The Devil of Jedburgh (12 page)

Well, what was she supposed to say to that? Breghan wasn’t surprised he’d condone her brothers’ behaviour, if not their lack of discretion.

She shrugged her shoulders at him and walked away, amazed to discover how much and how little could be conveyed in that one little shrug.

No wonder Arran used it so often.

Chapter Seven

It was late afternoon when Arran’s party approached Ferniehirst, which meant the portcullis would in all likelihood still be raised for the crofters to come and go as they brought their harvested grain to the mill inside the walls. Still, he’d sent Duncan and Broderick ahead to ensure there’d be no delay. They cleared the thick cluster of woodland that had been beaten back from Ferniehirst walls and Arran lifted a hand in greeting to the man standing lookout in the barbican tower.

As they neared the wide entrance, Arran drew in his reins and fell back in line with Breghan. He waved a hand across the twenty-foot-high perimeter wall and what one could see of the long castle set far back, almost on the bank of Jed Water. “What do you think of your new home?”

“’Tis far larger than—” Her lips froze as she stared straight ahead.

Arran looked forward. They’d just passed beneath the iron railing of the portcullis and into the bailey that he’d extended a few years ago to enclose the orchard of fruit trees and the mill house that stood on the river’s edge.

“I’ll string and quarter him,” Arran muttered when he saw the double line his men had formed in front of the main building. Even from this distance, he could see they were dressed in their Kerr plaids and the bagpipes were out. To Breghan, he said, “I left with the order that they were not to make a fuss. It would appear I’ve been disregarded. Ewan is the captain of my guard, I’ve known him since a child and he means well.”

Breghan slowed her mare to a walk. “What are they doing?”

“Honouring you and mocking me, at a guess.” He noticed how pale she’d become, the strain at her mouth, and he explained, “Until recently, I was sworn against taking a wife. My men are at once relieved and amused that not only did I change my mind, but found a lass who’d have me. You, on the other hand, have only their highest regard and admiration.”

“Until they discover we’re merely handfasted and not wed.”

“That changes naught.”

“It changes everything.” She set a worried frown on him and the soft cadence of her voice hitched. “Everyone will be watching for signs of what is wrong with me, why you refused to wed me.”

“You place too much—”

“They’ll be wondering why I wasn’t good enough.” Her fingers twined around the reins, again and again until the bit pulled tight and Angel’s head reared up. “You finally found a lass who’d have you, and then you wouldn’t have her.”

“Dinna distress yourself so, Bree.” Arran reached across with this free hand and untangled her fingers—trembling fingers. With Angel’s rein loose again, he kept her left hand clasped in his as they halted before the line of men who shuffled impatient boots and waited in expectant silence.

Breghan blinked and swallowed hard.

Arran was at a loss as he looked from Breghan to his men and back again. She had such spirit, her passion and fire were at times a flame of sheer magnificence. She was driven by a reckless temper to challenge and thwart him—
him
, Arran Kerr, the Devil of Jedburgh, widely called Satan’s spawn. Yet this, this inconsequential matter, undid her courage.

Ewan stepped forward, his grey beard neatly clipped for the first time in years and his hair tied back at the nape. His blue eyes twinkled as they slid from the laird to his new lady. Arran knew the man well enough to read genuine appreciation and amazement there. No one, least of all Arran, had expected the laird to return with a fragile beauty such as Breghan.

When Ewan opened his mouth to speak, Arran came alive. He raised a hand, the hand holding on to Breghan’s, to still the man and take command of the crucial moments that came next.

“As you know, I left here with every intention of bringing back my bride. Despite my handsome face and earnest wooing—” he paused to smile Breghan’s way as his words drowned in a wave of ribald jesting, then continued his address, “—the Lady Breghan would not be charmed. But all is not lost, for she agreed to a handfasting. I beg you take her to your hearts as I have taken her to mine, and I assure you I’ll work my hardest to sway her doubts so we may keep her.”

Another roar went up above a mewl of bagpipes as each man cheered and jested and swore their hearts to the Lady Breghan and their honour to the laird’s cause. The formal lines gave way to general chaos. His men were loyal to a man, but they were a rowdy lot and couldn’t put on graces for long.

