The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (10 page)

“What
of it? A man who buys a bride at auction cannot be concerned with that lady’s
fears.” She turned to glare at him and was surprised to catch his smile. She
stared, for the expression transformed him, making him look younger and more
handsome.

“Finally,
the lady deigns to speak her thoughts,” he mused, that smile lighting the
darkness of his eyes. He lifted his cup as if in tribute to her. He sipped of
his wine, his gaze unswerving from her own.

Madeline
stared at him, for she had always been rebuked for speaking her thoughts
clearly. “And what is that to mean?”

Rhys,
though, did not appear to mind. “That I would have expected to be singed by the
fire of your anger afore this.”

Madeline
forced herself to recall that she meant to win his trust. She summoned a smile
with an effort.

“There,
you disguise your thoughts again,” he said softly.

Madeline
straightened. “Perhaps I am more pleased at the prospect of finally being
wedded than fearful.”

“To
a traitor? Your family must be a deceitful lot indeed.” Rhys’ smile still
curved his lips and took the sting from his words. Madeline had the sense that
he provoked her, and she was provoked, but newly determined to hide her
thoughts.

“Oh
a man’s repute is not the same as his truth,” she said so sweetly that her
teeth fairly ached. “Doubtless your deeds have been misunderstood or
misrepresented by your foes.”

Rhys
leaned on the board, bending toward her so that he was dangerously close.
Madeline could smell his very flesh, but worse, she could see the twinkle in
his eyes. “You grant me much credit, my lady, considering that I have done
little to earn such devotion.”

Madeline
touched his hand, more fleetingly than she had intended. “You have bought a
bride, sir, and there is nothing I can do but be happy about that fact.”

He
claimed her hand when she would have pulled it away and she quivered at the
heat of his flesh pressed against her own. “Is there not?” he asked softly, so
softly that Madeline guessed that he knew she lied.

She
smiled with gritted teeth, fairly writhing beneath his steady perusal. “I am
certain we shall be happy indeed.”

“As
am I,” he murmured. “Though I had no expectation that our thoughts would be as
one so very soon. Let us celebrate our agreement with vigor, then.”

There
was a dangerous glint in his eye that warned Madeline. Before she could
respond, he had caught her nape in his hand with gentle resolve and his mouth
had closed determinedly over hers once again. The company hooted with delight
and began to pound their cups upon the board.

Madeline
had the sense that Rhys tried to provoke her again, to prod her into showing
some response to him. She was tempted to push him away, to slap him before the
entire company in retaliation for his boldness.

He
deserved no less and doubtless he knew it. Even Vivienne gasped in awe beside
them.

Madeline
just barely recalled her plan to allay his suspicions. She sighed, as if well
content, and let her hands land upon his shoulders. It was not so difficult to
do.

Rhys
needed no more encouragement than that. He deepened his kiss, pulling her closer
with the ease of one more accustomed to sharing such bold embraces than she. He
was gentle, though, for all the surprise of his amorous assault.

And
then it was too late to retreat. This kiss was different from his first salute.
It was no less thrilling, and awakened no less heat in her belly. But this kiss
was possessive and demanding. It called for her, not to surrender, but to join
him in the pursuit of pleasure. Her very blood quickened and her lips parted.
She heard herself gasp as his tongue darted between her lips, teasing and
tasting her.

And
she wanted more.

* * *

In
the midst of Rhys’ kiss, Madeline realized a shocking truth. James had kissed
her, to be sure, but never had he claimed her mouth with such possessive ardor.
Never had he slipped his tongue between her lips, never had he locked his hands
around her waist and pulled her so close that her breasts were crushed against
his chest.

Never
had she liked his kiss so much as she liked this one from Rhys. And never had
her pulse raced so madly in the circle of James’ embrace. It was not so
difficult to pretend to enjoy Rhys’ caress, for every fiber of Madeline
responded to his sure touch.

She
pulled away with an effort, aware that she was only able to do so because Rhys
released her. She flushed furiously when the company burst into applause and
took a long draught of her ale to hide her discomfiture.

It
was solely the fact that this would be the last kiss Rhys ever granted her that
had persuaded her to make the most of it. That was the truth of it, Madeline
assured herself. It was solely that Alexander squirmed to see her handled like
a whore before her nuptials and she yearned to pay her brother back for his
scheme.

Despite
her ready explanation, Madeline felt flustered as she never had before. Her own
body called her a liar. She was no less aware of the way Rhys watched her.

Satisfaction
gleamed in his eyes. Madeline caught her breath and squared her shoulders as
the company hollered for more. She certainly felt no yearning to kiss Rhys FitzHenry
again. That would not have been sensible.

Even
though her pulse yet raced and her very blood simmered.

Rhys
smiled wickedly, seemingly aware of his effect upon her. His warm fingertip
sliding across her cheek as he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “That
is more like the wife I expect to meet,” he murmured.

Madeline
glanced his way, not entirely understanding him. “The wife or the whore?”

“You
are not so meek as to accept this fate as you would have me believe,” he said,
his gaze shrewd. “You are too passionate to readily accept such indignity as
you have endured this day. Do not lie to me, my lady, and our match will fare
well. All I ask of you is loyalty.”

“All?”

“And
sons, of course.”

Madeline
could not look away from the intensity of his gaze. She was half-persuaded that
he tried to compel a confession from her lips of her scheme to escape. His eyes
were bright, his manner sure.

But
he could not know. He could not have read her thoughts.

