Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) Read online

  She heard the thunder of pursuit behind her and urged Persia to greater speed. She’d teach the churl not to underestimate an Englishwoman.

  Soon she heard nothing but the wind, the rush of the stream running parallel to her path, and the rapid hoofbeats of her mount. Persia was not even breathing hard, and Jessamyn knew that the mare was as glad as she of the chance to race.

  The stream angled off to her right as they topped a small rise. As one, Jessamyn and Persia slowed while they descended to a short level space that ended in a wall of huge fir trees. Jessamyn cast a glance back, but the rise blocked her view and nothing could be seen of Raeb. She considered waiting for him, and shrugged. He’d catch up soon enough. Curiosity pushed her forward as she signaled Persia to walk into the shadowy wood.

  Fine needle-like leaves carpeted the floor, and the dim light suppressed the undergrowth. All a rider needed to do was avoid the trees, none of which was closer than ten small paces to the next fir. She was beginning to feel easier about entering the forest when Persia halted.

  She felt a flush rise along her neck. She checked her surroundings. No one was about. The forest was still and silent. She should be embarrassed to be as guilty of being unobservant as Raeb MacKai.

  Trusting her mount, Jessamyn peered into the shadows ahead and saw the ground fall away to a grade so steep only a highly skilled rider would attempt it. Worse, she could not see the bottom. No wonder Persia halted. However, Jessamyn knew her skills as keenly as she knew the strength and heart of her horse. Persia would go where guided and never flinch. With gentle pressure, she told her mare to go slowly forward.

  The first steps were easy. Then as the grade sharpened, Persia leaned back on her haunches to keep from tumbling down the hillside. To help the mare, Jessamyn leaned as far back in the saddle as she could. The high cantle dug into her back, but she forced herself to keep her muscles loose and endure the pain. Her thigh muscles stretched, screaming at the unusual strain and position. Her entire body jolted with Persia’s every careful stride.

  The descent seemed to take forever. At the bottom, Jessamyn released the breath she hadn’t realized she held. The forest spread out before her, an endless march of darkness. Jessamyn just sat there, breathing, letting Persia steady herself and regain her breath as well.

  How many moments passed before she noticed the rumbling off to her right, she could not say. Jessamyn dismounted. The ground squished beneath her boots as if a recent rain had fallen, but she was fairly certain there’d been no rain here. The soft earth meant there was water close at hand. Both she and Persia could use a drink. Taking a small water flask from a saddlebag, Jessamyn ground tethered the mare, who cast her mistress a grateful glance before nibbling at nearby vegetation.

  Following her ears and staying close to the trees where footing was firmest, Jessamyn headed for the rumble and hopefully water. If Raeb MacKai was such an excellent rider, where was he?

  • • •

  Raeb shook grass from his hair and turned his gaze from the incline to his courser. Focusing too hard on following Jessamyn’s rapidly disappearing form, he’d failed to watch the ground as he should have. At full speed, his courser had hit a rock, stumbled, and unseated its rider. Raeb had the wind knocked from him and lay for stunned moments, staring at the blue afternoon sky, the scent of crushed wildflowers rising around him. He didn’t move until the horse’s whinny broke into his dazed brain.

  He roused himself to examine his steed. Between the rock and the stumble his mount had strained a fetlock and bruised a hoof. Naught the horse couldna recover from, but the injury would slow their return to Dungarob. Had that woman nae gone haring off at a gallop, they might have made the keep just after dark. As it was … Raeb shook his head. The horse stood docilely, but obviously suffering, its left foreleg off the ground.

  Please heaven Jessamyn hadn’t attempted this hillside on her own.

  Raeb looked left then right. As far as he could see naught disturbed the shining peace of the valley. No bright-haired willowy form or blinding white-hued steed stood out against the deep green of the tree line and the brighter green of the grasses. No one stood on the bank of the lazy stream save a stag so pale it could have been white. The beast lifted its head, scented the breeze then returned to drinking. Under different circumstances, Raeb might have used the advantage of being downwind to hunt the deer and bring home meat for a feast. However, there was food enough in Dungarob, for now. He couldn’t let the wish to hunt distract him from finding one troublesome Englishwoman. Where could she be?

