Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty #4) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,22

“King’s orders—his royal highness thinks the bastard can help us quell the MacDonalds to the north.”

“Aye?” Mary faced him. “I do not like the way he looks at me—or you for that matter.”

Aleck’s gut clenched. “You don’t say? I’ve always thought that man always sported a disagreeable scowl.”

“Mayhap, but he’s got dagger-eyes for you, m’laird.”

Aleck was well aware Eoin was close to Helen’s brother, Duncan. He didn’t give a rat’s arse if the knight disapproved of his behavior. But Eoin could cause a stir with the Lord of Glenorchy. Not that Aleck thought anything would come of it…still, it was always better to avoid tempting potential dragons. “Perhaps it would be best if we kept our rendezvous secret whilst he’s here.”

“But I’ve been ever so happy now it is no longer necessary to sneak around that woman’s back.” Mary groaned. “Why can you not push the wench out an upper window and marry me?”

Chuckling, he reached for her, but she snatched her hand away. Aleck wouldn’t let her little outburst dissuade him. “We’ve been over that many times. I need Helen to produce an heir. After that...” He dipped his chin and waggled his dark eyebrows—a look that always made Mary damp between the legs. “Any matter of ills could befall her.”

Mary took a step back, appearing more distraught than usual. “I should be your lady. You love me, not her—I cannot bear the thought of your visiting her bed to produce your heir.”

“Och, Mary.” He grasped her hand firmly and this time she didn’t pull away. “I do not like the idea any better than you.”

She stepped into him and twirled his shirt laces around his finger. She rubbed her mons across his crotch. “Get me with child. I’ll give you a son, I’m certain of it.”

With Mary so close, Aleck couldn’t think straight. For years he’d fought his urge to see Mary birth his bairn. The thought tempted him. Would the king allow him to legitimize a bastard? Perhaps if Helen had an unfortunate end. Eventually. And he’d need to ensure he received credit for any battles they won against Clan MacDonald and not that sniveling maggot, Eoin MacGregor.

Mary opened his shirt and slid her hand over his chest. “Stay away from that woman’s bed and have faith in my ability to produce an heir.”

A sennight had passed since Eoin had comforted Lady Helen in the stone cavern. Since then, he’d hardly seen her. Even at meals, she’d rarely made an appearance. He suspected her absence was because of the bruising on her face. Even with a wimple, the purple surrounding her eye was noticeable.

He’d tried to push thoughts of Helen from his mind and focus on the task at hand—after all, he was there on the king’s orders and quashing the MacDonald uprising was a task not to be taken lightly.

Today he strode down a line of men, all sparring with various weapons. Each warrior was paired according to skill. Eoin stopped to watch Fergus and Grant—MacGregor’s finest against MacIain’s best, just as they’d been paired on the first day. He wouldn’t have believed it a sennight ago, but Grant looked as if he’d make a fine knight one day…until Fergus darted in with an upward strike of his battleax and the sword flew from Grant’s hand.

The soldier groaned and grimaced, appearing as if he could slam his fist into the stone wall.

Eoin stepped forward. “You were looking good right up until you took your eyes off Fergus’s weapon.”

Grant opened his mouth as if he were about to deny his error, but Eoin held up his hand. “I saw you, lad.”

Grant’s expression softened and he nodded.

Eoin stooped to retrieve the sword. “When your opponent is coming over the top with an ax, spin away and counter with a backward thrust like this.” He demonstrated how to swivel his grip and maneuver the weapon backward while securing it with both hands rotating at his left hip to ensure a kill straight to the gut. Eoin would have stepped in and sparred with the guard, but he’d opted against wearing his hauberk this day—no sense in chancing an injury when Fergus is outfitted for a fight.

The corner of Grant’s mouth turned up. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

“’Tis just good swordsmanship, lad.” Eoin slapped the soldier on the shoulder and handed him the weapon. “Go on, give it a try.”

With a few practice moves, Grant had mastered the maneuver. Perhaps I should ask him to join Clan Gregor. Eoin chuckled at the

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