If You Dare - Cole Kresley (книги онлайн полные версии бесплатно .TXT) 📗

Six

A s Court made his way through the house, he tried to get a grasp of what had just happened. Staring at her eyes, at her plump lips, he'd had a hard time concentrating, but he'd known that she didn't want him—at least not at first. Her actions had been calculated. She'd had an agenda, and it had been a blow.

He'd finally gotten to kiss her, and he'd been left…empty. That she'd seemed to catch on fire like a wick soothed his pride somewhat. Christ, he'd spoken the truth—he'd had a real chance of taking her on the table. And he wouldn't have hesitated.

But now the emptiness turned to ire. He'd truly wanted her while she only wanted something from him—to what end he was sure he'd find out soon enough.

At the front entrance he paused, putting a hand against the wall beside the door, shaking off her effect on him. He curled his fingers against the plaster, willing his body under control, then finally opened the door wide to five of his crew.

"Court!" exclaimed Gavin MacKriel, the oldest of their band. "By God, it's good to see you."

When the man took his shoulders, Court frowned and slapped him on the back with his better hand, then again until Gavin released him and moved on.

MacTiernay, the one-eyed giant, looked him up and down, then punched him in the upper chest in greeting before walking past.

Court stared after him. That was more emotion than MacTiernay had ever demonstrated. Then Niall, his cousin, slapped him on the back, and Liam, the youngest, was about to as well until Court gave him a look of warning. The last inside, Fergus, who'd earned the nickname The Sleeping Scot, actually looked awake and glad to see him.

He showed them in and then on into the parlor. As if he owned the place. "Where are the rest?"

Liam had already nabbed a pear from a fruit-laden bowl in the foyer. At nineteen he was still growing and could eat double his weight in food every day. He took a bite and said between chews, "They have been searching for a body for your kin to bury."

"I appreciate the sentiment." Court took a seat at the main table, feeling weak from their greetings. Nothing like Highlanders striking you to get your mind off a woman. "You were that sure I was dead?"

"We followed your pair of Rechazados," Fergus answered as he eased himself into a seat, "then persuaded them to partake in one last conversation. They told us they'd killed you."

"That was the plan. You took out two? We're at forty-seven, then?"

"Forty-seven and counting," Gavin said. "I hope you told them we were coming to kill them."

"Aye, I did. It dinna have the effect I was hoping for, but satisfies now."

Niall stood to survey a wine sideboard. "After we got your message, I sent the rest of the crew to the smuggler's lodge to wait for us."

Niall was to take over their band if anything happened to him, and Court nodded his approval at Niall's decision. They'd stumbled upon the isolated lodge while exploring the back passes along the border with France. It was filled with long-abandoned luxuries, dust-covered crates packed with silver, porcelain, and crystal that some smuggler had never made it back for.

"And I brought your gear," Niall added. "You doona look like you're hurting for clothes, but I bet you miss your weapons."

"You've no idea." When he'd heard riders coming, he hadn't known if he'd finally brought Pascal's men down upon this place. He hadn't known how he'd protect her from them.

"So whose home is this?" Niall asked.

"An Andorran lass's." Court wondered if they could see he was thrown. No battle, no violence had ever made him off balance like this.

Niall gave him a razor-sharp look. "She's bonny?" Yes, Niall could see.

"Aye," he admitted. Moments ago, that beautiful woman had sunk her fingers into his muscles to get closer to him. He'd thought her reaction was real and reveled in it, but if she was willing to manipulate him…He caught them regarding him quizzically. "She found me half dead by the river and dragged me back here. No men around, so I've just been lingering on."

"Dragged you? So she's a big, bonny Andorran?"

"She and her horse dragged me. No, she's just a wee thing. You should see her—a good gust would send her reeling." Court noticed Niall studying him and changed the subject. "Have you heard any news?"

Niall removed a bottle of wine and whistled at the label before saying, "We heard word that Spain might come for its deserters any day now. And if they doona, France will."

"It's about bloody time." Court had been continually disgusted with the lack of action against the invasion. Yes, Andorra was small, but its location was critical, as Pascal well knew. "Where'd you hear this?"

Gavin scratched his neck. "From Otto."

"Otto, huh?" Court's eyes narrowed. "Now why would he be contacting us?"

Gavin hesitated, then said, "He's…overextended again."

"He usually is." Which was why Court had broken from the Prussian's company years ago and formed his own. "What's it this time? Sixty against five hundred?" Otto kept his band winnowed down and repeatedly contracted for huge jobs. Great way to make a lot of coin. Sure way to get killed.

"Could be that many," Niall said absently as he returned the bottle and selected another. By the look on his face, this one was even more valuable. Not that Niall was such the wine expert, but he had an uncanny sense for money and could perceive value like a dog could scent a trail.

"And he's coming to us hat in hand?" Court didn't like where this was going. Some of his men didn't mind playing the odds, no matter how bad they were.

Gavin nodded. "We might be able to recoup some of the pay we lost here."

Court shook his head firmly. "We have no' lost it yet."

"No shame in cutting bait," Niall said. "Another crew, those Tyrolean sharpshooters, left without pay."

Gavin added, "The region's unstable and everybody's tails are twitching. No one wants to go head to head with Pascal, especially no' after what he did to you."

Niall removed his gaze from the wine to study Court. "They banged you up good?"

So much that Court was still astonished that he'd lived. "Them and the river. I had to jump blind into the falls, then ride them headfirst."

"And your wrist?" Niall asked. Court had never met a more sharp-eyed person than his cousin. "Looks odd and you're favoring one hand."

His wrist should look odd, since it was very stiff and sorer than usual, due solely to the fact that ten minutes ago he'd had both hands splayed on Annalia's lush bottom. "Broke it. Had a cast on it. I think another week till I'm right."

"A cast?" Niall asked with disbelief. "What's wrong with leather between the teeth until it stops paining you? Casts are for bairn and lasses when they fall off their ponies."

Only Liam and Gavin laughed. The impassive MacTiernay had never indicated he was capable of it, and Fergus had already crossed his arms over his chest and was slumped back asleep.

"I dinna have any say on the cast." Court gingerly flexed his fingers. "The Andorran did it when I was knocked out." He frowned at Niall, who was returning to the table with the bottle uncorked and a clutch of wine glasses. Perhaps they ought not be drinking this bottle if it was dearer than the one that Niall had whistled over.

"So how long were you out?" Niall asked as he poured a round.

"Two days." Though Court wasn't normally a wine drinker, he accepted a glass, curious to see what it'd taste like. His drink of choice was whisky because it rendered him as jovial as he'd ever get. Wine? Not so much. "I'm just surprised Pascal dinna find me in all this time."

"He's searching the countryside, but not as he might in the past because he's been busy. Hark this—he's taking a bride," Niall said. "She's some Spanish aristocrat, supposed to have royal blood or some such. Marrying her will give him more claim to Spain than any of the generals before him."