the rest of us.”

“Ye have my word,” Krayne reassured his cousin. “I gave the order before I left Wamphray. No more moonlight riding fer my lads.”

They rode hard for Annandale with their dozen moss-troopers at their back, stopping only once to rest the horses and then again at Moffat just as dawn was breaking. The parish of Johnstone bordered Wamphray, and the riders stayed together until the juncture of Wamphray Water with the Annan, where Adam rode west for Lochwood Tower and Krayne followed Wamphray Water home.

On his approach, Old Giles raised the portcullis with a wary wave and Krayne galloped straight into the bailey…to find that all hell had broken loose.

The thick mist slid along the forest floor, creeping up moss-draped trunks to swirl through boughs and leaves like silvery fey ghosts. Disorientated in the fog, Amber finally made it to the water’s edge.

She’d lost time, too much time.

Enticing the guard into her chamber and feeding him that special brew of wine had taken more time than she had. And then she’d been cornered in a shadowed alcove, awaiting her chance to slip past the night watch and through the postern gate, only to find that night had come and gone, and with that her chance to forewarn Stivin.

Amber followed the burn westward for just over a mile, running until her breath gave out and then walking until she could run again. She was running from Spedlin as much as she was running toward Stivin. He would not be there yet, but he would come. He always did, at around midday, and last night’s raid would not keep him away.

At last she saw the familiar ruin of the forester’s hut peeking through the wafting mist that had begun to burn off.

She glanced up as she covered the small distance to the hut, but could not judge the hour accurately from the obscured sun. Digging fingers into the sharp stitch at her side, Amber rested against a crumbling wall.

He was safe.

And he would come.

She had but to wait to be assured of his safety, and to say goodbye.

“Take her!” came a rumbling baritone directly at her left.

Pulse racing, Amber shot to her feet.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. If Mary had been forced to reveal the details of the Johnstone raid, no doubt William had extorted everything else from the timid woman, as well. He’d know exactly where and when she met with Stivin.

Without stopping to put a face to her fear, she ran toward the resistant pockets of mist by the stream. Her feet hit the shallow waters with small splashes. All at once, hands reached for her—large, powerful, clumsy—tossing her over a broad shoulder and clamping her ankles when she kicked out.

“Put me down.” Her fists hammered the wide, muscular back as effectively as they would a stone wall. “Let go of me.”

Her assailant paid scant notice, continuing the long strides that took them from the water and onto land. She tried to kick again, but the iron grip at her ankles rendered her legs completely useless. She flexed her wrists, slowly uncurling her palms, in doing so spreading them over that invincible back. Instead of stone and mortar, she found the soft silk of the man’s hair where it hung loose.

Amber didn’t hesitate. She grabbed at the long strands and yanked with all her strength.

“Bitch!” A hand came down on her buttocks, delivering a hard wallop that forced the air from her lungs in a shocked gasp.

“Bastard,” she spluttered, incredulous that one of her uncle’s men would dare strike her.

He whacked again. “Behave yerself, wench.”

Amber seldom cursed. That didn’t mean she wasn’t capable, and the last three months at Spedlin had stocked her repertoire until it was bursting at the seams. Something had to spill, and she couldn’t think of a better slosh bucket.

“Whoreson,” she spat out. “Swine pig.”

She was flung from his shoulder, her landing padded by a lush tuft of moss fern. Amber immediately scrambled to her feet. The mist was almost gone, the sky rapidly sharpening to pristine blue in the warm sun. She could see quite clearly now and didn’t like what she saw. They were on the Johnstone side of the burn. No Jardin moss-trooper would make a mistake like that. At least not without rectifying it at once. Expecting to be tossed over that shoulder any moment and hauled back across the burn, Amber spun around to confront her captor with a stern rebuke and instead confronted the truth.

His chest was wide, muscled and level with her eyes. A linen shirt hung open halfway down his chest, revealing a deep tan beneath a sprinkling of black curls. She lowered her gaze over a flat abdomen, solid waist and hips that showed not a hint of slack. His plaid was an unfamiliar green, crossed through with a thin blue-and-yellow line.

Dear Lord, the Jardin men-at-arms all wore leather britches. They were mercenaries and outcasts with no plaid to call their own.

Her eyes shot up, and up. Taut muscles pulled from his neck to shoulders. His jaw was severe and square, clamped down menacingly and darkly shadowed. His mouth was wide and firmly drawn in determination. To do what?

Her eyes continued on to the straight, aristocratic nose, to the hooded grey eyes meeting hers with a dire warning of their own. He was dark and large and fierce. His gaze penetrated to her bones. She’d be a fool to look at him funny, let alone attempt to lay down some ground rules.

Wild, black brows arrowed down as he studied her with fierce intent. Finally, he took a few steps back and turned around. “Is this the one?” he called.

There were more?

Amber spun on her heels and fled. Long, flying leaps toward the embankment. She’d rather face a hundred Jardin men, as loathsome as they were. At least they feared loss of coin for acting without William’s authority, and her uncle wouldn’t dare order her harmed for fear of the repercussive curses. No, he’d leave that up to whichever nephew-in-law he decided on.

This man, however, this barbarian, feared nothing.

She’d seen it in his eyes.

The world went black as her legs buckled and a mountain came crushing down on top her, grinding the full length of her body into slippery grass and damp soil. Her hips felt razed to the bone, her elbows near shattered, and dirt filled her mouth. The weight lifted, but only long enough for him to flip her. Now she was lying on her back, free to gulp down deep breaths and stare into those dangerous grey eyes. He crouched over her, thighs as sturdy as ancient tree trunks straddling her legs, iron-like grips shackling her arms at her sides. He came forward, over her, bringing that intense gaze lower and closer.

“Try that again,” he growled, “and ye’ll soon find out just what a bad day I’m having.”

He was having a bad day? “Who are you?” she hissed. “What do you want with me?”

“Ah, a little wildcat.” He released her arms and straightened, his knees taking most of his weight as he sat astride her as if she were his mount.

Having little experience, but hardly ignorant, Amber’s mouth went dry as she drew the parallel. Beneath that plaid, smack in the middle of his thighs, his manhood rested hard and long upon her belly.

He folded his arms while his eyes did a slow journey down to the bodice of her thin woollen gown and lingered. A half-formed grin eased some of the tension in his jaw. Silver speckles danced on grey fields in his eyes.

Amber shut her eyes, but the image of an arrogant, lithe, powerful beast savouring his prey wouldn’t go away.

She opened her eyes, knowing her imagination had to be worse than reality. It wasn’t. That hungry gaze still lingered on her chest. She knew her breasts were rising and falling rapidly, and no doubt this—amused? intrigued?—him, but the more she tried to slow her breathing, the more her instincts took over and she fought to grab air. She was intensely aware of the weight on her belly. Fear must have claimed her mind, for she felt that weight shifting, growing even longer, warming her skin…no, heating all the way through to some inner spot lower down.

What is he doing to me?

What does he want?

Amber shook off her fear and made herself look at him.

He was just a man.

Not a beast.

She looked harder. Beyond her preconceptions. His face was put together by the same rustic hand that had carved Scotland’s terrain. Wild, compulsive, dominating…attractive. A soft flutter stirred low in her abdomen. From the rugged planes of his cheekbones to the bristled dales sweeping to a stony, square jaw, those harsh features enticed and warned.

What does any barbaric Scotsman want?

Rape, plunder and carnage.

The spark of dark attraction was immediately extinguished. Instead, a firestorm rose up within her. This was an outrage. She was no serving wench to be tumbled in the hay.

As if detecting the change in her, the plundering Scotsman opened his mouth to speak. Amber balled her hand to punch his crude words before he could spew them.

“Pull in yer claws, wild—”

Her fist struck his upper lip.

He drew the back of his hand across his mouth and stared at the blood in disbelief. Then he grabbed both her wrists and held them prisoner across her breast. “Have ye no more sense than ta strike a man of my size?”

Amber glared at him, her chin jutting indignantly at the rhetorical question. He waited. He seemed to be expecting an answer.

Then she’d give him one that might just awake some dormant seed of gallantry. “A man of your size would never harm a lady. I am sure this is all a huge misunderstanding. If you’d remove yourself from my person, I assure you I can be most forgiving and might even be inclined to not mention this incident to my uncle, who is, I might add, the laird of—”

“Enough.” His hand tightened on her wrists.

“You have the blundering finesse of an ox and if you don’t remove yourself from me this instant, I’ll bloody your other lip.”

“Ye have a charming way with words, my lady,” he drawled in that thick burr. “Yet, as much as I’d love ta stay and listen, we must leave.”

“I’m not stopping you,” she shot back.

His grin was hard as he lifted himself from her. Amber jerked her knee up high between his thighs. She was too slow. Her knee struck nothing, but her intentions did not go unnoticed.

He hauled her to her feet. Or rather, her slippers dangled uselessly above the ground as his arm went around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “Put me down.”

Another hand bunched a rope of hair at her nape, forcing her head so far back she wondered her neck didn’t snap in two. She met his gaze with a flash of green defiance, wholly unprepared for the smouldering heat she came up against. His breath quickened, touching her cheeks like a wispy breeze with the heat of an intimate caress. Amber imagined she could feel his heart beating at her breast. Could taste the mead ale that sweetened his breath.

Dear Lord, she needed to look away, break the spell consuming her. She struggled in his arms, wiggling her body this way and that.

“Be still, lass.”

The voice sounded so close to a wounded animal, she instantly obeyed. A moment later he crushed her face to his shoulder and bound her even closer, as if he feared the slightest movement. Cloaking her with the heady scent of leather, horse and ash. There was a blend of stale sweat as well, but the parts of her that were being ground into the simmering power of his body didn’t seem to mind. To her shame, her nipples hardened against his muscular chest and her breathing became slow and shallow. She did not need experience to name the fire threading her veins. She did not want this desire, but for the life of her could do nothing to naysay it.

And then she sensed a firm control come over him, in the tempo of his heart against her ribs, in the tension of the muscles that bound her, but it was as if he’d sapped her strength for his own. When he pushed her head back again, she could not withdraw her eyes from the savage beauty of deeply hollowed, bristled cheeks and rigid bone carved by his severe jaw. His lips were hard and unyielding, yet full with sensual promises.

Her own lips parted on a soft sigh.

“Yer in no position ta demand anything, wildcat.” The growl was low and encased in steel. “Ye’ll come with me, and so it will be.” With a slow and deliberate hand, he slid her down his length, forcing her to feel every sinewy muscle of chest and thigh along the way, until she was standing free on shaky legs.

“Who are you?” Amber asked hoarsely, then cleared her throat and said a little louder, “What do you want?”

“Krayne Johnstone, lass.” His harsh grin was back. “And that alone should tell ye what I want.”

The mighty Laird of Wamphray? Stivin had spoken much of this cousin he fostered with. The Grey Wolf, he was called, and now Amber knew why. He was a natural predator, but she would not be his prey.

Her hand came up sharply.

“Strike me again,” he said, his tone bordering on boredom, “and I’ll drag ye over my knee and warm that snug backside.”

Amber raised her chin and looked him in the eye. Krayne Johnstone. She’d always known he’d be a rude, arrogant bastard. The type of man to persuade a gentle lad to drop his study books and go a-reiving. “You forget I’ve already suffered the brute force of your hand.”

“That was a friendly warning ta behave yerself.” He ran his fingers through the silky black hair that hung to his shoulders. “The next time will be a lesson in manners befitting a lady.”

She promptly swung her hand toward his cheek.

His fingers laced her wrist before she could land her slap. “Ye try my patience sorely.”

Amber’s attention was momentarily snagged by the thin white scar revealed at his temple, and her thoughts went to battle and blood and Stivin. “Where is he? Where is Stivin?”

“I was hoping ye’d be able ta tell me.”

Had Stivin not returned from the raid last night? “How would I know?”

“Dinna play a fool’s game.” A look of disdain settled on his features. “Ye betrayed Stivin’s trust and we both know it.”

Amber paled. He knew.

“Aye, I see the truth in yer eyes.” He shook his head and spat on the ground.

“Do you deny all responsibility for sending an untrained boy to battle?”

“I know better than ta expect a straight answer from a Jardin.” He forced her hands behind her back and pushed her forward, one stumbling step at a time as she resisted. “Yer body alone will serve my needs.”

Bile rushed up her throat and she almost gagged. “I’ll not be your whore.”

His laugh was bitter. “Aye. Better ye save that particular talent for Stivin when he returns.”

“Returns from where?” She threw a hot look over her shoulder. “What do you want from me?”

“Yer no more than the bait ta bring our Stivin home.” He shoved hard, turning her head forward again. “And I’ve little taste for worms,” he added.

“You cannot mean…” Had Stivin run off before his kin could make a reiver out of him?

“That I’d use a woman as fair trade fer my cousin?” he finished. “If ye didna involve yourself in a man’s affairs ta begin with, I wouldna have ta barter ye ta the Jardin.”

“No.” At the mention of her uncle, Amber feared the worst. “Stivin was taken captive last night?”

“It will be my sweet pleasure ta return ye, the sooner the better.”

“You don’t understand,” Amber cried, twisting wildly. “I cannot be your hostage.”

“Ye can and ye will.” His tone made it clear that this was his last word on the matter.

She fought him then, uncaring that she was doing herself more damage than him. When she kicked backward and struck shin, the brute barely noticed.

“Let me go! William Jardin cares naught for me. He’d never agree to exchange Stivin for me. You’re wasting precious time. I can move freely within Spedlin and help Stivin escape.” Her wrists rubbed raw as she twisted her hands within the brace of fingers that were callused and unyielding. “Passion’s teeth, why will you not listen? I must return to Spedlin.”

He ignored her, simply dragging her along when she struggled too wildly to walk.

Frightened and desperate, Amber shrieked, “Bastard fool! Ignorant whoreson! Stivin’s life depends on me—”

“Enough.” He pushed her from him and she stumbled to the ground. “Duncan!”

Picking herself up, Amber saw another dark-haired man appear from a cluster of trees on the threshold of the embankment and remembered Krayne had earlier called out to an accomplice. The man led two horses, a black stallion standing at least three hands above a golden brown.

Duncan. Stivin spoke fondly of this cousin, the Wamphray laird’s younger brother. Surely Duncan would hear her out.

“The mist is yet thicker than the bog’s sour breath,” Duncan called to Krayne on his approach, “but I’ve no seen grass nor leaf stir from the river ta the edge of the woods. I ken no one’s missed the wench yet.”

“Duncan,” Amber interrupted, “please listen. William Jardin loathes me. I am a worthless hostage.”

Duncan’s scathing glance cut through her. “Are ye no the hoary toad’s niece and heir?”

“No.”

“She lies,” Duncan informed his brother. “The Jardins are as useless at breeding as everything else they attempt.”

“Aye, I am his niece.” She turned to Krayne. “But not his heir. My uncle would gladly let Spedlin and the whole of Applegarth turn to wasteland before giving it to me.”

Krayne shrugged one of those massive shoulders. “He’d marry ye ta a strong ally.”

“Never.” William did intend to marry her off, but only to a man who’d surely kill her either by accident or intent within a month, to break the curse in time for William to beget his own heir.

“Or ta an enemy ta forge a truce,” Duncan added. “There’s no a Scotsman born that’d see his bloodline run dry or yield his land to Jamie’s greedy crown.”

Amber could only look from one foolhardy brother to the other and shake her head with a looming sense of disaster. “He cares not if I live or die. My uncle hates me and I despise him. Why will you not see?”

Krayne regarded her with a closed expression.

Duncan stepped forward into the tense silence. “Stivin wasna taken in the ambush. We were well clear across the burn when the lad turned back ta ride inta Spedlin with a sheathed sword, all ta ensure his wench had no come ta any harm.”

“What is this?” Krayne turned sharply with a frown on his brother.

“When he realised we’d been betrayed, he feared the worst. Stivin swore that Jardin must have beaten a confession from the chit.”

Amber gasped. Oh, Stivin, no…

The gasp swung Krayne’s frown from his brother to the wide-eyed lass. Her skin was creamy ivory with the lightest dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Perfect. Untouched. Not a single blur marred her lovely face.

He stared, and stared, his mood blackening by the second.

“I see no marks, no bruised cheeks nor swollen jaw. Jardin beat the truth from ye, did he?”

Amber shrunk back as he lunged for her, but still he caught the trimming on her bodice and, with one powerful tug, ripped the gown in half from top to bottom.

“No,” she screamed. “I swear, lay one hand on me and Stivin will never forgive you.”

Krayne caught her flailing arms and locked both wrists in one hand. Shielding her from Duncan’s eyes with his body, he lifted her shift up about her neck. The flawless beauty of endlessly long legs, a flat belly and deliciously ripe breasts made him instantly hard. Grunting, he spun her around to examine her narrow back, the tempting flare of curve at her hips and the pert shape of her backside. His shaft bucked and throbbed.

Devil take it, he knew what she was, and here he was, aching with the lust he’d only just brought under control.

Despising himself, he spun her about again and jammed the two halves of her torn gown together. “Cloak yerself, wench, or I’ll no answer ta my actions.”

Amber backed away from him.

“Bring her,” he commanded Duncan, shoving her into his brother’s arms as he grabbed the leather leads tethering Cronus and deftly mounted. Damn the Jardin witch ta hell, for he’d seen with his own two eyes that her betrayal had not come at any bruising price.

He reined his stallion about and, not trusting his fury, headed north at a terrifying gallop.

Chapter 2

His temper a fit match for the devil’s wrath, Krayne rode hard and recklessly as he thought on Amber, on those fistfuls of thick, glossy hair that hung to her waist, begging a man to bury hands and face deep into its fresh, flowery scent. His shaft thickened as he recalled the fire-and-ice gaze she’d played him with, that practised whimper of pleasure parting her lips when he’d crushed her to his chest.

“Christ!” he swore, adjusting his seat. The lass was a siren sent to squeeze a man’s balls until the last drop of moral fibre, dignity and honour stained the ground. She was an enchantress with more Scottish fire than English blood thrumming her veins, and had no business putting horns on a naive lad such as Stivin.

Krayne had no time for women who contrived silly adventures as amusement, and even less for those who turned on one as young as Stivin, sending a deluded boy into the enemy’s arms to slay imaginary dragons. Whatever tales she’d carried to Stivin right before tattling to her uncle, he knew not, knew only they were as tall as the loftiest highland mountain.

He knew, for the Amber he’d met today feared naught.

No woman had ever raised a hand to him. Not a dainty slap either, but a fist to the jaw. Most men would have retaliated instantly, and it would have been their right. But Amber hadn’t even flinched. She’d gone on to taunt him with a steady voice and eyes flashing an angry green. Here was no abused woman with a broken spirit, mishandled by a wicked uncle. Krayne was an excellent judge of character, and it was his guess that she’d never known a day’s fear in her pampered life.

Krayne slowed to a steady gait as he entered the broad valley winding up to Wamphray. In a direct line, not three miles west, lay Lochwood Tower, stronghold of the Johnstone chief. His cousin Adam would damn them all to a cold purgatory if he knew about last night’s raid.

With a disgruntled sigh, Krayne rubbed the grit from his eyes and swore that Adam would never find out. He stretched his muscles as best he could on a loud yawn. His body was stiff and weary, his head felt stuffed with straw. Suddenly Krayne grinned at his own dilemma. He’d had little nourishment and even less sleep in the last day and night. No wonder his cock was confused as to when and where to rear its head.

Wamphray Castle was an impregnable fortress with a tower house and large bailey enclosed by a toothed barmekin wall that was nine feet thick and over twenty-five feet high. The castle stood sentry on the heath and moss-carpeted lower slopes of Dundoran, the passage chiselled by Wamphray Water being the only one through the lofty mountain ridge that ran the full length of the parish.

On his approach, the gatekeeper cranked the portcullis with a wary welcome. The laird’s black rage had been heard from the tower house to the forge when he’d arrived with the dawn to find his parting orders disobeyed and Stivin missing.

Krayne handed his stallion over to a groom and crossed the pebbled courtyard eagerly. As he passed through the great hall, servants stopped in their work of sweeping up the ale-sodden rushes to regard him with silent questions in their eyes. The upturned table had been righted and the debris of the wooden stool he’d smashed against the wall cleared.

“Have a bath prepared in my chamber,” he called to Mungo McAllister, his steward, then climbed the spiral stairway on leaden legs.

He had no ready answer to reassure his people with. On any other day, his course of action would be resolute. He’d take a full complement of Johnstone troops and flatten down the walls of Spedlin if Jardin refused to meet him on the field. Today, however, his hands were tied, and would remain so until the king realised that Scots justice would prevail with or without royal consent and recanted the law that effectively declared private wars an act of treason.

Krayne had no doubt that stealing his neighbour’s niece would not meet with Jamie’s approval, but it afforded a certain subterfuge that a bloodied battlefield could not.

Once his bath was full, he stripped off the plaid that had been a second skin for the last four days and sat down in the steaming water.

Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Amber couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in, suffocating her. The blackness was thick and putrid, clogging her lungs. Dear Lord, she was going to die down here. She thought of Mary. Timid, cowering Mary.

I didn’t know.

I laughed in the face of fear because I did not understand.

Amber had flaunted her reckless courage like a banner of pride. She’d loved nothing more than to dare to the edge of danger and over, eluding her nannies to secretly tame her father’s wildest stallion, challenging the local boys to swim a flooded stream and, as she grew up, flirting mercilessly with the fiercest lords. She’d bravely held back tears when her mother applied a herbal paste to her latest bruise, giggled atrociously after she’d narrowly escaped Matthew Harden’s amorous kisses, and thought herself invincible. Was it any wonder, when all she’d known was her gentle bear of a father and the comforting embraces of her sweet mother? Even William Jardin could not touch her, for she’d quickly learned to play to his weakness and fear of her.

For that arrogance, she now paid. She’d kicked Duncan in the groin as a last attempt to flee, and he’d kept good on his oath to toss her into the deepest pit Wamphray Castle had to offer.

She shuddered as the fingers of darkness reached for her. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear the scuffling sounds of miniature claws advancing through the few rushes covering the cold, damp stone. She could hear them sniffing, sharpening their claws, gnashing their teeth…Rats. Only rats.

“Hell’s fury,” she hissed determinedly. “If I’m to die in this place, so be it, but devils and angels will duel for my soul before I die of fear!”

Breathe. The walls cannot move…cannot close in on you. This black hole cannot crush you. She started to draw a shallow breath, but it ended in a choked scream as something nibbled at her slipper.

Rats. Harmless rats. Her body froze at the prick on her toe as the tiny sharp teeth reached skin.

Stamp on it.

Squash it.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be this strong. Another prick and Amber spun about, kicking her foot hard into the wall. The rat fell off with a high-pitched screech, or maybe that was her. She sank into a heap on the floor and applied pressure to the throbbing pain in her stubbed toe. Tears streamed from her eyes and, after wiping angrily a few times, she gave up.

Her terror and pain combined with an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. An oppressive pit stood between her and rescuing Stivin from her uncle and, for the first time in her life, Amber didn’t have a plan. She couldn’t think. Since when had she become so pathetically weak?

She was crying, but not from the self-inflicted pain in her toe.

She was shivering, but not from the rank cold.

Fear had finally come to claim her, and she hadn’t the power to fight it.

Krayne awoke with a start. The water was long cold and he stood up abruptly to rub his prickled skin with a linen cloth. Once dry, he strode through the wide opening that led from his chamber to the battlement, wrapping a clean plaid about his hips and shoulders, and using an emerald-studded silver pin to secure it. The day was nearly done, the sun hovering above the distant mountains like a fat orange about to drop.

“I’ve slept the day away,” he muttered in disgust, returning inside to drag a brush through his hair and bind it back with a leather thong. His stomach growled, another reminder of how much time he’d squandered. He quaffed down the entire tankard of ale brought up earlier with his bath, then started on the hard bread and chunks of white cheese beside it. The bite gone from his hunger, his body refreshed and his mind alert, Krayne stopped worrying at the sleep his body had demanded.

Duncan was in the great hall, staring morosely into the flames spitting from the central hearth.

“Brooding over yer sins will do naught ta alter the outcome,” Krayne issued firmly.

Duncan swung around on his stool. “I’ve bin waitin’ fer ye.”

Krayne waved the ransom message he’d scripted at his brother. “All we need is a token of proof and Little Jock will ride it over. Where is she?” he added, looking around.

“In the pit.”

Krayne knew he’d heard wrong. “Where?”

“The pit.” Duncan thumbed the floor, indicating the ancient dungeon dug below the kitchen’s storeroom that was no longer even good enough for storing wheat and oats due to excess damp.

“How long?” He’d already knocked his brother off his feet once today and was sorely tempted to make that twice.

“Ye needn’t mince me with that wolf look,” Duncan groused, cupping a hand between his thighs. “The bitch kicked my bloody balls in! Were it up ta me, I’d throw the keys away.”

Krayne winced in sympathy, but made an instant decision. As tempting as the prospect was, he couldn’t relegate their hostage into Duncan’s care and be done with the little wildcat. “The idea is ta keep her alive,” he barked before turning abruptly to make his way down to the kitchens.

Brayan McAllister looked up from rolling oatcakes. “Aboot time. The wee lassie’s screams near curdled my custard tarts.”

Krayne gave him an apologetic grimace as he passed through into the larder. The castle was thick with yellow-headed McAllisters, his mother’s clan, but the European-trained cook could have been a reviled Maxwell, and Krayne might still have been tempted to keep him. “I wouldna allowed this had I known.”

There’d never been a key, of course. Krayne drew his dirk to slash the twined rope that bound the hatch door through iron rings, wagering Brayan was in for a rude surprise when he met the girl properly. Wee lass, indeed!

When he raised the heavy oak slab, Amber neither answered his summons nor came forward. He swung down the rope ladder, cursing the stubborn wench. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Dread stole into his blood when he saw the slumped figure on the floor.

“Brayan,” he shouted, rushing to Amber’s side. He slipped his hands beneath her knees and waist and lifted her into his arms. He put an ear to her chest, and was relieved to feel the steady rise and fall. “Brayan!”

“Aye, here I am.” The McAllister cook popped his head into the hole. “Mary and Joseph,” he exclaimed as Krayne came toward him, “ye’ve killed the lass.”

“No one’s dead yet,” Krayne muttered, thinking he’d like to toss Duncan down here for the night. He’d forgotten that they’d reinforced the trap door years ago and blocked the breathing gaps to keep the rats from entering the kitchen. Supporting her neck, he pushed the limp body up so that Brayan could grab Amber beneath the arms. “How long was she screaming fer?” he demanded as he hauled himself from the pit.

“Och, ’twas but the one wee scream,” Brayan said sadly as he lowered his burden to the floor, horrified now at his exaggerated complaint.

Krayne lifted Amber into his arms again and carried her through the kitchen. In the light of the fire, he saw the dirt streaking her cheeks, the pale bluish tint beneath her eyes.

She looked so young, so incredibly fragile.

She weighed nothing in his arms.

The two halves of her ripped gown trailed to the floor, leaving her exposed but for the sheer cotton shift, and he felt an instant bastard for doing that to her. Then the swell of her breasts drew his gaze like a lodestone and his self-loathing took second place.

The firelight and the semi-transparent shift revealed just enough of dark areolas centred on firm breasts to tease his imagination. Even as his groin tightened, a fiercely protective urge arose within him. He couldn’t deny the hot need filling his shaft, but he didn’t have to feed it. He adjusted her gently, wrapping the torn gown about her. It was then he saw the dried blood on her fingers.

“Find Mungo and have a fresh bath brought ta my chamber,” he roared to Brayan and stormed up the kitchen steps with Amber held tightly to his chest. He stopped in the great hall and confronted Duncan. “What in Christ’s name did ye do?”

“Nothin’. I didna touch her.” Duncan paled when he saw the lifeless body. “Is—is she—”

“Starved fer air, but not dead.” Krayne’s glare softened when he saw the worry on his brother’s face.

Amber had caused plenty of trouble for one day. He wouldn’t condone deliberate cruelty, but he wasn’t about to join Stivin and blindly rush to her defence. He was her captor, not her protector. And she was far from the innocent victim.

“I don’t want ta start a war,” he warned Duncan, no longer angry but still sensible. “The lass must be returned unharmed.”

He carried Amber up the steps to his chamber. While the steward organised the bath to be emptied and fresh water brought up, Krayne slid the gown from Amber’s shoulders and laid her carefully upon his bed in the inner chamber. His large hands could almost encircle her tiny waist. One slender leg was displayed where her shift had caught and, before he could stop himself, his finger trailed the satin-soft skin, up and up, lifting the shift higher as he worked toward the juncture of her thighs. His shaft filled and he pulled back, acutely aware that his sudden hunger could never be satisfied.

But, God’s truth, had he ever seen a maiden so perfectly formed? Even the mess of knotted black hair clouded about her face tempted the devil’s heat inside him. He had to get away. Before she opened her eyes and sucked his will dry with the green fire that seemed to burn from deep within.

He moved to the doorway, saw fresh water steaming in the tub and the men gone. His eyes went back to the bed.

The sleeping beauty could hardly bathe on her own, now could she?

He took a step closer, then another, all the while cursing himself for a fool. She’d bewitched him, he decided.

He’d never been short of a pretty face and willing body to warm his bed. He didn’t need this one. He’d go downstairs now and spend his lust. Gayle always welcomed him, no matter the hour of day.

And yet, he took the last step and stood beside the bed. His gaze was transfixed, feasting on his prize. Desire slaked his shaft. He was no longer just swollen, but aching with need. The meagre shift enhanced more than it hid. He shook his head roughly. Not his.

And no prize, to be sure. She was a baggage of pure trouble. The kind of woman he galloped a mile from. Still, his pulse raced, carrying crazy messages to his head. She’s too much woman for Stivin. She’ll destroy the lad.

A determined resolve glinted in his eyes as he rose to wet a strip of linen in the bath water and came back to cleanse the dried blood from her fingers. However tempting she might be, she was Stivin’s whore. Until he could box some sense between the boy’s ears, that was. Then she’d belong to no one, and most of all not to him.

Krayne threw a fur rug across her and built a fire in the hearth. When he turned back, Amber was just starting to stir. Soft groans quivered the fullness of her lower lip, a taste of what he could arouse her to. The long black lashes sweeping below her eyes fluttered. Krayne held his breath, anticipating the emerald depths that would pull him in.

He wanted it.

Desire pulsed a feverish need in his blood.

He wanted her to force the black and white of wrong, right and duty from his head, wanted to forget why he preferred lasses without a complex bone in their body, wanted her to render him so powerless that no argument could forestall his complete surrender, a willing fool with no regrets.

It would be so easy.

If he were a weaker man.

Krayne allowed himself one last moment of fantasy, sliding his gaze from raven hair to sculptured toes. Then his resolve hardened. He would not taint his honour for the want of a good rutting.

Steel control was an old friend. He’d used it time and time again to trap grief and rage while he planned and executed vengeance when a swift killing would not suffice. He’d never imagined himself in a position where he’d need, or want, to trap the fires of passion and desire, but they were as much elements of man’s nature as any other emotion. He could foresee no problem. Now that his mind was truly made up, the rest would follow. It was as simple as that.

Her fingers moved through the fur of the rug he’d laid over her, and Krayne knew she was coming around. With a decisive movement, he drew his dirk.

Amber fought against consciousness. She didn’t want to be pulled from the sweet lull of darkness. Here, she didn’t have to struggle against walls crushing her lungs, horrid little monsters nibbling her flesh, nightmare visions of Stivin begging for help while she looked on helplessly.

But she couldn’t stay. She was being dragged to the surface. Her lids opened sluggishly, then rounded wide and alert at the black-haired beast looming over her. Firelight glinted off steel and she would have screamed, but it felt as if her heart had jumped into her throat.

“Dinna fear.” The oak-smoked burr eased the pitch of terror, enough so for her to recognise the beast as Krayne. He sheathed the blade and showed her the raven curl he’d hacked off. “I need this fer yer uncle.”

Amber nodded, heart still throbbing against her ribcage, vaguely wondering if it was worth her time and effort to protest the futility of his actions once more. Then she became aware of her surroundings. “The pit…Where am I?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I thought ye might be more comfortable here.”

Relief bought him a return smile, but it didn’t last. Although the shock was gradually ebbing, the piercing silver of his eyes kept her blood high. She pressed a hand to her chest in a protective gesture, and gasped. Her eyes dipped, then shot straight up to his and froze.

Where was her gown?

What had he done?

“Nothing yet.” Krayne answered the accusation in her eyes with a gravel-hard voice, then promptly spun about and strode away.

Nothing yet. A shadow crossed her heart and chilled her blood. He will be back, and he won’t find me lying half-naked in bed.

Krayne Johnstone might have saved her from the hell pit, but she wasn’t that grateful.

He stopped and turned beneath the open archway that led into the adjoining chamber.

What now?

He was just standing there, looking at her. His jaw was so tightly clenched, she imagined she could hear his teeth crunch. The wolf looked ready to pounce.

Wiping a hand across her forehead, Amber made a brave show of crumpling before his eyes, managing to pull the fur over her as she slumped down on the bed.

“Christ.” He hurried back.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, rolling her head away so she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Please leave me. I fear that black pit has sapped my strength.” She turned a little to peer at him from beneath half-lidded eyes.

“Rest.” The word rumbled warmly with concern.

She closed her eyes and concentrated to slow her breathing. Finally she heard him move, the padded footfalls of his leather soles fading to silence, then a squeak as a door opened. Amber gave it a few more moments, then rolled onto her front and up on her elbows, glancing this way and that, but ready to drop into feigned slumber at the slightest sound.

The bold stamp on the room and superb, if sparse, furnishings told her she was in the laird’s bed. The thick pelt of an exotic brown bear covered the window. Various forest creatures had given their fur to warm the stone floor. The bed was made from birch rather than pine, stained a rich brown and stood high off the ground. A sturdy chair and writing table of the same stained birch completed the decor.

She lifted herself onto her knees, assured that it was now safe. This was her chance to escape to Spedlin and rescue Stivin, because a lock of her hair wasn’t going to do the job. If the Johnstone brothers would just refrain from tossing her over their shoulders and into pits long enough to actually hear—

“The laird said ta help wi’ yer bath.” A sullen voice broke into her thoughts.

Amber started, her gaze flicking to the arched doorway to see a robust woman of about two score years standing there. A halo of red-orange frizz escaped the braid draped across her shoulder to frame a rounded, ruddy face. Too late, Amber realised that she’d never heard the outer door squeak closed.

The idea of bathing was fairy dust to her weary body and battered spirit, and almost worth postponing her escape for, but Amber wasn’t smiling yet. At Spedlin, a bath was a wooden barrel sectioned off by a thin sheet strung across a kitchen corner. She’d tried it once, and that was once too many. The only baths she’d since enjoyed were courtesy of the frigid stream or a quick rub down in her chamber.

Muttering, “I’ve nae the time ta sit abou’ repeatin’ myself aw day,” the woman shook her head and disappeared from sight.

Amber threw off the covers and slid from the bed. She peeked behind the bear fur, but found only a series of arrow slits in the stone wall that were too narrow to squeeze through. The bed itself was pushed up against an oak door and, though she held little hope, Amber tested the knob. It turned, but the door was either locked or jammed. The only way out, it seemed, was through the archway.

The adjacent chamber was a living area. Two padded stools were arranged around a chess table. A set of chairs with wide seats, carved backs and sturdy arms graced the hearth. There was another table for more general use, tapestries on the walls and woven rugs to walk upon.

When Amber’s gaze reached the far wall, she found what she was looking for. An opening as large as a door led to a stone rampart that could only be part of the battlement wall. The large tapestry usually covering it had been looped up by two hooks on either side, allowing the dwindling daylight in.

The round-faced serving woman was on her knees with her back to the room, sorting through items on a low shelf. Amber would have to wait, and was more than happy to take that bath while doing so.

She walked deeper into the room, saw a large chest against one wall and a good-sized metal tub tucked away in an alcove. The air above the tub shimmered from the rising heat. A lightness stole over her mood at the prospect of a decent hot bath and imminent freedom.

The woman came back with a length of Johnstone plaid and a small vial that released the aroma of sun-kissed roses when a few drops were added to the bath water.

Amber smiled with delight, and the woman’s scowl deepened. Shrugging a shoulder, Amber removed her shift and stepped into the tub. Pleasure cascaded over her skin as she slipped low into the warm, fragrant water.

Turning a friendly grin to where the woman stood with crossed arms, Amber asked, “What is your name?”

Muddy brown eyes gave her a long, sour look. “Isla.”

“Do I know you?” Amber said, wondering what she’d done to earn the obvious disfavour. “Do you know me?”

“I ken ye fer a Jardin.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, waiting for more, but apparently the explanation was complete. She’d assumed the feuds and hate to be a singularly male pastime, as was the case in Cornwall, where women were insulated from the realities of war and seldom, if ever, came face to face with the enemy. A silly assumption, she acknowledged, considering her current hostage status.

Her fingers trailed drops of water over her thighs and abdomen as she mused on the ridiculous notion of an English lady being held captive by a close neighbour. But then again, neither could she entertain the picture of any gentleman she’d grown up with executing a raid—on the lord next door, no less. It wasn’t just uncivilised, it was…words failed her and the small smile of amusement vanished.

She looked inward, and it became personal.

For the first time, Amber saw her capture as more than a huge obstacle preventing her from saving Stivin. There was the pit, then the glint of steel so close to her throat. She’d assumed that no one had any reason to actually kill her…

A frown worked her brow and she nibbled her lower lip. She was a pawn, dragged from her home to be disposed of as the Johnstones saw fit. It mattered not if she were innocent or guilty of the great betrayal. No one was listening, no one cared. She was a possession, valuable enough to protect—for now. These were Stivin’s kin, but they’d been Jardin enemies for a half-score years or more. What would happen once they realised she was worth less than a crippled horse? What would they do when William Jardin rejected their terms of exchange?

“Leave me,” Amber ordered.

“I have nae wish ta be here, but the laird—”

“Asked you to help me,” she finished. Amber sat up straight and met the brown glare defiantly, wondering if the dour Isla honestly thought she wanted to be here. “Then help me to bathe in private.”

Isla didn’t need telling twice. She made a show of huffing and grumbling beneath her breath on the way out.

Amber hurriedly dried off and tugged her shift over her head. It had been sheer folly on her part to insist over and over again how worthless she was.

What was I thinking?

That they’d apologise for the inconvenience and send me back to Spedlin with a farewell pat on the shoulder?

She found her gown crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The rip all the way down the front was a reminder of Johnstone hospitality and how little her honour and dignity meant to these people. She dressed as best she could, pinching the bodice over her breasts with trembling fingers while she guided her feet into scuffed slippers.

The wind whipped the open flaps of her gown about as she stepped onto the rampart, the chill evening air cutting ruthlessly through her shift. Crouching low and close to the battlement wall, she ran, keeping a keen ear on the occasional shout and sound below lest it escalate to a raised alarm. The broody sky abetted the waning daylight and she was thankful for the cover.

Soon the walk broke away from the tower house and she was in the narrow passage dug along the top of the crenulated wall that enclosed the bailey. Approximately midway along the length of the bailey, Amber stopped and leant far over the side of the wall. The curtain wall had to be at least five or six men tall. Beyond that, the thickly wooded bog looked sinister with long shadows and the spongy ground of sphagnum mosses.

Amber experienced a moment of doubt about getting across the morass. Not that it mattered, she thought irritably, for in order to do that, she first needed to find a way down from this impossible height.

As soon as she pulled back from the edge, a blur of raised voices carried on the breeze. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but the direction it came from and the loud confusion set her heart racing.

She stilled.

She couldn’t go down and she wasn’t going back.

Her knees went hollow, cramped from excess energy at the thought of just standing where she was, a hare already snared and awaiting a predetermined fate.

Chapter 3

The squabbling voices lured Krayne from the north solar, a private apartment above his sleeping chamber where he conducted business.

“Enough,” he ordered from the threshold of his chamber, and all eyes turned on him. Isla, Mungo and even Little Jock, the stalwart giant who’d just left his solar with the letter of exchange, fidgeted nervously.

A glance around the chamber told Krayne everything he needed to know.

“Ye left her alone?” he demanded of Isla.

“I didna want ta.” Isla could no longer meet his eyes. She’d failed her laird and felt enormous shame. Resentment for the woman responsible surged. “She ordered me out o’ the room.”

Krayne dismissed the serving woman with a nod. He hadn’t sent her to Amber as a guard. He’d left the lass as weak as a day-old lamb, only hoping Isla would see to her bath and help her back into bed.

He told Little Jock to fetch Alexander, a younger brother of the Raehills Johnstones and captain of the Wamphray moss-troopers, then turned to his steward. “Search every chamber and alcove within the castle.”

Mungo nodded and slipped from the room, Isla scurrying on his heels.

Krayne stepped outside.

He wasn’t overly concerned, for even if Amber had managed to steal down the stairway and out the front door, the gatekeeper wouldn’t let her pass beyond the castle. His gaze swept along the dusk-shaded outline of the curtain wall. The deep passage had shadowy hooks and knobs that provided many hiding places.

Krayne started down the long walk. He was not in the mood for a cat-and-mouse game, even if the mouse was trapped; the walkway came to a dead end at the portcullis. The Jardin wench was probably laughing right now at how effortlessly she’d duped him. He’d spent a long time staring at that curl of hair, so shiny and black against the yellow parchment he’d wrapped it in. And all the while, the teeth of guilt and worry at her sudden relapse had made their mark inside his gut.

Hah! His spine stiffened and his stride lengthened.

How in hell had she reduced him to a green sapling that could so conveniently be wound about her little finger?

A flapping movement caught his eyes and a grin broke the stern line of his mouth. This had been as easy as he’d expected. As he drew closer, however, his jaw squared firm and a tic worked furiously at his temple.

“The bloody vixen,” Krayne spewed, untangling the wool sleeve tied around a thick stone tooth. He roped the material in, cursing at the long drop even after the diagonal length of the gown was taken into account. He scanned the area below, and the heaviness lifted from his chest when he saw no mangled body sprawled on the ground. Bundling the gown under his arm, Krayne ran back along the walkway. The danger wasn’t over yet.

Alexander was waiting in the chamber, clearly as unconcerned as Krayne had been, until he saw the laird’s face.

“She went over the wall,” Krayne informed him at once, tossing the gown aside as he marched through the chamber.

“That isna possible,” protested Alexander as they went down the stairs to the great hall.

“First one foot, then the other,” Krayne snarled. “Very possible, I assure ye.”

Alexander had a lean frame despite well-trained muscles, a clean-shaven jaw and pale blue eyes that scraped years from his five and thirty years, and Krayne had never before seen such a haggard face on his captain.

Realising the cause, he added dryly, “Dinna ask me how, but she made it down alive.”

His friend’s expression relaxed with a gruff sigh that Krayne well understood. The gulf between battle blood and a hostage suicide—of a woman at that, was a vast distance neither of them ever wanted to measure.

“She may yet be hurt,” Krayne warned as they crossed the bailey to the stables.

Alexander hailed two moss-troopers lounging against a wall and ordered them to round up every available man who hadn’t ridden in from Stirling that morning. “I’ll harry the others later if we have nae luck,” he told Krayne.

“She canna go far.” Krayne led Cronus from his stall, stroking the proud Arabian’s neck absently. “The bog will slow her down.”

“Aye. If it doesna swallow her.”

Krayne mounted Cronus and kicked the stallion into a trot without answering. Some things didn’t bear thinking about. Old Giles had already been informed of the crisis and was cranking the portcullis as Krayne rode up.

“Keep a look out,” he shouted to the grey-bearded gatekeeper. The gate tower faced the river. Whether Amber knew it or not, the dale made by Wamphray Water was the only feasible road home to Spedlin.

The daylight was almost gone, the spongy moss and sinking mud more treacherous on horseback than foot, but Krayne knew the tracts through the morass like the back of his hand. The most likely danger that Amber faced was stumbling into the reeds and exposed roots that crowded the water’s edge and getting sucked into the muddy pools. He rode the bog systematically, keeping to the firmer tracts of ground, calling her name and yelling warnings of the dangers.

Moonlight slithered through a zigzag in the dark clouds to shimmer silver over the water. His men joined him, then later split up to search the wooded hills that bound the north and east walls, and to scour the dale in case she’d slipped past the gatekeeper. A terrible fear kept finding Krayne, no matter how determinedly he pushed it back. Blood pounded his temples as he shouted, “Amber! Ye canna know this bog land. Ye’ve scant clothing and the night grows ever colder. Come ta me, woman! Damn all saints, I weary of this business.”

Nothing. Not a sound or movement.

Once again, Krayne rode to the spot beside the wall where she would have landed. Horse and rider went absolutely still, listening for noises that didn’t belong. With little time to think, she would have headed straight into the cover offered by the bog. He was certain of it. Just as he knew her instincts would be to run rather than hide.

Unless…Krayne tossed his head back with a fierce shake. How could he have ignored the obvious? He dismounted with a curse and ordered Cronus to wait.

Amber held her breath as the rustling vibrations stopped directly beneath her. She should have run. In spite of her twisted ankle, every instinct had screamed for her to run and not look back.

From the height of the branch she’d chosen for its dense foliage, she’d watched with increasing alarm as Krayne kept returning to the scuffle marks by the wall. When he’d finally dismounted, she’d had no opportunity to scale down the gnarled and knotted trunk. He’d followed her clumsy trail, as blatant as that of any wounded animal, she supposed, in a direct line without pause.

“Come down.” The command was a low growl.

Amber bit her lip. He hadn’t even looked up. They were so unevenly matched, it just wasn’t fair.

“I mean it, lass.”

The top of his head was at least five feet below her. Mayhap if he were forced to climb up after her…she clamped her eyes shut to hold tears from escaping. What was the point? She’d never get away. She had never stood a chance.

“I could wait here all night.”

There was a rustling sound of movement at her feet. Her eyes snapped open and she looked down. His head was no longer visible. She stretched her neck, peering through a cluster of leaves close to the base of the branch and groaned silently. The arrogant man was leaning against the tree, arms folded, one knee raised with his foot pressed flat to the trunk. It wouldn’t surprise her if he started whistling a merry tune.

He continued in a bored tone, “But my men are weary and they’ve been kept from their pleasures. Mayhap they’ll enjoy the chase of climbing up after such a tasty morsel, but then I might feel inclined ta reward the man—” He cut off, moving with deadly accuracy into position as she tumbled straight into his arms.

So much for jumping on top his head and laying the brute flat. Will I never learn?

“Do ye never learn, lass?”

How does he do that? “Put me down.”

“Nay.” Holding her close to his chest, he strode through the undergrowth and muddy bog with a sure foot.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she hissed.

He stepped out from the continuous wooded canopy into a pool of moonlight and stopped. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, and all she could see was the underside of his clenched jaw. She felt his chest swell with a deep breath, then slowly release. She was still staring at his sculpted jaw when he shifted her slightly and looked into her eyes.

“If ye weren’t hurt, ye would have run.” His voice wasn’t kind, but then neither was it angry or cold.

He was walking again, long strides that took them to the black stallion that was as dark and brimming with potency as its owner. He set her down and turned his back on her to mount the horse, arrogantly aware that she wasn’t going anywhere.

When he lifted her sideways onto his lap, she was unsettled by his gentle touch. Where was the outrage at her attempted escape?

The thigh muscles beneath her tensed as he spurred the horse around and set a slow pace. She was trapped between his arms, cradled against a chest that was becoming all too familiar, feeling the heat that surrounded her from all sides, and once again intimately aware of her state of undress. What was it about this man that she was doomed to be half-naked in his arms?

Suddenly she laughed, a weary laugh, and looked up at him. His hair flowed to his shoulders like a river of black silk. The raw power encased in his lithe frame exuded the endurance, strength and timeless arrogance of the Lammimiur craggy mountain heights. His mouth was just there, stoking a fire inside her. A sigh that came suspiciously close to longing trembled from lips that felt swollen with some imagined kiss.

His gaze dropped to capture her sensuous stare. “Don’t.”

She came abruptly to herself and stiffened, jerking her eyes away to look into the safety of the night. “Don’t what?”

Strong fingers grasped her chin firmly and forced her eyes back to his. “I’m just a man, Amber, and yer games are designed ta turn a man’s blood ta sin.”

She tried to avert her head, but he held fast.

At least she’d come to her senses.

“Aye,” she said, “and you’re a man designed to turn a woman’s blood to ice.”

He grinned. Dark and sinister, and damn him to hell, for she found that dangerous grin strangely seductive. “Be that a challenge?”

She shrugged a casual shoulder that took more effort than it should have. “A statement. I already have ample proof.”

His hand left her chin and moved down to her breast, cupping, fondling. A roughened thumb stroked her nipple, teasing it to a hardness that was made painfully obvious through the damp cotton.

“Unhand me.” Something inside her cracked, coaxing a foreign heat low in her belly.

“Why?” The grey in his eyes caught the moonlight to sparkle with amusement. “Ye have yer proof, and now I’ll have mine.”

“Beast.”

“Is that all ye can come up with?” His fingers abandoned their task to trace a fiery trail up her throat, tipping her chin to him once more. “This morning I was a bastard. Or was that a whoreson? Ye have an inventive tongue, I’ll give ye that.” He paused, and the moon must have dipped from sight for his eyes lost the light to a dark, almost pewter depth. “I wonder what else it is capable of?”

“Poison,” she vowed.

This time, when she jerked her chin free, he let her be. His roaming hand went back to the reins and she told herself she was grateful he’d lost interest.

But her pulse was racing and nerves tingled awareness up and down her spine. And deep inside was a curious emptiness she did not fully understand.

The silence held until they’d entered the bailey and dismounted. Once he’d handed his horse over to a young lad, she found herself hauled into Krayne’s arms. Amber made a token protest, in truth relieved to bury her face in the linen folds of his shirt when he carried her through the throng gathered on the front steps.

“Duncan, send word that the search is off,” Krayne called out.

“Where was the wench?”

“How did ye catch her?”

Krayne’s stride slowed. “Would ye believe, the lass fell straight inta my arms.”

“Och, ne’er.”

“’Tis the truth,” he assured them with mock indignation.

Amber’s cheeks burned. Then the hairs on her neck bristled as someone breathed over her. “A shoogle an’ a skelpin’ fer ye, I ken, what wi’ keepin’ decent folk from their supper.”

A chuckle rumbled deep inside his chest. “Aye, Isla, I couldna agree more.”

Her humiliation was complete.

The onlookers fell back as they moved up the narrow steps to the upper floor.

Amber pulled her face away from his chest. “And just what is a shoogle and a skelping?”

Krayne glanced down with a grin. “I’d say what Isla had in mind was a sound whipping.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

A black brow lifted.

Amber looked away and clamped her lips. Had she already forgotten what her last challenge had led to? One day, she prayed, she’d learn to hold her tongue.

But not today, she revised when Krayne dumped her on the bed, his bed. She scrambled upright and hugged her knees close, glaring at his broad back as he walked away. “I’ll not share your bed.”

“I didna recall asking ye ta,” he issued over his shoulder as he rounded the corner into the next chamber.

Amber wasn’t the least bit placated. She doubted Krayne was a man who did much asking in the first place, not when he could just as easily take.

Her gaze flew up when he returned.

“Remove yer clothes.” He indicated her damp shift as he came to stand by the bed.

Her earlier fascination with his dark handsomeness had no place here.

She’d never been more aware of her vulnerability as a female, the weaker of the sexes. This man could rip her apart, limb from limb, without raising a sweat. Whatever struggle she offered would be flicked aside as if she were no more than a bothersome flea.

“Why do ye look at me like that?” asked Krayne.

Her gaze wavered. “Like what?”

“As if I were about ta rip yer head from yer shoulders.”

Was she that transparent? Or did he commune with the devil on a daily basis for his unnatural insight?

Amber met the stone-grey eyes again. “Are you not?”

“Where would the benefit be in that?”

Not a question she even wanted asked. Her uncle might indeed reward the man responsible for her early demise. William would risk no hand in her death himself, but that wasn’t to say—

“I am not angry with ye for attempting ta escape.” Krayne interrupted her morbid thoughts.

He threw something white and soft upon the bed and strode from the room, leaving Amber staring after him with a puzzled frown.

On the rampart outside his chambers, Krayne drew in a lungful of the crisp night air. He was unwilling to go back inside until his restless energy either burned itself out or was snuffed by the cold. He hated what he’d seen in Amber’s wide-eyed stare, and the idea that he was the man to introduce her to fear was an uncomfortable feeling.

He had only himself to blame that she’d attempted to flee. She’d been half-frightened to death. He could be a cold bastard when he chose, instilling the fear of the devil into the most stalwart warrior. And he was taking no chances when it came to shutting out his lust for Stivin’s leman.

“I am tired.” The blunt-edged voice at his back belied the words.

Krayne rolled his eyes as he turned around, and in that striking instant recognized the flaws in his strategy leading up to this moment that would have seen him and his army slain had they been in battle. The fine quality of the shirt he’d loaned Amber played a bewitching game with the breeze, caressing her skin with the allure of a billowing silk sheet. Hair as black and seductive as sin contrasted with the innocence of the sheer white cotton it fell upon and, Christ have mercy, the firelight flickering behind her enhanced every line and shadow, curve and hollow. His thoughts ran dry as he drank in the creamy swell exposed by the oversized shirt that dipped sharper and lower than any man could take.

If her plan was to slowly disable Wamphray Castle by rendering the laird witless with desire, she was succeeding.

“I said I am tired!”

The shrewish voice shook his thoughts loose.

“Then go ta bed,” he rasped, and immediately regretted the harsh order when she jumped back from him and yelped. This day would eventually end, Krayne assured himself as he moved to her side. “Let me see.”

She shrank from him, keeping her gaze level with his chest.

“Amber,” he warned, “I will see yer ankle.” He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “I canna say what might happen if ye force me ta take ye in my arms again. Let’s not tempt fate.”

He almost smiled at the spark of understanding in her green gaze. At least she didn’t pretend to be a blushing maiden with no inkling of carnal matters. He held his arm out. “Let’s go ta bed.”

The moment the words were out, his mind flooded with fantasies of long legs wrapped about his waist; her secret triangle, the same raven black as her hair for sure, and parted wide in invitation. Blood drained from his head directly to his shaft. God above, he was being consumed by a lust he didn’t want. I have no control over this.

“The bed,” he said hoarsely. “Let me take ye back to the bed.”

Amber, meanwhile, ignored both his careless blunder and his arm, hobbling a wide berth around him. He shut his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and inhaled a long, clear breath that sucked the storm from his head.

He was wrong. Too much control is the problem. His failure came in rejecting his lust and denying the pleasure.

He snapped his eyes open to see where Amber had gone.

She was on the chair beside the hearth, arranging the shirt about her knees while her stubborn glare remained on him. “You may examine my ankle here. Besides, that is what I wanted to know. Where will I be sleeping?”

Krayne obliged by going down before her, gently lifting the leg she’d indicated. One hand supported the heel and the other prodded the tender flesh and delicate bone. “’Tis swollen,” he murmured, prodding a little more. “Nothing appears broken.”

“I could have told you that.”

In response to her sharp tongue, he let his hand roam up her leg, satin soft, firm and slender. It was a glorious experience, knowing he could indulge without restraint. Sweet heaven, and he would no more be denied.

With little obvious distraction, he removed his hand to catch hold of her wrist before she landed an indignant slap. Only he knew how much he already missed that tantalising journey up her leg to paradise.

Replacing her misbehaving hand in her lap, he delivered a lazy smile. “Ye’ll sleep in my bed tonight.”

“I’ll give you no pleasure.”

He chuckled, enjoying the fire in her eyes. “Ye already have, lass.”

She made to jump up, but he held her down with a gentle, yet firm, hand. “I will bind yer ankle.”

“Why?” she spat. “So you can later enjoy your wild play without guilt?”

“Mayhap,” he conceded after a moment, then pushed to his feet to find a linen strip.

“I’ll not lie with you.”

The force in her words twisted his lips downward, but he quickly disregarded her contempt. It mattered little.

“So ye keep informing me.” He knelt before her, binding the ankle with a solid tension. “One might almost think yer hoping ta convince yerself.”

“Oh—you—you—” She leaned forward and thumped hard at his chest.

Krayne grinned, wondering if she realised that the flush to her cheeks and the flashing green of her eyes were enemies to her cause, inflaming him with a want that could no longer be put off.

He stood abruptly. “Come.”

“No.” She held fast to the arms of the chair, refusing to meet his eyes.

Krayne had lost the taste for taunting. Pleasure had turned to blessed torture and now he only wanted to sate his lust. “Ye will not be disturbed in my bed, Amber. I have no intention of bedding ye.”

Her eyes narrowed on him in blatant disbelief. “Where—where will you sleep?”

His hand swept the floor area by the hearth.

“You cannot sleep here.”

Krayne gave her a blank look. “Yer concern fer my comfort is touching, but I assure ye, this floor is luxury compared ta some places I’ve laid down fer the night.”

“I don’t care about your comfort, you black-hearted oaf.” She uncurled her fingers to rise to her feet. “There’s no door between the rooms. How do you expect me to sleep when I know you’re…when you can…?” Her cheeks reddened as she struggled for the relevant words.

“Go ta bed, Amber. I’ve had a tiresome day and now have urgent matters ta attend.” He was none too gentle as he prodded her into the adjacent chamber, but he did take care with her injured ankle.

On his way out, he stopped beneath the archway to reassure her. To reassure himself. “Ye have naught ta fear. There’s little ta tempt me in here that I canna get elsewhere.”

Krayne found the steward’s daughter folding sheets in the curtained alcove between the great hall and kitchens that served as a linen room.

“Come ta me,” he growled, grabbing the slender beauty around the waist. Her sharp gasp released as a warm sigh when he turned her about in his arms and she saw her attacker.

“Krayne.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, but the rebuke was no more effective than her next words, for the hunger in her fawn eyes told another story. “Dinna think ta jump me whene’er the fancy takes.”

He caught her finger and put it to his lips. “Ah, Gayle, I see ye’ve missed me.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

He chuckled, then sucked her finger with slow, deliberate strokes as he watched her pupils dilate and her lips part on a whimper.

Mungo’s daughter was a young widow of six and twenty, and they’d enjoyed each other for two years now. He knew exactly how to arouse her body to match his every mood, and right now he wanted fast and hot. He felt scant guilt that he saw a raven-haired vixen in transparent white when he closed his eyes. Gayle would not take offence. They’d both agreed that there was nothing more between them than the occasional dalliance.

Chapter 4

One might almost think yer hoping ta convince yerself.

Amber came awake with a groan as her dream bled into reality. She was lying on her stomach, her arms hugging a feather pillow. The details were fading fast, but she held on to the flashes of heated skin, tender caresses and intoxicating kisses for as long as she could.

Lord, it seemed so real. She’d spent the night in his arms. Willingly. That savage beauty cut from lines as harsh and unforgiving as the deepest winter had proved too much in the end. The woodsy scent, overwhelming masculinity, intelligent eyes that glinted more wicked than cruel. She didn’t know Krayne, was pretty sure she neither liked nor trusted him, yet her body wanted, demanded and had finally, in sleep, taken.

There’s little ta tempt me in here that I canna get elsewhere.

She was instantly wide-awake, pushing up onto her elbows. “Bastard.”

But it wasn’t Krayne she was furious at.

She brought her fists down on the pillow, pounding into the feather stuffing as she recalled every accusation she’d flung last night. How many times had she denied him? Protested her virtue?

As if he burned with lust. As if he couldn’t keep his hands and mind off her.

What a laugh.

Krayne had walked off easily enough, while she’d hunted him down in her dreams and clung all night long. No man had ever affected her thus, and she cursed Krayne for being the first.

“Life isn’t fair.” Krayne had more advantages than he knew what to do with, and now he had this too. “It just isn’t fair.”

“Should I come back later,” rumbled an amused voice, “or are ye almost done with that fit of temper?”

Amber’s fists froze. A dull flush crept up her throat as she met the gaze of the man himself, leaning against the wall with folded arms. His britches were black, the supple leather moulded to potent thighs. The white cotton shirt was a stark contrast, open halfway down his chest to reveal a golden tan. He wore his hair loose, falling to his shoulders with a healthy shine.

For a moment, she tried to align the forbidding figure with the intimacy of her dream, but quickly shook her head in disgust when she became aware of what she was doing.

How long has he been standing there?

A mocking smile tipped his lips and fed the creases at his eyes. He was laughing. At her! Amber sat up, dragging the covers with her.

“I’m done,” she said shortly. She’d never succumbed to a fit of anything in her life, and she wasn’t about to explain what and who had brought on her first.

He nodded. “How are ye feeling this morning?”

His smile faded as he walked closer, but the expression on his face held some warmth. She didn’t trust it one bit.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

When Krayne reached the bed and sat down, she bunched the blanket high up her chest. His gaze lingered on her lips, then slipped lower.

She knew he had no interest in undressing her with his eyes.

Knew he saw nothing he especially wanted. Nothing that he couldn’t get elsewhere with much less effort.

And yet, passion’s teeth, it was impossible to remember how safe from his lust she was when that dark glint chased the misty grey from his eyes and turned them pewter. Even more impossible to remember why she did not want that lust.

He sprang up suddenly and went back to his position against the wall.

She closed her eyes on a sigh. Her wanton behaviour had to end. She was a lady, not some serving woman to bed a man not her husband. Not that she would. I certainly would not! Her parents’ shame would haunt her from their graves.

She had to make a stand. Krayne was the enemy. She couldn’t afford to dither between fleeing the man and falling into his arms, even if he would have her.

Stivin’s life was at stake. Mayhap her own, too.

“I am neither cold nor heartless,” he said.

Her eyes snapped open to find him frowning at her. “I sincerely doubt that. Since I’ve made your acquaintance, I have been beaten—”

“A pat on the rump,” he interjected.

She glowered at him, raising her voice. “Beaten, stripped of my clothing, thrown into some hell pit—”

“Ye deserved worse, according to Duncan.”

“Almost fell to my death—”

“Yer own doing.” His eyes narrowed in warning.

She took pleasure in ignoring it. “Degraded into sharing your chamber—”

“Actually, I slept elsewhere.”

He had? Where?

A knowing grin chased the frown from his brows.

He couldn’t read her mind, she assured herself. And if he could, he’d know that those silent questions were idle curiosity, nothing more.

“Stolen from my home and held against my will,” she finished with a triumphant glare.

But Krayne only shrugged. “The land makes us what we are.”

“That’s right,” she snorted. “Shift the blame.”

“I will not argue circles with ye.”