  Leading his limping mount, he paced the tree line until he found a spot where the brush of the valley had been disturbed. He stepped within the trees. The pine needles that cushioned the forest floor revealed no evidence of Jessamyn’s passing, but she had to have entered the wood here. And if she were as headstrong as he believed her to be, she no doubt had descended the hill at this point.

  Hopefully she had not broken the legs of the beautiful, if tiny, mare. He sighed. He could hardly be angry with Jessamyn. Her only faults were a stubbornness that nearly outmatched his own and an unaccountable allure that caused him to lose all good sense. ’Twas his own inattention that caused his tumble. She was not to blame. But where is she?

  Bruises and strains or not, he had to take the long incline. And since the lady had obviously come this way, he’d not leave her unprotected no matter how bullheaded she might be. Throughout the descent he listened for any call, footfall, or hoofbeat, anything to show him where Jessamyn Du Grace was, to show him she still lived. The thought that some mishap might have caused her death made his heart race and his skin grow clammy.

  He heard naught but bird song and the rustle of small creatures until he finally reached level ground and the snort of a horse brought his head round. There, not three trees distant, stood Persia. The mare rubbed its side against the trunk of a dead fir tree. Of Jessamyn there was no sign. Why hadn’t the horse stayed with its rider? The two were obviously bonded, as it was with most riders and their personal mounts.

  Calling Jessamyn’s name, Raeb made his way to Persia and tethered his own mount to a low branch. He checked the mare over carefully but, save for a few small scratches consistent with having traversed that incline, found no evidence of harm or injury. “Why did she leave you, Persia? Can you tell me? Give me a clue of some sort as to where she is?”

  The horse merely snorted, shook its head, and bent to snuffle the ground for the sparse greenery.

  The rumble of the waterfall was the only sound.

  Raeb moved to his saddle packs, found an oatcake, and fed it to Persia. He did the same for his mount. While crossing between the two animals he finally noticed a faint disturbance in the pine needles covering the forest floor. The relief at finding evidence that Jessamyn had walked away on her own two feet was short-lived.

  How dare she endanger herself and her mount so recklessly? Why had she not waited for him? He’d told her how hazardous the incline was. But no, she had to go galloping off on her own, tossing that challenge at him and scaring him half to death. No doubt she did it all just to prove a point as she had said. Once he got hold of her, he’d either prove his point to her backside or kiss some sense into her. He’d not yet decided which.

  The trail of disturbed needles pointed toward the waterfall. He sucked in a breath. Had the little fool gone to the falls, slipped, and drowned herself? Raeb started to run.

  • • •

  Jessamyn walked out from behind the curtain of water that plunged from the cliff top to the small pond below. The mist from the waterfall had dampened her dress and was pleasantly cool in the afternoon heat. She loosed the snood from her hair to ease the ache in her head and began to braid her tresses.

  Steely arms banded around her, and she gasped in surprise. She opened her mouth with every intention of ordering her attacker to unhand her. But the words became a yelp as she was tossed in the air, turned around, pulled close to Raeb MacKai’s broad chest, and kissed wit
hin an inch of her life.

  The touch of his lips was both soft and compelling at the same time. The exquisite pressure demanded she open at the same moment that the silken texture begged for her response.

  Desire pounded within her like the falls nearby. Longing wrapped her as surely as the mist enveloped them both. She could not recall what had sent her flying from him, could not form a single thought. She surged upward on her toes, answering his demand with fierce insistence that he take all she had. She licked into his mouth, giving every drop of passion she possessed.

  She shivered when, through the damp of her gown, he stroked her shoulder, then her breast. She moaned when he nuzzled her earlobe. She lost all strength in her legs when his teeth grazed her neck. Her back arched, and her nipples grew hard. He teased the sensitive points until they ached. Her belly tightened, and pleasure flooded her skin.

