Always Mine (9 page)

Silver chalices, etched with scenes of wild birds, sat between each couple. Jeremy, Damron’s squire, filled theirs with wine. Damron offered the cup to her.

Brianna took a small sip. Not the too dry red wine she’d had before, this was dark and sweet. Oh, how she wished she had a margarita, or a rum and Coke. She had a notion that getting through this dinner would require more bracing than the wine offered. Before they came below, she had told Elise she had lost her eating knife. Thankfully, Elise didn’t question her, but gave her another. She took it from the holder on her girdle and reached for a portion of duck.

Damron’s hand covered hers and slipped the knife from her fingers.

“Nay, my lady. Ye will have no blade between us.” His eyes flashed a challenge. “Let me serve you as your young swain so enjoyed doing.”

When she opened her mouth to object, he slipped a juicy sliver of duck between her lips. She had no choice but to eat it and, when she swallowed, a bit of salmon swiftly followed.

She raised her hand in protest.

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“Eat what I feed ye without protest,” he commanded softly.

“I can feed myself, sir.” She started to reach for another portion of duck, but found her wrist grasped and held to the table.

“Smile and act with decorum, like a proper maiden.” He placed her hand in her lap while still holding her wrist.

The heat of his fingers scorched through the material of her clothing to her thighs, sending shivers up her spine.

“Release me, sir, or you’ll get a scene they’ll talk about for the next century.”

“Will ye give yer word to act with dignity?”

“If you stop mistreating me, I will.” When she nodded, he released her.

“Lady Maud said you planned to leave when your men arrived.” She glanced pointedly around at the extra men in the hall. “I will welcome the dawn.”

“Why, my lady, you wound us.” Connor claimed her attention.

“I thought our leavetaking would sadden you. Blackthorn is far distant from Ridley.” Looking sorrowful, he wagged his head at her.

Of course their Highland home was far from Ridley. What did he mean? Before she could ask, Damron placed a slice of apple so close she automatically took it between her teeth. When he handed her the chalice of wine to cleanse her palate, she downed half its contents. She grinned at the surprise on his face.

He regained the chalice and turned it to the spot where her mouth had touched. The tip of his tongue slid sensuously over the cup’s rim as if he caressed her lips. His heated gaze held her prisoner.

A bead of red wine remained on his lower lip. She couldn’t wrench her gaze from it. How would it feel to take his soft flesh between her teeth and tug? To slide her tongue over it?

Though his domineering ways raised her hackles, she couldn’t deny the powerful sexual attraction she felt for him.

Shifting on her seat, she swallowed and turned to Connor.

“Tell me, Connor, what is knotty-pated?”

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“Why ’tis tresses blown into knots, lass.”

Suspiciously, the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Knotted hair? Why did you think that?” Elise leaned forward to look at Brianna. Impatiently, she slapped Connor’s hand as he waggled a chicken wing beneath her nose. “’Tis someone foolish, Brianna.” She grinned as she evaded him.

“Do you not remember when Galan was yet a squire and called you a babe on your tenth name day? You called him a knotty-pate then. He wrestled you to the ground. Mud covered you both. Your father dunked you with water before you could go into the keep. You told him you heard the stable boy call the old groom a ‘knotty-pated old ram.’”

Brianna’s eyes widened. When she reached for the wine, Damron snatched the cup from her reach.

“Dinna even
think
on it.” He shifted to face her. “With the strange way ye have been actin’, ye deserved the title.”

“I’ll give you that one. But what is a fascist hen? And don’t tell me it’s a chicken race. I won’t believe it.” Brianna’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Ah. A fashious henny, Brianna?” Connor’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “In Scotland, when a lassie is troublesome and in need of discipline, we call her a troublesome little hen. Her master will swiftly put her in her place.”

“I thought you both of Scottish birth, Sir Connor.” Elise’s whisper halted conversation, and those closest craned forward, listening. “How is it you have Norman and Scottish knights? You both speak French, except when the gia—, er, uh, Lord Damron is angered. Then I cannot understand him.”

