The Recruit Read online

  “Maybe they would hold your attention longer if they had something more interesting to talk about?” Her words came back to him. Well, she sure as hell had his interest.

  Women weren’t supposed to be this difficult, damn it. But every time he thought he was getting close to breaking through the wall she’d erected around her heart, she countered with a bold, sensual attack guaranteed to make him lose control.

  Like this morning. He’d woken to see the sun streaming across her sleeping form and felt an unexpected wave of tenderness strike him. She looked so young and sweet. So peaceful and uncomplicated. Unable to resist, he’d started to make love to her while she was still half asleep. Slow and lazy, he stroked her with his hands, with his mouth, with his tongue. He’d felt her resistance slipping away, damn it. He’d seen it in her eyes. She was falling for him.

  But then she turned the tables on him.

  She’d kissed his chest before, so at first he didn’t realize what she meant to do. It was only when her mouth slid to his stomach that he had the first inkling, and by then it was too late.

  His mind shut off and base instinct set in. With her mouth hovering inches from the tip of him, she could have had anything she wanted from him. He didn’t think he was the type of man who could be led around by his cock, but she’d proved him wrong.

  The feel of her lips brushing him, her tongue darting out to lick him, and then—God help him!—lips wrapping around him and taking him deep into her mouth was more than any hot-blooded man could withstand. He’d been so out of his mind with lust—as no doubt was intended—his slow, tender lovemaking went to hell.

  It was obvious that the skill was a new one to her, but she’d taken to the task with such enthusiasm that he had no doubt she’d be a master in no time.

  Wonderful.

  He should be counting his blessings, damn it. A wife who took to the marriage bed with all the passion of a harlot was every man’s dream, wasn’t it?

  But he didn’t want just her passion; he wanted her heart.

  For his mission, damn it.

  God was sure as hell having a good laugh at his expense. The first woman he’d ever set out to woo wanted only one thing from him. And blast it, it grated. Stud.

  His mouth tightened. It was a good thing he had no intention of letting emotion interfere with his marriage. He wasn’t like his sister and brother. He was different.

  Except he didn’t feel so different right now.

  He was so irritated, he barely noticed the other soldiers gathered in the yard readying for practice. But when he caught sight of Felton and David near the door to the armory, his irritation turned to full-fledged anger.

  The bastard was berating the lad again.

  Though he hid it well around Mary and the others, Felton was taking out his anger at their marriage on the lad. But Kenneth knew it would only be worse if he interfered. Until he was awarded David’s wardship—which could take some time—Percy, and through him, Felton, was David’s lord and master. Still, he couldn’t stand to see the strong prey on the weak. Kenneth already bore the bulk of Felton’s ire, but he wanted all of it directed toward him.

  With a few more harsh words, Felton stormed off. Shoulders slumped, David slipped dejectedly into the armory.

  Kenneth would have gone in after him, but Percy intercepted him. “Ah, Sutherland. ’Tis good to see you in armor again. I’d begun to fear your arm would never heal. Or perhaps you just have a hard time tearing yourself away from your pretty new wife?” He laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. Kenneth tried not to frown, realizing there was more truth in his words than he wanted to admit. He needed to focus on his entire mission, not just turning his wife and her son. “We need you, lad,” Percy added, still smiling, “if we’re ever to get this campaign moving.”

  Kenneth showed no reaction, but his senses pricked. “Has a date been set, then?”

  Percy hedged. Kenneth knew his former compatriot was beginning to trust him—but only beginning. “More than one. The king was supposed to arrive after Easter, but now there is word he may be delayed.” His mouth hardened. “Cornwall is eager to show off his military prowess and has written to Edward asking to let him proceed without him. I have urged the opposite. We need a king to rally the men, not a pretentious peacock.”

  It appeared that the chasm between Cornwall and the other barons was deepening. Percy could barely hide his disdain for the king’s favorite. Kenneth filed the information away for the next time he could manage to get a message to Bruce and the Guard. Division in the ranks was good for the Scots. As long as the English were fighting each other, they would not be able to unite their strength against them. Perhaps they could even find a way to take advantage of it?

  “I assume Clifford agrees with you? I haven’t seen him around as much of late.”

  Percy gave him a look that was hard to characterize. It wasn’t suspicious, but he’d taken more note of the question than Kenneth would have liked. “There has been trouble with the rebels in Douglasdale again. But he agrees with me, of course.”

  It was a logical explanation. There was always trouble in Douglasdale. But was that all? “Has the king given an indication of how long he will be delayed?”

  “Not long, I hope.” Percy slapped him on the back again. “Time enough to get your strength back. I know Felton is looking forward to meeting you on the lists again. I’m afraid my champion has not forgotten the last time you nearly bested him.”

  Kenneth was anxious to ask him more about Edward’s plans, but it was clear Percy was finished with the subject. Was he purposefully avoiding discussing it with him? He didn’t know. But the fact that Percy was keeping the battle plans so secret alone suggested that they were up to something. The English didn’t typically rely on stealth, but on strength in numbers and weaponry. Perhaps they were taking lessons from Bruce.

  “I look forward to the challenge,” he lied. Though he would like nothing more than to silence Felton, he knew he couldn’t, and the idea of having to lose to the bastard rankled. But he couldn’t put it off much longer. Felton had already accused him of delaying his recovery. “But it may take a few weeks yet to get back my strength. The ligament was nearly severed.”

  “Aye; Welford is surprised by how well the injury has healed.”

  Not surprising, since it hadn’t been the physician’s skills that had healed it. “I feel fortunate indeed.”

  “I will see you on the practice yard?”

  Kenneth nodded. “If I can track down my squire. I sent him to sharpen my sword some time ago. I fear it has grown dull with disuse.”

  Much like his battle skills. Kenneth had been in the peak of physical condition and battle readiness when he’d arrived. He intended to be ready when the time came both for war and for another chance at MacKay. But how the hell was he going to do that if he was sluggish from holding back?

  Stepping away from Percy, Kenneth started back toward the armory.

  Upon entering, he found his squire speaking to a very irate young Earl of Atholl. David’s voice was raised, and it was obvious he was complaining about Felton to a sympathetic ear. Despite the circumstances, Kenneth was actually relieved to see some emotion on the lad’s face. For his age, David had an unnaturally blank expression most of the time, making it difficult to guess his thoughts.

  Kenneth’s status as hero and rescuer had taken a blow since the wedding. It was clear young Atholl didn’t know what to make of the sudden marriage, and his behavior had been watchful and wary.

  The two squires fell immediately silent upon seeing him.

  Willy jumped up guiltily. “My lord, I was just coming to find you. I’ve finished your sword.”

  Kenneth gave him a look that told him he knew better. But he’d deal with his squire later. He took the sword from him—one of the shorter arming swords—and after giving it a brief inspection, fastened it in a scabbard around his waist. “Wait for me outside. I should like to speak to David for a moment.”