A Warrior's Bride Page 6

  “Really?” he replied with a calmness distinctly at odds with the way he felt.

  “No, I don’t,” she said firmly, planting herself defiantly in front of him.

  “Well, I certainly cannot accuse you of playing the flirtatious maid with me. Might I inquire why my proposal is to be rejected before I even make it?”

  “Isn’t it enough that I don’t want you?”

  He fought to subdue his anger at her sarcastic tone. “Your father approves of the match and there are certain facts in my favor,” he remarked, turning away from her and going to the brook. He picked up some pebbles and tossed them into the water as he counted off the reasons why she should want him. “I am wealthy. I am generous. I would treat you well. I am on good terms with several powerful lords. I am not without some personal attributes that I have been told women find appealing.”

  “Don’t forget vain and dissolute,” she said with a sternness that would have done credit to her father as she came to stand beside him.

  He raised his eyebrows in a gesture of surprise that masked his growing vexation. “These are serious charges, my lady. I suppose you think me vain because I like fine clothes, and dissolute because I prefer to make my surroundings as pleasing to the eye and comfortable to the body as possible. If your family prefers a spartan existence, that is their right, just as it is mine to spend my money how I choose.

  “While I see no reason to justify how I spend my money to you if we are not to marry, I will say, in my defense, that I never exceed my income, I always pay whatever taxes my overlord and the king require of me, and I have never been in debt.”

  Her gaze faltered for the briefest of moments, then she raised her chin to glare at him again. “I think the way you waste your money is a sin!”

  “Think what you will, my lady,” he said, facing the defiant, passionate woman who did not want him. “But, pray tell me, what is it you do want in a husband? Breadth? Height? Arms as thick as tree trunks? The manners of a boar? Red hair?”

  She sucked in her breath and crossed her arms defensively as he continued to stare at her. “I want a man, not a conceited clown!”

  “I am a man.”

  She sniffed disdainfully. “I suppose you have the necessary physical attributes—but that is all.”

  “For most women, that and what I have said before, would be more than sufficient.”

  “Well, not for me! I want a man I can respect. A man I can admire. Why, I ride better than you, can surely loose an arrow better than you, and with more accuracy. I daresay I could even wrestle better than you, if I had to.”

  “That may be true, my lady,” he replied coldly, “but I smell better than you.”

  She gaped at him in outraged shock.

  He leaned his weight casually on one leg and surveyed her slowly. Impertinently. “Let me guess the kind of man you think you would like for a husband. He will be admirably strong and a champion in the manly arts, as long as brute force is the main requirement. Such force is what he will bring to everything he does, including the marriage bed. Force, not pleasure. Not tenderness.

  “At first, you will indeed respect him, until you realize that he gives you the same respect he gives his horse or his dog.” She looked about to speak, but he did not give her the chance. “I have seen what happens when a woman is forced into marriage too many times to wish to experience it myself. So calm yourself, my fiery Aileas. If you do not wish to marry me, simply tell your father so, and that will be the end of it.

  “And as for that redheaded brute you seem to find so fascinating, I regret that the feeling is not reciprocated. He has left you.”

  “What?”

  “He left Dugall Castle immediately after the noon meal.” With that, George marched to his horse and took hold of the reins. He glanced back to look at her once more.

  She stood motionless, no longer defiant, her expression one of surprise and dismay.

  A primitive urge unlike any he had ever felt enveloped him, and suddenly, George’s veneer of elegance and breeding dissolved. He strode across the space between them and tugged Aileas into his arms, pressing a hot kiss onto her tempting lips.

  Desire, raw and needy, coursed through his veins the moment he touched her, and when she seemed to melt into his arms, offering no resistance, he held her tighter, leaning into her and pushing his tongue into her yielding mouth.

  But it was not George’s way to take without asking, or to behave with callous disregard, whatever his emotions, so his kiss changed, became gentler, more tender, yet still with the promise of that more powerful passion waiting to be released again-Her response startled and delighted him, for she began to return his passion, kissing him as if she desired him with a yearning equal to his own.

  What was happening? He didn’t know. He could barely think, for he was overwhelmed and uncertain—

  He broke away and, using every ounce of self-control he possessed, put a casual expression on his face as he looked into her desire-darkened eyes while she gasped for breath. “Go, Aileas, and tell your father that we shall not marry.”

  She swallowed and backed away, nearly stumbling. Her fingertips touched her lips for a moment. Then she reached for her horse’s reins and yanked the unwilling beast out of the water. Still without speaking, she mounted swiftly and kicked her horse into a gallop. In another moment, she was on the other side of the trees, and then she was gone.

  George sighed and slumped onto the ground near the banks of the brook. What had just happened here? What had he done?

  He had never experienced anything like the sudden, wild, passionate desire he had felt for Aileas Dugall, and he could no more have prevented himself from kissing her than he could hold his breath for a day.

  To what end?

  How could he force his kiss on her like the worst of brigands, he who knew the price such unthinking, intense actions could exact?