“Damron’s mother is from Rouen, Normandy,” Connor replied. “We fostered there with her relatives, who are also part of King William’s family. As for Damron, when riled, his brogue leaps to his tongue.”

Damron glared up at the heavy wooden beams, looking as if he contemplated something unpleasant.

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Lady Maud turned the conversation by suggesting they would enjoy a musical evening. She motioned for a squire to bring a harp to set in the open space before the high table.

Elise caught Brianna’s hand and led her around the table to stand near the harp, and Lady Maud’s sister, Cecelia, took out a flute from her tunic pocket.

After the first strains of music began, Brianna sang a solo.

She avoided looking at Damron and pretended the room was as empty as the solar had been. When she finished, she started to sing a duet, expecting Elise to blend in.

At the sound of Galan’s beautiful tenor, surprise jolted through her. Why did she remember another voice, a baritone as rich as sweet chocolate, singing this duet with her? She kept her gaze on Galan while he approached her, yet deep in her soul’s memory another man strode toward her, his voice the one she expected.

The closer his vision came in her mind, the more her heart surged.

His face was a blur, but there was no mistaking his large frame.

It was Damron’s voice she recalled.

Brianna became lost in the music. As the passion of the song increased, so did her own. Her heart began to pound.

Her eyes clouded. She was thankful when the song ended.

Several animated duets later, Galan began an unfamiliar melody.

My love is made of grace and beauty,
Skin so soft as feathers light.

Breasts to fill my hands with wonder,
Hair that clings and holds me tight.

His hands molded her form in the air, then the backs of his fingers caressed her cheeks. When he sang of her hair, his fingers fanned through it and brought a curling handful over her right shoulder.

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When his words tapered to a whisper, the notes fading, Galan placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She did not pull away.

Damron clenched his hands and glared at the knights openly lusting over Brianna. Seeing his fierce scowl, the men shifted their interest to Elise.

“Ne’er have I heard such a perfect blending of voices,”

Connor murmured.

“I have heard far better.” Damron ground out the words between clenched teeth.

“Could it be green fingers of jealousy I sense travelin’ your mind, cousin?”

Damron turned, stomped Connor’s foot and then exploded from his seat.

Startled, Brianna swung around. She blinked and focused her mind back on the room.

“I wish you Godspeed on the morrow, my lord,” she said.

“Surely it will be many months before we meet again?”

Damron’s smile looked decidedly wicked. She made a quick curtsey and fled the room. His triumphant bark of laughter trailed her, spreading a cloak of fear around her shoulders.

Chapter 6

“I thought you would be first to rise this morn, Brianna.”

Elise’s voice rang with excitement. When Brianna pulled the covers over her head, Elise tried to tug them down.

“Don’t tell me it’s morning. Didn’t we just go to bed?” Brianna groaned and clung to the blanket. She cracked open sleepy eyelids to squint at the window opening. This was more than an early rise. Barely the faintest hint of dawn showed in the starlit sky. She had never been a morning person. She needed two cups of strong coffee to appreciate the breaking day. Well, rats. She wasn’t going to get caffeine here. She blinked and tried to get her wits about her.

Already fully dressed, Elise flitted between the trunk and the bed, spreading Brianna’s clothing across the bed.

“Hurry. Father Jacob will read the banns this day.” Elise tugged Brianna to the washstand and waited, her back turned.

No sooner had Brianna dried her face and hands than Elise whipped off Brianna’s sleeping garment. Before Brianna could lower her arms, a deep rose smock floated over her head, followed by a light rose tunic.

Smoothing the tunic over her smock, Brianna admired the design of oak leaves done with silver threads the seamstress

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had embroidered at the neckline and tip of the tunic’s long, flaring sleeves. She tied a braided rope girdle interwoven with silver cloth low on her hips, the way Elise wore hers.

Fully awake now, she stifled a yawn and daydreamed about the steaming mug of sweet, creamy mocha chocolate cappuccino she always bought at her favorite coffee shop near her work.

“Come,” Elise urged. “’Twould be a pity for Father Jacob to scold us for being late on such a special day.” She grabbed Brianna’s hand and rushed her through the castle and out into the bailey.