Breghan leaned in close to be heard above the din. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Taking advantage of her closeness, Arran kissed her fully, if briefly, on the lips. She jerked back in surprise and he gave her a slow wink. She rolled her eyes at him, but her cheeks were flushed and the tightness around her mouth relaxed.

Arran dismounted and fit his hands around Breghan’s waist. She swung one leg over and slid to her feet between his body and the flank of her mare. For one sweet moment, the soft curves of her body pressed at his chest, his groin, his thighs. As her head came to rest beneath his chest, the scent of rosemary filled his senses and he breathed in deeply before releasing his grip on her waist.

They walked to the stone steps that opened onto the second floor, through the bands of men who slapped Arran on the back and grinned at Breghan. Some introduced themselves, swearing their life to her safety and well-being, others slammed fisted hands to their chests in silent pledge.

Breghan smiled and spoke, though her words were lost in the rumble of voices and shuffling and slapping. At one point, Arran felt her fingers clasp his upper arm and he covered her hand with his. His men had taken pains to groom themselves for this occasion, but they were a beefy, ragged lot with untamed hair and an untamed nature that came from living without female company.

If Breghan thought her father and brothers unruly, she was surely now reconsidering and repenting the choices she’d made.

His steward rushed up the steps ahead of them and opened the iron-studded door. “Welcome to Ferniehirst, m’lady. My name is Bryan, steward of Ferniehirst and from this day forth, your devoted servant.”

Breghan took his hand between hers. “Thank you, Bryan, I’m delighted with all I’ve seen.”

“We’ve kept the water boiling in preparation for your arrival. May I send up a tub to your chamber?”

“That would be heaven.”

Inside the cavernous hall, Arran found himself looking through Breghan’s eyes. He couldn’t help but think on the way she’d spoken of Edinburgh’s luxuries and sophistication. Bryan performed his duties solemnly, the rushes freshened every week, the corners dusted and the wolfhounds kept outside. ’Twas certainly no less well-kept than Breghan’s home. And yet… He frowned into the dimly lit space, fires blazing at both of the two enormous heaths in preparation for the evening chill and flickering shadows of flames across the barren walls. Trestle tables had been set up for the evening meal and the smell of hot bread hovered in the air.

Something, he knew not what, was lacking.

Arran shrugged the feeling off as one of the stable lads wobbled up the steps, Breghan’s saddlebags weighing him down.

“Thank you, Johnnie, I’ll take these.” He slung the bags across his shoulder and mussed the lad’s hair. “Our lady’s mare—her name is Angel—has ridden hard and long today. I wouldna trust anyone but you to rub her down and ensure she has extra hay tonight.”

The lad grinned wide and shot off.

When he turned back, Breghan was watching him with a puzzled expression.

He shrugged that off as well and ushered her toward the twisting stairway in the north tower that led to his accommodations. When she took her second step, her fingers fumbled on the railing and she lost her balance.

Directly behind, Arran caught her at the waist and kept his hands there to guide her the rest of the way. “The spiral is fashioned for wielding a sword in your left hand and takes some getting used to.”

“Oh, of course.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The Kerrs are all born left-handed.”

“A sure mark of the devil.”

“I don’t believe such nonsense.”

Arran chuckled. “Those who aren’t born with a natural inclination to fight left-handed are trained to it. My best men hold a decent sword in either their right or left hand. ’Tis a distinct advantage in battle.”

At the top, he brushed past Breghan, allowing his hands to slide around her narrow waist as he did so and relishing the heat she stirred within. He pushed open the nearest door and stepped inside the chamber that had been prepared for his lady wife before he’d left for McAllen land.

Greer, the lass he’d threatened into service from one of the crofter families, jumped in fright and made a sign of the cross over her heart at the sight of him. Arran dismissed the reaction with a shake of his head, dropped the saddlebags beside the door and stood aside for Breghan to enter.

He pointed at the young lass pressed up against the heavy flaxen curtain that covered the window. “Greer will be your personal maid and this—” he indicated the rest of the room, a double bed with silken hangings, a thick woollen rug covering most of the floor, a padded chair near the window and the mahogany wardrobe that had a full-length mirror attached inside one of the doors, “—is your bedroom. The hearth is small but newly built and provides sufficient heat.”