  Surely it was just as well that she didn’t want to be his wife. No other person had ever stripped away his self-control as she just had.

  He would find someone else. Someone calm and pliant, who did not rouse him so. A gentle woman, who would not inflame him.

  That was the kind of wife he needed.

  Chapter Five

  Aileas angrily swiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and then her nose. She wasn’t going to cry. Not over anything Sir George de Gramercie had said to her. And not over Rufus, either, if he could leave without so much as a farewell

  She wrapped her arms tightly around the apple tree’s slender trunk and pressed her face against the rough bark.

  Why would he go, and so abruptly? Did her hint of marriage to him strike him with such abhorrence that he had to flee?

  “Aileas! Get down from there, now!”

  Aileas gasped and Loosened her hold, looking down through the budding branches to see her father, who was standing at the base of the tree glaring at her, his hands on his hips, his gray brows lowered in annoyance and his lips turned down in a frown that always filled her with dread. He was rarely this angry, and it was very tempting to remain above him in the tree. “What is it, Father?”

  “Get down!”

  She dutifully obeyed, albeit slowly, and stood staring at the ground. One of the stable hands must have told him she had returned.

  “What in God’s name did you say to Sir George?” he demanded.

  No, not a stable hand. Sir George had returned and spoken to her father. She should have expected that, if she had been able to think clearly and logically. However, since their meeting by the brook, all she had wanted to do was get away from him and try to figure out why Rufus had gone away. She had been trying not to think about Sir George’s remarks or his astonishing, unexpected and completely overwhelming kiss.

  It had not been easy.

  “Well? Tell me—for he says that he doesn’t think you two should be wed. God’s holy heart, why not?”

  “Did he give no reason?”

  “No. He just smiled that damne
d smile of his and said I should talk to you.”

  It took some firmness of purpose to refuse one of her father’s requests, but she was fast learning that Sir George was not all manners and charm.

  No wonder her father was angry. Not only was his plan for her marriage being thwarted, but Sir George had refused to explain. That type of response always angered her father beyond measure.

  “I suppose he feels we would not suit,” she murmured, realizing that when it came to facing her father’s wrath, she was not as brave as Sir George.

  “Not suit? What kind of modern nonsense is this? It would be a good match for both of you, as any fool could see.”

  “But if he has second thoughts, should we not respect them? After all, he is not a boy who cannot be credited with knowing his own mind.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Nor is he a girl who doesn’t understand what’s best for her.”

  “Father, I—”

  “He is rich, he has powerful friends, he has a fine estate and the best stewards in the south of England to run it.” Her father made a slightly scornful face. “He is good-looking, as far as that goes. What more do you want?”

  Aileas rubbed her toe in the dirt and shrugged sullenly.

  Sir Thomas’s expression softened a little. “Daughter, I know he is different from what you are used to, but so would be many another knight who asked for your hand. And those who have, have been a damned sight worse.”

  Aileas looked at him, dumbfounded. “Other men have asked for my hand in marriage?”

  “One or two,” he admitted gruffly.

  “Was Rufus one of the few?” she asked, her heart beating fast with hope.

  Her father eyed her warily. “No.” Disappointment pricked her bubble of excited expectation, and then her father burst it. “Speaking of Rufus, before he left, he asked me to tell you that he was very sorry if he had led you to believe...” His expression grew more stern. “Have I anything to worry about, daughter?”

  She knew what he meant and answered in a low, but firm, voice. “No.” She was a virgin still.

  “Good. Besides, even if he had asked, I would have refused him my permission.”

  “Why?” Aileas demanded, even more surprised.

  “He’s a good man and a fine soldier—and the kind of fellow who will always be seeking adventure. He will not be content to stay at home. He would leave you often, for long, lonely days.”

  While she could appreciate the truth of her father’s words—more so than she could credit Sir George’s description of the type of husband Rufus would make—she was not content to have him discounted as a possibility. “Sir George has traveled much,” she reminded her father.

  “But now he has come home, and means to stay. He has had his fill of adventure. Aileas, he will be a good husband, and I think he will make you happy.” His countenance softened a little. “George may seem indolent and vain, and indeed, sometimes I think he is, but he’s a good man, for all that, and one who will treat you well.” Her father’s stern gaze faltered for a moment. “And his land is close to ours. I have no wish to see you far away from me.”

  These tender words, so unexpected and so rare, made Aileas’s eyes fill again with tears, but of a different sort.

  “So what is it to be, daughter?” her father asked gently. “Yes or no?”

  “Can I not have more time to decide?” she ventured. “I hardly know the man.”

  “No. His belongings are being packed even as we speak, for he vows he will not stay longer and waste our time.” Her father emitted a sigh of frustration. “What more do you need to know of him? You played together as children.”

  Yes, as children, when she had watched him, her whole being filled with scorn at his neatness and politeness, until she couldn’t resist pelting him with apples. It was hardly the way to get to know someone.

  She stared at the damp grass beneath her feet and contemplated her future.

  She loved Rufus. Didn’t she?

