The Devil of Jedburgh Page 9

  “Aye, ’twas why he insisted we ride light and McAllen send the cart with your baggage separately. Arran didna want his wife sleeping on the open ground.”

  “He didn’t seem to mind the other night. If I recall, he demanded it.”

  “Aye, m’lady, but that night he didna know…” Duncan blushed and his gaze dropped to his boots.

  Breghan put a hand to his shoulder. “Duncan, I’m truly sorry for my deception. I’ve made an awkward mess of everything.”

  His eyes shot up to her. “You’ve naught to apologise for.”

  She might have protested, but Arran was approaching with a cluster of flasks in one hand and the food, bundled in waterproof leather, tucked under his arm. Broderick had taken hold of Angel’s lead and the other horses were left free to drink from the river or graze.

  “Angel won’t bolt,” she told him.

  Arran studied her, as if her face held some inner truth, then he turned to call out, “Broderick, leave the mare to roam and come eat.”

  Broderick didn’t need a second invitation.

  The simple meal of fresh bread, hard cheese and Annie’s mutton pies tasted doubly delicious after the strenuous exercise. The men sat cross-legged on the ground and Breghan perched on the log so she could flex the stiffness from her legs. The scene was reminiscent of the day she’d first met Arran, yet much had changed. Then, she’d been running from the man. Today, she’d embraced her own future and was here within the narrow confines of what could be classified as free will.

  And some things remained unchanged. Trepidation pinched Breghan’s gut as she watched the three men—three strangers—eat and drink in silence. Arran looked up and caught her staring at him. His gaze was soft and warm and a smile quirked a dimple at his chin.

  She quickly dropped her eyes and broke off a crust of bread to pop into her mouth. Arran had been cordial today; she couldn’t fault his behaviour. She’d seen enough of the man to know the worst of the rumours about the Devil of Jedburgh were false. She’d seen enough of the man to suspect the lesser rumours may well be true. Arran Kerr had a formidable temper that never seemed to last long. The rage came and went like a summer storm, but when it was high, it was fierce enough to turn green eyes to slate and mould darkness into the crevices of his face. He could be stubborn and Breghan only had to recall their previous arguments to doubt she’d ever sway him to her reasoning, or any logical reasoning, if the need arose.

  There was Ferniehirst too; she knew naught of his people and how she’d be received. It was easy to be brave and make bold decisions, Breghan reflected, from within the comfort of your home.

  She washed the crust of bread down with a swallow of ale, scooped up a few red apples and jumped to her feet. “The horses have earned a treat.”

  She fed Angel from her hand, then walked tentatively to Duncan’s stallion. The greedy horse gulped the apple down and nuzzled her hand for more. She fed him a second apple before turning to see where the other horses had wandered.

  Arran was right behind her. “We can rest awhile longer if you wish.”

  She offered him a smile. “I’m not as fragile as I might appear and then there’s your ‘no mercy’ rule.”

  He gave that shrug, and Breghan was surprised to find it didn’t bother her nearly so much today. “We’ve made good time so far.”

  “I’m fine, Arran, feel free to set whatever pace you must.”

  He reached out to tip her chin beneath his knuckles. “You’re not fine. When you were sitting on the log, your face lost all colour and your shoulders slumped as if life itself was seeping from your body.”

  “You’re very observant,” she murmured, searching his gaze for a sign of mockery and finding none.

  “Whatever has gone before, Bree, I wish for you to be happy in our time together. If the mere thought of riding on so soon again tires you, we’ll rest longer.”

  “That isn’t…” She turned her head so his knuckles fell away from her chin. “’Tis only… I’m being silly, but I’ve never been this far from Donague. The prospect of what awaits becomes more daunting by the mile. I made this choice and blame no one but myself. That doesn’t make the unknown any easier to bear.” She blinked back a tear brought on by his kindness and strolled in the direction of his stallion.

  He didn’t follow, although Breghan felt his gaze on her as she fed the rest of the apples to the horses. When she was done and heading back to their makeshift picnic, Arran still stood at the muddy riverbank where she’d left him, watching her with a frown on his brow.

  She changed direction and went to stand before him. She needed one less unknown to face. “What do you want from me, Arran? Why did you agree to this handfasting once you knew I’d manipulated both you and your noble intentions?”

  “I placed the decision in your hands and I’m a man of my word.”

  “I believe you are.” She gave a weary sigh. “No one would have thought less of you had you walked away after what transpired in my father’s chamber.”

  He looked her in the eye for a moment so long, she thought he wouldn’t speak. When he did, it was no answer at all. “You must truly love him.”

