Nessa’s Seduction by Jayne Castel

21

LOYALTY

THERE WAS A nervous energy in the air this evening—a hum of tension and excitement. Hugh could taste it, could see it on his men’s faces.

After months of waiting, battle finally loomed on the horizon.

They camped at the bottom of a wooded vale, near where a burn bubbled over smooth grey stones. The army was less than a day from Stirling now; they’d reach it by the following afternoon.

Hugh talked with the guards at the gate, and then, once he’d checked the outer perimeter was secured, he rode to the enclosure where he’d stable his destrier overnight. There he gave his stallion a decent rub down, shooing his squire away when Thomas tried to take over the task.

Anticipation of the coming siege coiled within him. This eve, his nerves were taut, and restless energy made it difficult to settle. Rubbing down his horse helped ease the tension. They hadn’t encountered any hostile forces on the highway, yet with every furlong west, Hugh’s senses sharpened.

After seeing to his warhorse, he joined Nicholas and Robert for supper in Nicholas Harrington’s pavilion. Conversation between the friends was usually light, but with Stirling close by, all three were in sober moods. They ate, drank, and talked of the siege that was to come. With his mind on the upcoming battle, Hugh successfully avoided thinking about the prisoner who awaited him in his tent.

It was only when he bid Nicholas and Robert ‘good eve’, and ducked out of Nicholas’s tent, that he remembered who awaited him in his own.

Hugh’s brow furrowed. He was tired and distracted tonight, yet Nessa had to be confronted.

He strode across the clearing at the heart of the camp, passing the fire glowing there, and was around ten yards from his pavilion, when a slender figure moved into his path.

“Sir Hugh,” Lady Lamia greeted him with a warm smile. “How goes it?”

Irritation spiked through Hugh. He wasn’t in the mood this eve to bandy words with one of the queen’s ladies. However, he remembered his manners and dipped his chin to Lamia. “Well enough … and you, Lady Lamia?”

“I’m excited.” She stepped closer, lifting her chin to meet his gaze squarely. “For soon Stirling will be ours.”

Hugh arched an eyebrow. The lady certainly was confident. “Aye, let us hope the defenders yield it easily this time,” he replied. “They don’t always.”

Lamia’s brow furrowed. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“Aye, where the Scots are concerned … always.”

Their gazes held for a moment, and then Lamia stepped nearer still, gazing up at him under lowered eyelashes. The light from a nearby torch gilded her face.

To his consternation, the woman reached out then, placing a small, finely-boned hand upon his forearm. “You carry much responsibility, Sir Hugh,” she murmured, her voice a seductive purr. “Come to my tent, and I will ease your cares.”

A strange warmth emanated from Lamia, enveloping them both in the scent of heady musk.

And for an instant—despite that he’d never once entertained lustful thoughts for her—Hugh was tempted.

Blinking, he stared down at Lamia, his body stirring in response.

Favoring him with another sultry smile, Lamia held his gaze. “Your tent is drafty and cold,” she crooned. “Whereas mine is warm and welcoming.” She stroked his arm. “Come.”

Hugh stood there for a few instants as if his feet had just grown roots. And then a chill washed over him.

What am I doing?

He blinked. “No,” he said roughly. “I can’t.”

Lamia Delamare’s pretty face tensed, her gaze shadowing. She then removed her hand from his arm and drew back. “Very well, Hugh,” she murmured, favoring him with a sensual smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I shall see you later … remember you are always welcome.” The lady-in-waiting then walked away, in the direction of her tent.

Hugh twisted, watching Lamia disappear. He felt oddly woolly-headed. What had just happened?

Disquiet settled over him then, a sense that his world was starting to unravel. Was he losing his wits? Had years of military campaigning turned him into some lust-crazed fool?

Hugh shook his head. He clearly needed to stay away from women at present.

He then closed the gap to his pavilion. Stooping to enter, and steeling himself to face Nessa, Hugh dismissed Lamia Delamare from his thoughts. Now that she’d departed, he felt in control again.