Madeline
granted him a smile. “There is no merit in anger, my lord, when one cannot
change one’s fate. I am simply accepting of what will be mine, as a woman
should be.”

Rhys
snorted. “You know as well as I do that one can always change one’s fate.”

“But
not necessarily to a better end.” Madeline saw that she had his attention. “You
should know the root of my argument with my brother. I refused to wed any man,
because my heart is no longer mine to grant.”

Rhys
stilled then, though he did not look away.

“My
betrothed died.”

To
Madeline’s surprise, that compassion again shone in Rhys’ eyes. “I am sorry, my
lady.”

Madeline
smiled ruefully. “I thank you for the sentiment, though you cannot be so sorry
as I am,” she said, forcing herself to sound demure. “James is gone, though my
heart is his forever. I would have chosen not to wed, rather than offer less
than my all to a spouse.” She sighed. “My brother, though, saw matters
otherwise.”

“It
could be argued that he is concerned for your future.”

“It
could be argued that if he will be rid of me by such means as an auction, then
he cannot be trusted either to leave me be, or to find me a spouse by any more
fitting manner.”

Madeline
spoke more heatedly than she had intended, and she doubted that the watchful
man by her side had missed as much. She tried to smile with a great measure of
resignation. “I can wed you, or I can await Alexander’s next scheme. My choices
are few, and wedding you would seem to be the best of them.”

“I
would wager that all will look better on the morrow,” Rhys said with care. “You
have endured much indignity this day, after all.”

Sympathy
was the last honor Madeline desired from this man. Indeed, the man softened her
resistance with nigh every word he uttered and every deed he did! She had to be
away from Ravensmuir afore they exchanged vows, afore she forgot the truth of
his past.

For
any man could summon charm for a single night. Madeline desired more than one
night’s consideration from whatever man she would wed.

“Doubtless
you speak aright,” she agreed, thinking that she would be far away indeed by
then. “A sound night’s sleep reduces the most insurmountable challenge.”

He
fought that smile again, seemingly amused that she implied him to be such a
challenge. Before Madeline could repair her error, Rhys lifted his cup and
touched it to her own. “To our nuptials on the morrow, my lady. May they mark a
new beginning for both of us.”

Madeline
drank to his toast, feeling more deceitful than she knew she should have done.

* * *

The
lady had a scheme.

Rhys
would have wagered his precious destrier upon it. It was beyond belief that the
woman so outraged at her brother’s intent to auction her could have made her
peace with her fate so readily as that. Indeed, she fought to hide that anger
with every comment she made, her flashing eyes revealing that she was not
demure in the least.

Rhys
knew his charms, such as they were, and knew his reputation well enough that he
could be certain no woman would have been hasty to pledge herself to him for
all eternity.

Certainly
not a woman of such splendid intellect as Madeline.

Indeed,
he found his lady even more intriguing for the fact that she tried to disarm
him, to deceive him, to persuade him that he could not want her as his wife.
Madeline was clever, and not accustomed to matching wits with another as clever
as she.

That
bode well indeed for their match.

Rhys
waited and he watched, drinking little of the ale and finally feigning
exhaustion. He was as wide awake as a cat upon the hunt, though there was no
need for any other soul in Ravensmuir’s hall to guess as much.

Eventually
the company grew quiet, their yawns became more lengthy, and the fires burned
down to glowing coals. The ladies retired to a chamber in the tower, and Rhys
rose and claimed Madeline’s hand as she left the high table.

She
watched him for a moment, her eyes filled with shadows, then to his
astonishment leaned closer. “Are you truly charged with treason against the
king?” she whispered.

Rhys
wished he could have lied, for he knew that a falsehood alone would settle her
fears. Instead he nodded. “I am.”

He
thought that he could hear the flutter of her heart then, reminding him again
of that captive bird, then she spun and left his side. He knew that he did not
imagine the fear that shone in her eyes.

But
there was not a man alive who could change his past deeds. Rhys reminded
himself that it was more admirable to confess the truth, though his heart
called him a fool. He noted how Madeline cast a last glance back over the hall
as she climbed the stairs, and did not doubt that she believed she would never
see him again.

She
would flee this night, and he would pursue her, and they would be wed all the
same. He could have told her that it was not so easy to be rid of Rhys
FitzHenry as that.

Rhys
noted that Reginald watched Madeline until she was out of sight, then saw that
man’s lips thin with displeasure. Reginald cast a poisonous glance in Rhys’
direction. Rhys held the other man’s gaze steadily, daring him to make an issue
of what had transpired.

Reginald
turned away, summoning his squires like a hen gathering chicks, insisting that
proper arrangements be made for his slumber. Rhys quietly claimed a pallet and
gathered his cloak about himself, taking a place where he could watch the
stairs. Candles were snuffed and snores began to echo through the hall.

Rhys
settled onto his pallet, one eye half open, pretended to sleep and waited. He
knew that Madeline’s last kiss at the board, and her unexpected surrender to
his demanding embrace, would keep his blood simmering all the night.

He
did not have to wait long.

* * *

Madeline
could have respected Rhys’ honesty, had he told her a more reassuring truth.
Traitors, she well knew, met fearsome fates; their spouses, children and
property faring little better. Her very marrow still hummed from Rhys’ tempting
kiss, and she knew that he would quickly overcome her good sense with his
beguiling touch. Though she was afraid of fleeing alone in the night, she was
more afraid of Rhys FitzHenry.

Madeline
was surprised when Rosamunde tugged her sleeve, half persuaded that her
perceptive aunt had guessed her intent.