“Oh,” gasped Breghan from his side.

Arran looked at her. “You dinna like it?”

“No, no…I mean, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Come see.” He crossed the room and flung open the inner door leading to a connecting chamber. There, chairs were arranged around a larger hearth, numerous small tables had been placed for convenience and, once again, woollen rugs covered the floor. “I recently broke a doorway through the walls so my chamber—” he indicated at another door on the other end, “—and yours connect with this sitting area.”

“You put much thought and work into your wife’s comfort,” said Breghan.

“I was marrying a stranger,” he corrected.

Her gaze narrowed slightly and he knew at once she was drawing wrong conclusions based on his thoughtless comments that first night they’d met. He didn’t recall all of it, but he did remember speaking of dousing candles at night and having naught to do with his wife outside the bedroom.

“I was marrying a stranger, Bree, a lady who might need a while to adjust afore sharing my bed, who’d appreciate privacy from time to time. Do you understand?”

She met his gaze and didn’t waver, even while she bit down on her lower lip. “You’re offering me a short reprieve?”

“You make sharing my bed sound like a harsh duty.”

When she didn’t answer, Arran pulled her fully inside the sitting room and closed the door on Greer’s prying eyes. He nudged Breghan gently back until she was up against the wall, his one hand snaking behind to cup the base of her skull, his other pressed to the wall.

“The duration of that reprieve is up to you,” he said, bringing his body closer, his head lower. “Be it a day or a year.”

Her eyes widened on him. Not with fear, he was sure of that.

He threaded his fingers through the silky strands at her nape, his thumb massaging the sensitive hollow there as he touched his lips to hers. Between butter-soft kisses, he murmured, “But, by God, I intend to use every opportunity to seduce you into my bed.” His kisses traced a path along her cheekbone, to a tender spot below her earlobe. “You canna blame a man for that.”

When his mouth met her lips again, she opened and he dipped his tongue inside, claiming as much as she permitted. She wrapped an arm around his hip, tentative at first, but then her fingers spread across his lower back, pressing as he deepened the kiss. Arran brought his hand down from the wall to wrap her into his embrace, needing her closer, needing more. Her body seemed to melt into his, from where her breasts flattened against his chest to where her legs entwined with his. His loins grew tight and heat thickened his blood, pulsing through every part of his body until he had to withdraw or devour.

When he withdrew, she was breathing hard, the rise and fall of her breasts tempting the beast inside him. For a moment, Arran considered carrying her across the room and into his bedchamber on the other side. Only the sound of men’s voices carrying through the closed door brought him to his senses.

Breghan touched a finger to her lips. “Arran—”

“Your bath awaits,” he said at the same time.

She flushed a delicious pink and he quickly opened the inter-leading door. “’Tis been a long and tiring day. Bathe and rest awhile before supper.”

Arran marched to his bedchamber before desire changed his mind and he did something truly stupid. Breghan would be store and stiff from riding astride all day and he had no intention of ruining her first experience.

He grabbed a towel, a fresh shirt and plaid, and slipped down the steps built into the south wall and leading directly from his bedchamber to a private courtyard below. Through the small gate was his favourite bathing spot where the water rushed over flat rocks and deepened into swirling pools. Summer was high, and after stripping his clothes, he dived in to wash away the day’s heat and cool his lust for Breghan.

Arran knew he should forfeit all rights to her body. Their arrangement was no ordinary handfasting, the conclusion had been predetermined before they’d pledged their troth. A better man than him would send her back home a year from now, untouched and intact.

Arran knew he wasn’t that man.

Not when Breghan yielded to his kisses and melted into his touch. Not when his blood warmed over at the thought of introducing her wild, reckless spirit into his bed. His need for her consumed his body and turned all reason into ash. The evidence was in the very position he now found himself—handfasted to a woman he couldn’t keep, a woman who’d probably turn his last hair grey before she was done with him, a woman who had her sights set on, if not another man, a life he could never provide.