“Madam,” he grated harshly, his use of the word a mockery. “I have told you, I am in no mood for games. You appeared hungry and I was willing to feed you. But if our arrangement is not to your liking, please feel free to leave. The tavern door swings both ways.”
Brianna quickly lowered her eyes. She couldn’t leave that tavern; she didn’t dare. The streets could still be swarming with the King’s madmen shouting, “Witch!”
Resolution, like the icy waters of a winter stream, flowed through her. Cold. So very cold. So very different from the burning flames of death. She couldn’t save her aunt, she could only try now to save herself.
God help her! Having seen the flames of death, she would indeed sell her soul to any devil to escape that fate. He wanted a whore—she’d have to act the part. She shivered suddenly. Could she do it? Could she? She had to!
“Forgive me,” she mumbled sweetly, not raising the shield of her lashes. She slid silently into the chair opposite the stranger and kept her gaze fixed upon the rough planking of the table until she had gathered herself together. Then she raised her lashes and gazed at him with wide eyes and an apologetic smile. “I really am so very sorry! The weather is awful, I had difficulty traveling. I tripped, you see, and was splattered with mud. I’m afraid I’m quite nervous.” He kept staring at her and she allowed her lashes to flutter and fall again, praying he would believe her.
She felt his gaze upon her, boring into her. One of his boot-clad legs was stretched out alongside the table; his arm rested upon it and he lightly drummed his fingers against it.
“What is your name?” he asked her.
She glanced up at him—offering him another radiant smile. “Brianna,” she said softly. How long, she wondered, could she stay here with him? Was she convincing him that she was what he wanted? Tension gripped her stomach painfully as she grew more and more uneasy with the role she had allotted herself. Was he a loyal supporter of King James? Would he eagerly throw her to the man who searched for her?
No! She couldn’t allow herself to think that way. She had to play him out, flirt with him, tease him, until…
Until what? she wondered with desperation. Until the king’s men cleared the streets, and she could make good an escape out of Glasgow to the forest.
“You’re very kind,” she said, irritated by her stiff tone. You’ll have to do better than that! she reproved herself. And she smiled again, with all the allure she could muster. “I am famished, and the meal will be most appreciated.”
“So will soap and water,” he muttered, watching her curiously. She returned his scrutiny and discovered that she could act boldly.
She felt very remote watching him, as if she were someone else. The past days had begun the change and the past minutes had completed it. Her carefree life had been swept away—and with it her youth, and all her dreams.
She lowered her head, and a bitter smile came fleetingly to her lips. Oh, how life had changed! Just days ago she had been so assured and confident. Her dreams of the future had included a valiant knight falling in love with her, promising eternal devotion. She had been Brianna of the Forest to the local boys—untouchable. She had laughed with them and accepted their adoration, like a snow queen with her courtiers. Ah, she was so chaste, so determined that none should ever touch her until her forever love, the misted knight who would one day claim her!
That had been last week. This was now. The untouchable little “snow queen” was sitting at a table with a man who assumed she was a whore. And the man was no boy, no stripling lad. He appeared as rugged as the highland hills, as vital as the sea that crashed a tempest against the coast.
She grated her teeth together hard. This was also reality and she would do anything for his protection. She would do anything not to burn. Oh, God! She had almost ruined it! She’d almost thought herself that other Brianna—that princess of the forest—and ruined it all with her silly dreams!
Yes! She would do anything to escape the flames. She would beg, borrow, steal—or even bed with this hard, imposing stranger—to escape. If it did come to that, she would withdraw into herself. And if she could just do that, she would remain untouched.
He was watching her—too acutely, too curiously. She smiled quickly, thinking that a whore would be stroking his ego. “It’s quite a pleasure to see a man of your strength,” she crooned softly.
“Is it?” he asked. She kept smiling, even though she longed to slap him and tell him he was incredibly insolent. What would the real whore respond? Brianna wondered. Worse still, what if the real whore put in an appearance while they were sitting there?
“Yes, it is,” she replied quickly. “It’s such a pleasure that I’m very anxious to be alone with you.”
He leaned across the table. She was made very aware of his scent, clean and male and tangy like the sea.
One of the serving girls came to the table with a steaming bowl of stew, a crude pewter wine-cup, and a new tankard of ale for the captain, or lord, or whatever he might be. She was a pretty wench, busty and well rounded, and she had a saucy smile for the captain and a faint glance of skepticism for Brianna.
Brushing closely against the captain, she asked coyly, “Will ye be needin’ anything, m’lord?”
He smiled in return to her, “I think not, Bessie, thank you.”
Bessie pouted her lips slightly. “If ye decide that ye do”—her glance suggested that with Brianna as his “companion,” it was most likely that he would discover himself in need—“ye just let me know, m’lord.”
“He won’t, Bessie,” Brianna said sweetly, but with a deadly warning.
With a swish of her ample rear, Bessie left the table.
God, she was hungry, but she wanted to eat quickly and leave the public room. Glancing up, she discovered that he was still watching her, and that he was very close.
“Umm, aren’t you eating?” she inquired.
He shook his head, his expression curious. “I’ve eaten, thank you.”
