The Recruit Read online

  As if his seductive passion at night wasn’t hard enough to resist, now she had to contend with his courtship during the day. But even knowing it was only a contest to him, and that the attention wouldn’t last, she couldn’t help but be amused—and touched. More than she wanted to admit. She’d never put much store in romantic gestures before, but she could not deny the spur in her heart. The gestures might be speciously motivated, but they were not without thought.

  “Do you like them?” He frowned. “I know you mentioned pink roses were your favorite, but given my recent allegiance I wasn’t sure that would be wise.”

  “I should think not.” The pink rose had become a subversive symbol of Bruce sympathizers after Isabella MacDuff, the Countess of Buchan, had worn one in her cloak on her way to be imprisoned in a cage. Unwittingly, Mary shivered and pushed the image away. She knew how close she’d come to sharing such a fate. But that was all behind her now. “They’re perfect,” she said, inhaling the small bouquet again. “Don’t tell me you picked them yourself?”

  He lowered the blade from where it had been scraping against his jaw—a very hard, very masculine jaw—and grimaced. “I wish I had. I sent my squire to find them. My squire who has yet to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  She tried to bite back her smile. “Damaged your fierce reputation, did he?”

  “More than you can imagine,” he said dryly.

  Mary sobered. “You don’t have to do this, you know—whatever it is you’re doing.”

  Their eyes met and held. For longer every time. Just as it was becoming harder to drag her gaze away.

  Had he taken her words as a challenge to give up? It wasn’t how they were meant.

  “Aye, I do,” he said softly, and then more lightly, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my share of needling; I can take it.”

  “You? What do you have to be teased about? From where I sit, you’re infuriatingly perfect.”

  A cocky grin spread across his face. “Do you think so? I wondered if you were ever going to notice.”

  “Nauseatingly, I meant.” She tossed the pillow at him.

  He laughed, catching it in the air and tossing it right back at her.

  She rolled on her back, staring up at the ceiling as he finished getting ready. As they did every morning, she pretended not to watch him, and he pretended not to notice her doing so.

  How long could this game go on? That was all it was, a game … wasn’t it? But it didn’t feel like a game; it felt real.

  At night it was easy to pretend she was in control of her feelings. She could lose herself in passion, go to sleep, and not have to think about it—not have to face how every time he held her in his arms, every time he touched her with heartwrenching tenderness, every time he looked into her eyes as he entered her, it was getting harder and harder to tell herself it meant nothing.

  She was running out of ways to fight back. She was a novice competing with a master in the art of passion. How many more ways could she find to distract him? To bring it back to lust?

  In the daylight it was worse. In the daylight there was nowhere for those feelings to hide.

  He rubbed his hand over his jaw, feeling for any places that he’d missed, and then wiped his face with a damp towel. When he was finished, he came to stand beside the bed, looking down at her. “Your water is getting cold.”

  She shot him a glare. Though his expression was blank, she knew he was laughing at her. “I don’t mind. A cool bath can be … uh, invigorating, don’t you think?”

  “I think I deserve to watch after arranging to have a bath brought up to you every morning without waking you.” He shook his head. “You sleep the sleep of the dead.”

  She hadn’t until recently, but she decided not to mention that. “I’m shy, remember?”

  But he knew what it was really about. She was embarrassed.

  “I want to see you, Mary. All of you.”

  She looked away. “There is much to see.”

  He laughed, sat down on the edge of the bed, and tilted her chin to him. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Men always say that when they want something.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe you are right. Take your bath in privacy, then. For now. But you won’t hide from me forever. I will see you—soon.” He stood. “What are you doing later today?”

  She sighed, anticipating the long hours until she saw—

  She stopped. Sweet heaven, how had it happened so fast? Could she already be measuring the day by the hours until she saw him next?

  Her chest squeezed. It was true. During the day he was busy with his duties. She would see him in the yard sometimes, when she was able to watch Davey, and at meals, of course, but it wasn’t until they were alone at night that he belonged to her.

  Except that he didn’t belong to her. Eyes open.

  “The usual,” she said. “Between prayers and meals, I will work on some embroidery with the other women and listen to the castle gossip, attend to some correspondence with the clerk, and if Davey isn’t away from the castle today, watch him practice in the yard.”

  “Ah, that’s too bad. I was hoping you might have some time.”

  She perked up, hoping she didn’t look as eager as she felt. “Time?”

  “Aye, to go on a ride with me. I’m getting tired of looking at these same stone walls.”

  “But can you?” She blushed. “I mean, have they granted you permission to leave the castle alone?”

  His mouth curved. “Aye, I guess Percy has determined I’m not a threat.”

  Mary scoffed. The man was nothing but a threat.

  “What’s that?” His eyes glinted with amusement.

  She scowled at him, realizing she must have spoken her thoughts aloud.

  “But if you’re too busy—”

  “I’m not,” she interrupted, far too quickly. But she couldn’t hide her excitement. She, too, was feeling cooped up. “I should love to go on a ride with you.” She frowned, her hands instinctively going to her stomach. “Though I’m not sure I should.”

  He seemed to understand her fears. “Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He said it with a look that made her wonder what he was up to. Knowing him, she suspected it was something calculated to wear her down. If she’d learned anything about her fiery husband, it was that he did not give up.

  Kenneth was running out of ideas. Having never gone to this much trouble to win a woman’s heart before, he didn’t exactly have a repertoire of romantic gestures to work from. He’d operated on instinct (which sounded better than accident), which thus far seemed to be working well. She’d delighted over the bath—even if she wouldn’t delight him by using it in front of him—as well as the ribbon and the sugary buns.

  But the woman was stubborn—and too damned suspicious of his motives. Which made her too damned smart.

  This wasn’t turning out to be as easy as he’d expected.

  Although he had to admit there was one place he wasn’t minding her challenges. He almost looked forward to finding out what she would do next to make his control slip at night.

  But while she might win a few battles, he knew he would win the war. His lust wouldn’t be roused like this for long, and he would be back in control. Eventually, he knew the novelty would wear off and his interest would wane as it always had before.

  He frowned. Wouldn’t it? It sure as hell hadn’t waned yet. He had an unsettling thought: what if it never did?

  Of course it would. Just because Mary wasn’t like any woman he’d met before didn’t mean his life—his entire way of thinking—would change.

  He liked variety. And simplicity, for that matter.

  At least he used to. But sparring with his very unsimple and-not-so-eager-to-please wife was proving interesting.

  He frowned, pushing the disturbing thought away as he opened the door.

  He was glad to see her alone. Some of the ladies were less than subtle in their int