The Knight’s Reward: Border Series Book Ten

by Mecca, Cecelia

  “Bryce, do not,” Neill protested.

  His brother ignored him. Some things had not, apparently, changed.

  “After Geoffrey wed Lady Sara, we all moved to Kenshire for a time.” Bryce smiled, a slightly fierce smile.

  He had missed his siblings, but not Bryce’s love of telling stories. Especially not when the stories were about him. There was no avoiding it now, though—his friends were listening intently.

  “Neill begged to stay at Kenshire, but the situation was tenuous, Bristol still in the hands of Clan Kerr.”

  All glanced toward the dais where their brother-in-law sat with his wife. Toren obviously knew they were speaking of him, and he raised his mug in response.

  Bryce did the same, the former enemies silently toasting each other.

  “We thought it best he foster away from the borderlands.”

  Bryce set down his mug and leaned back on the bench, crossing his arms as he continued with his tale.

  Neill would find a way to thank his brother later. With nothing left to do but wait for the worst of the story, he drank. Deeply.

  “Sara, of course, suggested Sir Adam.” Their connection was a deep one—Adam honored and admired her grandfather, the man who’d granted him Langford Castle, and her father, his dear friend.

  “A finer man than most,” Aylmer cut in. “All here were fortunate to serve under Sir Adam.”

  Bryce raised his brows. “Do you hear the wisdom of your man-at-arms, brother? ‘Fortunate’ he calls himself, and you, for having such a mentor.”

  Neill tried to cut his brother off. “You’ll understand I’d lost my mother and father. My home. I was young—”

  “Not that young,” Bryce interrupted him.

  “I was young and did not wish to be separated from my siblings.”

  Bryce cleared his throat. “He ran away.”

  Neill sighed, waiting for it.

  “He—” Aylmer nearly choked on his ale, “—ran away?”

  “My little brother was quick to anger in his youth,” Bryce remarked.

  Neill’s companions at least had the grace to appear somewhat surprised.

  Thankfully.

  “When Geoffrey told him, Neill simply . . .” He shrugged. “Disappeared.”

  When his brother started to laugh, the others joined him. Neill knew there was no defense against such an action, so he didn’t even attempt to speak for himself. Besides which, he knew his brother was finally reaching the joke he’d spent the last minutes setting up. Instead, he looked around the hall.

  No sign of her.

  “Where did you go?” Aylmer asked.

  Bryce was all eagerness. “He made it to the village, to the alewife, who was more than happy to make the acquaintance of the new lord’s young brother.”

  Bryce’s hearty laugh drew the stares of those around him. His brother was not prone to laughter, and all knew it. By now, even Neill could not help a small grin.

  “A widow,” he said. “And an amorous one at that.”

  “By the time she’d finished with him, Neill was a virgin no longer.”

  This time, the men’s laughter was so raucous it caught the attention of their host, who called out from the front of the hall.

  “Behold, my English family,” Toren called out. “And the savior of the Day of Truce.”

  Mugs pounded on the trestle tables as they became the center of the hall’s attention. Bryce was still laughing at the story he’d so kindly shared with the men. Neill was left shaking his head, enduring both the ribbing and the cheers.

  A feeling of heaviness descended on Neill as the noise finally died down.

  “I fear they celebrate too soon. Caxton is still warden,” he warned.

  “But his days as such are coming to an end,” Bryce said, “and for that, we are thankful to you, brother.”

  The look of pride on his face was a far greater reward than any prize he’d won in a tournament.

  “And we’re thankful you eventually made your way to Langford,” Aylmer said. “And that the alewife’s thighs did not detain you permanently in their grip.” He lifted his mug and drank.

  Neill was about to comment when he saw her. Finally.

  Kathryn had entered at the very back, against the wall, and claimed a seat at a far table. To others, it might appear as if she belonged there, but Neill knew otherwise.

  She should be with me.

  His dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered his mind. He had no claim to her. Nor would he ever. But to see her sitting there, where she so clearly did not belong . . .

  She spotted him, and their eyes locked.

  He stared at her lips and could not help but think of their kiss.

  Though they could not repeat it, at least Neill would learn her secrets that night.

  But did he really want to know them? Or would it make it more difficult to do as he knew he must and walk away from her?

  Chapter 13

  She couldn’t do it.

  She just couldn’t risk it.

  Changing her mind, yet again, about how much to tell Neill, Kathryn stood from the table and fled the hall. She would lose herself for the night, until the meal was over.

  Her plan was to sleep in the hall with the other servants, something she’d never done in all of her travels. As royal messenger, her father had been considered a member of the king’s retinue, treated as well as any other in his household.

  She’d stayed in royal palaces, the finest castles in England, Wales, and France. But she’d also slept on makeshift pallets on the road, where such accommodations were not available. Thankfully, Brockburg Castle was extremely well-kept, the rushes clean.

  Kathryn would sleep anywhere to get the answers she sought.

  Rounding another corner, exploring the ground floor of the castle as she sought a spot to sleep, Kathryn reached a rather dark stretch of hallway, the last wall torch well behind her. Compared to the darkness of the woods, this corridor should not give her pause. But it did.

