The Highlander's French Bride Page 22

Kinnon’s attack was a blur of motion, and Melisende gasped, afraid his leg would betray him. He beat Jean-Luc back, his sword hammering against the knight’s, the ring of the blows nearly one continuous flurry of sound. In an instant, Kinnon was inside Jean-Luc’s guard. Holding the knight’s sword to the side, braced against his own, he rammed Jean-Luc with an uppercut from his left fist that sent the knight sprawling. He landed on the ground amid the dust, sliding a few feet from the force of Kinnon’s blow. Still clutching his sword, Jean-Luc thrust it tip-down into the earth, using the hilt to brace himself as he struggled to rise.

  A crash sounded from the stable as the upper half of a stall door burst open, slamming against the wall. Jean-Baptiste leapt through the opening, landing on the ground at a hard run. He skidded to a halt before Jean-Luc, teeth flashing in the early light as he fought against Kinnon’s sharp command to hold.

  “Get up,” Kinnon barked at Jean-Luc.

  Clearly stunned from the blow, the man levered himself up, but slipped, falling to one knee. Kinnon kicked the weapon from Jean-Luc’s hand and stood one foot on the blade to keep him from picking it up again. Using the tip of his sword, he forced Jean-Luc’s chin up.

  “I can finish this here, or ye can admit ye are an arrogant bastard and hie yerself away to yer barracks. Either way, it ends now.” He slid the blade a bit forward, toward the tempting pulse in the knight’s throat.

  Jean-Luc spat in the dirt. “Keep la prostituée,” he snarled.

  With a forceful kick to the man’s chin, Kinnon laid Jean-Luc in the dirt. “I dinnae call that an apology.”

  He turned with a slight wince, and strode to the edge of the crowd, snapping his fingers for the dog to follow. With a last sniff at the prone knight, Jean-Baptiste bounded after Kinnon as he pushed through the throng, a dark scowl on his face.

  Melisende gathered her skirts and ran after him, catching him as the Scots converged on him. “You are injured!” she exclaimed, half-questioning him, half-chiding him for fighting on a leg that was a possible liability.

  His furious gaze stopped her. “He was drunk!” He stopped and snapped at his men over his shoulder. “Get the horses.” Half of them barreled their way through the crowd, the rest formed a guard about him and Melisende. Jean-Baptiste eyed them warily, hackles up.

  “Forgive me,” he said to Melisende. “I am not angry with ye. I did not provoke him, and he was rather uncomplimentary about ye.” He cast a look at the knight’s form still sprawled on the ground. “Mayhap he will wake a better man.”

  “I am sorry,” Melisende replied. “I was full of worry about you, knowing your leg bothers you. I should not have spoken so sharply.”

  “And I was still angry with a knight with more balls than brains.” He shook his head. “My leg willnae allow me to go to war again, but I can do battle should the need arise.” His face finally softened and he touched her cheek. “Thank ye for yer concern. Does it mean ye love me?”

  “More every day,” she answered, warmed by his gaze.

  Kinnon’s men approached with the horses. Hamish led Melisende’s mare forward, a wary look on his face, a frayed edge to his leine. Kinnon helped her mount, then climbed aboard his own horse. Moments later, the entire group was mounted, and the crowd dispersed, leaving the stable courtyard nearly empty.

  As one, they reined their horses toward the double gate, but a man striding through the gates ahead of them, cape billowing at his back, guards four deep on his flanks, halted their progress.

  Commander D’Aramitz stopped a few feet from Jean-Luc’s body. The downed knight was beginning to stir, his moan clearly audible. Jean-Baptiste bounded over to Jean-Luc, barking his challenge. Melisende directed him back to her side and he reluctantly abandoned the knight. D’Aramitz turned his back on Jean-Luc’s attempt to sit, and addressed Kinnon.

  “I apologize for the poor hospitality. You have my utmost regard, and I assure you this man will be punished. There were plenty here who saw his actions—and yours. I can thank you for sparing his life, though he may wish otherwise before it is over.”

  Kinnon cocked his head. “Dinnae torture the lad. The blow I gave him will have his head swimming for a day or two. A few days cleaning the privee in his condition should do nicely.”