“Of course not. Very well, you talk, and I’ll just agree to everything you say. That’s what you wish, is it not? And what the mighty laird wishes, he gets!” It was unwise to bait him, but her blood was too hot to care. She was looking for a fight. “I’m not one of the devoted servants you surround yourself with.”

“Nay, yer my prisoner. And ye’d do well ta not forget that.”

“Or what?” Amber challenged, her chin raised in defiance.

His expression darkened as he glared her down.

But just when she thought she’d broken through his restraint, Krayne chuckled. “Pull in yer claws, wildcat, fer I’ll not play yer games.”

“Trust me, this is no game.”

“I truly hope ye remember that when the next foolish notion ta escape fills yer head.”

“I’m a prisoner,” she pointed out. “’Tis my duty to escape.”

“Yer duty is ta Stivin.” His gaze turned black, straining at the edges of control. “Or have ye already forgotten yer lover?”

Lover? Her jaw dropped at the preposterous notion.

“Let me remind ye,” Krayne continued in a hard voice. “His name is Stivin, and every time ye run, I personally see that as twisting the knife deeper inta my little cousin’s gut.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Ye said so yerself. Ye will remain in my keeping ’til such a time as I can arrange the exchange. This much, ye owe Stivin.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Unfortunately, I understand too well.” His arms unfolded, his hands dropping to his sides. “I came here ta reassure ye that I mean ye no harm. That there was no reason ta be afraid and run away. But I can see now I’ve wasted my time. Yer not afraid, are ye? Yer merely so spoilt and pampered and selfish that a few days’ inconvenience is too much ta ask in return fer Stivin’s life.”

She started to protest, but he cut her short. “Only, I’m not asking. Attempt another escape and I will find ye and bring ye back. And next time I’ll take great pleasure in tossing ye inta the dungeon myself.”

With that, he stormed from the chamber.

Amber slumped against the wall behind her.

She didn’t doubt him one bit. He probably would find her. And he would dump her back into that hole.

She imagined her uncle bent double, clutching his gut with raucous laughter when Krayne presented her for the exchange. William would likely kill Stivin right then and there in the hope that Krayne would retaliate by killing her. An eye for an eye. A cousin for a niece. To be free of the curse.

She had no choice. She had to make Krayne listen to her, before it was too late. And if he still refused to believe that her uncle hated her, then she’d have to risk another escape, otherwise neither she nor Stivin stood a chance of coming out of this alive.

His blood raging, Krayne marched through the great hall and down the outside steps, taking scant notice of the men breaking their fast at the long tables. The conniving wench! He’d truly intended to soothe her fears, use gentle persuasion to show her that they were on the same side. Stivin’s side.

Hah. Amber thought of herself first and others not at all.

And still his pulse hummed at the vision she made in his bed. Her hair a tempest black cloud spilling over pillow and cotton as she shifted restlessly…the soft moans that could not be mistaken.

Whom had she been dreaming of?

Stivin? Some other lover?

An ugly sensation invaded his gut. Krayne inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He did not care, he reminded himself. Amber was a means to an end. And the sooner she moved on from Stivin to someone more evenly matched to her feminine wiles, the better for the entire Johnstone clan.

Peter came running from the stables, a scraggly lad of no more than eight years, but as wise and serious as the hills. He had an extraordinary manner with the horses, and it was whispered that he spoke to them in a language not quite human. In his haste, he was halfway up the steps before he spotted Krayne standing beneath one of the elder trees that guarded the castle’s main door.

“Me laird…” Out of breath, Peter slid under the wooden rail and jumped the short distance to the ground. “Me laird, he comes. Jus’ turned the bend at Noddin’ Ned.”

Nodding Ned was a stately oak that stood in isolation on the north bank of Wamphray Water just before the river snaked out of sight. Its trunk as thick as the spread of four men’s arms, Nodding Ned was an invaluable measure of the gale forces that habitually tore through crag and dale with no mercy for unattended beast or vulnerable sapling. When Ned stirred, men jumped to attention. When Ned nodded, it was too late.

Krayne looked up to the gate tower for confirmation. The gatekeeper was already preparing to raise the portcullis.

“Go,” he told Peter. “Call Duncan and Red John and Alexander ta me. Ye’ll find them in the hall.”

“Aye, me laird.” Peter took off again, scooting up the steps.

Krayne made his way to the stables to await Little Jock and news from Spedlin. As the man and horse cleared the gates, Krayne knew a certain relief. Soon, this would be over. Soon, Stivin would be home safe and the consequences of that damn raid forgotten. And he’d gladly string and quarter the next man to so much as move or breathe without his say-so.

“Aboot bloody time,” shouted Red John as he descended the castle steps with Duncan. Another yellow-haired McAllister with broad shoulders and a wide chest, Red John took his name from a fiery ginger beard that had snuck in from some distant Viking ancestor.

“What news?” Duncan called to Little Jock, but the man simply shook his head and slid from his horse to stand before Krayne.

“The Jardin laird wasna there when I arrived,” Little Jock told Krayne. “I hoped ta wait inside, so as ta look aboot, ye ken. The filthy bastards put guards on me in the stables.”

“Ye heard naught of Stivin?”

Little Jock shook his head again. “I didna see a soul other than the guards and, this morn, the laird himself.”

Krayne scrubbed his jaw, wondering if Jardin’s tardiness should disturb him. Nay, he decided, the man would have been out searching for his niece. He couldn’t stop the grin as he thought on Jardin’s reaction to learning her whereabouts. “What are his terms?”

Little Jock grimaced. “Midday tomorrow at—”

“The firkin’ rat,” Duncan swore as he reached them. “What’s he waitin’ fer? Let’s do it now, I say. Nae more of this—”

“Enough.” Krayne motioned Little Jock to finish.

“At Blaeberry Hill, he said. And ta ride with no more than six men.”

“That be Jardin land,” Red John pointed out as he too joined them.

Krayne nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not taking any chances.”

“He always did run scared of ye,” Duncan snorted. In their earliest youth, the families had not been unfriendly. William Jardin had eighteen years on Krayne, had been a man in his prime when Krayne was a mere lad, but even then he’d shown a certain wariness of Krayne. Since then, of course, William had developed a new lease on fear.

“Aye,” Krayne muttered. “’Tis the only reason I haven’t eradicated his sorry stench from this earth yet.” One of the reasons, anyway.

Duncan knocked Krayne’s shoulder to get his full attention. “I dinna hold with this waitin’. Fer what? He doesna need time ta collect any ransom.”

“True,” agreed Krayne. His gaze went to Red John, then further to Alexander, hurrying across the courtyard toward them. He waited for his captain to be filled in before speaking. “Jardin is the mouse that’d play games with the cat afore being devoured. He has this little power, and ’tis all he’ll ever have.”

“We could take Spedlin,” declared Duncan.

“And incur the wrath of Jamie, our chief, and probably God above as well,” Alexander said sternly. He’d been well informed on what had transpired at Stirling.

“Do we know if Stivin be well and fine?” Red John asked.

“Jardin willna touch him,” Duncan finally admitted. As much as he wanted to tear Spedlin down, one stone at a time, they all knew that Jardin would no more kill one of Krayne’s immediate family than dive head first into the bowels of hell. In fact, given the impossible choice, he’d sooner choose the eternal inferno over the Grey Wolf’s vengeance. William Jardin was probably cursing his own bad fate this very moment, what with having a Johnstone hostage forced upon him.

“We wait,” decided Krayne.

Amber shouldn’t have been surprised when she stepped onto the battlement and found two well-placed guards. She gave them a sweet smile and quickly retreated, pulling the heavy tapestry back over the opening.

She paced the floor in front of the dying embers, her stomach rumbling. Her last meal had been two nights past. She’d found some paltry remains of hard bread and white cheese, but that could only sustain her so long. Thirst was a lesser problem. The large clay jug on the table by the door was kept filled with ale throughout the day and night.

“I’m not cold and heartless.” She snorted her captor’s ridiculous denial out loud. “Then try feeding me now and then.”

At least she was clothed. She’d found her gown tossed into a corner and had even managed to beggar a needle from a young serving girl who’d come in to tidy the chamber for Krayne. She smoothed her hands down the uneven seam that she’d stitched down the front, not particularly caring that she looked like a crumpled scarecrow.

Amber came to an abrupt stop before the closed door. She was dressed, and hunger was an excellent excuse to seek Krayne out. Tentatively she reached for the knob. To her surprise and relief, it opened. In the dark passageway, she waited until her eyes adjusted. The wall was racketed with evenly spaced torches, all unlit at this time of day. There was only one way to go. To the right, the passage appeared to come to an abrupt end.

Shoulders back, chin high, Amber strode down the passageway, looking for the world as if she belonged. No one stopped her. She hardly dared believe it.

When she reached the top of a winding stairway, Amber hesitated. Krayne would not hear her out. He’d just haul her back to that infernal chamber and slam the door in her face. More likely lock her in this time. Was she missing her last opportunity to escape? Then she recalled Krayne’s face when he’d informed her that he would catch her again, and she started down the steps.

The sounds and aromas from the great hall reached her long before she turned the last spiralling bend. The castle was taking its midday meal. Keeping to the wall shadows, Amber walked slowly as she scanned the rows of trestle tables for Krayne. Serving women strode up and down the aisles, bantering with the men as they went. Everyone else was too busy eating and talking to notice Amber. Or so she thought, until she reached the end of the hall and turned to find Krayne right behind her.

“Going somewhere?”

Amber swallowed her startled gasp and smiled at him. “I was looking for you.”

He watched her carefully, saying nothing.

And suddenly Amber didn’t know what to say either. She should have planned this conversation beforehand. How could she make him hear her this time? She considered softening him with a seductive smile, but only briefly. She already knew he wasn’t interested in her feminine charms. So she set her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “We must talk. I know you hold no faith in a Jardin’s word, but I was born and raised in England. My uncle sent my father away—”

“I’m well aware of yer family’s politics.”

“Then you must know my uncle despises me.”

“He brought ye back ta Applegarth.”

“He believed I could break the curse!”

“Curse?” Krayne grabbed her upper arm, keeping her pressed to his side as he walked them both back down the length of the hall. “I can hardly wait ta see what ye come up with next.”

“My uncle will never exchange Stivin for me.” Amber dug her feet in, but Krayne simply pulled her along. “He wants me dead!”

“The exchange is tomorrow, Amber.”

“He won’t give you Stivin.”

“Yer stories grow more colourful by the second.” Krayne sighed his annoyance. “’Tis one day. One more day ta suffer confinement fer the sake of yer beloved Stivin.”

“Are you deaf?” shrilled Amber. “Or just plain stupid?”

He yanked her arm. Amber lurched forward, and then forgot all about convincing him as she saw they’d reached the foot of the spiral stairway.

“Wait,” she said as he hauled her up the first step.

Krayne looked down on her with stony eyes. “What is it now?”

She arched a brow at him. “I’m hungry. Am I not too valuable to starve?”

“Forgive me, lass. I must have assumed ye too distraught ta eat after the hardships I’ve put ye through.” Krayne turned and led her back into the hall.

“Are your assumptions always so far off the mark? For a man supposedly shaped by the land, I’d not expect your natural instincts to be this blunted.”

His grip on her arm tightened. “Ye have a clever tongue, Amber, I’ll give ye that. But might I suggest ye learn to recognise defeat?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she retorted. “In your eyes.”

Laughing his contempt, he pushed her down onto a rough bench, causing a stir as two men shifted to make room for her at the crowded table. When she checked over her shoulder, Krayne was gone. She cast a narrowed glance over the sea of heads and saw him take a seat at a table all the way across the hall.

He caught her eye and stared at her until Amber turned forward to the trenchers of warm bread, cheese and cold meats.

“Allow me,” came a voice to her left.

The man seated there held out a piece of meat spiked on his dirk.

With a decisive shrug, she cast off her scowl and smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

The food was excellent, the meat well spiced and the bread freshly baked.

“Ye be young Stivin’s friend?”

She returned her gaze to the orange-bearded man. He was of middle years, and had the broadest shoulders and a short neck. Despite the beard that seemed at odds with the yellow of his hair, he was not unattractive. “I’ve not known Stivin long, but he has a gentle nature that is easy to love.”

His head bent her way, a half-chewed bone resting on his lower lip as he spoke, “Yer taken with the lad, then.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.”

But hadn’t she contemplated a betrothal only two days before? It felt like a lifetime ago. And maybe it was. A fire had been lit inside her between then and now, a glimpse of what could be between a man and a woman.

What should be between a wife and husband.

If this unwanted desire that Krayne had stroked in her was good for one thing, it was that she now understood that Stivin deserved more from a wife than she could ever give him. “I could never do that to Stivin.”

The bemused chuckle caught her off guard, and she realised she’d spoken aloud.

“Ah, lass. Ye’re nae a hardship ta be endured, I assure ye. A mon could be that lucky.” His gaze rested on her for a long moment before he went back to his food with renewed interest.

Amber disagreed. Stivin deserved someone who’d melt at his kisses, as she did at…She tossed her head back indignantly. What nonsense. Krayne had never kissed her.

“Yer no eating. Forgive my hasty tongue, lass, I wouldna put ye off yer food.”

“Please, you’ve nothing to apologise for,” Amber told him with a quick smile. “I assure you that I’m ravenous.”

To prove it, she took a large bite of the cold pork, ripping the tender flesh from the bone with dainty teeth. She was hungry and she needed her strength if she were to attempt another escape. A plan would be nice as well, she thought, and mayhap a miracle or two. She continued the meal in silence, listening to snatches of the many conversations around her, all the while primed for the hand on her shoulder that would lead her back to her prison. It didn’t come.

Each time she looked up, it was to catch a set of eyes from one or another of the men sitting across from her quickly dropping away. The hall gradually emptied as the men went back to their duties.

Her unintentional eavesdropping had bought her vital information. The barmekin wall on the east side was being repaired, requiring many hands that would be taken from men usually deployed inside the bailey. There was also a training session planned in a field beyond the outer walls, which meant the portcullis would remain open.

Amber glanced casually about. The serving women were now collecting empty trenchers and ale pitchers. She was relieved to see Krayne had left. Two men stood just inside the archway leading to the stairs, heads bowed in serious talk. A lone man standing at the next table downed ale straight from a pitcher, then strode toward the castle door. Two women were still seated at a smaller table further down.

Had Krayne truly left her here alone and unguarded?

She looked to her left, to the orange-bearded one who’d long since finished eating and now patiently stared into the distance. Ah, yes, he was still here. One of the few who didn’t seem to have urgent business to attend to.

Unless she was his business.

“Are you my watchdog?” she demanded without preamble.

The man shifted uncomfortably. “I’m but ta keep an eye out fer ye, lest ye find yerself in trouble.”

“Lest I make trouble, you surely mean.”

“Nay, lass, after last night I’m no expectin’ ye ta run agin.”

“Of course not! That would be foolish and whatever else I might be, I’m no fool.”

“Och, lass, yer nobbit but an angel, sure ye are.” His enormous, scarred hand covered her hand. “My name be Red John.”

Amber fought the instinct to jerk her hand away as she caught the look of admiration in his eye. Mayhap she didn’t need a miracle after all. She licked suddenly dry lips, her heart beating at twice the normal speed. “Red John, that’s a bold name. How come you by it?”

His hand, so large his palm alone engulfed her hand, squeezed gently. “Nay, lass, ’tis no a story fer a fragile beauty such as ye.”

Amber leaned in to whisper close to his lips, “You are bold, a trait I find incredibly enticing in a man.”

His blue stare flared with unbridled lust. “If ye come wi’ me ta a private alcove, I’ll show ye just how bold.”

Her courage dimmed and Amber drew away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

But she did. And half her mind screamed to continue what she’d started, that this might be her only chance.

“Dinna fear, lass, fer I’ll nae hurt ye.”

Amber saw the truth in his eyes, felt it in the lightness as his fingers stroked hers, heard it in the softly spoken promise. Red John wasn’t nearly as tough and fearsome as he looked. She had no brewed potion to knock him out, but his gentle nature would work, as well.

She managed a sultry, “Not inside the castle. Take me to a secluded spot down by the river.”

Red John was on his feet before she finished, holding out his hand. “Aye, I know the very place.”

Amber rose, giving him her hand. “And if I change my mind, swear on your honour that you will not force me.”

“Och, lass, what beast do ye take me fer?”

Amber stood firm. “Swear.”

“On my honour,” he relented, then gave her a confident wink. “But ye willna change yer mind.” He pulled Amber closer and led her out the door. “We’ll ride together and ’tis no far ta go.”

“The farther the better,” Amber mumbled.

“What’s that, lass?”

Amber pasted on a smile. “Your boldness must be rubbing off on me.”

Krayne found Isla directing the sorting and washing of linen in the wash house, an outdoor chamber built up against the barmekin wall next to the forge. He called her aside and asked, “Did ye not send the midday meal up ta the Jardin lass?”

Isla snorted. “Aye, that I did. She’d have none o’ it. Said she wasna hungry an’ threw the trencher back in my face.”

The lie came easily. Isla had lost her father and two older brothers to Jardin skirmishes over the years. The Jardins had no honour, starting with the laird’s brother who’d run from his duty to Krayne’s widowed mother back then. That the girl had run last night, on Isla’s duty, kindled an already well-stoked fire.

“That woman’s a hornet nest of trouble and deceit,” Krayne muttered. “One day she’ll find herself caught in a web of her own making and I pray ta God I’ll be there ta witness it.”

Isla smiled at her laird. He’d never question a Johnstone over a Jardin. She’d keep an eye out for any further opportunities to ply misery on the Jardin spawn.

Krayne stepped out from the stifling air of the wash house into the cool May afternoon breeze. He strode across the nearly deserted bailey and passed through the gate.

That Amber was obviously up to her elbows in another scheme didn’t overly worry him. He’d decided to give her a taste of freedom, regretting his foul mood this morning and still hoping to lure her into a sense of security that would ease everyone’s minds until tomorrow afternoon. Red John was a trusted friend and battle-wise warrior who could teach Krayne a few war tricks. Amber was in for a sore surprise if she tried anything on him.

Krayne rounded the back of the castle walls to find the training under way. The men were duelling in the meadow that ran halfway up the west slope of Dundoran, forming a natural passageway bounded by dense woodland.

Alexander called a halt to the practice and gathered the men to him. “Break inta two teams and choose a leader.”

A roar went up as grown men squabbled like children for places. Krayne strode into the middle of the chaos with a broad grin. Alexander had introduced these mini battles to stroke the fever of war for more effective training. The winners were allowed to extract a forfeit from the losers, pushing the stakes so high, the game had to be strictly regulated.

Krayne seldom participated, but today the idea of thrashing through the woods with a broadsword held much appeal. He was far too restless lately and he’d like as not be forced to put a name to that horded energy unless he exhausted both mind and body. He waited until his men-at-arms had divided into two groups, then joined the weaker team. The crowd about him cheered, the men further down the field fell silent.

Alexander’s scowl reached Krayne across the field. Krayne grinned and saluted the captain. “Never eliminate the element of surprise, good friend,” he called out, enjoying the fact that Alexander obviously believed he’d chosen the wrong side.

When the men looked to him, Krayne shook his head. “Ye chose Gervis ta lead ye.”

Young Gervis sweated. At seventeen, he was more infamous for leading the lasses of Lochmaben astray than anything else, and now he was expected to give orders to his laird.

Krayne lifted a brow, waiting.

“Bare ye chests,” Gervis shouted, deciding on their identifying mark.

Krayne stripped his shirt from his britches and flung it over a branch. Most of the men wore plaid with nothing else anyway. At the end of the field, the other team had found a muddy patch and were drawing brown streaks across their cheeks.

“Now listen ’ere.” Gervis gestured his men closer so he could lower his voice. “Spread out through the woods, but keep in packs o’ three. They’ll come runnin’ straight fer us, I ken, but dinna get separated an’ wait ’til ye trap a mon alone afore attackin’.”

He looked to his laird for reassurance and took courage from Krayne’s wry grin. “The cocky bastards each be out ta prove he won the day single-handed. We’ll take them down one mon at a time.”

Krayne wasn’t about to lecture on the underhand tactics. The other side had stalwart soldiers who’d been riding the marches for many seasons while his own team was made up of sons of sons with fluff for beards. He set off with the youngest pair and took a quick victory on the first enemy warrior they encountered. Once he’d bound the man’s hands with a length of vine, Krayne handed him over to the youths. “See ta our prisoner.”

With swollen chests and silly smiles, the lads marched off with the defeated man between them.

Krayne watched until they were out of sight, then set forth with stealthy footfalls to track down his next prey. He grunted with satisfaction when he found Aegus drinking from a stream that trickled into Wamphray Water. Aegus was on his feet before Krayne got close. They were well matched in instinct, strength and skill, and Krayne knew he was in for a good fight.

The men stared each other down, blades drawn, retreating and advancing wary circles in the clearing by the stream.

“Yer face paint is a sure and welcome improvement,” Krayne told him with a chuckle. He jumped aside as Aegus thrust forward, raising his sword at the same time to bring the hilt down on an exposed shoulder.

Aegus was too quick for him and they were face to face again.

“An improvement fer yer cause, certainly,” Aegus replied with a mocking smile. His blond good looks were never far from the brunt of a joke, and he accepted his fate with the nature of a sun-blessed god. “But I dare say it would take more than my deformity ta send the lasses aft yer sorry face.”

He lunged again. Blades clashed and stayed together, each man putting his strength into pushing the other back.

“’Tis not my face that keeps them coming.” Krayne clenched his jaw in the effort to not lose ground, and was pleased to see a sweat break out on his opponent’s brow. With a mighty heave, he pushed Aegus away and jumped back.

Aegus stumbled, but soon found his footing. He wiped his brow, grinning. “Aye, forgive me. ’Tis not always easy ta remember the difference ’tween yer face and yer arse—Argh!” He swung his sword up, blocking Krayne’s blow just in time.

The men parried with renewed determination, bringing down blow upon blow. The jesting fell silent, the only sounds the clash of steel and the occasional grunt. A film of sweat covered Krayne’s torso, adding an oiled tone to muscles prominent from exertion.

At one point, Aegus had him pinned to a tree. Aegus needed both hands on his sword to keep Krayne trapped, but he didn’t doubt he’d find a way to disarm his friend. Aegus’s breathing came hard, and his midnight-blue eyes sparkled when Krayne’s expression showed amused acceptance. “Ah, I smell the sweet torment of a forfeit ta make ye cry.”

Krayne made a half-hearted attempt to free himself even as he conceded defeat by saying, “And what pleasure will ye be seeking when supper comes around?”

Aegus arched a brow as he appeared to consider the matter. “A kiss from yer lady, I’m thinkin’.”

“Ye’ve had more than yer share of kisses from Gayle, I wager,” Krayne scoffed.

Aegus’s mouth formed a lazy smile. “Gayle may be a passion-tipped rose ’twixt a nettle o’ thorns, but ’tis the Jardin beauty I seek ta taste.”

A hot wind of fury flew to Krayne’s aid. He was free and had Aegus down on his knees at the count of three, kicking aside his sword before Aegus could draw breath. “The lady is not mine ta forfeit.”

Loss of a weapon signified defeat, so Aegus, shaking his head on a low chuckle, linked his hands behind his back and rose to his feet. “If ye say so.” His mirth, however, dried up when Krayne twisted the vines tightly, cutting deep into his wrists.

“Come now,” Aegus groaned. “Can we no longer jest?”

“Yer jesting leaves a sour ache in my belly,” Krayne muttered.

“Have we no shared women—?” Aegus stumbled forward from the hard shove at his back.

“Shut up, Aegus, afore I truly lose my humour.”

Krayne led his prisoner on a merry path back to the training field with more than one unnecessary shove. Damn Aegus and his loose tongue. How ta rid his head of the image of another man’s mouth on Amber’s lips?

They left the wooded copse for sunlight and, as they came into sight of Alexander and the two camps of prisoners, Krayne spotted a lone figure streaking along the river for the castle gates.

“One of yer soldiers running fer his life?” Aegus mocked.

Krayne’s gaze narrowed over the distance.

Of a sudden, the man slowed down, stopped, then changed direction, coming straight at them. Before long, it became clear that he was as naked as the day he was born.

Some laughter and jovial commentary was heard from the camps, but Krayne recognised the flame flying beneath Red John’s chin and cursed. Krayne sprinted up to Alexander’s horse and mounted, barking down orders to his bemused captain. “Continue with the exercise. I’ll be dammed if I let that slip of a wench interfere with the run of my castle.”

Krayne galloped across the meadow and reared his horse to a halt as his path crossed Red John’s. “What in hell happened?”

Red John’s face turned the colour of a bleeding moon. “She seduced me. So help me, the scheming wench seduced me, then took my clothes and horse and fled.”

A roar tore through Krayne’s gut, but never made it past his lips. His jaw cracked down hard and his eyes burned black ice. “Get out of my sight!”

Red John jumped aside as Krayne reeled his mount about and took off along the dale as if chased by the hounds of hell. Red John was almost persuaded to spare a sympathetic thought for the seductive wench, but then the day was immortalised in Johnstone history amid much snickering. Red John lost his name to Red-Handed John, owing to being caught with his hand in the honey pot.

If only.

Chapter 5

Krayne rode hard. If he acknowledged the tension in his gut, he steadfastly ignored that it stemmed from more than Amber’s escape.

The river turned at Nodding Ned in the first of a series of bends that hindered his view. He rode closer to the water line, digging his heels in for speed when he could no longer keep the ugly pictures at bay.

He’d kill Red John, so help him God.

And he’d throttle Amber.

Krayne pushed down the images of Red John’s hands invading skin as smooth as silk and told himself that he was only indignant on principle. He shook the rage loose from his head and concentrated on the outgrown roots and slippery ditches that flew beneath his mount’s hooves.

Red John had taken what was his.

Only, Amber wasn’t his and clearly she’d given freely.

Whether Stivin was aware or not, she was obviously easy with her favours and cared not a whit for abandoning the very lad who’d rushed to her defence.

By the time he reached the Annan, Krayne had nearly convinced himself that it was his duty to save his cousin from Amber’s sharpened claws, that taking her to mistress would indeed make Annandale safer for all other men.

He pulled at the bit to lead his horse through a dense copse of low-branched trees and grinned when he saw his prey attempting to cross the River Annan at a particularly treacherous point. The river narrowed temptingly but swirled strongly and gurgled over sagging pits eroded into the sandy bed. The stallion she’d stolen was half-Arabian and thoroughly intelligent. The more she urged him forward, the higher he kicked his hooves in protest.

“He’ll throw ye,” Krayne called out.

Amber spun her head his way and he saw recognition widen her eyes.

She stroked the beast’s neck and soothed, “Come on, Zuma, I won’t let you down. We can do this.”

Krayne’s humour faded when he heard her use the horse’s name. Was there anything Red John hadn’t given her?

“Ye canna cross there,” he warned irritably. “The river bed is treacherous with holes.”

She flung her chin high and glared at him. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Krayne watched her fight Zuma’s natural inclination and, when he’d had enough, he put his hands to his mouth and made the whispering breeze sound young Peter the stable lad had taught him.

Zuma preened his proud neck and gave a skittering kick, then turned around to face Krayne.

“Damn you,” shouted Amber. She was stiff from tensed nerves and fired with anger that she was now up against both man and beast.

Amber swung down from the useless horse.

And she ran.

As she should have run the last time.

Not looking back. Ignoring the pain spearing her injured ankle. At the edge of the grassy bank, she lifted her skirts and sped into the swirling flow. Her pulse raced and every breath she took seemed to go straight to her head. The river bed was mushy at her feet and the steep incline soon had the water reaching her thighs. Her next step found one of the treacherous holes Krayne warned of. She tumbled forward and instinctively reached out to break her fall. Her voluminous skirts billowed, caught the current and tugged her back before she hit the water. The sigh of relief stuck in her throat as two hands secured her waist in a firm grip.

She screamed and kicked as frustration unleashed a reckless fury.

“Behave yerself.”

The irritable voice so close to her ear signalled an opportunity. Amber lashed her head back hard and struck jaw. The curse grunted from behind was well worth the blunt ache at her crown. Slapping ineffectually at the hands digging into her middle, she was about to throw her head back again when she was shoved to the side and down, meeting the water face-first with an open-mouthed scream.

Krayne grabbed a fistful of hair close to Amber’s scalp and held her under with little effort despite her desperate struggling. He rubbed his bruised jaw absently while counting to ten. Slowly. So far he was concerned, the wildcat was fast using up her lives. His patience was near its end.

He yanked at her hair and she came up, coughing and spluttering. He turned her face up to him. “Had enough?”

She was gasping for air, but the glare blazing into him was a far cry from defeat.

He would have admired her spirit, if it were someone else’s problem. As it was, he was torn between dunking her again and kissing the memory of Red John from those lush lips.

How had she seduced Red John? With sweet seduction or hot passion? He instantly conceded there was nothing sweet or timid about Amber. It would have been so hot and passionate that Red John would never have guessed it for the performance it was.

Would I?

His jaw locked down as he mentally put himself into that position and let his eyes take a slow journey down the graceful curve of her throat to the swell of heaving breasts. His arousal was instant and unavoidable. Mayhap I would see through her performance, he thought with a black grin, but I’d be far and beyond caring any which way.

The flash of movement broke his distraction a moment too late. Amber’s elbow shot out and thrust up between his thighs in a crunching blow. He gagged, doubling over as pain exploded in his balls. Somehow, he willed the strength to push her to a safe arm’s distance and hold firm.

Christ, what had he been thinking? Red John’s welcome ta this bitch!

Amber hit out wildly in all directions, but gave up when she struck only air and water. Either the Johnstone men had iron balls or she was doing something wrong. She cast a worried glance to the side, but Krayne was bent low and for all she knew he could be in the midst of a laughing fit. Judging by the fist still caught in her hair and holding her off, she certainly hadn’t crippled him.

Krayne started at Berwick and worked his way down to London, cursing every English woman he’d ever met along the way. Curse by curse, the pain finally started to recede, until he could just about grimace through the nausea taking its place and raise his head.

He found Amber staring at him, green eyes huge and rounded beneath a worried brow. She had reason to be scared.

Rising to his full height, he jerked her close and pushed her head under the water again before she could react. Once she was down, the frenzy of kicking and splashing only tempted him to keep her there until she went limp. He was tender enough in his groin to dread the ride home and would welcome the absence of a conscious witness.

At the count of seven, however, he knew he’d go no further. Apparently his fury had developed a conscience.

With little regard for her comfort, he hauled Amber up and pinned her to his chest with one arm wrapped across both her arms and waist. She was sucking in air, but had ceased all struggling, and he sincerely hoped he’d exhausted the wench. He carried her to dry land and rolled her from his arms onto the grass.

No sooner had he sat back, then Amber scrambled upright to face him with a breathless, “You nearly drowned me.”

“If I’d meant ta drown ye,” he replied blithely, “we’d not be having this conversation.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Amber turned a stiff shoulder on the cursed man and set her gaze across the river. Inside, she was trembling like the last corn leaf standing after Michaelmas, but she wouldn’t let him see that. For a brief moment back there, with the watery cold seeping into her skin and lack of air numbing her mind, she’d truly thought the end upon her.

If he heard the sarcasm in her voice, he apparently ignored it. “’Twas my intention ta reassure ye.”

Amber’s eyes turned back to him. In profile, his square jaw was clenched and his gaze fixed on the ground just beyond his feet. His mood seemed dark and sombre, nothing reassuring about it whatsoever.

“Do not pretend kindness on my behalf,” she told him. The hilt of the sword strapped to his back caught sunlight and glinted, a warning to keep her guard up. “You’re fit to kill me and the only thing that stands in your way is Stivin.”

Slowly, his head bent her way and their eyes met. “What matters is that yer safe.”

And maybe that was all that should matter, but Amber was too scared to let it go. His mood this morning had been sunny in comparison, and this morning he’d threatened to throw her into the pit. She didn’t want to think what punishments he might add now. “You refuse to listen to me. You think you know my uncle so well.”

“I do.”

“He’s a cruel, vindictive beast.”

“He is also a Scotsman,” said Krayne. “How long have ye lived here?”

Frustration screamed inside her head. These Scots seemed to speak a different language when it came to reason. “How can you not expect me to escape? If I were a man, you’d brand me a coward if I didn’t at least try.”

“If ye were a man, Stivin would be home and I’d never have met ye.”

“Well,” she huffed. “Forgive me for being a woman.”

His pause was hardly worth noting. “Yer forgiven.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at Krayne, watching for some sign of jest. There was none. His eyes were black and condemning, and served to peak her fury.

“You’re an arrogant barbarian with the manners of a pig,” she snapped, jabbing a finger into his arm. “Or mayhap you’re still overcome with madness because I hit you in the…” Colour stung her cheeks and the word refused to come.

One brow went up and his eyes remained on her with an expectant glint.

Amber ground her back teeth. She wouldn’t be intimidated. “What was I supposed to do? There are precious few options a woman has to defend herself.”

“Aye,” Krayne drawled, his gaze darkening dangerously, “and no doubt ye know them all.”

“And what if I do?”

An ominous tic started at his temple. “Have ye no more shame than ta trade yer body fer favours?”

The insult shocked Amber to her feet. “How—how dare you?”

Krayne jumped up to tower above her, arms folded across his massive chest. “Ye deny that’s what ye do?”

Denial was certainly hot on her tongue, until she edged her chin yet higher to look him in the eye. She couldn’t begin to read the storm brewing on his face, but she did see some truth etched into the harsh edges formed by his mood.

All right, she wasn’t exactly averse to using feminine wiles in a desperate situation, but what did it matter to him?

Worse, why did she care that Krayne thought her a whore?

“How dare you judge me,” she said coldly.

The set of his brow and the scorn in his eyes was too much to bear. Her gaze slid down the length of this mighty warrior, missing no detail along the way, and she had to take a step back for fear of punching that expression from his face. “You will stand there, all muscle and brawn, and attack my only means of defence?”

Krayne growled at the argument, refusing to admit she made a valid point. “God himself surely had a reason for blessing man with strength and ours is not ta question.”

Her hands settled on the flare of her hips as a spark lit her eyes. “And God surely had a reason for giving women pretty curves and the intellect to use them.”

Krayne opened his mouth to retort, but no answer came to mind. He drew his lips into a line and narrowed his eyes, determined to stare her down.

Unfortunately, those curves she spoke of were clearly outlined in the clinging wet gown. Cold peaked her nipples through the sodden wool, stirring desire in spite of his anger. Her hair was a knotted mess that had no right to summon the rush of blood to his injured groin. Her pale face set her lips in stark red relief, trapping his gaze as effectively as a sparkling stream to a man dying of thirst.

He wanted to acknowledge the truth of her words. He wanted to acknowledge it, then put it aside and take what she so obviously freely gave to all and any. He’d never had a virgin, so, by definition, he’d never bedded a woman he hadn’t shared with God knew how many others. Why, then, should this be any different? Why did he want to hunt down any man who’d ever touched her?

“Yer excuses are thin at best,” he said, striving for a neutral tone.

Amber gasped. She waved a hand from the sword visible above his left shoulder down to the dagger sheathed at his boot. “You’re armed from head to toe, and you call my only defence an excuse?”

“Yer body is not a weapon ta be wielded,” he roared.

“Nay,” she agreed, “but ’tis the only weapon I have.”

His movement was like a flash of lightning, and when she saw he’d drawn his sword, she paled. Dear Lord, she’d pushed too far.

He threw the sword down at her feet.

Startled, she jumped back, although the blade came nowhere near her body.

“Take it,” he ordered grimly.

She glanced at the sword. Back at his thunderous stare. Then, before he changed his mind, she lunged for the hilt with both hands and lifted it level with her shoulders, pointing the blade at him.

His lips curled on one side, but the result was nothing like a smile.

This was her chance. All she had to do was run straight into his chest.

She took a threatening step forward.

He didn’t so much as flinch.

Her arms, meanwhile, were starting to ache from the weight of the broadsword. If she was going to do anything, she’d best do it soon. He stood there, staring at her. Not with malice or amusement, she realised, but with genuine interest in what she would do.

Her resolve hardened. He probably thought she’d never dare. Well, she would. Any moment now. She braced her shoulders.

The sword grew heavier and heavier.

Now!

Her feet refused to move. Her arms sagged a little. The truth added extra weight to the sword. She couldn’t do it. She doubted she could take the life of any person, and certainly not this particular man.

Silver specks warmed his gaze and in that moment she saw a glimpse of the man beneath the laird. Krayne wore honour, loyalty and responsibility like permanent body armour; he could be more than the sum of his duties, but never less. He was immoveable and unbreakable, but not impenetrable. The longing in his eyes betrayed an invitation to invasion even as it warned of risk and doomed failure.

As Amber stood there, the sword pulling her arms lower and lower, she felt a bond bridging her and Krayne, then realised it had been there from the start. He’d crossed that bridge a few times to brazenly melt her bones before retreating, but always left it standing. Breaking it down was beyond him. Beyond her. Their destinies were entwined. Amber had never given the fates much thought, and now she wondered if their fates would collide and explode rather than come together.

Love or hate? Her gaze washed over his half-naked body. He was so handsome, and forbidding, an ancient Greek god carved from brimstone. The span of his muscular chest narrowed slightly to lean hips, an arrow of black curls disappearing into the band of his leather britches in a tempting manner that heated Amber to her toes. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to love such a man.

The numbing sensation spread up her tired arms, forcing a decision.

She couldn’t kill him. Even were they fated to be bitter enemies, to hate each other into eternity, she needed him somewhere out there to do just that. He needed her too. His dark gaze penetrated deep, almost to her soul, telling her all she needed to know.

Krayne would never truly harm her.

He would never take her life.

Of that she was certain.

Watching her tip the blade point into the ground and angle the hilt toward him, Krayne felt every bit the arrogant bastard he’d been accused of. He’d been driven by anger, not the urge to gloat, but still he’d known the lass never stood a chance of handling a broadsword. He made a silent vow there and then: I’ll fashion a weapon she can master and, by God, I’ll teach her ta use it even if I have ta ride out ta Spedlin ta do so.

He crossed the distance and spread his fingers over her hand as he reached for his sword. As he moved in to the fresh scent of her skin, he couldn’t stop the promises whispering in his blood: mine. All mine.

Amber went still as the heat from his hand seemed to seep into her skin. The thought of resistance was too enormous to contemplate. He brought his head down with one last step toward her, the movement deliberately slow, and a thread of excitement trembled along her spine. His scent infused her. His sun-bronzed body, corded with muscle and brimming with potency, was a lodestone to her desire.

Her hands went out, her fingertips pressed to his chest as he came closer and closer. Her lips parted to receive him. At the last possible moment he swept past and pressed his cheek to hers.

“Ye’ll not spread yer legs fer another man until I’m done with ye,” he whispered fiercely.

The spell broke.

Amber jerked her hand free and stood back on shaky legs. Something burned in the recessed shadows of his gaze. Desire? Possession? Madness? Anger fuelled the devastation coiling in her belly like a white-hot snake. She curled her fists, lest the urge to strike him overwhelmed her. “How dare you?”

“How dare I?” He sheathed his sword with measured slowness. When he spoke, there was an emptiness to his tone. “Tell me, did ye cry out in disgust or pleasure when Red John rammed himself inta—” He cut off as her flat palm struck his cheek.

Amber kept her eyes on him. She was glad she’d slapped him and wouldn’t cower at his retaliation. He did nothing. She could read nothing from his blank gaze. “Why don’t you ask him?” she bit out, wishing she had the power to hurt this man.

“Aye, I will.” With that, Krayne turned away to fetch his horse. “I shall enjoy picking the answers from his entrails as I gut the man fer incompetence.”

Amber’s stomach heaved.

“Come.” He mounted and walked his horse over to her. “I’ve dallied overlong.”

Guilt stuck her feet to the ground. Poor Red John had suffered enough at her hands. She lifted her gaze to his. “Leave him be. Red John has naught to tell you.”

Krayne bent low to grab her chin. “We’ll see.” He held her a moment, then pushed her away.

“Do not harm him, I beg of you.”

A scowl blackened his brow. “He touched ye.”

The simple condemnation flustered her. Red John had failed in his duty, allowed himself to be distracted by lust, and for that fault Krayne would…what? Surely not kill the man?

“I stole his clothes and horse and pride, and gave him naught in return. If anyone should be punished, ’tis me. Red John has already paid dearly.”

“He told me ye seduced him,” Krayne said calmly.

Amber worried her lower lip with small white teeth. Dear Lord, was there nothing Red John hadn’t shared with his laird? “The suggestion of seduction is almost as powerful as the act itself. I convinced him to cool his ardour with a swim in the river lest he be too eager and—”

“Naked?” Krayne bit out. God help him, he could no longer maintain this indifference and he suddenly discovered he could live quite well without the details.

“Of course naked. One strips your clothes before the deed, not during or after.”

“Enough.”

Amber grit her teeth. As usual, her words were falling on deaf ears. She threw her hands up with a heavy sigh. “Why on earth would I lie to you?”

Krayne regarded her with heavily hooded eyes. “Ta protect yer lover?”

“Lover?” She was so taken aback, she forgot all about damping Krayne’s anger to spare Red John. “I sent him back to you on foot and naked. Exactly what part in there makes you think I care for your man at all, let alone wish to defend him?”

Krayne dislodged the temptation to believe her. He wanted to, so damn badly, and that was precisely why he couldn’t trust himself to. Before he did something stupid, like concede she might be speaking the truth, he swung low and scooped her up and onto his lap.

Amber shrieked as her legs left the ground. Then again as her bottom thumped down on the hard surface of his right thigh, both her legs dangling to one side. Thoroughly winded, she said nothing as Krayne led the horse into a steady canter, giving a sharp whistle over his shoulder to command Zuma to follow.

Each time the horse’s front hooves came down, Amber was bounced on muscle that might as well have been a boulder, and eventually her bottom was so sore, she had to swallow her pride and shift fully onto his lap. Her arms went around his waist and the heat of his bare chest pressed to her cheek. His scent was pure male. She looked up to find his gaze set on the horizon.

Ye’ll not spread yer legs fer another man until I’m done with ye.

What had he meant?

He wants me as his woman.

Her heart skipped a beat as she considered agreeing to such a preposterous demand.

He’ll not have his hostage play whore with his men and distract them from their duty again.

A far more likely truth.

Krayne’s composure was the antithesis of her own upheaval. He put her at complete odds with herself for no good cause. For a moment, she’d thought she’d seen the man beneath the armour. Had that merely been her imagination? Did she truly know what Krayne was capable of?

Only this morning, he’d threatened to throw her back into that death hole.

No, she would not believe he’d go through with it.

Krayne was a stranger who’d so far given her no reason to trust.

Yet she did trust him. He’d thrown her his sword and gazed into her eyes, and she’d seen through to his soul and found that bond of trust.

“I’m not a whore,” Amber murmured, hating that he thought the worst of her.

Krayne’s gaze snapped to her. His jaw hung loose for the span of a heartbeat, then squared to its usual hardness. “I never said ye were.”

“You thought it.”

Krayne transferred the reins to one hand and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Soft as silk. Firm and warm.

Nay, he’d never once mistaken her for a cold whore. “Yer a spoilt brat, Amber, with no care fer how cruelly ye use a man fer yer own will.” His words were softly spoken as his fingers grazed a path across her cheek and down the line of her throat. With his desire throbbing against her thigh as she moved with the horse’s rhythm, with her flowery scent pressed up against him, little of his anger remained. “Yer no whore. I never said it and I never thought it.”

Her mouth opened in protest.

Suppressing a chuckle, Krayne slid his finger up and over her lips. “The time fer fighting is past.”

He wasn’t sure if his finger or his words quietened her. ’Twas enough that those long lashes she lowered did not wholly shade the tremulous signs of kindling desire. He gave the horse free rein so he could devote his attentions to the comely lass in his arms.

His gaze caressed her, from the tip of her shapely nose and the curve of high cheekbones, from the cleft in her stubborn chin and the delicate tongue that darted out to wet parted lips, from the top of her drenched head to where her thigh was wedged against his erection.

Slowly, steadily, he convinced himself that any fire stoked between them would burn wild and out of control. Giving Amber no opportunity to play her games. And he couldn’t seem to care for anything but proving himself right.

As his fingers massaged the hollow at her nape, her eyes glazed over a little. His arm slid along her shoulder, lifting her higher, closer, turning her into him as his mouth came down to claim what he’d desired from the very first. Her lips were soft, firm, swollen. He kept the kiss gentle, nipping her lower lip lightly, then covering her mouth in a lingering sweep that ended by sucking her upper lip.

Warmth stole into Amber’s blood as his mouth moved over hers. Whatever she’d dreamed, this moment was that, and beyond. It had to be. She hadn’t the experience of being wrapped in a blanket woven from scent, touch and heat to put into any dream. All her doubts and fears were snuffed as she surrendered to his kiss.

Her lips parted on their own accord and Krayne responded instantly. His mouth hardened on hers, his tongue pushing through with one insistent prod that should probably have shocked her. A part of this man was inside her, filling her so completely, sensuously, wickedly. She was overcome by the intimate dance as his tongue caressed and stroked, coaxing a series of shudders that trembled to her inner core. Then she was kissing him back, following his lead and learning fast as waves of desire drowned any shyness at showing her ignorance.

When her tongue dipped between his lips, Krayne became fully aroused. He swore through the bruising pain of his injury even while he rolled his tongue around hers, pulling her in deeper. Christ, he should make the wench pay for elbowing him in the balls. Instead, he seemed to be paying double. The continuous jolt of the slow trot wasn’t doing him any favours either.

Still, he didn’t stop. Satin-tipped fingers touched his chest, then scraped through the covering of short curls in hesitant exploration. His lips slanted over hers, again and again, his tongue plunging in and out with each progressive stroke.

Amber was a mess. Each thrust was a promise of sweet nectar that seemed to drive her higher and higher to the edge of some unknown peak that she couldn’t quite reach. Liquid heat built between her thighs and she clawed Krayne in a desperate urge for more as small moans built up from a hidden place inside and escaped into his kisses.

It was the passionate moans and clawing that finally got to Krayne. He had no intention of spilling his seed inside his britches. He pulled out of the kiss, weaving his fingers through Amber’s hair to help turn her lips from him. He dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead before shifting her in his arms so that she faced forward again. Using his arms and his body, he sheltered her from the wind channelled through the dale. When she rested the back of her head against his chest, he grunted in contentment.

He’d have to let her go of course, but he would return to claim her. The exchange would proceed tomorrow as planned. Then he needed to set his home in order. Dust the glitter from Stivin’s eyes, for one. The lad was off to Edinburgh and would soon forget the lovely Amber. Stivin would dip his stick a few times in the city fountain and realise that lust was no cause worthy of fighting dragons. Hell, his young cousin would be honoured to have Krayne grappling for his leftovers. No small feat for an untried buck.

Amber created more intrigue and drama with the crook of a finger than Krayne cared to experience in a lifetime, but a mistress was vastly different from a wife. If she did not yield to him completely, he’d send her away. If she refused to give up her silly games, or if they turned truly venomous, he’d send her away. After all, how long could it take for him to tire of her?

“Krayne?”

He rested his chin on top her head. “Hmmm?”

“You wouldn’t have thrown me in that pit, would you?”

“What pit?” Her hair was gloriously silky, smelling of apples of all things. He grinned.

“The dungeon.”

He roused himself from the sweet, fresh fragrance of her hair to concentrate on this talk of pits and dungeons.

“This morning,” Amber added lightly. “You threatened to throw me in the dungeon.”

“Aye,” he drawled, “that I did.” He’d completely forgotten about that. So much for scaring her into obedience with empty threats, he thought with some amusement. “’Tis apparent ye never took the warning ta heart.”

“Oh, I did,” Amber said with a smile he couldn’t see. She just hadn’t had the luxury of heeding it. “But now…”

Her voice trailed off as she rubbed her cheek against his warmth. She felt so safe. For the first time since her father had passed on, she didn’t have to stand bravely on her own.

“But now?” A stern note crept into his indulgent tone.

“Now I know you would never put me through that suffering.”

“Oh.”

Amber frowned. His voice had gone from indulgent to wary to chilly.

“Yer confidence is enlightening,” Krayne added to the silence, using considerable control to return a neutral tone to his voice. ’Twas only his pride, he knew, but damn if it didn’t feel like a whole lot more had been lanced. As loath as he was to aggravate the wound, he had to know for sure. “Is this the reason ye kissed me?”

He sounded as strained as the tensed muscles in his jaw. He wondered why he held his breath awaiting her answer. It wasn’t as if she’d actually admit the truth.

“Of course,” Amber said carefully, wondering if she were somehow responsible for his souring mood. But what had she said? Other than admit that, despite her midnight fantasies, she could never have abandoned herself to him while fear ruled her head. Before she trusted him with her life.

With the barest of movements that straightened his shoulders and adjusted the position of the reins, she was no longer folded in the protective cocoon of his body.

Krayne had never felt so bloody ridiculous in his life.

It wasn’t so much that he desired her. He did and that was that, no matter what she was or what her goals were. He was a powerful Johnstone laird and heir to the chieftainship. Women threw themselves at him for many reasons and, if he was interested, he seldom took the time to question it. Amber was no different. He’d already contemplated this possibility and concluded that once her legs were wrapped around him, he wouldn’t give a damn one way or the other.

But now he found that he did give a damn. He felt as if someone had taken a dagger and shredded his pride, and then gone on to other vital organs. All that passion and heat. Just to buy herself out of a hole for the night. He could almost not credit her performance. “I’m not a whore.” Red streaks flashed inside his eyelids. Nay, yer that much worse, fer ye lead a man to hope…

Amber might have argued further. She very nearly did. But Krayne shifted in the saddle and for a moment his arms closed around her as he adjusted the reins again, enfolding her in his masculine presence and warmth. That moment was all she needed to reassure herself. Whatever was bothering Krayne had naught to do with her.

The journey was completed without further talk. Amber contented herself with admiring the landscape, so breathtakingly rugged, green with bursts of colour from the wild heather scattered up the sloping hills. Her hair and gown were almost dry, thanks to the ceaseless wind carrying the May warmth. She was very much aware of Krayne’s aloofness, but she had to admit that there was nothing abnormal about it. For whatever reason, he’d reached inside himself for that infernal control he’d mastered so well, but she’d discovered a hot layer of passion beneath it and took comfort.

Red John was the only one to greet them in the deserted bailey. He watched them dismount, and he came down the stone steps and waited at the bottom. Clothed once more in McAllister plaid. But with no shirt, Amber noted. She was at once ashamed that she’d dumped his clothes along the way with no regard. She stayed close to Krayne, running to keep abreast of his long strides, all the while keeping a vigil on Red John’s impassive expression.

She laid a tentative hand on Krayne’s arm, hoping to remind him of her pleas on Red John’s behalf.

Krayne shrugged her off and issued in a deadly tone, “Lock her in the dungeon.”

Amber swallowed a gasp of shock. She tugged at his arm. “Krayne, no…why?”

He slanted his head her way.

Her breath caught at the fiercely furrowed brows over eyes drawn to cold slits. “Ye had fair enough warning.”

“Yes…No!” Her fingers clawed his arm. Even with his blackened mood, she still believed he would protect her. Had she truly been that mistaken? “You cannot mean this, Krayne. Please, I beg of you—”

“Enough.” Krayne plucked her fingers from him and shoved her at Red John. “Ye have yer orders. See ta it.”

“No,” Amber shrilled.

The pitched terror cut through his spine. Krayne grit his teeth against it. He pushed past the pair of them and climbed the steps. He wouldn’t look back. He wouldn’t be manipulated. When Amber came to his bed, and he swore that she still would, they’d both know it was for pleasure and not bought favours.

At the top of the steps, one hand on the oak door, Krayne looked back. Red John had a firm grip on her upper arm, leading her around the stables to the dungeon built into the curtain wall. Her back was stiff and she offered no visible resistance. From the set of her head, he could tell she held her stubborn little chin up high.

It took him a moment to realise that he was waiting for her to glance back at him, be it to beg for pardon or curse him to hell. But Red John disappeared around the corner with his captive and Krayne was left with an uneasy feeling. He leant back against the door and stared at the rough stones edging the corner of the west tower.

Damn the woman. And damn himself. His fist slammed into his palm. He’d not be bought with a kiss.

She’d take her punishment and he’d damn well let her.

Amber could feel Red John’s grip to her bone, but she said nothing as her quick steps stumbled over loose pebbles. She kept telling herself to breathe, the walls were not crushing in yet, but her frozen lungs seemed reluctant to function. Such was her panic, she didn’t notice that Red John was leading her along the curtain wall and not down the kitchen steps to the pit.

“Ye’ll nae swoon,” Red John said.

“Is that an order?” Amber hissed between teeth grit in concentration. ’Tis only a black hole. You survived before.

“Aye.”

She glanced up to find Red John’s eyes on her. He looked more unhappy than angry. “I won’t swoon,” she promised, feeling a little stronger already. He had his own tortures to worry about, thanks to her. “I truly am sorry for everything.”

His fingers clenched tighter in reply, but what had she expected? She had no right to his forgiveness. Krayne was another matter altogether. Amber dropped her gaze to the ground at that.

She did have some right to Krayne’s forgiveness. He’d kissed her senseless and then forsaken her. Why did he have to be so hard and righteous? So she’d ignored his threat and outwitted his guard.

But he’d kissed her breathless.

He’d made her feel warm, safe, protected.

She was jerked to a stop and became aware of her surroundings as Red John pushed open a sturdy wooden door built into a thickened part of the outer wall. For a moment, she thought the door led outside and he was helping her escape. The dark shadows beyond crashed her hopes. “What’s this?”

“The dungeon.” He ducked inside the low framework and came back with a crude iron key. “In with ye, me lady. I’d like as not add brutality ta my deeds this day.”

Amber stepped up to the door with squared shoulders.

Whatever this dungeon was, it wasn’t the black pit, she reassured herself. In the threshold, however, her nerve failed. The dark room was little more than a narrow passage built into the wall. A single window was secured with three bars and offered scant light and no sunshine to keep the stone dry. She’d never had a fear of closed spaces until she’d come to Wamphray.

Red John shuffled his feet. “Come now, me lady, ’tis only fer a day or—”

“Halt.”

The familiar deep timbre spun them both about.

Amber observed Krayne’s approach with narrowed eyes. If he thought to witness her defeat, he was sorely mistaken. She might not have felt quite so stubborn had she been facing the black pit, but she wasn’t.

When he was almost upon them, she raised a disdainful brow. “Have you come to see me shackled to the walls? Afraid this puny passage you call a dungeon will not hold me in?”

“Aye,” Krayne agreed. She’d just given him the perfect excuse for actions he’d never explain in a month of summers. In the end, he found he couldn’t stomach the thought of Amber in that dungeon, alone and fearful. “I’ve reconsidered the wisdom of letting ye out from under my eye.”

“I’d nae be caught by the same trick twice,” Red John protested, losing his last quota of pride to a mottled blush.

Krayne gave him a gruelling look. “Once was bad enough,” he said in a voice that warned the matter would still be dealt with. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet wide apart. His face was solemn when he turned back to Amber. “Come with me.”

Amber had a flippant remark ready for Krayne, but lost it as their eyes met and locked. He was so sinfully handsome, the strong features of his face set in lines made even more ruthless by his grim command. But his eyes, with silver speckles in an otherwise cold grey, introduced a certain vulnerability to that harsh glare.

Whatever excuse he used, she suddenly knew it for what it was. His need to protect her had fought with his honourable word and won. A smile touched her lips, and she quickly grimaced to disguise it. There was no reason to take his pride. She did, however, intend to make him work for forgiveness.

She swept past Krayne, leading the way inside the castle and up the stairs to his chamber. He could easily have overtaken her, of course, grabbed her arm and forced her into the role of captive, but she wasn’t in the mood to feel any appreciation for him not doing so. In the chamber, her eyes found the massive bed and the memory of their kiss resurged as a flush on her cheeks.

Was she brave enough to submit to his desire?

Was she strong enough to resist?

She curled her fingers into tight fists as she watched him walk over to the bed. If she gave in to him, was she truly any better than the whore she swore she wasn’t? How on earth did this man manage to strip her of her very moral fibre every time he came close? Krayne heaved the bed down the length of the wall to unblock the mysterious door she’d tried earlier.

One way or another, thought Amber, this would soon be over. Once the exchange failed, which it certainly would, Krayne must admit that she was of no further use and return her to Spedlin. And why wouldn’t he? She’d never been his responsibility.

She had other plans, anyway. Once she’d freed Stivin, she was taking Mary and herself back to England. Her future might be uncertain, but she had a fair idea of how she intended to shape it.

As Amber catalogued her future, she watched Krayne collect a key from a nearby chest and unlock the door. Curious, she followed to peer inside the back room. It was a fair size, and well lit with two uncovered windows, but it was completely bare. And dusty. And cold.

Krayne went to one of the windows and looked out. “I’ll send Isla up with cleaning things.”

“You expect me to clean for you?”

Krayne turned. “It will keep ye out of trouble.”

“I think not.”

“As ye like. I’ll see ta a bed and coverings, but if yer happy ta sleep in dust and cobwebs, so be it.”

“Sleep? I’m to sleep in here?”

“I want my bed back,” Krayne said bluntly. He met her arched brows with cool detachment.

What had she expected?

What had she wanted?

To have her morals and inhibitions swept away, Amber admitted ruefully as she allowed herself to be drawn into the depths of his steadfast gaze.

Tomorrow she’d be gone from this place. Tomorrow her new life would begin, and end with marrying one of the boring old toads her father had turned down countless times before—the young admirers she’d left behind in England were subject to their parents’ will and she was in no position to plead with William for her dowry. Still, old and boring was a vast improvement over the men her uncle was offering.

But tonight…Tonight she wanted to relive that kiss a hundred times over. She’d been stubborn and highhanded, when all she wanted was to fall into Krayne’s arms and submit. Even as the bold thoughts tumbled inside her head, the heat of shame flared up her throat.

But why not? She’d safeguarded her maidenhood, and for what? To give to Sir John Langdon, a man well into his sixties who’d never been married and needed a nursemaid more than a wife? Or Lord Carraway, thrice married with eleven children?

Should she—could she—truly deny herself one night of passion that would have to last a lifetime?

As if he could read her mind, Krayne’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched, setting his expression in stone.

Whatever she wanted to offer him, his answer was clearly, Don’t.

“Very well,” Amber said in a surprisingly normal voice. “I’d best start then if this chamber is to be readied by nightfall.”

She strode deeper into the room and walked up to the opposite wall so she wouldn’t have to face him. Krayne had brought her to life in a whirl of emotions, everything from fear to fury to desire. In his arms, she felt safe and cherished. At his kiss, her world had melted and reformed.

It made no sense.

She knew he was cold-hearted, arrogant and dangerous.

She didn’t want sense.

She heard him leave and held her breath to listen. There were no sounds of a door closing or a lock turning. There’d be guards, she was sure, but the unlocked door gave her the pretence of freedom and she welcomed it.

Amber sighed as she crossed to the window he’d recently deserted and stared out over the battlement wall to the rugged outline of mountains that seemed to go on forever. She shouldn’t welcome anything to do with Krayne and she certainly shouldn’t want him the way she did. What she should be, was grateful for his noble decree. A young, virtuous lady did not jump into bed with the neighbouring laird without severe consequences.

Chapter 6

Krayne stopped in the passageway and let out a low curse. The lass sent out signals that could pump life into a dead man’s cock.

His fist smashed into the stone wall and his knuckles came back bloody. The pain had a soothing effect and he continued walking, away from temptation. He’d seen her tiny smile at the dungeon door and knew she’d seen straight through his ruse. Well, she could have her little victory, but he was not about to take a thank-you rutting in return, however genuine her lust might be. One part of that lust would be gratitude and another part the rush of power. Nay, he’d wait ’til the only part that remained was lust of the body. He’d wait until she was free to come back to him of her own accord.

“Krayne,” Gayle exclaimed as she turned the last step leading down from his private solar and bumped into him. She jumped back and straightened her skirts. “There ye are. I must speak with ye about Red John.”

“Ye’ve come ta beg my pardon fer him as well?” Krayne growled.

“Have a heart.” She gave him her dimpled smile and ignored his tone and scowl. “The poor man’s had a time of it. He’s getting under Agnes an’ May’s feet, pacing the hall on tenterhooks. Forgive him an’ send him back ta the practice field.”

Krayne’s eyes went to her wide lips and stayed awhile. “What makes ye think I’ll not flay the man?”

A twinkle set off her tawny eyes. “He answers ta Red-Handed John now, have ye not heard?” At Krayne’s disinterested shrug, she elaborated, “Caught with his hand in the honey pot, ye ken. He’ll nae live that one down in this lifetime.” She giggled, then noted his darkening expression and added soberly, “He’ll wear his shame fer long, Krayne. He has no need of more punishment.”

“That is not yer decision, Gayle.” With the too-vivid vision of Red John and his honey pot, Krayne caught Gayle about the waist and pushed her up against the wall.

When Gayle pressed her palms to his naked chest in welcome, he thrust a thigh between her legs and brushed her mound suggestively.

“Not here,” she whimpered.

“And not yet,” Krayne said. He kept up the pressure with his thigh and kissed her deeply. When her eyes glazed over, he released her. “Be a sweet and fetch Isla ta me.”

“Now?” The question was both a protest and a plea.

Krayne didn’t blame her. He wasn’t in the habit of playing games, but his balls were sore and heavy and he’d had his fill of women petitioning for Red John. “Aye.”

Gayle pouted her lips, not daring to disobey. “Should I return?”

Krayne hesitated. His shaft was thick with Amber’s scent. He needed release, and only wondered if his bruised balls would survive the sport. His gaze lingered on her flushed face, admiring the pretty features. “Hurry back.”

As she disappeared around the corner, Krayne cursed again and returned to his chamber. The battle between pride and lust had tangled his head to such an extent, he’d forgotten to place a watch on Amber. He pulled one of the older guards off battlement duty and positioned him at the outer door. Andrew was happily married to a bonny lass half his age and was not known for a wandering eye.

“Have ye heard what she did ta Red John?” warned Krayne.

Andrew snorted. “Ye mean Red-Handed John?”

“Aye. I assume I need not tell ye ta keep yerself ta yerself?”

Andrew stroked his silver-streaked beard as he regarded his young laird. “Meanin’ no disrespect, me laird, but I’m blessed with my sweet Ellen. The Jardin lass be fair, I ken. Even so, I’ve little taste fer other women.”

Krayne made his way back down the passage and found both Isla and Gayle awaiting him at the bottom of the north solar stairs. He gave Gayle a saucy slap on the rump. “Upstairs with ye. I willna be long.”