Straightening up inside the tent, Hugh’s gaze went to where Thomas was dutifully sharpening his master’s longsword. It was yet another reminder that battle was on the horizon. Thomas’s gaze gleamed when he glanced up and greeted Hugh. “This blade is sharp enough to cut through iron, Sir Hugh.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hugh grunted before he turned his attention to the woman who’d lied to him, tricked him—and who’d tried to bewitch him the evening before.

Nessa sat in a corner of the tent upon a low stool. Her stance was demure, her shackled wrists clasped together. She shifted her gaze up, her green eyes alighting on him.

For a long moment, the pair of them merely stared at each other. Then Hugh looked over at where Thomas was still sharpening the blade upon a whetstone, the rasp filling the tent’s interior.

“Leave us for a spell, Thomas.”

The lad glanced up, meeting his eye. A look passed between them before the squire nodded. Picking up his things, and casting a wary look in Nessa’s direction, Thomas departed the pavilion, leaving the pair of them alone.

Hugh let silence settle after Thomas left. He moved to the table, where the squire had set out a clay bottle of wine and a pewter goblet. Pouring wine into it, Hugh then crossed to Nessa, passing the goblet to her.

She took it warily, eyeing the dark liquid with suspicion.

Hugh’s lip curled. “If I wanted you dead, Nessa, you’d already be so. Drink up.”

A nerve flickered upon her pale cheek, and her throat bobbed. Yet she wisely didn’t answer him. Instead, she tentatively raised the goblet to her lips and took a sip of wine.

Shifting back from her, Hugh pulled out a chair from beside the table and lowered himself onto it.

Then, he waited.

Nessa took another sip of wine and cleared her throat. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice husky.

“That remains to be seen. It all depends on how honest you are with me.”

She stared back at him. There was a vulnerable look to her expression, one that Hugh had never seen before.

When she didn’t reply, he continued. “You told me nothing of value last night, woman. But now, I want the truth out of you. Who are you … really?”

Nessa’s fingers tightened around the goblet of wine. The wine itself was delicious, rich and spicy—better than any she’d ever tasted. It warmed her throat and belly, yet it didn’t ease the nerves and fear that twisted within her.

She’d known this confrontation would come, had spent the day trying to prepare for it. She concocted various answers, some of them more plausible than others. But having Hugh seated before her, no warmth upon his handsome face, his eyes hard with suspicion, she knew there was no getting out of this.

I can’t betray my order.

The Guardians of Alba was part of her; she’d grown up inside it. She knew no other life. She’d sworn, on her own blood, that she’d forever keep its secrets safe.

However, no plausible excuses came to her—no tall tales that he’d accept.

Of course, she was now seeing a different side to Hugh de Burgh. Previously, she’d known him as her lover. She’d likely seen aspects of his character that he’d revealed to very few people over the years—the tender, passionate side to him. But the ruthless, iron-willed knight who watched her under hooded lids, his hazel eyes flinty, was the Sir Hugh most folk knew.

He felt betrayed on many levels, and she didn’t blame him.

“I can sit in silence for hours, Nessa,” Hugh said eventually when she didn’t answer. “But I swear I’ll get the truth from you.”

Nessa swallowed. “Ye still haven’t said what will happen to me.”

“As I told you before … that depends.”

Nessa raised the goblet to her lips, taking a large gulp. Hugh’s squire had brought her some bread, cheese, and ale earlier, yet the wine took the edge off the fear that now shivered through her.

“Ye are a loyal man, are ye not?” she asked then, forcing herself to raise her chin and meet his eye once more.

Hugh’s brow furrowed. “Aye … and?”

“So ye know what it is to devote yer life to something?”

His frown deepened, yet he didn’t reply.

Heaving in a lungful of air, Nessa continued. “I cannot tell ye of my people, for they are cloaked in secrecy.” She gulped in more air, aware that Hugh had tensed. He leaned toward her, his elbows resting on his muscular thighs. She could almost taste his simmering anger. “Ye must know that there are many who fight for Scottish freedom,” she said, holding his eye. “And I am one of them.”

