Her answer was immediate. “I cannot.”
Even those words were probably a mistake, for Kathryn had effectively admitted to having a secret. Of course, Neill knew that already. He’d known it from the start.
“You cannot?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Nay.”
“If you cannot tell me what ails you, then perhaps you can explain why you would see to your own welfare and safety, then come back down here all alone. It makes no sense.”
“I am rash,” she admitted.
“Pardon?”
“Rash. My father used the word often to describe me. ’Tis the reason I’m down here when I should not be.”
That smile. Kathryn was sure she would say, or do, just about anything to see it.
“As am I, at times.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye. According to Adam, the man with whom I fostered. And my brothers too.” He frowned. “So you will admit coming out here was not the best idea.”
“Mayhap, but I’ll not say I regret it.”
When he turned serious, his smile faltering, Kathryn realized how foolish she’d sounded. “I didn’t mean . . .”
Only she had. He was the reason she didn’t regret venturing where she should not have gone. She’d wished to speak to him about Brockburg, aye, but that wasn’t the only reason she was happy to see him.
His lips parted, just slightly. She couldn’t stop staring at them, wondering what they would feel like on hers. What a proper kiss, from him, would feel like.
Something told her such a kiss wouldn’t be merely passable.
The men who’d entered the stables rode past them, interrupting the tense moment. One of them inclined his head to Neill before they rode off into the night.
The moment had passed. Thankfully. Kathryn needed to focus on the task at hand. Convincing Neill Waryn to take her to Brockburg.
“What do you regret?”
The question took her aback. She blinked, considering her answer.
“I regret not saying goodbye to my father.”
“Was his death unexpected?”
Kathryn should not have told him the truth. But she had, and there was no way to take it back. “Aye.”
But she needed to turn the conversation to him.
“I would imagine the great Neill Waryn has no regrets?”
The look he gave her said otherwise. At first, he didn’t answer.
“I’ve spent the past few years fostering with a great man by the name of Sir Adam Dayne. He and his wife, Cora, have taught me many things.” He sighed. “Regret, he said, is a thief, and only we can allow him to steal from us.”
He shrugged.
“I’ve never wasted time on the sentiment . . .”
She sensed there was more, but he stopped talking.
“You are fortunate to have been fostered with them, it seems?”
“Aye, fortunate indeed.”
They fell silent.
“So what happened?”
Neill slipped his dagger into the leather pouch at his side. “If you’d like, I can tell you inside.”
“Will it be difficult to explain why I am unescorted?”
That smile was back, and she felt her heart throb in response. “We shall say your escort was run through by a reiver.”
Her eyes widened. “But—”
“I jest,” he said, laughing. “If anyone should ask, I will simply run them through myself.” With that, Neill turned toward the door, expecting her to follow.
She did laugh then at the pure outrageousness of his suggestion. With any luck, none would inquire after her. Kathryn would not like to be the cause of an argument between Neill and the other guests, and something told her he would not hesitate to defend her honor.
Chapter 8
Kathryn had never gotten around to making her request at the Anvil Inn. Or in the two days since. Perhaps it was simply that she thought he’d deny her. Or maybe, and she feared this was true, she simply enjoyed his company too much to endanger the connection they’d formed.
She was brooding over the matter a couple of evenings later when Neill called out, “Hold.”
When Neill stopped, the men did as well, Kathryn’s borrowed mount falling in line with the others. After four days, Kathryn had worked out that although Neill was not the group’s official leader, the others looked to him for guidance.
And although Kathryn would be hard-pressed to find anything disagreeable about Neill, she had noticed a failing of his—something her father would have cautioned her against. Aylmer disagreed with the spot Neill had picked for their camp, saying it was much too close to the road. But Neill had quickly dismissed the other man’s concerns, saying they would be perfectly safe.
Noble? Aye. Handsome? Certainly.
But the gallant Neill Waryn, called the greatest knight in the kingdom of England, was not accustomed to being questioned.
Perhaps stupidly, Kathryn had hoped an act of God would resolve the problem of Dunbar. She’d left the request so long in the hopes there’d be an unexpected delay and they’d have no choice but to put off the trip until after the council meeting. But it hadn’t rained even once, despite her vigilant observations of the sky.
One of the men, Burns, had even remarked on it that day, asking how she managed to stay atop her horse as she constantly looked up rather than forward. Laughing at the observation, Kathryn had challenged him to a race, the wide-open field around them perfect for a little competition.
The knight truly hadn’t had a chance. She’d almost felt sorry for him, for his loss had given his companions, including Neill, a source of amusement for most of the day.
Which hadn’t gotten her any closer to making her request of Neill.
“I’ll take him,” Burns said as she dismounted her horse.
Kathryn handed the reins to him. “A boon for my win?”
Even Aylmer chuckled at her little jest.
“Aye, my lady,” Burns bit back, though he was still smiling.
