Always Mine (30 page)

Servants passed from man to man, helping them to drink as much wine as they could, before it was their turn to be treated.

Brianna tied up her tunic’s long sleeves and scoured her hands, preparing to clean around a gaping wound in a man’s shoulder.

Her movements were quick and efficient, handing Bleddyn whatever he needed before he asked. With precisely placed stitches, she closed the wound, then spread a healing ointment over it and nodded to Meghan to bind the man’s shoulder.

Bleddyn motioned Brianna to come with him to the next table, where the man had an ugly gash from the side of his knee down to his heel. His blood-soaked breeches were in the way, and they had no time to strip them from him.

On seeing Brianna draw her misericord and reach toward him, the poor man fainted. She sighed, relieved, and slit his breeches from groin to ankle. She and Bleddyn worked rapidly to repair his wound and spare the man pain. As she worked, she wondered in what battle Damron had fought to receive his terrible leg wound.

The boys kept up a steady rhythm of replacing the water, for everyone followed Bleddyn’s directions to make ample use of it and soap. Each time the Welshman or Brianna used

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an instrument from his amazing stock, they washed and poured whisky over it. Her misericord flashed often, but now the men no longer flinched.

Sunlight was fading when they finally cared for the last man. Bleddyn beckoned Damron, Connor and Mereck to come over for treatment, but they held back, much like small boys called for a scolding.

Mereck approached Bleddyn like he trudged through thick mud. Meghan grabbed Connor by the arm and drew him over to the table, where she searched him for any injury, no matter how minor.

“I have naught but mere scratches,” Damron claimed and moved back from Brianna. His clothing was blood soaked, his face pale.

“Sit!” She scowled at him and pointed to a bench. He sat.

Though he claimed he had mere scratches, she found deep gashes on his chest and arms.

“Why didn’t you come to me right away, Damron? For God’s sake, man. What were you thinking?”

He looked surprised, like she had asked a foolish question.

“As long as I have my wits about me, I ne’er seek aid until my men are tended.”

When Bleddyn finished with Mereck, he hurried over to help her.

Damron watched Brianna through lowered lashes while she tended him. She was as fastidious with what he considered his simple wounds as she had been with the life-threatening ones of the badly injured warriors. He gritted his teeth to keep from winc-ing, while she closed his flesh with neat stitches. Vomit surged to his throat. He swallowed it back, then bent his head, hoping no one had noticed.

“The louts’ leaders kept their precious hides well behind the fightin’,” Damron said to Laird Douglas. “Ne’er have I seen such reluctance to show their faces.”

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“Always, the Gunns flaunt their plaid, but today, we did not see their colors,” Mereck added.

“Mayhap they are men not wishin’ to be known?” Laird Douglas suggested.

“Aye. I felt ’twas so.” Damron shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes. He grimaced as Bleddyn probed a wound on his back.

“Lean against me, husband.” Brianna moved close and put her arms around his shoulders to steady him. “The blade must have been ill kept. There’re rust flecks deep inside the wound that must come out, else it will fester.”

“Umpf,” he breathed when Bleddyn dug deep. “Their leader had blond hair. It made me curious. Something wasna right about them.” To Damron’s shame, his voice wavered. To divert himself from Bleddyn’s torture, he thrust out his left arm and admired Brianna’s needlework.

“Ye stitch a fine seam, lass. Mayhap ye can teach Meghan the ‘ins and outs’ of a needle?” When Meghan snorted nearby, he grinned.

“The next openin’ ye have on yer thick skull, cousin, I’ll gladly close for ye,” Meghan said with a huff.

“Nay. I dinna think so. From what I have seen of yer stitchin’ on the tapestry, my ears might rest atop my head when ye finished.”

“Huh. Better that than the knot I’ll place there if ye linger,”

she said and advanced with an empty basin raised high.

He chuckled, and after Bleddyn motioned they were finished tormenting him, he followed Mereck and Connor down to the bathing chamber.

Though the two men’s wounds were above their waists, and they could soak their aching bones in hot water, Damron could not chance getting his dressings wet. He stripped off his bloodied clothing and filled a large basin.