He inclined his head, although his expression didn’t change. “Like William Wallace?”

Nessa nodded. It wasn’t quite the same, but the comparison was a safe one; it steered them away from her order, while at the same giving her an idea.

She sat before an astute man, one who was now watching for lies. Yet the best falsehoods were blended with the truth, and she could intermingle the two.

“The woman who brought me up was part of a group of outlaws,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I discovered early in life that I had skills … not just as healer, but with the ancient ways of the bandruì … the druidesses who once guided the folk of this land.”

His lip curled. “So, you truly are a witch.”

Nessa’s lips compressed. “Name me what ye will, Hugh. The fact remains that my skills were of use to my people, and I have spent my entire adult life traveling Scotland, spying for them.”

Silence fell then, and Hugh went still. His quietness made dread slither through Nessa’s bowels, made her skin prickle in warning.

“You’re a spy?” he eventually ground out, his voice roughening.

Nessa nodded. The Three protect her, he’d have her hanged for this. “I was sent to Dunfermline to gain the confidence of one of the king’s knights, and to gain news of Edward’s plans from him.”

Hugh’s face hardened. His hands were clenched, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “So it was a seduction?”

Nessa nodded, guilt constricting her throat. “It was,” she whispered.

“Everything was false then?” he ground out. “You cast an enchantment on me from the very beginning.”

Nessa swallowed. “No … I could have used the craft to make ye succumb to me from the first time we met, but I didn’t.” She inhaled sharply. Maiden’s blood, why was she even admitting this? He wouldn’t believe her anyway. “But I’ve always been against using my abilities to manipulate others” —he snorted at this comment, yet she pressed on— “instead I let the attraction between us build … and hoped ye would inadvertently reveal yer king’s plans to me.”

“But I didn’t.” His voice was a growl.

“Aye … and so when ye told me the army was to move on within the month, I panicked. I added some herbs to yer wine … and used witching to loosen yer tongue.”

He leaned forward further still, his face hard, eyes blazing. “And what did I tell you, woman?”

Nessa stared back at him, her heart hammering now. “That Edward intended to lay siege to Stirling.”

A heartbeat passed, and then Hugh’s mouth twisted. He leaned back, viewing her with open contempt. “And so you rode off in the night to warn your … people.” He said that last word with such scorn that Nessa’s hackles rose.

Arrogant English cur. He didn’t understand what it was to have his lands marched upon by invaders, his towns and castles sacked, and his countrymen forced to kneel.

Careful, Nessa, she counseled herself as the urge to snarl at him arched through her, cloaking her fear and shame. Leash yer tongue.

Straightening her spine, Nessa’s gaze didn’t waver. “I did.”

Hugh rose to his feet and crossed to her, gripping Nessa by the shoulders and hauling her up. Wine sloshed over the rim of her goblet, soaking her cloak, yet neither of them noticed.

His fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arms. Their faces were just inches apart now, yet the fury that burned in Hugh’s eyes made it clear this was no lover’s embrace.

“What are they doing with that news, Nessa?”

“They have warned Stirling already,” she whispered back. “Ye will not catch the castle by surprise … there will be a much stronger defense than ye expect.”

“What else?” he ground out, his grip on her tightening.

Nessa didn’t wince. She merely stared up at him. “Word has spread among our allies.”

“And they will come to Stirling’s aid.” Hugh ground out the words. She could feel the slight tremor in his grip, not from fear or upset, but rage. Silence stretched between them then, and when Hugh spoke once more, his voice was flat, cold. “But you sought me out again … to what purpose?”

She heaved in a deep breath then, still holding his gaze. What did it matter now if he knew the truth? She was done for anyway. “I was supposed to regain yer trust in case ye offered up any other information that could be of use to us,” she said softly, deliberately omitting to mention Robert Bruce. “I knew ye wouldn’t trust me … but I decided to use an enchantment on ye this time … one ye resisted.”