  D’Aramitz cut his gaze to Jean-Luc then back to Kinnon. “As I said, he will wish he had rethought his words and actions of this morning, and have reason to be grateful you do not press charges.”

  “I have said all I will on the subject,” Kinnon replied. “And your personal hospitality was beyond what was necessary. I am eternally thankful to ye.”

  D’Aramitz bowed to Melisende. “May you and la belle dame have a safe, uneventful trip. Godspeed to you both.”

  He stepped aside, and Kinnon, his bride, and their men-at-arms, rode from Aubrac as the sun rose above the mountains.

  Chapter 28

  They allowed the horses to gallop whenever possible, enjoying the heady sense of freedom, but the terrain often had them picking their way carefully down a steep rocky trail, or fording an icy river. The countryside was now littered with herds of cattle at last out of their barns as the new grass promised full bellies. Their bells could be heard of an evening as young boys guided their charges home for milking, full udders swaying as they lumbered to their stalls.

  Melisende wrapped her arms about her legs and rested her chin on her knees, watching as the camp prepared for the night. Her belly was pleasantly full with hare captured earlier in the afternoon, and the last of the bread they’d brought with them from the innkeeper’s kitchen in Aubrac. But that was three days ago, and it had only been fit for sopping the stewed rabbit.

  Two days more, if they could keep their pace up, and they would be back in le Puy-en-Velay. She wondered what awaited her there. She wished to make peace with her uncle. Other than Lucienne and her baby daughter, she knew of no other family living. It was exciting to be starting out on a life she’d never dreamed could be hers, but a bit sad to think she might never see France again.

  Her thoughts turned to Kinnon. He crouched next to the small fire only a few feet away, prodding the embers as the flames died down. She admired the play of muscles across his shoulders beneath the leine stretched tight across his back, and longed to run her hands across their smooth cords. Her blood ran hot to think of pressing herself against his back, wrapping her arms about his waist. She knew if she trailed her hands downward, they would find the evidence of the passion he had for her. Passion she returned to him whole-heartedly. Humming to herself, she considered the night ahead. Their intimacy had grown tremendously from their time together, and the presence of others on the trail only challenged them to find what privacy they could.

  Tossing his stick onto the fire, Kinnon rose, dusting the crumbling bark from his hands. His gaze met hers and a lazy smile played across his lips. Melisende found herself licking her lips as she gazed hungrily at him, and his grin widened. He settled beside her and took her hand, drawing slow trails of pleasure across her palm and up the inside of her forearm. Sparks flashed across her skin at his touch, and she shivered.

  “Cold?” he drawled.

  “Non. Though if I was, I could count on you to warm me,” she replied. “Even watching you from a distance fills me with longing.”

  Kinnon’s eyes lit. “And I would deny ye nothing.” He pulled her to him, settling her across his lap.

  “The others,” she murmured an instant before his lips claimed hers. He wrapped his arms about her, his palms rubbing up and down her back, her sides, her breasts. Melisende’s breath came short and fast. Kinnon ended the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers.

  “My men will be discreet, and there are no pilgrims on the trail with us tonight,” he reassured her. “There is a lovely view overlooking the river Allier where we could linger the night alone.” His scorching gaze raked over her. “Though not as beautiful as what I see before me, and interesting to me only for the privacy it would afford us.”

  M
elisende nodded and he helped her to her feet. Giddy, she strolled from the campsite to the overlook, then to a small secluded area nearby. Moonlight filtered through the trees as Kinnon removed her gown, and sounds of the river rose to her ears as he whispered endearments to her alone.

  His fingers traced lines of fire across her skin, his lips following in their wake. Passion blossomed deep inside her and she arched against him, eager to feel his body on hers.

  Kinnon stretched out beside her. “Ride me, mo chridhe.” He pulled her to his side. “I want to feel the weight of ye, feel ye take charge of yer passion.”

  Melisende splayed a palm against his chest, uncertain. His hands on her arms, he urged her, and she found herself astride him, his cock nestled against her already throbbing mound. Jolts of pleasure shot through her, and she sucked in her breath, amazed at the sensation.

  Kinnon chuckled lightly. “’Tis a great position, aye? Let’s give ye something to reflect on during our ride tomorrow.”