“What’s so special about today?”

Elise skidded to a stop and rolled her eyes. “The banns.”

She waved her hands in front of Brianna’s eyes as if to wake her. “Do not tell me you forgot the banns? Blessed saints, ’tis worse than forgetting your name.” She linked her arm with Brianna’s and urged her into a sprint toward the chapel.

The cool morning mist dampened Brianna’s cheeks. She shivered, but not from cold. Prickles of warning scampered down her back as something just out of reach teased her memory.

The chapel stood atop a small knoll in the rear bailey. The Ridley family awaited them inside the entrance to the balcony and their private pews.

Galan’s face glowed with satisfaction. He offered Brianna his wrist and escorted her to sit between himself and Elise on a padded bench covered in bright red linen. Brianna glanced around, admiring the elaborate carved railings and the exquisite statues in niches along each wall. Brianna spotted several Morgan knights seated below, but neither Damron nor Connor was among them.

The mass was lengthy, and she fought to keep the priest’s dron-ing voice from lulling her to sleep. As the service drew to an end, Father Jacob smiled up at her and raised his arms high.

“I have a most pleasant duty to perform—the avowal of an intent to wed.”

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Brianna smiled back. She didn’t smile for long.

Father Jacob began with a prayer.

Lord God our Father, You have called Your children
to paths not yet taken, through hardships
not yet discovered.

Give us faith to go with good courage,
knowing that You are guiding us,

and Your love supports us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

“Brianna Sinclair and Galan Ridley desire that prayers be made for them that they may enter a union in the name of the Lord.”

The priest studied the room. “Should anyone wish to challenge this, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“What?” Brianna shot to her feet. All sleepiness had fled.

Everyone below the balcony gawked up at her like hungry nestlings waiting for worms.

Behind her on the balcony, a resonant voice rolled like approaching thunder through the chapel.

“I have most serious objections, Father Jacob.”

Damron! Brianna’s scalp tingled. She whirled around to stare at him.

“Lady Brianna canna wed Galan Ridley.”

She nodded her head and almost shouted she couldn’t marry anyone. Instead, she gulped and decided she’d better hear him out.

Dressed in full Highland regalia, Damron stood inside the doorway. He wore his hair brushed back from his face, a long, thin braid at each temple. Leather thongs tied the neck opening of a wide-sleeved white shirt.

Around his waist, a heavy leather belt secured a woolen tartan in muted colors of green, blue and black. The end of

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the material rested over his left shoulder, where a brooch pinned the tartan to his shirt. Her heart lurched, for it was the brooch from the drawing, larger than the one she’d bought at the antique shop.

One hand rested on the sword hilt at his side, drawing her attention to a leather pouch riding low on his hips. Her gaze continued down past his handsome knees, where white gartered stockings covered his calves and ended at his leather shoes.

The man in the drawing had sprung to life.

Brianna’s heart raced, and blood thrummed through her veins. Damron was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Had they been in the twenty-first century, she would have found him impossible to resist. Ha! Until she learned of his domineering ways.

“What mean you, Lord Damron?” Simon Ridley’s voice quivered with alarm. “Baron Sinclair had no contracts signed before his demise. Why, we received word from King William that he approved of Sir Galan.”

“The king has changed his mind,” Damron replied for only those involved to hear. “He bestowed the baron’s honors on me. Lady Brianna is part of those honors.”

Brianna’s ears rang. Bright flashes of memory streaked through her brain. She heard a voice from far away say, “The king’s man requests you ready yourself to travel when Lord Damron arrives.”

Quick flashes jolted her—of stealing away from mass at the abbey and then of seeing the ground flying beneath her horse’s hooves. They faded in time for her to hear Damron’s absurd claim that she was part of his award.

“I’m no man’s possession.” Her lips pressed thin with suppressed fury. Why, he talked as if she were a piece of land.

The chauvinistic jerk!

“Oh, but ye are, lass,” Damron crooned with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Ye have been my
possession
for o’er a fortnight.”