They’d taken to calling her such at Neill’s insistence. At Brockburg, there would be others around, and so she’d be sure to correct them. For now, she was happy for them to make her feel like Kathryn, the young woman who’d been trained by her father and educated by royal tutors, rather than Kathryn the bar wench.
Sighing, she followed the men into the woods, the thicket likely one of the reasons Neill had chosen to stop here. But then she spied the other reason.
“What is that?” she asked him. “It looks like a farmhouse made of stone.”
“Bryce told me of it, an abandoned bastle house so old none know its name or origin.”
Actually, two tall but narrow stone buildings stood side by side in a clearing only large enough for the two structures. What might have once been open field around them was now overgrown with trees and bushes.
“Early reivers built them, likely. Though now they house travelers like us.”
“And reivers too?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
While they spoke, the men walked past them with the horses, which meant a river or stream must be nearby.
“Aye.”
He studied her much as he had these past days, as if trying to learn something of her without asking. And there was something else to his expression. A certain interest Kathryn could not afford to explore.
“If you want to wash—”
“I’ll follow the men,” she finished, suddenly feeling awkward. She didn’t look back, though she wanted to see his face. Those serious eyes. That mouth that could transform his face with a simple smile. Instead, Kathryn put the handsome knight out of her mind as she followed the men to the stream. Slow-running with more rocks than water, it would do for her purposes. She bent by the side and started to wash her face.
“Where did you learn to ride like that?” Aylmer asked from over her shoulder.
She’d expected someone to ask and had prepared an answer.
“My father was once a
stable master, before he passed.” She looked up to the heavens. It had gotten dark so quickly. Standing, Kathryn took the rag she’d brought to dry herself with and wiped her face and hands.
Aylmer merely grunted, but it must have been enough to pacify him since he didn’t press her.
“Will Burns hear of this for some time, then?”
She couldn’t tell in the waning light of dusk, but Kathryn swore she spied a smile. A small one, aye, but she’d count it as progress. She knew Aylmer had not been pleased to bring her along on their journey.
“A question you could have asked,” Burns said, approaching them, “before trouncing me so thoroughly.”
The way he grinned at her, teased her, made her feel like one of the men. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder what these men thought of her. Surely they knew how unusual it was for a lady to accompany a group of men on such a journey. She reminded herself that didn’t matter.
Like the previous nights, she sat with the men around a fire, listening, not saying much. They talked of being graced with good weather for the journey—though she would disagree—as well as the upcoming council meeting. Kathryn had learned much about what was to come, including Neill’s part in the final effort at peace.
It was no small thing to force a king’s hand, but apparently that was what he had done by asking for Caxton’s removal as his boon. A bold, brave move that seemed so indicative of the man she knew.
It was Lord Caxton’s underhanded dealings that had prompted the Scottish wardens and clans from attending the Day of Truce. Because of Neill, the borderlands would see the removal of a warden Kathryn knew most despised, including Magge, except for the small few who benefited from his corruption.
She watched as the fire was doused, a nightly practice, and wondered about their sleeping arrangements. She caught Neill’s eye, but he immediately looked away.
“Lady Kathryn will take the southern tower,” he announced, “further from the road.”
Looking at the two buildings standing nearly side by side, Kathryn shivered. Though she welcomed shelter, the thought of sleeping alone in the abandoned building was not a prospect she anticipated with pleasure.
Taking a deep breath, Kathryn bade the men goodnight and walked toward the abandoned building.
When she entered the open doorway, it took her a moment to acclimate. It was just as she might have expected of a stone farmhouse. One room. More like a stable than anything, with a wooden ladder leading to a loft high above her head.
“We sleep up there.”
She spun, startled, only then realizing Neill had followed her.
“We?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Did you believe I’d have you sleep in there alone?”
She had thought that very thing and was relieved to learn it wasn’t so.
“Kathryn, have you been so mistreated . . .” He stopped. “Nay, do not answer that.”
“Why?”
“’Tis not my concern. But you’re under my protection now.” He nodded toward the ladder. “I will follow you in a moment.”
She blinked, realizing he was giving her time to prepare her pallet. Though they’d slept in close proximity before, it seemed more . . . intimate without the presence of his companions. But she supposed it did make sense. If they were attacked . . .
“Your companions do not mind the prospect of being attacked first?” she blurted, stepping off the ladder.
The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet.
Kathryn dropped her belongings and laid out the bedroll, wishing she had straw or grass to stuff it with. They may be sleeping indoors, but the hard floor would be no more forgiving than the dirt mattress on which they’d been sleeping.
“Nay,” he called up, laughter in his voice. “They rather enjoy it.”
Well, it had been a silly question deserving of a silly answer. She had just enough time to remove her tunic, kirtle, and boots before the sound of the creaking ladder reached her ears.
She quickly scrambled atop her bedroll and pulled the thin blanket to her shoulders. Though her shift still covered her arms, Kathryn felt bare, as if she wore nothing at all. Especially under his gaze.
When Neill carried his belongings toward her, laying his own bedroll down not far from hers, Kathryn turned and curled to the side . . . as if she could ever possibly fall asleep. She listened to the sound of his sword hitting the floor, the straps of his leather boots being undone.