Isla smiled inwardly at the obvious intent. If the laird had any sense, he’d marry Gayle, steward’s daughter or not. As Isla listened to his instructions, however, her smile quickly soured.

“See ta it,” Krayne ordered and mounted the stairs to join Gayle.

Isla fetched a dusting cloth and besom broom from downstairs. Irritation stained her cheeks redder than normal as she made her way to the laird’s chamber. When she stood at the door of the inner room that hadn’t been opened for close on twenty years and saw the black-haired girl staring serenely out of the window, she tossed the broom across the floor. “The laird said ta put ye ta work!”

Amber turned abruptly, but smiled through her resentment. The miserable Isla had just thrown down the gauntlet and she was of a mood to pick it up. “Actually, I suggested it might be amusing to see what I could do with this wasted space. Krayne is such a darling, he simply cannot resist anything I ask.”

That she likely spoke the truth choked Isla. Had the laird not instructed her to show Amber to the attic so she might select whatever she required from the stored chests? ’Twas apparent the prisoner was to decorate to her own taste. To what purpose? The girl would be gone tomorrow. Unless…The blood drained from Isla’s face. “Ye canna think ta assert yerself in this household. The laird has nae use fer the likes of ye and after tomorrow ye’ll be gone.”

Amber was in full agreement, but the caustic tone tempted her to give Isla a secretive smile as she picked the broom up and began to sweep.

Isla sucked in deep breaths. Since Krayne had occupied the master chambers, she’d been expecting the command to open up the adjoining chamber that his mother had abandoned after the old laird’s death. When it hadn’t come, she’d approached him on the matter, and Krayne had stated that the day he married would be soon enough.

God’s blanket! Her knees went weak and her blood ran cold. The laird couldn’t possibly be thinking straight. To take a Jardin, especially this Jardin, to his bed. And even possibly to wife?

Isla glared at the usurper across the threshold she’d not crossed since happier times. The girl was young, proud, beautiful and alive. Why would she give herself to a man who’d kidnapped and humiliated her? But then Isla thought of Krayne’s dark good looks and powerful virility and had her answer.

She could not allow it.

Her glare hardened with bitter memories of lost loved ones and arrogant men who played God with their seed, leaving a trail of suffering behind. If the tale behind Stivin’s capture held any merit, and she thought it surely did, then Amber was just like her father and not shy to dally with Johnstone lives either.

Before she could dither over the consequences, Isla said loudly, “The laird said ta show ye the draperies in the attic.”

Amber stopped her sweeping to look up. “Krayne promised to send up a bed and coverings.”

“Aye. Mungo will be bringin’ up a bed from one o’ the spare chambers, but the laird wants ye ta choose whatever tapestries and rugs ye’ll be needin’. He also requested ye attend him in the north solar fer a private word.”

Amber suspected a lie somewhere in there. First he kicks me out of his chamber, and now he gives me a free hand to decorate? She shrugged and slanted the broom against the wall. This was one bizarre order she was just curious enough to follow.

They were challenged on the way out by a silver-bearded man.

“The laird gave me permission ta take her up ta the attic,” Isla told him. “I’ll nae stop ye taggin’ along, Andrew, but mind ye dinna interfere wi’ woman’s business.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, more than pleased to keep a few steps behind.

At the bottom of the north solar stairs, Isla stopped and gave Amber a prod to go up. “There’s but the one door at the top. The laird’s expectin’ ye, so there be no cause ta knock.”

She watched with grim satisfaction as Amber ascended. Once the storm erupted, no one would care what had brought Amber to the scene in the first place. Isla crossed her arms and stared blankly at Andrew. She was counting on Amber’s pride and the laird’s lack of tolerance for hysterics. The Jardin chit could flee or the laird could toss her out. Isla had no preference either way.

The stairs wound upward in a tight spiral. At the top, Amber paused on the narrow landing. Despite Isla’s advice, she rapped lightly on the door. Strips of blackened steel indicated that the door was reinforced and probably thicker than was custom. She put an ear to the door and heard nothing. She knocked again, louder, and then realised she might not have heard Krayne’s command for her to enter.

With a careless shrug, she turned the knob and nudged the door slightly, giving herself space to put her head around.

Her gasp stuck in her throat as her shocked gaze landed on the couple. The woman was perched on the edge of a sturdy table, long legs wrapped around the solid waist of a man Amber knew instinctively to be Krayne. Her face was buried in his neck and obscured by a flowing mass of golden blond hair. Thoroughly mesmerised, Amber’s attention moved to the muscled slab of Krayne’s back and down his thighs to the britches pooled at his feet.

Look away.

Leave.

Her eyes lifted to the dimple carved into the side of his buttocks cheek, deepening each time he thrust forward to produce a moan of pure pleasure from the woman. Even with her innocence, Amber could not mistake what they were doing.

“Faster,” the woman purred.

“Slower,” Krayne countered.

The woman’s hands slid down his back to his buttocks and squeezed.

“Christ, Gayle.” Krayne grunted and suddenly started moving faster in a series of jerks.

Snapped from her trance, Amber withdrew her head and closed the door as quietly as she could. Her hands were shaking. Her legs wobbled so much, she was forced to sit down on the top step.

She felt strange. Flustered and tearful. And she couldn’t stop shaking.

Wrapping her arms about her stomach, Amber ordered herself to calm down. She had no hold on Krayne. He had every right to—to do whatever he saw fit with whomever he—he—The tears broke loose in silent sobs that came straight from her heart.

When at last she regained some meagre control, she made herself see reason. That woman was a part of Krayne’s life, whereas she’d be a fading memory come tomorrow night. Amber stood and snapped her spine stiff. Gayle. She’d never forget that name, nor the way it had sounded on Krayne’s lips.

They’re welcome to each other, she told herself. ’Twas a lie that Amber held onto as she made her way down the stairs to where Isla waited.

“Did ye see the laird?” Isla demanded.

Amber looked at her blankly. On whose command had she witnessed that scene? Either Krayne or Isla had deliberately sought to hurt her. Or to show her how things stood.

Amber kicked her chin up high. “Take me to the attic.”

She had no intention of ever mentioning what she’d come across in the north solar. But the light had gone out of her day and she couldn’t seem to care a whit for the abundant attic treasures.

“You choose,” she told Isla and went to sit upon a dusty chest. “I find I don’t give a fig what Krayne’s spare chamber looks like after all.”

Krayne put a shoulder against the jamb and did a cursory scan of the room. Mungo had brought the bed with the apricot silk hangings, he noted with an approving nod. For the floor, Amber had chosen rugs woven from Johnstone sheep instead of the animal furs he favoured. Krayne recalled his mother ordering those rugs specially made for this very chamber. The tapestry strung over one window was his mother’s favourite, a black stallion nuzzling a snow-white mare at the edge of a tumbling stream in springtime flood. He frowned when he recognised the other tapestries, as well.

Krayne strode to the bed and pulled aside the silk curtain. Amber lay with her back to him, her legs curled in tight.

“Amber,” he called softly, touching her arm.

She stirred with a drowsy groan and he knew she’d been fast asleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her hair to expose the delicate sweep of throat. So smooth and creamy and tempting, he couldn’t resist trailing his thumb over the satin skin all the way down to her collarbone. She rolled onto her back and uncurled her legs. He saw the crude stitching where she’d repaired her gown, and swore they’d both be happy to burn the thing once this ordeal was over. Then he saw only the rise and dip of perfect, upthrust breasts and his shaft refilled. He realised that no matter how many times he took Gayle, or any other, he’d not be sated until he’d had Amber, over and over and over.

Soon, he promised himself. He shook her arm firmly and her eyes fluttered open. A moment later she jerked upright, wide awake. “What—what are you doing?”

God’s blood, she seemed to slip from Saracen siren to virgin maid at will. “If yer hungry,” he informed her, “we should go down ta supper.”

Amber scrambled up the bed until the wall blocked her retreat. “We?”

“Aye. I’ve not let ye starve yet.”

Amber wondered if she’d ever grow accustomed to waking up to a man’s face, least of all Krayne’s, staring her down, then lost that thought as her gaze slid over his clean linen shirt and instantly recalled how well she knew what lay beneath. But obviously not as well as Gayle. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll have food sent up,” Krayne said.

“Thank you.” She managed a smile while she waited politely for him to leave.

Krayne glanced casually about the room. “Did Isla help decorate the chamber?”

“Aye.”

His eyes came back to her. “’Tis exactly as my mother had it before. I wanted ye ta have a free hand.”

Not about to explain her lack of enthusiasm for decorating, Amber shrugged. “It seemed foolish to stamp the room with my taste on the eve of my departure.”

She had, however, learned two things. This had been his mother’s chamber and Isla had apparently created some sort of shrine to her previous mistress. She shrugged again. The information was irrelevant. She’d be gone tomorrow.

Krayne didn’t think it would be foolish at all. He considered informing her that she’d soon be established here as his mistress, but knew the timing was treacherous. To know she came to his bed willingly and for one reason only, first he had to set her free. He hoped he had what it would take to get her back.

In the meantime, he could begin to soothe the waters. “I spoke ta Red John and am satisfied he didna touch ye.”

Amber supposed it was useless pointing out that she’d already told him as much, when he’d threatened to gut the poor man. “May I assume you didn’t pick that satisfaction from his entrails?”

Krayne grinned at her. “He kept his gut intact, but traded places with ye in the dungeon fer the night.”

“You say you believe he didn’t touch me, so why must he be punished?”

“If he’d had time ta taste the dish he bought, I’d have had him flogged and then sent ta the dungeon. As it is, he still pays yer price.”

“Are you always this callous?”

Krayne’s grin turned sardonic and the hardness reached his eyes. His soothing had whipped a hurricane into the waters and now he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “If by callous ye mean not hiding the truth behind pretty words, then aye.”

“So you do think me a whore,” she exclaimed. “Pity I cannot recall the pretty words you used the last time you denied it so vehemently.”

“Ye play indignation so well,” he drawled, “I wonder ye dinna insist that yer a blushing maid.”

As if to defy him, a mottled flush crept up her throat.

Suspicion stirred his loss of humour to downright anger. “Ye canna possibly be an untried maid.”

“I’ll not presume to know your morals this side of the border,” Amber snapped, “but in England a lady is expected to go pure to her marriage bed.”

“There’s more ta purity than an intact maidenhead,” he retorted.

“Then allow me to rephrase. In England, a lady is expected to go to her marriage bed with an intact—”

“Enough! I’ve only ta look behind me ta see yer trail of conquests.”

Amber sighed noisily. “If by that you mean Red John—”

“Right now I’m thinking of Stivin,” Krayne interrupted again. And himself. And lest he ever be allowed to forget, Red John. Someone had taught this wench to turn a man’s blood to steam that hissed for an outlet like a natural geyser well.

“Stivin is my friend.”

“He’s yer lover.”

“Never.”

Krayne laughed cruelly. “The lad is smitten and ye know it.”

“If I took every smitten male into my bed, I’d never leave my chamber.”

Her brazen words gave Krayne hope. “But there have been one or two along the way.”

“Not a single one.”

“I canna believe that.”

“And I don’t care whether you believe I’m innocent or—” the fight left her voice, “—or not.” She lowered her gaze. “Would it be so terrible if I were?”

Aye, Krayne thought, no longer able to fight the truth. He’d lost her before he’d ever had her.

Her lashes dipped to shadow her high cheeks and the provocative gesture sent white heat spiralling to the tip of his swollen shaft. Christ. Mayhap he should take her as his mistress regardless. She seemed to know all the tricks, whether or not she’d ever actually applied theory to practice.

He had to get out now, or he’d end up ruining her life, and probably his own in the bargain.

“If ye need ta ask,” he said roughly, unable to control the animal she unleashed, “then yer even more innocent than ye claim.”

He leaned in as he rose from the bed, so close to her that his words brushed her eyelids. “And how can that be, when every time ye look at me there’s sin in yer eyes.”

“Go to hell,” she whispered hoarsely.

He looked at her a moment more, then walked out of the room.

“I’m already there,” he swore when he was out of her hearing.

Chapter 7

Amber rode in between Duncan and Alexander. Krayne was directly ahead and three men she didn’t recognise brought up the rear. All were heavily armed with broadswords slung across their backs, dirks sheathed at their boots and leather jacks protecting their chests. If that wasn’t sufficient, Duncan had a crossbow across his shoulder, as well.

She felt as if she were riding to war and knew it could well be the truth. With the exchange upon them, she was queasy from nerves and fear for Stivin. Less so for herself. Krayne was black-tempered, unpredictable and far beyond her understanding. She’d decided to never trust him with her heart or soul, but she still trusted him with her life.

They followed the River Annan to avoid the undulating ridges that rose steadily to the east and only turned in after Dinwoodie. Blaeberry Hill was little more than a mound sloping gently into Auchenroddan Forest and deep in Jardin territory. The noonday sky was a crisp blue with no clouds in sight, sunlight shimmering on the rocky crags pushing through the gorse and rough grass.

Krayne leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to the sun as they topped a crest and Blaeberry Hill came into view. His sharp gaze quickly picked out the small band of men on horseback waiting right at the edge of the forest. Building up to the forest were scattered thickets of birch and beech, becoming denser further up the slope. He identified a lone oak tree that rose to some great height with no low branches to obscure the proceedings, and picked it as a possible exchange spot. He was settling back in the saddle to perform another scan of the area when a silver flicker from inside the woods alerted him.

Krayne pulled sharply at the bit to bring Cronus about and ordered his party to a halt. “The brainless coward has hidden men inside the forest. If he’d more sense than a half-baked salmon, he’d have had them keep their weapons sheathed.” Without pointing or looking back, he described exactly where he’d seen sun glint off steel. “They’re no doubt crawling all over the mound and hiding in the bushes.”

Duncan nudged his horse forward. “Send fer more men.”

“Nay. Jardin will no doubt scurry inta the hole he crawled from if he sees a messenger leaving and I want Stivin back today.” He made eye contact with Amber. “His true advantage is Stivin and ours is Amber. The man knows well ’tis his niece’s life he plays with.”

While his words reassured his men, his gaze hardened on Amber to reassure himself. He was pleased to see she neither flinched nor looked away. He’d avoided her last night and this morning, but had less success in isolating his thoughts. She came to him in sleep and haunted him when awake. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his world would pale when he turned her over to William Jardin. The reassurance he sought now was scant consolation, but she’d come to him with no fear in her eyes, and he wanted to return her that way.

Krayne allowed himself one last lingering look, from her haphazardly braided hair to the outline of slender thigh pressed to her horse’s flank. He cursed her damned maidenhood for the hundredth time, then turned Cronus about to face the secrets of Auchenroddan Forest.

Alexander and Duncan urged their mounts forward to line up beside him.

“I’ll ride on alone,” Krayne told them. “Jardin is sure ta meet me halfway.”

“And if he doesna?” Duncan asked grimly.

“Then I’ll ride inta his wooded camp.” He indicated the disjunct oak. “When I raise my hand ta signal, Alexander will escort Amber ta the oak and no further.” He looked at Duncan. “I want ye ta cover Stivin at all times and use that crossbow if need be.”

Duncan fingered the wooden bow at his shoulder. Seeing the sudden gleam in his brother’s eye, Krayne warned, “Dinna forget that forest is crawling with Jardins and we’ve two hostages ta protect. If ye use that thing, it’d best be ta save Stivin’s life or ye’ll have me ta deal with.”

Duncan’s hand dropped to his thigh, mumbling, “Faith, Krayne, I’m nae a greenling.”

“Jardin’s a wily bastard an’ scared o’ his own two feet,” Alexander said, “but he’d nae risk spoilin’ the exchange with a hidden army unless aught was amiss.”

Krayne met his captain’s eye. “I happen ta agree. If aught goes wrong, make haste ta Lochwood with the lass. Adam will know what ta do.”

“I’ll send the lass off with young Graham,” Alexander said, “but we’ll be at yer back at the first glimpse of Jardin steel and ye canna command otherwise.”

“Aye,” seconded Duncan. “Ye can have me flogged afterwards for disobeyin’ an order, I dinna give a rat’s arse. Yer my brother and a Johnstone and I willna run away.”

Krayne threw his head back in exasperation. “Very well, then. The two of ye leave me no choice but ta ensure naught goes wrong.” He clapped Duncan on the back and resisted one last look at Amber before setting off at a brisk canter.

No rider broke away from the forest’s edge to meet him, and Krayne pushed on until he was in shouting distance. Jardin’s group was deep in shadow, making it impossible to pick out Stivin.

Krayne pulled up reins and called, “Jardin! Ye use Auchenroddan like a woman’s skirts ta hide behind. Show yerself and let’s be done with this.”

A few more moments passed, then Krayne observed the barrel-chested man’s cautious approach with interest. He hadn’t seen William Jardin in some years, and what hair the man had lost on top seemed to have gone to the orange bush of his beard. His girth was wider than ever and, Krayne suspected, not nearly as firm as it had once been. He was amused to see two men-at-arms leave the wooded cover to flank Jardin.

“I can name the men that took part in the raid,” Jardin said, immediately on the defensive. “The king ’imself has promised ta deal harshly wi’ thieving an’ will welcome the opportunity ta add a Johnstone ta the list of barons he’s made an example o’.”

If God gives me but a dog’s life, I will make the key keep the castle and the bracken bush keep the cow through all of Scotland. More oft than not, a border family was less likely to remember such an unjust law, unless it was to their advantage.

“I see no reason ta bother Jamie’s head with a scuffle on Jardin soil,” Krayne responded amiably. “My kinsmen have been duly reprimanded. I know my cousin Stivin forced his company upon ye, so ye have no fear of reprisal. ’Tis a simple exchange. A cousin fer a niece. Dinna complicate the matter with insults and threats that could cause another Red Burn.”

As intended, Jardin paled significantly. The incident, later known as the Red Burn, had occurred a sennight after the broken Johnstone-Jardin betrothal, five days after Krayne’s mother, widowed and abandoned with child, had gone missing; presumed dead. The Black Burn, running low that late in winter and being a natural barrier between Jardin land and Johnstone vengeance, had been an apt scene for the battle. That the burn had run red for so many days had been due to its almost-stagnant lethargy, for the fighting had lasted less than one hour. The staggering Johnstone victory was not alone responsible for Jardin’s white complexion. Krayne had not led his men against the Jardins in full battle cry since that fatal day, and that day the young laird had been but fourteen years of age.

William Jardin cleared his throat. Ever since that day he’d been waiting, anticipating, well aware that so long he lived, Johnstone vengeance would not be complete. But it had never come. And he’d grown complacent.

He had no doubt that he would not survive Krayne Johnstone a second time. When he spoke, his voice was brittle with tension. “I didna know the lad’s name afore we were inside Spedlin’s walls. By then it was too late and yer cousin refused ta leave.”

“As interesting as this may be,” said Krayne, “I prefer ta hear the details from Stivin in the comfort of my home. I suggest we remove ourselves ta yon lone oak tree and call fer the hostages so we may acclaim their well-being and go our separate ways.”

Jardin knew his time was up. He looked to the oak tree, then beyond to the familiar proud carriage of his niece astride a grey mare. He tried to swallow, but his parched throat would not allow it.

He didn’t want to die.

He feared death.

And he feared Amber successfully petitioning the king for Spedlin and his lands of Applegarth even more. If the witch won, his soul would lay waste in eternal purgatory. He’d never truly expected to make it to heaven, but at least in hell he could count on a few friends.

Jardin said a quick prayer and made an open-ended deal with the devil, then brought his gaze back to Krayne. “That isna possible.”

Krayne cocked his head to one side, his eyes suddenly harder than iron.

In that look, Jardin understood he had nothing to lose. “I’ve fifty men an’ more waitin’ at my back ta yer six. Ye’ll nae doubt take me an’ a few more ta hell with ye, but ’tis pure slaughter fer yer men and I canna see them runnin’ from the fight. I ken full well the bad blood ’tween us, yet I wouldna willingly harm ye or yers.”

“My patience runs dry,” Krayne said. Although his tone was quelling, numbing control had already started to spread inside. “Is Stivin here? What have ye done ta him?”

Krayne kept perfectly still, his cold gaze steady on the bastard’s sweating face. He already knew the answers. ’Twas the details he now sought.

“He wouldna leave,” Jardin reiterated, then went on to the part he thought prudent to revise. “He demanded ta see my niece, Amber, and wouldna go until he’d had his way. When she refused ta come down ta the hall, Stivin accused me o’ harming the lass an’ keeping her away from ’im.”

“She refused to see Stivin?”

“The lass has a mind o’ her own. The hour was late. She bade me have him return on the morrow when she was…presentable. What’s a mon ta do?” He couldn’t quite meet Krayne’s eyes anymore. Jardin knew that the lie was audacious, but the truth would seal his fate. Revealing that Amber had been locked in her chamber would give too much credence to Stivin’s actions, and place guilt he had no intention of bearing on his own shoulders.

The bitch was stubborn, he remembered, as Krayne had no doubt discovered for himself these last couple of days.

He lowered his head in remorse for what he was about to deliver. “Stivin rushed the stairs ta her chamber. I stepped in his path ta protect her, as be my right an’ duty. When he lunged at me with a dagger he drew from nowhere, one o’ my men brought ’im down. ’Tis a natural reaction, as natural ta a moss-trooper as flyin’ be ta a bird.”

“Brought him down?” Krayne’s cool, placid voice queried.

Jardin wiped his brow beneath Krayne’s stone-grey stare. Gad’s truth, ’twas mostly the truth. Danny Elliot had jumped between him and Stivin, and plunged his sword clean through the lad’s chest before either of them saw it coming. “Stivin fell upon his own dagger. A tragic accident, but an accident nae less. An act o’ self-defence…” He faltered as his throat closed up. “There was nae suffering. Stivin died instantly. I panicked. I shouldha sent a messenger at once. Then Amber disappeared an’ I feared fer her life.”

“Ah, Amber…” The detached voice was sinister.

Where was the fury? Broken grief? Sweat poured down Jardin’s forehead and into his eyes as he regarded the emotionless man.

“Ye have yer back well protected,” Krayne observed, “but surely ye didna expect me ta just hand over yer niece? How did ye imagine ta protect her?”

Jardin hadn’t spared a single moment’s worry for Amber, but he retained the wits to remember that his story was built upon concern for his niece. He shook his head to break eye contact so that he could think clearly. They both knew that the army he’d brought along was a last resort deterrent. Any attack would be an invitation to total extinction before very long. The Johnstone chief would sweep down from Lochwood like the black pox and wipe the Jardin clan from the face of the earth.

“In truth,” hedged Jardin, “I ne’er thought ta see the lass alive again.”

Krayne lifted a mocking brow. “I’m not in the habit of hanging my only hostage.”

Jardin’s fingers flinched close to the hilt of his sword. Krayne sounded almost bored, but he wasn’t deceived. His story was falling apart. He had to do better. “I didna expect her ta hold out against yer interrogation.”

Life flickered in that grey gaze. Dark and blazing. And then it was gone. “She knew.”

“Amber was hiding on the stairs and witnessed everythin’. She was distraught, overcome with guilt at where her vain teasing had led. She lost her mind and ran off. I feared she’d nae have the wits ta keep cool headed an’ silent. ’Tis apparent the lass has more git than I gave her credit fer.”

Jardin bit down hard on his lip. It wasn’t easy defending Amber even as he handed her over to the beast, but he thought he was doing a fine job. She deserved nothing less. She’d lured that Johnstone vermin into Spedlin like a prancy English knight. In retrospect, he should have had her brought down to soothe Stivin’s ruffled feathers. But how could he have guessed the disastrous repercussions?

“The cold-hearted bitch,” Krayne muttered.

Jardin pretended not to hear. He drew his first light breath in days. He was twice saved, once from Johnstone wrath and twice from the damned curse. So far he was concerned, Krayne couldn’t dispense vengeance on his niece soon enough.

Krayne lowered his eyes, taking a much needed respite. He was losing precious control to an inner argument he shouldn’t even be having. So what if Amber had known all along? It made little difference in the end. Johnstone blood had been spilled on Jardin land and he held the contemptuous laird directly responsible. So why were flames licking at the steel resolve that had always allowed him to listen, assess and patiently finalise his plans of condemnation?

He was anything but in control. His blood boiled. He wanted to knock Jardin to the ground and strangle the whoreson with his bare hands for boldfaced lies.

He wanted to ride down hard on Amber and demand she deny every filthy word.

Krayne’s knuckles whitened at his grip on the reins. “If yer not prepared ta meet me in honest battle afore this day is done, then I suggest ye order one of yon archers ta shoot me in the back.”

He jerked at the bit and gave Jardin his back. He wasn’t foolhardy, though, and rode at a full gallop. The air ripped coolness through his hair as he charged across the uneven rocky ground with confidence. The fire inside him flared and curbed to the tempo of his inner arguments.

Amber’s a selfish vixen accustomed ta playing life ta her own tune, but she isna a hardhearted bitch ta keep Stivin’s death from me. She was a maidenhead away from being my mistress. She wouldna betray me in this.

But he could not escape the evidence of her persistent fleeing. Amber had thrown herself off a thirty-foot wall and risked a night in the dungeon. Such desperation reeked of her knowing the outcome of this exchange.

Krayne’s jaw tensed until it felt locked down in stone.

The Johnstone party watched his return with mixed concern and surprise.

Amber was just as concerned, but not at all surprised that Krayne came back empty handed. Naturally she’d hoped, but in her heart she knew that William would never trade a valuable hostage for the niece he wished dead.

Duncan and Alexander left her side to ride out to meet Krayne, veering sharply when he thundered down the middle of them and came straight at her, stopping alongside at the last possible moment. His expression was black, grim and cold. His stare silently penetrated her composure until she felt dirty and worthless.

She’d failed him as well as Stivin.

He chose that moment to state, “Ye knew.”

The hard tone shredded her guilt. Of course she knew that the exchange was doomed, and she’d said as much to him time and time again. “I tried to tell you.”

“Ye didna try hard enough.” Krayne’s hand shot out with a force that would slap her clear off the horse. At the crucial moment, his arm froze, his open palm halting in midair just inches from her cheek.

Amber went sideways, an involuntary reaction that sent her sliding from the saddle anyway.

Krayne watched in shock as the reins slipped through her tightly gripped fingers. She was halfway to the ground before her grasp retook, before she slowly struggled up again with softly uttered groans. He almost reached out to help, then cursed those foolish sentiments and turned his horse away.

“God’s truth,” shouted Alexander, going after him. “What in hell did that dickless rat say and where is Stivin?”

“Not now,” Krayne told him. “Not here.”

He wanted no hot-headed heroics from his men when they were outmatched ten to one. He also needed time to shut down the buzz in his head. Damn the wench! He thought he’d reined in his anger. Then she’d confessed with those emerald eyes and had the gall to try to talk her way out of it.

When the hell had she tried to tell him that Stivin was dead?

Krayne shook his hand roughly, filled with dread that his strike had almost landed. He could have killed her with that blow. He glanced back to see Duncan had trotted to her side. He gave a foul look to his three men-at-arms, calling harshly, “Bring the Jardin lass. We ride fer Wamphray.”

“At least tell me Stivin is safe,” Alexander snapped.

Krayne breathed deeply. “I canna give ye the reassurances ye seek.”

Before Alexander could question further, Krayne took off at a neck-breaking gallop to leave the stench of Jardin soil behind.

Amber flinched as Duncan loosened her grip from the reins.

“What are you doing?” she asked tentatively when he turned her palms up and examined the leather burns with a gentle touch she had no reason to expect.

Only then did he meet her eyes. “I’ve never seen my brother lift his hand ta a lass before.”

“He never touched me,” she said.

William Jardin had fallen back within the line of trees to watch what Krayne would do, and knew a moment of immense satisfaction when Krayne knocked the girl from the saddle and rode off without looking back.

He turned to the men at his side, men he trusted only so long as he could pay them.

“He’ll take her back ta Wamphray an’ let his men take turns ruttin’ her ta death,” said one.

The other gave a gruff laugh. “And then he’ll use her own entrails ta hang her by the neck.”

William didn’t really give a damn how Krayne killed her, so long as he did. Unfortunately the Grey Wolf wasn’t likely to stop with one Jardin wench when there were other Jardins breathing. “Come, we’ve another black-haired devil ta visit upon this day.”

Chapter 8

Krayne and Alexander rode into the bailey well ahead of the others, tossed their leads to Peter as the lad came running up and strode inside before any of the gathering onlookers could barrage them with questions. Alexander grabbed two pitchers of ale as they passed through the great hall to a secluded chamber at the far end.

Krayne closed the door behind them and leant his back against it.

Knowing the laird as well as he did, Alexander shoved a pitcher at him and sent up a silent prayer for Stivin’s soul. Once they’d quenched their thirst, Krayne went to stand in front of the map that hung from one side of the wall to the other, hands behind his back, feet wide apart. The map was a work in progress, drawn by Johnstone hand, and covered most of Annandale from the river head at Moffat to where the waters fed into the Solway.

“Stivin is dead,” Krayne said. The words were a dull echo in his hollow voice. “Jardin would have it as an accident.”

Alexander swallowed a lump of grief at the confirmation. Stivin was an enigma he’d never attempted to understand. The lad preferred a good book to a good alehouse and never attended practice in the fields. But Stivin was kin and he’d liked him well enough.

“Ye believe him?”

“Aye.” Krayne repeated Jardin’s story, omitting only the accusation that Amber had known the truth all along. That specific betrayal was personal and would be dealt with as such, when he had the time.

“There was naught ye couldha done,” Alexander said. “Ye were still at Stirling when Stivin drew his last breath. What will ye do with the lass?”

Krayne stared at the map instead of answering.

“I know yer mind, Krayne, fer it reflects my own,” Alexander persisted. “She wears too much blame ta walk free.”

“Ye’d have me hang her?” Krayne demanded, turning on him. “Pierce my sword through her gut? Mayhap pike her head on the battlement wall?”

“Of course not.”

Krayne felt suddenly weary to his soul. “I’ll deal with Amber.”

“Then let’s talk strategy.” Alexander stepped up to the map. “Do we go in the dark or wait fer mornin’?”

“Jardin is expecting me before sundown.”

Alexander swung about to give him a dark look. “Ye warned the worthless bastard.”

Krayne met him with a darker look. “I’ll not sneak in the back door under the guise of night. This is not another raid.”

Suddenly Alexander understood. “Ye’ve declared war.”

“Not yet,” Krayne said and went on to divulge his plan.

When Duncan’s voice was heard outside, the men broke off their discussion.

“Call all able men ta the hall,” Krayne told his captain. “I’ll see ta Amber and break the news ta Duncan.”

Duncan was impatient to find out what the hell was going on, but didn’t object when Krayne beckoned him inside the conference chamber and promised to return promptly.

Krayne took one look at Amber and kept his distance, well aware that the iron grip leashing his emotions seemed to crumble in her presence.

“Upstairs,” he ordered.

To his relief, she went without further prodding. He put her in the chamber she’d prepared for herself the day before, his mind beyond dwelling on the great expectations he’d once had for that room. He didn’t cross the threshold, couldn’t, but reached inside to pull the door closed. When her hand landed on his arm, he jumped back as if burned.

“Please…” Her green eyes were so damn huge, innocent, appealing. He hoped to God she wasn’t about to apologise. “What—what will you do about Stivin?”

No sympathetic dribble? No false condolences? He didn’t want them, yet found himself feeling cheated out of cutting her short with scathing contempt.

Instead she sought assurances that she was safe from his revenge. Assurances Krayne had no intention of giving.

“My plans are made and do not concern ye,” he said coldly, reaching for the door again.

This time she stopped him with words. “How can you be so cruel? Stivin—”

“Enough.” He decided he didn’t like the way Stivin’s name trembled on her treacherous lips and added, “If ye ever speak Stivin’s name ta me again, I’ll change my mind and have yer head piked fer Johnstone amusement.”

She paled so quickly, he thought she’d drop into a faint. He didn’t care. Krayne yanked the door closed, locked it and returned downstairs.

Dealing with his brother was a lesson in sainthood.

Duncan cursed William Jardin from Lockerbie to Moffat, and then Duncan started on him. “Yer self-importance is outshined only by yer gutless yellow cowardice. Jardin shits in yer face an’ ye step daintily ta the left. He farts in yer mouth an’ ye jump ta the—” Krayne’s fist connected beneath his jaw, spinning him off his feet and flat onto his back.

Blood dribbling down his chin, Duncan picked himself up and advanced on Krayne with a mutinous glare.

“God’s truth, Duncan. Dinna force me ta blacken both yer eyes. We ride fer Spedlin within the hour and I need ye at my side.”

Duncan stopped short.

“Jardin claimed ta have fifty men crawling in the forest,” Krayne went on. “I know better than ta throw red meat ta a pup in a cage o’ lions. If I’d told ye about Stivin back there, ye’d have charged the bastard and drawn his bloody mercenaries ta ye like filings ta a lodestone. I’m no coward, but I am responsible fer my men as well as yer scrawny arse.”

“I didna think—”

“Ye never do,” Krayne said softly.

“Ye treat me like an untried boy,” Duncan flared again.

Krayne didn’t trust himself to respond to that. “I want ye fully armed and in the hall without delay. With Jamie’s new parliamentary laws, our actions today may well get us outlawed. Each man must be made aware of the consequences and make his own decision.”

Duncan nodded, turned stiffly and walked out the door.

Krayne went to stand before the map wall. His gaze fell on the scattered dots. If he waited a day, he could call on Johnstones from Carnsalloch, Craigieburn, Elsieshields, Fairholm, Fingland, Howgill, Marjoribanks, Millbank, Newton and Poldean.

He never once considered it.

Jamie’s wrath would ripple through the dale if he suspected a rebellious spider web threading the Johnstone families together rather than the isolated insolence of one wayward laird.

The view from Amber’s window to the bailey below was obscured by the wide rampart that ran the length of all the chambers this side of the tower house. If the window had been large enough to climb through, Amber would have risked the guards to see the spectacle for herself.

The clatter of a hundred hooves rumbled in the background of the timbered roar of discordant male voices rising as one. Her clipped view of the gateway showed the dust kicked up and an occasional glimpse of horse as Johnstone moss-troopers poured from the castle. Amber drew away from the window, her breaths sharp and uneasy.

They rode for Spedlin.

Where else?

Did that mean that Krayne had refused to meet the ransom demands William must have named in her place? Amber marched to the bed, then back to the window. Of course he had refused. The ruckus below was a small army on the move, not a handful of Johnstones off to rustle cattle for Stivin’s ransom.

The noise level outside dimmed and she guessed the cavalcade had turned into the softer sands at the confluence of Lemoir Burn and Wamphray Water. While a part of her wanted to scream after them, condemning the useless waste of life, she couldn’t deny her envy. At least they were doing something.

Why were women always left behind to wait and accept?

Twirling from the window to fling herself across the downy bed, she refused to dwell on what she was waiting for. Krayne was furious. Hard, cold and deadly. Whatever she’d taken for anger before, she now reclassified as a mild bout of irritation.

She thought of Krayne’s threat to pike her head. The man hadn’t even been able to slap her cheek. Although he had tried. She wondered if he always chose violence over negotiation.

Still, he wouldn’t kill her, and he certainly wouldn’t pike her head.

Of course, there were things worse than death…

The band of men crossing back onto Johnstone land was outwardly subdued. On the inside, seething fury and blood thirst spiralled through their veins.

Krayne led the horse that carried his cousin’s body across the Black Burn and up to higher ground. He rode past the thickets of hard bush and scrubby trees and on to the open moor, then turned to wait for all his men to cross the water and follow the rut grooved into the deep valley. The natural track led them a merry westward path from their true direction but could not be avoided without dismounting to climb the steep incline.

He’d reclaimed Stivin, but he’d misjudged Jardin and vengeance was still to be had. The lowlife had taken his mercenaries and run. And Krayne knew exactly where he’d run to.

Twenty-eight moss-troopers formed a double row before Krayne, while Alexander came alongside him. Krayne and Alexander had put their heads together for the short ride back from Spedlin, and both agreed the new plan was sound.

Krayne addressed the men loudly and clearly, “Jardin has a couple of hours on us. Ta reach King Jamie at Stirling, he’ll detour west as far as Dumfries rather than cross hostile Johnstone land. We’ll reach the Glasgow road with plenty of time ta set our ambush.”

He pranced Cronus in a tight manoeuvre up and down the line to look each man in the eye. “If possible, I’d still remove Jardin from his men and force the coward ta draw swords with me. With Jardin turning tail on his honour, however, battle is less unavoidable. If word reaches the king, all named will be outlawed.” A fate Krayne immensely preferred to what awaited him afterward, rotting in an Edinburgh dungeon, but he’d not make Adam vulnerable by running away. “No man here will suffer in any way fer turning home—”

A roar went up to swallow the remainder of his words. Krayne’s gaze darkened to pewter and he grinned hard at the enthusiasm and loyalty of his men. Many had lost loved ones to a Jardin over the years. Kinship and loyalty aside, this fight was personal to each man.

Krayne raised a hand and the noise subsided. “I need a volunteer ta take our Stivin home.”

He knew no one would offer and was grateful for it. He rode up to Duncan and handed over the reins of the horse that carried Stivin’s lifeless body. Duncan’s dark stare flared in outrage. Krayne matched it with one a hundred times more lethal. “’Tis yer cousin, little brother.”

Duncan grabbed the reins and rode off without a word, his back stiff in impotent rage. Krayne watched until his brother had descended the banks of the River Annan and disappeared from view. He suspected Duncan would be Wamphay’s new laird before this day was done and prayed the lad was ready for it.

“Riders,” called Alexander as a band of horsemen broke through the forest of firs to their left.

Everyone turned to confront the threat, hands poised at their swords, more than ready to shed some blood. Moments later, however, the imposing figure of Adam Johnstone astride his magnificent midnight black Barbary took shape, and all hands fell away.

Even so, no one breathed any easier.

Krayne swore loudly. Gut instinct told him that his chief’s arrival was no coincidence. “I’ll deal with Adam. Inform everyone that they may dismount ta eat and drink while we’ve no choice but ta spare the time.”

Alexander kept his face and voice bland. “I reckon we’ve a lot more spare time comin’ than ye ken.”

“Naught has changed.” Krayne’s tone discouraged disagreement. “We ride fer Sterling.”

Alexander gave him a sceptical look, but turned his mount about to give the order.

Krayne spurred his horse into a canter toward the forest and Adam. When Adam raised a hand to call his troops to a halt and rode forward alone, Krayne knew he was in for an upbraiding and cursed his own bad luck. Half an hour’s grace and he’d have been in the dale and beyond Adam’s sight.

“Yer nae ridin’ fer Spedlin,” Adam growled as they brought their horses nose to nose, asserting the depth of his knowledge without giving away his source.

“I’ve just returned from there.”

Adam’s jaw clenched.

Krayne’s clenched harder.

Adam shook his head and his voice was sober. “Tell me ye didna burn that rottin’ pile o’ dun ta the ground.”

“Jardin left behind only children, women and men too old ta lift a sword.” Krayne spat his disgust on the ground. “Aye, and men too dead ta lift a sword.”

“Ye know I had a wee soft spot fer Stivin,” Adam said. “I’m truly sorry, Krayne.”

Krayne nodded. The men held eye contact in harsh, masculine sympathy. Stivin’s mother had been the youngest sister and a favourite of their fathers. Adam had felt that the boy would be more comfortable at Wamphray with his younger cousins than in a household of battle-weary old men and his swarm of daughters. Both men felt they’d somehow betrayed Stivin and their aunt’s trust.

“I left Spedlin as I found it,” Krayne said at last. “We met scant resistance and I’ve no taste fer slaughtering defenceless servants.”

Adam’s scowl eased, but there was no such recompense in his tone. “I’ll ride with ye ta Wamphray.”

“Then ye’ll ride alone.” Krayne’s brows knotted. “I’m ta Stirling.”

“That is where yer mistaken, lad.”

Somewhere beneath his steel belt of control, Krayne’s temper soared. He checked it with a deep breath. “Ye know I have ta do this.”

“Hog spittle!” Adam leaned over the saddle to stare his cousin down. Wild black brows formed one continuous pelt above equally black eyes. “No man here will refuse my order ta turn home.”

“Ye’d dare command my men?” Krayne bit out.

“Every last one, if ye give me nae choice.” Adam settled in his saddle again. “Yer a damned fine laird, Krayne, but ye’ve nae inherited my chieftainship yet and until ye do, I stand above ye and yers!”

“Command them,” Krayne said. “I’ll ride on alone.”

“Ye’ll nae defy me!” exploded Adam in a voice that could rival thunder. “Jardin has up o’ fifty men that ride with him. Ye canna take them on alone.”

Krayne’s plans required a little more finesse to isolate Jardin from his pack, but nothing much had changed. “Jardin will meet me once I’ve removed the option of cowering.”

Regarding him with shrewd eyes, Adam realised that Jardin had misunderstood. The snivelling weasel had arrived at Lochwood, bemoaning his innocence and insisting that the Laird of Wamphray had declared open war. Knowing that Krayne meant to skewer only the king rat did not make Adam feel any better. “Damn ye, Krayne. ’Tis nae a game yer playin’.”

“Ye know me better than that.” But Krayne’s back teeth clamped down on further argument. Adam was chief of the Annandale Johnstones and he’d sworn fealty to him first, King James second. He could argue, swear and fight, but on the occasion when Adam was determined to play God, Krayne was duty-bound to obey. “I’ll lead the Wamphray Johnstones home.”

“They await ye,” Adam said, hugely relieved but not about to show it. “I’ll follow.”

The return journey was too short for Krayne. It was one thing to go one’s own way without seeking permission, another to directly defy an order. Unless he could persuade Adam otherwise, no revenge would be had.

Closeted in the north solar, Krayne poured a whiskey for Adam and himself. Rather than taking the high-backed chair behind his desk, he pulled two stools about a low table.

“I was on my way ta Stirling when Jardin—” Adam started.

“The lily-livered toad. I canna believe he went runnin’ ta—”

“Leave be.” Adam needed give no more than the soft warning. “Jamie wants me at Stirling fer the trial o’ Murdoch and Lennox.”

Krayne’s attention was successfully diverted. “He canna put his own blood on trial.”

“The king can do exactly as he likes,” Adam drawled between sips. “And right now Jamie likes Jardin’s fat arse a little too much fer comfort an’ Jardin kens it well.”

Krayne slammed back his whiskey and stood. “I’m no ninny in need of training, Adam. The nuances of politics are not lost on me.”

“Ye have the brains ta see the warning signs but when it comes ta heeding them, yer balls take o’er.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Krayne took to prowling around the chamber. “Jardin murdered him. Stivin wasna even ten and seven.”

“Old enough ta raid, old enough ta pay,” Adam said callously, purposely reminding Krayne of the initial perpetrators. Adam didn’t have the luxury of sewing his eyelids shut whenever he came by something he didn’t wish to see.

“Yer a hard bastard.” Krayne poured himself another whiskey, tossed it down his dry throat, then pushed his back against the wall and folded his arms.

“My responsibilities make me hard.”

Krayne knew all about responsibility. Most of his anger at Adam turned inward. “My responsibility was ta Stivin and I failed. I canna rest until his senseless death has been avenged.”

“I canna allow ye ta bring Jamie’s hammer down on us.”

“Me,” Krayne corrected. “Jamie would be content ta slap a wayward laird in irons without terrorising the clan. Doesna he cherish a good example now and then ta ensure obedience?”

“What o’ Duncan? What o’ the lairdship o’ Wamphray?”

“If ye hadna noticed, Duncan wasna with us.”

Adam raised a brow. He hadn’t noticed.

Then he growled, “Christ, Krayne, I’ll nae have ye sacrifice yerself fer the stupidity o’ others. I canna turn a blind eye.” Adam added in warning, “Jardin has too many witnesses and I’ll be implicated in yer decision either way now.”

Krayne sank onto his stool. He closed his eyes for a long moment before lifting his gaze to Adam. “’Twas why I didna come ta ye.”

“Suspicion will fall on all Johnstones if you’re arrested fer treason. Jamie would hang the first half just ta be sure, then ban the name o’ Johnstone and leave the rest without land ta call their own.”

“Ye have my word,” Krayne muttered, defeat shadowing his eyes. “I willna go after Jardin. Fer now.”

Amber had paced until the soles of her slippers were threadbare. She’d slept, sat and stared. She was going mad. No one came to her except Isla, and that dour woman took delight in ignoring her demand for answers.

What was happening?

Had Stivin been returned?

The familiar rasping sound of the key turning sent Amber flying off the bed. Hands clasped behind her back, she watched Isla dump her daily rations of food and drink on the table. Two nights of having naught but her own thoughts for company took its toll and dampened her pride.

“Where is Krayne?” she asked sweetly in place of her previous demanding tone.

Isla glanced at her coldly, saying nothing as she grabbed the pot supplied for ablutions and marched to the door.

“Please, tell me anything. I beg of you. What of Stivin?” Amber threw herself after the silent woman. “Did Krayne bring him back? Was he harmed? I only wish to see Stivin for a moment.”

She grabbed an arm and Isla stumbled just outside the door. The pot went flying, the contents flung clear across the floor. At the crash, an unfamiliar guard rushed up from the adjacent chamber, sword drawn. What had happened to the grey-bearded Andrew? This one was taller and heavier, but Amber identified a vulnerability in his youth, a softness around his mouth and eyes that suggested compassion.

“Dinna fash, Gavin,” Isla growled, looking at the mess. She shoved Amber back inside and locked the door. “I can handle a Jardin well enou’.”

Amber dragged heavy feet to the window. She reasoned they couldn’t keep her locked away forever. One day Krayne would require his bedchamber again and there was no privacy with her tucked in the back room. What was happening with Krayne? Angry and hating his worthless hostage, Amber supposed, but why did he stay away?

She willed him to come to her. She didn’t care what reason or excuse brought him. Punishment. Forgiveness. Curses. So long as he came. And this time she’d make him tell her what was going on.

The sun was a fat glowing ball squatting on the distant mountains. The blade-sharp blue of the clear sky had already dulled to the onset of the gloaming. This would make it three nights. How many more could she take?

Amber jutted her chin high and strolled to the table holding the trencher Isla had brought. She sank to her knees before the food and tore a chunk of warm bread free. She had a choice of ale or wine to wash it down with. As the full-bodied wine blunted the edge of her frustration, she admitted that she wasn’t being manhandled and wondered to whom she owed thanks for the decent fare.

Even so, not knowing Stivin’s fate was in itself a form of torture. She had to get out of this chamber. Anger and self-pity gave way to determination.

Her gaze went to the clay mug in her hand, almost half-full with the pleasant-tasting wine. Amber hiked her skirt and worked the inner seam until she found the leather pouch she’d sewn inside. She scrambled to her feet and hid the pouch beneath the covers on the bed. Then she tiptoed to the door and lowered her eye to the keyhole.

Isla was down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the soiled strips of wood. The guard looked bored, one shoulder resting against the wall as he watched Isla work.

Amber’s pulse raced.

She’d done this before.

She could do this again.

Krayne knew he’d dozed off again when he came to with a start. He stiffened, slowly becoming aware that he was comfortably settled in the leather padded chair in his solar. His hand shot out instinctively and found the pewter mug within easy reach on the table. He quickly threw back a mouthful of whiskey before his head could begin to clear.

“Christ,” he mumbled as pain pierced his temple. His vision blurry, he emptied the mug and tossed it against the wall. The pain dimmed, and the wall opposite swayed a little more.

His hand came up, absently scratching three days of growth at his jaw.

He was sober enough to know that he was falling apart and that he had to pull himself together.

He wasn’t drunk enough to recall why he should bother.

Lurching to his feet with only one miss, he staggered across the uneven stone floor to retrieve and fill his mug. He didn’t make it back to his chair. Slumped on the floor, his back to the wall, his face pressed to his knees, he closed his eyes to block the memories that wouldn’t stay down.

Stivin was neither the first nor the closest kin he’d lost. He’d been a boy of twelve when James Maxwell slew his father. Adam had devised the cunning plan to lure the Maxwell into an ambush and Krayne had thrown the dagger that had ended the bastard’s miserable life. Since then he’d avenged every slight or wrong done to him or one of his.

Tears came unbidden as Krayne’s inebriated mind turned on the images of his mother’s broken body and his newborn sibling. Heavily with child and abandoned by her betrothed, William Jardin’s brother, John, Krayne’s mother had fled her shame in the deep of winter. By the time Krayne had tracked her down, the babe was born and his mother lay half-dead, both exposed to the blistering November storm. He’d swaddled the newborn infant in the shirt off his back, wiping away what blood he could, scared and shaky at the blue tinge to the little one’s skin, and carried both mother and babe to the nearby convent of Auchencass. The babe had probably never drawn his first breath, the nuns had told him. ’Twas a miracle his mother had survived.

The tears dried. Krayne’s shoulders heaved with silent grief. He’d left his mother to the care of the nuns and ridden straight for Spedlin, stopping only to collect his men along the way. That day, the Black Burn had run red.

“Christ,” he swore again, tearing both hands through his hair. He couldn’t do this. He’d made mistakes. Some worse than others. Some too enormous to ever undo or rectify. He could live with that.

He couldn’t live with doing nothing at all.

Heavy pounding at the door thudded inside his head.

“Go away,” he slurred, too softly to carry through the thick door. He needed whiskey. He needed to blunt the voices that wouldn’t go away.

His mother’s confession, “The babe I carried was not John Jardin’s. Do not blame him for breaking off the betrothal, for he had every right.” Too late. By then, Krayne had already begun the feud that continued into the present day.

Amber Jardin’s admission of deceit. “I tried to tell you.” She’d known that Stivin was dead all along.

Women were treacherous beings with the games they played.

Krayne stumbled across the room, bouncing off the edge of the table and tripping over a stool. When he found the flagon of whiskey, he cursed. The flagon was empty and panic set in.

For three days idleness had taunted him. He burned. He hated. Revenge would be his, one way or another. He reached for the flagon and tipped it to his mouth, forgetting it was empty.

On the other side of the door, Alexander looked to Gayle with a black frown. “I’ll fetch an axe and splinter this door in two.”

“He’ll nae appreciate that,” Gayle said, nudging him aside. “Here, I’ll try, Krayne opened fer me last night.”

Alexander looked at her askew. “Tell me he wanted food and a woman.”

“Whiskey.”

“Dammit.” He didn’t want to have to send for Adam. Not with Amber Jardin locked up and her fate still undecided. “Nae more whiskey ’til he eats.”

“He willna eat and he willna sleep,” Gayle predicted as she hunkered low and called to Krayne through the keyhole.

The door flew open and Gayle jumped back in surprise. The solar beyond was cloaked in darkness with neither a fire lit at the hearth nor rush lights.

Krayne’s tall form blocked the doorway. “Leave me be.”

“Fetch bread an’ ale,” Alexander ordered Gayle. He’d never seen Krayne look this bad. Shadows hung beneath tired eyes that were reddened with the abuse of alcohol and no sleep.

“’Tis whiskey I need,” said Krayne, coming out to push past the pair and down the stairs.

“Krayne!” Gayle screamed when he stumbled.

“Leave,” commanded Krayne. “Both of ye. Let me the hell alone.”

“Wait.”

Recognising the change in his friend’s tone, Krayne turned and waited, if only to give the walls a moment to cease spinning.

Alexander rounded a tight bend in the stairway and came into view. “Let me come wi’ ye.”

“I havena needed my hand held since I was twelve.”

Their eyes locked, sharing pain and truth without words. “Ye dinna have ta be strong all the time, friend.”

Krayne answered by squaring his shoulders and attempting to continue down the stairs with dignity. A moment later he lost his footing and cursed his wooden legs that refused to obey him. Using the wall on his left to guide and support himself, Krayne made it all the way down and along the passage to his bedchamber.

“Where is Andrew?” Krayne demanded of the young guard he found outside.

“Andrew’s w-wife took ill, me laird,” Gavin stammered, going white in the face as he stood aside, fumbling with the key in his hand.

Krayne snatched the key and walked through the outer chamber to the door tucked at the back. When he attempted to fit the key in the lock with clumsy fingers, key and lock came to life, weaving in and out of each other’s way like a magic Celtic knot.

Krayne ceased the struggle and put his forehead to the door. What did he hope to achieve here?

What answers did he suppose Amber Jardin held?

Jardin! That name inside his head was all it took. Revenge and whiskey rushed his blood, and this time he managed to insert the key and turn it.

“Gavin?” a sweet, feminine voice called out when he pushed the door inward. “What took you so…”

The voice trailed off into uneasy silence as green eyes startled wide on him.

Amber posed provocatively on the bed, clad in naught but her cotton shift. Her lips were still parted, frozen on that welcome speech…for another man! Rage clawed through the buzz of alcohol as Krayne stared in disbelief.

How had she done it?

How had she convinced him that she was yet an innocent maid?

Chapter 9

“Krayne.” Recovering from the shock, Amber slammed her legs together and brought them over the edge of the bed to sit upright.

She’d prayed for him to come, but this was one prayer she wished God had ignored. Krayne looked wild and grim and dark. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair hung lank and knotted to his shoulders. And there was a smell to him. The strong odour of alcohol. He reeked of the stuff.

He took a slow, menacing walk up to the bed and she shrank back. Something was terribly wrong.

Her heart jumped when he suddenly spun about and barked, “Lock the door, Gavin.”

“Laird?” Drops of sweat gathered on the guard’s brow.

“Ye heard me,” Krayne said. “Lock the door and dinna open until I command ye so.”

Amber watched in dismay as the young guard yanked the door closed and turned the key.

“What—what are you doing?” she demanded faintly.

“Finishing what ye were about ta start, it would seem.”

Amber slid off the bed, all coherent thought lost. His gaze was hard enough to strike her down. Indeed, it felt as if he had. “Is this because of Gavin?”

His eyes slid down her thin shift and she felt naked. One arm across her chest, the other hand tugging at the wrinkled cotton to ensure it covered her ankles, Amber fled to the window.

He’d warned her after Red John.

Warned her to stay away from his men.

Was it possible that distracting his men a few times could build into this consuming rage?

Krayne said nothing, approaching the window now in that agonisingly slow and overcareful gait.

Relying on anything she knew and trusted about Krayne would be sheer folly. Not when he was in this state. “You’re drunk.”

His twisted grin matched the emptiness in his eyes.

Then he was upon her.

She shrank back into the wall, unable to turn her eyes from his, her knees threatening to buckle. He reached for her, grabbed her wrist, effortlessly bringing her protective arm down to her side again.

“You—you’re scaring me, Krayne.” She barely recognised her small, shaky voice.

“Ye’ve every reason ta be scared, lass.” His eyes lifted to hold her with contempt as he moved closer and cupped one breast within his palm, fondling hard and unrelenting with no fondness at all.

Every little thing, from the way he looked at her to the reek of the alcohol that had turned him into a stranger, told her that Krayne was out to hurt her. Slaking the fury in his eyes the same way a berserker might slake his bloodlust in the heat of battle.

Amber swallowed past the panic lodged in her throat. “Is—is this about Stivin?”

“Do not.” He brought his hand up from her breast. “Dinna use that name ever again.”

She dodged instinctively, knocking the back of her head on the wall. Her eyes blinked wide in horror as she recalled the last time he’d made to slap her. This time she knew nothing would stop him. The rest of her body stiffened, braced for the blow.

“Do not,” Krayne repeated, frowning his confusion as he tried to consolidate his goals.

He’d been drawn to seek Amber out in some desperate need for resolution, to do what, he hadn’t known…until he’d walked in to the reminder of who and what she was: The seductress responsible for Stivin’s death. Here was the revenge he’d been denied. He would teach this woman what it felt like to be on the receiving end of dangerous sexual games.

Looking at her now, though, he couldn’t quite remember just what he’d had in mind. Her face was white, her body trembling from top to toe, the threat of tears on her lips. And in this moment, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to gather her to him and rid her fears.

“Where is Stivin?” whispered Amber. “Have you brought him back?”

“Aye,” he said, his blurred mind speeding off to Stivin’s body slung limply over his horse and fusing with those wayward thoughts of concern for Amber.

“I want to see him. Take me to Stivin—”

“Christ, woman,” roared Krayne, hearing his cousin’s name on treacherous lips and nothing else. Stivin. Over and over. Why did she continue to taunt him? All tender thoughts dried up. “Do ye want yer head spiked afore dawn?”

“You wouldn’t.”

His eyes narrowed on her. Stivin was all that mattered. Righting the wrong brought on by this woman. Forcing her to taste the bite of her own cruelty.

His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Dinna think ye know anything of me at all. ’Tis time ye were taught the pitfalls of callous games played on a whim.”

“I don’t play…’Tis not what you think. Krayne,” she cried out. “I only want to know what’s going on.”

Anger seeped from his veins to scowl his face. “When my hands roam yer flesh, ye will feel the hands of every man ye ever cuckolded and betrayed, fingers of revenge fer every man ye ever seduced.”

Her legs gave in and his hand shot out to hold her up against the wall.

Krayne’s inner rage tried to command his slow mind to do it now. To take this woman, with no warmth or emotion, to take that phantom maidenhead she teased and taunted young lads to their death with.

His limbs refused to co-operate.

“P-please,” Amber whimpered. “Please…don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Krayne sneered. “Why should I not use yer body fer my revenge when yer so quick ta wield it as a powerful weapon?”

She stared at him; a scared, fragile lass of tender years.

And Krayne knew he could not do it.

She pushed him away and Krayne allowed it. He gave up any hope of revenge tonight. Amber deserved to suffer for her sins, by God she deserved much more, but apparently he was not the man capable of seeing to it.

Amber darted to the side and across the room. Her heart thudded much too fast. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

He’d gone mad.

When my hands roam yer flesh…

fingers of revenge…

He intended to ravish her. As bad as that was, she feared that in his present state, he would likely kill her in the process too. Or leave her wishing that he had.

A shiver chased down her spine and didn’t stop until it hit her toes. She ran blindly. When she knocked against the small table and reached out to steady herself, her fingers touched on something cold and rough. Just before the clay mug spilled, she grabbed it. Not taking a moment to reconsider, she brought the mug to her lips unsteadily and drank deeply of the potent brew she’d prepared to use on Gavin.

Once she was unconscious, let Krayne do whatever he wanted to. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t remember a thing come morning.

Before she could take another sip, a pair of hands settled at her hips and whirled her about.

Krayne tore the mug from her grasp and sniffed suspiciously. “By God, Amber, what have ye done?”

“’Tis only wine,” she said.

“Dinna lie ta me.”

“Spiced wine,” she quickly corrected.

Krayne slumped against the wall. He’d neither slept nor eaten. Both his body and mind were slack from alcohol. One whiff of that foreign-smelling wine and he’d dreaded poison. The sense of loss had almost sent him to his knees. The aftershock cut through his raging stupor and he saw past the object of his revenge to the woman beneath.

She looked so young and innocent, her thin shift revealing the promise of upthrust breasts, a slim waist and flare of narrow hips. Her black hair was loose and brushed, falling either side her face to her shoulders and halfway down her back in loose curls.

Lust swelled his manhood for the first time this night. Krayne brought the mug up and threw back the entire contents, his alcohol-doused blood welcoming the familiar heat. He had to get out of here. Before he swept her in his arms.

Unsteady on her feet, Amber watched as Krayne finished off the potion that was already affecting her. She waited for his reaction, poised to attack if he guessed that he’d just been drugged. Some of her courage returned, now that the odds were better suited.

“Amber,” he slurred.

His arm reached for her shoulder and missed, slapping down against his thigh, mumbling other words she could not make out. He spoke as if his tongue were thick and lolling inside his mouth. Relief broke through. The potion was working. He’d pass out before he could touch her.

Krayne staggered toward the bed, weaving off course a couple of times before he made it. He dropped face down on the covers, arms and legs spread-eagled with his feet scraping the floor.

She edged closer to the bed, collapsing into a sobbing heap when he didn’t stir. Her tears were as much relief as sadness.

How could he do this?

She wiped at her eyes, her lids becoming heavy and refusing to stay open.

“Dear Lord,” she moaned aloud, worried as she realised what was happening. With the relief came the instant effects of the potion she’d imbibed. No longer fighting for her life and sanity, her body was succumbing to the drug.

And why not? With sleep came blissful nothing. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel. She yearned for black, stretching nothing. She allowed her lids to slide closed as she curled into a ball and rolled to the other side of the bed, as far from Krayne as she could get.

Not yet.

She forced her eyes open and pushed up on her elbows. She swung her heavy head to peer at the unconscious bulk at her side.

He wasn’t finished.

He’d come to rape her, and he wouldn’t leave before he’d done exactly that. The potion had earned her a short reprieve, and that was all. As soon as Krayne awoke, he’d finish what he’d started.

She glanced at the door, but knew that enlisting Gavin’s aid now was impossible. He wouldn’t come near that door until he heard Krayne’s command.

The true horror of her situation became clear. Far better that he’d raped her at once than left her to a night of fear as she anticipated morning and the frightening deed it would bring.

Amber scrambled clumsily into a sitting position. Her body was struggling now, limbs and mind shutting down. She had little time left to do what must be done. Whatever that was.

She cast a frenzied look about the room, not willing to accept her fate without a fight. Steel glinted off his thigh in the weak glow of the tallow candle. She fell across the bed and yanked the dagger from its sheath. The edge was smooth and the point sharp. An image of plunging that steel tip through Krayne’s chest flashed through her mind. Abhorrence shuddered down her spine. Even had she the strength, she could not take Krayne’s life in cold blood.

She was about to fling the dagger aside when yet another notion pierced the drugged fur inside her head. All was not lost. She could save herself yet.

Already her fingers were thickening, making it difficult to hold the dagger correctly. Without wasting more time to think through the details, Amber cut a slit near the neckline of her shift, then dropped the dagger and used both hands to rip a gaping tear in the cotton. The torn flap exposed one breast, but she couldn’t think of modesty now. She put her hands in her hair and shook madly. With her clothes and hair in disarray, she prayed that she looked sufficiently abused.

The fur inside her head grew thicker and thicker. Her vision was blurred and keeping her eyes open was nigh impossible. Succumbing to the darkness, she rolled away from Krayne and onto her back. A painful sting just below her knee made her cry out. She rubbed at the burning skin and, when she brought her hand back, the smeared blood was a thunderbolt to her bleary wits. Krayne knew she was a virgin.

With clumsy fingers, Amber groped for the dagger. After a few failed attempts, she bit down on her lip and made a slice across the pad of her thumb. Blood trickled out instantly and she didn’t care where it went. Using the last of her strength, she crawled closer toward Krayne to resheathe the dagger.

Now, surely, she was done.

Amber rolled away, purposely bringing her hand up between her thighs, hitching her shift to her belly, allowing the blood from her thumb to stain wherever she touched as she closed her eyes and gave in to the quiet of nothing.

