Although she experienced long days void of good company and diversion, she shied from seeking him out for any purpose. She had not ventured to his chamber unsummoned, nor watched for him to return to the manor to beg a word. But she had changed in many ways in a short period of time, and those changes would alter the rest of her life—all due to the touch of this man’s hand. After having yielded so much and learned to bolster herself to the worries of growing out of his favor, she still had not been told anything of her original request. Sir Trent had said nothing of Peter.
For him to be gone from his house the length of a day was not unusual, and even to hear him moving around in the dark of night was fairly common. Jocelyn had decided early one day to await his return to the manor and to ask him about her brother. When the night was dark and the rain was pelting the house with merciless force, she told herself to give up the wait and sleep. When sleep would not come, she begged herself to believe she was not concerned for his safety.
“I’ve come to this,” she thought, “that I consider him above that which he considers me. I think of him in affection true, as I would a friend or lover, while he simply uses me as a slave he beckons to ease his manly aches. I think it highly likely that I am all my father accused—I am fallen to shame, I am a common strumpet.” She nearly laughed in disbelief. “How was it I convinced myself to proudly withstand my comeuppance? As someone who traded virtue for a roof? To sell my body rather than have it stolen by the likes of Stephen Kerr? God above, I am no better than any cheap whore or misguided maiden. He woos me not with words of love, never tempts me with great prizes or promises and devotion. Yet, I have no shame—I do not sleep, worried for his health and eager to see him safely home. Indeed, I am disappointed when I do not see him.”
At the sound of his footfalls in the hall, she bolted from her bed and found the wrapper that had been given to her. Her hair was tousled and all in disarray, and she paused before her dressing table to brush it. Then, quickly blowing out the candle by her bed, she fled down the hall, rather than through the still-disorganized sitting room, and tapped impatiently at his door.
He grunted his reply to her knock and she bolstered herself for his bad temper. When she opened the door, she found him just struggling with a cape that was soaked through.
“You have been out riding in the rain,” she heard herself nearly scold, completely forgetting her plan to ask after Peter. Taking into account his fierce scowl, she simply helped him with the garment and together they spread it before a freshly laid fire. She bade him sit and helped him pull off sodden boots and fetched linen towels to dry his hair, his limbs, and a grand puddle that wet the floor. She did not speak, with the exception of a few mumbled words about his soiled clothes and messy room, but moved around dutifully. She found fresh breeches, a dry shirt, a dressing gown that would warm him and finally poured a draught of the liquor he liked best and took it to him.
He took the offered glass, peering at her with one raised brow, and commented dryly, “I may keep you around. You are proving most useful.” He took a sip and looked at her with obvious amusement twisting his mouth. “But then I thought you would catch on soon enough. ’Tis not such a terrible price to pay for a few new gowns and a decent lodging, is it, damsel?”
She was feeling anything but playful and found herself injured by his words. “I was only concerned for your health, milord,” she returned.
“Ah. Of course. A sickly man would not prove so entertaining, in bed and out.”
She bit off a sharp retort about not finding such great entertainment anywhere in his house, when the door abruptly opened and Avery entered carrying a tray of food. He stopped short when he spied Jocelyn, standing near him and garbed in her nightclothes. He glanced at her briefly before looking quickly away, as if this sight might in some way contaminate him. Jocelyn self-consciously pulled her wrapper more tightly around her. She murmured a quiet good night and made to leave.
“Wait,” Trent halted her. “I’ve put in a hard day’s work and am entitled to this fetching scenery while I dine. Will you join me, Jocelyn?”
She turned toward him, noting that Avery still would not look at her. She shook her head in decline, put out that he would flaunt her so in front of his man.
“Then pray sit by the fire, Jocelyn, and see if some of the ice melts while I eat. I should like to have reprieve tonight and spend less than an hour tickling some response from you.”