  He didn’t love her. If he did, he wouldn’t have left and given that message to her father. He would have fought for her.

  Sir George didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him, yet that kiss seemed to promise...

  Her father was an excellent judge of men; that was what made him such a good commander. Perhaps she had disregarded Sir George too quickly. “Tell him...”

  “What?”

  “Tell him not to go,” she whispered, not meeting her father’s gaze.

  “Now you’re being sensible,” he said approvingly, “but I won’t tell him. He might think I am forcing you into this marriage against your will, and he won’t accept you if he thinks that.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “He didn’t have to. I knew his father. As alike as two peas out of the same pod, those two.”

  She regarded her father steadily. “And am I not being forced?”

  “Aileas, if you truly don’t want to marry the fellow, then say so at once and we’ll put an end to this. But don’t make the mistake of thinking there is only one kind of good man in the world. I don’t think you could ask for a better husband, and I’m sure you could do worse.”

  “Must I decide today?”

  “If he leaves, that will be the end of it. They are proud, the de Gramercies.” To her surprise, her father gave one of his rare smiles. “They are conceited enough to believe that their brides should be eager, not just willing, to have them.”

  “You speak of pride, Father,” Aileas said. “If I ask him to stay, won’t I be humbling myself? He already knows I don’t favor the marriage.”

  Her father’s brusque laugh filled the air. “This is one time being a girl will stand you in good stead,” he observed wryly. “Women are changeable as weathercocks.”

  Aileas was about to protest that she knew her own mind well enough, when his countenance softened again.

  “There is a time for humility, Aileas, and I think this’ is one of them, unless you would rather let Sir George go.” Her father regarded her tenderly. “I do not want you miserably wed.”

  Aileas nodded slowly, trying to decide what to do.

  It was very tempting to let Sir George leave, taking with him the troublesome notion of a marriage to him.

  Yet what would be the consequences? The knowledge that other men had already asked for her hand had surprised her, especially since there had never been a man at her father’s castle who had even made her think of marriage, except for Rufus.

  Rufus, who had had plenty of opportunity to ask for her hand and had not. Who, when she had hinted that she wanted him to marry her, had remained silent. Who had even looked horrified at the notion. And who had then run away.

  Who else might come to marry her? Someone she would finally have to accept or else be a spinster all her life? Someone like the kind of man Sir George had accused her of desiring, who would be a terrible husband?

  Who would not kiss her with that exciting combination of fierce passion melting into wonderful tenderness, until her knees felt weak and her whole body throbbed.

  She slowly turned on her heel and began to walk toward the castle.

  “Well, Aileas?” her father demanded behind her. “What is it to be?”

  “I am going to ask him to stay.”

  George tapped his foot impatiently as he watched his foot soldiers pick up the last of the bundles in the now barren bedchamber. It was the folded feather bed, which was to be taken to the stable and loaded on his baggage cart with the rest of his things. Then he would go while there was light enough to reach the inn halfway between Dugall Castle and his own.

  He had no wish to remain here a moment longer than necessary, even though it seemed that Sir Thomas knew nothing of his daughter’s reservations. Indeed, the older knight had been completely taken aback when George had returned and told him the outcome of his latest meeting with Aileas. He was quite adamant that Sir George must have been mistaken.

  George had been in no humor to go in
to any details about his recent confrontation with Aileas; nevertheless, he had made his opinion perfectly plain. If he was not wanted as a suitor, he would go. Let the father find out anything more from his child. For his part, he would simply go, and gladly.

  “Sir George?”

  He turned at the unexpected sound of a timid female voice and was even more startled to see Aileas standing on the threshold, her head lowered demurely and her brown eyes regarding him warily. “Yes?” he demanded with no attempt at courtesy, which apparently was not appreciated here.

  “You... you are leaving?”

  “Obviously, my lady. I see no reason to remain where I am not wanted.”

  Aileas sidled into the room, her gaze roving over the walls, the window, the bare floor—everything but him. “I hope you are not offended by anything I have said.”

  He laughed out loud. “Offended?” he queried with scornful sarcasm. “Why should I take offense, just because the idea of being married to me is as welcome as being tortured?”

  “I didn’t mean to make it sound that way.”

  “Well, you did. Now, if you will excuse me, I had better see that my men haven’t dropped my belongings into a puddle.”

  He took a step toward the door, but to his surprise, she moved to block his way, closing the door and bracing herself against it. She looked directly at him, her brown eyes once again flashing defiant fire, and he felt as if the true Aileas had appeared. “You have to stay,” she said firmly.

  He crossed his arms and regarded her coolly. “I am not your lackey.”

  “Please,” she amended with no hint of contrition.

  He raised one fair eyebrow quizzically. “Whence comes this change of heart, my lady? Are you your father’s serjeant, relaying his command?”

  “I would like you to stay, too,” she said.

  He passed in front of her, then turned on his heel to survey her slowly. “Well, well, well, what am I to make of this sudden change of heart?” He tapped his teeth with his forefinger as he regarded her pensively. “Has the young woman seen something of merit in me after all?”