The Recruit Read online

  “It’s your life, Mother. I hope Sir Kenneth will make you happy.”

  Happy was too much to hope for. Mary would settle for not completely miserable. “I want you to be happy, too.” He seemed puzzled by the thought, and another stab of guilt struck her. She reached for his hand and took it in hers, saying earnestly, “You are an important part of my life. You always have been, even when we weren’t together. Not one day passed that I did not think of you.”

  He looked at her, and for a moment his too-solemn expression cracked. She caught a glimpse of the longing that so mirrored her own. It struck her then that she and her son were more alike than she realized—they were both treading new ground and didn’t know how to reach out to the other.

  “I thought of you, too.”

  A hot wave of tears pressed against the back of her eyes, and she smiled with happiness at the gift he’d given her.

  Sir Kenneth—her husband—had been speaking with Sir Adam and the bishop, but he turned back to her. “If you are ready, we should be on our way.”

  Mary swallowed a hard lump in her throat. It struck her with cold reality that she didn’t even know where she was going. He could send her where he willed, and she would have no say in the matter.

  Once again his perception surprised her. “I’m afraid I must return to the castle immediately. I assumed that you would accompany me, but if you should like me to make other arrangements—”

  “No,” she said. “The castle will be fine.” She’d feared he meant to send her away, and she wanted to be near Davey for as long as possible.

  “Very well. I will leave instructions to have your things moved to my chamber. Sir Adam has graciously offered to give us the use of his.”

  Mary paled. Sweet heaven, they would be sharing a room! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Suddenly, the prospect of being sent away didn’t sound so horrible. Her gaze went to her son. The desire to be with Davey warred with her fear of all that would come with sharing a room with her husband.

  I will not be barred from my wife’s bed …

  Suddenly the night ahead loomed very large. Unlike her first wedding, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to expect; rather she knew exactly what to expect. The knot low in her belly tightened. It’s not anticipation, it’s not … fool!

  “My lady?” He held out his hand again, the taunting lift of his brow suggesting he’d guessed the source of her struggle.

  With one last helpless look at Davey, she tamped down the surge of apprehension rising in her chest like a tidal wave and slid her hand into his. The sudden warmth that enfolded her proved oddly reassuring. At least for a while. But as the sun made its determined march across the horizon, and the day slipped into night, her apprehension returned tenfold. The night to come was all she could think about.

  Mary gazed out the tower window into the courtyard, but she could see little in the torchlit darkness. The apprehension that had been her constant companion as she waited for her new husband to join her had begun to wane as the night darkened. It had grown so late, she’d started to wonder whether he would come at all.

  She’d seen him ride out earlier with a large troop of men, but had yet to see him return. Of course, she hadn’t been watching for him. She stared out of tower windows all the time.

  Although not usually in the middle of the night.

  She’d dismissed her attendants hours ago; it had to be near midnight by now. Had something happened? Had he reconsidered?

  She smoothed her hand over her stomach, sizing the swell beneath her palm. She didn’t feel overlarge, but she was definitely changed from the last time he’d seen her. Had she become too round? Perhaps he did not relish the idea of bedding a woman heavy with child?

  She hadn’t thought much about her figure until now. What if he no longer found her attractive?

  She would be glad of it, of course. Not being forced to do her wifely duty would certainly make it easier to keep herself—and her heart—at a safe distance. But relief wasn’t what she was feeling at all. The hollowness in her chest felt more like disappointment.

  Resigned to their marriage, resigned to the fact that he intended to take her to his bed, she knew it was too much to think that she could control her desire, so she’d resigned herself to the passion as well. How had he said it? Come. Her cheeks burned, remembering his crude boast. As long as she kept it crude—kept it about the passion—her heart would be safe.

  As always, she was determined to make the best of the situation. What else could she do?

  With a sigh, she trod back over to the chair where she’d left her needlework. The bed loomed to her right, but she did her best to ignore it. Though it had been a long day of getting settled, answering questions, and avoiding others as the news of their marriage spread throughout the castle like wildfire, she knew if she tried to go to sleep she would lie there in the darkness wide awake. She might as well be productive. Besides, she had almost finished the linen cap for the baby. She’d put hours into the small piece, and it was one of her finest.

  Retrieving her glasses, she slid them on her nose and began to work. She had lost track of time when the door suddenly opened.

  She startled, her pulse jumping to her throat. It was her husband. Apparently, he’d decided to make an appearance after all.

  A blast of heat washed over her as he strode into the room. Awareness, nervousness, and anticipation all rolled into one jumbled mess. Though he had every right to be there, it felt like an invasion. He dominated the small room, taking it over with his mere presence. Given how physically imposing he was, it was strange that she’d never felt intimidated by him. Aggressively large, his muscles honed to a blade’s edge of raw power, he looked like a man who was born to fight in an arena. A gladiator of old. With all the fierce, primitive masculinity and barely restrained fire to go along with it. But it wasn’t fear that was making her stomach knot, heart flutter, and skin tingle.

  He was so effortlessly handsome. His dark hair was damp and curling in loose waves around his face. Wherever he’d been, he’d taken the time to bathe. But he hadn’t shaved, and the dark shadow of his beard outlined a jaw that was already too rugged and masculine. He’d removed the armor that she’d seen him in earlier, and wore a plaid over a plain linen shirt and breeches.

  Looking at him made her heart ache. If only she were the type of woman who was immune to a handsome face. It would make this so much easier.

  “You’re still awake? I thought you might have gone to bed by now.”

  “I was just about to,” she lied. “Where were you?”

  Atholl had always hated when she’d questioned him about his absences, but Kenneth seemed unbothered. “I rode out with Percy to near Kelso Abbey. There were reports of rebels in the area. There were, but they were long gone by time we arrived.”

  “I’m surprised that you are back so soon. Kelso is quite a distance away.”

  “Most of the men stayed. But I was rather anxious to return.”

  His smile sent a shiver of awareness racing down her spine. Suddenly, she was very conscious of two things: they were alone, and they were married.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t press the matter. He moved over to the table where a pitcher of wine had been set out, poured himself a cup, and dropped down on a chair opposite her. She tried not to notice the muscled legs stretched out before her. But good gracious, the black leather stretched over the powerful muscles of his thighs like a second skin! He looked exhausted—she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of weariness etched around his mouth—yet he clearly wasn’t in any hurry.

  She glanced to the small fireplace on her left between them, but it didn’t seem to be burning any hotter. It was he. Or she. Or maybe both of them. If only her heart and stomach would stop fluttering. She couldn’t think.

  Growing more nervous as the silence dragged on, she said, “I’m surprised they let you roam about so freely.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry h