Beloved Warrior (38 page)

The three men argued as she listened. They could decide whatever they wanted to decide. But she knew what she was going to do. She was going to finish what she started, with or without their approval or assistance. At least now she would have today. He had come far for her, and his eyes said what he had not yet put into words.

She watched as he stood. He was wearing English clothes now. The white shirt but with a doublet and hose. The leather boots, though, were the same. “I will not have it,” Patrick said flatly. “If I have to bind your hands and feet.”

“It will work,” Diego said calmly. “She is a fine actress. Kingsley would not touch her prior to the wedding, not with guests at the castle.”

“Guests?”

“Your brother and I just talked. He said Kingsley made the announcement he was to be wed. Rory could take a gift from the queen. He would not be turned away, and he could look after her. Because of the bans, a marriage could not take place for weeks, and Juliana said Kingsley wanted it in London. I suspect they planned to bring her directly here because a Spanish ship manned by slaves would be suspect in London.”

Juliana looked at Patrick. At least he was listening.

“It would be easy to help her escape in London,” Diego said. “By then everyone will have accepted the tragic tale of the doomed
Sofia.
Lachlan, meanwhile, can fetch Juliana’s mother.”

Patrick stared at Diego. “You planned this from the beginning?”

“No. Not until Juliana convinced me that she was going to leave Inverleith one way or the other. I thought she would be safer with me, despite many opinions to the contrary.”

“You could have told Rory,” Patrick growled.

“He would not have permitted it. Nor would you have. He might have tried to keep her more confined, but Juliana was determined. She would have found a way.”

“You meant for us to follow,” Patrick said.

Diego just smiled.

“That’s what you meant when you said it was bloody time for us to get here?”

Now Juliana glared at Diego. He had set an impossible pace, even as he suspected—even wanted—them to be followed.

He shrugged. “I wanted to know how determined you were. It was important. And I thought once the Macleans arrived, they would see the reason of the plan.”

She wanted to hit him. Fortunately, his face was already well marked by Patrick. He deserved every bruise.

Rory chuckled. “It can work,” he said to Patrick.

“Can is not good enough.”

“I
will
protect her,” Rory said. “Kingsley’s standing with Henry depends on good will in Edinburgh. He will do nothing to jeopardize that.

“I will accompany Rory,” Patrick said, and Juliana knew she had won.

“Jamie said you did not make a good impression on the young viscount,” Rory objected.

“But I am your brother.”

“He could not refuse you if he thinks you come from the queen,” Diego agreed. “And I will be there until you arrive.”

“No comfort there,” Patrick muttered.

But it was obvious he had surrendered.

He looked at Diego. “I will kill you if anything happens to her.”

“I expected no less,” Diego said cheerfully.

HE group rode to within a few miles of Hartlepool and separated.

Rory was to ride on to Newcastle and pick up a wedding gift before returning to the inn they had chosen in Hartlepool.

Diego was keeping low in the woods since they were too close to Handdon Castle to stay with them. He was, after all, supposed to return Juliana to her betrothed after a harrowing journey without funds. He would meet them in the morning to make the journey with Juliana to Handdon Castle.

But Patrick had no intention of allowing Juliana to stay with Diego. He would borrow the Spaniard’s ruse.

The innkeeper sniffed as they entered and Patrick asked for a room. His eyes went to Juliana’s masked face, then darted to the floor.

“My wife has been marked by the pox, but she carries no disease now,” Patrick explained.

The innkeeper spit on the floor. “Scot?”

“Aye.”

“Me brother died at Flodden last year.”

“A lot of men died then.”

The innkeeper hesitated, but greed won. He took Patrick’s piece of gold in exchange for a private room.

“We would like some food sent up. My wife is . . . does not like going into public places.” He tossed another gold coin up in the air and the innkeeper’s thick arm shot out and caught it before it dropped to the bar. His scowl disappeared.

