Joanna Fulford (7 page)

For no apparent reason she felt a lump form in her throat. ‘No need to muddy the waters with romance then?’

‘None at all. I do not love you any more than you love me. Nor will I promise you my heart.’

‘I thank you for your honesty, my lord.’

‘I have no wish to lie to you.’

‘I’m glad.’ In a way she was; grateful too that he made no attempt to pretend what he did not feel and had let her know exactly what to expect from him.

‘Then we understand each other.’

‘I believe we do.’ She paused. ‘I will try to be a good wife to you.’

‘And I a good husband to you.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I don’t imagine that will be too difficult. May I say I look forward to our closer union.’

A rosy flush bloomed in her face. It was unwittingly becoming and he realised he had spoken the exact truth. That turned his mind in a more pleasurable direction.

‘Shall we seal the bargain, my lady?’

Isabelle felt herself grow hotter. ‘I... We are not yet betrothed, my lord. It would be—’ She broke off awkwardly.

Ban regarded her in cool amusement. ‘Improper?’ As her silence confirmed it his eyes gleamed. ‘I have seen you without your clothes on. It’s a little late to worry about propriety.’

Her chin came up at once. ‘That isn’t fair and you know it.’

‘Not fair? But you’re going to do the same again on Thursday.’

Isabelle was reduced to speechless silence. There were many things she would like to have said but, unfortunately, denial and refusal were equally impossible. Indignation was fuelled by his evident enjoyment.

‘I will do what I must, my lord.’

‘Then you will seal the bargain with me now.’

The words, though quietly spoken, were uncompromising, like the arm around her waist drawing her against him. He took the kiss at leisure, ignoring resistance until resistance was abandoned and she yielded herself to the embrace. Under the scent of lavender she breathed the scent of the man, warm, heady and dangerous, arousing sensations that were unfamiliar and unexpected.

He drew back a little, looking down into her face, his expression unreadable. Breathless now, she waited, heart thumping. He was alarmingly strong. They were alone and the place private. If he chose to pursue this... However, it seemed that was not his intention because his hold slackened.

‘I consider the bargain well sealed, my lady, and hold that kiss in token of many more.’

‘I told you, I will do what I must.’

‘Aye, and enjoy it too, I promise you.’

‘A bold promise, my lord. There is little pleasure for a woman in the marriage bed.’

He strolled to the door, pausing on the threshold. ‘Reserve your judgement until you have shared mine.’

With that he left her. As she listened to his retreating footsteps, Isabelle found herself trembling, though not with fear. Automatically she raised a hand to her lips where the memory of his kiss still lingered; a kiss that aroused all manner of emotion in her, but which meant only the sealing of a bargain to him. He would bed her the same way. She bit her lip. He had been honest with her about that. Theirs was a business arrangement. If it engendered warmer feelings that was good but it was by no means certain.
I do not regard it as an indispensable condition of marriage.
The only indispensable condition was that she should provide him with an heir.

Chapter Six

B
an left the building and escaped into the fresh air, away from the heady and sensual smell of lavender and the recollection of that kiss. He had no idea why he’d done that. It hadn’t been his intention when first he went to speak with her. Nor had he anticipated the consequences; had not expected to feel quite so aroused or so tempted to follow his inclination. Fortunately common sense had prevailed. In two days she was his; he could be patient a little longer. The rest would follow soon enough.

He had been walking without any set destination in mind and his steps had taken him in the direction of the stables. It occurred to him that he could go and look in on Firecrest and make sure that all was well there. However, as he rounded the end of the building he checked in surprise to see a large group of men in the yard beyond. At first he thought they were all from Castlemora, but then he caught sight of Ewan and Davy in their midst. From their stance and their expressions he knew immediately that he wasn’t looking at a friendly gathering.

* * *

Needing to escape from the confines of the still room Isabelle temporarily put aside her task. It afforded too much leisure to think. Fortunately there were other domestic arrangements to deal with, particularly the matter of the evening meal. With tensions running as they were she didn’t want to risk incurring her father’s displeasure through some perceived slight towards their guest. Therefore it behoved her to speak with the kitchen servants and soon.

She hurried along the passageway to the outer door and had just gained the courtyard when she heard the sound of men’s voices. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but the tone was subtly different from their typical bantering exchanges. She paused, listening. The noise originated from the area behind the stables. It was the location that raised a question in her mind for it seemed covert somehow.

For a moment or two she hesitated. It was not her part to interfere with men’s affairs, and ordinarily she stayed as far away from Murdo’s mercenaries as possible. Just as she was debating with herself what to do, she saw Ban. He was closer to the stables than she and evidently heading towards the source of the noise. Curiosity strove with caution. He would deal with it. She ought not to get involved. Yet somehow his being there made it harder to resist. She hesitated for a few more seconds. Then, against her better judgement, she followed him.

