John lifted Nicola onto Valor and climbed on behind her, settling her against his chest and wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her securely to him. They'd been riding like this for two days now. He ought to have been used to her nearness. But he wasn't.
He couldn't get enough of Nicola.
His physical ache was nothing to the ache in his heart.
Young Angus had not taken his eyes off Nicola since she'd stepped out from the copse of trees. Sammy noticed his son's look of adoration as well. He rode up beside John. "Seems odd that yer wife is wearing no jewels and her gown is rather plain."
Nicola stiffened in indignation. "We're on the run for our lives, Mr. Fraser. My fine gowns and jewels were left behind in Invergarry." She drew a breath to say more, but John gave her another subtle squeeze in warning. While Sammy looked like an oafish dissolute, he was one of the smartest men John had ever met and his instincts were as good as his own.
The way Sammy and his boys were eyeing Nicola gave him more than a little cause for concern. There was only one way he was going to keep these damn Frasers from claiming her for one of them.
He had to leave no doubt in their minds that she was his.
He had to claim her for himself.
The Scottish way.
CHAPTER 8
NICOLA DID NOT understand why John was scowling at her. Not that she could see him scowling, but she sensed that he was. What had she done now? She'd been on her best behavior since going on the run, and had hardly spoken a word in all the hours since they'd met Sammy Fraser and his sons. Perhaps he wasn't scowling at her, but was worried that they were being led into a trap. "John," she started in a whisper, but he gave her a little squeeze that she understood to be a warning to be quiet.
So she said nothing more, merely remained squirming tensely in his arms.
His body felt tense, too.
"We're not far from Sammy's village now," John said as the sun dipped low on the horizon. The hour was late and the path had grown dark, for they were once more in the mountains and the tall pines obscured any sunlight that might have reached them. Certainly no moonlight or starlight would ever penetrate here.
There was an eerie quiet to the night. The only sounds Nicola heard were the occasional snorts and whickers from their horses. Not even the clip-clop of their hooves could be heard upon the soft carpet of fallen pine leaves.
They'd had to wait until nightfall to cross another open meadow, and then make their way over two small mountains before coming upon a village of no more than a dozen homes. From what Nicola could see, they were mostly rough-hewn cottages and none of them were stately. But the scent of roasted meat from an earlier supper lingered in the air along with acrid peat smoke from hearth fires.
Nicola's stomach growled.
She was hungry enough to devour anything that moved in front of her and did not succeed in devouring her first.
John sighed. "There's one thing we must do before we eat."
She frowned. "What's that?"
He said nothing for a long moment. "Just follow my lead. Do as I do. Repeat what I say. It is important."
She had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded. "Very well. Care to give me a clue what's going on?"
"No. Just do as I tell you."
They drew their mounts up before the largest home among this circle of otherwise small, rundown houses. Someone was awake, for there was movement inside and suddenly a light emanated from the window. Whoever was watching them had lit a lantern and was now hurrying to open the front door. "Och, ye old scoundrel," a sturdy-looking woman of about five and thirty years chided Sammy as the door flew open with a loud groan, sounding as though it was about to come off its hinges.
Sammy dismounted and gave the woman a hearty kiss on the lips. "Maeve, m'love."
The woman tugged on his ear and then put her hands on her hips to mark her irritation. "Don't ye dare sweet talk me, ye rascal. I thought the soldiers had finally captured ye. What kept ye away for so long this time?" Then her gaze traveled to Nicola and John. "What have we here?"
"Friends of mine, Maeve." Sammy hastily made introductions before striding inside and bidding them all to follow. The woman was not his wife, for Sammy's sons did not call her their mother, and Angus muttered something about her being Black Sammy's widow, and Black Sammy was an arse who did not treat his women right, so Maeve was much better off warming Red Sammy's bed as she had these past ten years … even though Black Sammy had only been dead nine years.
Nicola's jaw dropped open.
Fortunately, she had no need to say anything. Sammy was now explaining their plight to Maeve. "Lord Bainbridge is a good friend of mine. He and his … wife … are in need of our assistance. But first, they're in need of food and a fire to warm them. They've been on the road for a spell."
Oh, dear. He'd stressed the word "wife" as though he did not believe she and John were married, which they weren't and never would be if the matter were left to John.
Yet, Nicola felt the comforting warmth of John's arm around her shoulders. In the next moment, John put both hands on her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. Then his hands slipped from her shoulders to claim her hands. They now stood facing each other, although she had to tip her gaze upward to meet his, for he stood a head taller than her, perhaps a bit more. John was a big man.
And his jaw was twitching, not quite in spasms, but noticeably to her familiar eye. He did not look at all pleased.
"What's wrong?" she asked in a whisper.
His gaze upon her turned surprisingly tender. "Sammy's looking for proof."
She frowned. "Of what?"
"Our marriage. He doesn't believe we are husband and wife."
She tried to feign outrage, but it was hard to do when their so-called state of marital bliss was a lie. "How do we prove it?"
"Like this." He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face up. At the same time, he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to press them lightly against hers. She responded as any woman kissed by John would, melting into a limpid pool at his touch. She was acutely aware that Sammy, Maeve, and Sammy's sons were watching.
Although his kiss was purposefully gentle, she would not call it tame. He was tense and straining like a stallion, eager to set his rampant desire free. She felt the same, now certain she'd been born a hussy, for she felt no shame in responding to him in front of spectators. After an appropriately long moment, he drew away and smiling, caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I declare before these witnesses that I have taken Lady Nicola Jennifer Emory as my wife before man and God. She is my Lady Bainbridge for now and ever more."
Ah, she understood what he was doing and cast him a return smile. He was maintaining the pretense to keep her out of the clutches of Sammy's boys, who had not stopped ogling her since they'd first set eyes upon her. "And I declare before these witnesses that I have taken John Randall, Earl of Bainbridge, as my husband before man and … God. He is my Lord Bainbridge for now and ever more."
She prayed silently for forgiveness, for it was one thing to mislead these men. She did not trust them as far as she could spit. And yes, she could spit as well as any man. But to lie to the Good Lord did not sit well with her. Hopefully, He would understand her desperation and know she'd never lie without compunction unless her life and John's were in danger.
Sammy grumbled as he slapped John on the back. "I was sure ye were lyin' to me, lad. Guess I was wrong. Ye're a lucky man. I hope ye appreciate her and treat her as finely as she deserves." He turned to Nicola. "Ye must be a saint, lass. Or an angel to put up with the likes of him."
She shook her head and laughed. "Then you know him well, Mr. Fraser."
"Call me, Sammy." He eyed her speculatively. "Ye look soft and gentle, but ye seem to have him well in hand, so I suspect there's a good dose of strong will and Scottish stubbornness in ye."
"I am most certainly strong-willed and stubborn, but I'm afraid I'm not Scottish. My family is English. I hope none of my ancestors ever did you harm."
Sammy shrugged. "Likely they did. Some fierce battles took place up here, ending with Culloden Moor. But I think while yer men were off fightin', some of our men were off wooing the Englishwomen who'd followed them up here. Lass, that red hair and yer blazin' green eyes give ye away. There's a Scot lurking somewhere in yer royal blue bloodlines."
"My hair is auburn, not red. And my-"
John stepped between them before matters got out of hand, for accusing any of the women in Nicola's family line of infidelity was typical of Sammy taking matters too far. The old bounder wouldn't see it as an insult, for declaring her a Scot was, to his way of thinking, a great compliment. "Obviously, that's why I fell in love with her at first sight," John said, casting Nicola a wink. "My wife is her own person, whatever her ancestry, and she won't hesitate to take a fist to your nose if you don't stop goading her, Sammy."