The sounds of scattered pebbles and bandied greetings reached Krayne through the haze of hell. His tongue was thick and it felt as if someone was hacking at the back of his head with a battle-axe. He tried to lift his eyelids against the unnatural heaviness, then gave up and listened.

The activity in the bailey indicated visitors.

A small group of riders, he reckoned, no more than five. Then he heard none other than Adam’s booming voice ordering his men to seek food and ale within the hall.

Cursing, Krayne rolled onto his stomach and pushed up on his elbows, thinking to do this one slow step at a time. He opened one eye, then the other, ignoring the pain shooting into the back of his eyeballs. Instinct pricked his senses. He knew at once that something wasn’t right. Where was his leather chair and the easy reach of his whiskey? Why was the floor so soft? Where was all that damn light coming from?

His head slanted to the side and his gaze froze on the unwelcome sight that let loose the flood of memories.

Only, the picture was all wrong.

He’d planned to take her in the same dispassionate and crude manner as which she seduced men and boys, some stronger than her, none able to defend themselves against such a practised, deceitful seductress. He’d been determined to teach her what it felt like to be held powerless while another used their body as a weapon, what it felt like to be cut down on a whim.

But he hadn’t.

Krayne blinked hard, then looked again.

Nothing had changed.

Her eyes were closed, black lashes a strong contrast to the deathly pallor of her cheeks. Her lower lip was cut…or bitten. The front of her ripped shift exposed a creamy breast with a delicate dark nipple. His back teeth clamped down when he saw a fading bruise on the underside of that breast.

He was upright in a flash, the alcohol-induced stupor rapidly evaporating as he took in the ravaged sight, from the tangled raven cloud about her shoulders to the blood streaking her thigh.

“Christ Almighty.” Her shift was around her waist, and he saw that the blood reached the mound of silky black curls.

Her fingers stirred at the loud curse, and then she was stretching arms and limbs in all directions, uncurling like a playful kitten.

Krayne’s eyes went back to tracing the bloody streaks.

I did not do this.

As I am Krayne Johnstone, Laird of Wamphray, I know I did not do this.

Emerald eyes flickered wide on him.

He stared back, not sure what to say or do.

He knew the moment she became aware of where his hand was. She screamed, a silent scream that opened her mouth and fed stark terror into her eyes. Krayne jerked his hand away, scowling as she rolled off the other side of the bed, not stopping when she hit the floor, and scrambled to the furthest corner.

She hunched down, stretching the torn shift over her knees, and peered up at him through the stringy raven mess of her hair.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I have done naught,” Krayne roared at the accusation.

He wasn’t an animal. He hadn’t done this. Had he?

He jumped off the bed, relieved to find his britches still firmly tied at his waist. And then he saw the splattered blood staining the leather near his groin area.

“Amber.” He spoke as he approached her corner, his voice brittle with dawning horror. “Tell me what happened last night.”

She curled silently into herself, burying her head in her lap.

His jaw tightened. The last thing he remembered was throwing back a mug of spiced wine, straight after he’d decided to cease torturing them both and leave.

What followed was a black crater.

Except for the evidence he’d awoken to.

Something inside him must have snapped last night. That final mug of spiced wine, one drink too many, one day too many of hearing voices from the past had pushed him over the edge of sanity. He’d rutted her so hard last night, he’d torn her open and drawn blood.

Even so, he backed away from Amber, refusing to believe that what his eyes saw was real. At the door, he hammered with his fist, his gaze never leaving her crouched, pathetic form. And that’s when he saw it. She was looking up again, the defiant glint of green unmistakeable. The pert stubbornness of that chin somewhat comforting.

Whatever he had done, he had not broken her.

Some of the darkness lifted from his sombre thoughts. Vengeance was a familiar bedfellow and left little room for regret. Still, he damned the troublemakers of lore for snatching his memory.

As soon as the door opened, he pushed past Gavin. “I’m sending Mungo up with a bath fer the lass.”

Krayne hurried down the stairs and through the great hall, ignoring Adam’s shouted greeting. Whatever had brought the chief here could wait.

After stopping in the kitchen to order hot water sent up, Krayne left through the rear castle door. The portcullis still open from admitting Adam, nothing deterred his direct path to the widened section of the river he favoured for bathing.

Without hesitation, he stripped naked, draping his britches and shirt over one of the thick bushes sheltering the bathing spot. When he saw the red splotches on his britches, Krayne cursed anew and plunged into the icy water, swimming powerful strokes across the current to the far side and back. His head cleared, and another possibility came to mind. If Amber’s broken maidenhead was responsible for that blood, then he had been her first.

A strange feeling twisted Krayne’s gut. Not remorse. This felt worse, worse than regret and worse than guilt. He put extra energy into his strokes, commanding himself to think of Stivin, of Red John streaking naked across the field, of Amber’s desperate lies to hide the fact that she’d watched Stivin die.

My uncle will never exchange Stivin for me.

He wants me dead.

Amber may have been a virgin, but she was far from innocent.

Krayne emerged from the river, shaking the worst of the water from his hair and body before he dressed. Something in all of this did not feel right. If only he could recall the moments between drinking that wine last night and waking up this morning.

On returning to the great hall, Krayne ushered Adam into the chamber leading off the hall used for private conferences.

“Ye look like hell,” he told Adam as he shoved a mug of whiskey at him.

“I’m just from the Albany trial at Sterling,” Adam said, brows fiercely crossed. “Jamie has gone too far. He had Albany beheaded there and then.”

“I’ve little sympathy fer the lot of them,” Krayne muttered.

Albany had enjoyed his short reign as regent, though mayhap not as much nor as long as his father had, and would never have negotiated Jamie’s release from King Henry if left to his own devices.

“If Walter Stewart and the bishop had not intervened and personally gone ta England, Jamie would still be a guest of Henry,” he went on. “Albany ransomed our king eighteen years too late and he’s naught but a weakling bastard pinned ta his father-in-law’s shadow. Even so, mind this, Jamie willna live long ta regret this day. He dismisses the ties of kinship and friendship easily, yet he canna fight his enemies alone.”

“Aye.” Adam emptied the mug of whiskey down his throat, then swiftly changed the subject. “William Jardin tags hot on my heels. I agreed ta meet him here an’ confer a truce.”

“Yer nesting with vermin now?” Krayne spat. His day had just gone from bad to hellish.

“I’ll ignore that insult but once,” Adam warned, “fer I know well from whence it comes.”

Krayne shot to his feet and folded his arms across the slab of his chest in challenge.

“Jardin is under the impression that he needs collect his niece’s body,” said Adam slowly.

“And he didna mention this when he first slithered inta Lochwood on his belly?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Adam rose to stand level with Krayne and met his gaze steadily. “Then again, the rat has always thought o’ himself first, an’ others nae at all. I assured him that, had ye indeed taken an’ innocent lass ta hostage, he’d surely find her once more ensconced at home on his return, unharmed at that.”

Five daughters and no sons gave Adam a vastly different perspective on women, and well Krayne knew it. “Hardly innocent, but Amber Jardin is here.”

Adam’s jaw pulled tight. “Unharmed?”

“Amber’s guilt is exceeded only by her flawless deceit,” Krayne barked as his own guilt erupted. “Christ.”

He marched to where he’d left the flagon and poured himself a whiskey. He’d not had a mind to feed the ache in his head, not until this moment. When he turned, Adam was waiting to hear the rest.

“I might have—I did…” Krayne scrubbed his jaw, loathing the words that must be spoken. “The lass may no longer be intact.”

“Ye raped a maiden?” Fury built in the shadows of Adam’s cold gaze. Compassionate rage that only a father of daughters could comprehend.

“If she were indeed a virgin, that state only expounds her deceit and the games she plays,” Krayne bit back, wishing he could put as much faith in his argument as his tone demanded Adam do. “There’s nothing more tempting than a virgin siren. Stivin never stood a chance.”

“This time, Krayne, ye go too far.”

“Amber as good as murdered Stivin.”

“She’s naught but a silly lass wi’ more idle time than wits an’ Stivin rode himself inta Spedlin so far I know.”

Krayne’s mouth opened, but no protest was forthcoming. By God, he wanted nothing more than to blame Amber. To make her suffer. For Amber’s betrayal struck deep and her sin went beyond her part in Stivin’s death. She’d known. For days she’d known that Stivin was dead. While he’d lusted after her, believing ’twas no more than a waiting game they played, she’d known. And played that game. And thrust a bitter wedge through his heart where naught but he could see, smell and taste the vile odour of thick, red-smudged betrayal.

Just then the door opened to admit Duncan. “Jardin approaches wi’ an army.”

“See he gains clear entry,” Adam issued.

Duncan blanched. “Ye canna—”

“Aye,” Adam interrupted sternly. “I can an’ I will. Watch his bedraggled band o’ misfits carefully an’ bring Jardin here ta us.”

“Do as yer chief commands,” Krayne told his brother.

Scowling, Duncan backed out of the chamber while Krayne sought another drink. At this rate, he’d be too sozzled to care what happened next.

Adam turned on him. “Ye’ll make yer peace wi’ Jardin.”

“’Tis a little late.” That truth gave Krayne his first glimmer of satisfaction this day. Then he thought of the cowering state he’d left Amber in, and the glimmer dulled. He downed his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table.

The two men waited in tense silence until Jardin barrelled inside the room. “I’ve come fer my niece.”

“Aye, and good riddance,” Krayne replied with no intention other than to provoke. He stood forward, feet wide apart and arms crossed.

Jardin’s sword came out. He’d prepared himself for a show of grief on learning that his niece was dead. His fury on learning that the witch yet lived cleaved through any common sense.

As the mangy-bearded bastard lunged at him, Krayne deftly raised the stool he’d recently vacated as a shield. Jardin’s blade splintered the stool in two. Armed now with the lethally sharp-edged pieces, Krayne feinted left, narrowly evading another attempt to pierce his heart and gained the advantage as Jardin rocked forward. A powerful kick in the man’s side sent Jardin sprawling to the ground.

Adam sighed heavily as he watched, wishing himself well retired and free of this particular obligation. Jardin sprang up and the fight continued. As unevenly armed as they were, Krayne was now toying with the lesser warrior. Even so, Adam refrained from calling a halt, lest he distract Krayne with fatal consequences.

Once Jardin was flat on his back, his sword flung to a far corner and a boot pressed to his throat, Adam said quietly, “Leave be, Krayne.”

Krayne stepped down harder. The face beneath him tinged with blue. “Even Jamie understands self defence.”

Jardin gargled a protest.

“Aye, and still I’d know yer well-aimed barbs fer the planned ambush they were.”

Krayne released the pressure slightly.

“Ye swore ta protect me,” Jardin whined hoarsely at Adam.

“Nae against yer own rash temper,” Adam said bluntly, then to Krayne, “Ye’ve already defeated the mon, now release him.”

Krayne removed his boot, but not before spitting on the sweat-drenched face.

Watching Jardin go for his sword in the corner, Adam called, “I willna stop Krayne a second time.”

After a small hesitation, the sword was sheathed. Jardin kept his distance on the other side of the room.

“I would speak ta Jardin in private,” Adam told his cousin.

Krayne walked out before the blind urge to defy his chief and kill the scurvy bastard became too much. Ignoring Duncan’s hard stare as he passed, Krayne made his way up to the solitude of his solar, firmly shutting the door and the world out behind it. He threw himself into the high-back chair and put his feet up on the table. With a mug of ale in his hands, he felt marginally in control again.

It didn’t last long.

Adam rapped twice on the door, then barged inside. “A truce has been drawn up. Ye’ve bedded the lass and now ye’ll wed her.”

Krayne swung his feet off the table and rose to his full height. He stared at Adam in disbelief, then realised the man was serious. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“’Twas nae a request.”

A grin as hard as steel and as threatening as a pointed sword crossed Krayne’s jaw. “I yield ta ye in most things, Adam, but not in the taking of a wife. Not in choosing the mother of my children.”

“I was given ta understand the lass was comely.”

“And who exactly have ye been speaking ta behind my back?” Krayne bit out. “Red John? Gavin?”

Adam’s brow rose. “Duncan, actually, though I didna ken the lass had that many admirers.”

“I should sew Duncan’s lips closed at that bold-faced lie. He canna abide the lass.”

“Then he has had a change o’ mind.”

Krayne gave a bitter laugh, not ready to believe. “I willna have her.”

“Yer age is beyond that o’ taking a wife and begetting sons.”

“So I am seeing.” For, if he were already married, he’d not be in this position. “I will consider the matter, but I willna consider Amber Jardin.”

“Because she is a Jardin?” Adam snapped.

“Because she is made in the same mould as my mother,” Krayne responded just as sharply.

Adam sat down heavily. “Joanna made a mistake.”

“She deliberately deceived me. She deceived all of us.”

“Yer mother has bin closeted in that convent ever since. She doesna even know about the feud she unwittingly began. Think on this, Krayne. Wed the Jardin lass and make peace fer all our sakes.”

“Too much has been done that canna be undone.”

“I didna raise ye ta lie down in defeat.”

“Ye didna raise me at all.”

“Aye…” Adam’s smile held remorse. He’d guided the twelve-year-old laird, but Krayne had grown up overnight and refused to be treated as any less than the fully competent adult he thought himself to be.

At the smile, Krayne reined in his temper. In truth, wedding Amber plucked a harmonious chord within. But he saw it for naught more than soothing his guilt and, by all that was holy, Amber had sins enough to offset his, did she not? “I will compensate Jardin fer his loss with cattle.”

“He wants this wedding. He seems ta think it is the only thing that will redeem him from bein’ cursed, but which I presume he means the feud. I promised the mon a Johnstone marriage by the end of this day.”

Krayne could no more deny the lust Amber stirred in him than he could lie to himself. Whatever he knew her to be, he’d wanted her. But the distance between mistress and wife was too far to travel and the journey was forever, ’til God saw fit to end it. He shook his head at Adam. “Ye ask too much of me. Amber Jardin is the hornet that will sting the deathblow ta my sanity.”

“She is but seven and ten. How much poison can there be in her sting?”

“I seek a mild wife with no sting at all. A simple woman with no a complex seed in her body. Amber is a Jardin through and through. She connives every moment of every hour ta her own advantage.”

Adam made one last attempt to sway him. “A strong hand would easily tame her.”

“I pity the man given that duty,” said Krayne dryly.

“So be it.” Adam kicked back the stool as he stood and walked out the door.

Krayne watched him go with an unsettled feeling in the base of his gut. Honour mocked his refusal to wed the lass he’d ruined. Resentment warred with responsibility for turning away the one sure end to the bitter feud. Guilt soaked up the aftermath.

God’s truth! He might as well marry the wench. His peace of mind was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Instantly furious at where his thoughts were leading, he grabbed a nearby mug and aimed it at the door.

Had Duncan come through that door one moment sooner, he would be sporting a decent bruise on his temple.

Krayne’s scowl went over his brother’s shoulder as Adam followed in. “Duncan has naught ta do with this.”

“That’s fer him ta decide.” Adam turned to Duncan. “’Tis my wish that ye wed the Jardin lass.”

Silence descended like a black fog.

Krayne kept his glare fixed on Adam, every nerve pricked in anticipation of his brother’s vehement refusal. What was taking so long?

Adam developed an instant thirst and gave the Wamphray brothers his back as he went to the long table beneath the window to pour three mugs of ale. He came back, set one mug before Krayne, and still no one said a word. When he handed over Duncan’s mug, he caught the lad’s eye and held it firmly. “Well, what have ye ta say?”

Tension gripped Krayne’s gut. His fingers closed around the mug stiffly.

Duncan threw back his ale, then took a deep breath. “Aye, I’ll do it.”

Pictures of the raven-haired siren in his brother’s arms, in his brother’s bed, stormed Krayne’s head. The tension exploded and he roared at Duncan, “Have ye gone mad? Need I remind ye who threw her inta the pit and why?”

“Hold yer temper,” said Duncan. “’Tis the right thing ta do. Aye, Amber led Stivin a merry dance, yet my anger at the lass cooled long afore now. If any is ta blame, then ’tis I fer plannin’ the raid against yer orders.”

“’Twas not the raid that claimed Stivin’s life.”

“Was it not?” Duncan walked up to the table and lowered his voice. “Then tell me, brother, how the lass might have betrayed Stivin if there hadna been a raid? Tell me, then, what might have sent Stivin chargin’ inta Spedlin ta see her safe?”

“I’m thinking she wouldha found a way ta destroy him anyway,” Krayne muttered quietly, reminded of Jardin’s story about how she’d peered from Spedlin’s shadows as Stivin fought his way to her, to his death. “I’ll not allow ye ta sell yerself fer misplaced guilt,” he commanded.

“Ye misunderstand.” Duncan picked up the stool Adam had kicked over earlier and set himself down to his brother’s level. “The lass is bonny. She stirs my juices wi’ naught but a glance. ’Twould be nae punishment ta take her inta my bed every night.”

Krayne was on his feet, hands slammed down on top the table with a trembling force that had Duncan straining backward. “Ye’ll not wed Amber Jardin.”

“One o’ ye will,” Adam intervened, coming up to stand beside Duncan. “There will be a wedding at the hour of None, make nae mistake aboot that, Krayne. If yer nae willin’, ’tis yer good fortune that Duncan is.”

Duncan pushed to his feet. “Our cousin Elwin of Carnsalloch has made me an offer ta captain his moss-troopers. We’ll depart on the morrow. Have nae fear, Krayne, there’ll be nae Jardin residing under yer roof.”

Krayne’s hands clenched into fists. “No Jardin will chase ye from yer home.”

“Faith, Krayne, I know well I lack skill an’ command when compared wi’ Alexander. Ye’ll ne’er oust him as yer captain, and I wouldna want that. I’ve been contemplating Elwin’s offer fer months—”

“Go ta Elwin fer all I care,” Krayne told him harshly. “But, mark me well, ye’ll not be going with Amber.”

“Why?” Adam and Duncan asked in unified confusion.

If I canna have her, no one else will.

The truth hit him in the gut and Krayne sank down into his chair. He was the one who’d surely gone mad.

He looked from Duncan to Adam, then back to Duncan. “She’s been in my bed.”

Duncan’s jaw went slack.

Adam’s gaze hardened.

There, Krayne thought, the matter was closed. No one would be getting Amber today.

“Even so, I will take the lass.”

“Yer head is swimming in custard pudding, little brother.”

Duncan cleared his throat a few times at the black expression he was up against. “If ye willna have her, then my mind is set.”

“Nay.”

“Now what?” Adam growled.

Krayne narrowed dangerously silver eyes from his brother to his cousin. Damn them both to hell.

And yet, with the decision he’d abruptly come to, layer upon layer of some dark, oppressive binding seemed to unpeel from his head, his heart, his body. He dismissed the light-headed feeling as nothing more than restored honour, duty and responsibility.

“I will wed the lass,” he growled. “That is what.”

Chapter 10

Amber hugged the blanket closer to her chest as the door swung inward. ’Twas only after she’d stepped from the bath that she realised she had nothing to wear. Her pulse rattled when saw that it was Krayne who walked inside.

He lingered near the door, watching her with a brooding expression as she sat stunned upon the bed.

“We have much ta discuss,” he told her.

He looked oddly vulnerable, those grey eyes were dull and tired. The madman who’d broken her trust last night was gone. But she already knew that. After his hasty exit on waking, she no longer worried that he’d finish what he’d started.

“What have you to say?” she asked at last with a boldness she did not feel. Had he recalled the correct memories of last night? Did he know about the drugged wine and just how much she’d changed the scene?

She stood to face him, sending up a prayer that he remember naught.

“I’m not sure where ta start.” He folded his arms across that broad chest, then changed his mind and brought up his hands to push back his hair. “I’m sorry, lass. I’m sorry fer what I did ta ye last night.”

Relief spread through her, and she was not about to set him straight. Krayne was not a man to take such trickery in stride and would not spare her the time to plead her case. And whether he’d harmed her or not, her emotions this morning were all real and she would never forget or forgive him the horror. He’d made her tremble like a trapped fox and the memory of panic and terror seemed to have grown roots around her heart.

Krayne might be sorry now, but she had no doubt that in his drunken state he would have done his worst if he had not mistakenly drugged himself.

“I accept your apology,” was all that she could offer.

Krayne nodded grimly. Her tone told him clearly that acceptance was not the same as forgiveness. She’d made some attempt to comb her hair with her fingers; the mess of raven knots was swept from her face to fall down her back. Slim fingers held the blanket closed at her throat and at her waist. Her chin was lifted high even as she nibbled her lower lip in worry.

Something inside him cracked.

She reminded him of a butterfly that had yet to realise it was injured. Fragile and defiant. A yearning to throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness took him by surprise. He needed her to know that he was not a beast. His brief surge of vengeance had evaporated like a shallow puddle on a hot day, and he’d made the decision to walk away without taking his revenge.

Yet what could he say?

He hadn’t left.

The reiver in his blood had won and he’d stayed to raid her body.

Krayne shut down the thoughts of regret and walked further into the room. What was done was done. There was just one more thing he needed to know. “Did I hurt ye overmuch?”

Amber’s pale cheeks flushed.

“Of course I did,” he said, reading her response as an affirmative. “Amber…” He stopped a foot from her, not sure how to continue.

As Krayne drew close, Amber fought the instinct to retreat. Her natural abhorrence of showing fear won out and she stood her ground. When he finally halted his approach, he was near enough to touch.

The shadow of his unshaved beard gave him a wild, ragged appearance. Against her will, something inside her reached out to this man who’d kidnapped her, thwarted her escape attempts with bemused irritation, and frustrated her into childhood fits of temper. At times he’d tormented her lips and body with little effort; more recently he’d mauled her heart with cruel intent.

And, aye, he had the ability to capture her gaze with ease and hold it more firmly than any chains or locked door, as he was doing now. His eyes were neither a cold grey nor glinted with silver. She knew that if she looked hard enough, she’d see into his soul. His barriers were all down, and the effect on her was staggering.

The roots released and in that moment she did what she’d thought impossible only moments before.

She forgave him.

“Amber,” he started again, “please, sit down.”

“I’d rather stand,” she murmured, her mind swamped on another matter. Should she confess now and spare him further torture?

“Will ye please just sit down on the bed?”

She edged back from him restlessly. She could never confess. Krayne would never understand. He’d wring her neck with those steel-braced fingers first and ask his questions later.

“So that I can ask fer yer hand ta wed,” he finished.

Instantly hollow knees buckled and she dropped, her bottom landing solid on the bed.

“Will ye marry me?”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ha-have you gone mad?” He gave a short laugh and her incredulity turned to scorn. Of course he didn’t want to marry her. “Your humour eludes me.”

“Nay, lass.” Krayne sobered. “’Tis merely that I accused Duncan of that very thing not long ago. I’m asking ye ta be my wife in all seriousness.”

What hurtful game was he playing now? “Your entire family should be locked away at the top of a forgotten peel tower and the key melted down,” she lashed out, fighting her own battles as a glimmer of hope flickered. “How dare you jest at my expense?”

“No doubt, I deserve that,” he said, dropping to his knees before her, roughened knuckles grazing underside her chin. “Yer uncle and my cousin are below, contracts drawn and a priest summoned.”

“My uncle is here?” she gasped, jerking her head away from his touch.

“And my cousin, Adam, who is also chieftain of the Johnstones,” explained Krayne. “Both are quite insistent on this wedding.”

“Your chieftain ordered you to marry me.”

“Adam doesna command my private life,” growled Krayne, then his voice softened as he added, “’Tis a good alliance that will end the Johnstone-Jardin feud.”

“My uncle doesn’t see it so,” Amber said. What in heavens was William up to now? “I would gladly have married Stivin—”

“Christ Almighty.” Krayne sprang to his feet, all tenderness gone as he glowered down on her. “Do ye never know when ta hold yer tongue?”

Amber met his glare. “Where is Stivin? I demand to see him.”

“We will not speak of Stivin. I willna be held responsible fer my actions if ye utter that name once more.”

“And you want to marry me?” She pushed off the bed and to her feet. “You sound as if you’d rather pike my head after all. My answer is no, I will never be your wife.”

“Ye canna marry Stivin now,” Krayne said.

“I know that well enough.”

Of course she knew, thought Krayne darkly. So what the hell did she want with seeing Stivin’s lifeless body? Beggar pardon from his departing spirit for her many sins? ’Twas too late. Stivin was long buried and his soul moved on. “Ye’ll have ta make do with me.”

They stood toe to toe, and she had to bend her head all the way back to hold his stare.

Raven hair crossed her cheeks and tumbled down her back, stark against her ashen face.

Placing both hands on her slender shoulders, he said, “I didna come here ta fight.”

She shrugged his hands off and side-stepped him to go stand by the window, looking out. “You want this marriage no more than I do.”

And there was a truth that could not be denied, Krayne admitted as he watched the blanket pull tighter around her back. He did not want this marriage, yet he had resigned himself to it. He had every intention of exerting himself to do his duty. But not against Amber’s wish. He’d already forced her body to his iron-will of revenge, he would not force her down the aisle.

“Scottish law prevents marriage without the consent of both parties,” he told her. Determined family members, however, had plenty means at hand to obtain such consent from a weak lass. Krayne wondered just how far Jardin would go. “If ye willna have me, I’ll make sure yer uncle doesna try ta persuade ye otherwise.”

“I’m sure you will.” Amber whirled about to face him. “Don’t pretend to do me any favours. You want out of this unsavoury match as much as I.”

Irritation rustled beneath his skin. He wouldn’t lie and pretend he wanted this. He feared Amber would bring enough deceit and games into this marriage for the both of them.

And yet, mayhap Adam made a wise observation. She was yet young—young and foolish and vain. Mayhap in time…He rubbed at his jaw, wondering what kind of miracle he hoped for. “I seek no excuses from this wedding, but I willna have an unwilling wife. If ye are not willing, I swear ta protect ye from yer uncle’s wrath.”

She threw her hands up on a huff and the blanket fell away from her shoulders, parting the front, showing a glimpse of ripe, dewy breasts before she hastily tugged it up again.

“I wish—I wish fer a—a peaceful, well-run home.” His wishes scattered as his shaft thickened in instant reaction. Lust was the one thing they shared, he recalled. Most marriages were built on much less.

He stared at her now-covered chest, watching her fingers grip the blanket hard enough to turn her knuckles white, and thought on a hundred ways to eradicate her memories of last night.

“Wishes are for stars,” Amber said into the heated silence.

Krayne brought his gaze up to meet those beautiful green eyes, and saw her quick mind working in the flashing depths.

“I willna be an overly harsh husband, fer I expect my wife ta give me no cause. My one condition to this union is that my wife be obedient, dignified and faithful, in mind and body,” he warned, then thought it prudent to add, “And there’ll be none of the theatrics and intrigue that’s best suited fer Jamie’s court and left outside Wamphray’s walls.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“In truth, I ask fer very little.” A wisp of black silk fluttered across her eyes and his fingers strained to wipe it away, mayhap lingering on the creamy skin of her cheek. His jaw locked down and he folded his arms. In this, he was resolute. “A willing wife would gladly seek ta please me in all ways.”

“Passion’s teeth,” Amber erupted at his overblown ego. “As tempting as you make it sound, I decline the dubious pleasure of being your willing wife.”

“So be it.”

Taken aback at the flatness in his tone, Amber said no more. If she’d wavered once or twice in favour of this marriage, his quick capitulation set her straight. Duty and honour had brought him to his knees, and his obnoxious arrogance had arrived like a hundred timely moss-troopers to save him at the last second.

“Ye’re free ta leave,” said Krayne, waving a hand at the door. “Jardin awaits ye down below.”

Amber’s feet turned to lead. Her uncle had threatened to lock her up until he’d wedded her…to one of two men who gave Krayne angelic aspirations by comparison.

When she didn’t move, Krayne left the room in long, unhurried strides. Amber commanded herself to follow bravely to her fate. She made it to the door with reluctant steps, to find Krayne barring her way.

He held up a pair of britches and a snow-white linen shirt. “Ye’ll be needing these.”

She grabbed the clothes and spun back toward the bed, but not before a sob escaped.

“Tell me what ye want, lass,” he said, coming up from behind.

Amber stood still, breathing deeply and unevenly. His hands fit on her waist and she gasped.

“Dinna fear, I’ll not hurt ye again.”

“I’m not afraid,” she told him, biting back another sob.

He turned her slowly in his arms and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. “Marry me, lass. I willna mistreat ye, that I swear.”

He sounded so sincere, Amber almost said yes. “You don’t love me.”

Massive shoulders lifted in what didn’t quite amount to a shrug. “’Twill be no hardship taking ye ta my bed.”

Amber paled, even as butterflies played havoc with her pulse. But she would never lie with him. He could never discover that her maidenhead was intact. She was not such a fool as to think she’d survive the repercussions.

Mistaking her sudden loss of colour, Krayne silently cursed his foolish words. “I would give ye time ta recover afore I assumed any husbandly duties.”

She flinched, and slipped free from his arms.

Krayne commanded himself to do better. “I sail fer Byzantine in three days. Ye will have the solitude ta accustom yerself ta my household.”

“Byzantine?” she asked breathlessly. “Will you be gone long?”

His jaw tightened. She looked up at him in anticipation, as if she hoped that he’d be gone more or less forever. He was no martyr, and yet he felt the need to sacrifice something. He could give Amber this, as much time as she wanted in exchange for what he’d taken from her. “Long enough fer ye ta adjust afore we begin our married life.”

Amber’s mind ticked over. She would be free to come and go as she pleased at Wamphray. And go she would, as far and fast as luck would take her. Krayne would be in the middle of some ocean, miles and miles away. Mary and I could be safe in England before he even knows that I am gone.

“I, too, have one condition,” she told him, the bold decision made. She was caught up in a feud that had naught to do with her; she had no choice but to use it now to her advantage. “I have a woman, Mary. I would have her brought from Spedlin.”

“I will see ta it.”

“Thank you.” Amber returned to the bed, staring at the britches and shirt strewn across it. Krayne would be furious when he found her gone. The blow to his pride would be enormous.

But pride was all he’d lose, she assured herself, and she would not be here to suffer the brunt of his black rage. Once the annulment had been secured from England, he’d be relieved to find himself no longer shackled to his duty wife.

Suspicious thoughts sat heavily in Krayne’s gut as the hour of None descended. Amber had slipped too quickly from a vehement refusal to acquiescence and he knew her well enough to smell a rat.

Father Goodlin stood before the makeshift altar at the end of the hall that had been cleared for that very purpose. Jardin, and the two of his men who’d been permitted to remain for the occasion, sipped quietly on their ale at one of the trestles. At the bottom of the stairway, Alexander and Adam stood conversing in low tones, their eyes trained upward for Amber’s approach.

Krayne’s gaze kept returning to that spot, as well. He’d sent a serving woman up with one of his mother’s old gowns and instructions to assist his bride-to-be. Every Johnstone and McAllister readily available had been summoned to the hall to witness his marriage, and yet it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Wamphray Castle was in shock.

And his bride-to-be was tardy.

Aye, tardy…or she’d attempted another foolhardy escape. His soft curse in the unnaturally quiet hall attracted every eye. Dismissing the interest with a scowl, Krayne set a determined march for Alexander and Adam and the stairway behind them. He knew better than to ignore his instincts, and they’d been telling him something was wrong ever since she’d changed her mind so quickly and agreed to marry him.

Without a word of apology, he pushed his way between the two men and started up the stairs.

“Krayne…?”

“I’ll be back,” he assured Alexander over his shoulder. He’d be back, and so would Amber. Bringing her back had been a tiresome occupation up ’til now, and he vowed that was one of the many things that would end once they were wed. He rounded the bend at the first floor, and his legs numbed.

Her hair was freshly washed and brushed to a healthy raven shine, tumbling freely down her back and over her shoulders to fall just short of her waist. Her cheeks were flushed, her lashes lowered, that stubborn chin dipped low as she fought the rustle of silk that threatened to trip her as she came down the stairs. The silk gown was older than Amber herself, yet little worn, as the brilliant ruby colour gave testament to. The delicately spun fabric graced her curves without clinging, enhancing every dip and rise with an allure that dried his mouth and swelled his tongue.

She glanced up, saw him and tripped, only to regain her balance before he reached her. He liked to think he, and not the gown, was responsible for that last misstep, damned if he’d be the only one suffering from this inconvenient malaise.

“I’m late.” She stated the obvious.

He couldn’t say anything if his life depended on it.

“’Twas the gown,” she continued, not moving from her step, only two above him. “The serving woman you sent hoped to take the hem up, but I assured her that I’d miss my own wedding if we tarried any longer.”

Krayne worked his jaw loose before saying, “Ye look beautiful.”

She blushed.

Krayne closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the impulse to forgo the wedding ceremony and simply swoop her straight into his arms and carry her upstairs. And then he growled, for he remembered that there would be no bedding tonight. Not for many nights.

Amber descended the step between them and placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t fret so. No penance lasts forever.”

A steel glint covered his grey gaze and Amber smiled to cover the slip of her tongue. She dare not rouse his suspicions before he set sail. “Your mood rocks back and forth like Nodding Ned on a blistering night. Come, I’ve kept everyone waiting long enough.”

As they descended, her gaze kept returning to the man at her side. He cast a magnificent figure in a fine white shirt beneath a plaid of bold blue and yellow. His jaw was once more clean-shaven and rugged, his cheeks carved to a hollow that echoed potent masculinity.

Her composure wavered long before they came upon the silent crowd in the great hall. Round, narrow, creamy and mottled, every face, young and old, wore a stiff, unforgiving expression.

How could she ever be mistress here?

They hated her by mere fact of her name.

Amber chided herself at the ludicrous worry. What matter what they thought of her? She had no intention of being mistress of this castle or its people.

“Are ye ready?” Krayne asked at her side.

She nodded, then spoke when he tugged at her arm. “I’m not sure how ’tis done in Scotland, but shouldn’t you go first and wait at the altar?”

Krayne’s grin spread through her. “I dinna care how it’s done anywhere in the world, we’ll do this our way.”

Such arrogant words. Yet, they did something funny and warm inside her belly. Her gaze went out to the hall once more and found her uncle. He was staring at her with a leering grin. He seemed unaccountably pleased with himself. A shiver prickled her spine. At once, she was happy to do it any way at all.

The crowd parted as Krayne led her to the altar. She passed many faces, some vaguely familiar and others more so. She stumbled when she spied Gayle, easily recognisable for her golden tresses. The woman was smiling softly, eyes tawny with warmth and fixed on Krayne. Her insides pinched and her step faltered. She’d not given Krayne’s leman a single thought. But he would give Gayle up, would he not?

She dipped her head to hide suddenly glistening eyes as Krayne steadied her without breaking his stride. Why did she keep forgetting that none of this was real? She may be marrying Krayne today, but she’d never be his wife.

The priest was an elderly man, the hair peeking from his cowl shot through with white. Only slightly taller than herself and nearly as light of frame, his face was sharp and harried, but he looked upon her with kind blue eyes.

The ceremony proceeded with swift and simple efficiency. The vows were said, the blessing bestowed. Amber’s mind and heart got stuck on the first line of Krayne’s vow, and everything else followed in a blur. He sounded so sincere. To be cherished, held and protected by a man such as Krayne could make a woman truly content.

She was pulled from her regretful longings when Krayne took her hand in his. His warmth and strength enfolded her fingers, and then spread through her entire body. She raised her eyes to his, and his smile fed into the silvery gaze that beheld her as he slowly slid the ring onto her finger.

’Twas in that moment that Amber truly understood the bond of marriage and what might have been hers, had circumstances been different, had Krayne loved her, had this union not been forced by duty and desperation and marred by events of last night and lies of the morning after.

At the priest’s consent, Krayne’s lips brushed hers. He pulled away before Amber even realised that was to be the kiss to seal their union. So fleeting, ’twas almost a prediction of the marriage itself.

As Krayne swept her about to face the crowded hall, he raised their linked hands up high and Amber got her first look at the wedding ring adorning her finger. The delicate artwork of tiny, complicated roses was embedded with chipped emeralds and rubies. It was beautiful and ancient, she could almost sense the history trapped within the petals.

“I give ta ye my lady wife.” Krayne’s voice carried clearly. Naught but silence had reigned since all had been summoned and told the reason why. “As she is precious ta me, so she is precious ta ye. Wamphray has long been without a mistress. I claim this day blessed and give thanks ta God fer the reason ta rejoice.”

At that, servers rushed through the hall, distributing silver goblets to the more important guests and clay mugs to the rest, all filled with the finest blend of red wine from Burgundy. Krayne received a gold goblet to share with his bride. He sipped deep, then offered the goblet to her, turning it so that her lips touched the moist impression his had left behind.

“There wasna ample warning ta prepare a wedding feast,” Krayne whispered close to her ear, “yet I wager Brayan McAllister has put together a spread of sorts.”

Amber merely nodded, the thought of food curdling her stomach. As she is precious ta me, so she is precious ta ye. Those words rumbled through her veins and bound around her heart, squeezing out the lies and deceit until she could no longer ignore them. By God, what was she doing?

“Come greet yer new family,” Krayne said, his hand going to the small of her back to guide her with gentle encouragement.

Amber smiled weakly. She had to pull herself together. Remember where this had all started. Krayne’s share in all this guilt and responsibility was much greater than hers. She braced her shoulders and nudged her chin up to look him in the eye. “They hate me.”

“They’ll learn ta love ye.”

A full hour later, Amber’s head swirled with names and faces she doubted she’d be able to match come the morning. The scowls had loosened during the course of that hour, although Amber suspected that was thanks to the steady flow of wine and not from feeling more comfortable with their new mistress. She kept glancing around for Stivin, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was afraid to ask Krayne or, indeed, anyone else while Krayne was by her side. He’d decided she was unworthy to so much as say Stivin’s name, and Amber could not face his rage right now. Duncan was amiable and congratulated her warmly. Amber accepted his buss on her cheek warily, still reluctant to trust this man who’d tossed her down that pit.

Adam Johnstone, on the other hand, reminded Amber of her father. Not in looks, but in manner. His gruff sincerity and aged, twinkling eyes won her over. Her uncle William, she’d managed to avoid. Until now.

He trapped her in the passage on her return from making use of the garderobe on the second floor. “That was some prancy speech given by yer husband.”

“Aye,” Amber replied, pretending not to notice his sneering tone. “Krayne Johnstone is a fine man.”

“Nae so fine as ta forget that ye be a Jardin.”

“I thought the purpose of my marriage was to join our clans in peace.”

“The purpose of this marriage is revenge,” he said snidely. “Ye’ve done more than any mon can forgive.”

“I’ve done naught,” Amber snapped. “At least my new husband does not blame me for some silly curse.”

“Nay.” William leered closer. “He despises ye fer far worse.”

Her eyes narrowed in contempt. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“’Twould nae surprise me if he doesna seek a way ta rid ’imself from the burden o’ an unwanted wife.”

So, this was why William had consented to this marriage. If he thought that Krayne would do his dirty deeds, he was sorely mistaken. “Krayne would never harm me.”

“The mon raped ye.”

Amber blanched, then drew in a staggered breath. “My husband dotes on me.”

The bluff laugh chilled her bones. “Yer nae more than a sack of stones strapped ta his back fer his crime.”

Amber could not ignore the truth in that. If Krayne ever discovered that he’d been trapped by honour into marrying her without cause…She shook her hair back and glared at William. She would not jump into his goading trap.

More determined than ever to show her uncle how badly he’d failed, she said, “Krayne was so enamoured, he could not keep his hands off me. He did not rape me. He took me gently and I was willing.” Her hand fluttered to her belly. “Mayhap even now I carry his son.”

William’s face mottled to a deep red. “Yer daft ta think I’ll believe such hog spittle.”

“You forget who and what I am. Do you honestly doubt my powers to bewitch a mere mortal man?”

The blood left his face.

“But don’t take my word on it,” she added. “Come see for yourself.”

She walked quickly, not bothering to glance over her shoulder to check if William followed, and stopped only when she came to the threshold of the hall. Krayne was easily visible, standing beside a man as blond as Krayne was dark, slightly shorter and perhaps a little broader in the chest. As she neared, she could not help but admire the classic beauty that shaped the blond man’s face. And admit that Krayne’s harsh features attracted her more.

Krayne welcomed her to join them and introduced the blond man as Aegus and a good friend. His gaze went past her, hardening, and she knew that her uncle had come to see for himself after all.

Sending up a prayer that Krayne would play along and not cause a scene amongst his people, Amber moved to take her place beside Krayne and face William.

“Jardin,” Krayne said dryly, thinking this would be the first and last family gathering the maggot would be invited to attend.

“I’ve nae had the opportunity ta congratulate ye,” Jardin said.

Krayne lifted a shoulder, then went rigid as Amber snuggled into his side and rested her cheek upon his upper arm. He dropped his gaze to find her smiling up at him.

“Darling,” she cooed, “I’ve a taste for one of those delicious apple tartlets you fed me earlier.”

Amber did not coo endearments at him. Neither did she snuggle. And as long as he’d known her, her smile had never been so open and inviting. And damn if his body wasn’t reacting.

“Of course, sweeting,” he said awkwardly, and made for the refreshment table Brayan had laid with sweets after the hastily prepared meal.

What was the little wildcat up ta now? Snuggling up ta me and demanding I play the cross-eyed slave?

He selected the tartlet and brought it back, resisting the impulse to shove it down her throat when she parted her lips for him. To his credit, he held it while she nibbled and he made the mistake of looking to Aegus for help.

Aegus was turning red in an attempt to hold back his laughter. Jardin’s colour was not far off, though not from amusement. Krayne felt heat rise up his throat. If Amber hadn’t finished the last nibble just then, he would have shoved.

“I’ll take my leave then,” Jardin said stiffly, “fer I’ve a way ta travel.”

Aegus nodded.

Krayne shrugged.

Amber smiled brightly.

“I’d have my niece walk out wi’ me, if it please her husband.”

Krayne might have refused, for the sheer hell of it. As it was, he’d gladly see Amber walk all the way back to Spedlin with her uncle and knew he needed the time to cool down, lest he throttle his bride before all these witnesses. He gave her a hard smile. “Ye have my permission.”

Indignation spotted her cheeks. They left, and Aegus bent over double.

“One sound,” warned Krayne, “and I’ll kick ye butt from here ta Lochmaben.”

Aegus came up, holding his side. “Christ’s teeth, Krayne. What was that about?”

“’Tis called marriage,” he snapped, wondering much the same himself.

“Yer lady wife is a beauty, I’ll give ye that.”

“But?”

Aegus shut his mouth at the hard glint in the silver eyes piercing him. Alexander and Duncan chose that moment to include themselves in his group.

“The two of ye seem ta have worked out yer differences,” Alexander remarked with a heavy-handed slap on the back.

Krayne’s grimace went unnoticed as Duncan pushed a fresh goblet into his hand. “’Tis a sore sight ta behold a sober groom.”

“Only when the wedding bed holds a sore sight as well,” Alexander jested.

The three friends laughed while Krayne looked on and emptied his goblet, sorely reminded that he’d have no wedding night at all and instantly regretting the reprieve he’d pledged. Her lips had melted beneath his once before. Her eyes had darkened with desire. Her body had caught alight at his touch.

He knew he could pleasure Amber and wipe her memory of last night as blank as his own. Delaying the inevitable was no kindness to her. Every night he waited would strengthen the grip of nightmares. If she hadn’t been a maiden…but he now believed she had been. Her first experience was all she knew, and all she would know until he taught her otherwise.

His balls grew heavy at the prospect.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t see Amber until she pushed her way through Duncan and Aegus. And he didn’t guess her intent until the stinging slap crossed his jaw with a shrill, “You bastard!”

Time slowed down as he watched her twitch her skirts, turn and stride off.

The laughter and smiles of Duncan, Aegus and Alexander froze as he looked further, over their heads, his gaze sweeping the hall from one end to the other. The wall his friends made about him and the boisterous noise level of drunken ribaldry had isolated the incident.

His blood went from iced to boiling and time sped up. Not a word was uttered in his small group, and not one head turned to stare after his condemned lady wife.

Duncan relinquished his last grip on any lingering resentment at being offered, and then refused, the opportunity to take such a beauty as his wife.

Aegus first pitied, then envied his friend the taming of such a vibrant hellcat as he contemplated the reckless courage of her misdeed.

Alexander’s expression was closed. He didn’t know what to think, but he prayed that the good Father Goodlin would not have to be summoned for another burial mass on the morrow.

Krayne worked the tension at his jaw loose, then said cordially, “Excuse me, lads. ’Twould appear my wife requires a speedy lesson in manners befitting a Johnstone mistress.”

Chapter 11

Krayne did not rush.

There was no need for haste.

Amber wasn’t going anywhere.

When a grip on his shoulder halted his slow amble through his people, he grinned with the good nature of a pleased groom and accepted the well wishes and goblet pressed into his hand. He’d exerted himself to ensure every Johnstone and McAllister accepted his bride, and he’d be damned to let Amber undo his hard work.

When he was finally alone in the dim passage of the stairwell, his fist closed over the wall railing. Fury blasted through him and whitened his knuckles, heating the iron beneath his fisted fingers. He stood there, allowing the chattering laughter from the hall to wash over him, and waited for control before he continued up the stairs.

Amber was neither in the antechamber nor the bedchamber. His eyes narrowed on the closed door across the room as he approached with slow deliberation. His hand found and turned the knob in one fluid movement while he walked—straight into solid oak. Jolted, he stood back, turned the knob again and pushed. The door wasn’t moving.

She dares lock me out in my own castle?

No door at Wamphray had been barred to him since the age of twelve. He took a moment to still his surge of rage. If he punished his wife in anger, he’d surely kill her.

“Amber.” His fist came up to pound but once. “Open this door.”

When it became apparent that she was going to do no such thing, he paced five steps away. He’d not knock twice. Clamping down his back teeth, he charged. His shoulder made impact and the heavy oak groaned.

“Christ.” He rubbed his bruised shoulder, then swore again when he saw the rip in his shirt. “Amber.”

She wasn’t answering.

The door wasn’t opening.

He rammed the door a second time and heard the oak slab splinter in many places. A mighty kick thrust the door from the hinges and he walked right over it.

Amber lay sprawled across the covers, her face buried in a pillow.

“Stand up,” he commanded as he came to a halt at the edge of the bed, feet apart and arms crossed to coil the fury that wanted to pick her up and shake the despicable games she played loose from her head. “Amber, I’ll not ask again.”

She moved, but only to turn her face out of the pillow and away from him.

His patience had long since expired and he was beyond rage. He grabbed her by the waist and dragged her off the bed. It took but a moment to spin her about and hold her high, putting them eye to eye.

She came to life, hammering his chest with worthy punches. Krayne didn’t notice. He was staring at her blotchy face, eyes swollen from the tears that poured down her cheeks like a river in flood.

“Let go of me,” she croaked, fists still hammering. “I hate you. I hate, hate, hate…” The hoarse voice cracked into sobs.

“Calm yerself, Amber.” His grip tightened from sheer worry. This was no wildcat bent on mocking his sanity. “Talk ta me.”

“Leave me,” she sobbed.

Ignoring the continual assault on his chest, Krayne tried again. “What has happened? Did someone hurt ye?”

“Go away.” Her voice was stronger. Small teeth ravished her lower lip as she glared at him. “I hate you. Do you understand? I want nothing to do with you. I never want to set eyes on you again.”

She wriggled within his grasp, sending ineffective kicks to both his shins, the punches still coming at his chest.

“Christ, Amber. What the hell is wrong with ye?”

Her struggles increased, but her face seemed to crumple further beneath his steady gaze. “Stivin is d-dead. That’s wh-what’s wrong! How…How could you…?” The pounding slowed and became more of a scraping. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “D-did you hear me? Stivin is dead. Dear Lord…how could you be so cruel? How c-c-could you keep this from me? What manner of despicable bastard does something like that?”

Krayne pulled her into him. His arms wound around her, crushing them chest to chest. He didn’t know what else to do. He held on, feeling her tears soak through his shirt and wet his skin.

She squirmed and kicked.

He held her closer.

Finally she went limp in his arms, intermittent sobs wrenched from her strained throat. Without a word, he lifted her off her feet and lay down across the bed, bringing her with him. She tried to roll free, but he refused to release her, keeping the full length of her body flush against him. And there they lay, until Amber fell silent in grief-induced sleep. Krayne adjusted their positions, lying on his back and pulling her snug into his side, her cheek resting on his chest.

He didn’t sleep.

The foundation of all he knew and believed of his new bride had been well and truly rocked. There was not one doubt in his mind of her innocence in this instance. She had not known that Stivin was dead. She had not watched his murder from any shadows. All her other sins paled in comparison, for that was the one sin he’d avenged last night and the punishment could not be undone.

His fingers threaded her hair, strumming down her back with tenderness. She stirred, then flung one arm over his belly and settled. The weight warmed and pleased him. He took up the strumming again, marvelling at the contentment her closeness brought him.

Mayhap that was why he did not sleep.

He did not want to miss one moment of his first night with his wife. Not a typical wedding night, yet, as much as he’d lusted after this particular little vixen, his loins were neither full nor uncomfortable. He thought only to hold her near and protect.

Whatever William Jardin’s game, it was over.

Amber belonged to him now and he’d never let her go, no matter that she hated him. She had every reason to. From the first, he’d been drawn to this lass, to her beauty, to the inner fire that lit her spirit and made her shine above any other woman he’d known. He’d once thought her fearless because of some pampered life she’d led. He now knew she drew courage from within to conquer fear, for William Jardin’s tyranny no doubt extended to his niece.

And as for himself, he’d misunderstood her, he’d wronged her, and he intended to set that right.

Dawn came eventually, and soon after weak sunlight spread around the edges of the tapestry covering the window. Krayne gently lifted the arm across his belly and shifted Amber’s head onto the pillow. He slid off the bed with care, grimacing when he saw the evidence of his rage. Even so, as he lifted the broken door and slanted it upright against the wall, he couldn’t regret tearing down that particular barrier. Amber would learn to face her husband instead of hiding, he resolved, and went to draw the tapestry back so the light could spill inside.

When he came to stand over Amber, he could not look away. The silk gown was tossed and tucked between her thighs, revealing smooth skin as far as her knees. Delicate ankles, so slim his fingers could probably wrap them twice. Murmuring in her sleep, she rolled onto her back, giving him a clear view of the rise and fall of breasts that tempted his arousal. A husky chuckle started deep in his chest. He doubted he’d ever pass another night with Amber in his bed and be content to cuddle. For some reason, that thought made him relish his wedding night.

’Twas done. He was married. And he couldn’t seem to find a single regret. Not now. Not after last night. Indeed, he felt blessed by his new wife.

Amber came awake with Krayne looming over her. Sadness engulfed her like a low-hanging cloud. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why. And then her uncle’s departing taunt struck anew. Her husband’s hate would soon eclipse any spell she wove, he’d spat. Ye’re responsible fer Stivin’s death an’ blood vengeance always wins.

Krayne’s wrath had meant nothing to her.

Stivin was dead.

Her emotions had got stuck then and there.

Stivin is dead.

Fresh tears stung her eyes and she rolled over, unable to look at Krayne a moment longer. He’d known, all this while, he’d known, and decided she wasn’t worthy of grieving Stivin. Aye, her emotions had got stuck on anger. The grief had come later, alone in her room, blocking out the world, blocking out her husband and his infernal ramming at the door.

She was looking into those grey eyes once more. Krayne had moved around the bed to kneel at her side.

“Stivin is dead,” she said dully. She no longer had the energy to be angry at Krayne. What did it matter who knew what and when? The single fact remained. Stivin was gone. Last night, she’d grasped at that anger to block the grief. It had come anyway. “He would have made a fine scholar.” Amber felt a hot tear on her cheek. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

Krayne wiped her tears with his thumb. “I thought ye knew about Stivin.”

“No one told me, no matter how much I asked. I asked you if Stivin had returned. If he was safe.”

“I’m sorry.” His thumb rested on her cheek. The thin line of his lips was grimly set and his warm gaze drew her in. “I am sure ye did. ’Twould appear I wasna listening.”

She closed her eyes. How many times hadn’t she silently accused these Johnstones of just that? His thumb moved to trace the curve of her lips. For such a large, harsh man, his caress was impossibly gentle and touched much deeper than her skin for it.

“At Blaeberry Hill, ye said ye’d tried ta tell me that Stivin was dead.”

Amber’s eyes snapped open. “I knew that my uncle wouldn’t ransom Stivin for me. That was what I tried to tell you. Many times. No one would listen to me. William hates me. He agreed to this marriage in the hope that you’ll seek revenge and kill me at the first opportunity.”

Krayne’s expression didn’t change. Grim, but warm and sincere. “Then I’ll take great delight in proving him wrong. Come…” Krayne stood and held out his hand. “I’ve something ta show ye.”

She allowed herself to be tugged to her feet. Then she took her hand back and straightened her gown. “You sent for Mary? Is she here?”

“Little Jock was ordered ta ride at first light. They’ve not yet returned, but there is something else ye must see.”

They met no one until crossing the great hall, where moss-troopers and the various castle workers were breaking their fast. Krayne didn’t stop, but led her down the front steps and around the west tower, past the dungeon she’d almost spent a night in, and further, to a narrow wooden gate in the outer castle wall. He drew the latch and the gate opened into a small orchard of white-blossomed apple trees, leafy pear and ripe plum trees heavy with fruit. The natural scents were heady and invigorating. Amber breathed in deeply, and some of her sadness lightened.

They walked a little more, and came to a walled enclosure standing apart from the castle. Another gate took them into what looked to be the family graveyard.

Amber paused at the entrance, her throat dry and fresh tears threatening. Krayne let her be and continued through. The entire area was shaded with three red-berried rowan trees, the lumpy ground sprinkled with wildflowers. Except for the one, newly dug grave where Krayne stopped, head bowed.

She gave it a few moments before joining him. He lifted his head at her to share a look of mutual grief and acceptance, then smiled grimly and moved on to a nearby, established grave with a headstone tinged green with moss. Amber sank her knees into the newly turned soil. Her finger outlined the engraved words of remembrance for Stivin Johnstone as she said goodbye.

While she sat, dark clouds chased the sunlight and a misty rain began to fall. She welcomed the elements and lifted her face to the skies, allowing her tears to mix with those sent from heaven, letting go of what was and could not be changed as the running water thinned the raw ache inside. When she finally pushed to her feet, she found that Krayne had quietly left without disturbing her.

For that she was thankful.

She’d made her peace with Stivin.

Now she had to do right by his cousin.

When she saw Mary standing in her chamber, Amber ran into the woman’s arms and held on tight.

“Thank the Lord,” muttered Mary, drawing back to pat her cheeks and adding in stern reprimand, “You’ve turned my last hair grey with worry, child.”

“I didn’t exactly run away.” Amber was too happy to see the familiar face to mind the rebuke. She wanted to bury her grief in Mary’s ample bosom, but found she could not. The wound was too new to speak of.

“Is it true?” Mary demanded, looking the small chamber once over with pale, worried eyes. Her gaze came back to Amber. “Did that horrid Scotsman force you to wife?”

“Actually, he asked quite nicely.”

Mary’s chest sagged in relief. “I know better than to believe anything that uncle of yours spews.”

“I said yes.”

Mary stared at her wide-eyed.

Amber grinned. There was some comfort in being back in a world where she vexed her old nursemaid at every turn. “’Tis not all bad.”

“And naught good either, I’ll say.” Rapid fingers made the cross of Jesus over her chest. “What have you done now, child?”

“Hush, Mary, for I have a plan that will save us.”

But Mary wasn’t soothed. “Your mother will never forgive me for this day. Dear Father above, there’s naught to save us now. Your uncle will be ordering a feast this night, mark my words, for you have dug your own—”

“Be quiet!” Amber ordered before talk of graves and death undid her.

The older woman jumped and Amber chided herself for nearly confiding in Mary. One piercing silver-grey look from Krayne and Mary would crumble. She’d have to keep her plans for running secret until the last moment.

Mary stood there, one hand on her chest and her head bowed. When she met Amber’s gaze again, tears glistened in Mary’s eyes. “Amber, child, I’m so sorry about Stivin.”

Amber felt her own tears rise.

“’Tis all my fault,” went on Mary. “I never meant to—I should not have told him about you and Stivin…about the raid. You have such courage, child, and my own weakness shames me.”

“Hush.” Amber took Mary’s hands in hers. She thought back on her night in the pit. “I am not always brave, and fear is not a weakness to be controlled or to be ashamed of. The fault belongs to William Jardin alone. I will not have you blame yourself.”

“But look where this has ended. I’ve always only wanted to protect you.”

“Krayne is an honourable man,” she reassured Mary. “He would not harm either of us.”

“He is a Johnstone.”

“Is that any worse than a Scottish Jardin?” Amber countered.

Mary would not be convinced. “An uncle and a husband are very different.”

“You fear for my soul if I bed down with a Johnstone?”

“Amber, you are too bold.”

“I’m a married woman. ’Tis not unseemly to talk of such things, surely.”

If possible, Mary’s pinched face grew more haggard and Amber had no trouble guessing the reason.

“Krayne has not touched me and neither will he,” she said quickly. Then, before that statement could be questioned, she tugged haphazardly at the ribbons of her bodice. “If I don’t take up the hem of this gown, I’ll trip and kill myself for sure and none of this will matter one way or the other.”

“Gently.” Mary slapped her fingers away, then took a deep breath. “You’ll rip the seam and such exquisite silk it is, too.”

“My husband gave it to me,” Amber said, smiling sweetly as Mary’s scowl cleared in progressive steps.

She knew the woman was making false connections, assuming Amber had been kept in luxury during her captivity and treated like a lady. Amber did not correct her. The less antagonism all round, the easier their escape would be. And then there was Krayne himself. He had his obvious faults, but she found herself desperate for Mary to like him. And that, she would not question too deeply either.

Mary deftly undid the ribbons and slid the gown down Amber’s hips so she could step out of it. “’Tis a fine garment indeed.”

Once she had the gown in hand, Mary said, “Well, don’t just stand there, child. This room does not even have a door.” She tutted something about these barbaric Scots before continuing, “Such fine silk demands a delicate hand and much time. You’d best put something else on.”

And there Amber’s good intentions failed, for once she donned the dirty, ripped, patched woollen gown, the truth would out. Her eyes went to the corner and the guilty scraps heaped there.

Seeing her charge look helplessly about her, Mary laid the silk carefully across the bed, exclaiming, “Ah now, my wits have surely fled. That bear of a man who brought me here stowed your chest in the outer chamber.”

“You brought my things?”

Mary marched to the door, muttering, “Now why would I leave anything behind for your uncle to get his hands on?”

“Feeling better, wife?”

Amber glanced up at the familiar timbre. Dressed in a plaid of Johnstone colours and a stark white shirt, Krayne cast a menacing figure. His hair was pulled back from the severe angles of his face with a leather thong, his eyes glinted silver and there was no sign of that lopsided grin.

A smile warmed her inside.

She did not cower that easily.

She’d faced his worst, and survived relatively unharmed. So long as she did nothing careless, she had no reason to fear her husband.

Amber did not, however, permit that smile to reach her lips.

The only thing that stood between her and a full onslaught of his displeasure was keeping Krayne out of her bed. She could give him no cause to believe that the reprieve he’d offered was served and done.

“Aye.” She slid off the bed and smoothed her skirts.

His gaze skimmed the pale lemon gown of fine taffeta with undisguised appreciation. The bodice hugged her breasts and the lightweight material fell in a swirl to her ankles. The sleeves were narrow and cuffed to an inverted vee at her wrists, adding a graceful line to the summery gown. “Little Jock mentioned that yer woman had packed up Spedlin Castle to bring along.”

“’Twas but one chest.”

The grin tugged a dimple at his cheek. “Then I’m sure my coffers will be sorely dented in the not too distant future.”

Amber blushed at the intimate notion of spending his coin. And, if she were honest, at this unexpected teasing aspect of his nature that sent a tingling sensation to her stomach.

“I’ve come ta fetch ye fer supper,” he said, his grey gaze dipping to her cleavage and lingering, as if all he saw was his to taste.

Her knees went curiously hollow. She was treading dangerous ground. And she was her own worst enemy. How had she forgotten this potent effect that had brewed wicked sensations and tested her morals from day one?

“Or, if ye prefer…” His eyes came up again to suggest a hunger that had naught to do with food. “We could share a tray in private.”

“No!” yelped Amber. This time, she had more to lose than her maidenhead. And if that thought wasn’t hilarious, what was? When she was an unmarried maid, she would have dropped into his arms at the slightest provocation. Now that they were married, she dared not.

Her fingers twined in her skirts when he came closer. Too close. She conjured up images of the drunken beast that would have mauled her given the chance.

’Tis time ye were taught the pitfalls of callous games played on a whim.

His knuckles brushed her cheek and the scent of raw masculinity folded over her.

Fingers of revenge fer every man ye ever seduced.

Scarred knuckles slipped beneath her chin, gently securing her lips as he slowly lowered his mouth.

It wasn’t working. For those weren’t images, merely words that had never developed into anything she could grasp and hold. The terror Krayne had invoked that night had been erased by his apology and earnest proposal, by the beautiful words he’d spoken to welcome her to his clan, by holding her close to his heart while she raged against his chest, by the grief they’d shared beside Stivin’s grave.

Now, the soft glint of silver fed the grey of his eyes with blatant desire that, oh yes, she knew and hungered for, as well.

“No,” she groaned again.

“Aye.” His mouth halted a breath away from hers. “Ye want me, Amber.”

“You promised…”

“I willna hurt ye, lass.” The deep voice brimmed with hot energy. “’Tis my way of thinking that we should make our own beginning and not be haunted by the demons of the past.”

Hope glimmered as she searched his gaze.

Was it possible?

Could she and Mary truly make a new life for themselves under Krayne’s protection? Would she be permitted to reach out and grab the delicious promise of sensual joy that flitted above her like a summer butterfly whenever Krayne held her near?

And not have her wings stomped to pieces when he discovered the truth?

Amber sighed ruefully. ’Twas her way of thinking that men erased their own sins more easily than those of others. “I need more time.”

“Yer eyes betray ye, sweet wife.” His hand left her chin to go to the back of her head, fingers bunching the hair at her nape possessively. His other arm went about her waist, bringing her body to him with strength that would not be denied and making his arousal apparent against the softness of her belly.

Flames lit low in her abdomen and warmth spread to the juncture at her thighs.

Passion’s teeth!

How was she supposed to fight this?

Her body had always responded to Krayne with no thought to consequence or anything else. Even when she’d hated him, her body had betrayed her. Even when he was a stranger, that very first day by the forester’s hut, he’d melted all reason inside her.