“Only a bairn should use a basin to bathe,” he grumbled.

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“Ruin Brianna’s fine artwork on your feeble body and she will box your ears,” Connor teased.

Swift as a badger, Damron grabbed Connor’s head and shoved it under the water, then grunted with the pain it cost him. “Puny did ye say? Not so feeble I couldna tromp ye into the mud, cousin.” He let go and stepped back as Connor started to lunge out of the tub. “Nay,” Damron said and shook his head. “Wet my bindings, and I will tell Brianna ye took advantage of a poor, wounded man.”

Connor and Mereck barked with laughter. He grinned and turned to scrub from his hair down to between his toes, not quitting until all traces of grime and blood were gone.

As dusk fell, the great hall filled with boisterous men making light of their wounds. They bragged and preened before the women. Once their bellies were sated, they would plow their way through the willing females of the keep in a night of debauchery.

Brianna was beautiful tonight. Her hair flowed free, and Mari had drawn a little from each temple and secured the sections with yellow ribbons. The ends hung down the middle of her back and mingled with her curls. Seeing her lean close to speak in Mereck’s ear, Damron frowned. His brother looked down at her as she talked, shook his head, then turned to stare at Damron.

By God’s blood! What had she told him?

Asceline boldly flounced up to Damron, ran her hand across his shoulders and tugged the braid of hair at his temple. She bent and boldly nibbled his ear. He jerked away, his gaze fixed on his wife. Brianna’s lips set, and her eyes flashed fire. But she held her tongue.

Mereck came close to clamp a hand on Damron’s shoulder and hiss in his ear, “If you took the time to sample your wife, you might find her far tastier than the Frenchwoman. Brianna

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would give you less trouble, if you taught her the ways of pleasure.”

His words flowed over Damron like scalding pitch. He surged to his feet and pulled Brianna up with him. His gaze burned into hers. His voice was a violent whisper forced between clenched teeth.

“Why did ye break yer vow, wife? Did ye not believe me?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down her soft neck, and his fingers tightened. “Are ye not going to plead?” One hand stroked down over her shoulder. “Ye knew full well what I promised, if ye told anyone I had not taken yer maidenhead.

Though that man be my brother, ye will pay the penalty.”

“Do you think I’d be stupid enough to tell anyone?” Brianna struggled to break his grasp without disturbing any of his injuries.

“Your wife told me nothing, Damron, but your actions have. You wear the look of a man bursting with need,” Mereck said bluntly.

Damron snatched Brianna up and over his shoulder, and stifled a gasp of pain. He turned toward the now deathly quiet room.

“Dinna fash yerselves. I am impatient to claim my wife this night.” His arm clamped around her knees and he tilted her farther over his shoulder to quell her struggles. He ran his hand over her rounded bottom and winked. “Ye will seek yer own pleasures soon enough.”

Chapter 18

Brianna beat on Damron’s hips as he lunged up the stairway.

“For God’s sake, Damron. Put me down. You’ll hurt yourself. I didn’t tell Mereck anything.”

Damron fought to regain control over himself, knowing battle fever had him in its grip. Over and over in his mind he kept telling himself, “Wait till yer temper cools. Ye canna treat an untried woman as ye would yer leman.”

“Out, Mari!” He hurtled into his bedchamber and jerked his head toward the door. She flew out of the room like a chicken running from a fox.

He slammed the door with his booted heel, then bent over until Brianna’s feet were firmly on the floor. He watched her without speaking. She stared at him as if she saw some strange creature.

“Remove yer clothes, wife.” Damron’s voice sounded husky, and he coughed to clear it. Brianna’s heart ticked a frantic pace in that special hollow low on her neck. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

He stalked across the room, his eyes hard slits, and threw his sword atop his weapons chest. He whipped his shirt over his head.

It landed behind him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he shoved

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off his boots and stockings, then unbuckled his belt. He stood, letting his tartan slither to the floor.

“Ye dinna plan to be an obedient wife, do ye, Saxon? I should not have listened to yer pleas those months past and denied myself the pleasures of yer body. I will have ye and wait no longer.”

His hands reached for her. She did not move. Her eyes were large, and her face so white even her lips were pale.

