The Recruit Read online

  He would have gone after her, but Lady Moira caught him first. “Congratulations, my lord, on yet another victory. Were you by chance looking for someone?” She batted her eyelashes so aggressively he was tempted to ask whether she had something in her eye. Normally, such coquetry amused him, but right now he found it annoying.

  His mouth tightened impatiently as he saw his prey slipping away.

  Moira stood with Lady Elizabeth Lindsay, who seemed amused by her companion’s efforts. Lady Elizabeth was reputedly devoted to her husband and nothing Kenneth had seen suggested the contrary. She was friendly and polite, but nothing more. Which suited him just fine. Although she was a beautiful woman, she was shrewd, stubborn, and opinionated. He didn’t envy Lindsay the headache. Challenges were for the battlefield, not the bedchamber.

  “We are all trying to figure it out,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “Figure what out?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder, trying to keep his eye on his prey.

  “Who the nod was for,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  He looked at her, barely hiding his surprise. “Nod?”

  “Aye, it created quite a stir. The ladies seated around me were all quite sure you were nodding to them,” Lady Elizabeth said with a smile.

  Ah hell, he guessed it had been more noticeable than he realized. Kenneth hid his reaction behind a wicked smile.

  “I was,” he said.

  Lady Moira nearly yelped with pleasure, clapping her hands together. “I knew it. To whom?”

  “I’ll leave that to you to figure out,” he said with a playful wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I see my sister, and I need to have her patch me up so I’ll be ready for tomorrow’s competition.”

  It was only partially a lie. The blow he’d taken across the ribs was starting to throb beneath his habergeon. The shirt of mail offered scant protection against the impact of steel on bone, and he suspected he had a fairly nasty bruise brewing. He would see Helen to get it fixed up, but after he caught up with his little nun, who was weaving her way through the crowd at nearly a run in her effort to avoid him.

  She was only running from the inevitable. Almost as certain as he was that he would win tomorrow, Kenneth was certain that before the night was out, he would have her under him. Or perhaps on top of him.

  He felt a pleasant tightening in his groin just thinking about it.

  She’d just passed through the gate into the castle when he saw her stop and turn.

  “Mary, wait!” he heard someone—a woman—say. He turned, recognizing the speaker as Lady Margaret MacKenzie. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

  Mary. He should have guessed. A common, unremarkable name that would draw no attention—just like the rest of her. He was only a few feet away, but she hadn’t seen him yet. “I think the sun—”

  She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening and mouth caught in an O of surprise as she saw him. On such a severe countenance, it shouldn’t be so sensual. But it was the same expression that had thrown him over the edge in the barn.

  In the sunlight, without the glasses hiding half her face, he got his first really good look at her. Her hair was still hidden beneath an ugly black veil and wimple, her gown was still boxy and shapeless, her skin was still pale, her features were still too sharp—especially her cheekbones, which stuck out prominently over sunken cheeks—and there was still an overall gray, ghostlike quality to her, but on closer scrutiny he knew his instincts had been right. The hint of prettiness and intentional obscuring of beauty was even more obvious in the stark light of day.

  There was no hiding her eyes, and they were spectacular. Round and overlarge in her hollow-cheeked face, they were a remarkable greenish-blue, and framed by thick, long lashes that seemed incongruously soft on such an otherwise brittle exterior. Her mouth, too, was soft and full, with a sensual dip that made him think of a bow on a package he wanted to unwrap. Preferably with his tongue.

  As soon as their eyes met, she instinctively dropped her gaze as if hiding her eyes from his view.

  Hiding. That was exactly what she was doing. The question was why, and from what.

  “Lady Mary, Lady Margaret,” he said, approaching the two women with a bow.

  Lady Margaret turned to him with a gasp. She gaped at him, and then at Mary. “You’ve met?”

  He grinned, seeing the blush rise to Mary’s cheeks.

  “Briefly,” she said tightly.

  The lass really needed to relax. She was pulled as tight as a bowstring.

  “Not too briefly,” he corrected, unable to stop himself from teasing her. He liked seeing the color in her cheeks. “I’m looking forward to furthering our acquaintance. I hope you are not bored with the Games already? Perhaps they are not exciting enough for you?”

  He knew he was being horrible, but he couldn’t help teasing her.

  She wasn’t shy, though. Her eyes met his full force, flashing at him in outrage.

  “Oh, it was exciting, wasn’t it, Mary?” Lady Margaret interposed.

  He thought she nodded, but her jaw was clenched so tight it was hard to tell. “I’m sure Sir Kenneth has heard enough accolades for the day, Margaret. He doesn’t need to hear them from us.”

  She gave him a smile that made him frown. She had a way of making it sound unflattering. He was used to reading a certain amount of feminine admiration in a woman’s gaze, but with her there was only cool challenge. He didn’t think he liked it.

  “There is still the sword dance to be held this afternoon. If Lady Margaret doesn’t object, I would be happy to escort you.”

  Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise. “Why would I object?”

  “No!” Mary said over her. Her blush deepened as she realized she’d spoken too harshly. “I mean, I regret that I must return to the castle. I’m feeling unwell.”

  Lady Margaret became immediately concerned. She put her hand on Mary’s arm. “Is that why you rushed off?” She laid the back of her hand across Mary’s forehead. “You do look flushed.”

  Mary nodded, not looking in his direction. Probably to avoid his provoking grin. “I think the sun was too much for me.”

  Lady Margaret turned to him. “Mary has just recovered from an illness. This was the first time she’s had a chance to see the Games all week.”

  “Is that so?” he drawled.

  She couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer. He could see a flash of anger in her blue-green eyes that reminded him of sun glinting on the sea. He hadn’t expected so much spirit from such a quiet exterior, and his intrigue grew.

  “Aye, I’ve been very unwell.”

  He swore he could see her chin stiffen, challenging him to disagree with her.

  “My sister is a healer. If you like, I could send her to you.”

  Her mouth thinned, hearing his challenge. “That is very kind of you, but I’m sure that will not be necessary. I think I just need to lie down.”

  “Lying down sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Though there was nothing suggestive in his voice, he knew she’d understood when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

  She was outraged, as no doubt she should be. But he could also see by the delicate flutter of her pulse below a surprisingly velvety-soft-looking cheek that she was more intrigued than she wanted to let on.

  The devil! The man had no shame. He was propositioning her right in front of Margaret, fixing her with that taunting look in his eyes—as if he knew a naughty secret. And blast him, he did!

  There was such a heavy undercurrent of suggestiveness running between them, Mary was certain Margaret must feel it. Not wanting to guess what he would say next, she was glad when one of Margaret’s daughters came up and distracted her with a plea to go with her friends to the sword dance.

  Realizing he was no doubt trying to get to her, she schooled her features into a polite mask and bowed her head. “My lord.”

  She turned away to head for the nearest tower, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”