Rounding the end of the building she was not surprised to see a large group of men, but her heart sank for it needed none to tell her they had not met in friendship or good humour. The very air seemed charged. The focus of attention seemed to be the Glengarron retainers. The two called Jock and Ewan were standing together, their expressions tense and angry. The third, Davy, was squared up to one of the Castlemora soldiers. She recognised the man, Taggart, for he had been one of those implicated in a rape case brought before her father. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence—it came down to three men’s sworn word against that of the plaintiff in the end—although Isabelle knew whom she most believed. The village girls avoided the mercenaries when possible, and with good reason.

Her gaze moved from Taggart to Murdo, standing close by. He alone seemed quite at ease, almost as though the scene afforded him quiet amusement. Isabelle frowned and hastened forwards, but Ban was before her and she heard Murdo’s greeting.

‘Ah, well met, my lord.’

Isabelle was both embarrassed and annoyed knowing beyond doubt that mischief was brewing here, though what the cause might be she could not tell. If Ban had detected anything amiss he gave no sign of it. She saw him acknowledge the master-at-arms with a slight inclination of the head. Then he turned his attention to his men.

Both Jock and Ewan looked flinty, Davy slightly flushed. His glance flicked from Ban to Taggart, with whom, evidently, he had been in conversation a few moments before. The latter was older than Davy by at least ten years. Of a short stocky frame he was nevertheless well built and the weathered face bore an expression both crafty and malicious. Cold grey eyes surveyed the younger man, eyes that did not reflect the smile on the mouth below.

Keeping his tone deliberately neutral Ban said, ‘What’s happening here?’

‘A friendly conversation, my lord, no more,’ replied the other.

‘Indeed?’ Ban glanced again towards his own men and saw their silent indignation. ‘What manner of conversation?’

For a moment there was stony silence. Then Murdo spoke.

‘The discussion was about swordsmanship. Isn’t that right, Taggart?’

The man grinned, revealing stained and rotting teeth. ‘Aye, sir.’

‘What about it?’ asked Ban.

‘’Tis just that we’ve all heard much about the mettle of Glengarron,’ Taggart replied.

‘And what have you heard?’

‘That they’re brave fighters, my lord—by repute anyway.’ Taggart’s small eyes took on a cunning gleam. ‘We just wondered if it was true, didn’t we, lads?’

A groundswell of agreement greeted this, the tone both challenging and mocking. Ewan and Jock exchanged eloquent glances, their hands moving to their sword hilts. Seeing it, Isabelle darted a glance at Ban but his attention was elsewhere.

‘Surely you would not cast aspersions on the valour of our allies, Taggart?’ said Murdo. The words sounded reproachful, ostensibly deprecating, but none present missed their underlying edge.

‘I mean no disrespect, my lord.’ Taggart gave Ban an unctuous smile quite at variance with the look in his eye. ‘All the same, ’tis such a fine reputation that a body canna help wondering whether ’tis based on truth or exaggeration.’

Another chorus of agreement greeted the words. Isabelle watched in impotent anger, seeing whither this tended. She would have been disgusted by such an insult to any of Castlemora’s guests, but in this case the ramifications were particularly worrying and especially for herself. Ban could hardly be impressed and his opinion mattered. Another minute and the situation would be out of hand. Yet how to stop it escalating without her guests losing face? She glanced once at Murdo but knew she would find no help there. On the contrary, his expression suggested keen enjoyment of the situation, an expression reflected on the faces of his men.

Before he could respond, Davy spoke out. His voice was level enough but his eyes spoke clearly of anger.

‘Glengarron’s reputation speaks for itself. It needs no exaggeration.’

‘Is that right?’ Taggart raised an eyebrow and looked round at his companions. Grins greeted his evident scepticism. ‘Now I’d heard otherwise.’

‘Then you heard wrong.’

‘I’ve only your word for that, boy.’

‘There is no boy here.’ Davy’s hand tightened round the hilt of his dirk. ‘Nor no idle boasting either.’

‘Shall we put that to the test?’

‘Whenever you like.’

‘No time like the present.’

An ironic cheer rose in reply from the bystanders. Isabelle’s jaw tightened. She could not expect Davy to back down now for the insult had been thinly veiled and would be answered. However, the matter must not result in serious bloodshed. With her heart in her throat she saw Ban step forwards.

‘Then let the matter be put to the test,’ he said, ‘in a friendly match, to be decided by first blood.’

All eyes turned his way, speculative and predatory. Isabelle was reminded of nothing so much as a pack of wolves. Ban ignored them, his attention focused on the one man he rightly divined would make the decision. Murdo met his gaze a moment and then nodded.

‘An excellent notion. First blood it shall be.’

A roar of approval echoed on the still air and the men stepped back to give the two combatants room. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing the confrontation could not be avoided, Ban had at least prevented it from becoming fatal. He had handled the matter with tact and skill, and she could only feel gratitude for his intervention. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was really thinking. Was he regretting ever coming here? Would it make him think twice about their forthcoming betrothal? She prayed it would not. Even so, the incident did not reflect well on Castlemora, and she determined that Murdo should know of her displeasure. Forgetting her usual reticence she went to confront him. He regarded her with surprise for a moment and then smiled.

‘You’re just in time, my lady. This promises to be interesting.’

Holding on to her temper, she kept her voice low so that only the two of them were privy to it. ‘These men are guests here, Murdo. How could you have allowed this?’

