Nessa’s Seduction by Jayne Castel

22

ENEMIES

HUGH STARED DOWN at her, unspeaking, unmoving. Something dark moved in the depths of his eyes, and Nessa suppressed a shudder.

“I know it’s too late,” she whispered, “but I am sorry.”

“What for?” he snarled. “For failing at your task?”

Nessa winced. Aye, she was sorry about that—but also for so much more. “I lied to ye, tricked ye, used ye … for ye and yer kind are my enemy … but I did like ye, Hugh. Some things weren’t feigned.”

Nessa’s heart was pounding now. She wasn’t sure why she was saying all this to the knight. None of it mattered anyway—but the words just flowed out of her. And it was the truth. The passion between them hadn’t been a lie. And, somehow, it was important that he knew that.

Another heartbeat passed, and then he released her and stepped away. Nessa stumbled slightly, for she’d been leaning into him, before regaining her balance.

She saw then that Hugh’s chest was rising and falling sharply, despite that he’d barely moved since she’d started speaking. “You are good, Nessa, I’ll give you that,” he said roughly. “You have a way of drawing men in … the outlaws were wise to send you to do their bidding.”

“I’m not lying to ye at this moment,” she said, even as a sinking feeling dragged at her belly. “And I really am sorry.”

He shook his head, taking another step back. “Enough.” His voice developed a harsh edge then. “Keep your witch’s tongue behind your teeth.”

Nessa swallowed. “Will ye hand me over to the king?”

Hugh growled a curse under his breath. “Luckily for us both, Edward believes you to be some spurned lover,” he muttered. “He’d string me up … and rightly so … if he knew that I’d been idiotic enough to let a woman trick me into giving up details of our campaign.”

Nessa’s breathing caught at this admission. She hadn’t realized he’d held his tongue and allowed Edward to believe this was just an infatuation that had gone sour.

Hugh’s mouth twisted. “Thanks to you, I now keep secrets from my king. Thanks to you, this camp could be in danger tonight.” He swept his arm around. “For all I know, Scotsmen are surrounding us right now.”

A chill feathered down Nessa’s neck at these words. He was right. It was a possibility.

“So ye will keep me prisoner?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hugh dragged his gaze from her, his strong jaw bunching. “Aye,” he said, reaching for his cloak and strapping on the longsword his squire had left behind. “I’ll not have you running back to the outlaws with news of our numbers, of how our camp is structured, or any other information you have gleaned since traveling with us.” He cast her a hard, penetrating look. “I’d prefer to keep my enemy where I can see her.”

Enemy.

A cold knot tightened in Nessa’s throat. Aye, that was what she was. And when he’d ascertained that she couldn’t do him any more harm, Hugh de Burgh would rid himself of her. Exactly how she wasn’t sure—yet she didn’t imagine her end would be pleasant. The best she could hope for was to rot in an English dungeon for the rest of her days.

Whatever tenderness the knight had once held for her, it was gone.

Without another word, Hugh swept out of the tent, leaving Nessa alone.

Curse that woman to the depths of Hades, what had she done?

What had he done?

Hugh strode through the camp, his cloak billowing behind him.

“Good eve, Sir Hugh!” There were plenty of guards at watch tonight, especially this close to Stirling. Men called out to their commander as he passed, and Hugh acknowledged them with a brusque nod, even as his gut twisted.

None of them knew what he’d done. They weren’t aware that the Scots had been forewarned about where and when the English would strike next.

A sickly sensation washed over Hugh then. We could be riding into an ambush.

He walked on, his hands clenched by his sides. The sickle of a waxing crescent moon rode high above him, although the light of hundreds of flickering pitch torches illuminated the tightly-packed sea of tents around him. Many soldiers were still up, hands cupped around mugs of ale as they shared stories by the numerous hearths that burned low throughout the camp. Of course, they were too on-edge to sleep, what with Stirling so close. Muffled laughter reached him.

Hugh gritted his teeth. They wouldn’t be laughing soon. Somewhere, out in the night, the Scots were readying themselves for the English assault.

A short while later, Hugh reached the perimeter. “All is well?” he asked the soldiers at the entrance. He was careful to keep his tone neutral—not to let on that something was amiss.

“Aye, Sir Hugh.” One of the men replied, his helmeted head shining dully in the torchlight. “It’s a quiet night … not a breath of wind.” He flashed the knight a grin. “We’ll hear a Scotsman if he makes as much as a fart.”

The soldiers behind him laughed at this, yet Hugh quieted them with a stern look. “I’ve received word that Scottish rebels are on the move,” he told the group. “They may attack us before we reach Stirling. Keep alert.”

All smiles and looks of mirth faded at this news.

“Do they know where we’re headed?” Another soldier asked.

Hugh nodded. “Expect a rousing welcome at Stirling.”

He left the soldiers with grim expressions and walked to the other side of the camp, where he repeated his warning to the men there. However, even after delivering it, Hugh couldn’t settle.

And he couldn’t bring himself to return to his pavilion.

He couldn’t bear the sight of Nessa.

Devious, lying bitch.

Her betrayal made him so angry that he’d bitten his tongue earlier. He could still taste the coppery tang of it in his mouth.

And yet, he’d felt himself weakening toward her. He knew her words were poison, but when he stared into those luminous green eyes, it was hard not to drown in them. She’d told him she hadn’t cast an enchantment on him in Dunfermline—that the passion between them had been real—and he’d actually wanted to believe her. Fortunately, he’d had the wits to shove the temptation aside.

It’s all lies.

If he told himself that often enough, perhaps he’d eventually believe it, deep down in the marrow of his bones where her words had touched him.

Standing in the midst of the slumbering encampment, Hugh halted, dragging a hand through his short hair.

Nessa was dangerous—he would need to be on his guard with her at all times.

Hugh resumed walking, pacing the perimeter of the camp. He was putting off his return to his tent—but he wouldn’t be going to Lamia Delamare’s.

However, eventually, he circled back to his pavilion. The candles burned low, and many of them had gone out, casting the interior largely into shadow. Thomas huddled under his blankets a few feet from the gently glowing brazier, while Nessa had curled up on the mat next to the stool she’d been placed on.

No blankets or furs covered her, and although she didn’t look up when he entered, Hugh sensed she was awake.

He also saw that she was shivering. Winter’s bite had eased, yet the nights were still cold.

Let her shiver, a nasty voice whispered inside his head. Let her suffer.

Clenching his jaw, Hugh strode to his bedside and stripped off his heavy clothing before crawling into his cot.

Indeed, it was silent tonight, as the men at the gates had mentioned. Too silent. He could hear Thomas’s gentle snoring and the soft, tremulous murmur of Nessa’s breathing in the pauses in-between.

God’s teeth, he could hear her chattering teeth from here. How was he going to be able to sleep?

Just ignore it.

Hugh pulled the covers up around his ears and turned over, facing away from Nessa. Long moments passed, and still, he couldn’t relax. He couldn’t ignore her. Eventually, teeth still gritted, he sat up and pulled off one of the heavy blankets upon his bed. Sliding off the cot, he padded over to where the shivering woman lay.

Hugh watched her for a long moment, and then wordlessly, he leaned over and placed the blanket over her.

Nessa didn’t speak, didn’t look his way—and yet he heard her breathing hitch. A heartbeat later, her shivering eased.

A little of the tension knotted within Hugh’s chest eased before he caught himself.

Satan’s cods, you’re a soft-hearted fool.

This woman didn’t deserve any kindness, not after what she’d done. Silently cursing himself, Hugh turned and went back to bed.