  “Kathryn.”

  She jumped, for she hadn’t thought he’d seen her leave.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked as she turned to face him.

  Why indeed?

  She inhaled, the scent of sandalwood telling her what she’d already noticed when she had first spotted him sitting with his brother and their men.

  He’d cleaned himself for the meal. But she hadn’t noticed his tunic earlier, it’s silver-embroidered royal blue marking him a man of wealth and importance. She’d known that, of course, but it was the first time Kathryn had seen him outfitted in such a way.

  That he had the power to awe her when she’d been in the presence of kings and queens for most of her life was the reason why she’d left the hall. She was frightened of the power he held over her—and of how much stronger it would likely grow should she take him fully into her confidence.

  But she couldn’t tell him that.

  “I . . . I cannot.”

  “You cannot tell me why you left? Or you cannot tell me the truth you promised earlier?”

  “Both,” she ventured.

  Though Neill did not look pleased, he didn’t press her. But he did grab her hand, a gesture that was becoming something of a habit.

  He led her down the darkened corridor, and Kathryn followed mutely.

  “Where are we going?”

  No answer.

  They wound their way up a set of circular stairs and through endless corridors, some better lit than others, finally coming to a hallway with four or five doors.

  Opening the second door, still holding her hand, Neill entered and took her with him.

  He didn’t let her go until he closed the large oak door behind them.

  “Is this your chamber?” A silly question, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Aye.”

  Four wall torches lit the small but well-appointed chamber, boasting a canopied bed, two chairs, a small table, and one very unusual featu
re.

  “A window?”

  She walked toward the stone benches that bracketed a much larger window than she was accustomed to seeing in a castle of this size. Kathryn turned back to him, silently asking for permission to open the wooden shutters.

  He nodded for her to proceed, and she did.

  “Ahhh.” She understood now. This particular room faced the training yard, the reason for the large window without bars. An unseasonably cool evening for summer, the air felt good as Kathryn breathed it in.

  “A full moon,” Neill said.

  She hadn’t heard him approach, but he now stood next to her, his breath gusting her hair.

  “Aye.”

  Sitting on the stone seat, he looked up at her as if waiting for her to say something.

  “Why am I here?” she asked.

  Uncomfortable under his careful scrutiny, Kathryn sat down across from her savior of sorts, leaving the shutters open. She could still see the moon from this vantage point, but eventually she was forced to look back at him.

  Well, not forced exactly.

  Neill was more pleasing to look at than anyone else she’d ever met. But he also stared at her as if he could see into her very soul.

  “A fine question,” he said finally.

  Kathryn smiled. “I meant here, in your chamber.”

  She could tell from his expression that Neill knew exactly what she had meant.

  “I thought you might find it difficult to avoid me in here.”

  She looked around the room. “A private chamber when so many will be present for the council.”

  His wink sent a fluttering feeling from her stomach downward.

  “One of the benefits of my brother being married to the sister of our host.”

  Of course. How could she have forgotten?

  “If I’m found here . . .” She couldn’t say the words aloud.

  “You’re worried for your reputation?”

  A small shrug was all she could manage. She should be, but it hardly seemed to matter now. After all, she’d traveled with him without a chaperone. Lived at the inn without one too.

  Neill leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “I will not allow you to be discovered here. And you can trust me, Kathryn.”

  Kathryn believed him.

  And in truth, she wanted to share the burden. She wasn’t sure she could do this alone, and perhaps it would not be necessary.

  “I am certain my father was murdered,” she blurted before she lost the courage to tell him even part of her truth. “The Earl of Bothwell found his body, so when I learned he would be here, I thought to make my way to Brockburg. To question him.”

  If he was surprised by her revelation, Neill didn’t show it.

  “I believe, my lady, you left out the beginning of your tale.”

  And the middle, as well as the end.

  She looked into the eyes of the man who’d agreed to help her despite knowing next to nothing about her. The man who’d always acted honorably toward her, even as she lied to him. Taking another deep breath, Kathryn made a decision she hoped she’d not later regret.

  “My father was the king’s royal messenger.”

  That managed to surprise him.

  “I grew up in the English court, my mother the only daughter of a minor baron. She died during my birth.”

  When his eyes softened, Kathryn rushed to continue lest she dwell too long on the woman she’d never known and whom her father had never stopped loving.

  “When I was younger, I stayed at court, eventually becoming a lady-in-waiting to the queen.” She laughed at his strained expression. “Is that so difficult to imagine?”

  “In fact, it is not. But when I guessed you were a lady . . .” His voice trailed off, so Kathryn resumed her tale. If she did not finish now, she did not trust herself to continue.

  “As I grew older, the men became bolder in their attentions, and my father decided it would be less dangerous for me to accompany him than to stay at court. He had trusted the king with his life, but did not trust his regents the same way.”

  She wouldn’t say aloud what her father had thought of them. Or the new king. To do so would be treason.