His head came down with the growl. “I would pleasure ye, wife. Of that ye may be sure.”

Warm lips moulded hers firmly and swallowed the protest that might or might not have been uttered. She was no longer sure of anything. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth as the fire swept wild and furiously through her blood. The arm about her waist hefted her higher, grinding her hips and breasts into solid muscle.

“Krayne, where the devil are…ah, there—oh!” Duncan came to an abrupt halt in the master chamber, unable to do more than stare at the unlikely sight other side the doorway.

Krayne’s head came up with a dark curse, rocking Amber back to her feet and steady ground. “Has a man no privacy in his own chamber?”

“The, um, door was open,” Duncan said feebly.

“How about that.” Krayne’s arm stiffened too late as Amber wriggled free.

“The other door,” Duncan clarified, his gaze following Amber’s flight to the bed, flinching for her as she set herself down heavily on a backside that had to be well and truly thrashed after last night. She met his curiosity with bold green eyes that seemed to shout, What?

“Was there something ye wanted, little brother?”

Duncan rattled his head and moved closer, thinking there was definitely something he was missing as he noted the flush of pleasure on her cheeks.

“Duncan.”

He startled and finally found the hard eyes of his brother. “Aye, I’ve had word from Elwin and request yer permission ta depart fer Carnsalloch on the morrow.”

Krayne’s jaw clenched. “We’ve already discussed this.”

“And if I recall correctly, ye agreed so long I went alone.”

“Must this be decided now?” His pointed gaze went from Duncan to Amber and back. “As ye no doubt see, I was rather busy afore ye interrupted.”

“And if I’m ta leave on the morrow then—”

“Yer not going anywhere.”

Duncan’s voice vibrated with suppressed anger. “Is this my laird or brother speaking?”

“Both.”

Duncan gave Krayne a long, hard look before he spun on his heels and stomped off.

“Mayhap you should let him go,” Amber suggested quietly.

Not about to allow anything until he was satisfied with Duncan’s reasons, Krayne grunted, “This has naught ta do with ye.”

Duncan had first thought to leave Wamphray with Amber as his wife. Was his brother now running from a woman he could not have? Krayne would allow neither.

“Are you sure about that?”

He blunted the urge to snap that he was very sure indeed. Why would she think otherwise? Amber could not know what had transpired in his solar yesterday. His ardour had cooled, but not so much that he did not mean to pick up where he’d left off and from what he knew of women, snapping and demanding was not the way to go about it. Instead he asked rather casually, “What makes ye think it does?”

“He seemed…” She shrugged a hesitant shoulder. “He kept looking my way with…as if he found something odd.”

Krayne advanced with a slow, teasing grin to recapture the mood as he put Duncan from his thoughts. “Other than seeing ye in my arms?”

“’Tis not that strange between a husband and wife.” Amber strained back as he reached her and thought, Uh oh, not again.

Thighs as powerful as oak trees straddled her legs where they dangled from the bed. “Let’s not forget that the last time Duncan saw us together, ye’d just slapped my face and named me a bastard.”

“Ah.” She’d hoped that was forgotten. And, under the circumstances, forgiven. Her nose wrinkled. “He saw that?”

Arms, pillars of muscle almost as powerful as those thighs, came either side her as he pressed his palms on the bed. She strained further, her body intensely aware that she was almost on her back and him on top.

“Ye know well he did,” Krayne murmured. “As did Aegus and Alexander.”

That couldn’t be very good. Amber bit her lower lip in concern, then gasped loudly as he rearranged their legs in one smart movement. Suddenly hers were spread with his in the middle, and he was stretching over her.

“Krayne, what are…?” He lowered himself to his elbows and the air between them grew hot and languid. How had she landed herself in this position? “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Most husbands,” he drawled, looking deeply into her eyes, “would take that wife across their knee and not into their arms.”

His hips came down to grind against her and she felt the heat from his swollen shaft on her belly through the thin cloth of her gown. A wave of desire started low and pushed up, to her breasts, to her throat.

“Then I am pleased that you are not most husbands,” she purred, giving in to the sensations pouring into her veins. A public slur on his pride was no small matter, yet he didn’t appear too concerned. Mayhap he’d let her live once he discovered her little lie.

The grey in his eyes glinted. “Make no mistake, sweeting. Whatever the reason, undermine my authority or make a fool of me again, and ye’ll not sit comfortably fer a week. I’ve no taste fer theatrics.”

He’s going to kill me.

Amber squirmed and his legs clamped down hard. “Oh no, ye don’t.”

She swung her arms up to push him off, but he was too quick. He locked each hand down against the covers above her head. She was trapped. Every struggle brought friction to their bodies.

Amber took a deep breath. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m not hurting ye, Amber.”

“You promised me time,” she cried desperately. “Is this your honourable way, to apologise with one hand and force me all over again with the other?”

“Ye were willing a moment ago.”

“Mayhap I was, but now…” She should just shut up and get this over with. She was digging a hole that she’d never be able to crawl out of. “This is too much. ’Tis happening too fast. I can’t do this, Krayne. My mind cannot let go of…”

I’m going to hell for my lies.

“I’m scared,” she blurted. That, at least, was the truth.

She was trembling now, afraid that she’d not be able to stop him. A fat tear gathered in the corner of her eye and she blinked it back.

His expression darkened. “A woman’s tears have little meaning.”

“As little as your word?” she returned.

“Christ.” Krayne looked down on her. He was being blackmailed and there was naught he could do about it. The little wildcat had decided she didn’t approve of his reprimand and this was his punishment.

Spread over his wriggling wife, so low and close that her plump breasts strained against his chest with each heaving breath she took, he was but one deftly applied move away from emptying his lust inside her. His balls nestled heavy and snug against her sweet woman’s centre. Every hair on his skin was alive with her scent and pricked with the fire streaming through his blood.

He should lift her skirts and push his throbbing erection into her hot passage and stop this nonsense.

Yet another tear rolled down her cheek, thrusting a sword of doubt clear through his gut. Groaning a curse that would chase the devil from his hell, Krayne threw his hands up and rolled off his wife.

He’d given his word.

The bed shifted as she scooted away. He didn’t trust himself to look at what she was doing or where she was going. He certainly wasn’t moving anytime soon.

Damn all the saints from here ta Normandy and back. How had he landed himself in this position?

Chapter 12

The days could not pass swift enough for Amber. Her husband was an impossible man to elude.

She buried her face in the pillows so that she wouldn’t have to watch the shadows through the doorway as he prowled about his bedchamber. Her shoulders jerked at the sudden clatter from next door.

What was it this time?

Another clay pitcher?

Every night was the same. When he eventually fell into bed, he rolled restlessly and grunted curses in his sleep. And every night she listened, fearing what the silence might mean, insanely grateful that once again he hadn’t gone to Gayle’s bed for the favours his wife would not grant him.

When she awoke in the morning, unaware of when she’d stopped listening and fallen asleep, her eyes immediately went to the doorway. Krayne was there, as always, watching with a brooding expression, putting on a quick smile once he saw that she was awake.

“Good morrow,” Amber said, returning a sleepy smile, then instantly alert as her arms started to open, calling him to her, to her bed. She clamped her fingers into the bedcovers and remembered something else. “You’re leaving today.”

Krayne came inside. “I’ve postponed my trip another two days.”

“Oh.” She tried to keep her smile in place, but it was impossible. This second delay would make it a full sennight since he was originally supposed to set sail. “Bad weather?”

He shrugged as he came up to the bed and sat beside her. When she struggled upright, pulling the covers with her, he reached out to take her hands, slowly compelling her fingers to release with the gentlest pressure. His burning gaze slid down her throat, breasts and waist as the covers fell away.

Exposed to his raw desire, Amber felt the heat of longing sweep through her veins and sting her cheeks. She held her breath for what came next.

Every morning the same…Every morning he did this to her. Passion’s teeth, she could not take this for another two days.

He brought the pad of his thumb to her mouth, outlining the swell of her lower lip as his gaze lifted to meet her eyes. “Did ye sleep well?”

“Aye,” she lied, “and you?”

He didn’t answer.

He never did.

The heaviness in his eyes spoke for him.

Every night they went through their own form of tortured separation, and each morning he came to her like this, leaving the beast of darkness behind in the night to which it belonged.

His thumb moved down the curve of her throat, then to her collarbone and further along to cup the rounded joint of her shoulder. His stroke left a tingling trail through the thin cotton of her shift.

“Ye have the body of an angel, the eyes of a witch and the lips of a siren,” he murmured, bringing his left hand up to cup her other shoulder, turning her toward him as he lowered his mouth on hers.

As soon as their lips met, Amber pulled away. “Krayne, please, I cannot…I’m not ready.”

He sighed deeply, not believing, not trusting, and she couldn’t blame him. Not when her breaths were fast and shallow. Not when her cheeks were flushed with the heat coursing through her veins. Not when she could barely keep her eyes open from wanting to fall back and surrender.

She had no choice but to make him believe. “The memories are too fresh. Too terrible. I want to, Krayne, but I-I don’t know how to. Not yet, not like this. I-I’m terrified.”

His hands moved to her cheeks, holding her head up to him. “Was that night truly so abhorrent that ye cannot abide my touch?”

Amber shuddered, not from his touch but from her lies that seemed to feed off each other and grow.

“A little while longer,” she pleaded, lowering her lids to shade the guilt in her eyes. “The memories will fade, with time.”

He pushed to his feet, folding his arms across the slab of his chest, his grin of resignation merging into a smile as he gazed down on her. “I thought I’d give ye a tour of the castle today. I’ll wait fer ye downstairs and we can break our fast together.”

Amber sank down beneath the covers once he’d left and closed her eyes. She knew how this day would go. He’d tease and cajole in this game of seduction and every day she lost a little more ground. He entertained her at every meal with that lopsided grin and quirky titbits of Wamphray Castle and its people. Yesterday had been that horrendously futile sword lesson. Today he was devoting his time to show her around the castle.

He’d be gentle, taking care to give her only smiles and laughter, shrugging a good-natured shoulder when she turned from his kisses or pushed a roving hand from her thigh. But black frustration rode Krayne’s every waking moment and settled down in bed with him at night. She’d overheard more than one whispered conversation in the castle—that their laird was growing more like a rabid bull every day, that if he didna ram inta something verra soon the whole of Wamphray would go up in black smoke. She knew what drove his dark temper when he thought she couldn’t hear or see, for that same hunger made her snap and crackle for no apparent reason.

And yet, if she hadn’t been aware of his rampant prowling late into the night or heard the castle talk, she’d never know that aught was amiss with her charming husband.

She loved him all the more for it.

At first she’d thought that this feeling inside was naught more than accumulated lust. The swelling of her heart when he teased and cajoled, or gave her that warm, dimpled smile. The sadness clutching her gut as time ran out. The spears that sliced through her whenever she was forced to turn Krayne aside.

And now he’d delayed his ships in the Solway for a further two days, and she knew he’d use each and every moment to tear down her defences and build her trust with gentle seduction and sincere devotion. ’Twas no wonder she’d tumbled head over heels in all the reconstruction.

“I am such a silly, idiotic fool,” she muttered angrily, tossing back the covers and leaping from the bed, only to face Mary’s quizzical expression as she hurried into the inner chamber. “You should have taken a stick to me when I was small enough and beaten some sense into me,” Amber added darkly.

“Your parents didn’t hold with beatings and neither do I,” Mary muttered, but her eyes were filled with concern as she took her charge’s hand and led her to the stool by the window. She fetched the pearl comb from the outer chamber, then returned to comb Amber’s hair in smoothing motions, starting at the crown and following through to the very tips. “What is the matter, child? Surely you can tell me?”

“Nothing!” Amber snapped, at once contrite at her waspish behaviour. “Forgive me, Mary. Truly, ’tis naught of concern.”

Two days later, the scene repeated and this time Mary wouldn’t take her usual answer. “Why not tell me what’s truly on your mind?” she suggested in a crooning tone. “There’s more afoot to these fits of temper that never plagued you a day afore coming to this place and how am I supposed to help when you will not speak?”

“This is no fit,” Amber retorted.

Her body was hot and feverish from yet another night spent listening to Krayne toss and turn. Her mind was snapping at the tower of lies she added to each time she pushed him so desperately away.

If only she’d admitted everything the day after her wedding and taken whatever dire punishment she surely deserved. The time for confession had long passed her by. She’d painted a picture of such tortuous suffering in Krayne’s head, ’twould take much more than a summer of daily whippings before he could even begin to erase it.

But even that did not keep her quiet.

’Twas something else she feared far more.

She loved Krayne with bitter agony that threatened to tear her apart at the seams God had sewn with such paternal care and, to her present frame of mind, should never have bothered Himself with.

Krayne would hate her.

If he ever learnt of how her little seed of defence had taken root and soared to heights that could compete for the skies with Nodding Ned on a still day, he would never again look at her with anything other than contempt and twisted hate. Each day would be a cruel labour that would continue on into eternity. For he would never, ever forgive, not even after they were both long departed from this world.

Krayne was a man of too much honour.

No matter how much he yearned, he’d not come to her bed and claim his husbandly rights. Instead he attempted to win her over with romantic moods and soft smiles. She knew that Krayne was a man made hard by the land, that he did not love her, that all he did was in the name of duty. He’d taken her to wife, and he was determined to make their marriage work. He was not naturally given to charm and seduction, and she imagined that he’d never before bothered with such things. And she loved him all the more for the slightly rough, passionate, fiercely loyal, blunt man he was, and the sympathetic, charming husband he was trying to be.

He’d already claimed her heart.

Soon she would crumble and give up her body.

And then…

“I cannot take this anymore,” Amber cried out. “Why does he not leave? What man idles about his home when there are ships of wool to be sailed and exotic lands to be explored?”

“I’ve not seen our laird in a single idle moment, child, and his duties are never far from his mind.”

Amber swung about again. “Our laird? What happened to that horrid Scotsman?”

“Is an old woman not permitted to change her mind?”

“No.”

“Och, now, calm yourself and—”

“Och? Since when do you speak with a Scotsman’s tongue?”

Mary had the grace to blush. In fact, Amber noted with dubious pleasure, her cheeks had filled these last few days and her eyes were no longer a pale, watered-down blue but sparkling like a busy burn.

“Never mind me, child. ’Tis I that find myself with idle hands and too much time to converse with the likes of Brayan and Isla.”

Amber shut her eyes tight, and vowed to explode in a flash of lightning if naught had changed when she opened them once more. “Isla? Dour, miserable Isla who’d as soon scratch your eyes out than look into them?”

“I do share a room behind the kitchens with the woman.” Mary tutted and turned her charge forward yet again. “Isla lost a father and two brothers to Jardin swords. Have you no compassion?”

“I have plenty compassion, yet I don’t recall swinging any broadsword in this or any past life. And by the by, I don’t see why you continually refuse to share my chamber.”

“Your husband would not appreciate that intrusion.”

Amber snorted. “I’m mistress of this castle and have some sway in the matter.”

Mary gave one last tug with the comb, then moved away. “’Tis foolhardy to underestimate that man.”

“I won’t have you sharing with Isla and that’s that.” Amber jumped up to confront her, hands on her hips.

And that was how Krayne came upon his lady wife, the woman who thwarted him both day and night until he felt fit to tear every last strand of hair from his head. As they became aware of him, Mary shrunk back and Amber’s hands dropped to her sides.

“Leave us,” he told her woman.

Mary scuttled past him and through the master chamber to the passage beyond.

“Ye’re angry,” Krayne said, wondering what had stirred her ire now. He was at his wits end. He’d tried all manner of behaviour to win his wife over. Never in his life had he failed so many times in quick succession at one simple task.

“’Tis naught but a silly argument.” She smiled at him with those rose-brushed lips. “Was there something you wanted?”

There was plenty he wanted.

Throwing his wife’s tantalising figure on the bed and slaking his semi-permanent erection was just a start. Then he’d explore each area of her body with hungry attention to detail while whispering love words at her ear.

I’m acting like a silly, besotted fool.

Aye, and I deserve this hell-hole I carved fer myself.

Yet, there had to come an end, and he was fast approaching his. “I’ve come ta say goodbye.”

“You’ve finally decided to set sail?”

“Finally,” he growled, displeased at her choice of words. “I hope ta make Annan afore sundown.”

“Then you must leave at once.”

He nodded. And waited. Her lack of initiative decided his mind. “I’d have a parting kiss from my wife, Amber.”

She hesitated only a moment before closing her eyes and offering her lips, making him come to her.

He almost didn’t, but found he could not ignore the tempting picture she cut. He swooped upon her, lifting her into his arms and hard against his constant readiness.

Her eyes flickered wide on him.

His mouth came down, swallowing her surprise and demanding a thorough taste that would have to last him through the next two weeks. He wasn’t going to Byzantine anymore. He wasn’t going any further than Bordeaux, and when he returned, they would be man and wife in more than name.

He set Amber on her feet and chucked her chin, keeping it high and absorbing the green fire in her gaze. “When I return, sweet wife, we’ll see this through.”

Many of the variations of her habitual protest came to mind, but Amber wisely refrained. Something was different. Krayne had made more than one resolution along with his decision to sail. That much was evident in the possessive kiss she still reeled from.

His hand dropped from her chin and, with one last nod, he turned and walked from the room.

Amber reminded herself, as she watched broad shoulders and the fine form his britches moulded from behind, she wouldn’t be here to greet his return. The moment she’d waited seven long days for had come.

Her bones itched and her muscles strained. Suddenly she was running, skidding over the wooden boards of the master chamber and into the dim passage. Thudding boots clunked the echo of his departure on the stairway.

“Krayne.” She rounded the bend and almost met the first step with her bottom. “Wait.”

The clunking stopped.

Lifting her skirts high, Amber tripped down the stairs as fast as she dared. At the bend on the next landing, she bounded into her husband’s solid chest.

“Hush, sweeting.” Strong arms held her back so he could look her in the eye. “What is it?”

She was at once unsure on how to proceed and dipped her eyes. “I—I wanted to…”

“Hmmm?” Lean fingers grazed her cheek, then tipped her chin. The tender passion broiling his dark gaze washed through her.

She knew what she had to do.

“Don’t leave.” She reached up, cupping both sides of his square jaw in her palms, rising to her tip-toes, leaning in. “Not without a proper goodbye kiss.”

Her lips touched his, tentatively, then more urgently as he kissed her back. Their tongues met, testing, stroking, then twining as one. His hand pressed at the small of her back, bringing her up close, and she melted willingly into his lithe, potent masculinity. Desire fed her blood and warmed to her inner core. Her arms wrapped behind his neck, savouring the sensations that had to last her a lifetime.

He pulled away too quickly.

She wasn’t ready to let go.

His lopsided grin undid her heart as he untangled her fingers from behind his neck and held her hands to his chest. “This isna something that can be rushed, sweeting. Wait fer me.”

Then, bussing a kiss to her forehead, he released her hands and left.

An emptiness opened up inside her, then quickly filled with dread.

Good Lord, what was the matter with her? She’d wanted that kiss to take away with her. She’d not even considered that he might have carried her back up the stairs here and now to finish what she’d started.

Or had she? Had she thought to put the decision, of whether to stay or go, into his hands?

Since when had there been any decision to make?

Whatever she might or might not have been thinking was sheer madness. One brief moment of passion would not be worth the eternity of hate it would bring.

Krayne was leaving, and not a moment too soon.

Chapter 13

Amber gnawed on her lower lip as young Peter brought two saddled mares into the bailey. The first time she’d tried to leave, Mary had tumbled from her horse while mounting and twisted her ankle. Close to two weeks wasted, and Amber was determined that naught would go amiss today.

Brayan had packed a hamper of smoked fish, half a wheel of white cheese, two loaves of warm bread and an assortment of meat pies and fruit tartlets. Amber hadn’t said anything about the second hamper she’d filled with apples and plums. Wamphray’s cook had already made a few dry comments about the two of them rolling back from their picnic.

“Mary,” she called out, “come or we’ll be late.”

“Late fer what?” asked Brayan, walking up beside Mary.

Amber frowned at him, allowing Peter to help her mount instead of answering. Mary and Brayan had been standing apart for a good while, quietly conferring in a manner that did not bode well. Mary would not deliberately give their plans away, but she did not have the nature to hold on to secrets.

“The child is always in a hurry,” Mary told him, putting Amber’s fears to rest.

Still, she watched with growing agitation as Brayan linked his fingers as a hoist for Mary to step into. When he hefted her up, Mary gave an exaggerated yelp.

Brayan winced in sympathy. “Yer ankle is no completely healed. Mayhap ye should postpone this picnic a wee bit longer,” he suggested.

Mary glanced hopefully at Amber.

Amber shook her head. She’d seen Mary walking about the castle perfectly fine these last few days. Whatever that yelp was about, it was not physical pain. “My store is absolutely depleted. If I don’t gather more herbs today, I’ll not have the potions to heal the castle’s ailments.”

Brayan grunted in understanding. For the past two weeks, the lass had been a blessing, curing everything from a sore throat to a badly lanced wound. Peter and Brayan waved them off cheerfully and the gatekeeper cranked the portcullis for them to pass through.

“You realise they’ll send a search party,” Mary told her as they trotted down the path to Wamphray Water.

Amber leant forward to stroke the placid mare, more in need of the calming than the horse. Duncan had set sail with Krayne, but Alexander had remained behind to challenge her plans. “We’re not expected back until nightfall. By then, we could be just about anywhere within a day’s ride. Wamphray and Johnstone together do not have the men to search the whole of Annandale and Eiskedale.”

“Eiskedale?”

Amber glanced at her. After Krayne had mentioned that he was setting sail from Annan, she’d decided that was the best way home to England. She’d not tempt fate, however, by setting on a direct route. “You swear you didn’t tell a soul?”

“I should have,” Mary muttered.

“We’re going eastward across Applegarth to join the valley of Dryfe Water. Alexander will not dare lead his men over Jardin land.”

“I’d rather we didn’t either.”

“Are you going to be this pessimistic the entire way?”

“And if I am?” Mary queried with a glitter in her eye that could not be misinterpreted.

For the first time, Amber wondered if she was being selfish. Mary had railed against Scotland for so long, she’d assumed ’twas the woman’s timid fear of adventure and not a reluctance to return home to England that made her quarrelsome about this trip.

“If you’d rather stay,” Amber said, “I swear that Krayne will not mistreat you once he finds me gone.”

Mary hung her head.

Fighting down the surge of anxiety at riding on alone, Amber added, “I only ask that you ride a little way with me and stay out until sundown. Say nothing to Alexander. He will not be harsh with you. And—and when Krayne eventually returns, you may tell him where I’ve gone. I intend to write him as soon as I reach England anyway.”

“What you must think of me, to imagine I’d let you go alone.” Mary’s head came up. “Running is a mistake that will cost you dear, child. Your husband cares for you. Anyone can see that at a glance.”

“That will change if I stay.”

“He is not a fickle man.”

“No,” Amber agreed sadly. “Krayne wears his honour with pride. Any man, or woman, who treats that with less than the utmost respect will suffer greatly.”

Understanding dulled Mary’s gaze. “Och, child, what have you done?”

How often had she asked herself that very thing? “I did what I had to do, Mary. No more and no less.”

As soon as they were out of sight of Wamphray’s gate tower, Amber led them up the river bank and around the foot of Blaze Hill. To their left, the craggy mound rose sharply, casting a cool shadow for their ride. The sun rose too quickly, belying the progress Amber had hoped to make their first day.

“We must push on,” she told Mary after they’d dismounted to eat a mutton pie and sip some ale. Recalling the woodland that started midway up Blaeberry Hill, she decided it would offer them the best protection from the night. Crossing the undulating fells and dales instead of riding alongside the River Annan was proving more time consuming than she’d counted on. “We must reach Auchenroddan Forest before sundown.”

The sun was a faint orange spectre dimming the clear sky when they urged their tired horses up the hill and through the closely packed trees of Auchenroddan. Both the women were stiff and sore from being saddle-bound the entire day and much too tired to worry about building a fire for warmth. That the flames might have given up their hiding place did not even feature, so it was as well that exhaustion folded them against each other in a curled sleep as soon as they’d partaken of a supper of bread, cheese and more meat pies.

Alexander spread his men in a wide arc that encompassed the River Annan for five miles either side. He did not alert Adam, but he spared not a second thought at trespassing on Jardin land in his search. When Brayan had first sought him out on his return from field practice, they’d supposed the women lost. A good chat later had soon convinced Alexander otherwise. There were many clues, starting with Amber’s insistence on refusing an escort and ending with her despair when the picnic had initially been postponed. Not to mention that one’s particular tendency to flee. Everything he’d heard reeked of a plot, and he cursed the vixen for running on his watch.

Krayne would have his head if the lass were not returned unharmed.

What had taken the women a full day, took Wamphray’s men less than three hours, and only that long because they were thorough. Auchenroddan was included in their search, but the moon slid behind a cloud when Gavin and Andrew entered the woods and the densely packed canopies denied them even that meagre light afforded by the stars.

“’Twould take a stalwart lass ta dither hereabouts,” Andrew muttered, narrowing eyes to pierce the darkness. Once again, they’d forgone supper to run after the Jardin wench and his stomach rumbled fiercely. His nostrils itched as he fairly smelt the pot of rabbit stew his Ellen would have broiling at the open fire in their cosy hut. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and grumbled aloud as he thought that he could be warming himself between his little wife’s tight bums right now.

An owl ruffled feathers high above his head, making its displeasure known at being disturbed. The men glanced at each other grimly. The forest teemed with sounds of the night, some real and others fantasised.

Gavin heard the far-off howl of a lone wolf and wondered where its pack was. A gusty wind whispered ghostly groans through the pines and rippled the sodden debris beneath.

“Aye,” Gavin agreed, the harsh dressing down from the laird still fresh in his mind. He’d been put on night guard for three weeks straight, with no leave to visit Lochmaben and his favourite tavern that served ample-busted wenches along with its ale and cider. His laird’s siren bride was trouble, and he couldn’t shift the feeling that Wamphray might be better off without her. “Lockerbie has two inns with beds aplenty, I’m thinkin’ English-raised lasses ken naught o’ sleepin’ wi’ nature.”

Of one mind, the men progressed through the length of the forest with only the most cursory perusal either side them as they rode. The sooner they reached Annan, the sooner they could turn back for home and hearth.

Three days later, Amber and Mary trotted two weary mares down the well-trodden road and through the town gates of Annan. The women themselves were in a state far worse. Frequent downpours had drenched them, starting at their cloaks and soaking all the way through to chill their bones. Their boots were muddied and worn thin at the soles from trudging up scraggly paths too steep and rocky to ride. Mary’s weak ankle had swollen again to plague Amber’s conscience, and she did not need the reminder that her plans had gone so widely askew.

Hunger and a desperate need to seek direction had taken them into numerous dwellings until they’d finally found their way back to the River Annan. She could not fault the hospitality they’d received, but they’d left an unwanted trail. Amber could only pray that the hunting party had given up and turned back to await Krayne’s wrath at Wamphray. “At least we’re here,” said Amber brightly as they passed a row of timbered frontages that sported goods from freshly baked pies to vividly stained lengths of wool and finely woven linens.

“I feared we’d never see civilisation again,” Mary mumbled as she halted by a crossroad, her face the same mask of disgruntlement she’d worn for the duration.

“Your faith in me is surely lacking.” Amber breathed deeply of the tangy air and tasted salt on her tongue. Aye, they were here. The expanse of blue water they’d spied earlier was no longer visible, but she knew it was there, just beyond the built-up streets.

Lumbering carts, some pulled and some pushed by hunched men with constitutions of oxen, others hitched to horses, shared the road with pedestrians and riders in all manner of attire. Richly garbed men in magnificently embroidered tabards astride equally magnificent destriers rode alongside farmers on their workhorses and wearing scuffed linen trousers and open shirts. Yet others wore supple leather britches and steel-plated jacks with boots that came to their knees. A wagon of ladies chattering as brightly as their highly decorated gowns ambled along, scattering a row of riders and eliciting appreciative hoots and whistles.

“Faith?” Mary snorted, crossing her bosom with dirt-streaked fingers. “I’ll give you faith when you secure us a nice warm room and send word to Wamphray of our whereabouts.”

Amber grinned and kicked her mare into a trot as a gap formed in the traffic. She chose the busiest road, hoping it led to the docks. “We’ve no coin for an inn and I wouldn’t spare the time and risk besides.”

“My poor horse can barely put one foot before the other,” came Mary’s constant grumble at her side. “How you intend to barter two horses that are dead on their feet, and look even worse, for the price of passage is beyond me, child. ’Tis better we turn back now, before your husband returns and finds you missing.”

“Krayne will kill me for the trouble I’ve put his men to alone,” Amber snapped. Her resolve to keep the pain in her heart firmly closeted could not withstand Mary continually unlatching the door. She had to keep her spirits high and Mary motivated. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge a breaking heart.

“He will not kill you.”

“No, he will not,” Amber agreed. “Once he eventually tracks me down, his temper will have cooled and he will understand this is for the best.”

She was counting on it. When he learned that their marriage was unconsummated and, by that fact, unnecessary to begin with, Krayne would no longer be bound by any honour, duty or responsibility. He’d welcome the annulment with open arms. Still, Amber was wise enough to ensure she was in another country when he first heard the details, for his relief at being a free man would only come after his rage had run the gauntlet from stunned shock to murderous fury. Of that, she was convinced.

“He will not let you go that easily,” predicted Mary.

Which was the least of their worries right now, Amber saw as they followed the road that led to the seafront. Instead of a busy port teeming with merry sailors and banked by sturdy ships that could take them as far as Portsmouth, if not further, they were thrust into the midst of makeshift stalls set up by farmers and fishmongers.

Amber dismounted, handed her reins to Mary and approached a nearby stall that was not overly crowded. The sandy-haired lad other side the two barrels was surprisingly eager to answer any of her questions.

Wrinkling a freckled nose to the reflection of sunlight off water, he pointed at the lone, rather sad-looking vessel berthed at the end of a flimsy wooden walkway that extended some distance into the Solway. And he pointed somewhat proudly. “That be the dock, right there.”

“But where…” Amber set her disappointed gaze back on the lad. “Where are all the ships?”

“Beatlesticks,” he exclaimed through giggles. “We be but a market town. ’Tis sailing boats ta carry from the farms that we be seeing hereabouts.”

“Impossible.”

His grin turned sheepish.

Amber decided to stop wasting time and put him straight. “That dock would never cater to the entire Johnstone fleet.”

“’Twouldn’t,” he agreed wholeheartedly.

Her fingers balled in frustration. “The Laird of Wamphray set sail from here the week before last, did he not?”

“That he did.” The lad was grinning happily again. “The Grey Wolf boarded the Joanna here, fer Captain Jack Steegle keeps a townhouse jus’ yonder ’twixt Mad Nellie the brewster an’ the baker’s shop.”

“And Captain Jack Steegle would be…?” Amber queried, fast losing patience.

“Why, he be captain o’ the Joanna, o’ course,” the lad told her.

“Kra—the laird mentioned he had five ships filled with wool.”

“Aye, an’ they’d be awaitin’ his command at Kirkcudbright, I ken, fer ’tis the closest port.”

Amber thanked the lad for all his help with a wan smile. As she turned, her eye caught that sorry-looking excuse for a seafaring vessel. Her chin set high in determination, she hurried past the busy stalls to collect Mary and their horses.

“That scrap of wood will never get us to England,” Mary scorned as they led the horses onto the creaking walkway over the water.

“Even scraps float,” retorted Amber, but as they neared the wretched ship, her own doubts soared.

Graham Douglas watched the two women approach through lazy eyes, his lids heavy from the day’s labour and his mind bored now that it was done. Graham was a sixth son and if he ever wanted power, he would have to make his own. He’d bought The Spriggan from an impoverished Irish merchant with coin he’d been amassing for the last seven of his four and twenty years. Changing her name to Glory had been the first improvement. Next he’d reinforced the hull and scraped it clear of barnacles, a task that had kept him and his six men busy for the better part of two months and completed less than an hour ago.

The Glory had a way to go before she was anywhere near claiming her rightful place on the Atlantic, and now restless boredom set in.

Brother Tom—and they’d yet to torture the reason for that name from the red-haired McKenzie who was not and certainly never had been a monk—was snoring on the hard planks below and the others had gone to whatever haunts they went to each night after the day’s work. Graham never ventured far or long from the Glory. His handful of men did not extend to a standby-crew and he’d not leave her unattended.

“Excuse me, sir,” the black-haired beauty called up to him.

Despite her smudged cheeks and tattered cloak, he could see the woman’s many charms at a glance. Striking green eyes shaped like almonds on a face that would make an angel proud. Aye, he had a weakness for pert noses that would wrinkle in playful mischief and full, lush lips that begged to be kissed.

He rose up along the foremast to his feet, then leant back and crossed one leg over the other. “Graham Douglas at yer service, ma’am,” he drawled with a grin that had served him well in the past.

She seemed taken aback at his ready introduction, but quickly composed herself and offered a smile. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to your captain?”

Ah, so she was English. And clearly refined. Pity that. A coin spent on such a sweet piece of baggage would be a coin well spent, Graham mused as he sauntered across the forecastle and rested his elbows on the tarnished oak railing to get a closer look. He thought to tease her a bit, but something in her steadfast gaze held him back.

“Yet again,” he said, flourishing a bow of sorts, “at yer service, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Those eyes of emerald fire narrowed, then her head dipped as she conferred with the woman at her side in a voice too low to overhear.

’Twas apparent, however, that the two were exchanging heated words. Graham’s natural curiosity peaked. He was well pleased when the green-eyed angel raised her chin to him again.

“We seek to buy passage to the coast of England,” she told him. “As far south as you can take us.”

Graham almost laughed out loud, then realised that she was serious. “Ye wish ta charter my ship fer yer sole use?”

Her gaze swept from bow to stern and her nose wrinkled, clearly at his loose definition of ship, and this time Graham did laugh. The little caravel was swift and agile, and ’twas his intent to become known as “The Phantom of the Atlantic” before he was done.

“’Twould cost a pretty coin,” he added, then wondered why. The Glory wasn’t sailing anywhere in the foreseeable future.

She came forward, pulling her horse with her and standing slightly to the side. “We would barter these two mares.”

The mare was of good stock, though a little worse for wear. A glint of sunlight off metal caught his eye and Graham peered closer at the badge melded to a very fine saddle indeed.

A thick blond brow rose in surprise at the Johnstone winged spur. Then came down abruptly as he saw the pointed features of a wolf’s head that Krayne Johnstone of Wamphray had added to his personal crest not long after he’d become laird.

His gaze sharpened on the lass. “I’m guessin’ ye have a name?”

“Amber,” she supplied without hesitation.

“Amber of?”

“Amber will suffice.”

Rubbing his stubbled jaw, Graham held her gaze and considered the possibilities. The Wamphray Johnstones had no sisters and, to his knowledge, neither of the brothers were married. It didn’t seem possible that such a gentle lass would have been capable of lifting two mares from Wamphray’s stables.

Here was a mystery to be solved.

Graham’s grin was back. He loved nothing more than a mystery and more so that it involved his good friend Krayne.

“Brother Tom,” he hollered at the top of his voice, startling both women and horses. The Glory had made it across the frigid Irish Sea, she could sure as hell hug the coast to England easily enough.

To the lovely Amber, he warned, “She’s nae fitted fer comfort, lass, yet if yer willing, then so am I.”

His gaze was distracted to the older woman, who was signing the cross upon her chest with much vigour and softly moaning, then again to Brother Tom as his dishevelled head appeared at the hatch leading from the ship’s belly. Graham waved the man to his side while he turned back to the beauty, waiting for the nod he had no doubt would come. He knew a desperate lady when he saw one.

He quickly explained the hasty change of plans to Brother Tom in a voice that would not carry, finishing with, “Leave the mares wi’ Blackie an’ urge him ta care well fer them. The Grey Wolf will be along shortly ta reclaim his property, I’m guessin’. All o’ his property.”

Amber blinked one eye open, saw a piece of rotted wood dangling precariously low above her head and groaned. Instant recollection of the night spent tossed from side to side until her insides roiled brought her full awake.

And they’d not yet left shore.

Graham Douglas had ignored her request to make haste, insisting that he couldn’t leave until his men had returned, sobered up, and stocked the hold with the necessary provisions for the voyage.

Then again, Amber supposed, safely anchored in shallow waters or rocking on the high seas, it was all the same when you were strung across the corner of a cabin in a hammock that swayed each time you so much as drew breath. Graham Douglas had exaggerated somewhat when he’d described their expected accommodations and offered them his own cabin.

His ship was not fitted at all.

Mary had chosen the narrow berth to sleep upon, and Amber didn’t envy her. The bunk lacked a pallet of any sort, the hard wood covered with only a scratchy blanket that did not invite a closer look.

The hull creaked ominously, then rocked and bucked without warning, flinging Amber to the floor with her gown about her head and one foot caught in the ropes.

The scream was loud enough to wake the dead, and Mary wasn’t entirely convinced it hadn’t done just that when she jolted upright and heard her bones protest. She felt bruised from head to toe and stiffer than a corpse.

“Help!”

She turned toward the squealed plea, taking in the dark, bare room along the way and made the cross of Christ upon her chest as their sad plight struck her afresh. “What in heavens are you doing, child?” she chided, stumbling from the bunk to free the trapped ankle.

Amber rolled to the floor, then stood and straightened her gown.

Mary watched her, shaking her head in despair. “We cannot spend another night aboard this wreck and well you know it. Our path is clear. You tried your best and now the time has come to admit defeat.”

“Never.”

“My bones are weary and they’ve worked hard enough to deserve better than a watery grave.”

“Don’t ply me with guilt, Mary. I’ve ample to keep a lifetime.” And, before she could receive any advice on where to start making her amends, Amber went to look out the small porthole. The sky was yet a shadowy haze with the approach of dawn not fully upon them, giving the ocean a murky depth it did not have when she last looked from this porthole. Then she realised her mistake. “Passion’s teeth. We’re at sea. We’ve set sail.”

The captain’s cabin was perched at the stern, high above the rolling swells the ship cut through like a knife. Amber glanced back at Mary with excitement. “Graham Douglas did not boast in vain when he spoke of her swiftness. Come see. At this speed, we’ll be home before sundown.”

Mary’s shoulders slumped noticeably as she came closer and peered over Amber’s shoulder in silence.

Amber determined to be pleased for the both of them. She was halfway to freedom. She would not think on Krayne and all she left behind. She would not think on Mary’s conviction that everything would have worked out fine at Wamphray with a smidgeon of faith and a lot less stubbornness. What felt like a bottomless pit of loss in her belly was no doubt little more than trepidation at their uncertain future.

This way, at least I have a future.

Amber patted her skirts and did what she could to neaten the braid that had pulled loose and tangled during the night. “I’m going on deck to have a word with our captain and find some food to break our fast.”

Mary didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the porthole, her back hunched, her hands in front of her where Amber could not see, but could well guess their occupation. She thought to give Mary a comforting word but knew that there was nothing to say. Every one of the woman’s fears was valid.

Now that they were on their way, the prospect of arriving at a home that William Jardin might or might not have sold in her stead, of finding an elderly husband to take care of the two of them after first somehow persuading him to aid her in arranging the annulment of her first marriage, looked less and less bright, if not dark as a moonless night.

She found Graham Douglas on the quarterdeck, braced behind the wheel with the wind billowing his black shirt as if it were a fourth sail. He cut an impressive figure against the backdrop of grey skies and white-tipped waves spraying over the side of the hull.

He beckoned her closer and, as she crossed the raised deck, a quick survey of the land beyond told her that they’d left the Solway of Firth behind for the Irish Sea.

“We’re making good headway,” she shouted above the roar of ocean and wind.

He grinned. “We left a good three hours ago ta take advantage of the morning tide. There’s fish stew below in the galley an’ a jug of ale ta wash it down with.”

Amber nodded, but was content to stay a moment and savour the crisp morning air. Seagulls squawked above them, for they sailed close enough to the coastline on their left for her to make out such detail as the ragged definition of the cliffs and the gorse growing wild along the top and some way down the edge.

“Should we be quite so close to the shoreline?” she queried.

“Have no fear, ma’am. I’m familiar with this channel and its troughs. We’ll come upon the Isle of Man shortly ta yer right, and once we’ve passed I’ll take us further out.”

She followed his gaze and found a bulky shadow in the distance, seemingly bopping up and down with the swells. “I see it.”

“Nay, that be a ship. We’ll soon be crossing paths. The Isle is yet some ways.”

The muscles at her neck pulled tight and she forced herself to dismiss the eerie premonition. If Alexander had somehow found her direction, and then managed to procure a ship of any size from Annan’s measly port, he would be coming up from behind and not sailing directly at them. Still, it did no harm to take fresh air for a while longer, just to be sure there was no danger.

Graham watched with amusement the raven-haired beauty’s sudden stiffness. He’d attempted to ply her secrets loose the night before to no avail. That meant he’d simply have to try harder in the light of day. As the moving monolith closed the distance, slowly carving the shape of a large mercantile vessel designed for cargo and not agility or speed, he noted Amber slink discreetly behind the mizzenmast.

“Show our signal,” he bellowed proudly, leaning over the wheel for a clear view as Brother Tom raised the square black patch with vividly detailed red eyes in the top right corner.

The Phantom flew for the very first time and his chest swelled.

“What in heavens is that?” Momentarily forgetting her cover, Amber stood aside, peering at the devil’s eyes with hands on her hips.

Graham would have been delighted to explain, but just then he sighted the grey and white stripes embossed with the outline of a wolf’s head flying boldly on the approaching ship. Krayne Johnstone skipped between his ships depending on which way his fancy blew, but the Grey Wolf only flew when Krayne was acting captain.

“The Grey Wolf approaches,” he called instead, watching Amber’s reaction eagerly. It took her a moment to make the connection, then she paled and flattened her body against the mast.

“That cannot be,” she muttered. “He could never make it there and back so quickly.”

His grin spread to warm his belly as he tossed the first wedge of cheese to his little mouse. “Aye, Krayne Johnstone usually dallies a sennight at least ta sample Bordeaux’s pleasures. ’Twould take a man much less curious than I ta wonder what chases the wolf back ta his lair.”

Amber’s heart constricted at the news that her husband had gone only as far as Bordeaux, and then again as she contemplated the nature of the pleasure he regularly sampled.

“Curiosity is the work of idle hands,” she snapped. “I couldn’t care less where the man goes or what he does there.”

“Then ye care only that he’d stayed, doing what he does, a little longer?” Graham countered and she knew her error at once.

“I’ve heard of the Grey Wolf,” Amber improvised with a deliberate chiding tone. “The outrageous tales, wrought to strike terror in maid and warrior alike, follow him from coast to coast. ’Tis not unseemly that I’d be content to forgo the odious circumstance of ever meeting such a blackguard face to face.”

“Not unseemly in the least,” Graham agreed, not at all convinced. Here was a tale, indeed, and he looked forward to the unravelling of it. That Amber of Nowhere and Krayne Johnstone of Wamphray knew each other, and knew each other well, was already a foregone conclusion in his mind.

Amber eyed the captain warily. Why was he grinning so broadly? Even as she looked, he put the foghorn to his mouth, turned from her and called, “Ahoy, ye bloated belly slug.”

Her legs collapsed and down she went. “What are you doing?” she hissed, scowling at the imbecile.

“Ahoy yerself, ye varlet,” came the distorted rumble. “I see ye’ve finally unclogged Annan’s pretty sea view and removed that hulk of rotting wood.”

“I was finally offered a worthy motivation.” Laughing blue eyes sought her out. “What say ye? Should we invite the good Laird of Wamphray aboard fer a wee dram of whiskey?”

“Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me.” Real fear trotted along her spine. “Please, let him sail on by.”

“Krayne is a fast friend and I’ve ne’er known him ta harm a lass, less a lady stranger.” Graham spoke truthfully. Surely, now, the lovely Amber would spill her woes so he could decide whether to save her pert little arse or bed it.

Amber was scared, but she hadn’t lost her wits.

Graham Douglas could go to hell before she told him anything. Especially if he was a great friend of Krayne.

“You will not stop and you certainly will not invite that—that terrorising scourge of the seas aboard.”

“Since when do ye give orders ta the captain?”

“Since I bought and paid for him.”

Those blue eyes narrowed on her. “The price of two mares bought ye passage, not the ship.”

“How can you be so cruel?”

“Why dinna ye unfold that sharp tongue of yers and tell me what’s truly going on?”

“Nothing.” Amber dared a glance around the lower end of the mast she clutched, peering between the oak stems that formed the railing on the quarterdeck. The hull of the passing ship blocked her view, so close that if the sun lay correctly, the Glory would be cast in its shadow. With measured slowness, the blackness gave way to slots of blue, and then she saw only the rippled swell it left behind.

“He’s gone,” she said, much louder than she’d intended.

“He’ll be back,” Graham mused. That his voice had carried was very much intended.

“Christ Almighty,” swore Krayne, so fiercely that Blackie, Annan’s local smithy, cringed fearfully against the wall. Krayne turned on Alexander. “Round the crew. Ye’ll find them at Brown’s Alehouse and send fer Captain Jack.”

Krayne marched out ahead of Alexander, took the narrow path leading behind the forge and smashed his fist into the first tree he came across. Blood trickled down his knuckles. He did not feel a thing.

Alexander had been waiting for him at Annan, the blacksmith at his side to substantiate the claim that Krayne’s wife had fled and used his own mares to barter her passage.

Amber had fled.

Her parting kiss had been a passionate promise and she’d broken it the moment his back was turned.

He had not believed it. Not one word. Not until Alexander had taken him to the forge and the blacksmith had produced the proof.

His fist connected with the tree again.

First he would string Graham Douglas to his own mainmast and watch him strangle in the riggings. Then he’d lock his wife in the west tower on a diet of hard bread and bitter ale with only her misbegotten thoughts for company until she begged his mercy. And then he’d kill the Douglas bastard all over again.

Murder written across his face, Krayne marched back down the dirt path and through the streets of Annan. He truly hoped the maggot-brained Douglas had not so much as smiled at Amber. Else he would have to have him drawn and quartered and his head delivered to his nearest and dearest on a pike.

He didn’t want to have to do that. Graham Douglas had been a good friend until this day.

Chapter 14

Amber was sitting up straight in the hammock, which was no small feat, watching Mary watch her.

He’ll be back. She hadn’t questioned Graham Douglas. Neither did she doubt he spoke the truth. The three hours they had on Krayne, six if one took into account that he had to sail their distance to Annan and back, was not long enough.

And what then?

“You look as if the angel of death rides upon your shoulder, child.”

“He’d be most welcome at this moment,” Amber said, fearing Krayne’s eternal hate more than she feared death.

Mary was oblivious to what had transpired on deck and Amber had no intention of informing her. On top of everything else, she couldn’t bear the woman’s joyful tidings at the prospect of what she’d surely deem their God-sent rescue.

Mary tutted. “’Tis not like you to be overcome with despair. I cannot think what’s happened now, yet I wager ’tis readily rectified by turning this yard of scrap about and allowing us to go home.”

“Scotland is not home.”

“You’re a married woman, Amber,” she said rather sternly. “Your home is with your husband. These are vows made before God and not to be taken lightly. Whatever wrong the laird did you, or you him, put it right.”

“Easily said.”

“And more easily done.”

There was a token of merit to the older woman’s words, thought Amber.

If she could undo what she’d done…

If Krayne forgave her this latest escapade…

If she used the threads of desire firing between them to weave a closer bond…

There was but one small problem standing between her and all those ifs. How could one go about losing your virginity without another soul knowing? Surely there was a way. She searched and searched her mind, but there seemed to be no simple answer.

Nothing had been simple since she’d set foot on Scottish soil!

Were she in England, she’d no doubt find a sophisticated lady of sorts with an answer to her dilemma. If there was a potion to abort a baby in the womb, then surely there was a potion to—to…dissolve her maiden barrier?

Insistent rapping at the door broke into her thoughts. Mary made no move to see who was there and what they wanted.

Sighing, Amber extracted herself from the hammock with less grace than a newborn foal and unlatched the door. When she saw Graham Douglas, sanity fled. Her first thought was that Krayne had caught up to them and was demanding her presence on deck.

“W—what is it?” she asked hoarsely.

“I brought ye a bowl of stew.” He grinned. “Ye didna make it down ta the galley.”

Only then did she see the two steaming bowls balanced precariously in one hand and the loaf of bread tucked under his arm.

Amber stood aside and he hurried forward to set the bowls down upon the berth that, apparently, was also the table. “Thank you.”

“’Tis my pleasure ta be of service, ma’am.”

“Amber,” she corrected, feeling closer in age to Mary when he addressed her so.

Blue eyes twinkled. “That wouldna be fitting now, would it? Ye being a lady and me a mere sailor.”

“You’re hardly a mere sailor,” she snorted.

“Yet yer still a lady and I dinna know yer title.” As he spoke, appreciative blue eyes danced down her crumpled gown that clung almost indecently after being drenched through time and time again.

Her hand reached instinctively for the cloak she’d hung on a peg, then stilled. Was this the answer to her prayers? Heat crawled up her throat as she looked at Graham through lowered lids.

What was she thinking?

Had she finally gone mad?

But Graham Douglas was a man. Although his handsome features were of no import, his easy-going manner was. Even more important, she believed he was a man of honour and a gentleman.

And gentlemen did not bed and tell, or so she’d heard.

Amber clamped her eyes closed and took a steadying breath. She couldn’t do this. Not even fear of Krayne was enough to…

But it was.

Krayne’s image stormed her mind and dread closed around her throat. Her skin crawled as she imagined Krayne’s features marred with disgust, those cold grey eyes boring into her soul, his lips drawn thin and straight as he vowed to hate her into eternity for the way she’d made him dance around her terror—all based on false accusations.

She heard the cabin door close and spun about wide-eyed.

“Come eat, child,” said Mary. “The stew grows cold and starving yourself will do none of us any good.”

She swirled about to stare at Mary. Eat? She could barely breathe.

She fled the cabin on unsteady legs, her heart pounding furiously between her ears. Something more than fear drove her on. All those ifs came back to taunt her, what might have been, what could have been, what could still be…

She stopped Graham Douglas halfway up the ladder with a breathless shout, “Captain. A word, if you please.”

He glanced down and quirked a brow. “Stand back.”

Her fingers slid from the ladder rung as she stepped away and watched his descent. When he was before her, she made her voice dusky. “May we talk somewhere in private?”

You’re a sinner and a fool, said her inner voice. But Amber wasn’t listening. Her head and heart had already shut down in the rush of fear and hope. Graham would be kind. He would be gentle. He would hopefully be following that dream he’d mentioned the night before and sail down the Atlantic and out of their lives for a very long time.

“No one will disturb us here.” Graham looked about him with a shrug, then brought his blue gaze back to her.

“I—I need more privacy for w-what I have in mind.”

The husky tone, as deep and full as a sip of expensive wine from Burgundy, heated Graham’s blood. Not trusting himself to speak, he cocked his head and led her into the cabin he’d being using since giving up his own.

Once inside, he shut the door and leant against it, watching the lass take a few steps across the planks before coming to a stop. He couldn’t believe that the offer he’d heard in her tone was naught but a figment of his hopeful imagination.

“What exactly did ye have in mind?” Graham folded his arms with deliberation, saw the quiver on her plush lower lip and felt the reaction firmly in britches that were growing tighter by the quiver.

Her eyes came up to boldly meet his gaze. “I want you to…I need you…” She gave a small laugh. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

He didn’t need her to finish. His shaft thrust painfully at the brazen proposition he heard without the actual words. A slow grin sneaked across his face as fire raced through his veins. He made no attempt to prevent his gaze from roaming to where her thin woollen bodice clung to two ripe plums just large enough to fill his palms.

“W-well?”

The impertinent prod brought his eyes up, and he drank his full on the exquisite shape of her arched brow, the freckles he’d kiss right off her nose and the bow of lips he’d soon be tasting from.

The lady was eager and he saw no reason to dally.

For every step of his, however, she took one backward. His grin spread lazily as desire weighed heavily in his ball sacs. Aye, apparently he liked this coy game.

In that instant, he made the connection. This saucy vixen must be none other than Krayne Johnstone’s leman. Or ex-leman, taking recent events into account.

One more step and he had her flush against the wall, his one hand braced above her head to trap, the other lifting that pointed chin she’d dipped in modesty much too late. His mystery was solved and he felt no guilt, not even if she’d run away before Krayne could tire of her. If his friend was not man enough for this morsel of sweet heaven, then Graham would enjoy showing her that a Douglas was.

His mouth came down and took her lips with tender strength.

Pain shot his head back and his nostrils flared in surprise. Blood instead of honey soured his taste.

She’d bitten him.

The brazen hoyden had actually bitten him.

“No kissing.” Her command was curtly issued.

His eyes narrowed in displeasure, yet his shaft verged on release. Some men liked rough play and strange games. He was not one of them, but he wasn’t going anywhere either. He’d simply have to tame her to his wants.

“No kissing,” he agreed, looking deep into her eyes as his hand left her chin to cup beneath one delicious breast. “And no biting.”

The pad of his thumb found her hard nipple and he worked the nub with small circles. What sounded like a hiss was quickly followed by his hand being brutally swatted from its pleasure.

“No touching.”

His lips twitched, but then he suspected she might just be serious. Green eyes flashed at him, but not with heat. Up close, he reconsidered the quiver of desire on her lips and determined it might well be a tremble of fear.

When her hands came between them and shoved at his chest, he stepped back less willingly than he was proud of and that sparked a rare temper. The lass was half his size and nowhere near his match. She’d started this, whatever the hell this was. Too bad for her if she’d since had a change of mind, for he was hard and throbbing and nowhere near done.

Only, she wasn’t rejecting him, he quickly saw. Unless lunging for the berth and laying herself out flat was some new form of rejection.

Graham closed his eyes on a low growl as the beast inside him roiled. His breaths came harshly and sounded too much like panting, even to his own ears. Many moments passed before he felt any semblance of control. He pulled the lace free at his shirt, baring his chest as he followed to the berth.

Luscious visions of caressing satin-soft skin and fitting himself between creamy curves flashed before his eyes and made him swell beyond endurance. The fire in those green eyes would smoke for him.

Tossing his shirt into a heap on the floor, he bent over his temptation, pinning her lifeless form down with hands on either side. She didn’t wriggle beneath him in hot anticipation. Neither did she flinch in belated misgivings. Her fingers were coiled into fists at her sides, her eyes shut tight and, even with the skirts of her gown straightened neatly to her ankles, he could see her thighs pressed firm and sure together.

His loins screamed denial, but Graham could not ignore the plea of her body. Regret swarmed up him like a giant snake and came out as a heavy grunt. Slowly, working each muscle against its will, he rose, his eyes never leaving the feast spread out before him.

“No bedding either, it would seem.”

Her answer was a ragged gasp that came with what was clearly the first breath she’d released since stretching out upon the berth. She rolled onto her side to face the panelled wall.

His harsh curse went unspoken, yet resounded in his head as he slammed from the cabin and marched the passageway to the ladder. He took the rungs two at a time and punched the hatch open, gulping down air until the tangy bite of salt assailed his senses and the cool wind eased his ardour.

Women were the devil’s reward for being a good, honest Christian.

Ladies were his little helpers sent to see the punishment well executed.

High-born English vixens were the red horns that pricked and festered the bloody wounds.

And Krayne Johnstone was welcome to the lot!

Graham hauled himself onto the deck and strode across the length, booming to each man as he passed their station, “Furl the sails. We go ta beach. Furl the sails and take us in.”

He strode up the quarterdeck and shoved Brother Tom aside to take the wheel with the short explanation, “We’re dropping anchor.”

Wild orange brows crossed and met between the burly Scot’s pale blue eyes. “We’re in the firkin’ middle o’ naewhere.”

“Precisely,” Graham blew through gritted teeth. Iron-hard fingers clenched the wheel and turned the Glory leeward toward the long stretch of rugged coastline. “The perfect place ta be lost and found.”

In the cabin below, Amber curled into herself like a stricken kitten and choked down sobs.

She’d tried.

She’d tried so hard, but could not do it.

Graham had pulled back a mere moment before she would have attacked, kicking out and scratching as the scream building inside her unleashed.

She felt broken, unclean and ashamed.

She could not sink lower if Mary’s predictions proved true and this scuttle wreck sprung a leak to flounder on the ocean bed.

She’d not been touched, yet she felt sore, bruised and tainted. Her body ached in places that were not visible to the eye, behind her ribcage, low down in her gut, at the small of her back, inside the base of her throat. Her very innards were crying out at all that she’d endured, both now and then.

When the pain became too much, anger took its place.

She hated Krayne.

How had she ever thought to love him?

What was love, when it drove her to a place where she hated herself? This was his fault. Aye, what she’d come to, offering herself like a tavern whore to a stranger, was all his fault.

For days she’d been battering herself to pieces with a bludgeon of guilt when Krayne was half to blame. He’d kidnapped her, and then he’d attacked her like a raving drunk berserker. If she hadn’t feared him so completely, she’d not have embellished on her lies.

And she was mightily tired of fearing.

For someone who’d stalked boldly into each and every folly she could find for the simple pleasure of it, she’d had enough of that useless state.

Let him come.

Let him do his worst.

He’ll hate me.

A chuckle croaked halfway up her throat, raw and hoarse.

Good.

The thought of spending the rest of her marriage in gruelling battle to see who could hate the most was positively invigorating. He’d kidnapped her, falsely accused her, mistreated her and very nearly raped her. She was already in the lead by a few good points and she’d love to even the score.

When Krayne manoeuvred the Joanna sleekly along the length of the smaller anchored vessel, he left no room to lower a skiff. The sun was not around to see the gloaming in, for clouds had swept in with a feisty squall in the late afternoon and seemed set to linger. A chill wind rippled across the decks, whistling through the furled sails and doing its damndest to tangle the riggings. Trappings clinkered in disgust at the tempest swells, chorusing a metal song that filled the blustering air.

Eighteen of his twenty-two crew were on deck, hauling on the ropes to bring down the mizzen sail and throwing out the grappling hooks to keep them in place while the anchor was being lowered.

Krayne had already wasted more than enough time. He untied one of the sturdy ropes that fettered the mainmast to the bow and coiled the end about his palm as he walked back across the forecastle. In a running leap, he cleared the deck, using the high railing to project himself further into the air and across the narrow strip between the two ships. He came down on the Glory’s deck with a thud that was witnessed by Graham Douglas and his motley crew of six.

Feet apart, arms folded, the Douglas captain greeted Krayne’s pirate antics with a dour, “Ye need but have asked and I’d have dropped a skiff ta fill with yer boarding party.”

Krayne was not in the mood for their usual jesting.

“Where is she?” he demanded, already making his way to the hatch.

He knew this particular design of caravel. As he progressed along the single passageway below deck, he kicked open two doors. Then there was but one remaining where the passage ended. He didn’t bother knocking or trying the brass knob. He rammed straight through and the flimsy door didn’t so much as break his stride.

Amber stood ramrod straight by the porthole and her woman huddled on the berth.

“Come ta me,” he barked in a voice colder than death, planting his feet where he’d landed and fixing his wife with a glare that dared defiance.

She defied.

He should have known.

Then again, he hadn’t had one coherent thought since he’d docked at Annan. He held on to his control by a tenuous thread, and vowed that thread would not break, for the consequences would damn his soul and no woman was worth that.

Her eyes were wide, her face ashen in the flickering tallow candlelight. Not one bone in his body softened to her plight. The haphazard braid that hung over one shoulder and the bedraggled gown that hugged her fragile form like a second skin only hardened his resolve. That he had to close the distance between them, close his fingers around her wrist like an iron shackle and drag her out, sliding across the planks, did not bode well for that tautly stretched thread.

“I can walk,” she cried as he yanked her down the passage.

“I’m not stopping ye.” She could just as easily run behind him as slide along.

“Release me.” She pried at his fingers with her free hand.

He kept his eyes on the hatch with dogged determination and ignored Amber. At the ladder, he swung her forward, put his hands at her waist and heaved her up so high that she need only start her climb on the fourth rung. He followed closely. If she thought to scamper as soon as she reached the deck, he never gave her the opportunity. His fingers latched her wrist and dragged her with him toward the rope he’d secured for their return.

Amber squealed and kicked and clawed. The deck was barely lit and made the going treacherous with loose planks and excess rigging that begged to trap a boot. His fingers tightened at her wrist when she attempted to pull him off balance.

“Devil take it, Krayne. What in hell are ye doing?”

Silver eyes glinted to the left. “Leave be, Graham.”

“Yer hurting the lass.”

“She’s hurting herself,” he countered, as much for Amber’s ears as for Graham’s.

“Ye’ll snap her arm.”

The implication that he’d brutalise his wife in such a manner threatened that meagre thread. “’Tis naught ta do with ye.”

Graham unsheathed the sword he’d fetched while Krayne had gone below. One look into his friend’s soulless glare and he’d doubted every word he’d reassured Amber with. Pulling sail and pitting these two against each had been his worst idea to date. “I promised the lass safe passage, even if I have ta protect her from ye.”

Krayne’s jaw locked in stone when he saw the flash of steel. His gaze burned into the other man’s as he released Amber and closed the gap between himself and that blade with menacing intent. “My wife is mine ta do with as I please.”

“Yer…wife?” Neither the dark nor his golden tan could hide Graham’s sudden loss of colour.

Swinging his arm in one mighty arc, Krayne knocked the sword aside even as Graham lowered the blade, flinging it to the far side of the deck. He didn’t stop there. The thread had snapped. The shock on Graham’s face was much too telling.

Amber’s high-pitched scream cut the air between them.

“Ye oat-brained heap of vermin dung.” Krayne’s arm came back again, then swooped up to connect with jaw and nose. The poaching vulture flew backward and landed on his back. Krayne pulled him up and set him roughly on his feet. “What did ye do ta my wife?”

“Nothing,” Amber shouted, running up to insert herself between them. “He did nothing.”

Krayne plucked her from harm’s way with one hand and held her there. “Did ye touch her? Did ye take my wife?”

Graham didn’t answer. He rubbed his jaw, slick with the blood trickling from his nostrils, and looked Krayne in the eye. He’d bent over Krayne’s wife, his balls heavy with lust and his shaft throbbing with desire, a scant decision away from spearing her with the full extent of his need.

“Damn ye ta hell.” Krayne spat in his face. “Fight me, ye bastard.”

Graham made no move to defend himself when the next punch came at him. His head bounced back against a mast. The bump made him slightly dizzy. His head flopped forward and he shook the worst of the blood from his nose, spitting out the mix of saliva and other fluids that gathered in his throat.

