of a fierce storm coming, one that would be sure to damage the flowers. The lass willnae want to risk missing a chance to see them in full bloom.”
“Clever.”
It was and Jankyn had to wonder why Eleanor would help these fools. Since the two men could give her little save a rutting, he had to think Eleanor did not like the lass she was sending into this trap. There could be many reasons for that, but knowing Eleanor as he unfortunately did, Jankyn suspected the chosen victim was young and beautiful. Eleanor did not like it when some other woman drew men’s interest away from her. The intended prey must have arrived recently, during the last two weeks in which Jankyn had cut himself off from the intrigues of the court, both political and sexual. And dear Eleanor was one of the reasons for that self-imposed exile.
“O’er by that rowan tree would be a good place to await her,” said Lachlan even as he strode toward it.
“There is one wee problem with this plan,” said Thomas as he joined his friend. “Which one of us gets to have her?”
“We will both have her, but the first to draw blood will be the one to wed her.”
“Which will still leave one of us with an empty purse, little or no land, and the need of a weel-dowered wife.”
“Nay, nay. This lass has enough for us to share a wee bit, just enough to make it easier to get that rich bride. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Swine, Jankyn thought. The rumors that said these two hid a callous brutality beneath their fine clothes and bonnie faces were obviously true. Glancing toward the sun, Jankyn knew he would not be able to perform any daring rescue. The best he could do was call out a warning, letting the rogues know that their perfidy was not unwitnessed. There would be little glory in it, but the ones in the garden would see nothing wrong for none of them would expect a man to leap from where he now perched and live.
It was not long before both men tensed and shifted deeper into the shadow of the tree. Jankyn knew their prey had entered the garden and he waited with them. When the woman entered his line of sight, Jankyn nearly fell from his perch. He easily recognized that lithe shape and the sensuous way the young woman moved. Her long, thick, honey gold hair swayed with each step she took, adding to her allure. Although he had seen little of her in nearly three years, he had obviously recalled Efrica Callan very well indeed. The two men lurking by the rowan tree intended to attack his laird’s sister by marriage. His shock had also stolen away the chance to warn her, and he cursed softly.
His first inclination was to roar out his fury and attack, but he forced his rage back. Efrica was no fool, nor was she helpless. There was also the sun to consider. Fists clenched, he waited.
“Weel met, m’lady,” said Lachlan as he moved to stand in front of Efrica, Thomas slipping around behind her.
“Mayhap I misjudge ye, but I dinnae think ye are here to join men in admiring the flowers,” Efrica said.
Jankyn saw her sleek body subtly move as she prepared herself for an attack.
“We would rather show ye our admiration.”
“Another time, if ye please.”
Efrica felt fear chill her blood, but forced herself to ignore it. Fear stole one’s wits and she would have need of hers now. Somehow she was going to have to slip free of this trap yet not do something that might raise too many questions. She could smell the lust in the men. It sickened and terrified her. Their plot was easy to discern. Rape, then a forced marriage. It was a ploy she should have considered when she had seen their anger over her rebuffs of their attentions, polite though those had been.
Just as she moved to leave the garden, Lachlan grabbed her by the arm. “Release me,” she hissed, and saw both men look at her curiously. “Now.”
“So fierce,” drawled Lachlan. “Do ye bring that fire to all ye do?”
“And do ye always bring another fool with ye to subdue a lass so much smaller than ye are?”
Insulting the man had not been wise, Efrica decided as she watched his face redden with fury. She had sensed the brute hidden beneath the courtier’s finery shortly after meeting both men. Although it was pleasing to have her judgment proven correct, she would have preferred to savor the small pleasure within the safe confines of her chambers or safely hidden within a crowd.
The only way to adequately protect herself now would be to toss aside the mask she wore at court. The genteel, polite lady she portrayed before others would gain her nothing now. Unfortunately, revealing too much of her true nature could rouse a curiosity that held its own dangers.
“Ye greet a mon’s wooing with cold scorn,” said Thomas. “Tisnae wise to lash at a mon’s pride so.”
“I doubt what ye plan now could e’er be called wooing,” Efrica said, turning slightly in the small hope that she could keep either man from getting a firm hold on her. “Best ye pause a moment to consider the consequences.”
“The consequences will be that ye will marry one of us. There is nay more to consider.”
“Nay? How about the anger of my kinsmen?”
Lachlan snorted, the crude sound heavy with scorn. “The Callans? An unimportant clan who hides away upon their lands hording their coin. Weel, ’tis time that largesse was shared by ones who ken how to use it.”
Efrica hastily swallowed the low, feral growl that crowded into her throat at this insult to her clan. “On useless finery and jewels for adulteresses and whores? Better it was pitched into the sea.”
“Ye have been here for ten days searching for a husband. Weel, we have decided ’tis past time ye got one.”
“And ye have tossed a coin to decide which of you will be that mon, have ye?”
“Nay, lass, we mean to toss you and the prize goes to the first mon in.” Lachlan smiled coldly as he tried to pull her into his arms. “In truth, it goes to the first to draw blood, my sweet.”
“Och, aye?” Efrica flexed her fingers. “I believe that will be me.”
Jankyn winced as he watched her rake her nails across Lachlan’s face, for he could remember how sharp those long elegant nails of a Callan woman could be. Lachlan was lucky he still had his eyes. In fact, Jankyn suspected Efrica had tempered her blow, only lightly raking Lachlan’s skin, for there was not that much blood, nor did Jankyn think the furrows running from check to cheek were that deep. Jankyn felt an ancient hunger stir within him as the scent of fresh, warm blood mixed with the light perfume of the flowers, but he forced it aside, keeping his full attention upon the ensuing battle below.
A part of him still wanted to bellow in rage, to put an immediate halt to this assault upon Efrica, but he continued to hold silent. It would be best if she handled the men in her own way. Efrica had agility, strength, and cunning. Perhaps even enough to get free of this trap. The last thing she needed was to draw too much attention to herself, and she had the wit to know that. If she freed herself, no one would hear of this confrontation. The two men intent upon rape would certainly not be talking. If he interfered in any way, this outrage would no longer be completely secret. There was even the chance the men might try to use his knowledge of it to force Efrica into a marriage she quite clearly did not want.
With