“I can move further away,” he said, as if sensing her uncertainty.
“No, ’tis fine.” She did not have to turn to look to know where he was lying now. She could sense his warmth, his presence.
“I didn’t wish to be too close to the ladder.”
She shifted carefully toward him, the blanket still to her chin.
He was exactly where she’d sensed him to be, positioned directly between her and the entry point for any possible attack.
“I suppose you’ve learned to consider strategy?”
Despite herself, she found her eyes lowering to take him in. His loose shirt covered a pair of linen braies, neither covered by a blanket. The opening of his shirt exposed just enough for Kathryn to see a glimpse of his bare chest under it.
“I have.”
“No blanket?” she blurted.
“None.”
Neill turned onto his side, facing her, and propped his head in his hands.
“You’re preserving enough modesty for both of us.”
Kathryn gasped.
“Apologies for saying so, my lady.” But those words had been accompanied by a grin that said the very opposite.
“Kathryn,” she corrected. “And when we . . .” She’d almost said, when we get to Brockburg. Although their current situation was admittedly awkward, their privacy did afford her the perfect opportunity to do what she’d been avoiding and discuss her final destination with him.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I would like to discuss something with you . . .”
“Neill.”
She’d not yet called him by his given name.
“Neill.”
He smiled. This one was not a mocking or teasing smile. It was intended to put her at ease.
“I worry taking me to Dunbar may delay your arrival to Brockburg.”
He seemed surprised by her observation, as if he’d expected her to say something else.
“I will have you escorted there by Aylmer, so you need not be concerned.”
Hm. She had worried he might say that. Unfortunately, she could think of no other reason for him to take her to Brockburg. Kathryn had thought of many excuses, but none seemed viable.
She was left with just one possible approach:
The truth.
Or part of it, at least.
“I wish for you to take me to Brockburg with you.”
There, she’d said it.
Just as she’d expected, Neill shook his head. “’Tis not possible, Kathryn. Men from both sides of the border will be at the council, but their wives will not.”
“I am not your wife.”
Although the thought had occurred to her. She’d never seriously considered marriage before—the men she’d met at court were vapid and uninteresting—but it would be a wonderful thing to marry a man such as Neill Waryn. Whomever he did marry would be a lucky woman indeed.
“A companion, then.”
Suddenly, the very air around them changed. She wondered if their relationship was something he’d thought of as well.
There are no relations between us. He is my escort and that is all.
“What are you hiding?” he asked, putting words to the dance between them—one based on concealment and pursuit.
Kathryn sighed. “There is a man there I would like to speak with.”
Neill tensed. She could see it in his shoulders, the hard line of his lips confirming he had interpreted her words very differently than how she’d meant them.
Kathryn had intended t
o tell him about her father. Not his occupation or the circumstances around his death, but the fact that he had been murdered—enough truth that he would agree that it was harmless enough for her to speak with the man who’d last seen him alive.
But instead, he thought she meant . . .
Kathryn’s cheeks flushed with heat.
Why had she not considered how he would interpret her words? Especially given Magge’s advice, which she’d discarded, on how to convince Neill to escort her.
“I am sorry for my deception. But I’d worried you might not have agreed to escort me had I told you the real reason.” She looked down, her embarrassment not a ruse.
It was very, very real. The thought that she was willing to leave England, leave The Wild Boar, to chase after some man . . .
“You would have been correct.”
His voice hard, Neill rolled onto his back, ignoring her. This was not the man she’d come to know. Kathryn had rarely felt this embarrassed, this conscious of her every breath and movement, but she could not let it go.
“Will you take me, then?”
He didn’t look at her.
“Who is this man?”
She hated the censure in his voice. The anger. But Kathryn could not give up. It would be better for her to allow him to think as he did. If he knew the truth, that she courted danger, not romance, he might not relent.
“I cannot say.”
He was quiet for so long, Kathryn was sure he would refuse her. Neill rolled over then, giving her his back.
“I will take you to Brockburg.”
She waited, but he did not continue. She wasn’t even sure if he heard her “thank you” because he did not address her again.
It took her some time to finally fall asleep. Sadness, guilt, and a tinge of regret kept her mind active until finally, sometime later, she drifted off into a fitful rest.
Chapter 9
A man. She had wanted to come here to meet a man.
Neill attempted to push the thought from his mind, but he was all too aware of her presence behind him. At least she rode separately.
They’d arrived at Brockburg Castle.
Most outsiders tended to discount the seat of Clan Kerr as a minor holding due to its size, but Neill knew otherwise. The castle, nestled high up on a ridge, had never been taken. While Bristol Manor had changed hands many times over the years, Brockburg was just far enough north that no one disputed it was firmly in Scotland and on Clan Kerr land. That, along with the high defensive walls and elevated position, Brockburg had been the seat of more than one council meeting during the past year.
The Knight’s Reward: Border Series Book Ten Page 6