“You’ll kill him!” Terrified for Graham Douglas, Amber brought her head down and bit hard into the hand that constrained her. She had Krayne’s attention for the time it took him to grab her chin and force her teeth off his skin. “I begged him to lie with me and he refused. I attempted all manner of seduction and he flatly ignored me. Don’t be a fool. Don’t take your anger out on an innocent man whose only fault was to offer aid to a desperate stranger and hesitate to betray you.”

Each admission was a fresh sword wound to Krayne’s gut, his pride, his soul.

“Why?” Krayne roared, sounding every bit the wounded beast he was. Fury swirled around images of Stivin, Red John, Gavin and now Graham Douglas in a mist of red smoke that blurred his vision.

His hands came down around her upper arms on either side, picking her off her feet, high and level with him so he could look her in the eye. And then he shook her. His muscles burned with the restraint he should, but could not wield. He glared into the face of this wild beauty, her eyes screwed shut and her bottom lip clamped beneath a row of small white teeth.

His wife.

The one person who somehow had the power to breach his control and send him to the brink of madness.

“Why?” he demanded again. “Why in God’s name would ye do that?”

“I-I was sc-scared.” Amber trembled everywhere, from her toes to her fingertips to the lids of her eyes.

Denouncing fear sounded good in theory.

Reality was another matter altogether.

She stiffened her shoulders against the weakness she resolved to master. When her gaze reached the familiar cold grey, her courage almost wavered. She would not allow it.

Krayne met her brave stare and his fury turned to shame.

Why?

Why indeed?

Why would his wife not run from the beast who’d kidnapped her and thrown her into a pit?

Why would his wife not run from the beast who’d mauled her in drunken vengeance?

Why would his wife not seek reassurance from the first man she came upon?

Why would she not seek reassurance that there was more to coupling than blood and rape?

He did not have to like it, and he would tolerate no more, but there was something in her reasoning that stamped upon his heart. I was scared.

With a roar that started low in his gut, he pulled her against his chest, into him, as his arms wove around her back and hugged her close. Her chin tucked into the curve of his shoulder, her heart beating rapidly as one with his. She did not fight him, and he wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or terrified.

I will protect ye. Ye belong ta me now and I hold dear what is mine. And I will never let ye go.

The vows rippled over him without conscious thought and he knew there was nothing chivalrous about them, but he did not care. He did not fully understand it, this feeling that against his chest he held his most prized possession, knew only that she was his!

He did a slow in-place turn, noting with surprise that six of his crew had boarded while he was busy and each held a sabre across the throats of Graham’s men. He’d been unaware of his surroundings and the audience who might very well have attacked him.

“Release them,” he ordered his men, then looked to where Graham was slumped upright against the mast, watching all with no apparent emotion. “Bring my wife’s woman ta me aboard the Joanna,” he barked at Graham. “I’m not finished with ye yet.”

Amber’s head lifted at that command.

Gently he pushed her down again and strode across the deck. She’d probably have much to say about his method of inter-ship boarding and he was in no mood to listen.

Krayne caught the rope and measured the distance required to build up sufficient momentum. The Glory rode below his ship and he had Amber’s added weight. She stiffened as he ran and leapt, then screamed as they went airborne. His arm was a death grip around her as she struggled in panic. He cleared the steep divide with space to spare, stumbling only slightly when he came down.

“There now, wife.” He set her on her feet and met her feisty glare with a grin. “’Twas not so bad.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come.” He led the way across the main deck and through the low door that led to his cabin, then up the four steps to the quarters raised above the decks. He didn’t glance back once. Not that he didn’t doubt she’d run at the first opportunity, but for the moment there was nowhere to run to.

Krayne had his own cabin on every vessel, an extravagance that now proved fortunate. After opening the door, he stood aside for Amber to enter. Her hair was a cloudy mess. Dirt smudged her cheeks and forehead. His cabin boy’s second duty would be to burn that mud-encrusted gown.

“I’m sending up with a bath,” he told her as she swung about to face him. “Use it.”

Her brows furrowed.

“That was not a request,” Krayne added before stepping back and closing the door between them.

He was no longer angry.

But he was utterly determined and a bucketload of tears would not break his mind. Before this night was over, his wife would never fear his bed again. When the sun came up on the morrow, Amber would have nothing left to run from. In this matter, she’d simply have to accept that her husband knew best.

Chapter 15

“Soap and towels, mi’lady,” the refined voice said softly.

Amber pulled her gaze from the two burly giants tipping steaming buckets of water into the bronze tub to the reed-thin sailor with a sharp chin and pebbled eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the offered items.

His smile revealed a gleaming gold tooth amongst a row of pointed yellows. “I wish we could offer better, but ’tis not often a warm bath is required on the Joanna.” His smile faltered a little. “Not anymore.”

Krayne’s mother, Amber assumed. First I’m cloistered in her chamber, then married in her garments, and now they bring me a ghost tub. “Where is the laird’s mother anyway?”

“She retired to a convent after…” His thin shoulders shrugged apologetically, before he turned abruptly and departed.

“A convent,” Amber murmured, wondering if the woman had spent all these years nursing a broken heart after Amber’s father broke the troth. The picture didn’t fit the image Amber had of her father. He’d been a quiet, gentle man, the antithesis of his brother William.

As soon as she had the cabin to herself, Amber stripped. Not even the thought of Krayne barging through the door could keep her from that bath. Her scalp was a bed of grit and a musty odour clung to her skin from days of damp clothing. The water caressed her body as she slid low into the tub, folding her legs at the knee to dunk her head completely. She lay there, fully submerged, for a long moment, the day’s events piled heavy on her mind. Her body was shattered, as if every emotion she’d lived through had wrought a physical blow.

Her lungs began to ache, forcing her head above water. She left her thoughts behind. She was simply too exhausted to contemplate all that had been, and what might follow. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She stood in the water to lather herself with the rose-scented soap, rubbing the grit from her scalp right through to the ends of her hair. As she cleansed the long strands, she took proper note of the large cabin for the first time.

The furnishings were sparse and bold, superiorly crafted to her eye. The berth was fitted into the panelled wall and easily large enough for two. Not draped, but the coverlet was thickly quilted in squares of black and sapphire blue, turned down at the head for a glimpse of sheer white sheets.

Amber quickly rinsed the soap away and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a soft towel. Krayne marched into the cabin just then without knocking.

A moment sooner, and she’d have been naked in the tub.

He slowed to a halt, the door still open at his back, his gaze appraising her. She was trussed from neck to ankle in a towel that hung to the ground like a cloak.

What there was for him to appraise, she had no idea.

Her feet shifted uncomfortably as the awkward silence stretched. What could she say? What did one say to a husband you’d fled and attempted to cuckold?

Oh, and lest she forget, hated.

It shouldn’t matter that he looked as worn-through as she felt. That his eyes were shadowed in the darkest grey yet. That the stubble on his jaw very near bristled, so hard were his back teeth clamped.

He came to himself abruptly, as if compelled by something he’d seen or heard. The door slammed shut with a sharp kick. His gaze drifted to the tub, and he followed, tugging loose the thin cord that bound his shirt. “I willna enquire as ta where ye thought ta go, nor how ye supposed ye’d live when ye got there.”

“Good,” she said, making herself recover as quickly he had.

His dark gaze flickered over his shoulder to dissuade her curt tongue. “Neither do I expect an apology.”

An apology was the last thing on her mind. His arrogant tone prickled the short hairs at her nape. “Wonderful.”

His shirt landed in a heap beside the tub, thoroughly distracting her. Potent muscles rippled all the way down from broad shoulders that tapered slightly to a solid waist. His skin was bronze from the sun, and marred with a thick scar that crossed from his left shoulder blade to halfway down his spine. Some ridiculous impulse made her want to trace the ragged edge with smoothing fingers.

Her throat went dry. “What—what are you doing?”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he turned to sit on the rim of the tub and crossed one leg over the other. “Ye’ve had my castle in upheaval fer days and whittled away any good faith harnessed from my people.” The eyes that never left her hardened. “Not ta mention lifting yer skirts fer another man.”

She hadn’t noticed that he’d been untying the laces, but now he tossed one boot aside.

“Nothing happened aboard the Glory,” she told him. “What did you do to Graham Douglas?”

“He lives.” Krayne recrossed his legs to remove the other boot. “And only because I believe he didna take ye.”

Amber blew out a stilted breath. “What of Mary? I must go to her.”

“She’s in one of the cabins below us and dinna think ye’re going anywhere.” Relieved of his boots, Krayne stood.

His hand went to the ties at his waist, drawing her gaze like a lodestone. He saw a flush rise to her cheeks and alarm brighten her eyes, and he pressed on, his voice humming deeply with the extent of his warning, “I might have some understanding fer all ye’ve done, but that doesna mean I have ta like it and I will tolerate no more.”

She spun from him, before he could drop his britches, and all but ran the small distance to fiddle with the jars set out upon the ledge beside the wardrobe. “I could say the same.”

Naked, and semi-erect at it, Krayne fetched a fresh towel and heather-scented soap from the chest near the door, then stepped into the water with a deliberate splash, watching her back straighten like a lance. The one hand he could see paused in midair, fingers clutched around a jar she’d been in the process of lifting.

Her retort was not lost on him, but the image of his wife spreading her thighs for another man, and knowing he was as much to blame as her, had used up the last of his shame and guilt. If he’d been resolved before setting sail for Bordeaux, that commitment was now cast in stone.

“Lest ye forget, Amber, ye came ta me a willing wife and willing ye will be, have no doubt about it. I’ll have yer word ta stay put and cease this futile running afore my leniency runs dry.”

“You have it.” Amber realised that she meant it. She was done with running. Her last adventure had pushed her limits.

She stood still awhile longer, listening to the swishing movements as he washed. Her thoughts strayed, to water trickling over golden skin, soap lathered on muscles carved as rugged and steadfastly as the harsh border terrain she’d crossed with Mary. Irritated at herself, Amber focused on the jar in her hand and brought it to her nose for a quick sniff. As she’d hoped, the relatively fresh leaves were mint. She selected one and nibbled to release the juice, then rubbed the leaf into her teeth. When she was finished, she chewed on the leaf until it was small enough to swallow.

“Ye can look now. I’m decent.”

She whirled about.

He was nowhere near decent.

A too-small towel rode low on his lean hips and only reached midthigh. The arrow of short black hair, curled with damp and glistening in the flickering lamplight, expanded from a point hidden below the towel to cover the broad slab of his chest.

At once, she was aware of her own nakedness beneath her towel.

Amber lifted her gaze hastily, to find him watching her. She backed away, hit the ledge behind and gasped.

“Dinna run.” He smiled encouragement as he came for her in slow, determined strides.

“Stop.” Her hands went out in front of her. “Stay where you are.”

He didn’t stop. He wasn’t staying. When he was almost upon her, she dashed a wide circle around him to wedge herself between the wall and the table that held his nautical instruments. His smile hardened to a bemused grin as he advanced. She shuffled along the wall until she was behind the table, primed to run either way.

Krayne stood other side the table, his fingers gripping the back of a chair. “Dinna make this worse than it must be,” he said in a gruffly tender voice.

“Make what worse? What do you want from me?”

“I would think that rather obvious.” He stepped one way and she went the other. “Amber…”

She swallowed nervously. “You promised to give me time.”

He moved back to the middle and so did she. He watched her like a predator would his prey, head slightly down, lids half-lowered in lazy contemplation that was anything but. “Ye’ve had time.”

“I need more.” She’d known it would come to this, but she wasn’t ready. She never would be.

He sucked in a deep, slow breath.

Against her better judgement, Amber’s gaze dipped to the swell of his expanding chest. The sheer power behind all that muscle made her knees as hollow as any chance of besting him.

“Ye’ve had far too much.”

Her eyes came up.

She had to confess everything. Before it was too late. Before he discovered the truth for himself.

But Krayne was moving again, to the end of the table, around it. Amber took flight on shaky legs. He would be in no mind to hear her accusations, however strongly justified. He was still angry because of Graham Douglas, furious that she’d left him. This could not happen now.

“Damn it ta hell, Amber. I willna chase ye around this cabin like a frightened hare.”

“Then don’t.” She reached the door and hasty fingers turned the knob. And there they froze. The decks were teeming with half-dressed giants to drag her back. No matter that she was on a ship, she’d promised both of them that she was done with running.

Amber released the knob and turned around, expecting to find him at her back.

He wasn’t.

“Come ta me,” growled Krayne from where he sat on the edge of the berth.

She’d roused his simmering impatience when she should have been gentling the beast that had her trapped.

She could do better.

She had to do better.

Amber pushed away from the door. “Krayne, we need to talk.”

He gave one nod. “Closer.”

She obeyed with small, hesitant steps and cleared her throat. “You came to my chamber that night and attacked me. I was petrified. I didn’t know what to do.”

“All the way,” Krayne interrupted sternly as she paused just out of reach. His wife was saying nothing new and he’d used up all his pretty words to soothe her worries. He would show her, and he would succeed.

She took the final step. “The wine was never meant for you. And…and afterwards…”

Krayne was no longer listening. He fit his hands around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground and astride his lap, her towel draped over both of them to hang to the floor. His own towel had ridden high up, exposing his hair-roughened skin to her bare bottom, hot and soft, one cheek touching each thigh. A surge of lust went straight to his loins.

Green eyes flared, and for that small sign of defiance he was thankful. Anger would soon be moulded into passion, but he felt useless when it came to tears.

Her lips parted, no doubt to blast him to hell, and he put the involuntary invitation to good use, bringing his mouth down forcefully and sweeping his tongue inside at the same time. She fought him, as he’d known she would. Fists hammering his chest, her velvet tongue lashing his like a sword. He slid one hand beneath her hair, cupping the base of her skull and holding her head firmly in place as he worked their mouths into a wide, slanted kiss.

She tasted of mint, sweet and tangy, and all at once he wanted more than dominance. His free hand dealt with the folds of her towel, finally finding a path to the slender smoothness of her hips. He spread his fingers in a possessive caress that moved up and across her back, hungry for the satiny skin that was so unbelievable pliable and warm.

The fists hammering at his chest gradually slowed as he devoured her temper with kisses and strokes. Her palms flattened over his chest, her fingers threading the short curls there. Her lashing tongue slowed to mimic his rhythm, stroking a fever of desire into his blood.

Krayne pulled out of the kiss with a groan to look into the glazed green eyes of his tamed wildcat. There was no fear, hurt or panic. Only heat and fire that demanded more. He grinned lazily, his eyes following his hands as he undid the knot at her towel and slowly pushed it off her shoulders.

Creamy skin swelled to greet him, two bronzed nipples thrust hard and upright at the tips. The mounds rose higher, and he knew she was taking in a deep breath. For himself, he dared not breathe at all.

Control strained as his shaft reared, but this was not about him.

Not yet.

Running his palms down her arms, sliding the towel down as he went, he bared the total of her beauty. From those aroused breasts, along the slender plain of her belly and narrow waist, to the crease where her thighs swung out. The centre of silky black curls gathered his gaze in rapt attention, his breaths short and fast in spite of himself. Her fragile pink nether lips were slightly parted, calling honey temptation to an erection that bucked with such force, his own towel pulled free at his waist.

He knew this was treading lethal ground, yet he could no more halt his fascination than he could keep his thighs from parting, stretching her bums wider, revealing the tiny pearl at the top of her slit. Her fingers dug into his chest, clutching at what hairs they could grasp and holding on tight. He looked up to see her eyes closed, rapid breaths on her lips, desire staining her cheeks.

And he had not yet touched her.

Then again, he was not faring much better himself. Moisture leaked at the head of his shaft, and he doubted he’d get through this without spending his seed over his thighs. He’d wanted far too long.

Biting down on his back teeth, Krayne gently plied her fingers loose and guided her hands behind her and to his knees. “Steady yerself.”

Her eyes blinked wide, as if startled awake.

“Dinna fear, lass,” he reassured hoarsely, trailing his fingers up the length of her arms, over the curve of delicate shoulders and down the plump swells to cup her breasts in his palms. His thumbs teased nipples already hard and reaching, but her spine had stiffened and he needed her to trust him and lean further back. “I willna breach ye without fair warning.”

Amber swallowed nervously. One moment she’d been fighting him off, and the next she’d slipped into some far-off place filled with exotic heat that had beguiled her to mind-numbing delirium.

Her taut nipples ached, and she knew exactly what they ached for. She was shameless. She knew the dangers, yet she could not seem to care. Even if she trusted Krayne, she did not trust herself. If she did not stop him now, the words she had to speak would no longer be necessary. “Krayne, please, I really have to—”

His chest crushed her breasts as he leant over her, swallowing any further protest into the heat of his mouth with a passion-filled kiss.

Dear Lord, she was doomed. How could she withstand the flames of fire that licked to her core?

He released her lips to repeat, “Steady yerself.”

Her wrists felt boneless, surely too weak to hold her weight. She pushed back and down, stretching her bared front out before him. Her gaze slid down, to the conical mounds of her upthrust breasts and further, to the smoky silver eyes that feasted.

She felt vulnerable and exposed.

She was burning up with desire and intoxicated on life.

She could not stop this. Not quite yet. Had he not promised fair warning? She would stop him then, aye, she would…

His head came down, and she groaned aloud when his mouth closed over one throbbing nipple. He scraped with his tongue and nipped gently with his teeth, he licked and suckled, slowly and steadily sucking in the hot thread of desire tangled between her thighs until it unwound all the way up her body to the puckered bud of her breast. And then he moved on to the other one.

When he was done, she was writhing wildly for some foreign pleasure that floated just out of touch. Her buttocks rubbed against the coarse hairs on his legs, and she let out a soft groan at the urgency building deep within.

Krayne wasn’t done. He’d only just begun. He bit his tongue on the harsh commands that he would not bark. He could hardly order Amber to lie still and be quiet, when stripping her control had been his utmost goal. Yet, if she wiggled any further up his thighs, her moist slit would be stroking underside the pulsating length of his cock and he’d spurt upon her belly.

He straightened, to put distance between his hardness and all that writhing flesh, and ran his thumbs down her midriff. When he reached her silky triangle and parted the butterfly lips, he was not surprised to find her hot and wet. Using tiny flicks, he made the pearly nub bloom with practised ease. Her body arched high in exquisite pleasure, then came down.

“Christ,” he growled, pulling back his own reflexive spurt.

She was ready. By God, she had to be ready.

His own body was sleek with sweat, his shaft primed for entry. All he had to do was slide his hands beneath those bums and lift her over him in one powerful thrust.

Nay, he remembered, almost too late. His sweet wife might no longer be a virgin, but she was inexperienced and her sheath would yet be tight.

Rolling the pad of his thumb over the swollen pearl to keep her fully aroused, he slipped two fingers tentatively inside. They barely fit, and he would not have been able to go further than the first knuckle if she weren’t so wet. She was smaller than he’d ever imagined. How had he possibly forgotten this? Her velvet shroud wrapped around his fingers, clenching and releasing in tiny pulses that sucked him in, a little more with each sensitive vibration. His thumb slowed down to the rhythm that lured his fingers deeper, lengthening into strokes over her sweet nether lips as his fingers slid in and out, and then his entire body bucked to that same beat, squirting his seed in a series of stops and starts. The world came to a silent, black halt. The moment stretched to eternity, then burst apart in a shuddering explosion of stars and left him shaking in hot shivers.

Christ Almighty. What was that? Krayne snapped his eyes open, realising only then that his fingers had stopped their upward spiral in his own intense peak, far more potent and powerful than he’d ever experienced, even when buried to the hilt inside a woman’s velvet sheath.

He clamped his jaw and crossed his brows, but could not summon any disgust at his total loss of control. And he was unable to stop a grin of unbounded satisfaction when he felt Amber’s heat against his fingers, felt himself filling up once more. He let her draw his fingers in, as she had before. Only…his frown returned. He had reached her end.

Impossible. His fingers were not even fully embedded. He explored a little more, touching the delicate membrane, nothing like the curved bone his tip usually rammed against.

Shock emptied his sacs and his fledgling erection drooped. He was no expert on robbing maidenhoods, but he knew enough to understand what had stopped his fingers.

He slid his fingers free, raising his eyes to graze the wanton, slithering form of his wife. Passion tinged her cheeks and fluttered damp upon her lids, wringing groans edged in torture from those lush, parted lips. He’d pleasured her, aye, though ’twas clear she’d not yet achieved the ultimate peak required to shatter the burning torment.

He could not leave Amber hanging so. Whatever she had done, whatever her reasons, he would not be that cruel.

And she had done much. The days and nights of constant starvation, sending himself to hell and back thrice every hour while he strived to seduce a woman who’d not be seduced, folded around Krayne in a cold, black fog. The curses he’d wasted on the rampant beast inside him who would rape a young, innocent maid. The nightmares that had chased him through his sleep and commanded he do better when the morn broke. The blood, the torn shift, the fear that lurked inside those emerald eyes and pricked his guilt afresh whenever it dared to rest awhile.

The miasma of deceit, lies and intrigue slid down his throat and left an aftertaste of bog-infested slime.

Not only had she run, but she’d run into Graham Douglas’s arms, and there was no longer any reason he could snatch at to chain his temper down.

Krayne changed his mind. He could be that cruel after all. He thrust Amber from his lap and tossed her across the berth. Gathering his discarded towel at his hips, he stood, watching as she clutched one end of the quilted cover and brought it over her nakedness.

Flinging accusations was beyond Krayne. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He snapped his gaze from her and strode to the wardrobe. There he pulled out fresh britches, stockings and a clean white shirt and, bundling the lot beneath his arm, he marched to the door, stopping only to collect his boots on the way out.

Amber clutched the blanket at her throat. He knew. Even had she been capable of rational thought at the time, she’d not have known he could reach so far with those fingers that had filled her, stretched her, rubbed her to a frenzy. With kisses and strokes, he’d taken her higher and higher up a sheer cliff of fire, thunder and light, and there he’d left her to totter on an apex that was both frightening and invigorating.

Amber slid deeper between the sheets and drew the outer quilt up to her nose.

The worst was over. Her secret was out and she welcomed Krayne to challenge what she’d done and why. She did not care that smoking grey had chilled to a frosted glaze. She did not care that the grimace hardened on his jaw was there to stay. She did not care that her body yet ached for the touch of a man she was destined to hate and who quite clearly despised her.

She did not care…

Amber opened her eyes to a row of dust motes dancing above her in a thick beam of weak sunlight, and she knew she’d fallen asleep. She flung her hair back from her face and rolled onto one elbow.

Her gaze connected with sombre grey and she was at once wide-awake.

How long had he been sitting there? All night? She doubted it. His eyes were dark and serious, and very much alert. He’d turned the solid armchair from the table to face the bed, but had not dragged it any closer. His arms were folded, his feet planted firmly on the floor in front of him.

She scrambled upright, bringing the sheets with her, green eyes already engaged with grey to herald the battle that would surely last their lifetime and beyond.

His head cocked a little to the side. “Talk ta me.”

“Now you want to talk?” she attacked. “The single constant I’ve learned to count on since you flung me over your shoulder and dragged me across the Black Burn is that Johnstones never listen.”

“Dinna test my patience, Amber.”

The intolerable man sounded as if he’d been dunked in patience on his birthing day. His voice was cool and even, as if he were sharing a pitcher of ale with an acquaintance, engaged in casual conversation.

“If my potion hadn’t knocked you out,” she reminded him, “you would have raped me.”

Silver flicked into resilient grey. “Ye drugged me?”

“You drugged yourself, you pompous oaf.”

“The wine,” Krayne muttered to himself, then added louder, “Ye drugged me with the wine.”

Her hands flung up and out. “You never listen. I didn’t give you the wine, you took it.”

Krayne’s attention faltered as satin sheets slid down her breasts, but not for long. ’Twould take more than Amber’s shameless antics to divert his mind. “Cover yerself, wife.”

Pale cheeks flushed to a bright red as she yanked the sheet back to her throat. “Cast your mind back,” she continued in that piercing tone. “You snatched the cup from my hand. All I cared for was to sink into black oblivion before you raped me.”

“I didna rape ye.”

“Your physical inability to complete that vile act does not absolve you.”

Krayne rubbed his jaw wearily. Amber might not have shoved the wine down his throat, but she had prepared the potion and she’d silently watched him drink. She had drugged him. And, with that, destroyed his last defence.

Now Amber would never know, would never believe, that he’d never intended rape, not beyond that fleeting initial thought. His only proof had drowned in a cup of her witches’ brew. Damn the wildcat and her intrigues. He’d been a better man before one black-haired hellpot had come along to slowly disintegrate his steel wall of control. He felt squashed between two sides of a single gold coin. One half roiled at her calculated scheming, the other mourned a lost truth.

Krayne cursed all feelings to the bottom of a cesspit. “I was drugged,” he improvised, wanting only to proceed. “Ye were not raped. Continue.”

Amber blinked suddenly gritty eyes. He made it sound so simple. As if with the wave of a hand, the world could dismiss its rainbow of colours and be reduced to black-and-white. He did not know the stew of fear and love and hate that had brought her to this ebb.

“I was afraid. I was sure that you would finish what you’d started come morning. You were acting like a crazed demon.”

“I understand,” he said. “The part I’m having difficulty with is that from the moment ye accepted my hand, ye knew that ye’d entwine our marriage in this lie and keep me from yer bed until ye could flee.”

Amber stayed silent.

A rush of unsettling anger pushed Krayne to his feet. Not for the fact that he’d been tricked into taking a wife he’d never wanted—that was an anger he could understand. But why should he care that she’d never meant to be a true wife in the first place, that she’d never meant to remain a wife at all?

“Get dressed, Amber. We docked at Annan during the course of the night and I intend ta depart without delay.”

Without waiting for her response, he strode to the door. He knew not which route this path to hell would take them. That they’d both survive the journey seemed too incredible to comprehend. He would not tolerate the chaos of a hellion who chose deceit, drama and treachery at every corner over truth, virtue and honour.

He knew one thing only.

As he stepped through the doorway, Krayne turned and set his wife down with a fearsome stare. “Fer better or worse, ye belong ta me now. I will never let ye go.”

Chapter 16

For worse.

Aye, definitely for worse.

Amber belted the leather belt she’d found around her waist. The fawn britches she’d annexed from Krayne’s wardrobe were hopelessly large, but rolled up at the bottom and bound tightly at her waist, they’d neither fall down about her ankles nor trip her.

He wouldn’t let her go?

She pulled the white shirt over her shift, which she’d bundled and tucked into the britches, and folded back the sleeves.

Well, she had no intention of going anywhere. She was going to stay very close to her darling husband, a sharp thorn in his side. Who did he think he was? Who—or should she say what—did he think she was? Some possession he’d grudgingly collected along the way and decided he might as well keep?

She found her boots, almost as muddied and bedraggled as the gown she just couldn’t force herself into, and tugged them on. Although the shirt hung to her knees, she felt exposed. She went through the wardrobe again, but found nothing resembling a cloak. As she whirled about, her eyes landed on the sea chest by the door, curved at the top, the whole engraved in images of flat-headed snakes that looked like two-forked demons. She unlatched the domed lid and found an innocuous plaid folded neatly on top. The plaid wrapped about her shoulders twice and fell to her ankles, hiding the indecent britches. Satisfied, her fingers went through her hair, combing out the tangles and platting a single rough braid down the back.

Once she’d washed her face and cleansed her teeth, Amber felt ready to conquer the world. Or, at least, one arrogant Scotsman. She made her way out of the cabin, quite content to fume away at will.

She cupped a hand above her brow to ward off the glare of sun off the water and scanned the empty decks below. She supposed the crew had been given leave to go ashore, but where was Krayne?

A dark premonition trickled down her spine. He wouldn’t have left without her, would he? She discarded the ridiculous notion with a toss of her head and cast her frown toward the seafront market as she descended the steps to the main deck. You belong to him, remember? He’ll never let you go.

Amber zigzagged slowly across the length of the deck, examining the shadows for one that didn’t sway gently with the breeze or fall with angular precision. Despite the market noise and screeching gulls, the furled sails banging against the masts and gentle swells smacking at the hull, an eerie quiet settled about her.

Something was wrong. Krayne had been in a hurry to set sail, so where was he now?

Thump. The planks grumbled across the deck. Amber wondered if the swells were bouncing the hull against the sandy bed. That didn’t sound wise, but she supposed Krayne and his crew were familiar with this shoreline and knew what they were doing. Deciding to go in search of Mary instead of worrying about the Joanna’s fate, Amber turned back toward the stern. Thump. She jumped, a little nervous now. How sturdy was this ship? Thump. Thump. Thump.

Passion’s teeth. That wasn’t the seabed or the hull. The thudding came from directly below, from the hatch she stood upon.

Amber fell to her knees and slid back the bars that held the hatch door down.

The hatch burst open and a black-headed bear of a man popped up, throwing himself flat on his back at her feet.

“Friggin’ arse-lickin’ vermin scum o’ Satan’s bastard whore,” boomed a voice to match the face that might have been a furry rug but for the piercing blue eyes that came up to meet her stare. He shunted to his feet with obvious difficulty, giving her a glimpse of hands bound at his back, and somehow managed to look contrite beneath that fuzzy beard. “Beggin’ yer forgiveness, ma’am. Didna ken—”

“Never mind that.” Amber cut him short, her heart racing as she measured his formidable bulk and sized her ability to kick him back into that hole. What had she been thinking? For all she knew, Krayne had thrown this man down there for a reason. “Who are you? No,” she ordered when he moved to come closer. “Stay where you are or I’ll scream for help.”

“Hush, lass. I be Hob, second mate ta Cap’n Jack.” His hands struggled behind him, no doubt attempting to free himself. “An’ ye be the Cap’n Wolf’s lady, I ken. Feckless Sim an’ Brown John gae ye as a wee bonnie…” He seemed to think better of finishing that thought and bit down on his lip. “Ye wouldna be havin’ a dagger o’ sorts ta cut me loose, now would ye?”

Amber gave him a dark scowl. “Why should I trust your word?”

He flinched. “Och, lass, maybe I didna introduce myself properly. I be cousin ta Wry Willy McAllister, master sheep herder o’ Wamphray an’ fasted ta Billy Jack’s Janie.”

Her brow rose at the mouthful, but apparently he seemed to think that was all he needed to win her over. “Very well, Hob, then explain why Kr—Captain…” Her brow went higher. “Captain Wolf locked you in the—”

“Amber…” The far-off echo came from the hold. “Amber, child, is that you?”

“Mary?” Her glare chilled on the lout before her. He’d been idly chatting the day away while Mary was down there?

“An’ Cap’n Jack and the others,” Hob growled.

Krayne! Amber dropped to her backside and swung her legs inside the black hole. As soon as her foot caught a rung of the rope ladder Hob had used, she rolled onto her stomach and descended. The darkness swallowed her as she fumbled further from the hatch and into the belly. “Krayne…Mary…”

“Over here, bless you, child.” The voice was no more than a wisp.

“This way, lass.”

Was that Alexander, captain of Krayne’s moss-troopers? Her vision adjusted slightly as she felt her way to the voices, enough to see Mary and Alexander sitting back to back, their hands tied to each other and an upright beam.

“Where is Krayne?” Amber demanded as she worked the knotted ropes between them. “Who did this?”

“Robert Maxwell,” Alexander spat out, muttering in a low voice that nevertheless echoed in the hollow hold. “The flea-infested maggot-bloated turd.”

He leapt up as his hands fell free, then immediately staggered and grabbed at the beam with one hand, clutching his ribs with the other. “Captain Jack. Where are ye?”

Helping Mary to her feet, Amber reassured herself that Mary was fine, if frail from the ordeal, and asked again. “Where is Krayne?”

“They took him,” Alexander answered gruffly. “The hoary bastard an’ his troop of bog riders caught me off guard an’ held me at Blackie’s place. But they didna want me, they wanted Krayne, an’ damn the reckless galoot if he didna give himself up fer me.”

“Krayne?” Her heart lurched. “They took Krayne? I don’t understand.”

“The Maxwell bastard’s daft enou’ ta use Krayne ta bribe his way back inta his brother’s favour. Eejit.” Holding his ribs, Alexander stumbled into the darkness before she could demand a better answer. “Captain Ja…ck.” He went down with a bump.

Amber hurried after, to find he’d tripped over an enormous lifeless bulk that must be Captain Jack. She hadn’t the strength to haul the captain across the hold and Alexander was lying quite still beside him.

“Hob,” she remembered, scooting back to Mary and tugging the woman along with her, pushing down the dreaded knowledge that as long as they were all here, no one was saving Krayne. What would they do to him? Where had they taken him? Would they keep him alive long enough to be rescued? By the time she saw Mary safely up on deck and sent Hob down to aid the others, she was shivering from a cold that was bone deep and would not let go.

Krayne will be fine.

Kidnapping is a national pastime to these Scots and they do it for the sheer pleasure of making each other miserable.

No one would dare harm the Grey Wolf.

Nothing helped. Every reassurance simply stressed the fact that Krayne was gone, his life held tenuously in the hands of a man who’d been described as Satan’s bastard whore, amongst other things.

The next hour moved slower than a snail as Amber waited for answers. Mary’s brief show of courage had collapsed under a quaking fit, and Amber had doused her with laudanum pilfered from the medical supplies and put her to bed.

Captain Jack was still unconscious and Alexander looked as if he should be. One eye was swollen shut, his face puffy with yellow bruises, and he couldn’t seem to breathe without holding his ribs and groaning. Hob had fetched the ship’s surgeon from his favourite tavern and all the men had been ensconced below deck ever since.

Feeling she’d given them plenty time, Amber took herself below to the infirmary and burst into the cabin without knocking. Captain Jack lay deathly white and unmoving on the berth, the surgeon at his side. Alexander was slumped in a chair by the porthole, his shirt hanging open to reveal a heavily bandaged chest. Hob stood close to Alexander, hands behind his back. All those capable, turned to look at her ungainly entrance.

She dismissed the stares and set her eyes on Alexander. “What are we going to do about rescuing Krayne?”

“Ye’re nae rescuin’ anyone,” Alexander wheezed. Her brow went up and he added in a voice that belied his pale complexion, “Dinna think ta sway my mind, lass. Ye’ll stay put an’ leave the men ta their business.”

Protest leapt to her tongue, but Amber bit down what would clearly be a waste of precious time. “My husband’s life is at stake. At least tell me what you plan.”

“Ye willna interfere.”

She gave a feminine shudder at the very thought. “Most certainly not.”

His head lolled weakly, then came up with obvious effort. “A rider has been dispatched ta Wamphray fer reinforcements. Meanwhile, Hob will take what men he can ta Maxwell’s hideout an’ keep watch. Dinna fear, lass. Jamie Maxwell willna harm nor see a Johnstone harmed, no since he and Krayne called a truce. He’ll probably skewer his brother Robert afore we can git ta him.”

“Is that it?” Amber peered rather doubtfully at the lone peel tower perched upon a small mound. The barmekin wall was only a couple of feet high and badly weathered in places. Alexander had instructed Hob to go west along the coast to Lochar Water, then follow the river as far as Lochar Moss, a vast stretch of bog wasteland that they’d thankfully skirted. The woodland they were now using for cover, however, bordered just inside the marsh and the few yards they’d encroached on the waterlogged ground was treacherous enough.

Hob shrugged. “The Maxwell bastard has nae lived well since fallin’ out wi’ his brother.”

Amber set her jaw and nodded. Once she’d learnt that Krayne had murdered Jamie Maxwell’s father in retaliation for his own father’s death, she couldn’t bring herself to share in Alexander’s optimism. The two clans seemed to be caught up in a murderous game and Johnstone’s turn was up next.

Besides, she was helping, not interfering.

As for Krayne. At the tender age of twelve, he should have been playing with wooden swords, not flinging daggers at men thrice his age and size. But no. Not her husband. Not when he had a cauldron of vengeance in place of a heart that bubbled instead of beating. She could well believe it of him. And, to use Krayne’s sentiments, she didn’t have to like it.

Amber reined her mare about to address the crew-turned-men-at-arms, all five of them. The rest had been too sodden with drink to sling a boot across the saddle. “Hob and I will go first to scout the area and find the weakest point of entry. Keep yourselves well hidden in the trees until we return.”

At the general rumble of discontent, she raised a brow at Hob. The man owed her for saving him from the hold and she was not above bullying him into obedience with a gentle reminder every so often.

“Ye heard the Lady Wolf,” Hob told the men uncomfortably. “Now cease yer infernal grumblin’.”

Amber wasn’t sure how she felt about the byname she’d received along the way, but it seemed to summon a certain level of respect from this motley band of giants. She slid down from her mare, swishing aside her makeshift plaid cloak to adjust the dagger at her boot while she waited for Hob, then together they stalked from tree to tree to the edge of the wood. Amber muttered something unladylike at the wide stretch of flat moor they’d have to cross to reach the wall that made no shadow whatsoever in the midday sun.

“I go on alone,” Hob grunted.

“Not on your life.”

“Dinna ask more o’ me.” He squinted at her from beneath those shaggy brows. “Cap’n Wolf will have my head fer bringin’ ye this far and my ba—um, other parts if I take ye any further.”

“Very well, I will not ask.” Amber crouched low, flipped her makeshift cloak of plaid over her shoulders, and streaked off in a running crawl before Hob could blink.

She made for the pile of rubble where the wall had crumbled extensively and scrambled over the fallen stones. When her fingers gripped the top boulder, she slowly pulled herself up just far enough to peer over. The courtyard was overgrown with grass and gorse, and seemingly deserted.

Near the gates, brown and peeling with rust, she noted a dilapidated timbered structure and guessed it to be the stables. “Mayhap Robert Maxwell took Krayne directly to Caerlaverock,” she whispered as Hob hauled himself up beside her. She’d heard tell that the Maxwell chief’s stronghold was practically impregnable.

“I beg o’ ye, me lady, go back ta the forest where ’tis safe.”

“Does this look like the perfect time to argue?” She glared at him a long moment, then asked again, “Could it be that Krayne was taken to Caerlaverock and not brought here at all?”

Hob’s sigh was almost comical, a sound of defeat that belonged to a lesser, fallible man. “The Maxwell bastard willna give Cap’n Wolf o’er willy nilly. So far he kens, the crew willna return ta the Joanna ’til they’ve had their fill o’ ale and whor—um, he doesna expect us ta be released from the hold afore well inta the night.”

“Then they might have locked Krayne in the dungeons and all gone off to negotiate.”

“They’ll nae leave him unguarded.” Hob dashed her hopes.

“You don’t know that.”

“Our orders be ta wait an’ watch.”

“There’s no telling when Maxwell will return or what he’ll do if Alexander’s right and his brother doesn’t want Krayne.”

Amber was already slipping down the rock when Hob hissed, “Keech.”

“What now?” Amber muttered, rolling her eyes as she climbed back up. And then she saw them.

Two heavily bearded men, wearing quilted jacks and armed with swords, emerged from the wooden shack by the gates to stroll across the unkempt courtyard. Even as they approached the stone steps leading up to the tower’s main entrance, the massive door swung open to expunge another two, laughing coarsely as they stumbled drunkenly down the steps with their arms linked about the sturdy waist of a rather voluptuous redhead squashed between them. The two groups crossed paths, calling out crass remarks that burned Amber’s ears and left her in no doubt as to what the three who continued on to the shack were about to get up to.

“How many do you suppose there are?” she asked Hob once the courtyard had emptied.

He shrugged. “Maxwell had up o’ twenty men wi’ him.”

Amber considered the odds, then considered their single option for exactly one shaky heartbeat. “Where would the dungeon be in this manner of tower?”

“Level wi’ the ground below the steps.”

“And the hall?”

Hob brought his gaze on her. “Above.”

“On the first floor?”

“Nae usually.” He sounded wary now. “That be the kitchens an’ storage an’ such with the hall above.”

“This could work.” Amber nodded slowly as she refined her plan, then proceeded to share it with Hob, ignoring the blue eyes that drew more squint with each passing word.

“Wheesh, mi’lady. My life will nae be worth the livin’ once Cap’n Wolf be free. If I didna ken better, I’d say the crafty Buachailleen did come ta steal yer mind.”

“But you do know better,” Amber said quietly. “There is no other way and your Captain Wolf will be naught but grateful when he escapes with his head still attached to his body.”

“We wait fer the reinforcements sent from Wamphray.” Lips clamped tight disappeared into his beard.

“What if they come too late? Once Krayne is inside the double perimeter walls of Caerlaverock Castle, we’ll never get him out.”

Hob held firm. “We wait.”

Amber swung one leg over cresting stone. “You wait.”

A massive hand grabbed her arm. “Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady, but I canna allow this.”

“You’re hurting me,” Amber squealed, making her eyes large and round. Hob instantly released his grip. She wasted no time in bringing her other leg over and dropping the short distance other side the wall. Safely out of reach, she sent him a cross look. “Either you help me, or I’m going in alone.”

“Yer nae going anywhere.” Hob frog-leaped the pile of stones and came down hard, but Amber was well on her way toward the low-vaulted door below the steps. He caught up to her and matched her stride, frowning at her swinging arm as he determined where best to grip without hurting. “Me lady, I beg o’ ye. Let me go in alone an’ see what can be done.”

“I’m the reason that Alexander was alone and unprotected in Annan. This is all my fault and I won’t cower in the woods while my husband rots in a Maxwell dungeon. You cannot make—Oh!”

Hob grimaced as he lifted her at the waist, not minding the hands that reached behind to swat indiscriminately. “We’ll see aboot that.”

“Hob, I’m warning you. Put me down this instance.”

Extending his arms to hold her wriggling form at a safe distance, he was about to turn and retreat when the main door above the steps flew open.

Amber saw it too.

“Hob, quickly,” she pleaded breathlessly, “take me in your arms.”

“W-what?”

“Now,” she cried. His grip faltered and her feet touched the ground. Amber spun around and leapt at him, flinging her arms about the grizzly neck and clinging. “Walk me under the steps and make as if we’re kissing.”

Not daring to glance up, Hob carried Captain Wolf’s wife to the embrasure beneath the steps, his spine rigid as she bounced softly against him, her fingers wrapped about his neck in a most intimate manner, her cheek pressed to the rough hairs of his beard, and he knew for sure that when—if they ever survived this, he was a dead man.

Krayne had been standing in the same position for hours, his back to the seeping stone wall, his gaze fast and firm on the red-haired oaf standing guard other side the bars. He’d long since sawed through his bonds on a jagged stone, incompetent bastards that this Maxwell band of outlaws were with their ramshackle tower crumbling down about them.

The only light came from a small window high above his head, but it was enough to indicate that night had not yet fallen. How much longer would he have to wait? He was thoroughly bored and impatient to get this farce over with.

The Maxwell bastard had a hole where his brain should be if he thought Jamie Maxwell would break the two-year truce, as tentative as it may be. Maxwell was no fool. With bloodthirsty Armstrongs to the south, land-hungry Elliots to the west, and keeping the king happy while he amassed excessive power for his earldom, Jamie Maxwell had little time to watch his back from the north.

The scrape of wood on stone echoed in the hollow passage that ran the length of the dungeons. Krayne’s expectant gaze moved from the loathsome guard, welcoming any diversion while he waited for Jamie Maxwell to hear what his tiresome brother was up to and order Krayne’s release.

“Och, have a wee bit of patience, will ye,” a feminine voice, vaguely familiar, purred between high-pitched giggles. “A quick tumble doesna has ta be quick, if ye ken my mind.”

The thick brogue, totally at odds with a refined undertone that pushed through the stressed words, jostled Krayne’s wits. He knew that voice, but from where…?

“Out with ye,” snapped his guard, sounding irritable rather than wary as he turned to face the trouble. “Ye’ll have ta find some other place ta tumble.”

“Ooh.” A distinctive slap followed. “Ye naughty lad, ye sed we’d be alone.”

“Come then, we’ll try the stable.”

“Nay, that willna do at all.” A cloaked shadow came into Krayne’s view, sliding up to the astounded guard who stood transfixed at the sight he beheld.

Krayne’s eyes narrowed. That waterfall of dark curls looked all too familiar as well, as did the profile of a stubborn chin set high.

What the hell was she doing here?

Why did she never stay put where he left her?

“An’ what name would such a braw mon be havin’?” Slender fingers touched the guard’s forearm, then slowly walked up to his elbow.

A flash of rage left an ache at Krayne’s temples. He rubbed his eyes, praying that he’d open them again to find he’d had a temporary loss of sanity and Amber wasn’t here at all, seducing a half-wit who looked and smelled as if the only bath he’d ever known was a slop bucket.

“I be Davie.” The fleabag stood a little straighter and grinned.

Amber’s butterfly strokes had reached a beefy shoulder. She glanced behind her and giggled. “Och, dinna be sulking now, sweetling. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Her accent was slipping. His hands came to his sides, fisted tight enough to crack his knuckles. He couldn’t say a thing. He dared not expose her now. This band of misfits would not think twice at passing his wife between them for the sheer pleasure of tormenting him. God’s truth, did the wench not have one grain of common sense floating inside that pretty head?

She tugged the guard about, putting his back to her elusive friend, and went on her tiptoes to twine both arms about his neck and—and rubbed herself against the thick-skulled, pig-brained, flea-bitten boar who was so enamoured he didn’t note her occasional slip into soft, pure English. “Och, you’re so verra big,” she simpered.

Krayne hissed before he could stop himself. No one appeared to notice. His muscles flexed with suppressed adrenaline that surged to tear down the prison bars and rip the man’s entrails out with his bare hands. And then he’d start on Amber!

A bulky form came forward with menacing stealth. A shout of warning froze on Krayne’s lips as he cursed his own dull wits. That could only be the man he now recognized as Hob, and he’d almost alerted the guard.

The next moment, the guard’s head snapped back and he crumpled to the floor. Amber went down with him, then came up jangling a bunch of keys. “He isn’t dead, is he?”

“Wheesht, me lady. I bloody hope he is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hob. We didn’t come here to kill anyone.” Amber gave him a stern look before turning toward the cells. She’d allowed herself only the barest glimpse of Krayne as she’d accosted the guard, and now she saw that although he appeared unharmed, his mouth was twisted in white agony.

Shifting through the keys, she selected the largest one and hurried closer. “How badly are you hurt?” She glanced down to slot the key in, but it would not fit. Trembling fingers fumbled for a slightly smaller key as her composure fled. “We came as quick as we could. Are you bleeding? Do you think you’ll be able to ride?”

The nervous questions stumbled forth while she struggled with the lock. At last the key slid in smoothly and turned with a loud click.

Her eyes came up, a mere breath away from glinting silver.

Amber jumped back in fright. Just in time, as Krayne threw open the cell gate. He didn’t spare her a second look as he marched down the narrow tunnel that led outside.

He’s only eager to get us all out safely, Amber consoled herself as she pinched Hob from his stupor by the wall and beckoned him to follow. At least his injuries didn’t appear as bad as she’d first thought. She took up the rear, peering around Hob to see Krayne crack the door open to put his head out.

He came back in, softly closing the door, and spun about to face Hob. “Give me yer sword.”

“A-aye,” stuttered Hob, fumbling at his side.

“Amber,” hissed Krayne.

She almost stuttered a-aye as well, then grit her teeth and slipped past Hob to confront her ungrateful husband. Before she could mutter that she was holding up fine after that near encounter with a foul-smelling demon, thank you for asking, Krayne swooped her up and pressed her into Hob’s arms.

“When I give the word,” he told Hob, “run fer the wall and dinna look back. I’ll cover ye from behind.”

Krayne peered outside again, relieved to find the courtyard still deserted, then flung the door open wide and stepped aside. “Now.”

He stood just inside the doorway, watching while Hob streaked across the derelict bailey. His heart refused to beat until Hob had heaved Amber over a crumbled section of wall and her head slid out of sight. No alarm was raised and he wasn’t wholly surprised. From what he’d seen so far, this band of misfits was more interested in drinking and whoring than standing guard.

He waited until Hob went over, then he sprinted through the long grass and took a running leap at the wall, using his arms to flip himself over. He scrambled down the other side on his backside, watching Amber and Hob race across the moor and disappear into a thick line of trees. By the time he joined them, his temper was firmly under control. Until he took one look at Hob, the man who was second in charge to Captain Jack and who should know better.

His fist swung out, caught Hob on the jaw and knocked him off his feet. “That’s fer bringing my wife ta this place.” As Hob struggled to his feet, Krayne’s fist connected again. “And that’s fer just in case ye put one grubby paw on her.”

“Krayne, have you lost your mind?” Amber screeched, pounding on his back. “Leave him be.”

Krayne spun about and jerked her high by the arms.

The pounding continued at his chest. “Don’t blame Hob. This entire scheme is mine and I coerced him into it.”

Her eyes were huge emeralds burning into him. A hundred accusations stopped short on his tongue. A hundred acts of violence froze at the tips of his fingers.

He dropped Amber on her feet and turned to see five men he recognised from the Joanna’s crew eyeing him warily from atop their mounts and another two horses tethered to a tree. With long strides across the clearing, he reached the stallion and mounted, leaving the mare for Hob. He turned the horse about into a trot, collecting Amber with a low scoop that had her on his lap before she realised what was happening. Her cloak fell open to reveal the shapely form of one thigh. “What the hell are ye wearing?”

She gave him a terse smile. “Your britches.”

Krayne flipped one half of the plaid from her shoulder, and his mouth went dry at the long, slender legs individually wrapped in soft fawn leather. The front of her shirt drooped low between her breasts, veiled with naught but a sheer cotton shift. To his utter disgust, his shaft began to fill.

“Have ye no modesty?” he growled, quickly bringing the plaid back to cover her.

“I have no clothes! Mayhap you would have preferred me to dress in that sodden gown and catch my death with chill.”

Krayne grit his teeth before he could agree and turned the stallion about, calling to his men in a low voice, “Ta Annan.”

She bounced rigidly on his thighs as Krayne rode between the treacherous muddy pools, cursing his wretched concentration when they almost foundered in a sinking bed of shallow water. Once they’d cleared the woods and found firm ground, he drew to a halt to await the rest of the men.

“Well,” Amber said tartly after a long silence, shooting a hard gaze up at him, “aren’t you going to say something?”

Krayne felt a sudden weariness overcome him as he looked into his wife’s blazing green eyes. Humiliation at being saved by a woman, by the wife he was supposed to protect, came in a poor third place to the fear of what might have happened and the white-hot rage of seeing her in yet another man’s arms. “What do ye expect me ta say?”

“Thank you, for a start.”

“I’d sooner take a switch ta yer backside than thank ye,” he grunted.

“You ungrateful sod.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Remember that the next time ye think ta play the hero.”

“Don’t worry.” She tossed her hair back and looked away. “I certainly won’t bother next time.”

As that was precisely the answer he’d hoped for, Krayne left her to sulk. When the first of the stragglers emerged from the line of trees, he asked her, “Have ye ever ridden astride?”

“Only most of my life.”

“Good.” He lifted the edge of her plaid, sliding her down his lap and snugly between his thighs as he repositioned her legs either side the horse’s flank.

When all the men had gathered, he kicked the stallion into a fierce gallop toward the dale of Lochar Water. Amber’s buttocks drove backward into him as she moved with the stallion’s rhythm and his semi-erection sluiced between her bottom cheeks and immediately went rigid. This was going to be a long, uncomfortable ride. Krayne clamped his jaw into a grimace that lasted the full four hours of their journey. He was starting to accept that no matter what Amber did, his body just didn’t seem to care and that was something he’d have to live with until he figured out this mess.

Chapter 17

They rode into Annan on the late afternoon sun. The market had dwindled down to a handful of stalls, leaving the seafront to glisten lazily before the sparkling turquoise vista. Amber felt delicate between her thighs from the hard ride and bruised at the small of her back. Once she’d realised, with a furious blush, exactly what was prodding so insistently from behind, she’d savoured each bruising jolt with triumph. After leaving her in a state of near delirium the night before, she was ecstatic to learn that Krayne was not as immune as he might want her to believe.

Krayne lifted her to the ground before dismounting, then led her up the boarded walkway. “We’ll sleep on the Joanna tonight and leave fer Wamphray at first light.”

Relieved to have the small respite before getting back into the saddle, Amber offered him a smile. “Would it be terribly inconvenient if I took another bath?”

“Would ye care for anyone else’s inconvenience?” His hard grin froze her smile and she followed in silence as he saw her to the cabin. “I’ll send up food and a bath.”

“And where will you be?” Amber asked, hating that she cared that he looked exhausted and in desperate need of sustenance, as well.

“I need ta see Alexander.”

The door was already closing behind him when a horrid suspicion struck Amber. She lunged forward and pulled it all the way open again. “Alexander forbade me to interfere. He’s close to bedridden and had no idea that I went with Hob.”

Grey eyes judged her harshly. “I didna doubt Alexander fer a moment.”

Not like he doubted her, Amber read in that look. “I was only trying to help.”

The glare softened somewhat. “Ye’ve yet ta learn the consequences of yer rash behaviour, Amber.”

“Oh.” She stamped a foot. “And I suppose you intend to teach me?”

“That duty does, unfortunately, appear ta have been left ta me, sweet wife.” With that, he deftly pried her fingers from the door and slammed it in her face.

“The ungrateful swine,” Amber muttered as she paced the floor. He might recall that he’d still be in that dark, damp cell if not for her rash behaviour. “Why did I bother saving him? Better he hang ’til dead on some lonely gallows than live to torment me another day!”

On that thought, Amber sank upon the berth and stared out the porthole.

Why had she saved him?

Krayne was right. She’d rushed to his aid without pausing to consider the danger, not only to herself, but to Hob, as well. She shook her head slowly, remembering the desperation to rescue him or die trying. There’d never been any alternative. If Krayne was no more, then what was the use of living in the empty world he left behind?

“I hate him,” she murmured softly, blinking back a tear.

And there she sat, blinking back tear after tear, telling herself how much she despised the husband she couldn’t seem to contemplate living without, until the shrivelled sailor she remembered from yesterday entered with a wooden tray. A procession of friendly giants followed with buckets to fill her tub.

Once she’d bathed, and dressed in the same britches and shirt, Amber sat down at the table and uncovered the simple fare of boiled white fish, turnips and freshly baked bread. Her stomach rumbled at the veritable feast after surviving the day on naught but a couple of rock-hard oatcakes.

Amber ate her fill, then paced in utter boredom until the sky faded from its brilliant blue to a sombre grey. Thinking to seek Mary out for company, she threw the plaid cloak about her shoulders and made her way to the deck. As she stepped outside, a crisp breeze stung her cheeks and the deep breath she gulped down was invigorating.

A quick stroll, Amber decided, and then she’d go below to see how Mary was doing.

On her second lap around the main deck, ignoring the curious glances she drew from the few crew members who seemed to be about, Amber saw Hob emerge from a door beneath the quarterdeck and head for the plank thrown between the ship and the boarded walkway.

“Hob,” she called, running after. “Hob.”

He didn’t slow or turn around. Certain that he had heard her, Amber stopped at the plank and watched him walk across it without further harassment. She couldn’t blame him for being mad at her, not after Krayne had smashed his jaw in. She only noted the chequered bundle slung across his shoulder when he was almost at the end of the walkway.

Dread sank to the bottom of her belly. She glanced around wildly, found the first pair of eyes that were too slow to look away in time, and hurried over. Unlike the other giants, this half-naked sailor was thin and small, his skin burned close to black by constant exposure to sun. His gaze remained firmly on the sail he was mending and his fingers continued to bend the thick needle in and out.

“Where is Hob going?” Amber demanded.

He raised his brown, withered face to her. “Kirkcudbright be my guess, me lady.”

“To one of the other Wamphray ships?” she asked hopefully.

“If Hob be leavin’ the Joanna, he be leaving the Grey Wolf an’ all.”

Amber spun about, anger slowly replacing dread.

Her chin set high, her hands fisted at her sides, she went in search of Krayne. He wasn’t in the infirmary, but she made herself calm down sufficiently to enquire after Captain Jack’s health and was happy to hear he’d awoken for a short while during the day. Alexander was also faring well, apparently, and resting in his cabin.

As she followed the directions to Alexander’s cabin, thinking to find Krayne there, she passed the galley and saw the man himself, sitting ever so casually on top a long oak table and sipping from a battered metal tankard.

“You,” she hissed.

His eyes came around, sharp and narrowed.

She marched up to Krayne, hands on her hips, well aware of the rotund, clean-shaven man who tried to slink into the shadows but beyond caring. “How dare you dismiss Hob?”

“Out,” Krayne ordered in a deadly quiet voice, turning from her as he slid to his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere until you—” Amber saw the other man hurry off and realised the order had not been for her.

“I willna tolerate a screeching crow, Amber.”

Her eyes came back to Krayne. “And I will not tolerate deliberate and needless cruelty. How could you?” She took a step closer and poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “How could you dismiss Hob?”

“I didna have ta dismiss him.” He looked down to where her finger indented his shirt, then slowly lifted an empty stare that might have chilled her to the bone, had she not been roasting on her own fury. “The man did wrong and shame will not permit him ta remain.”

Amber pulled her hand back to her hip and put some distance between them. She knew her husband well enough by now to realise that if he were merely angry, he’d have grabbed her wrist and forced her finger down himself.

Right now he was furious.

But then, so was she. “Go after Hob. Convince him that he has naught to be ashamed of. All he did was rescue you!”

“I willna do that.”

“Why not?” She threw her hands up and tossed her head back. “He didn’t want to take me along, but I couldn’t stay here and do nothing.”

Krayne folded his arms as he regarded his wife, expecting her to stamp her feet and blow steam from her ears any moment. If she were a child, he’d put her in a corner to consider her show of temper. She wasn’t. She was his wife. And he might still do exactly that.

“Hob did nothing wrong,” Amber insisted in that shrill tone.

“He should never have brought ye inta that dungeon. He shouldna have allowed ye ta leave Annan.”

Krayne’s jaw hardened as he relived the moment of fear that had gripped him on seeing Amber outside his cell. The agony of knowing that had it worked out differently, those scavengers might very well have raped her over and over right there in front of him, beaten her and tossed her limp, torn body in a dark corner, and there was not one damn thing he could have done to save her.

Never before had Krayne felt so absolutely impotent and scared, and God help Amber if she ever put him through that again. “This land of ours doesna allow fer mistakes, Amber, it doesna give second chances.”

“My mistake. Why should Hob be made to suffer for my mistake?”

“’Tis the way of the world,” Krayne said, his voice brittle in an unguarded moment of too many unwanted memories. “A woman acts thoughtlessly with no regard fer consequence and somewhere a man suffers.”

“And yet you have the power to prevent it.” Her mouth turned down in scorn. “All you need do is call Hob back.”

“Did God not leave be when Eve corrupted Adam?”

“Eve?” The floorboards quivered as she stamped a booted foot. “You would compare me to the woman responsible for the original downfall of mankind?”

Krayne shrugged. Adam’s Eve would have a hard time keeping up with Amber and his mother.

Green eyes flared just before Amber swirled about and stormed from the galley. His breath of relief stuck halfway down his throat when she poked her head back inside to glare at him. “Don’t for one moment consider yourself to be the benevolent God in this scenario. You, Krayne Johnstone, are the slithering snake that lured Eve to that miserable Maxwell dungeon and I hate you.”

Amber didn’t wait for his reaction. She whipped her head up straight and marched to Mary’s cabin. If her husband opened his eyes wide enough to see beyond his own narrow-minded arrogance, he’d realise exactly how grateful he should be to both her and Hob. He’d know that she could never stand idly to the side while his life was in danger.

And he’d know the reason why!

Once Amber had reassured herself that Mary was fully recovered, she regaled her on the day’s adventure, then went on to vent her frustration. “He thinks I did it all for one big lark! As if I enjoy being terrified witless and have naught better to do with my time than spend an entire day in the saddle.”

“The laird is not unreasonable, child.” Mary took Amber’s hands in hers and looked her in the eye. “Did you ever stop to consider that he cares too much to see you risk your life?”

“He has a strange way of showing it.”

“Men get angry when they are frightened. ’Tis what they do. You or I might tremble and weep, while all they know is to attack.”

Amber was not convinced. “Nothing frightens Krayne except the horror of lost pride. He is angry all right, angry that he had to be rescued at all, and especially by his wife. Hob and I are merely the sorry pawns for him to blame.”

“That is not true and I doubt you believe it.”

Didn’t she? Amber wasn’t sure.

As she made her way back to her own cabin, she rethought all she knew of Krayne. Their week spent together at Wamphray had been a magical interlude of sorts. She remembered the single sword lesson he’d attempted, his regretful grin when it became apparent that she could barely lift the heavy blade, let alone swing a wide arc over her head. She’d expected him to mock her, demand she do better. He’d laughed, not at her, but with her.

Aye, he’d done some things to crack her heart open, but when it had healed, he was firmly trapped inside.

She’d fallen in love with that Krayne, charming and gallant, kind and tender, all the more so for bearing witness to his midnight rampages. Against her will, against her better judgement, knowing that it was a love that could never be, she had tripped and fallen hard, and then continued to stumble up the hill of his rocky determination.

Amber stomped into her cabin, pleased to see it was empty, and looked for a bolt on the door. There was none. Only a keyhole, and no key in sight.

Would he come to her tonight?

A perverse thrill tingled down her spine and she wished she could lock both it and her husband out.

She loved Krayne.

Bother the man, but she loved him still.

Thankfully, she hated him more.

Even so, she had little faith in her body after the way she’d discarded every last morsel of dignity beneath his hands last night.

He wouldn’t come, she decided, crossing to the porthole and looking out wistfully at the starry heavens beyond as she stripped her clothes and boots, leaving on her shift to sleep in. Would he ever come to her bed again? Was theirs to be a marriage in name only?

If so, she should be grateful. Yet, even as she tried to tell herself that ’twas the barren life she’d miss with no children of her own, the memory of his touch, those tantalising strokes that carried her from peak to peak, mocked her lies for what they were. Just thinking about it brought a pulsing ache to that newly discovered inner core between her thighs. There was more. However high she’d soared last night, instinct told her that she should have crashed, and with that crash would come a release that made the torturous flight of burning tension so very worth the sweet agony.

But not tonight. Amber crawled beneath the covers in the middle of the berth and commanded her body to relax. Even if he came, she was too angry. As was he. When—if she ever discovered the secret of crashing, it would be given in love and not thrust upon her in anger.

He came.

She had no idea how late it was, how long she’d been lying absolutely still and counting snowflakes to bring on sleep. The door clicked softly shut and the dull thud of footfalls on the rug-protected planks came closer, then stopped. She couldn’t keep her eyes squeezed tight and pretend. The suspense was utterly debilitating. She brought the covers up with her and glared across the room until she found him, sitting on the chair and removing his boots. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my cabin.” Krayne didn’t look up and neither did he show his surprise. He’d known she wasn’t sleeping at a glance, but he hadn’t expected her to give up the pretence.