  Melisende closed her eyes and breathed deeply—the aroma of Kinnon’s heat, the smell of the forest and river, and the heady scent of arousal. She lit wherever he touched her, and the fire within as she took him deep inside, quickly overtook her, tearing a cry of completeness from her lips. She shuddered as he reached his own climax.

  He pulled her down to his chest, nestling her head against his shoulder. “I love ye, Melisende Macrory. I dinnae believe I can ever get enough of ye.”

  A tiny, sated smile played about her lips. “I love who I have become when I am with you,” she replied. “You make my world a beautiful place.”

  She lay curled atop him in contentment, listening to the beat of his heart until the sound of it combined with hers and she drifted to sleep.

  The sunrise lit the sky with streaks of pink and yellow far too early the next day. With the lingering blush of loving warming her skin, Melisende rose and dressed as Kinnon belted his plaide about his waist. He pulled her into his arms for a thorough good-morning kiss.

  “Does this ever become old?” she wondered aloud as he ended the kiss and tucked her against his chest. His answering rumble tickled her ear and she grinned.

  “Nae, lass. It only gets better.”

  * * *

  Crowds thronged the streets along the market. The lace shops enjoyed a brisk business, judging by the number of people elbowing in and out the doorways. The Rue Saint Jacques leading from the cathedral was barely passable for the pilgrims and icon merchants clogging the way. The horses pressed through the crowds, Jean-Baptiste following at their heels.

  “’Tis the evening trade,” Melisende informed Kinnon, a fond smile of remembrance on her face. “I shopped for food for the table early in the morning, but occasionally enjoyed a leisurely stroll in the late evening, shopping for laces, which they are famous for here, sweets and other extravagances—when mon oncle could spare me, that is.”

  “It appears yer uncle is closed for the evening,” Kinnon pointed out as they arrived at the shop. Melisende stared, puzzled, at the closed door, curtain drawn over the glazed window. She dismounted, scarcely noticing Kinnon’s help as she wondered anxiously about the closed shop.

  Dusting off her skirts, she hurried to the door and rapped loudly on the wooden frame. There was no response, but she could hear voices within. Just as Kinnon grasped her elbow, signaling caution, she laid her hand on the latch. The door clicked open, and with a quick glance at Kinnon, she stepped inside.

  Three heads turned as she entered, Kinnon at her side. The balding pate belonged to her uncle, and the lavish gold curls bounced around Lucienne’s pretty face. But Melisende’s gaze was drawn to the little girl dressed in exact miniature of Lucienne’s costume. Could this be my niece? Small and delicate, she was the image of Lucienne, but instead of having her mother’s golden curls, her gently waving locks were a deep brown, nearly black, with hints of red and gold.

  Lucienne was the first to speak. “There you are! Oncle swore he did not know where you had hared off to.” She gave Kinnon a flirtatious tilt of her head. “But at least it appears your prayers were answered as I see you found this one whole and looking quite well. It is good to see you again, Kinnon.”

  Melisende waved a hand in Kinnon’s direction, encountering his shoulder. Grateful for the anchor, she laid her palm against his arm. “Kinnon and I were wed a week ago in Aubrac.”

  “You always did land on your feet, Melisende,” Lucienne remarked. “I might have stuck around if I had known he was coming back.” When neither Melisende nor Kinnon commented, she gripped the small girl’s shoulder, pivoting her to face them. “I have fallen upon rather difficult times, it seems, and I have brought Arielle here.”

  Stunned by her sister’s demeanor, Melisende hesitated in confusion. “Here? Why?”

  Lucienne’s rouged lips tilted upward in a sly smile. “It seems appropriate, somehow. Raul has annulled our marriage. Apparently marrying his wealthy heiress was better than living in poverty with me.” She scowled. “I can no longer feed myself and the child.”

  “Why not send her to live with her father?” Kinnon asked.

  Lucienne shrugged. “He does not want her, and neither does his new wife.”

  “We will finish this discussion later,” Melisende said firmly, raising her hands between Kinnon and Lucienne. She nodded toward Arielle. “This is not something she needs to hear.”

  Uncle Ramon rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “I believe I need a drink.”

  Chapter 29

  “Come with me to settle the child,” Lucienne ordered as she lifted her daughter to her hip. With misgivings, Melisende followed her sister up the narrow stairs. Arielle’s large dark eyes stared at her over her mother’s shoulder, and Melisende wrinkled her nose at her in a friendly way. Arielle ducked her head.