  He lifted her from the ground, giving him access to suckle and soothe despite the linen bliaut.

  “Wrap your legs around my hips, daoire.”

  She gave the action no thought. Bunching her skirt at her hips and taking him between her thighs felt absolutely natural. She wanted to be closer to him, to his heat, so close she would burn brighter than the sun with pleasure.

  The leather of his breeches scraped at her tender flesh, but the hard ridge at his apex drew her attention. She pressed against it, feeling empty and hungry. His hands shifted, leaving her breasts aching and lonely, to grip her bottom. He rubbed and squeezed and made her writhe in his hold.

  Her head whirled as he turned and placed her back against a large rock worn smooth by ages of water rushing over it. He kissed her again, grinding his body against hers. Yearning raced along her every fiber.

  “Raeb, please.” She moaned with wonder at the desire he roused. Gripping his nape with one hand, the other stroked his face while she rained kisses across his cheeks and brow. She pulled back and drowned in the blazing gray pools of his gaze. Lord in heaven, how she wanted him, wanted to lie with him, wanted to cherish him with her body and have him cherish her.

  He stared back at her for a long moment. His hands and body stilled, and the passionate fire left his eyes. He shifted backward, lowering her legs, then stepped away.

  She leaned against the rock wall while beneath her now decorous skirts her legs found strength and she regained her balance.

  “Raeb?” Her question contained an aching and empty yearning that left her chilled with physical loss.

  The expression on his face could only be called pained. Is he suffering, too, or does my willingness disgust him?

  “I’m sorry, Lady Jessamyn. I meant no insult.” The tone was cool.

  As he spoke, she watched all emotion flee from his visage. How could he be so unaffected by the passion they had just shared?

  She straightened, though her knees still wobbled a bit. “The only insult you gave was to stop when I clearly wished for more.” What was she doing? She had no intention of marrying this man. Telling him she wanted him went against everything she’d dreamed of, but she could hardly deny the ill-considered words or the truth of her desire.

  His back stiffened. “I’ll no be guilty of debauching an innocent.”

  She snorted. “I’m hardly an innocent, you Scottish dolt. I’ve helped my father with his breeding stables and am no stranger to the physical realities of procreation.” And wasn’t that most of her reason for retiring to a nunnery—to be able to use the skills learned at her father’s knee? Skills she would have no chance to use as a wife whose authority was limited to housekeeping and the supervision of servants.

  One corner of his mouth ticked upward. “But you are a virgin, and as such canna begin to understand what intercourse between man and woman is like. Believe me, milady, ’tis no like the manner in which a stallion covers a mare.”

  “My understanding is that the process is as passionate, if not as violent.” Do I truly wish to lay with Raeb MacKai? Yes, I do. She wanted to know passion before she retired from the world and had no chance to discover desire between a man and a woman.

  His jaw flexed. “Aye, it can be. But ’tis no always so. And is often more violent.”

  At that she inhaled sharply. The only thing violent about their recent kiss was the degree of arousal. “And how is it with you?”

  Was that a flush rising on his neck? In the shadowed light of the rock face, she could not say.

  “I could try to tell you, but ’twould mean little without, er, intimate knowledge of the act.”

  “We are betrothed. Why not provide me that knowledge?”

  His brows rose. “You would anticipate the wedding night?”

  “I see little difference. You said we’d wed by midsummer, and that ’tis only a few weeks distant.”

  “What if you get with child?”

  Would the nuns take her in if she were pregnant and unwed? Her correspondence with the abbess indicated they wanted her dowry and her knowledge of horse breeding to help them gain independence from the Benedictine brotherhood that ran St. Bartholomew’s abbey and establish their own house under a new rule. It was likely that a child would not be an obstacle.

  “A week or two difference in the birth of a child is no cause for doubt as to the date of its conception,” she argued.

  He narrowed his gaze. “You are certain you wish to lay with me?”

  She nodded.

  “You should take time to consider carefully before you commit to this course. Let us eat and swim first. If you have not changed your mind by the time we finish eating, I’ll agree to your wishes. Know, however, that once you are in my bed, you’ll no be able to change your mind.”