“You intend to sleep here?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” He untied the laces at his throat, but kept both his shirt and britches on as he stood and walked to the berth. Robert Maxwell would only follow him to Annan if the bastard truly had no brain, but Krayne was taking no chances. He had a rota of four guards posted throughout the night and, while he needed to catch up on some sleep, he would not be caught with his breeks about his ankles.

“As a matter of fact I do.” Wary green eyes followed his approach. “You—you can sleep wherever you did last night.”

Beneath the stars? Krayne grimaced. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, but not because he was sprawled on the hard deck with only the elements for a blanket. He was quite used to sleeping in the open and tonight the elements were unusually kind. So why the hell was he here? He reached the berth and gazed down on his wife. “Ye’d do better ta not remind me of last night.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A friendly warning.” He tugged the crumpled cover free from her grip, glimpsing the briefest display of creamy calves and slim ankles beneath her modest shift before he shook it out to settle neatly over Amber and the rest of the bed. He lay down on top of the cover and puffed the pillow at his head.

“Very well,” Amber huffed. “You take the bed.”

He caught her arm as she scrambled over the lower part of his legs. “Yer not leaving this cabin.”

Her gaze burned into him. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Her cotton shift hid nothing. The satin curve of collarbone, the delicious swell of breasts beneath the wild tumble of black hair. “Yer not leaving this bed,” he growled.

“You will force me?” Amber clawed at the fingers wrapped about her arm.

His lids lowered dangerously. “That accusation no longer works on me and ye’ll do well ta remember it.”

As easily as if she were a rag doll, he pulled her back into the bed and flipped the cover over her.

Amber shut her eyes and made her body go limp. She had not the strength to fight him off and she would not debase herself by begging for mercy. But if he thought to make her respond this time, he was out of his arrogant mind.

After what seemed like an age and a day, she peeked one eye open. Then the other. He was lying on his back, a full arm’s length space between them, and his eyes were closed. The profile of his rugged jaw was firmly set and shadowed from both the lamps and lack of shaving.

So stern. So harsh. So forbidding.

Then why did she crave his touch? Her eyes went lower, to the large, callused hand that lay upon his chest. So big and rough, and capable of such magical tenderness. A little like the man himself. His scent was impossibly masculine, excruciatingly familiar, warm and woodsy and as dangerous as a forest teeming with wolves at the deepest hour of night. But she was safe. For the moment. Or so it seemed.

“Why?” she asked him, wondering if he were truly asleep.

Why? Krayne wished he knew the answer. Why was he here? And why was he not lowering his taut body over her and taking what was his by right? Every stilted breath she took, every rustle of the sheets beside him, fanned the fire that thrummed his veins and licked at the tip of his rigid shaft.

Why, indeed, was he inflicting this torture on himself?

But he could neither take her nor leave her. “I am yer husband and yer place is in my bed.”

The bed shifted and he knew she’d turned away. He pictured those creamy white bums she’d put to him and imagined flipping that prim shift about her hips, sliding his cock between her lower cheeks with smooth, pressing strokes, then slickly sliding into her from behind. A bead of sweat formed on his brow and he felt a similar pearl of liquid seep from his swollen shaft.

He could coax her to exquisite pleasure. He’d been amazed, and pleased, to discover just how responsive the little vixen was in bed. Aye, he’d have no trouble whipping her into a frenzy of wanton passion. And after last night, he had not one doubt that she wanted it, wanted him.

He’d given her a glimpse of paradise, then slammed the gate in her face.

This was to be her punishment, the only suitable punishment he could come up with in the wee hours of dawn. He understood her fear, her need to see him drugged. He could even accept the elaborate scene she’d painted for him in the aftermath of terror. But that she had witnessed his horror, his complete repentance at the abhorrent act he’d instigated, and then gone on to marry him under the guise of forgiveness, and maybe more…Only to make him suffer, day upon night upon day, until she could flee forever and leave him with the legacy that his wife had been unable to stay married to a monster. That was another matter altogether.

A soft groan came at his right, then the covers beneath him pulled tight. He rolled his head on the pillow to watch her turn onto her back, now soundly asleep. The day had finally caught up to her, his black-haired angel. Krayne sighed and removed his hungry gaze from all that temptation. He wanted only to punish her for a short while, not ruin his marriage bed for all future nights. He drifted off to sleep, wondering who he was punishing more, his deserving wife or himself.

They entered the dale of Wamphray Water a little after noon. They’d set a tedious pace with Alexander slumped over his horse, necessitating a stop every couple of miles, but Krayne would not leave him behind and his captain had put his foot down at being carted home on a litter. The riders summoned from Wamphray had continued on to Annan the day before after finding the Maxwell peel tower deserted, and Krayne was grateful for the guard. He’d have to deal with the Maxwell bastard sooner or later. Even an irritant flea needed to be swatted eventually, when one had the time and inclination.

Amber rode forward to join him in the front as they approached Nodding Ned. “Are you going to ignore me forever or are we to pretend some semblance of a partnership?”

Krayne’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. He’d left the cabin this morning before she’d stirred and had said little since except to bark orders, but he only wished he could ignore her. What would his wife say if she knew he’d awoken with her in his arms? That they’d slept that way the entire night? That he’d deliberately reached for her on his long fall through drowsiness into sleep and tucked her close at his side?

“I only ask,” Amber continued stiffly at his silence, “so that I know what is expected of me.”

“Yer my wife. I believe I made my expectations of a wife quite clear afore we were married.”

Amber rolled her eyes. She recalled he’d had a long list, but only one item had stuck fast in her mind. A willing wife would gladly seek ta please me in all ways. “Then maybe I should add my requirements to this marriage.”

“Ye already did.”

She frowned at the blatant lie.

Krayne glanced at her with an infuriating grin. “If my memory serves correctly, ye had but one requirement. Ta see yer woman brought from Spedlin.” His head tilted to one side. “Ye’ll agree that requirement has been met.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“’Twas yer list, Amber, not mine. If ye consider it unfair, then ye’ve only yerself ta blame.”

Amber snorted loudly, but once again he was ignoring her. She pulled at the reins to slow her mare and fell back to the rear beside Mary. Before long, the pale stone of Wamphray’s tower came into view, followed by the graceful lines of the castle set into the hillside as they rounded the last winding bend. Amber bit down on her lip at a new worry.

This was her home now. These were her people. And to a man and woman, and probably child, they hated her. She said as much to Mary, adding, “Just you see. Every accusing eye will go directly from Alexander to me, as if I’d personally kicked his ribs in. How am I to bear it?”

“I’ve never seen you give up, child, not even after you were defeated. And I’m sorely pressed to name a single person who has not adored you on further acquaintance.” Her lips pursed at that. “With the exception of your uncle and his troop of Scottish thugs, of course.”

“Adore? I’d be happy to be merely tolerated.”

“Then make it so, child. Make it so.”

And so she would, Amber told herself as she lifted her chin and set her shoulders back. Mary was right. She rarely accepted defeat, even when it clubbed her on the head. As they veered from the riverbank and up the gentle incline toward the massive castle gates, however, her optimism floundered. She’d never attempted to ingratiate herself in anybody’s favour before. She usually barged forward, merrily doing things her way, with the view that if someone didn’t like it they could leave it.

Everyone came out to greet them, of course, a steady stream of people flowing down the front steps to fill up the bailey. Chatting, smiling, laughing and waving.

They probably hadn’t seen her yet. Her chin notched a little higher as she sat upon her mare and watched Alexander being helped down. He was immediately surrounded and helped inside despite his growling complaints that he could manage fine on his own. Krayne had already dismounted and was leading his horse to the stables.

Her lips clamped tight, but really, what had she expected? A welcome home speech from her husband? Muttering some worthy expletives, she slid down her mare’s flank to coincide with Peter’s arrival at her side.

“’Tis pleased we are ta have ye back safely, me lady,” he said, his smile so wide it threatened to join at his ears.

She ruffled his blond head. Peter was a dear lad incapable of bearing a grudge.

When he reached for her reins, she forestalled him. “Would you mind helping Mary?” Amber turned to see Mary slide into Brayan’s arms. The McAllister cook’s face was lit in adoration as he swung Mary about, refusing to put her down when she giggled her protests.

“Never mind,” murmured Amber. Dear Lord, when had that happened? Was she truly so blind? So absorbed in her own problems?

Amber left them to their happy reunion and made her lonely way across the pebbled courtyard. The crowd parted on her approach, leaving a broad path for her to climb the steps. She held her head high, looking at everyone and no one, refraining from any eye contact whatsoever. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tackle her unpopularity.

The blessed emptiness of the great hall folded about her shoulders and she allowed some of her tension to release. At least she had urgent business to keep her mind busy. She knew a whole lot less about cracked ribs than the ship’s surgeon, but pain was pain, and she knew how to make that go away with reasonable success.

Walking into Krayne’s chamber stirred so many memories, Amber could not help but feel the secure warmth of familiarity lighten her heart. She’d gone through a lifetime of experiences within these walls, good and bad. She’d been dragged in a child, and had fled a woman.

And now she’d returned to grow old at her husband’s side.

Her own room at the back was as she’d left it. The long table she’d had brought up to work on still held the carefully covered jars of herbs she’d painstakingly gathered while waiting for Mary’s ankle to heal. The smithy had fitted a hook neatly across the centre of the hearth on her request, and had then used his initiative to fashion a small iron kettle to hang from it. He’d seemed rather eager to please. Actually, she recalled, only Isla had been openly hateful in the spectrum of attitudes that had ranged from disinterested to respectful to friendly.

But she’d changed all that by running away.

How could they respect a mistress who’d fled, who’d brought harm to one of their own, who was responsible for their laird’s capture?

She kindled a fire at the hearth, and was filling the kettle from a pitcher of fresh water when Mary entered.

“You should be resting, child.”

“I need a remedy for Alexander.” Amber hung the kettle over the fire, then moved to the table.

“Have you made peace with Krayne?”

Amber snorted as she added her ingredients to the clay bowl and ground with excess energy. “That man knows only war.”

“Out.” The quiet command that came from the doorway was as effective as a roar.

Amber spun about.

Mary yelped in fright, took one look at Krayne and ran.

Gripping the edge of the table behind her to prevent her hands from doing something they might later regret, Amber scowled at him. “Honestly, Krayne, is that really necessary?”

“What are ye doing?” He reached the table and swept a hand across, knocking over some of the jars. “What the hell is going on here?”

Amber rescued her tottering jar of mandrake just before it fell and clutched it at her chest. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through to collect these? Half the herbs and roots I need do not even grow this far north and God knows when the gypsies will be back.”

“I dinna care. I want all this gone.” His glare came up to her in dark disgust. “What is this? Or should I ask, who is it fer?”

Her lips twisted as he pressed the bowl beneath her nose. “Alexander.”

His fingers opened and the bowl crashed to the floor in pieces. “What has the poor man done ta ye?”

“He’s done naught,” she spat, green eyes flashing. “That would be you. Always and only ever you.” Dropping to her knees, she gathered the larger fragments of clay and stacked them on the side of the table. She got to her feet, would have liked to storm out, but didn’t trust Krayne with her precious ingredients. “I’m mixing a potion to ease Alexander’s pain and help him sleep.”

“He doesna require potions.”

She folded her arms and tilted her chin at him. “Have you ever had a broken rib? If you had, you’d know that every breath he takes feels like a splinter piercing his lungs.”

“And how would ye know that?”

“He told me.”

“He hasna said anything ta me.”

“Did you ask?” she said with false sweetness and didn’t wait for an answer. “Or mayhap you were so busy ignoring me you didn’t have time to hear the grunts, groans and whimpers as Alexander clung to his saddle.”

Taken aback, Krayne stared at her for a long moment, then at the table for even longer. Finally he muttered something inaudible and turned to her. “Dinna let me ever learn that ye have mixed potions fer any use other than healing, Amber.”

She gave him a tense smile that lasted until he disappeared through the doorway, then fetched a new bowl and started grinding from scratch. “Ignorant despot. As if I’d ever intentionally harm anyone.”

A few hours later Amber was vowing to do serious bodily damage to the man she’d married. He’d come to collect her for supper, politely asking after Alexander as he led her to the top table on his arm, showing no sign of his earlier rage or contempt for her potion making. He’d even nodded at her with something of a grin when she mentioned that his man had taken the remedy gratefully and fallen almost immediately into a peaceful, restorative sleep. He’d ladled a trencher high with softly boiled greens and carved thin slices of beef for them to share.

The mood had been warm, strangely intimate in the crowded hall, especially with his thigh grazing hers every so often. And he’d developed a particularly disturbing habit. He’d tilt his head low to her ear and whisper some arbitrary comment about the food or an amusing event concerning some person he pointed out, and then he’d wait, until the soft breaths tickling her cheek mounted a whole different tension, until his scent invaded her senses completely, until she had to look his way or die of suspense. And she’d look, each and every time she could not keep her chin from lifting up to him, and each and every time she found his lips hovering so close to hers, she could almost taste his kisses, almost feel his mouth crush down upon her lips.

The kiss that never came.

He’d grin that lopsided grin, and those grey eyes would heat her right through to her toes, and then he’d turn back to his food, leaving her breathless and deflated. Once, he’d thrummed her lower lip with his thumb. And she’d opened for him, so brazen as to slip the tip of her tongue out to lick the pad of his thumb. He’d merely chuckled at that, but his wink held a secret that sent a flame shooting between her legs.

Even his people were cooperative toward inducing the pleasant, warm feeling in her belly. She’d received numerous well wishes and welcomes on her way through the great hall. Some had even smiled at her. And even now, many were watching her with looks suspiciously lacking in accusation. Oh, she was sure that Krayne had ordered them to be nice, but she didn’t care.

The evening had started out with the promise of a reasonable future, her cheeks had flushed at what very well might happen later that night, and then Gayle had come.

She’d just sauntered by the table, laid a hand on Krayne’s forearm and murmured that she was dearly pleased to see him back no worse for wear. Had the gall to beam an innocent smile at Amber, then tossed those honey-blond tresses over her shoulder and sauntered off again.

Innocent. Hah.

It had taken Krayne all of one short moment to utter, “I’ll be back,” before following his precious Gayle through the archway and down the steps to the kitchen like a dog panting after a bone. And no one else seemed to notice or, if they did, care.

That had been a good hour ago. Amber had finished every last morsel on the trencher with sheer determination and gulped down three goblets of wine. Now she had naught to do but sit and wait.

Or leave.

On her own.

Her cheeks were still flushed, but this time the heat came from the fury bubbling beneath her skin. For some crazy reason, she’d assumed Krayne had finished with his leman once they’d wed. Crazy indeed. Why would he? ’Twas not as if he’d been coupling with his wife. Their marriage was not yet even consummated. She was not jealous by nature, but the vivid picture of Gayle perched on that table, groaning and clawing Krayne’s back as he thrust into her, again and again, undid Amber. I’ll geld the adulterous swine!

“More wine, me lady.”

She came to herself, scowling furiously into the bottom of the goblet she clutched. Wiping her expression, Amber forced a smile on the serving woman and held out her goblet. “Aye, thank you.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady,” the woman said as she poured the wine, “but I jus’ wanted ta say what braw courage ye have. We all be mighty proud o’ our lady mistress, ain’t that the truth.”

Proud of her? For running off without an escort? For throwing the castle into uproar and leaving its people to stew in fear of their laird’s wrath for days? Amber gave her head a little shake, half-afraid the wine had addled her hearing. But the woman was gone before she could question further.

Krayne paused on the fringe of the great hall, glancing over the rows of trestle tables until he found Amber, exactly where he’d left her. He smiled. His business with Gayle had taken longer than planned and his wife was renowned for never staying put. Mayhap change was in the air.

As he wound his way between the packed benches and tables, Mungo caught his eye. Krayne grimaced and shook his head. He’d clear forgotten Mungo’s request early this afternoon that he have a word with his daughter until Gayle had come up to greet him. Not that it had done any good. Gayle had been adamant that she was leaving and he’d been as adamant that she wasn’t. They’d talked circles around each other, Gayle refusing to give a reason for why she had to go, and Krayne insisting that no woman under his care would venture off alone to God knows where, for it seemed that she didn’t even have a destination in mind. He’d had no other course but to order Gayle, as her laird, to remain within the castle walls until further notice.

His gaze moved across the room to Amber. As he watched, Amber jumped to her feet with a glare that could slay dragons. Whatever he’d done now, Krayne told himself, he was sure to find out soon. His wife wasn’t one for meekly holding her tongue. He reached Amber’s side, losing the grin as he realised her intentions and caught her wrist as she swung her hand out.

“That wouldha been a very bad idea,” he said softly, locking her wriggling wrist at his thigh.

“Release me.” She stamped down hard on his boot.

“Time fer bed,” he said dryly, pulling her close to his side and adjusting her arm so that it was firmly tucked in his.

A few heads turned as he marched her down the aisle between two rows of trestles, but he smiled and held her in such a way that it seemed as if he were merely escorting his wife from the hall and up the stairway.

“In future,” he said as he dragged Amber into his chamber and released her to close the door behind them, “ye’ll wait until we are private afore airing yer grievances.”

She whirled all the way about and back to him. “Would you say this is private enough?”

He grunted, then cursed as he was forced to catch her swinging hand again before it came down on his cheek.

“Not even in private, wife,” he warned, flinging her hand from him. “I presume something brought this temper on?”

Amber glared at him. Her fingers itched to strike that condemning look from his face. As if she was the one at fault. She turned from him and fled through the archway into his inner bedchamber.

Krayne followed. “I canna read yer mind. If aught is amiss, ye’d do well ta speak it.”

“Naught is amiss,” she declared, refusing to feed his ego with her raging jealousy. Let him keep a hundred whores. May they amuse him until his manhood rotted off.

“Yer not upset with me, then? Mayhap even a little angry?”

She gave him a sweet smile, though it pained to her teeth to do so. “Why would I be upset or angry?”

“So, ye just got it inta yer head ta slap me.”

“Something like that.” Her brow arched up to meet his quizzical expression.

Krayne didn’t know what to think. Had his wife suddenly decided to cause a scene in some pique of boredom? He should take her in hand, he thought grimly, before this behaviour became the pattern of their marriage. “May I presume that this sudden urge willna be repeated?”

“You may presume whatever you like,” Amber retorted, then shrank backward as a black shadow darkened Krayne’s eyes and hardened his jaw. She thought it wise to add, “I don’t foresee a reoccurrence without suitable provocation.”

“Ye would test the patience of an ox, wife.”

She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “And you would test the endurance of an ox.”

Krayne folded his arms, refusing to be drawn into her games. “Go ta bed, Amber.”

Her chin came up. “I’m not tired.”

“That is an order.”

“It is?” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “Well, then, that makes all the difference. Forgive me, my lord, for not understanding at once.”

With a few quick pulls to the lace bows at her side, her ruby velvet gown slid down her curves to pool at her slippered feet.

“Wh-what are ye doing?” stammered Krayne, a slow burn spreading through his veins as he watched Amber take a delicate step out of the gown. Her shift was sheer white cotton, trimmed with lace and embroidered with tiny red roses along the hem and down a small vee that dipped provocatively between her breasts, then dipped even lower as she bent to remove her slippers.

“Why, going to bed, my lord.” With another of those sweet smiles, she slowly turned and walked toward the bed, loosening her braid and shaking out the long tresses as she went.

To bed.

In his chamber.

The firelight outlined the shape of her tight bums as she moved. Krayne crossed his hands in front below his waist, but his plaid did nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal as she lay down on the bed, on top the covers, and smoothed her shift along her thighs.

Damn the tantalising vixen!

“If I recall correctly,” she said coolly, “you did say my place was in your bed.”

Aye, that he had. And he’d meant it. Krayne took a step toward the bed, anticipation dangling heavy in his balls, then he froze. What in hell was he doing? He’d vowed to bring her to her knees, to have her begging sweet mercy to join with him. He would taunt her with near kisses, overwhelm her with suggestive looks, until she knew no shame. And then he’d make her wait another day.

Krayne ground his back teeth, his jaw locked down in stone. His wife wasn’t begging for a thing. She was laid out on his bed like a bloody ice princess.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Krayne said, turning from her with determined strides. “Ye may retire ta yer own bed until further notice.”

Amber flinched as the outer door slammed shut. Damn the man. She’d buried her jealousy and pride and climbed into his bed, primed to welcome him straight from his leman’s arms.

And what had he done? Left her in his bed while he went back to Gayle! Amber rolled onto her front and pulled the pillow over her head.

Chapter 18

Amber descended the front steps and crossed the courtyard to where her husband awaited, his feet set wide apart and his hands behind his back. He’d sent Peter to summon her while she was breaking her fast, and Amber had suddenly developed a hunger that could not be sated. All that she’d achieved, of course, was to bloat herself like a pig and delay the inevitable by maybe half an hour. Shame rushed to heat her cheeks as she met Krayne’s steady gaze.

Last night he ordered me from his bed.

Only a true wanton would defy such obvious lack of interest and lie in wait for his return. Not that she’d purposely done so. She’d fallen asleep halfway through her sobs, but what else could Krayne think? She knew he’d come back to the chamber, for she’d awoken beneath the covers and the crumpled sheet to her left indicated that he hadn’t minded sharing a bed after all. Once he’d slaked his lust elsewhere.

“I trust I didna wake ye,” Krayne said.

Amber shrugged. Let him reach his own conclusions for the delay. “Good morrow, husband. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He brought one hand from behind his back and Amber gasped at the thin sword he held out to her. The blade had been buffed to a brilliant shine and the hilt was engraved in a rambling rose pattern, delicate rubies centred in the many clusters of petals.

Most of her shame faded in her delight. “Is that for me?”

“Aye. After our previous lesson, I commissioned this from Angus.” His hand moved up and down, judging the weight. “’Tis no fearsome weapon, but if ye learn ta thrust with strength, I wager ye can do some harm.”

“Harm?” Amber’s brow rose. She’d been picturing the perfect spot between two tapestries in her room where the bejewelled piece might be shown to best advantage.

He shoved the sword at her and she took it, holding it to her chest. The steel was cool against her fingers, the rubies dazzling in the sunlight.

“Come,” Krayne said, turning on his heel to stride through the castle gates and beyond.

Amber followed, staring at the giant broadsword slung across his back. She had to run to keep up with him, and wished she’d known to wear her boots instead of the soft-soled slippers that picked up every pebble and stick she stepped on. When he stopped at a clearing just inside the wooded area behind the castle, she was flushed and breathing hard.

“Do we have to do this now?” she panted as he reached over his shoulder and came back with the broadsword in one hand.

“Ye have something more important ta do?”

“Actually, I planned a visit to Brayan in the kitchens to oversee the day’s meals.”

He gripped his sword with both hands and lined himself up beside her, so close their arms brushed. “Ye have a complaint with the meals Brayan has prepared so far?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what is there ta change?” A thick brow went up as he glanced her way. “Hold yer sword like this, using both hands. Point the tip inta the ground.”

Amber did as she was told, reluctant as she was to dirty the shiny blade. “I thought to go through the daily schedule with Mungo and take a look over the accounts.”

“Ye read?”

The surprise in his voice ruffled the hairs on her neck. “My father taught me to read and add numbers. Does education in a wife bother you?”

“Not nearly as much as disobedience.” Before she could respond to that, he raised his sword in an arc above his head, instructing her to watch carefully as he swung it down with a lethal swish. “Now ye try.”

Amber lifted the sword and rested the hilt on top her head to take the strain off her arms. Her sword might be far lighter than Krayne’s, but steel was steel. She held it there a moment to regain her balance, then thankfully lowered it, pointing the tip to the ground.

Krayne’s black mood did not take well to her half-hearted attempt at nothing. His brisk swim last night in Wamphray’s frigid waters had gone some way to cool his ardour, but not far enough so that he’d be satisfied with a cuddle. And that’s exactly how he’d spent the night, with his wife’s satin-soft body cuddled against him.

He must be the daftest idiot in the whole of Scotland.

Aye, he was not a happy man.

Without thinking of the consequences, Krayne tossed his sword aside and positioned himself behind Amber, his arms coming around to grasp the hilt of her sword over her slender fingers. He shifted one boot in between her feet to show her how to brace her weight, his knee grazing her inner thigh as he did so. The scent of roses invaded his nostrils and damn if his shaft didn’t rear against her bottom.

In one steady motion, he adjusted her stance and practiced the arc a couple of times, then stood aside and barked, “Now ye show me.”

Amber was at once an exemplary student, lest she find all that potent muscle pressed to her once again. She’d compromised her pride last night, and that was once too many.

When he finally grunted his approval, Amber breathed out a sigh of relief.

Until he strode up to the nearest tree and sliced a thick wedge into the bark with a powerful swing. “Ye’ll only get once chance, Amber. If possible, attack from behind. If the man is wearing a jack, aim fer the legs. Most times a man is only protected at the chest, but some have plates built inta the back as well and ye’ve not the strength ta penetrate.”

“I see.” She braced herself before the same tree. Just before her blade made contact, she jumped back in anticipation of the jarring impact and missed.

“What the hell was that?”

She gave him a foul glare. “Let me try again.”

Krayne shook his head, but said nothing as he stood aside and folded his arms.

This time she nipped the surface and a slither of bark went flying. “Aha,” she cried in triumph.

“Aha,” he agreed dryly. “Ye’ve just made yer enemy highly upset by scratching his favourite britches. Brace yer weight on the balls of yer feet and put some effort inta yer swing. Ye want ta kill the man, not irritate him.”

Amber rolled her eyes at him, but tried again, somehow managing to get her blade stuck in the tree while she bounced to the ground on her bottom.

Picking herself up, she put her hands on her hips and turned on Krayne. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“Ye havena even started.”

“This is ridiculous. I’m not a weapon-wielding warrior.”

“Nay, yer not. Yet ye use that body of yers as expertly as any weapon.”

“To protect myself,” she snapped.

“Ye charged that Maxwell Tower like a mounted warrior armed with sword and lance. If ever ye go running inta danger again, I’ll throttle ye myself. And if ye ever need ta defend yerself, then I damn well insist ye do it with proper weapons and not the body that belongs ta me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.” She threw her beautiful sword at his feet. “I’ve no wish to learn how to wield a sword and I certainly don’t want to kill anyone.”

“I dinna care what ye wish.” Krayne picked up the sword she’d thrown down and thrust it into her hands. “This is not a decision ta give up embroidery fer weaving. There is no choice. Yer life may very well depend on how ye use this sword.”

More than a little angry now, Amber raised the sword above her head and seriously considered aiming for his neck. She huffed in disgust and turned to the tree, swinging the blade down and across with all the force she could muster. Some more bark chipped off the poor tree.

“Good.”

She glared frostily at his pleased grin. “Are we done?”

“Try again.”

Despite her tiring arms, she squared her shoulders and brought the sword up.

“This man is yer enemy. If ye dinna take him down, he’ll kill ye fer sure. Concentrate, Amber. Build up that fury in yer blood.”

She grit her teeth as the sword hovered above her head. There was no man. Only an aging oak tree. She didn’t hate the tree and not even in her wildest imagining could she see the gnarled roots rise from the ground to kill her before she killed first.

“Feel the hate, Amber. Take its strength inta yer arms.”

Her sword started its downward swing.

“Ye want blood. Ye want ta slice through both his legs. Ye want ta see him crawl on bloody stumps.”

The only thing crawling was goose flesh down her spine. Her strike went wide, missing the tree and ripping the sword clear from her grasp to land some feet away.

“You’re a raving lunatic,” she shouted at her grim-faced husband. “I’m married to a madman.”

Bloody stumps indeed. Blinded by disgust and fury, she turned on her heel and ran, not caring where she went, so long it was far away from him. Instinct for survival alone led her to castle gates, and she didn’t stop running until she was inside her room. She tried to slam the door, and then felt stupid that she’d forgotten she no longer had one. She threw herself down on the bed instead.

What was the matter with Krayne?

She’d only wanted to save him. And he rewarded her by training her to be an animal?

“I thought ye might be thirsty.”

The familiar voice, at silly odds with the gentle tone, gripped her gut with suspicion. She peeked from behind one arm to scowl at Isla.

“’Tis only ale, an’ I will have a wee sip first if ye believe I’d poison ye,” Isla sniffed, setting the mug upon the table and filling it from the pitcher. “Nae that I havena had plenty o’ opportunity an’ didna take it, ye ken.”

Amber pulled herself up, watching Isla sip from the mug before handing it over. She cradled the mug at her breast. “Why do you bring me ale?”

The woman shrugged. “I saw ye runnin’ through the bailey an’ ye looked a touch upset.”

Amber shook her head. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Och, me lady, I’ll nae keep a grudge in my breast fer the mistress o’ Wamphray.”

“Hah! And was I not mistress when you slammed that bowl of hot porridge down so hard, it spilled and burnt my fingers?”

Isla had the grace to blush. “Och, now, a wee mistake.”

“When you told Brayan that I prefer salt instead of honey in my apple tartlets?” Her brows arrowed as Isla failed to respond. The air deflated from her lungs. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on? For a start, since when do you address me as mi’lady?”

“Ye be our lady now, ye ken.” Isla’s chin tilted proudly. “Our Lady Wolf.”

“Oh, dear Lord…” Amber’s nerves felt worn-through to the bone. “Where did you come by that title?”

“From Jock’s Hob, me lady. Did he nae ride in jus’ the day afore ye and me laird? Come ta say his farewells ta his cousin, he did. Tellin’ wild stories, he was, of the poor laird’s capture an’ yer grand rescue. I didna hardly believe the mon, but he swore on his life, that he did.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He be proud o’ ye, that be why. We all be proud o’ ye, me lady. Ye nae like that uncle o’ yers, that dung-infested weasel. I swear, ye’ve nae a pinch o’ Jardin blood running in yer veins.”

“I’m afraid I do,” Amber said with a small smile, feeling wretched that Hob had praised her deed and not black-mouthed on her for ruining his life.

“Nae a pinch,” Isla denied hotly. “Ye be Johnstone now, an’ I’ll nae hear a word otherwise.”

“Did Hob mention where he was going?”

Isla grinned. “Och, well, he didna say, but then he hasna left yet an’ I dinna ken he will. His cousin’s lad, Willie, came down wi’ a mysterious fever, the poor lad, an’ Hob be needed ta help wi’ the sheep. I ken the mon has found ’is land legs, fer Hob an’ Willie be out each day at sun up ta muster the sheep yonder ta the grazin’ fields and he hasna said a word o’ leaving agin.”

Amber’s heart felt instantly lighter. Mayhap this harsh land of Krayne’s held more second chances than her husband thought.

Now if only he would be of a similar mind, they might yet have a marriage to speak of. Once he stopped kicking her out of his bed and threatening to throttle her.

Well, Jardin blood or Johnstone, it was rumbling to a boil inside her veins. Amber gulped the ale and gave the mug back to Isla before sliding off the bed. “Thank you, I feel much refreshed.”

Whatever Krayne might think of it, she had a castle to run. Brayan may be an excellent cook, but surely he’d welcome her suggestions and a few new recipes from England? Mungo might be trustworthy and dependable, but her father had taught her how to save coin today for the woes of tomorrow. She’d show Krayne that she was not a total failure as a wife, and then, maybe…

Her plans fizzled inside her head when she left the chamber and found herself staring numbly at Krayne pulling Gayle into the bend that led up to his solar. Not sure what she was doing, Amber followed on wooden legs.

Their voices echoed from the darkness and down the twisted stairwell.

“I hope this means ye’ve come ta yer senses,” said Krayne.

“Ah, Krayne…” The longing in the woman’s voice was painfully evident.

“Naught has changed, Gayle. I want ye—”

The fortified door closed on his words, leaving Amber gaping in shock.

Krayne closed the door behind him and leant back to look at Gayle. “I want ye ta know that this will always be yer home. There’s no reason ta run away.”

Gayle could only stare helplessly at the man she loved with all her heart, her soul, her very being, and wonder at how someone so intelligent could be so very dense at the same time. “Everything has changed.”

He folded his arms, one brow arching high as he considered her statement. “Our arrangement has always been casual, yet I do care fer ye, Gayle. As does yer father. Neither of us will see ye go ta God knows where, and still ye do not say why this must be.”

Because I love ye, and I know I’ll never have ye again. Gayle braced her shoulders against her own pitiful morals, well aware that a single word, look, move from Krayne and she’d be content to spend the rest of her life as his spare woman.

Indeed, she knew there’d been other women even before his marriage. She also knew that he thought she indulged elsewhere when he was away. She’d kept up the pretence, knowing he’d have severed their relationship if he guessed the extent of her feelings.

“Red John and I wish ta be wed,” Gayle said instead, and hated herself for searching his face for any sign of jealousy even though she knew there’d be none. She’d dismissed Red John’s interest in her until last night, when it had become apparent that she needed a better plan if she were to be done with Wamphray. In truth, marriage to the burly bear of a man would be no penance. She had a fondness for him, and since her first marriage had produced no bairns, she was eager to start a family. The only obstacle, being freely available for Krayne, was no longer an issue.

“Red John?” Krayne repeated. “This is sudden. Only last night ye wanted ta leave Wamphray.”

“As we shall. Red John wishes ta follow Duncan ta Carnsalloch.”

“Ah, I’ve not yet decided if Duncan will be going.”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

Krayne shook his head, unwilling to elaborate. “But ye have my permission ta wed Red John.”

“We’ll go anyway,” Gayle blurted, suddenly afraid that marriage would tie her down to the one place she could no longer stand to be rather than set her free. “Please dinna stop us, Krayne. I beg of ye, do this fer me, fer everything we once shared.”

“Ye want ta leave so bad?”

“Aye.” Then, knowing he’d need more, she added, “All I want is a fresh start with my new husband.”

Finally Krayne thought he understood. His involvement with Gayle was no secret and Red John would not appreciate the constant reminder. “Very well, ye and Red John may leave after the wedding.”

“I’d rather we be married at Carnsalloch.”

He was about to argue, then decided to let Gayle have her way. “I’ll send provisions with ye fer the wedding feast, ta spare Elwin the cost of cattle and wine.”

“Thank ye.”

“When were ye hoping ta leave?”

“On the morrow.”

“Then I’d best go have a word with Red John,” he said with a warm smile. Gayle had given him much pleasure and he decided then and there to add some extra gifts for the happy couple’s future.

Gayle clasped her hands at her breast and returned his smile.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Amber came alive. How long had she been standing there? Her knees were knocking so loudly, she thought they’d surely crack.

Naught has changed, Gayle. I want ye…

That was all she’d needed to hear. Her entire body felt iced inside and out. She hadn’t once been invited into his inner sanctuary, but it seemed that Gayle was a regular visitor.

Amber choked down a sob and fled down the stairs. She didn’t need to spy on her husband. She knew exactly what activities were taking place behind that closed door. She’d seen it all before.

By the time she reached the kitchen, her composure was intact, all the heartache, jealousy and despair wrapped up tightly inside the blanket of cold disdain that bound her shaky heart.

That Brayan didn’t seem to notice the grimace hidden by her smile was a relief, and she spent the next while explaining new recipes while learning a thing or two herself. Whenever a picture popped inside her head—Krayne straining over his leman’s spread-eagled legs, that dimple on the side of his buttocks lengthening and deepening with each thrust, slender fingers gripping his midnight-black hair—she tucked it inside her blanket and smiled a little wider. And felt a little colder.

When Brayan suggested they’d done enough for one day, she agreed and thanked him for his time. Her spine was so brittle, ’twas a wonder it didn’t snap as she took the few steps to the great hall.

At some point she’d have to stop and consider what to do about her wretched marriage. For now, she only knew that Krayne could rot in hell before she crumpled on her bed and cried another tear over him.

“Damn them both,” she muttered as she strode across the hall.

“Amber,” Krayne called from across the hall. “Join us.”

Her head came up to glare at the threesome by the hearth. Krayne was standing close to Gayle, and then Red John.

“Come share a glass of wine.” His lopsided grin shred her safety blanket into tiny pieces. She couldn’t bear the thought of what, or more precisely who, had turned the madman of this morning into this pleasantly civil being.

“I’m not thirsty,” she snapped and continued on her way.

“Then ye may share in the conversation.” He was no longer asking.

All the pain he’d caused her, from kidnapping to near rape to ungratefulness and now, finally, to infidelity, stirred the bees inside her head into a towering rage.

She’d risked her very life to rescue him and he couldn’t even spare a thank you. While Gayle…Her gaze went to the beautiful blonde at his side. Aye, Gayle had done nothing but stay at home and keep herself pretty for his return, and she got all the gratitude, all the rewards. What Amber got was a berserker, a foul-mouthed lout screaming at her to turn a tree into bloodied stumps.

Amber pasted a smile on her face and marched right up to the three unsuspecting souls. “You want to talk?”

“Aye,” said Krayne, “we’d enjoy yer company.”

“How positively charming,” she said, fixing a scathing glare on him. “And what a coincidence, for I’ve just the topic for such cosy company.”

“Amber…” Krayne warned.

“No, husband, don’t stop me now.” Her glare expanded to include everyone present in a chilly sweep. “I have some concerns, you see, and mayhap one of your friends—” her eyes stopped on Gayle, “—could help. My husband seems to have an aversion to virgins and I’m quite at a loss on how to proceed. His taste runs to more experienced women and once he discovered that his wife was no whore but, indeed, a maiden, he was so disgusted, he could not even consummate the marriage.”

Amber dismissed the frozen expression on Krayne’s face and went on to smile at Red John with a simpering, “Mayhap you could finish what we started and rid me of this irritating maidenhood,” then turned on Gayle, green eyes glittering, “or mayhap you’d be so kind as to teach me your tricks. I’m a fast learner. Besides, how difficult can it be to act Krayne’s whore?”

Krayne’s hand shot out to grip her arm, but Amber was too quick. With a flick of her skirts, she whirled about and marched stiffly for the stairs.

Amber was a little shocked at herself. Not that she regretted a single word. If Krayne wanted to stomp all over her, he’d just found out that she would not lie down and hurt in silence. The steel fingers that clasped her upper arms from behind were not a complete surprise.

She’d wanted to invoke a reaction.

She’d wanted to open the conversation on his detestable habits so she could blast him straight to hell.

“Ye will go back in there,” Krayne ground out close to her ear, “and apologise.”

Her spine went rigid. “Red John made no secret of his lust for me, Gayle is your leman and you, my lord, have made your disinterest in consummating this marriage quite clear. I fail to see what I should apologise for when I spoke naught but the truth.”

“I didna ask fer explanations and I dinna give a rat’s arse fer what ye perceive ta be the truth. Ye will apologise at once.”

“I most certainly will not.” She flinched as his fingers dug deeper.

“That was an order.” He lifted her feet off the ground and forcibly faced her in the right direction. “Ye will obey me in this.”

She caught a glimpse of the black fury locked inside his pewter eyes and wavered, then lifted her chin high with renewed determination. “Never!”

Without hesitation, he clamped one of her arms in his hand and walked. She dug her toes in, clearing a path through the rushes as she slid unceremoniously along at his side. Damn the man and damn his strength. “You can walk me there, but you’ll have to talk for me as well.”

“Christ.” He promptly changed direction for the nearest trestle table.

Before she realised his intent, he sat down on a bench and pulled her across his lap. Her heart pounded red anger as she found herself staring at the floor. He wouldn’t dare. Bracing her hands on his thigh, she started to raise her head, and met Gayle’s mortified expression.

Passion’s teeth. She kicked out wildly. “Krayne, don’t. Let me up and I’ll apologise.”

How could he do this? In front of her?

Krayne’s jaw tightened at the plea that came too late, but he had no taste for disciplining his wife. He set Amber on her feet and stood, watching in grim silence as she swept her head up in a show of dignity and made her apologies to Gayle and Red John.

Her apology was adequate, if not heartfelt, and he felt a grin struggle through his mood at her inflated pride.

He wiped the grin as she spun about and strode toward the stairs.

“Amber,” he called.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Await me in my chamber,” he said sternly. “I’ve not finished with ye yet.”

Chapter 19

Amber stood by the opening onto the ramparts and stared up at the vivid blue skies. It didn’t seem fair that the day out there could be so gloriously unaware of the gloom darkening her heart. The clouds should be black and thunderous, spitting out torrential rain and lashing down lightning on this barbaric, detestable land.

She turned from the perfect summer afternoon and marched to the bed. How long did Krayne intend to make her wait? How could she possibly face him again? How could she face anyone? He’d tossed her over his knee right there in the great hall, in front of his leman, and in that moment the damage had been done.

The door to the outer chamber slammed shut. She took a deep breath, raised her chin up high, and ran her hands down her bodice before clasping them firmly in front of her.

When Krayne came through the archway, she had a defiant glare ready. Not that he noticed. Resting a hip against the wall inside the arch, he folded his arms and tilted his head as he looked her over, top to toe. His hair was damp, she noted, hanging loose to those broad shoulders. The only sign betraying his expressionless face was the glint of silver in his eyes, hot and menacing.

“Well?” she drawled. “If you’ve come to finish what you started, I suggest you get it over with before we both perish of boredom.”

He came a step forward. “If you insist.”

“Don’t.” Amber jumped back nervously, cursing her rash temper. “Have you not humiliated me enough?”

“Ye’ll do well ta remember the feeling next time ye set out ta humiliate others.”

“I spoke only the truth,” she flung at him.

“Gayle and Red John have naught ta do with yer ire at me.” Krayne raised a warning finger when she attempted to interrupt. “I dinna care ta hear ye justify yer actions.”

He walked around her to sit on the edge of the bed and removed his boots. “I asked ye to join us this afternoon in the celebration of Gayle and Red John’s betrothal. They depart fer Carnsalloch on the morrow and we’re invited ta their nuptials in a fortnight.”

Amber paled as his words took hold in her mind. “I didn’t know.”

He glanced up sharply. “That is no excuse.”

Her fury stirred again. At least she had not bedded the bride-to-be in one breath and toasted her betrothal in the next. “Do you deny your affair with Gayle? Will you at least admit that your marriage bed is cold and empty because you have your leman to run to whenever the need arises?”

“Enough!”

“You cannot, can you? You cannot look me in the eye and swear that you didn’t lie with her.”

“Gayle is none of yer business, Amber.”

“Fine,” she huffed, fisting her hands at her hips. “Then I’ll just take a dozen lovers, shall I? And declare it none of your business.”

Krayne pushed to his feet and tugged at the leather ribbon binding his shirt with clumsy fingers. The problem was, he didn’t entirely believe that she wouldn’t do just that. He’d just returned from cooling his temper in the river; he shouldn’t have bothered. “Do that, wife, and I’ll have ye publicly stripped and flogged in the bailey.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Ye have my solemn word,” he assured her, lying to the both of them. Tugging his shirt free, he pulled it from his britches and over his head, then tossed it into a corner.

“W-what are you doing?” Amber had been too preoccupied with the argument to notice him removing his boots, but the display of sun-bronzed skin and ridges of muscle that flexed with his movements had her rapt attention.

“Correcting the oversight ye so thoughtfully pointed out.” His fingers worked the ties of his britches. “Apparently I’ve been remiss in my husbandly duties and intend ta set that right at once.”

His britches dropped, and there her husband stood in all his splendid nakedness. Even as the familiar longing warmed her blood, she was choking on her dismay. This could not be happening now. Not after the way he’d just humiliated her.

“I will not chase ye around the room again, Amber.” The silver gaze commanded her to him.

“Krayne, please…” Suddenly she was not above begging. “Do not mar our first time with this memory.”

“We’ve had more first times than I care ta count,” Krayne scoffed at her plea. “I intend ta make this our last. Now come ta me.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Ye would deny yer husband?”

“No.” She swallowed with difficulty and lowered her gaze. “Could we not wait for nightfall? ’Tis indecent to…to do this in light of day.”

“I dinna care if it’s morning, noon or sundown. I will be done with this infernal bedding once and fer all.”

Like some unpleasant chore to be got out of the way. Her shoulders went back and her eyes blazed. Very well, at least they were of like mind. She would not go to him, however. And she would not respond. Once he’d finished consummating this marriage, he’d be in no doubt that his limp wife had not felt a thing.

Krayne noted the return of her fiery temper with blessed relief. He’d take a hellion over a weeping willow any day. He crossed to where she waited, her small hands tightly balled, her stubborn chin rising a notch for every step he advanced. As he drew closer, he saw that her entire body was trembling.

He brushed his knuckles tenderly underside her chin and said softly, “Ye have naught ta fear, Amber. This is no punishment.”

She jerked her chin away. “I beg leave to doubt that.”

“I made ye beg once before,” he reminded her, thinking to reassure her that he had only pleasure in mind.

She said nothing.

He deftly loosened her gown at the sides and pushed the bodice from her shoulders with fingers that were not quite steady. His body reacted instantly to the picture she made in naught but her pristine shift. God above, but his wife was the most beautiful creature ever to grace this earth. The hint of cleavage, the swell of her breasts, the narrow plunge to slim hips and those endlessly long legs.

To gain some control, he brought his gaze back up and said hoarsely, “Amber, look at me.”

Amber whipped her head back to glare at him and stepped away. She was plain furious and eager to get this sordid business done with. With one swift movement, she yanked her shift over her head and tossed it aside. As bared as she was, as vulnerable as she felt, she knew that her eyes gave him only cold disdain. “I hate you.”

“Of course ye do.” He followed that irritating response with a slow, appreciating gaze that lingered on her breasts, then at the juncture of her thighs.

Resisting the urge to cover herself, she waited until he’d looked his fill and then deigned to meet her eyes again. “Well, do what must be done, before—”

“—we both perish of boredom,” he finished with a rumbling chuckle, pulling her into his arms and crushing her against his hard body. “Christ, sweeting,” he groaned into her hair, “ye have no idea what ye do ta me.”

She opened her mouth to spew a few things she might well like to do to him right now, but her throat closed down to the raw heat infecting her blood and about as welcome as the black plague.

She did not want this.

She would not give him this satisfaction of melting.

The hair on his chest scratched her sensitised breasts. His potent masculinity demanded attention from every point of contact.

His hands slid down her sides, then to her back and lower to caress her buttocks, squeezing as he ground his loins against her. A pleasure cry leapt to her compressed lips and pushed through.

His arms tightened, then lifted her, dragging friction between bodies already overheated as he carried her to the bed and lay her on her back.

“If you do this,” she swore, “I’ll hate you forever.”

Krayne came over her on all fours, his distended member grazing her soft belly as he brought his head down. “Forever is a verra long time.”

His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that silenced her retort. His lips were hard, like the rest of him, and as dominant, forcing her open and demanding that she accept him. Her tongue met his with a clash, but the devil set about stroking her fight into passion. His palm cupped her breast while his thumb teased her nipple, enticing a groan that betrayed her desire.

After what felt like a lifetime, he pulled free from her mouth. “Yer lips were made fer kissing, my beauty. I’ll never taste my fill.”

If her gaze was anything like the rest of her body, she knew it would not be cold. Still, she met his bold stare with as much challenge as she could. The harsh lines of his face were softened by the dimple at his grin and the warm shades of grey that gave depth to his eyes.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “If ye weren’t so wet fer me, I’d mistake ye fer one of God’s own angels.”

Appalled at the reminder of her traitorous body, she said, “If you weren’t so pathetically mortal, I’d mistake you for the devil.”

His response was to grin broadly and slide down her body. His mouth closed over her breast, sucking gently while his tongue lapped her nipple. She clamped her lips to prevent a moan of pleasure, then gave up as his fingers went between her legs, quickly finding the hidden nub and massaging it into a swollen pulse. Flames spread from her inner centre to grip her body in a wave of aching need.

He came up at that, resting over her on his elbows, his eyes dark and sombre. “Next time, my sweet. I canna hold out much longer and yer ready enough.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the urgent heat lurking in the pewter depths. Desire shaped his jaw into stone and his entire body was primed like a wolf about to leap.

His shaft prodded her hot core and she was at once apprehensive. For all the fire in her blood, she’d never had a man inside her. Her thighs tensed as she tried to close him out.

“Open fer me, lass,” he groaned.

“Don’t hurt me.”

That simple request called forth a restraint Krayne would never have thought himself capable of. He wanted her. He wanted her so desperately, the throb in his shaft seemed to shudder all the way through to his heart. He wanted to dig his fingers underside those taut bums and haul her up and onto him, hard and deep, and pound the throb away.

And yet, holding her gaze as he dipped the tip of his shaft into her velvet heat, Krayne knew he had the strength and control to introduce his wife to this intimate pleasure with tenderness and care. He slid in a little deeper, and deeper, marvelling at the slick tightness he pushed through, until he was up against her maidenhead. He stilled his thrusting, giving her time to adjust while he captured a nipple loosely between his teeth.

Encouraged by her soft moans, he moved his fingers through her hair, cupping behind her head as he kissed his way over the swell of breast and up her throat. She arched into him, all that satin softness, hard nipples and delicious breasts pressed against his hot skin, as if she couldn’t get enough.

He found her lips and plunged inside with his tongue, over and over, tasting, exploring. One hand still holding her head for his kiss, his other came down her side and beneath her arched back, to the tempting swell of buttocks. His hand went lower, cupped one bottom cheek, moulding the exquisite firmness to his palm and keeping her in place as he paused on the crest of thrusting.

God’s teeth, he wished he had more experience in taking a maidenhead.

“Steady now,” he murmured on her lips, then covered her mouth with a deep kiss. He thrust swift and deep, breaching her barrier and touching the entrance to her womb in one movement as he swallowed her scream into him, coming undone as she tensed rigid.

He’d done it all wrong.

He pulled out of the kiss to look at her face, and cursed himself to hell at the shock in those green eyes filled with their own curses.

“Amber…” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Forgive me, sweeting.”

He began to move inside her, unable not to, all that strength and control he’d relied on swept away in thrust upon thrust of exploding heat. “Amber, darling, I canna stop. Forgive me, my sweet wildcat.”

The love words released a smouldering burn in Amber that absorbed the fleeting pain of being torn apart. Her limbs relaxed and all at once she was only aware of Krayne inside her, filling her all the way to her womb, stroking exotic flames that arched her body off the bed in a wave of white-hot pleasure. His jaw contorted, as if in agony, the silver in his eyes as heated and glinted as she’d ever seen. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as her own desire turned fierce and demanding to match his.

She was being driven up that sheer cliff again, reaching the top, knowing with every fibre of her being that she’d shatter into a thousand pieces at the apex, fearing it, wanting it, needing it…

The spasm convulsing around his shaft pushed Krayne over the edge. As he thrust one final time, his seed spurted into the opening of her womb and he rode his peak through the brilliant light, the starry shards, and into the blackness. He remained perfectly still, feeling her throb around him, listening to her purring groans and knew he’d just had his first taste of heaven.

When she at last relaxed around him, he rolled off her to prop himself on an elbow at her side. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed in the aftermath, her breathing still quick and deep.

He couldn’t get enough.

Already he missed her tight, hot sheath.

His hand went to her breast, fondling, his fingers playing with her nipple as he waited for her eyes to open. Was she still angry with him? In the end she’d yielded, but would she forgive him for taking her will as well as her body? He knew without a doubt that his little wildcat would come back clawing.

Something close to pride swelled his heart, and left it bruised with tender longing.

Her eyes open, glazed with lingering passion. Her lips, plush and swollen from his kisses, twisted into not quite a smile. She turned her head to look at him, and she looked and looked.

Krayne felt at once vulnerable. She was furious. She’d make him pay one way or another.

“Ye promised ye’d never run from me again,” he said sternly as the sudden fear cut through his gut.

After a maddening pause, she turned her cheek on the pillow to stare away from him. “You’re a hard man, Krayne.”

“Aye,” he agreed, rolling onto his back. “That I am.”

He’d had to be for as long as he could remember. At the age of fourteen he’d had two-score seasoned moss-troopers following his orders without hesitation. One did not achieve that by showing leniency. But this was his wife. A woman he…

Krayne grunted as he reached out, pulling her into his side before she could resist. He pressed her cheek to his chest and slid his arm beneath and around her, his palm splayed on her belly, holding her firmly to him. His wife. A woman he had some definite feelings for, as much as he couldn’t quite define them.

Her hand went to his chest, tentatively at first, then her fingers threaded through the curls, up to his nipples and rested there. A part of him melted. He wasn’t sure which part. It wasn’t his shaft—that he knew. Nay, that part of him was halfway erect again. Damn it all, would he never get enough of Amber?

And then he smiled. He knew he never would and it no longer seemed like a hardship he had to bear. He’d want her body from here to eternity, and he wanted more over and above that. He wanted her all. “This bedding was long overdue, Amber. I did what had ta be done.” She shifted in his arms, trying to get free, but he held her close. “I’ll never force ye ta my will again, sweeting, on that ye have my word.”

“Hah!” She jerked her head back to look him in the eye.

Krayne grinned and wondered what the hell he was doing. “Ye’ll sleep in my bed every night, ’tis where a wife should be, but ye have the right ta refuse my entry. My strength will not make us unevenly matched in our marriage bed.”

She raised a wary brow at him. “You promise?”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Now close yer eyes and sleep. ’Tis a while yet before supper.”

Amber fell asleep almost at once, each shallow breath pressing soft breast into his chest. He was reluctant to move, perversely satisfied to feel her against him and relish the torture as his lust stirred wide-awake.

“Ah, well.” He removed himself, carefully turning Amber on her back, and went to heat a little water in the contraption she’d had set up in the back room’s hearth. When he took the bowl of water and linen cloth to the bed and spread her thighs, there was less blood than he’d expected. Memories of that other night assailed him, her thighs covered with blood, her torn shift. But there was no more anger at her trickery, only relief that from here on there’d be no more pain and fear in his marriage, only pleasure.

He was smiling as he made his way down the stairs to the hall, and didn’t even scowl when Duncan accosted him at the bottom.

“Ye canna hold me here against my will,” Duncan said.

“Actually, I can.” Krayne folded his arms and raised a brow. He was feeling particularly lenient. “I want ye back within a year and then we’ll review the situation.”

“Damn it all, Krayne. I deserve this chance ta—” Duncan’s gaze narrowed as he suddenly digested his brother’s words, and then he was grinning from ear to ear as he fisted a hand in the air. “Ye willna regret this. I’ll make ye proud, I swear.”

“See that ye do,” he said, only allowing his own grin to come through as he watched Duncan hurry off, no doubt to spread the news.

Amber came awake on a sensation of intense satisfaction and well-being, as if her every desire had been met and then improved on. Giving a feline stretch, it took a moment for reality to descend. She jerked upright. The covers slid off, baring her naked breasts. Between her thighs she was sore and stiff.

And she hadn’t just allowed him into her body, she had moaned and clung and arched for more.

Amber scrambled from the bed, found her shift in the corner where she’d tossed it and quickly slid it over her head. The only leverage she’d had was disinterest, cold disdain and sneering disgust at his advances, and she hadn’t even the sense to use it.

And what had he said? In a moment of compassion, no doubt overcome with pity for the weakling he had total power and authority over, he’d sworn that she could refuse him future entry.

Amber snorted as she picked up her crumpled gown and shook it out. Some generosity that was! How could she refuse Krayne, when that refusal would only send him to Gayle’s bed?

No, she remembered, Gayle was leaving.

“There’ll be others,” she muttered, stepping into the gown. “Every time I close my legs, there’ll be a dozen others opening wide.”

“Leave that off.” The growl was a husky command.

She quickly pulled the gown up, over her hips, pinning the bodice to her chest as she whirled about. The arrogant swine was grinning, lolling in the archway with that brooding pewter gaze.

“You gave me your word.”

“Pull in yer claws, wife.” His advance was lithe, a wolf stalking his prey. “I dinna recall naught about being allowed ta feast my eyes on ye.”

“Krayne, don’t…” Too late. He plucked the bodice from her fingers. The material pooled at her feet to leave her standing in her shift.

He didn’t move away, unnerving her and sending her senses into a spin, feasting at his leisure.

And Amber knew that she could not take for him to look at another woman with that hungry gaze. Finally he moved, taking her hand in his and turning. “Come, I thought ye might appreciate supper in the privacy of our chamber.”

“I’m not dressed,” she told him, pulling her hand free.

His gaze appraised her from head to foot, but this time there was more warmth than arrogance. “Ah, my sweeting, yer dressed just fine fer me.”

The raw desire in his voice melted through the crust of her shame, failed pride and jealousy. She’d never given in to defeat before and she wouldn’t start today. Passion’s teeth, hadn’t she once told him that God had given women curves and the intelligence to use them? Victory lay in keeping her husband enthralled in her charms and out of anyone else’s bed.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” she told Krayne, ushering him into the outer chamber.

Krayne stoked the fire at the hearth. The height of summer was upon them, but the late evening air could still produce a chill that needed more protection than a shift. Or would she defy him and be fully dressed?

He scowled into the fanned flames. What hellish kind of game was he playing anyway? He knew well that he couldn’t take his wife again tonight, not so soon after her first time. He should have ordered that sumptuous little body wrapped in blankets from top to bottom. He was completely befuddled to demand this self-torture that filled his loins and made him hard.

He threw the log that he’d been using onto the flames and flung his tense body into one of the chairs he’d dragged to the table holding their supper tray. Ah, he was daft when it came to Amber, but mayhap that was also the way of mankind. For wouldn’t a thirsty man still prefer to gaze on a bubbling burn, even though he knew he couldn’t drink?

He heard Amber before he saw her. His throat went dry, instantly parched as he watched her approach. No bubbling burn, but a graceful waterfall plunging vibrantly from the loftiest crag, sparkling and splashing in a brilliant fall to a clear, inviting pool surrounded by the verdant foliage of a sun-kissed spring morn…

Krayne reached for his goblet. The cool wine did naught to quench his thirst. He threw back the entire contents anyway and dug deep for some elusive restraint, well aware he had to get through this night one way or another. “Is that my shirt?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Amber said, moving to stand with her back to the hearth. “My shift was crumpled and uncomfortable.”

The flickering flames behind her illuminated every curve and cast alluring shadows by her breasts and at the juncture of her thighs, reminding Krayne of her first night in his bedchamber, albeit under very different circumstances. Now he felt the prisoner, trapped by his own greedy desires. “And I suppose ye have only the one shift?”

“No.” She brought one hand up to finger the cotton edge hanging in a low vee at her cleavage. He swore her smile was deliberately provocative. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he drawled, making every effort to relax his tightly wound muscles. He poured her some wine, then filled his own goblet again.

Did his wife have any idea what she was doing to him?

His gaze came up, wary as he recalled that seducing men was her favourite pastime. She was seated across the table from him, her attention focused on lifting the silver cover from the tray.

What the devil was she up to?

The pheasant was finely roasted, the tender meat melting from the bone with a gently tug. He offered her a small piece, and felt the sensory tingle as their fingers brushed.

“Thank you,” Amber said, delighting in the way his gaze darkened to pewter. Seducing one’s husband, she discovered, was a most pleasurable pastime. Nothing like the many times she’d used seduction for her survival.

She nibbled at her meat. “The pheasant is delicious.”

“Aye, the entire meal is delicious.” His appreciative gaze and gruff tone left her in no doubt that he considered her part of that meal.

She sent a teasing smile his way.

“What are ye doing, Amber?”

“I am dining with you, my lord, as ordered.”

“Then I suggest ye eat and dinna look at me with that emerald lust, lest ye wish me ta douse it once more this night.” Krayne’s brow shot high when her gaze remained on him, bold and heated. His body was instantly hard to accommodate, but he didn’t want to hurt her again. “I wish we could, sweeting, but not so soon again.”

She tipped her chin up and gave him a slow smile. “Don’t leave me tonight, Krayne.”

Krayne watched her as he tore another strip of meat from the pheasant leg with his teeth and chewed.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he promised at last. “Come ta me.”

She stood without hesitation and moved to stand before him. He had her sideways in his lap before she’d come to a stop.

“I’ll not leave ye,” he whispered huskily at her ear, twining a raven tendril around his fingers as he did so. “I’ll hold ye in my arms all night.”

The ends of her shirt caught under her backside and he tugged it free. His shaft reared against the leather of his britches to prod her bare lower cheek. With one hand, he turned her lips to his, his other hand went under the shirt and found a breast.

“Ah,” Amber sighed, just before his mouth came down. The kiss was urgent, penetrating her mouth with raw abandon. Her husband was not going anywhere tonight, she had his word.

There was no reason to continue this seduction…except for the rare thrill and joy of it.

For the first time in her life, Amber felt she knew what seduction was truly for.

Krayne’s palm cupped her breast. She met his groan of hot longing with a moan as he turned her further with single determination, moulding her firmly to his chest. She rubbed up and down his chest, teasing his ardour.

“Devil take it,” groaned Krayne as his lips left her mouth to kiss a path down her throat and to the slender curve of shoulder. “Not tonight, sweetest, yer yet tender.”

“Let me be the judge.”

The soft surrender in her voice pulled Krayne to his senses.

Keeping her wrapped in his arms, he pushed to his feet and carried her into their adjoining chamber. As soon as he’d settled her on the bed, he stripped and joined her beneath the covers.

Amber snuck to his side, draping one arm over his abdomen and pressing her cheek to his chest.

Her gaze reached up to his, slaked with desire.

Krayne tucked his arm beneath her and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, my little wildcat, tomorrow we can finish what ye started.”

Chapter 20

Although Amber woke up alone, she knew Krayne had stayed with her the night. She’d stirred a few times and found herself secure in his arms. She dressed quickly and performed her morning ablutions, feeling light of heart.

As she moved through to the outer chamber, she spied the discarded tray from their supper. Seducing her husband last night had called forth an entirely different beast. Instead of bedding her, he’d cherished her.

A warm glow fed into her smile.

There was a timid rapping at the door.

“Enter,” called Amber, assuming it to be Mary. The woman had been scarce ever since their return from Annan. Not that Amber minded, she was quite capable of dressing herself except for when the occasion called for a more elaborate gown or hairstyle. When she saw who entered, her smile faltered. “What do you want?”

Gayle closed the door behind her and came further inside the room. “I came ta say goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Amber snapped, furious that her husband’s leman had actually come into their chamber to wish him farewell.

Only Gayle wasn’t in any hurry. “Ye may do well ta ask why I’m leaving.”

“I don’t particularly care.” Amber folded her arms, yet her glare softened as she admitted that her husband was more to blame than Gayle. Still, she hurt too much to attempt a reasonable attitude.

“I love him.” Gayle lowered herself into one of the chairs by the table. “I’m in love with Krayne. ’Tis why I have ta go.”

Get up and get out, Amber wanted to scream.