  A valise lay atop the narrow bed in the room Lucienne had briefly occupied when they first came to live with their uncle. It was open, and clothes spilled from it onto the floor. Lucienne set Arielle down and ushered her inside the room with a small push of her hand. The little girl stepped inside the room, fingers fisted tight in her mother’s skirt. Lucienne brushed her hand away. “You are wrinkling my gown, ma petite. Haven’t I told you not to rumple my clothes?”

  Arielle dropped her gaze then lifted it slightly to stare at Melisende. Her heart breaking to see the results of her sister’s callous behavior, Melisende gave the child a tender smile. An answering one tugged at Arielle’s lips.

  “She is not muette, she is shy,” Lucienne declared, irritation coloring her voice. “Say bonjour to Tante Melisende, Arielle.”

  “Bonjour,” the little girl whispered with a quick glance to her mother.

  “Bonjour, Arielle,” Melisende replied. “Comment vas-tu?”

  “She speaks Italian more fluently than French,” Lucienne informed her. She rifled through the pile of clothes, snatching a tiny gown from the jumble.

  “Oh, I see,” Melisende said, thoughtfully. She gave Arielle a kind smile. “I suppose if I’d been born in Italy, I would, too.”

  Arielle’s gaze slid away and Melisende stepped closer to the bed and picked up a small gown to fold. “How bad is it, Lucienne?” she murmured.

  “I brought her back for you to raise.”

  Melisende cast her a startled look. “You cannot be serious.”

  Lucienne bent to unlace Arielle’s gown. “You mean, why would I trust you with my child after you failed so miserably with me?”

  “Lucienne! That is not what I mean at all. How can you think of giving up your child?”

  Tugging the travel gown over the little girl’s head, Lucienne quickly replaced it with a thin undergown with a plain drawstring at the neck. “There. Hop into bed. It is time you were asleep.”

  Obediently, Arielle climbed onto the thin mattress as her mother pulled back the blanket. Lucienne tucked her in and placed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Someone will come for you in the morning.”

  Melisende could scarcely believe he
r ears. There had always been stories or nursery songs for Lucienne as a child. Did Lucienne not remember? She acts as though she can scarcely be bothered by her daughter.

  Lucienne motioned her to the far side of the room near an open window. “I am not a good mother. I want to go to parties and wear pretty dresses. Not read bedtime stories and worry about stains on my gowns.”

  “But Lucienne, if you are in such difficulty, you will not have these things to worry over as you cannot afford them. You can stay here and—”

  “With Oncle Ramon?” Lucienne gave a harsh laugh. “He barely tolerated me the last time I was here.”

  “He is family. He will not turn you away,” Melisende declared, though she rather doubted the extent of his goodwill.

  “You think not?” Lucienne waved a hand dismissively. “No matter. I have grown accustomed to court life, and I intend to return.”

  “But how? If you have no money…”

  “There is a system. I do not linger long after a party, but the houses are large and an extra guest or two is rarely noticed for a few days. There is always the next weekend retreat.”

  “How will you receive invitations as a divorced woman?”

  “That is hardly a problem,” Lucienne drawled, her world-weary voice sending chills along Melisende’s spine. Her sister’s eyebrows lifted and a deprecating half-smile pulled at one side of her mouth.

  “As poor a mother as I may be, I do not wish to raise my daughter in such a world as I live in. She is old enough to interest some men who are fascinated by young girls. In my position, I would not be able to deny them.”

  Melisende’s eyes widened in horror. “She is scarcely three years old! Please tell me…” She could not say the words, and her hand flew to her throat, attempting to relieve a choking sensation.

  Lucienne shook her head. “Non. But it would be only a matter of time. I have seen the looks.”

  “Lucienne, you do not have to go back.”

  “Eh bien? And where would I live? With you and your new husband?” She scowled. “You are such a saint, Melisende. Everyone likes you, everyone has a kind word for you. Do you know what it is like to depend on the next person’s grace for an invitation to their home for a few days, for you do not have one of your own? To laugh and pretend ’tis a new stain on your gown so your hostess will offer something of hers? To know if no invitations arrive, you will sleep on the street?”