Jankyn, Efrica managed to elude the grasp of both men. It was quickly evident, however, that she had not really escaped them. For two men who seemed to do little but indulge themselves in every available vice, Lachlan and Thomas proved to be swift and cunning. Jankyn had the uneasy feeling they had played this cruel game before.
Even as he tried to think of a way to put an end to this without revealing too many of his secrets, or Efrica’s, Jankyn watched the tide of the battle turn against her. His anger grew each time they chased her, each time they thwarted her attempt to escape, and each time they touched her. This was no way to treat a woman. The fact that this woman was connected to his clan through her sister’s marriage made it a personal insult as well as a crime. Jankyn was not sure why, but the fact that it was Efrica seemed to make his anger all the fiercer.
Then they threw her to the ground, Thomas pinning her hands down as he crouched by her head. Lachlan quickly got the rest of her held firmly beneath his body. Jankyn forgot all about secrets that needed to be protected, and all about the chance that Efricia might be humiliated by being seen in such a degrading position. He even forgot about the sun. A soft growl rumbled deep in his throat as he leapt from his perch.
Efrica hissed a curse as Lachlan evaded her kicking legs and used his body to hold her down. Fear was a bitter taste in the back of her mouth, but she twisted her body, continuing to struggle. Although both men had made her uneasy from the beginning, she had never suspected they could be capable of this sort of brutality. This might be a callous attempt to force her to marry one of them, but she had no doubt at all that both men intended to violate her. She suspected they had made some pact between themselves as to how to share her rich dowry once one of them got her before a priest.
“Weel, lass, it looks as if I will win the greater prize,” said Lachlan as he began to push up her skirts.
“If ye do this, all ye will win is a deep grave,” she snapped. “Ye will die for this.”
“Aye, lass, they will.”
Her attackers had just begun to tense in surprise at the sound of that deep voice when Efrica suddenly found herself free. She lifted her head to see Lachlan, then Thomas, hurled across the garden to land hard against a tree. It took her a moment to recognize the man striding toward the dazed, softly groaning pair. Jankyn MacNachton was really there, was not some dream, and he was furious. Recalling what that emotion could do to a MacNachton, Efrica leapt to her feet and ran to him just as he grasped each stunned man by the front of his doublet and lifted him up.
“Nay,” she said, slipping beneath his arm and placing a hand upon his chest. “Ye must nay kill them.”
Jankyn looked down at her and she inwardly shivered. His elegant features had sharpened into a look that was chillingly feral. His golden eyes were those of a predator. He held each man several inches off the ground as if they weighed nothing. Then, slowly, his fury began to fade, his features softening slightly, and the snarl that had shaped his sensuous mouth receding.
“Best ye put them down ere someone sees. Aye, and ere they gain enough wits to open their eyes.”
“That is a problem easily solved.”
Efrica winced as he knocked the men’s heads together and tossed them back on the ground. A quick glance at her attackers revealed that they would probably not be seeing anything for quite a while. She was turning back toward Jankyn, prepared to ask him what he was doing there, when he staggered.
“What is wrong?” she demanded, wrapping an arm around his waist to help steady him.
“The sun hasnae set yet,” he replied in a weak voice.
It took Efrica a moment to understand the implications of that. She cursed and started moving him toward the castle. Once within its thick walls, Jankyn recovered enough to respond to her demands and tell her where his chambers were. By the time they got inside his rooms, she was supporting nearly all his weight. He whispered a request for wine as he collapsed upon his bed. One sniff of the wine as she poured him a tankard was enough to tell her why he wanted some. It also reminded her, very strongly, of exactly what the MacNachtons were.
After downing a second tankard of wine, Jankyn fell asleep. Efrica stood beside his bed holding the empty tankard and studied him. His color had improved a little, and asleep, he was once again the darkly beautiful man she had known for three years. She sighed and shook her head. The man who had so swiftly appeared to rescue her, who had tossed her assailants aside like cushions, and who had been ready to slaughter the two men, had been laid low by the soft light of a setting sun.
“My hero,” she muttered and went in search of a chair so that she could watch over him until he recovered.
Two
Efrica smiled faintly as she watched Lachlan and Thomas help each other stand up. They both looked frantically around the garden, then ran as if the devil himself were nipping at their backsides. If they knew the truth about the man who had tossed them around so effortlessly, they would probably be even more terrified. She just wished she could be certain this was the end of the trouble she would have with them.
Leaving the window, she poured herself a little of the untreated wine Jankyn obviously kept on hand for guests, and returned to her seat by his bed. David had briefly appeared and, after hearing what had happened, had offered to sit with his father, but she had sent him on his way. He had clearly wanted to return to the great hall for food and company, while she was content to remain out of sight for a while. The very last thing she wanted was to confront her attackers again. David had taken a note to her cousin Lady Barbara Matheson so that woman would not search for her or worry.
As she sipped her wine, Efrica studied the tall, slender man sprawled on the bed. It annoyed her to discover that her infatuation with the man still lingered despite three years of strangling it. His looks made such feelings understandable, for he was a beautiful man with his deep black hair and creamy skin. A long straight nose, high cheekbones, and a firm jaw gave his face an elegant, aristocratic look, whereas his thickly lashed golden eyes and sensuous mouth gave his face the warmth such perfectly carved features often lacked. In looks, he was all any woman could ask for. It was his nature that had made her so determined to kill all attraction to him. That was obviously going to take a lot more work.
She should have realized she had not cured herself of her fascination with Jankyn. From that first meeting at Cambrun when she was just a girl of sixteen, he had entered her dreams and stayed there. When she had arrived at court, she had learned of his reputation with women and the pangs that had roused should have warned her. If he had not exiled himself from those at court, she would have seen him with one or more women and ruefully admitted she would have undoubtedly suffered far more than a pang. It was unacceptable, but she was not sure what she could do.
Finishing her wine, she settled herself more comfortably in the chair, resting her feet on the edge of his bed. She would stay with Jankyn until she was sure he had recovered, and then she would do her best to stay far away from him. She refused to allow her heart to be held captive by a licentious rogue who lived in the shadows. Closing her eyes, she carefully listed all of Jankyn’s faults until she fell asleep.
Jankyn slowly opened his eyes to a room lit only by a nearly burnt-out candle set near his bed. A moment later, he recalled why he was lying on his bed and feeling a little weak. As he started to look around, his gaze settled on a pair of small, stockinged feet resting on the edge of his bed. After an appreciative study of the slender legs exposed almost to the knee, he looked at the woman sleeping in the chair and grinned. For a tiny woman, Efrica was taking up a lot of the large chair she was sprawled in, her slim arms dangling over the arms of the chair.