Quick flashes of anger and regret passed over her features. He ignored them.

Brianna watched the blue vein in Damron’s forehead throb and bulge. His lips were nearly a straight line. She swallowed, wanting to calm him with words, but her thoughts tumbled, remembering her futile efforts to fight off Gordon. The more she had tried to elude him, the more vicious his touch had become.

She did not resist as Damron pulled her tunic from her body and dropped it onto the floor. Her chin high and firm, she stood clothed in her gold smock.

His gaze roved over her and halted on the dagger strapped to her thigh, then traveled back up to linger on the dark triangle between her legs, up over her flat stomach and on up to her breasts. She didn’t recoil when he lifted the smock from her. Only her weapon, her stockings and shoes remained. His gaze mocked her.

“Ah, wife. Will ye, too, try to unman me?” His voice faded to near a whisper. “Like Genevieve?”

Brianna gasped, horrified. One arm snaked around her waist and lifted her high. He had the weapon off in seconds and tossed it across the room. He stalked over to stand her beside the bed.

His words streaked like adrenalin through her veins. Her fear vanished. She grabbed a sheet off the bed and quickly wrapped it around herself. Knowing who had given him that dreadful scar explained why he did not trust her. Or perhaps

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any woman, for that matter. What could have happened between him and Genevieve? Now was not the time to ask. Not when he was so agitated, believing she, too, had proved de-ceitful. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“I didn’t break my vow to you, Damron.” She raised her chin and met his angry gaze. “I would never discuss our mating with anyone. It is no one else’s affair.”

Indecision flashed through his green eyes. His lips lost some of their tension.

“You have already sent notice to your people to gather here for our wedding, like you promised. Why would I endanger that? Especially since it’s what I asked for in the first place?”

Raising his hands, he scrubbed them over his face. His shoulder muscles eased and the vein in his forehead stopped looking like it would burst at any moment. He dropped down on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Damron,” she murmured. “You may still doubt me, but do you really believe Mereck would lie to you?”

Damron heaved a sigh and looked up at her. His eyes looked so haunted, so vulnerable, she caught her breath.

“Nay. Mereck has never told a lie in his life. Not even to save himself a thorough thrashing when we were lads.” His face paled and his body seemed to soften as his rigid back relaxed. He cleared his throat and eyed her ruefully.

“I think ye need to repair yer needlework, wife. Mayhap carryin’ ye up the stairs wasna a good . . .”

Before she could move to help him, his eyes closed. He toppled over sideways onto the bed.

Knowing Damron’s pride, Brianna did not call for help. He would be humiliated if anyone learned he had collapsed, and they believed swiving his wife had laid him low.

She climbed onto the bed, pulled and tugged at Damron until his head lay on her pillow. She scrambled off the foot of the bed

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and grunted as she hefted his right leg onto the sheets. Stepping back, she grabbed his left calf to do the same, but hesitated. On seeing his male parts so openly displayed between his widespread legs, heat spread over her face. She blinked, gulped and forced her eyes to behave as she took a deep breath, let it out in a whoosh, and finally maneuvered his leg onto the bed.

It did not surprise her that his body had shut down and forced him to rest. Exertion after the battle and the hard ride back to Blackthorn had taken a heavy toll on him. Of course, his wounds and too much wine didn’t help. Not to mention bounding like a jackrabbit up the stairs carrying her on his shoulder.

She dressed quickly and opened the door only wide enough to beckon a passing servant. “Bring a pitcher of hot water and clean linen, please. Lord Damron’s bindings need changing.”

She paced beside the bed, waiting. On her tenth trip from the foot of the bed to the head, she realized her gaze kept straying to one particular area. One that had no need of her ministrations, as far as she knew. But she really hadn’t checked.

Her heart skipped a beat on spying a streak of blood on his penis. She bent over, her brows near drawn together as she squinted nearsightedly at his flesh. She lowered her head until she could see more clearly. She was so close her agitated breath fanned the hair nestled there. One hand reached out and touched his flaccid flesh. He groaned and tossed his left arm across his chest, hit her on the back of the head and almost knocked her face onto his male parts.