  “Edward had just returned to England when my father was given a missive for the Scottish king. So we left for Edinburgh, only my second visit there.”

  “Second visit? Kathryn, where else did you travel with your father?”

  “Many places. France, Wales, Scotland. Even once to Rome.”

  Shaking his head, Neill sat back and crossed his legs. He looked as shocked to hear the words as she was to say them. Although she’d intended only to tell him the broad strokes of the situation, she found she could not stop.

  “When my father arranged for us to stay at an abbey just outside the village, I knew something was amiss. Typically we would stay in the castle. He admitted the message he carried was ‘particularly sensitive’ and urged me to remember my training.”

  “Training?”

  “My father had many friends. He had established a few safe places for me to go, no matter where our location, should something happen to him.” Her voice thick, Kathryn stopped. She’d dealt with the grief of her father’s loss by focusing on her intention to catch his killer. But when she thought about Edinburgh, about the last time she’d seen him, it felt again as if all the air had left her body . . .

  Neill was there, suddenly, next to her. And though she knew that everything about their situation was wrong, Kathryn welcomed his presence. She welcomed his hand, which wrapped around hers in a now-familiar embrace, and also his heat, a respite from the cool night breeze that wafted in from the open shutters.

  Still, she couldn’t look at him, and so Kathryn stared down at her road-weary kirtle instead. She’d brought only two others, ones Magge had procured for her. Kathryn’s own gowns had been discarded, too fine for a serving woman at The Wild Boar.

  “I’d chastised him for worrying, convinced I would never be forced to travel alone to find one of his safe havens. Or to make my way south to my mother’s relatives.”

  Her hand sat on his lap, their fingers entwined, and it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never held a man’s hand before.

  Well, before Neill.

  “When he returned from his audience with the lord chancellor that night, he told me . . .” She did look up then. Neill waited patiently, and she realized once these words were said, there would be no going back. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “He told me that the chancellor had refused to grant him direct access to the king. And since his orders were to ensure the king received his message, my father would not leave Edinburgh. He expressed mistrust of Bothwell and told me we would be staying a bit longer than usual.”

  His gaze did not waver. The confidence with which Neill carried himself was never more evident than in this moment. He would accept whatever she said as truth, and the fact that he trusted her—she could see in his eyes that he did—emboldened her to finish.

  “That was the last time I saw him.”

  She shivered, remembering. And then Neill’s arm circled around her shoulder, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean into him. Kathryn stared straight ahead, watching the light play across the stone wall as the torch flickered in the breeze.

  “The next day, I waited, expecting him by the midday meal. By supper, I grew worried, and when darkness fell . . .”

  She thought of the night she’d spent pacing the room. She’d thought, at the time, it was the worst night of her life.

  Until the next day.

  “I’d not ventured far, staying at the abbey as my father had instructed, speaking only with Father Peton. And it was he who found me just before dusk to tell me . . .” She closed her eyes, ignoring the tingling in her cheeks. “My father’s body had been found along the bank of the Firth of Forth.”

  She would not cry.

&nb
sp; Opening her eyes, she met Neill’s gaze, and the sympathy there was her undoing. The tears began to flow, so fast and thick she barely even noticed the handkerchief Neill had given her or the tightening of his arm around her shoulders. She only knew that the man who had loved her so fiercely was gone, and she’d never even said goodbye. Or confirmed the priest’s words.

  When she collected herself enough to look at him again, Neill reached out and wiped an errant tear from just under her eye with his thumb. So gentle a gesture for a celebrated knight.

  “I did not need Father Peton’s urging to leave the abbey at once.”

  “You traveled to England, alone?” Neill asked, incredulous.

  “Nay. As I was leaving, Father Peton introduced me to a younger man, one who was both priest and warrior. He escorted me to The Wild Boar, where my father had always urged me to go if I found myself alone in the north.”

  She swallowed.

  “Which is where I’ve been for the past seven months.”

  “Seven months? This must have happened just after King Edward finally returned from the East.” He tightened his fingers around hers.

  “Aye.”

  “Your father was murdered for the message he carried.”

  “More like the knowledge. Often his letters were sealed, as this one most assuredly was. But he also knew its contents. ’Twas the reason he’d insisted on a direct audience with the king.”

  “I am very sorry, Kathryn.” His tone, low. His voice, uneven.

  She managed a shaky smile, her heart still feeling broken. That was the second time she’d told the tale, and Kathryn vowed it would be the last. Speaking of it felt like squeezing the wound.

  “If your father did not trust Bothwell, and he was one of the last men to speak with him, I assume you’ve considered that he might be quite dangerous?”

  She nodded. “I’ve considered it.”

  “And yet you planned to march up to the man in the courtyard and demand to know what happened to your father?”

  “Aye.” She’d hoped the surprise would work in her favor.

  “You are a brave woman, Kathryn . . .”

  “Wyld.”

  “From Bondgate-in-Darlington?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. Sherborne.”

  Neill said nothing more, but he did pull her closer. She let herself lean her head against him, nestling closer yet, and they both fell silent.