The Devil of Jedburgh (35 page)

Shortly after eight, Stewart brought Arran news that the queen had confided in him and sought his aid to escape this very night. They put their heads together and refined their plans. At midnight, the guards on duty led the queen and king through the servant quarters and out the back entrance of Holyrood. Arran, Davie and Gavin were waiting with Stewart at the Abbey opposite the cemetery. Arthur Erskine, the queen’s equerry, was also there with fresh horses.

Silence and speed was of the essence as the party set out for Seton. They arrived with no incident to find Bothwell there amongst the handful of loyal barons summoned by Lady Huntly’s missive.

“We’re to Dunbar Castle,” Bothwell informed him. “Atholl and Fleming are to meet us there. We haven’t been idle while you were saving Mary; we’ve over four thousand men ready to ride for our queen.”

Arran wanted nothing more than to go with them, but he knew his limitations. The short ride to Seton had rattled his bruised chest to the point where he strained to draw breath. He sent Davie and Gavin home to redirect his men from Stirling to Dunbar to join the queen’s army.

The Seton housekeeper took one look at the bluish tint of Arran’s lips and the blackened hollows encasing his eyes and ordered a bed made up for him. Their head cook had a vast knowledge of herbal medicine and didn’t give a damn about propriety or rank. “You can stay in that bed on your own accord until I declare you fit or I can tie you to the posts.”

Arran gave the puny reed of a man a smirk that dared him to even try and promptly passed out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Breghan flew down the outer steps and raced toward the stables. The last two weeks had felt longer than two years. Only knowing Arran had been in more capable hands than hers had made the absence bearable. The one letter she’d received from him had been full of complaint.

…the man is an ogre, he has basted me with herbs and spices until I reek like this night’s supper. He waves that damn soup ladle at me with preposterous threats, as if I couldn’t snap his puny bones with two fingers…

Arran rode into the bailey at the head of his cavalcade of a hundred men. A few paces behind, Broderick flanked his left and Gavin his right. He may have met up with his returning soldiers along the way, but she supposed it far more likely he’d stopped in Edinburgh to fetch them. His searching gaze found her and held until he dismounted, tossing the reins into a pair of waiting hands.

Her heart accumulated extra beats as he approached, his gaze adoring her from head to toe. There was a new, jagged scar above his brow, but the rest of his face was back to the familiar contours of harsh angles and dark hollows. When he grinned at her, the crevice at his chin dimpled and then she was being swept up into his arms, pressed to the full length of his body as he carried her inside. His mouth descended on hers before she could protest and she no longer cared who was watching or what they’d think. She twined her fingers in his hair and parted her lips to receive his plundering tongue.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured against her throat as he navigated the narrow stairwell to his bedchamber. “You came to me each night and left a fresh imprint, your fragrance on my skin, your honey-sweet taste on my lips, your fire of passion hot in my blood… I woke each morning convinced demons had conspired with angels to overthrow the natural order of time and space.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

He pressed her to the bed, flat on her back, his gaze devouring her while he stripped his shirt. He went down, muscle rippling along broad shoulders and flexing his arms as he removed his boots. On his way up, his hands slipped beneath her skirts, his fingers playing a seductive game against her humming skin as he tugged her drawers down her legs, inch by tantalising inch. She groaned when his fingers trailed away, but then he was unbuckling his belt and pushing down his breeches. He came over her, bunching her skirts at her waist and spreading her legs wide, his jaw clenching on a guttural grunt as his swollen tip prodded her opening and slid into her core. She was ready for him, pulsing, swollen, slick, taking him fully to the hilt.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his shaft rigid, filling her completely, their bodies joined and their gazes locked. Then he was pumping, deep, urgent plunges that took her higher with each thrust. She gripped the bedcovers as her lower body arched up to meet him with burning intensity until the black void of need and want exploded into a waterfall of lingering release.

Arran fell over her, his weight braced on his elbows. His lips brushed hers in a slanting kiss as he slid one arm beneath her, one leg over her, and brought her with him as he rolled onto his side while staying buried deep inside.