She pursed her lips in outrage that the most intimate details of their nights abed must be dispersed here in front of another person. Must the world know that with time and talent, she could be warmed and even eager? Her cheeks began to redden and she struggled with anger, knowing she would not speak out. His own eyes narrowed as if he judged her fury. “There,” he said, pointing to a chair before the fire. “Have a seat.”
She took brisk steps to the offered chair, sat without attention to being feminine or graceful, and crossed her arms over her chest. She heard the door close as Avery left and heard Trent’s utensils working against his plate as he sated his hunger. She would not look in his direction.
She seethed in mute, frustrated anger. And to further her rage, she wondered what right she had to such hostile feelings, when she had freely accepted this from him.
“Have you cooled your heels, madam, or will you be so impaired for a longer time?”
She turned her head sharply. “Is my shame not enough that you must make announcements to your man about private matters?”
He laughed at her anger, which only infuriated her. “First of all, I made no announcement of any kind and of nothing personal. And second, Avery has never repeated a word spilled from my loose tongue. You have no need to fear, he will not further malign your reputation.”
“There is little need to reassure me now,” she said hotly. “It is far and away too late. The damage is done.”
“You sound as though you have only just noticed,” he chuckled.
“You can afford to be amused, my lord. A man never suffers any great damage for tasting of fleshly pleasure in an unmarried state. Indeed, he is hailed as some great hero.”
Relaxed in his chair, the remnants of his meal littering the table, he reclined quite comfortably with his glass in his hand. He seemed to be gaining a fair amount of pleasure from her tirade. In fact, she had not seen him display this pleased a countenance to her in all the days she had been with him. “True,” he nodded. “In fact, when I tell my friends of your fair beauty and impish nature, they are quite jealous of my good fortune.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my lord, tell me you do not,” she gasped. “Heaven above, there is no place on earth where I might again hold up my head.”
He laughed in good humor and moved toward her briskly. “Then you shall have to stay right here, maiden, for I shall do my part to make sure that there is no place outside these walls where you will be more comfortable.”
“How can you use me so? How can you be so vile?”
He slipped an arm about her waist, easily lifting her out of the chair and holding her effortlessly against him. He tried to capture her mouth with his, laughing easily at her fury. “Come, my vixen, show me how much you hate me.”
“Have you no decency?”
“None.”
“You are a lusty ogre! A beast! A cad!”
“Guilty!”
She was outdone by his display, while he was genuinely pleased by hers. He managed to still her flaying arms rather effortlessly and covered her mouth in a kiss that was penetrating, hot, and demanding. She pressed against him, fully forgetting her earlier compliance and passivity, and it was quickly obvious that in rising passion, he would be the winner. But in a fit of madness, Jocelyn made a silent oath not to be a willing victim again. She fought him with pummeling fists and wildly kicking legs.
The events may have gone to interesting lengths, for each of them had a determination that was single-minded, and in opposite directions. But the door to Trent’s chamb
er opened and a visibly rattled Avery called for his attention.
“The bailiff is below with a band of Kerr’s men close on his heels, and we can’t bolt the door against a goodly number and must be off ourselves if—”
“Hold, man,” Trent shouted, distractedly dropping Jocelyn and giving Avery his attention. “What is this about?”
“A noble coach was struck on the road to Dearborn, the lord injured and the lady slain. Their jewels and money were taken. The driver escaped to Dearborn for help, and named you as the one that led a group of marauders.”
“And Stephen Kerr journeys here with men?”
“Aye, sir. He means to take you into custody for the crime.”
“He what? Who does the bastard think—”
“By my word, milord, the man has a witness who’ll swear ’twas you did the thing. Damn bones, can’t we go?”
“And when they find him gone, will that assure his innocence?”
Both men abruptly turned toward Jocelyn, startled by her voice. “Unless you’ve done a piece of murder tonight, my lord, Stephen Kerr’s purse was lightened aplenty for the driver’s sworn testimony. Avery, how long before the riders make Braeswood?”