“Is this where I’m supposed to beg your forgiveness for marrying him?” Amber asked in a voice of steel. “Or do you seek my eternal gratitude for disappearing and giving Krayne to me?”

To her utter chagrin, Gayle burst into laughter.

Amber folded her arms again and glared.

Finally the woman stopped laughing long enough to continue. “Krayne was never mine ta give. From the moment he took yer hand in marriage, he belonged ta ye and no one else. And if ye think otherwise, ye dinna know yer husband verra well.”

“I know Krayne well enough.”

“Then ye know he be a man o’ honour. He made a vow afore God above ta forsake all others and he’ll go ta his grave wi’ that promise branded on his heart and soul.”

Amber’s mouth opened in protest, then clamped shut again.

Krayne? Faithful?

“He hasna touched me, Amber. An’ if I thought he ever would agin, I’d wait here fer that day.”

“He didn’t exactly shout denial at my accusation.”

“He wouldna, would he? Krayne is not a man ta explain himself. ’Tis more likely he assumes yer trust without thinkin’ ta prove himself.”

Oh, dear Lord.

Amber slumped into the chair opposite Gayle. She wasn’t sure if she could trust this woman or her motives, but she did know Krayne.

She’d never given their wedding vows any proper thought, had in truth been in a complete daze throughout most of the ceremony. From what she knew of these Scots, she probably wasn’t entirely wrong in presuming that little clause was habitually omitted from their marriage sermon.

“He took you into his solar yesterday. I heard him, Gayle. He said naught has changed. That he still wants you.”

“I dinna know what ye thought ye heard, but all we did was discuss the details o’ my betrothal.”

Amber shook her head, confused and saddened, and not wholly convinced, then frowned suspiciously at Gayle. “You must hate me after what I said yesterday.”

“A little,” Gayle admitted.

“Then why would you care to ease my mind?”

Gayle pushed to her feet with a sigh and shrugged. “I love Krayne. I’m doin’ this fer him, nae fer ye. Yer husband be a honourable man, Amber. I wouldna see him shamed in his own home fer a dishonour he is nae capable o’.”

The barb hooked in Amber’s gut.

She hadn’t shamed Krayne, she’d shamed herself.

Gayle turned toward the door with a parting, “Make him happy, Amber. The man deserves naught less.”

Amber stared at the door long after it had closed, reluctantly admitting some respect for her husband’s leman.

As for Krayne…she loved him so. Something in her heart had been set free between yesterday and today. She’d loved him for a long while now, no matter how she’d tried to fight or deny it.

She loved the way his jaw locked down to keep his temper in. She loved the shades of passion, anger and amusement that turned his eyes from smoky grey to glinted silver to pewter in no particular order or set pattern.

She loved that beneath his harsh exterior was a gentleness he didn’t even realise, the many times he’d prowled his chamber until the early hours of dawn when he could have taken her by right.

She loved the humming control of his entire body as he’d wrapped her in his arms last night and held her close ’til early morn.

She loved it all. She was made for his touch. His strength protected the lady in her and his potency drove the woman to wild abandon.

She loved that he could send her knees into a quake and lace fire through her blood with that lopsided grin and naught more than a look. Aye, and that she could break down his control just as easily.

She loved that he’d given her power over him in the one area of his weakest defence and knew she’d treat that gift with respect.

She wasn’t blinded to his faults. He was a hard man, unyielding even when the circumstances called for a change in his many rules. Too oft he treated her like a prize he’d claimed on the battlefield.

Even so, she loved him enough to overcome all that he’d done and still might do, enough to embrace all Krayne’s virtues and faults with outreached arms.

Except his arrogance, Amber amended a short while later.

She’d taken the tray below and on the way back from the kitchen, had stopped at the alcove where the castle’s linen was stored for a clean sheet. She pulled back the curtain and froze in disbelief at the couple entwined against the wall.

“Go away,” mumbled Brayan, not bothering to turn around.

Mary met her blank gaze over his shoulder and shrieked in horror. “Get off me, you great big lump of wood.”

“What the—” Brayan stood back, arms slack at his sides, watching Mary’s futile attempt to straighten her skirts and pat down her hair. Finally she prodded him hard enough to spin him about.

“Ah, um, excuse me, me lady,” he blustered, pushing past Amber before she could think to stop him.

Finding her wits, Amber rushed inside the alcove. “Did he hurt you? Oh, Mary, I am so sorry. I thought you had an affection for the man. I never dreamed that he’d take advantage—”

“Hush, child,” Mary snapped. Her cheeks were ablaze with colour and a smile tugged at her lips. “Brayan did naught that I disliked.”

“Ah.” Now Amber’s cheeks caught fire. This was Mary, after all. The woman who’d nursed her from a bairn, thirty years her senior, very nearly her mother when all was said and done. Amber shook her head roughly. “Then you two are…?”

Mary’s lack of response was answer enough.

“He’ll marry you,” Amber decided. “If Brayan has compromised you, Krayne will ensure that he acts honourably.”

“Marry me?” giggled Mary.

“Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“I’m not worried, child. But at my age, I’ll not have you arranging my nuptials.”

“But he—”

“Nay,” Mary interrupted. “He’s done little more than steal a few kisses and the blustering man has already proposed more times than I can count.”

Amber’s brows shot up.

“I don’t want to marry him.”

“Then Krayne will see to it that Brayan leaves you alone.”

“Och, you’d cheat an old woman of the few pleasures left?” Mary sniffed and pushed past Amber. “Leave him be to chase me awhile longer, child. I’ll marry Brayan when I’m good and ready.”

Krayne found Amber standing in the archway, holding the curtain back. He came up quietly from behind and peered over her head. “What are we looking at?”

Amber jumped, then turned on him with a scowl. “Do you have to do that?”

He chuckled, following her into the alcove and allowing the curtain to fall closed unobtrusively. He’d searched her out, thinking she might like to accompany him on his morning ride, but this particular alcove stirred some wicked sense of humour. “Well, now that we’re here, what did ye have in mind? I can vouch fer that shelf, ’tis fairly sturdy and just the right height.”

“For what?” Her nose puckered, reminding him that she was, in many ways, yet innocent.

Grinning, he swept the shelf clear, swung her up by the waist and sat her on top. She gasped as he wedged himself between her legs and placed his hands on either shoulder.

“Fer this, wife,” he murmured, bringing his head down to take advantage of her parted lips. He kissed her thoroughly, enjoying the heat she never failed to stir in his loins even as he knew he wouldn’t take her here. He could wait for tonight, but a quick taste would go a long way to carry him through the day.

Amber moaned softly when he pulled out of the kiss. His grin went lopsided to tug at her melting heart. But something else tugged at her mind, which was slowly clearing from the shock of Mary’s secret trysts and the fog of his kiss.

Krayne and Gayle. I can vouch fer that shelf…

Passion’s teeth! They’d done it in here, as well. “You should have told me.”

“I’d prefer ta show ye,” he drawled, sliding his hands down her arms and then moving them to her thighs.

Amber slapped his hands off her. “I’m talking about you and Gayle. You could have told me it was over and spared me the embarrassment.”

A warning glint cooled his gaze as he folded his arms. “Gayle has naught ta do with ye.”

“I saw you,” Amber blurted into his arrogance. “I saw the two of you together, rutting like animals. How can that have naught to do with me, your wife?”

“Ye saw us…where?”

His quiet voice told her she’d roused his temper. But he’d done no less to her. Shoving his exploits in her face. I can vouch fer that shelf, ’tis fairly sturdy and just the right height. “In your solar.”

“Ye spied on me?”

“Of course not! ’Twas a mistake, and you might think of bolting the door next time—” She cut off abruptly. What was done was done. There’d be no more next times. She didn’t want to go around in circles for the rest of their lives. “What matters is that I knew you were involved with her and might have welcomed having my mind set at ease once we were wed.”

Krayne was not about to defend or explain every past affair that found its way to his wife’s ears on the wings of castle gossip, but this was different. If he’d known she’d seen him with Gayle, he would have made a point of reassuring her. “There will be no next time, Amber.”

“Good!”

“And I’ll not tolerate ye sneaking behind doors, either. I’ve naught ta hide, but I willna be spied on. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” Amber tried to jump down from the stupid ledge and flee, but his thighs were still firmly wedged between hers. “Please release me.”

He moved away, but only so far as the curtained arch, blocking her escape.

“Was there something else?” she asked.

Krayne met her flashing gaze with a scowl as his mood darkened. Was one day of truce truly so unattainable? A snatched moment of sensual play in a curtained alcove truly so forbidden?

“Nay,” he said, turning abruptly and slipping out past the hanging curtain. He made straight for his favourite swimming hole and cooled his temper in the frigid water. He’d taken more frosty swims since meeting Amber than in all the days he’d lived.

When he returned to the castle, Amber was by the central hearth in the great hall. From the look on her face, she was in animated conversation with Alexander, who sat awkwardly on a chair pulled close to the fire.

“I’m well enough ta stand,” Alexander was groaning as Krayne came within earshot.

“Then mayhap I should increase your dose,” warned Amber with a teasing smile. “You will take it easy, Lexie, even if I have to keep you half-asleep until your ribs are healed.”

Lexie? Krayne bit down a disgruntled exclamation and hastened his approach. “Yer under no obligation ta drink that foul potion my lady wife prepares,” he told his captain.

“Nay, Krayne, ’tis all that makes breathin’ bearable.”

Krayne turned on his wife. “Ye’re turning my men inta lily-livered noonies.”

She merely shrugged and Alexander, he noted, smiled contentedly, as if being a noonie was an accolade to be earned.

“Come, wife.” He took her hand. “’Tis past our bedtime.”

Alexander chuckled aloud.

“We’ve only just had supper,” protested Amber, digging her toes in. “I’m not the least bit tired.”

“Who said anything about sleep?”

Alexander’s chuckle became a roar, and then a gargling choke as he doubled over.

Concerned, Amber immediately struggled to free her arm so she could go to his side.

“He’ll survive,” Krayne promised darkly, marching for the stairs and pulling her along. “And if he doesna, not many men can claim dying of mirth.”

Amber punched his arm. “He needs help, Krayne.”

Krayne rolled his eyes, then stopped and called out to no one in particular. “Alexander needs a little aid, men. Get ta him and see that he doesna laugh himself ta death.” He glanced down at his wife. “Satisfied?” he growled, and continued marching her up the stairs.

“What have I done now?” Amber demanded once they were in the chamber. She was mightily tired of been pulled and plucked to wherever Krayne thought to put her.

“Naught that I’m aware of,” he said silkily as he busied himself with rearranging the two chairs by the hearth. “Come sit.”

“I’m not a chair, Krayne. You cannot just move me from here to there without asking where I’d like to be.”

“And where would ye like ta be, wife?” Krayne took one of the chairs and stretched his legs out in front of the fire.

The fire did look inviting, Amber thought. Not that she was the least bit cold. But there was something about sitting across from her husband before a log fire. The scene was set and it was cosy.

Krayne watched the indecision playing across her face before she finally sat down. She removed her slippers and tucked her feet in beneath her bottom. The firelight flickered mahogany streaks in her hair and shadows upon her face, casting her beauty in dramatic overtures.

“Very well, here I am,” Amber said, her quiet voice doing nothing to break the spell. Her smile was soft and inviting. “What did you want, Krayne?”

This, he acknowledged with a grin. He caught her eye and locked the emerald dazzle into his heart.

And mayhap he wanted an intimate byname for her lips alone. Krayne sounded so cold and informal, did naught to produce the spontaneous warmth that had wrapped her tongue around Lexie.

Suddenly irritated with himself, Krayne left his chair to pour them each a goblet of wine. “We will talk. I would know my wife a little better.”

“I’d say you know me well enough after…you know.”

Krayne chuckled at her innocence. ’Twould take a hundred years and more to know her body as well as he would like to and he intended to enjoy every night of them. He brought the wine back and pushed a goblet into Amber’s hand, then tilted her chin up for a kiss that brushed her lips. “I’ll discover all I need ta know of yer body fer myself. ’Tis the rest of ye I’m interested in now, lass.”

Amber clasped the goblet as he went back to his chair. She took a deep sip, but instead of cooling down his kiss, the wine flushed additional heat to her cheeks. “What do you wish to know?”

He stretched his legs, his own goblet cradled in his lap, and fixed a brooding gaze on his boots. His leather breeks were a snug fit, giving her a bold view of muscled thigh and the thickened shaft outlined against his abdomen. She quickly flitted her gaze higher, to rest on the large, capable hands around his goblet, and almost sighed aloud when she recalled how his hand had swallowed hers when he’d led her up the great hall on their wedding day.

They didn’t do that enough.

Dragged by the wrist, aye.

Hauled up at the waist.

Locked to his side by her arm.

Pinned. Jerked. Pulled.

Would that they could walk hand in hand through this marriage, but for now it seemed that every breath would be a struggle.

“Tell me about Stivin.”

Her eyes shot up at the softly spoken command. Krayne wasn’t looking at her, though. His gaze was steadfast on his boots, his face set in stone ridges and dales, and she knew this was as difficult for him as it was for her. He still believed that she’d betrayed Stivin, and in a way, she had, by mere fact of her friendship. Her throat closed up at the memory of her gentle friend, his head filled with poems and dreams, his black eyes brimmed with youthful energy, his future stretched before him.

“Did ye love him?” Krayne asked dully.

He couldn’t look at Amber. This discussion was way overdue, but he wasn’t sure how he would deal with the truth. If she’d never loved Stivin, he should hate her for misleading the lad into rushing headfirst to his death. If she had loved Stivin, would his pride bear her pining for another man, be he alive or dead?

“Aye,” she said at last. “I loved him very much.”

Krayne felt something break inside him, perhaps the cask that held his pride.

And still there was more. “I was silly enough to think my uncle would betroth me to Stivin.”

His fingers tensed around the cold pewter of his goblet, but nothing could keep the pain down. It leaked from him, seeping through the cracks of whatever part of him had broken, and he wasn’t so sure it was his pride after all.

“And ye got me instead,” Krayne muttered hoarsely. He threw back the remainder of his wine, then flung the goblet into the fire.

“I didn’t betray him, you know.” She wiped at the corner of her eye with a thumb. “I never told anyone about your raiding plans.”

“I never considered ye informing yer uncle of the raid a betrayal, Amber. ’Tis a matter of family loyalty.”

“You know I’ve little love or loyalty for William Jardin. I owe him nothing and I’d never have betrayed Stivin to him or anyone else.” Her hands fisted in her lap and her eyes flashed green as she looked up at him. “William banished my father and then tricked him on his deathbed to lure me back to Scotland.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You would know more than me. All I know is that my father broke off his betrothal to Joanna Johnstone, your mother, and that somehow started this feud. My father was a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

“Ah,” Krayne muttered, “but that’s another tale and yer father’s not entirely at fault there. What I meant was, why would yer uncle want ye back in Scotland?”

“You know,” exclaimed Amber, her eyes narrowing on him as she ignored the question. “You know what happened between my father and your mother.”

“I know what didn’t happen,” he said evasively.

“Why did my father run away?” Amber prodded. “I cannot imagine him breaking such a promise, even if he did not love Joanna.”

“’Twas my mother who did the running, lass. And yer father did break a promise made afore God, even had he just cause.”

Amber’s shoulders slumped. “So, ’tis true then. He abandoned your mother, and she never quite recovered.”

“What do ye mean by that?” demanded Krayne.

Noting the hardening of his jaw, Amber hoped she wasn’t getting someone else into trouble again. “Your man aboard the ship, the one who served me, mentioned that your mother went into a convent soon after and has stayed there ever since.”

“Aye, that she did,” Krayne said.

“And she’s never come home, even to visit?”

“My mother isolated herself from the world, from her duties and her children. For a long while most people believed her dead, and some still do. That is the way she chose, and we’ve done well enough without her.”

“You take a hard view, Krayne, are you so very sure she deserves it?” Amber thought of her father’s role in this woman deserting her own children, and she had to know the truth. “I want to meet her.”

“We were talking of ye and Stivin,” Krayne reminded his wife. He had no intention of revisiting his own haunted past. “So, ye never told yer uncle about the raid?”

She looked set to argue, but after a moment her chin tucked in. “Not that it matters. Stivin rode to his death either way and all because of me. Oh!” she cried, jumping up. “I hate William. By God, I hate that man! I wish I could undo what he has done. I wish Stivin had never even met me.”

Feeling her distress, Krayne pushed to his feet. Before he could reach her, Amber fled outside to the ramparts. He followed hastily and found her heaving dry sobs against the wall.

“Ye didna betray anyone, lass. Stivin knew what manner of man Jardin is and ’tis the reason he rode after you. ’Tis a man’s right ta defend and protect the woman he loves.” He scooped Amber into his arms, holding her close to his chest, and walked back to the chamber. “Ye have no blame in this.”

His warmth and strength filled Amber, brought her back to life. The deep rumble of his soothing words unlocked the tears to stream down her cheeks. “You’re wrong, Krayne. I should never have worried Stivin with my problems. If I hadn’t said anything to him about my uncle, he wouldn’t have thought I needed protecting.”

“If yer uncle wasna such a bastard, ye wouldna have needed protecting,” Krayne corrected.

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t Stivin’s battle. He didn’t love me. He was infatuated and I should have done more to set him straight. I loved him as a friend, as a brother. He was all I had in Scotland. Mayhap I even hoped that my love could grow into something stronger, that we could join in marriage and end this bloody feud, but even then I knew well that it might never be.”

“Hush now, wife,” Krayne growled.

I loved him as a friend, as a brother.

His own pain disappeared as he lowered himself into the chair and kept her tucked against him on his lap.

“I was not the woman he was meant to die for,” said Amber in a hushed voice. “I could never be that woman.”

“He cared fer ye.” Krayne stroked her hair as he spoke, hoping to God he could reach her. “I would die fer a brother, cousin, sister, mother or friend. As would Stivin. ’Tis the way of man, lass, and naught ye could have said or done would change a thing.”

She cried silently against his chest, wetting him through to the skin, and Krayne did the only thing he knew to do. He rocked her close to him and murmured comforting words until the tears dried up, and then some more, until the heaving abated, until her body went limp as she allowed sleep to claim her.

Somewhere in his desperate need to calm her, he promised a trip to Auchenroddan convent. He found he could no longer refuse Amber a thing, and if she wanted to meet his mother…

“I should never have left England,” she murmured as she drifted off.

“Aye,” he whispered into her hair, “but then I would never have found ye, sweeting.”

Amber awoke on a soft moan of pleasure as her dream greeted the dawn without fading. She was pressed against a warm mass, her back flush with the muscular wall of her husband’s chest, his knees folded behind hers and his hard manhood pressed along the crevice of her buttocks. His hand cupped her breast through the thin cotton of her shift, massaging the soft flesh while his thumb stroked her nipple taut. The raspy breaths on the side of her neck gave way to a sensual kiss that started at an incredibly sensitive spot behind her earlobe and worked its way down to the curve of her shoulder.

The beast undressed me and now he’s taking advantage while I sleep, she thought drowsily, but couldn’t summon the will to take offence.

Another hand slid along the contour of her body, down the valley of her waist, over the flare of hip and along the length of her thigh to catch the edge of the material ruffled at her knee and going beneath. Determined fingers smoothed deep tingles along the tender flesh of her inner thigh, up and up, until her shift was bundled at her hips and his thumb rested on her pearly bud.

His kisses trailed up again and the massaging at her breast became more urgent. He nibbled at her earlobe while his tongue flicked, circling tiny orbs of desire down her spine. She arched backward, a reflex she had no control of, causing his shaft to slip further between her legs, the tip sliding against her nether lips.

She rubbed sensuously along his shaft.

In a sudden movement she was pressed flat on her back and his body was raised over her. Smoky grey eyes challenged her to refute his dominance as he lifted her to tug the shift over her head. When he lowered her again, he took each of her hands in his and pinned them high above her head.

Her body was aware of every part of him; the steel-hard thighs nudging her legs apart, the length of his rigid shaft resting on her belly, the musky scent folding around her as he lowered his chest over her.

His jaw was shadowed by the night’s growth, giving his face a harsh, dangerous look that matched the heat in his burning gaze. She squirmed beneath him, suddenly overcome with the need to wrap her arms about him, to bring him closer faster. Her breasts strained in anticipation of the scratchy feel of his morning beard.

His mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was hot and penetrating while he manoeuvred her wrists so that he locked her down with one hand only, freeing the other to go back to her breast, fondling the plump softness, pinching the nipple with just the right amount of pressure. He broke the kiss to move lower, his tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat, then tracing a hot wetness down the valley of her breasts. His lips closed over her other breast, suckling the nipple deep into his mouth, and his hand went down her belly and to the juncture of her thighs. He cupped her down there, his palm grinding into the burn as he rocked her mound slowly and firmly.

Languid heat stole through her as he dipped fingers inside her and her cavity immediately pulsated around them. The fingers withdrew and her eyes shot open to find his lopsided grin directly above her, and then his mouth crushed down on hers. His chest grazed her breasts and his shaft rubbed at her arousal between her thighs, creating a vortex of hot need. His lips slanted over hers, again and again with delicious roughness as his tongue delved inside, stroking, wrapping, tasting, sucking.

Just when she thought she could take no more, when the frustrated burn became a genuine ache, the kiss ended abruptly and the pressure of his body lifted. She opened her eyes to see he’d gone up on his knees.

“Brace yerself,” Krayne ordered gruffly, pulling her higher up the bed and placing her palms flat against the wall above her head.

She met his dark gaze and stiffened her arms, watching his jaw clamp down as he pushed his hands beneath her to grab her buttocks, lifting her up to him as he pressed forward. The tip of his erection nudged her opening. Her legs instinctively opened wider and wrapped around his waist, but he didn’t plunge inside. He looked at her for the longest time, restraint gripped at his jaw and glistening in his eyes as he remained poised for entry.

Through the fog of her own desire, Amber saw the vulnerable element carved into the rocky contours of his face, and her heart opened wide.

“Aye,” she groaned. “Please…”

He eased into her, stretching her, filling her. She tensed for a moment, but there was no pain, only intense pleasure pushing inside her until he was fully embedded. Keeping one hand on her buttocks to hold her in place, he brought the other to her mound, teasing fingers parting her lower lips and stroking the swollen flesh while he moved his shaft in and out with practised slowness. With expert timing, his fingers stopped stroking to cup her as his last thrust shattered to spill the molten liquid into her core. He remained still and rigid deep inside her, his shaft pushing against her womb and some hidden spot that made the burning release last and last.

Before she’d fully relaxed, Krayne grabbed her bums with both hands, holding her firmly as he pumped, long, fast thrusts, pulling all the way out and then plunging back in, fitting her so tightly that the journey was one long delicious sensation. Faster. Harder. Wilder. The hot spiral built quickly, higher than before as he jutted forcibly against that awakened spot at the opening of her womb. His seed spurted inside her and with it came another rush of blinding pleasure that seemed to take forever to abate.

He stayed inside her, propped on his elbows, his chest grazing her breasts, his lips a breath from her.

Amber opened her eyes to meet his pewter gaze.

“I love you, Krayne,” she whispered from her heart as his lips claimed hers once more, swallowing her declaration.

If he heard, he made no sign of it.

She kissed him back, wondering if he wanted her love, or if he’d find it an encumbrance and unnecessary in marriage. She wondered if he could ever find it within him to return a mere pittance of the love that filled her heart and leaked into her soul to carry through eternity. And then his kiss deepened, and his shaft stirred inside her once more, lengthening, filling, throbbing, and she gave up all wonderings as she put her arms around him, her fingers trailing lightly down his back.

Krayne could scarce believe he was hard with lust again after emptying himself so completely. He’d felt depleted, like the grain store come winter’s end. He’d felt as if he’d need a summer before he could harvest again. He grinned at his wife’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips and closed eyes. Nay, all he’d needed was Amber. ’Twas all he’d ever need. He moved inside her, long, slow, sensual thrusts, watching her neck arch in pleasure and basking in her admission.

She loved him. His little wildcat loved him. He’d done naught to deserve her love.

He’d accused her falsely, believed the worst and, for the most part, behaved like a true bastard. And yet, she loved him. Something in the region of his heart sparked and caught afire. Did this mean he loved her too?

His thrusts deepened with more urgency as she pulsed around him. Love seemed like such a docile word for the feelings she invoked. Since the first, he’d wanted her. Needed to possess her. Once he’d had her body, he’d discovered that wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted her all.

The thought of Amber in another man’s arms heated his blood in rage. Each time he’d lost her, anger and fear had gripped his guts. When she’d put her life in jeopardy, he’d known panic for the first time in his life; and a blind fury that made him want to throttle her and disembowel all those responsible.

Was that love? Krayne knew little of that strange word, but ’twould seem that what he felt was far too selfish, violent and unworthy of that emotion and at the same time so much more.

Chapter 21

Auchencass Convent was a square fortress built of grey stone on high ground, making for a steep approach through a densely wooded glade that added to its defences. They’d left well after sun up, both having fallen asleep after their lovemaking, and as a result nightfall was almost upon them as the weary band of riders dismounted at the massive wooden doors. There was no portcullis to be raised, just this reinforced door with a square trapdoor cut out at eye level for peeping through.

Krayne yanked on the bell rope and metallic clanging filled the air.

After a short wait, the trapdoor opened. “Who be it?”

“Krayne Johnstone. I’ve come with my wife and three of my men-at-arms to visit with my mother, Joanna Johnstone of Wamphray.”

“This door is never to be opened after Vespers, my lord. You must return at daylight.”

Krayne pulled his wife into his arms, scolding in a low chuckle, “Now see what ye’ve done, wench, keeping me abed until the sun was high.”

Amber was less amused. She didn’t relish a night spent in the woods they’d just ridden through. “What will we do?”

In response, he turned back to the trapdoor. “Afore ye turn us away, I pray ye seek council with the mother superior. She’ll not refuse us entry, I vow.” He dipped his head close to Amber’s ear as the trapdoor closed. “And if she does, an evening spent beneath the stars with ye holds more promise than threat. I’ve a mind ta take ye up against yon tree, and then roll ye in the long grass.”

“You are insatiable,” she snapped, furious that he would not be serious. As to the thought of Krayne taking her out here in the open, with his men within easy sight and hearing, that was simply appalling. And, in truth, just a little bit exciting.

“As will ye be,” he said silkily, “when ye feel the fresh air between yer thighs and scream inta the black night.” He squeezed her bottom and she yelped. “I’ll make ye scream louder,” he promised.

“You are a blackguard and a bastard and—” The sound of heavy bolts sliding free interrupted her. The wooden door groaned on its hinges as it slowly swung outward. “They’re opening for us.”

“Of course they are. My yearly stipend goes a long way ta the upkeep of this convent. The mother superior is too astute ta antagonise me. Besides, I think she has a particular fondness fer me.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Amber protested, then realised he was teasing her again. “You knew all along that we wouldn’t be forced to sleep in the forest.”

His hand found her bottom again, cupping a lower cheek. “I’ll have ye under the stars yet, sweeting. But not on foreign ground with unwanted eyes and ears near.”

A delicious thrill went down her spine at the prospect. Aye, scoundrel that he was, she loved him and already regretted that their bodies would not be joined tonight. The door opened and they were ushered inside by a nun in black cloth that covered her hair and all the way down to her leather shoes.

“Come in peace,” the nun greeted demurely with downcast eyes. “There’s feed and water for your horses in the stables and I’ll show you to where you may rest the night. Our evening meal is over, but I can offer some bread, cheese and ale. The mother superior will receive you in the morning.”

“So much for that particular fondness,” Amber murmured.

“I got us a bed fer the night, didna I?” Krayne chuckled, then turned to his men. “Take the horses. I’ll return ta fetch ye in a while. Allow me,” he added to the nun, taking over from her to close and bolt the outer door.

Amber awoke alone in the small chamber she’d been given to the loud toll of bells. Krayne had slept in a dormitory behind the chapel with his men, and she’d half expected him to disobey the convent’s rules and seek her out during the night. To her disappointment, he hadn’t. She rose from the pallet and washed in a bowl of cold water. She’d slept in her gown, although she’d brought a night shift along, so she only had to smooth the wrinkles and slip on her leather boots. She unfolded the length of plaid holding her personal belongings, including a pearl comb and the small jar of mint to freshen her teeth, and completed her ablutions.

She left her chamber, making her way down the long passage lit intermittently with rush torches as there were no windows cut into the stone for light or air. Thankfully the building’s design was plain, and she had only to descend the stairs at the end of the passage to the refectory where they’d eaten their simple meal before retiring the night before.

The hall was empty, and she supposed the nuns were at their prayers. The smell of oat porridge assailed her nostrils and rumbled her stomach, and she was thankful when a row of nuns filed into the hall and took their seats, paying her scant attention.

The porridge was served in silence, and Amber quickly took her place at the end of a trestle, thanking the woman who set the bowl before her and receiving a quiet smile. As she ate, her eyes scanned the hall, looking for a familiar face, wondering where Krayne was. If she hoped to recognise her new mother-in-law, ’twas an impossible task as the nuns kept their faces turned down at all times.

No sooner had she pushed her bowl aside, than a soft voice came at her side. “Please follow me, my lady.”

To her surprise, she was led outside. The morning was yet young, the sky a hazy blue and the air brisk. The courtyard was not deserted, but the two sisters strolling along one of the cloistered walkways and the elderly man with bent shoulders leading a mule through the outer door in the fortress walls did little to disturb the serenity.

Amber followed the nun’s leisurely pace, enjoying the scent of jasmine that mingled with creeping ivy that grew up the buildings that housed the infirmary, the chapter house and such. They passed through a bower of rambling roses and into a fragrant garden alive with summer blossoms. She caught sight of Krayne standing beneath a rowan tree and slowed her step when she observed the woman seated on a bench to his side.

Not a nun, for she wore a dove-grey gown that shimmered as only silk could in the early sunlight. As Amber came closer, she saw that the woman was not young, yet time had done naught to fade her beauty. Her hair was black and glossy, her skin unlined, and when she turned to look on Amber’s approach, her blue eyes were brilliant and sharp.

“My dear child,” the woman exclaimed, rising to take her hands as she dropped a kiss on each cheek. “Please, sit.”

Amber gave Krayne a quick smile as she settled down beside his mother.

“I trust ye slept well, wife, and didna lie awake half the night, cold and restless.” His grey eyes twinkled amusement.

Amber narrowed her eyes at him, but kept her voice light. “Nay, husband. My pallet was soft and the good sisters spared me more blankets than I had use of.”

“My son has told me a little of the circumstances surrounding his hasty marriage,” Joanna said, then chuckled softly. “Though not all, I’ll wager.”

Amber sincerely hoped not and found herself blushing as she turned her attention to the elder woman.

“Our families share a cursed history,” Joanna continued, her gaze penetrating, though not unkind, “yet I hold no ill feelings for the daughter of John. I welcome you, Amber…if I may call you that?”

“Of course.”

“And you must call me Joanna.”

Amber smiled uncertainly. “I feel as if I should apologise on behalf of my father,” Amber said, her voice a little brittle in defence, “although I know him to be a good, honourable man.”

Joanna’s gaze flickered to her son. “You have not told her?”

His grin was hard. “And deprive ye of the pleasure?”

Amber was confused at his sardonic tone and the flash of pain she was sure she saw it wrought in his mother’s eyes. “Told me what?”

“Your father did not break the betrothal,” Joanna told her. “The decision was mine, although John did not argue when he heard my reason.”

“I do not understand.” Amber frowned, first at Krayne, whose gaze remained cold and empty on his mother, then at Joanna. “Why then did my uncle banish him from Spedlin? Why did you leave your home? There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, child.”

“Then a misunderstanding.”

“Your father did naught wrong, Amber, and well William Jardin knew it.”

Amber bit her lower lip, knowing it to be true in her heart. Her precious, kind, gentle father would never hurt a soul.

“I was carrying another man’s bairn,” Joanna said quietly. “John Jardin bears no fault in this matter. He was good and kind, Amber. He might even have wed me in spite of my condition, had I but given him a moment’s chance. I told him the truth, then sent him away, afraid he would sway my integrity and insist we wed.”

“I see.” Amber was a little shocked. And suddenly angry at the father she loved so much. “All this might have been averted, if he’d but explained to my uncle why he’d broken off the betrothal. For all his virtues, my father was not a man of harsh words and battle, and more than anything, he detested confrontation.”

Joanna looked to her son. His righteous anger was once again locked into his hard face. She’d grown accustomed to the sight, knew he loved her, knew he’d never forgive her. As always, her heart squeezed so tight, it ached. Twenty years. Was that long enough to avert bloodshed? He was no longer a lad, but a man well able to defend Wamphray and its people. To keep her baby, Duncan, safe. To think before he acted.

“William Jardin knew all,” she said at last, keeping her eyes on the son she loved more than life itself.

“You cannot know that,” Amber protested.

Joanna swallowed past her trepidation. In spite of all she’d given up, William Jardin had finally got what he’d wanted all those years ago. Her eyes scoured Krayne’s young wife, but she saw only innocence and beauty. Still, the fear that Jardin blood was now entrenched at Wamphray, and the firsthand knowledge of how far William would go to claim the Johnstone power, made it imperative that she speak out after all this time.

At all costs, Krayne must be forewarned.

“William Jardin knew,” said Joanna softly. “He knew, for he was the one who raped me, over and over for a period of three months. He threatened to kill my Duncan if I spoke out or did not heed his summons. He warned that Krayne would stand up against him in battle. Krayne was barely fourteen years of age and I would not risk him challenging William. Adam was away at the time, guarding the marshes and I knew not when he would return.”

Her fingers trembled as the memories came back, pictures she’d banished as surely as she’d been banished from her home and family. Her voice shook, her throat so dry, she wondered that she could still speak. “Once he knew I was carrying his bairn, William betrothed me to his brother. He knew Adam wouldn’t challenge my affections for the gentle John. I went along with it at first, for I did hold great affection for John, and I thought that would be enough for William. I was a fool. William planned to murder his brother, then claim a right to me and my bairn, being his nephew, and so ingratiate himself at Wamphray. No doubt he had many more murders planned, until there was just him and his unborn bastard left to reign.”

She turned misted eyes on Amber. “You are not of his ilk, child. I see only John in you. But, ’ware, if your uncle agreed to this marriage, then it’s treachery he has planned.”

“Why?” roared Krayne at his mother, the truth finally clawing through the blind fog of pain and rage. “Why did ye never tell me?”

Joanna stared up at him. “What could I have said that wouldn’t send you rushing in defence of my honour? You were but a boy, Krayne. I had to protect Duncan. I had to protect you. I fled. I could only pray that with me gone, William Jardin would give up his scheming and let Wamphray alone.”

“Christ,” he swore raggedly, pulling at his hair with both hands. “Ye have no idea what ye’ve done.”

Amber’s gaze froze on her husband. A wealth of pain, fury and hate filled his silver eyes, the glint as hard and cold as the grimace on his jaw.

What was he thinking? That she’d been privy to William’s scheming? Even now, even after all they’d been through…?

Those eyes left his mother to turn on her, wild and unseeing.

Amber’s heart cracked, splintering into a hundred pieces. He’d always believed the worst, he’d always refused to listen.

How could she possibly prove her innocence this time? For all she knew, this had been her uncle’s final motive.

“Ex-excuse me,” Amber choked, rising on trembling legs. She had to get away from here. Away from her husband’s rage-blind stare.

“Calm yourself, son,” Joanna chided. “I know exactly what I did. You were too young to be Wamphray’s laird as it was. I could not allow you to be thrown into the middle of a blood-feud as well.”

Krayne watched his wife leave. She was as pale as death and obviously distraught. He was momentarily distracted, thinking to go after her. But he was in no state to comfort anyone, not while his head was filled with murderous rage.

“I’ll skewer the pig and roast him alive on an open flame,” Krayne swore.

“Mayhap the time has come to rid this world of that vile man,” Joanna agreed. “I fear for you, Krayne. I fear what he is capable of. I’ve upset your wife with my forthrightness, and for that I am sorry. But once Amber has borne your heir, I wouldn’t put it past William Jardin to make an attempt on your life so that he can marry her off to a weak man of his choosing and gain control of Wamphray.”

“He’ll die trying.” Krayne balled a fist and slammed it into his palm.

“I but caution you to take care, my dearest.”

“I’ve been far too cautious already,” Krayne fumed. He should have ended that bastard’s miserable life twenty years ago. He should have waged war until all Jardin blood had been scorched from Scottish soil. The time he’d spent regretting starting that feud should have been spent cleaving Jardin limbs. “He not only took you from our lives, Mother, he took Stivin as well.”

The blood drained from his mother’s face.

Krayne dropped to his knees, placing an awkward arm about her shoulder. She turned into him at once, wrapping a hug around him. The red cloud inside his head gave way to iron control.

“This time,” Krayne promised in a deathly quiet voice, “William Jardin dies. I will annihilate the Jardin bloodline if it’s my last deed on this earth.”

His mother pulled back to look him in the eye. “You will not harm your wife?” she pleaded. “No matter that she’s a Jardin, Amber is innocent, I feel it in my heart.”

“Amber is a Johnstone,” he said, rising to his feet. His mind was already formulating plans to take the Jardin down, but right now concern for Amber took precedence. “I must find her.”

“Go,” Johanna said, smiling weakly, “go to your wife, son.”

Krayne marched circles through the convent. She was neither in the chapel, nor the refectory, nor any of the gardens. He stopped to peek inside each building, questioning everyone he came across.

By the time he reached the stables, he was mildly irritated.

When he heard that she’d mounted her mare almost an hour ago and ridden from the convent, he was fit to do double murder. First the nun who’d helped her saddle the mare and happily waved her off. And then his wife, who was absolutely befuddled to think it safe to ride alone, wherever she thought to go. He prayed she told the nun the truth, that she only wanted a brisk gallop to clear her head, and that she had not run off again.

She should have returned by now.

“Andrew! Gavin! Jock!” he roared, bringing the three men running from the well where they were taking a drink of water. He explained the situation as he saddled Cronus and strapped his broadsword to his back. “She might have taken a fall…or worse.”

“These hills be riddled with scavenging Elliots,” Jock said dourly.

Gavin added, “And whoremongering Armstrongs.”

“Enough,” ordered Krayne, mounting his stallion and leading the search party through the fortified doors that stood open. Beyond the convent walls, the ground was soft from the early morning dew and he had no difficulty following her fresh tracks that led through the wooded glade.

Surely she wasn’t going home, Krayne wondered uneasily as the trail veered southward along Mossgrain Burn and to the stone bridge they’d crossed last night. Other side the bridge, the tracks changed to a northerly bearing, to the Hart Fells and the endless range of craggy mountains.

“Jesu,” exclaimed Gavin, who’d cantered up ahead. “What have we here?”

Krayne spurred his mount forward to join Gavin. His gut twisted at the scuffle marks left by too many hooves to count. “They come from the direction of Swatte Fell.”

“And head east ta the River Annan.”

“Let’s pray it doesna rain,” Krayne muttered, turning Cronus and kicking in his heels to a flying gallop, following the conspicuous trail left by the bandit army.

The undulating land was mainly gorse and heather, giving him an unhindered view except for the hills. His heart was pounding, and fear plucked his nerves like a bloody harp. Knowing he’d be no good to anyone if he continued thus, Krayne shut down his mind, his heart, the very lifeline to his soul, and clamped his jaw with iron control that would not be released until his wife was once more safely in his arms.

Worried that they’d lose the track at the River Annan, Krayne was relieved to find the outlaws had crossed at a narrow bend and continued directly east. His relief was short-lived, however, for they then came upon the well-travelled Roman Road lying west of Moffat and the band of riders could have gone either way.

“Gavin and Andrew, ye go south. Jock will come with me.”

The Roman Road continued north through thick forest on one side and mountains with many clefts and niches on the other, perfect coverage either side to lose oneself in and make camp for the night. The sun had already reached its noontime high and was starting its descent to the west.

Krayne prayed the outlaws were known to him and had taken his wife for ransom. The other option, that they’d simply come across a beautiful lass riding alone and decided to have some sport, was too horrific to contemplate.

Amber was exhausted from both vented fury and fear. The men had come upon her so suddenly, she’d been surrounded before she could even think of fleeing. She’d screamed and kicked and clawed, but there were too many. They were too strong. She’d been blindfolded and trussed, and flung across hard thighs, and so she’d been riding for hour upon hour. She’d long ago lost any sense of time and place. Her body was bruised, and she could feel the ache in every jolted segment of her spine.

At last the horse slowed from a racing gallop to a trot. Branches tore at her gown and scraped her legs. She had nothing left inside to cry out with.

“We make camp here,” called an abrasive voice.

A moment later, she was dragged from the saddle. Rough hands tore her blindfold off and unbound her wrists. She blinked away the white and black spots dancing in front of her eyes as those same hands grabbed her arm and shoved her against the base of a tree.

“Sit still if ye dinna wanna be tied agin.”

Rubbing her wrists, she glared at the scruffy ape. His body was short and thick, and every visible part of him seemed to be covered in matted brown hair, save his eyes and mouth. She shivered with revulsion as he stroked her cheek with one of those fingers.

“Leave the bitch be, Danny.”

Her eyes flashed across the clearing, to the dark-haired man who’d barked the order. He was tall, broad in the chest and would not have been wholly unattractive if not for the cruel sneer that seemed to be chiselled across his jaw.

“We’ll all have a taste soon enou’,” the ape in front of her snickered before strutting off.

Her fingers clenched into the folds of her skirts as his meaning folded white-cold shards of fear through her gut.

She had to escape or die trying. The gloaming was not yet upon them, but the dense foliage provided ample shadows and dark tunnels she could scurry beneath. What were her chances? It mattered not. She pulled her knees up and hunched on her feet, keeping an eye on the men who were momentarily distracted as they tended the horses and made camp.

Her eyes narrowed on one who seemed vaguely familiar, and then her resolve hardened as she placed him. She’d swear he was one of Maxwell’s bandits, one of the two men she’d seen crossing the derelict courtyard while she and Hob had peered from the wall.

This was Richard Maxwell’s doing.

Staying hunched and low, she sidled around the trunk of the tree, then half crawled, half ran through the low-lying bush without worrying about noise. It would take them but a moment to notice she was gone, and this short moment was all the advantage she had.

’Twas not enough. A heavy body brought her down, crushing her face to the ground. Her wrists were clasped tightly at her back with one hand, another anchored in her hair to haul her to her feet. Pain seared her scalp, blinding her eyes with tears.

Her attacker pushed her in front of him, using her hair to steer her.

“I warned ye ta keep the witch tied,” growled the voice behind her as he shoved her to her knees in the clearing.

A voice Amber knew too well.

She rolled over and stared up at her uncle. “I should have known you’d be involved with a blackguard like Richard Maxwell!”

“Shut yer mouth,” he warned cruelly, “or I’ll slap it shut fer ye.”

“What do you want with me?” Amber demanded, too numb to worry about a mere slap.

“Ah,” he snarled. “Eager ta know yer fate, eh? Danny, bring yerself o’er here and show the bitch what she has ta look forward ta.”

A twisted grin marred his face as he stood back and folded his arms.

Amber glanced about her apprehensively. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to gather around in a circle, even the tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be giving orders. So that must be Richard Maxwell.

A tremor went through her as the ape named Danny drew close. She jumped up, kicking and hitting out when he made an attempt to reach for her.

“Firkin’ wench,” he cursed, locking down her arms.

She kicked harder, then raised a knee into his groin.

He flung her away and growled.

“Hold the witch down fer Danny,” ordered William of his men.

She fought for her life, but was no match for the burly men, one grabbing her hands behind her and the other clamping her legs.

Grinning now, Danny came forward again.

Her knees buckled and she knew she was about to pass out.

Nay, she had to fight.

Amber grit her teeth, ready to attack.

Danny clutched a handful of hair at her nape and jerked her head backward, then his fingers gripped her jaw and at the sides of her mouth, forcing her lips open. When his mouth came down on hers, the stench was overwhelming. The moment his tongue slid between her lips, she bit down hard.

He fell back from her with a whine.

Amber was still gagging from the foul invasion when he recovered, stepping up to backhand her across the cheek. Her head spun to the side and stars flickered on her inner lids. She welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the assault of his mouth.

“Enough.”

She opened her eyes to see Richard Maxwell dispatch the crowd with a wave of his hand.

“First we finish the camp an’ then we eat,” he continued, thick brows crossed at William. “The wench will need her strength fer what’s ta come later.”

William conceded with a harsh laugh. “Aye. There’s little sport ta be had if she’s too weak ta struggle.”

Amber’s stomach heaved.

Taking no more chances, her uncle yanked her to the tree and bound the rope around her waist and the trunk.

“Why are you doing this?” Amber rasped. “I am of your blood. My father was your brother. Does that mean naught to you?”

“Yer father was always a weakling. Krayne Johnstone and his vermin brother would be rotting bones in a cold grave by now if yer father had a backbone. My son should have been the next Johnstone chief, but fer my useless brother.” His pale eyes narrowed to slits. “But ’tis that witch of a mother o’ yers that ye can thank fer what’s aboot ta happen.”

“Krayne will kill you for this,” Amber spat.

William chuckled cruelly. “Aye, he would. But see here, yer husband will never know who took ye, now will he? These hills be teeming with outlaws, from Elliots ta Armstrongs ta Maxwells and Littils. All he’ll ever find is yer ravished body. Ah, ’tis truly my one regret, that I canna see his face when he kens ye died in the throes of rutting passion.”

“You’ll burn in hell!”

“Aye,” William agreed, almost cheerfully. “But not afore ye. Keep my place warm fer me, will ye?”

With that, he snorted at his own jest and walked off.

Think, Amber commanded herself. There had to be something she could do. Was Richard Maxwell a man she could appeal to for mercy? She doubted it. She could imagine at least one of his reasons for aiding and abetting William. For hadn’t she thwarted him, stolen Krayne away from under his nose?

When someone brought a flask over and held it to her lips, she almost refused. But she was parched and needed her strength, just in case an opportunity arose. She drank the ale, and later ate the stale oatcake shoved down her throat. And all the while her mind plotted, but to no avail.

With the descent of night, a small fire had been built in the middle of the clearing. The men sat around it, scoffing down ale and picking at the rabbits they’d roasted. She was offered some, but this time refused, her stomach too queasy to hold down more than the oatcake. Silver light flitted through the leafy boughs from the full moon above. The night was mild, yet a fevered sweat kept her brow damp while deep inside she felt chilled to the bone.

She’d never been this scared, never felt so completely alone and without hope.

Krayne, her heart cried silently, I love you. Dear Lord above, how I love and miss you. But her husband likely hated her, she remembered. In his mind, she’d betrayed him once too often. Her blood was bad, her kin the dredge of Scotland. She couldn’t even blame him for believing the worst.

A shout of jeering erupted, drawing her attention to the fire. With numbing terror, she soon realised that the men were rolling dice for turns to take her. The man who’d jumped to his feet, a savage giant with a black beard and pinched eyes, pounded a fist to his chest and roared in triumph, then looked her way with an obvious leer.

“Sit, ye fool,” barked the man to his left. “I may yet get ta share first place with ye. The lass can take two, if ye ken.”

She shuddered as a roar of laughter exploded into the night.

With a sob that started behind her heart and ripped through her entire body, Amber glanced wildly about her, searching for a weapon, praying only that they would untie her first so that she may spear it through her heart. Just then a movement caught her eye, and she swore she heard her name being whispered on the breeze.

Holding her breath, she peered into the shadows, and then her heart leapt into her throat as the figure of a man moved into a beam of moonlight. Krayne. Dear Lord, how had he found her? What was he doing here?

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He’d come for her, of course. No matter what he believed, what he thought her capable of, she was his wife and he was, above all, a man of honour.

He’d sworn to protect her and he would.

Why on earth had she ever lost faith?

“I love you,” she whispered, blinking back the tears. He stepped back into the shadows suddenly and her eyes darted forward. The giant was approaching.

“Richard Maxwell!” she shouted, her voice as strong as her renewed courage. “Richard Maxwell!”

Laughing coarsely, the giant went around the tree to untie the knots and Amber shouted louder. “I demand to speak with you.”

“Wait,” Maxwell issued as the giant hauled her to her feet.

She was spun about to face the Maxwell bastard as he sauntered closer.

“I have a proposition,” she told him.

The giant growled. “I won fair. ’Tis my right ta lance the bitch first.”

“Hold yer tongue,” Maxwell muttered. “The only rights ye have are those I choose ta give. I’ll hear the wench out an’ then ye can split her with yer lance.”

Amber’s gut clenched and heaved, but she was more disgusted than afraid now. Krayne would not let anything happen to her, but if he hadn’t attacked yet, that meant he was alone and needed her help. She looked from the giant back to Maxwell. “In private? I promise it will be worth your time.”

He looked at her for a long while, then grunted to his man, “Leave us be.”

The giant cursed, but stomped back to the fire.

Amber glanced warily to the spot where Krayne was lurking and her mind unfolded. What was she doing? She’d thought to seduce Richard Maxwell into taking her away from the clearing where Krayne could get his chance, but her husband would only despise her more for once again using her body as a weapon.

Neither in defence or attack, he’d ordered her, shoving a sword into her hands instead.

Could she cut a man of Maxwell’s size down to bloody stumps?

“Ye’d best speak now, wench, fer my men willna have patience fer much longer.”

She squared her trembling shoulders and took a step forward, pushing her bosom out provocatively.

Taken unawares as he leered down the top of her bodice with feral intent, Amber managed to unsheathe the sword at Maxwell’s side and retreat that step before his hand could snap around her wrist.

“Ye bloody bitch,” he snarled, then chuckled his amusement. “And how does a wee thing like ye think ta use that sword against me an’ all my men?”

I have no idea, Amber answered silently.

There was only one thing left to do, and it cast a black shadow over her heart. Forgive me, Krayne, but I truly am no match for this man.

Chapter 22

From his hiding place behind the tree, Krayne had never prayed so hard in his life. Dinna do it, Amber.

His heart split open as he watched the pair with bated breath, the Maxwell bastard leering in amusement and Amber grasping with both hands the hilt of a broadsword almost as tall as herself. Between him and Jock, they could probably take down half the men, but that would still leave half to maul his wife. He had to maintain his control, and strike only when there was nothing more to lose. He’d almost come undone when Amber had boldly stepped up so close to the vermin, fury brimming to a boil at the thought of her twining herself around the bastard and seducing him with kisses.

But now, watching her struggle with the heavy sword, barely able to lift it off the ground, aware of how easily Maxwell could take it back and slice through her fragile body, all he’d ever known and believed in crumbled to a pile of rubbish at his feet.

Dinna do it, sweeting.

Woo the bloody vermin with seductive words and promises.

Bed the bastard if ye must, fer I’d rather share ye than have none of ye at all.

I swear I’ll cut his entrails out fer this, and then I’ll kiss his taste from yer tender lips. I am yers. Ye are mine. I will do anything, except live without ye.

Jock’s breathing quickened at his side. Krayne put a warning hand on his arm. They were too close, even hard breathing might be heard. His sword was drawn, ready to leap the moment Maxwell went for his sword.

His every sense pricked, time slowed down and silence filled the night, blocking out the rowdy musings from the fireside and shouts to get on with it, blocking out the shrilling insects and various calls of nightlife.

“’Tis not this sword I’m after.” Amber’s softly spoken words cut the silence.

Primed for action, Krayne watched her point the tip of the sword into the ground, then release the hilt with a flick that sent it to the ground.

“’Tis your other sword I want,” she continued in that husky voice, stepping up to Maxwell and putting one hand to his chest. “Take me somewhere private, and I’ll show you just how much I want it.”

Maxwell guffawed crudely. “An’ why would I be doin’ that? I’ll have ye anyhow, wench, right there by the warm fire and afore a verra appreciative audience.”

“Except, you would not have me first, would you?”

He shrugged a beefy shoulder. “That matters not.”

“Not even were I yet a maiden?”

Interest flickered in his eyes, but was quickly dismissed. “Dinna think ta fool me. I know ye’re married ta the Grey Wolf.”

“My husband prefers his whores,” Amber purred. “Our marriage has not been consummated.”

Maxwell folded his brows and glared at her, openly judging and disputing. “Why should I believe ye?”

Amber’s pulse raced away from her bleeding heart. “There’s one sure way to find out for yourself.”

“By God,” he exclaimed. “Then I’ll take ye here an’ now and damn the rest.”

“No,” she yelped, then said more calmly, “No, your men may not like you going out of turn. Explain that I wish to relieve myself in the bushes. ’Twill not take long for you to claim your right.”

Once more, suspicion crossed his brows. “What benefit ta ye?”

She dipped her head. “I ask only that you be gentle. That…giant, I cannot take him first. He’ll tear me apart and kill me instantly. You have a handsome face and a body that promises much pleasure.”

Maxwell’s liking for her proposal was etched in the leer he gave her. “I’m taking the wench ta relieve herself,” he called over his shoulder.

The giant jumped up, quickly followed by a few others.

“Let her do it here where we can watch.”

“Enough!” he bellowed. “We willna be long.”

William rushed forward. “There’s trickery afoot. Damn ye ta hell, Maxwell, ye dinna know this witch. She canna be trusted.”

“I can handle one wee lass,” Maxwell boasted.

William’s face turned red as rage boiled his blood. Lass? What had happened to bitch and wench? The witless fool was already under the witch’s spell. “I willna allow her from my sight. I’ve waited too bloody long fer this day.”

“Ye willna allow it?” sneered Maxwell. “Do ye forget that I’m in charge?”

“I planned this,” William blustered, drawing his sword and yanking Amber straight out of Maxwell’s arms.

“An’ I executed it,” Maxwell said with a quick glance to where his sword lay on the ground. “Ye forget my men outnumber yers two ta one.”

Maxwell lunged for his sword.

Cursing at this foul turn of events, William turned with Maxwell, grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands and driving the blade between the man’s shoulders. Maxwell’s face hit the ground with a grunt, then all was silent.

“Restrain Maxwell’s men,” William shouted hoarsely, well aware of the unfair odds. Then he saw Amber scrambling from the clearing and he forgot all else.

Krayne didn’t spare a glance for the fighting that broke out. He reached Amber in a heartbeat, wrapped her in his arms and carried her to safety in the thickness of the bushes. As he set her down gently, he wasted precious moments gazing upon his wife, pride filling his head, love bursting from his heart.

She looked up at him, saying nothing and he could not find the words to start to beg forgiveness.

He’d sworn to protect her and he had failed.

He’d almost lost her.

The swish of a branch pricked Krayne’s astute hearing. He whirled about to find Jardin lunging at his back.

With a thunderous howl, Krayne avoided the blade by diving low and left of the blade, grabbing Jardin around the knees and bringing him down with a dull thud. By the time Jardin rolled over, Krayne was on his feet, standing over the bastard with his sword drawn and pricking Jardin’s throat. He took no time to dwell on hate or regrets. He waited only for the flash of recognition to reach those baffled green eyes before ramming his sword clear through, all the way until his blade struck the ground beneath. Jardin died quickly, blood spurting from his jugular, his frozen stare fixed on his avenger’s face.

Krayne pulled his blade out and wiped it on the man’s jack, then kicked his body beneath a bush to hide the gore from Amber.

When he spun about, he saw she hadn’t moved.

“God’s blood, sweeting,” he said hoarsely, going down on his knees before her and gathering her to his chest. “Will ye ever forgive me?”

She didn’t reply. Her body trembled in his arms, and he could hear her teeth chattering. He released her only long enough to rip his shirt over his head and wrap it around her tightly, then he lifted her into his arms and rose to his feet. He was trembling as well, his heart still aching at what might have happened, all he might have lost.

“I love ye,” he said. At last the words poured out, and he marvelled at how simple it was. There was no hiding from his wife. All he was, inside and out, belonged to Amber. “I love ye, sweeting. As God is my witness, I’ll love and cherish ye until my dying day.”

He tipped her chin to him, and the tears he saw filling her eyes tore at his gut. He was doing it all wrong. “Ye are all I am, all I’ll ever be. Without ye, I am naught. Open yer heart ta me, wife, give me another chance ta be the man ye deserve.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, crying openly as she gazed into his eyes.

Krayne froze. His heart stopped beating.

“I love you, Krayne. I think I have since you first slung me over your shoulder and carried me across the Black Burn. Now, as pleased as I am to hear your love words, shut up and kiss that ape’s foul taste from my mouth.”

“What ape?” His jaw hardened into a grimace.

“Later,” she said, her arms fast around him. “Just hold me, love me, kiss me, take this day away.”

Krayne did as he was commanded. He kissed her thoroughly, deeply, claiming her all for a long moment, and then he pulled away with a ragged groan. “I’d do this forever, lass, but there’s still a fight ta be won and Jock will wonder what’s become of me.”

Amber released him reluctantly, a sudden fear flickering at her breast. “Take care, Krayne.”

He grinned. “Naught can defeat me now. Ye stay here and out of sight.” He set her down again and turned to go, then looked over his shoulder at the last moment. “And try not ta seduce anyone while I’m gone.”

She paled. “Krayne, I tried—”

“Hush, sweeting. That’s another thing we must talk about later.”

Amber sighed with relief. He was not angry. Not when his tone was so husky and his gaze a loving caress.

The battle was almost over before Jock and Krayne entered the fray. All but five Maxwell men were left standing, and all Jardin’s outlaws littered the ground like the fleas they were. Without too much effort, they made short work of the surviving bandits, receiving only minor cuts and grazes. They didn’t bury the bodies.

“This scum deserves ta be pecked by vultures,” Jock said, and Krayne could only agree.

“You’re bleeding,” Amber gasped when Krayne came to fetch her. Her fingers traced the slash on his lower cheek.

“’Tis naught but a scratch,” he said gruffly, unused to the affection.

“I’ll make some poultice as soon as we’re home,” she promised. “That will prevent the wound from festering and mayhap reduce scarring.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing, wife.” He mounted Cronus, then pulled her up onto his lap. “I think I’ll keep this scar as a reminder.”

She shivered in his arms. “What on earth would you want to remember from this day?”

“How precious ye are ta me,” he murmured, resting his chin on her hair. “How I almost lost ye. I’ll keep the reminder, if ye please, ta ensure I’m never that careless again.”

She tilted her chin up to him, and he could not help but drop a kiss on those inviting lips. “No one harmed ye, did they?” he asked when he released her from the kiss.

“No, not truly. ’Twas more the threat of what they meant to do. Oh, Krayne…” Her voice shook. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Hush now, lass. Ye’ll see enough of me ta wish fer some time apart, that I promise.” He pressed her cheek to his chest and kicked his stallion into a gallop, shouting for Jock to make for Wamphray. “We ride through the night.”

They took the Roman Road as far as Moffat, the well-worn track affording them greater speed. Amber slept on his lap, exhausted from the day as well as the overload of fear. She did not stir once, not even when he rode into Wamphray’s bailey and carried her inside amidst a household that woke around them with questions and exclamations.

Leaving instructions with Jock to send riders after Alexander and to the convent with word that all was well, Krayne swept through the great hall and up the stairs. Inside their chamber, he gently laid Amber upon the bed. He stripped her naked, spent a loving hour washing her entire body with a cloth, then covered her with a fur.

He should’ve been exhausted as well, but sleep eluded him. He built a fire, then spent the night stoking the flames and sitting at her side, watching over the love he’d almost lost. ’Twould take his lifetime and more to work at deserving this beautiful, brave, quick-witted, passionate, innocent seductress, and ’twas work he looked forward to.

He was grateful that he’d pushed to ride through the night when she opened her eyes to greet the morn in the comfort of their bed.

“Good morrow, darling wife,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Good morrow, my love,” Amber replied, basking in the warm grey eyes that fed joy into her heart and peace into her soul.

She blinked, then pushed up to glance about as memories of the night before came rushing to the forefront. As her gaze took in the cosy chamber and went back to her husband’s lopsided grin, she slumped down again, bringing his hand across her breast and holding it there. “’Twas no mere nightmare, was it?”

“Nay, but ye’re safe now.” His fingers stirred at her breast, touching a nipple. His gaze held hers, and his eyes crinkled down at the edges. “Why did ye run from me, lass?”

“I didn’t,” said Amber with a tiny frown. “I was confused, angry and scared. I needed to clear my head, although at some point I considered riding to Spedlin and confronting my uncle. I’m not even sure if I decided against it or not. ’Tis much a blur.”

“Scared?” Krayne picked up on the emotion he didn’t understand. Confused at all she’d heard, angry at her uncle…but scared?

“I saw the way you looked at me. You were furious and hurt. You believed I’d betrayed you again.”

“Nay, Amber. If there’s one thing I know fer certain, ’tis ye’ve never once betrayed me or mine.”

“You looked at me with murder in your eyes,” she insisted.

“Aye, but fer that Jardin scum, my love. Never fer ye.”

Her breast heaved beneath his fingers with a deep sigh, igniting his lust. He clamped it down. “I trust ye with my life, Amber. I pray that ye will trust me with yers.”

“My life…” She smiled, and it was far from sweet. “Only with my life?”

His eyes glinted. “What else?”

“Well, ’twould appear my body needs some reassurance at this point.” Her palm covered his hand and pressed his fingers flat against her taut nipple.

His shaft reared its head and throbbed.

“Nay, wife,” he growled. “What yer body needs is time ta recuperate.”

“Aye,” Amber agreed dreamily, tugging the ends of his shirt free from his britches and pushing her hands beneath to navigate the rippled muscles of his chest. “Would you care to nurse me back to health?”

Krayne stilled her roving hand and gave a stern look. “Ye’ll not seduce yer husband, wench. Ye’ll eat and rest, and then mayhap I’ll reward ye with a kiss ta send ye off ta sleep.”

“Whatever you say, my love,” she purred, grabbing the folds of his shirt to pull herself up and against him. Her lips found his and caressed lightly, then she dipped the tip of her tongue inside as he groaned.

She needed him.

She needed his body flush against hers, his touch caressing and stroking, she needed him inside her. The assurance that she belonged to her husband, and only him.

Krayne gripped her chin and turned her lips up to him. He looked into the emerald fire of his wife’s sultry gaze, and all resistance fled. He’d tried. Christ’s blood, he’d tried his best to make her rest. He pushed her down on the bed and wrapped his legs around her, hauling his body up and over hers.

“I never stood a chance,” he groaned, giving her a fleeting glimpse of his lopsided grin before his lips and tongue plundered her mouth, and his hands went everywhere else.

About the Author

Claire Robyns lives in Berkshire, England where she divides her time between being a mother, wife, software developer, reader and writer—not necessarily in that order.

You can visit Claire at www.clairerobyns.com and follow her on twitter.com/clairerobyns and facebook.com/clairerobyns.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9031-4

Copyright © 2010 by Claire Robyns

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