“Wine as well,” Patrick said. “Not ale.”

Once in the room, he paced. He still disliked the plan. Mayhap because, he was ashamed to admit, it came from Diego. It was hard for him to admit he had been wrong about the man. The easy relationship between Diego and Juliana plagued him.

He went to the window and studied the landscape outside. Juliana wearily rested in a chair with her face still covered until the food arrived. They could take no chances that someone might see the scar-free face of a bonny woman.

The inn overlooked a natural harbor and a number of fishing boats were returning. She rose and moved next to him. The sun was setting, and a golden glow spread over the calm water.

“You can always come back with me,” he said. “The viscount is a dangerous man. And apparently not a fool since he has won the ear of the Queen Dowager.”

“It is worth the risk.” She moved closer and lowered the piece of cloth from her face.

He touched a smudge of dirt that only enhanced the smooth, lovely cheeks. “I almost lost you,” he whispered.

“No,” she said. “You will never lose me. I would have found some way back.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the deep fear and emptiness he felt when he read her note.

A knock came at the door then, and she quickly replaced the cloth and turned away from the door. Patrick opened it. A lad entered with a trencher of food and a pitcher of wine. Avoiding Juliana as much as possible, he placed it on the small table. He carried a candle and lit the oil lamp, then kneeled beside the fireplace until flames started to lick at the logs already in place.

Patrick pressed a coin in his hand. “We do not wish to be disturbed again this night. We have traveled far.”

The lad nodded and left. Patrick shoved the table against the door that had no lock. He placed the trencher on the table and drew the two chairs up to it, both on the same side. He did not want even a table separating them.

The meal included bread and honey, fish, cheese and a pasty. The wine was poor, but far better than English ale. He watched her eat, enjoying the sight of her tongue licking her lips after a taste of bread and honey. She took a sip of wine, made a face, but then took another.

He took a sip himself. He was only too aware of the bed that dominated the room. When she had finished the fish, he took a piece of the pasty and tempted her mouth open with it, watching with amusement as crumbs sprinkled her lips. He leaned over and tasted them.

His lips danced on hers with a slow sensuality; he licked every vestige of crumbs, then tasted the wine on her lips and tongue as her mouth opened to his probing assault.

Her hands went up to his neck and stopped at the auburn locks that curled boyishly there. He tensed, trying desperately to keep control.

Juliana was not going to allow it. The wine, the warmth of the crackling fire, the rich smell of wood smoke mixed with the taste of each other came together in a wanton call she was not going to deny. Soon, she would belong to another man, but tonight she belonged with Patrick. She felt herself being lifted and she knew his resistance had been breached. Her head rested against his heart as strong, powerful arms held her tightly to him.

He set her on the bed, then hesitated as he stared down at her. Aching to erase the lingering doubts, she took his hand and pulled him down. When their lips touched again, she wondered at how tenderness and hunger could combine so sweetly and passionately.

She felt the ties of her gown being undone with deliciously agonizing deliberateness. His breath was warm and tasted of wine. Then the gown fell away and she felt gloriously free.

His lips found her breasts and nuzzled first one, then the other until her nipples seemed as hard and hot as the stones in the hearth. They tingled and ached. When she thought she could stand no more, his lips moved upward, kissing her throat, her mouth, the lobes of her ears until every nerve in her body was tingling and alive with wanting. She closed her eyes, drinking in all the new feelings, wondering how one body could feel so much pleasure, so much agony at once.

His hands ceased their movement with one last teasing stroke. He moved away from her, and she opened her eyes. He was releasing his own clothes while his eyes stayed on her. He so frequently seemed the observer, keeping his thoughts thoroughly locked inside. Now his gaze roiled with passion.

His clothing dropped to a puddle on the floor. The doublet, then his hose. Finally his linen shirt. He stood there before her, everything about him strong, but without the usual warrior confidence. Although his shoulders and chest were heavily muscled, his waist and stomach were still painfully lean.