“Ah … soon. Within minutes, I expect,” he answered, looking between his lord and this youthful sprite.
“Then let us not delay,” she said, turning and scooping up the wet clothing, linens, and boots in her arms. “Can you find a place to hide all this, where no one would look? Is there a closed passage or closet somewhere in this house?”
“Aye, mum.”
“The pity it won’t be large enough to hide a wet steed,” she mumbled.
Trent quickly caught the meaning of her plan and began to shrug out of his dressing gown and shirt, tossing them on a nearby chair. “No, but William’s barn in the village will hide the beast, and Stephen Kerr is too stupid to look there. Have Gladiator taken to William, along with the saddle and bridle I used, and instruct the boy you send to stay there with the horse until he is called home.”
“I trust there are no other sorely used and half-drowned animals in your stables, milord?” she asked with a half-smile.
“No others,” he said, returning her smile with a greater one and a newly found respect.
“Milord?” Avery questioned, his arms filled with the wet clothing and looking unenlightened.
“When Kerr arrives, the house must be well asleep. You may be astir to answer his troubles, but argue his admittance and let him find me for himself. I will be quite disadvantaged—having been abed with my mistress the evening long.” He looked down at Jocelyn and gave her a wink for her clever interception.
She paid Trent no attention but looked at Avery in earnest. “Please hurry,” she whispered urgently.
As the older man dashed out the bedroom door, Trent quickly turned to Jocelyn and put both hands on her hips, drawing her near and giving her a robust kiss on the lips. She struggled against him and faced his broad grin. “They want your head, you fool. You might lend the occasion some sobriety.”
“When drunk on your beauty and wit? How can I?”
“Play the buffoon another time, and take off your pants.”
Unfastening his belt and drawing the breeches down, he chuckled at this wench before him. “Maid Jocelyn, how is it you know so much about hiding murderers?”
“Nothing at all. I have never done so.” She shed her wrapper and nightdress and plopped unceremoniously on the bed, not concerned with her lack of dress.
“Until tonight?”
“Not at all,” she said simply.
He laughed and sat on the bed beside her. “Ah, damsel, you are already mad in love with me and believe I can do no wrong. ’Tis a dangerous role for you to play.”
She sighed heavily, thinking his good humor ill-timed. “I know you did not kill the noblewoman.”
“How so?” he pressed.
“I know little of you, but that you are ill-tempered and mean. And if your housekeeper can put you in a fit that takes days of shouting to ease, then a murder done in a terrible storm would have to make you hateful for a month. You are simply too good-natured to have spent the night bent on crime.”
She saw the deep, coallike embers of his black eyes shining at her and felt as though he were looking past her face and through her words into her mind. She had flippantly thrown off her appraisal of him in what she thought a decent lie. In truth, she couldn’t believe that he could make love to her so gently and yet coldly kill another woman. And if she were wrong, she knew she would live to regret it.
“That is not why,” he said, his voice low and seductive.
It was not very much longer, time that Jocelyn spent lying tense and on guard for any impending storm, that commotion was heard below them. Avery, once he understood his objective, could carry off the night’s plan as a consummate actor would. It was to be a strenuous one for the old man, but he was fairly quick-witted and had proved himself capable of similar challenges across the many years he followed the young lord he served.
From the bedchamber, Trent and Jocelyn could hear the sounds of an attempt at the manor door. They did not hear horses’ hooves, and perhaps they had missed the first heavy knocks at the door, but from the time the pounding and Avery’s bellowed demands to know the name of the person calling began, the sounds were audible.
There was fierce arguing below, the grumblings coming to Trent’s ears in the form of muffled curses and many different voices. Jocelyn whispered, “ ’Tis they, my lord,” and simply snuggled closer to him. But his eyes were looking straight at the door and his thinking was intense. For all his joviality as they lay waiting, once the troop was upon them, he was absorbed in the action. His cheek muscles pulsed in a grinding tic and small beads of sweat erupted on his brow. He shushed her.