  “My father?”

  Arran shook his head. “This Alexander Gordon, the man you bartered your soul for.”

  “You make it out to be so dramatic.”

  “You thought I was the devil,” he reminded her.

  “Perhaps I still think you are.” She softened her teasing with a smile, then grew serious. “Last night you were furious—you had every right to be mad and walk away. I don’t understand. I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “How quickly you forget.” He lifted a strand of hair that hung over her shoulder and threaded it through his fingers. “I want you, Bree. I wanted you since I first set eyes on you. I wished more time with you.”

  Breghan snorted. “You have too much pride to want a woman while you believe her passion lies elsewhere.”

  “That was my first reaction, I admit.” He dropped the strand of her hair to fold his arms across his chest. “Somewhere between last night and this morn…” Another dismissive shrug. “What I offer is temporary, a brief interlude in your life. I canna say I like the idea, and yet I do find some measure of comfort that your future happiness is secured.”

  “So you’re quite willing to allow yourself to be used like—like a what? Like a night stop at an inn along my travels?” Her eyes went wide in disbelief. A moment later his gaze darkened and she changed her mind. Of course, why should he care where my heart and passion lies? I’m the night stop along the road, not him. He was the one who wanted a brief encounter, had originally insisted on a handfasting instead of marriage. “No man is that honourable or selfless, Arran. You want a dalliance with no regret or guilt. Once again, I’ve given you exactly what you most wanted.”

  “You have such fire, sweetling.” To her irritation, he smiled a smile that chased the slate from his eyes and warmed her toes. His voice turned husky. “Did I happen to mention how verra much I dinna like the idea of your Alexander Gordon?”

  Breghan felt her resistance crumble. She still didn’t trust his motives entirely, but when he smiled like that, when he spoke with that whiskey-rolled-over-honey-oats burr… She closed her eyes and started to count to ten. When she got to three, she gave in and opened her eyes again. “I’m not in love with Alexander Gordon. He was only at Donague for three days and I’ve spent less time alone with him than I have with you.”

  A scowl returned to Arran’s brow. “You fought so hard to win an opportunity to be with this man.”

  “To be with a man such as him.” Her gaze went over Arran’s shoulder to the sharp definition of mountains that had never been more than a blurred outline on the horizon from Castle Donague’s battlements. “Alexander has a refined manner. I never knew such men existed. The way he looked at me, as if I were an exotic blossom to be adored… The way he listened, as if every word from my mouth was a tr
easure to be stored close to his heart…”

  Heat rushed up her throat as Breghan realised how foolishly romantic she must appear, and yet it seemed too important to stop now. Using Arran to bargain for some freedom over her future was acceptable, since he’d demanded the handfasting to begin with. Using him to seek a future with an established lover was hard and callous. Arran had to know that she’d embraced the first and would despise the last.

  Breghan brought her gaze back to Arran’s face. “If I’m in love, ’tis with the picture Alexander conjured of living in the city of Edinburgh. The thought of coming down to break my fast in the morn without tripping over two dozen bodies smelling of sweat, ale, whiskey and worse. Shops right outside his townhouse that have everything from silks from Byzantine to spices from Constantinople. Banquets and balls and supper with our Queen Mary.” Her voice pitched and she couldn’t help it. “Can you possibly imagine how exciting that would be? I’ve never been further than Hightown, but one day, perhaps… There’s no reason I couldn’t find a city-dwelling man to take me to wife.”

  Arran’s lips strained—from laughter or anger?

  Did he think her shallow and silly? There was more, so much more than shopping and supper parties that had invaded her dreams. “He studied history of music in Paris and composed a tune on his lute while gazing into my eyes. If I’m in love,” she ended softly, “’tis with a man, any man, who could cherish me, mayhap not above all else, but certainly above drinking and cursing and tossing maids’ skirts when he thinks no one is looking on.”

  Arran shouted out an abrupt laugh. “What would you know of tossing maids’ skirts?”

  “You forget I have twelve brothers.”

  This time, Breghan didn’t regret the reference. She was innocent, not naïve, and it could do no harm for Arran to know that. Of all her brothers, she loved Callum the most. And she knew he loved Eliza. Hadn’t he given Eliza everything she’d ever wanted? A cottage on the furthest McAllen field because she demanded privacy and space? Breghan had been angry, hurt on Eliza’s behalf, when she’d come across Callum in the stable with one of the maids…until she’d realised that was just the way of man.

  Arran’s expression turned grim. “Your brothers should behave with more discretion.”

  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.