  “I understand.” She swallowed. “We are like to miss supper at the keep.”

  “Aye, ’tis lucky we’ll be to get back before dark.” He turned, walking beyond the stream bank toward where she’d left Persia.

  “Why?”

  His tone roughened, and she wished she could see his face. “My courser strained a fetlock and bruised a hoof. Since I’ve no other horse that can carry me, I must take care to see the injury heals before he is ridden again.”

  “A wise decision.” She nodded though he could not see her. “Persia could carry us both, but our progress would be so slow that ’twould be even longer e’re we reach Dungarob. Traveling these mountains at night is too great a risk for man or beast.”

  They came up to where the horses stood. Raeb snorted. “My feet would drag the ground on your wee horsey, and I’d rather walk than ride pillion.”

  Jessamyn found it intriguing that he did not insist she ride pillion. Her brothers, her father, any other man she knew well would insist on taking the reins. Did Raeb MacKai truly understand the bond between Persia and her? What a fascinating man he was turning out to be. She almost regretted that she would be leaving. However, she’d not give up the dreams of a lifetime on the chance that Raeb MacKai might be very different than other men. He might fascinate her now, but she’d had plenty of experience with the stubborn minds and high-handed treatment of men. No, she’d risk one bright afternoon in his arms, just not a lifetime under his thumb.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The courser’s leg was warm and swollen, so Raeb led the horse into the stream. The cool water would ease the swelling.

  “Do you plan to linger here?”

  He leaned down, getting another close look at the injury, to be certain the rushing water covered the joint completely. He wanted to ignore that dusky voice. “Aye, Aingeal-ceo must rest before we head back to Dungarob.”

  “Excellent. I’ll gather firewood.” She cast him a sidewise glance. “We’ll want the warmth after our swim and of course need it to dry any wet clothing.”

  The sway of her hips as she ground tethered her horse near the stream then walked into the tree line drew his gaze, and he adjusted the fit of his breeches. “Don’t get out of sight. If you get lost, I mayna be able to find you.” It was not true. He would find her anywhere. The thought was dismaying.


  “All right.” She bent to pick up a branch, and the skirt of her damp bliaut clung to her bottom.

  He suppressed a groan. The time until they returned home could not pass fast enough. Despite what he’d said about dallying with her, he’d yet to decide if he would actually follow through. The woman was entirely too tempting. He should remember how uncooperative she’d been when she arrived in Dungarob instead of imagining the heaven he would find between her soft thighs.

  He shook his head at himself. He spent way too many of his thoughts on the woman. He should be thinking about how best to capture the ships Edward would send to Dungarob harbor and when to send Jessamyn back to her father. Damnation, if I take her maidenhead, I canna send her back. And if I dinna send her back, what will I do with her?

  Marry her, whispered a sly voice.

  But—

  No buts about it, the voice claimed. You know she’s kind, thoughtful, keeps her complaints to herself, shows kindness to your sisters and servants, and loves that wee horse. A woman who is kind to others and loves her horse is a rare treasure indeed.

  Marry an Englishwoman? The main purpose of this betrothal was to gain the means to feed his people and allow him to wed where he pleased.

  And what would be so bad about marriage with this particular Englishwoman?

  The sun sparkled on the stream, and the sound of Jessamyn moving in the wood behind him faded beneath his inner debate.

  Don’t be an idiot. I’ve no desire to tie myself to any Englishwoman, especially one who is goddaughter to that ravaging beast Edward I. No Scotsman would trust me for fear she’d learn our plans and plot our destruction with her king.

  Nonsense, the voice argued. She’s nae the frail damsel others told you of. And being wed to Edward I’s goddaughter might give you some leverage and force him to look elsewhere for a landing place on Scotland’s northern coast, thus leaving Dungarob in peace.

  Aye, she seems to like my kisses well enough and marriage with her might have benefits other than having her in my bed, but at what cost? Were she my baroness, Edward would threaten her to gain my cooperation.