“Now, let’s take it slow,” he said huskily, working loose the ribbons of her bodice so he could dip a hand inside.

Breghan splayed her fingers across his back, exploring and caressing her way down to the steel curve of his backside. His kisses started at the base of her throat and trailed up to the curve of her chin. A delightful shudder arched her spine. The day’s growth of beard scratched her cheek as her lips and tongue followed the line of his jaw. She pressed flat kisses to the junction just below his ear and small nibbles to his earlobe. His breaths deepened against her throat, his fingers loosening her bodice further to free her breasts from the layers of soft muslin and taffeta. His arms wrapped around her, pressing her firmly to him, her exposed breasts and taut nipples rubbing against hard muscle as he rocked their bodies to the rhythm of his wandering kisses. Heat pulsed from her nipples to her core and she released a hot breath of pure pleasure at his ear.

Her skin tingled with exotic desire as she felt his shaft stir inside her. The experience was new for both of them. He always entered her fully erect and ready, but now he began to fill her from the inside out, the pressure building with sensual intimacy. His mouth closed over hers again in a plundering kiss. His hands cupped her bottom cheeks, sealing his groin to the juncture of her thighs in a rolling, grinding motion that created the sensation of slow strokes in her pulsing canal. She reached up, threading her fingers through the hair at his nape to ride the wave that crested as his hot seed spurted deep inside her.

They stayed in each other’s arms, clasped from chest to tangled legs, until their breathing slowed to normal. Arran pressed one last kiss to her brow and rolled off the bed. “We’re going to take an icy bath and then,” he promised, “I’ll take you out for a hard gallop. Let it not be said I canna please my lady both in and out of bed.”

“But you’ve just returned from hours in the saddle!”

“I’ve been gone from Ferniehirst almost a month. I need to do a thorough inspection of my lands, starting with the west boundary.”

Breghan laughed. “You’re determined to save nothing for tomorrow.” She had a sobering thought. “You’re not leaving again so soon?”

Arran shook his head. “The main conspirators are divided, conquered and destroyed—fled to England, pardoned or executed. The queen’s firmly seated on her throne and, thank the Gods, is reconciled with Moray.” He pulled her from the bed and to her feet.

“You go ahead.” She grabbed a sheet from the bed to drape around her. “I won’t be long.”

The ritual had become an elemental part of their lovemaking, as normal as the minutes Arran held her close afterward. She crossed the interconnecting chamber to her room and reached into the bottom corner of her wardrobe. When she came up, Arran was in the doorway, naked and leaning against the frame. His shoulders weren’t quite as straight as they’d been moments ago, nor quite as broad.

Perhaps he wasn’t as fully recovered as they all believed.

“Why don’t you come back to bed with me and let your men take care of those inspections?” she suggested.

“You want more of me?” he said with a wolfish smile. His gaze turned to a deep and vibrant slate. “I would, darling, but I’ve given my men leave to go carousing in Jedburgh. Not everyone is as lucky as me to have a beautiful wench warming their bed at home.”

Her thoughts fled to Janet. “Did Broderick go with them?”

Arran lost the smile. “Broderick is on watch duty in the gate tower.”

“Oh…” She raised a brow at him, somewhat amused. “What crime is he being punished for?”

“When I sent him home with you from Edinburgh, the order was implicit that he stay until I release you from his safeguarding.”

“Instead he went to fight the queen’s war.” She had her own issues with the obnoxious man, but this wasn’t one of them. “Broderick is a soldier, a man of action, you can’t expect him to play at nursemaid for the rest of his life.”

“A few more weeks is hardly the rest—” Arran cut off. His gaze dipped and it was as if a ghost passed through him, sinking the hollows in his jaw all the way to the back of his throat, dulling vital energy. There and gone. Arran’s gaze came up and clear green eyes softened on her just before he turned to go. “I’ll wait for you by the river.”

Breghan looked down at the bag of herbs in her hand. Bone, flesh and beating organs began to crumple inside her, as if that ghost had hopped from Arran and into her. The innocuous flaxen bag was the equivalent of a flaming arrow. And they were both complicit in striking the flint that would set fire to the pointed tip, loading, aiming, shooting the arrow that would burst into the heart of their love and set their world ablaze. Until all that remained were the ashes of what could have been.