‘Come, my lady, it is but a friendly bout, no more.’

‘If it is then it’s thanks to Lord Ban.’

He was about reply when another presence drew his attention, and Isabelle saw his gaze harden. Looking round she saw Ban standing beside them and, for a brief moment, glimpsed anger in his eyes as he faced Murdo. Then it was gone and he was looking at her. The memory of that recent kiss was all too vivid and her pulse quickened.

‘I didn’t know you were interested in swordplay, my lady.’ His tone was pleasant, his manner suggesting that this was no more than a little light amusement even though they both knew it was not. She was grateful to him, knowing how much this must be testing his self-control. It was another side to him that she had not suspected. More than ever she felt it incumbent on her to try to smooth things over.

‘My lord, I deeply regret all this.’

‘No cause,’ he replied. ‘It is but a friendly challenge, as Murdo says.’

The tone was light but she could feel the antipathy between the two men. Then her attention was drawn by movement elsewhere and Isabelle looked away, her attention on the combatants.

Both were circling with slow care, intent, never taking their eyes from their opponent’s blade. It went on for some seconds. Then, almost as though by some silent mutual agreement, they launched themselves into the fray. Isabelle bit her lip, watching closely. Even her untutored eye could see that both men had been well trained for each sword seemed like an extension of the arm that held it. Both protagonists were strong, both determined. However, the younger man had the edge in terms of agility, moving out of danger with lithe impressive grace while the older relied on brute strength to force his path. The great swords carved the air, each seeking for a weakness in the other’s defence, their wicked blades glinting in the hard light, the ring of steel loud in the hot still yard. Sparks flew and several times the blades came perilously close to flesh. Isabelle drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Ban.

‘Isn’t this supposed to be a friendly bout?’ she murmured.

He smiled faintly. ‘No cause for alarm, my lady.’

‘No, indeed,’ said another voice behind her.

Isabelle turned to see Hugh. She had been so engrossed she hadn’t even noticed his arrival.

‘I hope not, Brother.’

‘Murdo would never let it get out of hand,’ he went on.

She was deeply sceptical about that but vouchsafed no reply, for now Taggart had renewed the attack, pushing forwards, apparently driving Davy before him. She bit her lip hard to stifle a cry of dismay, but a second later realised the move had been a ruse, for the younger man whirled on heel, dodging the blow aimed at his head and leaving only empty space. Thrown off balance, Taggart staggered. It was enough. Davy’s blade swung round and caught his opponent’s unguarded arm. It was a shallow cut, but a bright streak of blood bloomed on the instant.

The sight was greeted with a tense silence and then grudging applause in some parts of the assembled crowd. Ewan and Jock grinned broadly but ventured no word, clearly feeling that Davy’s prowess as a swordsman had just spoken much louder. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief.

‘None now can doubt the reputation of Glengarron,’ she said. ‘It is most clearly merited.’ Her gaze flicked to Murdo and she threw him a cool look before turning back to Ban. ‘Your man fought well, my lord.’

‘You are gracious, my lady.’

‘It is no more than the truth,’ said Hugh. ‘Truly it was a most excellent performance.’

Ban inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliments. Isabelle turned to look at Murdo. His expression was like thunder. Ordinarily she would have felt apprehensive, but now the sight afforded her a strange satisfaction.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Murdo?’ she asked.

A muscle jumped in his cheek but when he spoke his voice was level. ‘It was a good bout and, as Lady Isabelle said, your man fought well, my lord.’

‘I thought so too,’ replied Ban.

‘It’s the truth.’ Hugh glanced once at the master-at-arms. ‘Taggart was completely outclassed, no question.’

Murdo’s gaze hardened but he said nothing more. Ban looked at Hugh.

‘If you would excuse me for a moment, I would speak with my men.’

Isabelle watched him walk away. She saw him join Jock and Ewan. Ignoring surly glances from some of the spectators, they exchanged a few quiet words and then all three went to speak to Davy. The young man was leaning on his sword point to catch his breath. She saw Ban clap him on the shoulder. Though she could not catch his words it was clear from the younger man’s expression they contained high praise and it was merited. Davy had acquitted himself well which was more than could be said for Castlemora. Isabelle glanced with distaste across the intervening space to where Taggart stood. He was still holding the gash on his arm and blood dripped through his fingers. On his face was a look of cold malice. Without warning, he raised his sword and rushed at Davy’s unguarded back.

Isabelle cried out, ‘No!’

Everyone looked round. Davy whirled and was just in time to block the blow aimed at him. The blades slid and locked at the hilts. Almost simultaneously he brought his knee up hard into his attacker’s groin. The latter grunted and doubled up gasping, his weapon falling uselessly from his hand. A second later the point of Davy’s blade was at his throat. For a moment the air was charged with tension. Several hands had moved towards sword hilts.

Hugh strode forwards and looked with contempt at the fallen man. ‘Is it not bad enough that you were bested, Taggart, without your turning backstabber?’ Without waiting for a reply, Hugh turned to Ban. ‘I apologise for this cowardly deed, my lord. It disgraces the name of Castlemora.’