She held out her hand, and he sank down on the bed next to her. His hand traced patterns on her skin, rekindling the flames that had roared so wildly before. She answered caress with caress, need with need, and hunger with hunger until they were both mad with wanting, their bodies arching and straining against each other.

He slid atop her, resting his strength on one arm. His maleness teased the sensitive part of her body until she whimpered for him. He entered, and she quivered with the first exquisite feelings.

There was no pain this time, only waves of sensation that grew with each of his carefully controlled movements until she felt part of a tidal surge moving toward some irresistible climax. Time seemed to stop as they reveled in this instinctive dance, first slow, then increasing the tempo together. Then there was one last thrust, and all the sensations she’d felt before were beggared by the new ones as sweet explosions rocked her very being.

Once they regained their breath, he rolled over, bringing her with him, and she rested her head against his heart. His hands moved gently over her body, loving it. The urgency was gone, but a honeyed sweetness remained.

She stayed like that until the room darkened and she closed her eyes, content for now in his arms.

 
PATRICK and Juliana rose before daybreak and left the inn. She did not bother with her hair. Looking the part would be an important aspect of Juliana’s story. He saddled one horse and helped her up, then swung into the saddle behind her. She still wore the cloth around her face. She was wearing the same gown and worn cloak she had yesterday. Her hair was still in the long braid.

Yet she looked enchanting to Patrick.

He started down the empty street, his arms around her. Once out of the town he hurried the pace.

An hour later, they found Diego. He was sitting by a stream, washing his wrists. The ground around him was bloody.

Patrick dismounted, then helped Juliana down. He looked askance at Diego’s wounds.

“I still have scars from the irons,” Diego said. “So I needed a reason to bind my arms. ‘I injured them trying to carry Senorita Mendoza over stones and rocks.’”

“Clever,” Patrick muttered. “You become even more a hero.”

“More of a reason to stay as well.”

“They are too recent.”

“I do not expect them to inspect the wound, but they will see dried blood. That should be sufficient.”

They went over the story again and again as they rode toward Handdon Castle. The
Sofia
had encountered several storms in the crossing from Spain, which made the voyage late. A fierce storm blew the ship off course. It then lost its main mast and foundered. It started to list and take on water so fast the boats could not be lowered in time to be of use.

Her uncle had tried to rescue her. He pulled her from the cabin and insisted she hold the ship’s rail with all her might. She did as she was told while all the sailors worked fiercely to save the ship. In the end, though, there was nothing to be done. Her uncle had been knocked off his feet and swept overboard. Other sailors had jumped ship as the
Sofia
started to sink, hoping to survive.

Juliana jumped, too, and managed to grab several boards, as had Diego, and they stayed together. He was one of the few sailors who could swim and he managed to drag her to shore. They did not see any other survivors.

Rory knew the coast and had chosen the perfect place for it to have happened. The water was deep enough that a wreck would not be evident, yet close enough to shore that it would be possible, though not likely, for someone to reach the cliffs. It was also along a barren area.

Patrick was reluctant to leave Juliana with Diego. He was even more reluctant to leave them at Handdon Castle. The only comforting fact was that the old earl was in residence, and he seemed to be respected.

He walked with them some distance, then faced Diego. “Take care of her.”

“I will.”

“Rory and I should arrive in two days. You can find one of us at the inn if you need us.”

Diego nodded and handed him a pouch of gold coins from the saddlebags he had with him. “Take care of these for me. It would not do for a poor shipwrecked sailor to be carrying gold coins. Take the saddlebags as well.”

“Aye.” Patrick hesitated, then stuck out his hand. “I doubted you. For that I offer my apologies.”

Diego took the hand and shrugged. “I doubt myself frequently.”

Patrick turned to Juliana. He leaned down and kissed her hard. “When this is over, I hope you will be my wife.”

She looked startled, then her face turned radiant.