Soon the intruders’ presence on the stairs was obvious, as were Avery’s loud protests. And then, as was predicted by Trent, the door burst open, Avery virtually blowing in ahead of a band of guards wearing the Kerr livery of red and gray.
Trent rolled from the bed as if startled and unprepared. He was completely naked, and splendidly so, if one could afford the luxury of examining his magnificent physique. As though he were outfitted in armor and shield, he pulled a sword from the scabbard that lay on a nearby chair and prepared to defend himself.
Avery preceded Kerr and his men in a nightshirt, exposing his white and skinny legs and clumsy leather shoes that had been hastily pulled on without stockings. He clutched a candle in one hand; his gray hair was tousled. “My lord, I—” he attempted.
“Kerr! What the hell … ?” Trent began. Behind Stephen Kerr, three guards unsheathed their own swords as if to defend themselves. Stephen Kerr seemed to relax into a sly smile, rather pleased with himself, but Trent did not lower his sword or relax his stance one small bit. Jocelyn squealed at the interruption, very timely on her own behalf, and pulled the covers tight under her chin. It was not difficult, given the circumstances and all she knew, to portray a look of utter terror.
“What the hell do you want here?” Wescott demanded, wielding his sword dangerously.
“Clever,” Stephen Kerr replied, leaning rather lazily against the door frame. “Very clever, Wescott. You would have me believe you have been in, toying with your plaything? Ah, but we both know better, don’t we? Have a care with your weapon, my friend, lest you geld yourself and slacken her pleasure.” His expression hardened and he addressed his group. “Search out his coffers and see what mischief sir knight has—”
“No,” Wescott countered hotly. He reached askance for the cover of the bed as if to wrap it about himself, keeping his sword brandished in their direction, and at a whimpering protest from the occupant of the bed, cast a half-bow in her direction. “Forgive me, my lady.” Then reaching for his pants, he clumsily pulled them over his naked legs and torso with one hand, while speaking angrily to Kerr. “Do you think me some sort of fool to let your unattended guard rummage through my house, ready to d
rop some piece of uncontestable evidence in a coffer or cupboard to prove me a criminal of some nature? No, Kerr, you will not do this without killing me.”
“Murder was done on my road,” Kerr spat. “Lady Trendell and the Baron of Whiterock were attacked and robbed, the lady killed and my lord left to die. And the driver escaped to name you as the culprit. I am here to take you to task for your misdeed.”
“I am certain that claim cost you a tidy sum, Master Kerr, but you’ll take me nowhere without evidence to attest to that man’s word,” Wescott boomed. As he shouted, behind Stephen Kerr there appeared the raised swords of an equal number of men from the Wescott manor, not attired in a costume befitting guards, but looking authentically as though they’d been called out of their sleep to aid their master.
Wescott relaxed his stance, his sword lowered but ready. “But of course, if you’ve a crime to investigate, you may. My men will accompany yours through this household as you attempt to discover some villain hereabouts. I accommodate you with pleasure. And should you find that any of my men have been about the country in the rain or possess some booty from the robbery, you have my leave to arrest them on behalf of Lord Trendell.”
“You slime,” Kerr slurred. “You’re ready for me.”
“How could I be?” Trent argued. “As you plainly see, I’ve spent this eve with my mistress … and you could not have been further from my mind.”
“You were warned,” he accused.
Wescott’s words came with measured care and were low and menacing. “I could not have been warned of this visit, Master Kerr, unless I had been out this eve and seen you upon the road.”
“Shall we search the manor, milord?” one of Kerr’s men asked.
“Yes,” he demanded. “Yes, search every corner from cookhouse to stable—and look cautiously for both the booty from my lord Trendell’s coach and evidence that sir knight has been about the countryside in the rain. This room first: for wet clothing, mud from the stables, whatever you can find.”