Breghan sank to the ground before the open wardrobe. Suddenly her pulse was racing, blood pounding behind her eyes. Arran loved her, more than life, more than his own life. Of that she had not a doubt. His fears on childbirth were irrational, although she understood his tortured arguments. He’d endured too much, loved her too much… She’d committed herself to fighting his demons for him, but time was slipping by.

Would it be such a terrible sin?

Yes, whispered her soul. Guilt swirled in the pit of her stomach, faster and faster, until she was sure she’d heave or pass out.

I can’t do this. I can’t…I’m going to be sick.
She tucked her chin into her chest, sucking in deep breaths until the dizziness and nausea passed.
I can’t do that either…I can’t lose him, not over this.
For the rest of their lives, Arran would be her protector, her haven, her strength. How could she not do this, be this strong for him, the one and only time he’d ever need her to be?

She raised her head and took another deep, empowering breath. She wasn’t putting matters into her own hands, she told herself sharply, she was putting them into God’s. Still, her fingers shook violently as she replaced the bag of herbs, unopened, into the recesses of the wardrobe.

The next few days were the worst. Guilt had its claws in her, scratching, nibbling, chewing. Then came the dread that buckled behind her knees and clamped her heart. She had no idea what she feared more, her own action or Arran’s reaction. Never had she felt such a paralysing, debilitating fear, not even in that dungeon cell with Sandie Armstrong.

And at last, the numbing calm when her body, heart and mind could take no more. If she lost Arran’s love over this, at least she’d lost it fighting. He wouldn’t have to marry her, keep her, if that was what he no longer wanted… She’d treasure a bastard child as much as any other and now—she knew, she hoped, she believed—her father wouldn’t cast her aside over a child born from a handfasting he’d condoned.

When Janet caught her small smile, the woman set down her needle and stood. “You’ve been so distracted of late, are you sure you don’t want to talk about?”

Breghan shrugged and shook her head. She refused to involve Janet in her troubled mess. Besides, she would heartily disapprove and the last thing Breghan needed was another dose of guilt and self-doubt.

“We make a sorry pair,” Janet said.

Breghan blew out a frustrated breath. “I would say you deserve better than a man who barely knows you exist—”

“Except when he’s shouting moronic orders.”

“—but the heart doesn’t seem to understand simple English,” finished Breghan on a sigh.

“I lied to you.” Janet took to pacing the chamber. “I didn’t come into your employ to escape the entrapment of my life. Or perhaps, not only because of that. I saw him that day, that day you paid us a visit. When I went walking with my sister, we passed by him and Duncan where they waited with the horses. I thought they were arguing, Broderick had such a black scowl on his face—that was before I learnt scowling was his natural state. But it didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now.” She stopped in front of Breghan, hands upon her hips. “I took one look at him and I haven’t been able to look away since. I won’t give up on him, Breghan, I don’t know how to.”

Neither do I.
Unfortunately, the matter truly was in God’s hands and God, it seemed, had aligned his will with Arran. This month, at least. She took Janet’s hands in hers. “Arran was right, you and I are very much alike. The last spoke on the last wagon wheel must spring loose before we’re prepared to jump off.”

The weeks passed swiftly, the spring days warming and lengthening until, finally, frighteningly, God changed his mind. The fear she’d thought she’d left behind curled the lining of her stomach. She waited until she was certain, and then she waited a little more. She dithered between telling Arran in bed one night, after they’d made hard, passionate love. But he took her in his arms, held her so tenderly, she couldn’t spoil the moment.
He’ll kill me. He’ll hate me.
She didn’t know which was worse.

Time wasn’t merely slipping by, it was almost gone.
He’ll forgive me and forget why he’d once feared so much.
Breghan dredged every ounce of courage from her toes to her throbbing chest and faced him down in his solar.

August was closing in, the end of their handfasting year. When Arran glanced up at her from behind his desk, the reminder was there, the shadow she only glimpsed when he was caught unawares.