Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  “Do you believe we will see ghosts?”

  She was clearly hoping he’d say ‘aye.’ “I have never seen a ghost,” he answered evenly. “I do not know anyone who has. I have to wonder how many of the old tales were started by madmen and drunkards.”

  She brushed breadcrumbs from her skirt. “A few, mayhap, but not all of them.”

  “You told me you have lived in this area all of your life,” he countered. “Have you ever seen a spirit? Has anyone in your family?”

  With a grudging smile, she shook her head.

  “I vow ’tis safe to say we will not meet any ghosts. I do not even know why I brought up the subject.”

  “Dare I say you were concerned I might be squeamish? That I might have a screaming fit and a bout of hysterics?”

  “I gather you are not squeamish, then?”

  She laughed. “Mayhap a little, but I will not scream or become hysterical, I promise.”

  Osric grinned. “What about swooning?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not likely.”

  “What a brave woman you are.”

  “I like to think so. However, tomorrow could well be the first time I swoon.”

  Now she was teasing him. “You will have your crutches to prop you up.”

  Her gaze turned coy. “You will not rush in to catch me when my eyes flutter closed? I thought knights enjoyed rescuing damsels.”

  “I do, love.” His grin broadened. “You do not have to swoon, though, to be in my arms.”

  The air between them suddenly charged with a potent sense of anticipation. Kiss her. Give in to the white-hot desire crackling in your veins. Osric pressed his hands into the coverlet on the bed to keep from reaching for her. “Speaking of crutches,” he said, “mayhap you should try out the ones I brought.”

  “A wise idea, since I have never used them before.”

  “’Tis not hard.” When she eyed him expectantly, he added, “Many months ago, I twisted my left leg while fighting Saracens. I had to be carried from the battlefield and hobbled around on crutches for nigh a sennight.” He fetched the crutches and, once she was standing, handed them to her.

  “Now, this is a smooth floor.” He moved backward while she tucked one crutch under each arm. “Be careful not to slip on the planks. If these crutches work for you, I will see what can be done to roughen up the bottoms.”

  With the dull thud of wood touching wood, she took a slow but competent step.

  “Well done.” Nodding in encouragement, he moved back another pace.

  “’Tis simple enough.” She continued forward. “I am sure—”

  The right crutch skidded sideways. In his mind, Osric saw her landing hard on her injured ankle. He lunged, slid his arms around her, and hauled her flush against him to break her fall.

  When their bodies touched, Violetta gasped.

  She froze, trembling in his arms, her face barely a breath away from his. Eyes wide, she stared at him, wariness but also hunger in her expression. The right crutch clattered to the floorboards.

  Osric didn’t move to pick it up. He couldn’t. All he wanted—needed—was to be right where he was, holding her.

  “Milord,” she whispered.

  Kiss her, the sinful voice inside him urged. No matter who she is, you have every right, as lord.

  He pressed his lips to hers.

  His senses flooded with exquisite sensations: the warmth of her mouth; the sweet, feminine scent rising from her skin; the softness of her tresses brushing his wrist as his arms tightened around her. Heat whipped through him. He’d kissed many women through the years, but this intoxicating awareness was unlike any he’d ever experienced before.

  As he lifted his mouth from hers, their breaths mingled. Her eyelids remained closed, as though she was still caught up in the kiss. How he wanted to kiss her again, more passionately, more thoroughly, to learn the luscious contours of her mouth, but she might not—

  Her right arm slid around him. Her palm flattened to his back while she rose on tiptoes. Even as he drew in a startled breath, their mouths collided.

  Pleasure.

  A groan of pure, undeniable lust rumbled in his chest. She kissed him deeply, crushed herself against him, her breaths hungry rasps.

  Desire consumed him. All he knew was the incredible taste and touch of her. His lips left hers for an instant, pressed kisses to the corner of her mouth, her chin, her neck, while she quivered in his embrace.

  He kissed his way back to her mouth. He never wanted to let her go.

  Never wanted to—

  Voices, outside the chamber, reached Osric. Breaking the kiss, he lifted his head to listen.

  She froze, just as someone rapped on the door.

  A strangled cry warbled from her. He pushed her to arm’s length, and once he knew she’d gotten her balance—by some miracle she’d kept hold of the left crutch—he retrieved the fallen one and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” Her mouth was swollen and red. Her face looked flushed, as though they’d enjoyed a lot more than a few kisses.

  Not a thing he could do about that right now.

  He opened the door.

  “Aye, Crawford?” Osric said, as the man bowed.

  “Forgive my intrusion, milord. A missive just arrived for you.”

  “Fine. Leave it in my solar.”

  The steward shook his head. “I strongly suggest that you read it right away.”

  ~ * ~

  Violetta tightened her grip on the crutches and took a careful step. Aye, she’d slipped earlier, but her entire body itched to move. She couldn’t stand idle while Osric talked with his man named Crawford.

  She’d recognized the surname. The Crawfords had served as stewards at Coltingstow for years. Crawfords, doubtless from the same family, were stewards at several other castles in Wiltshire.

  She’d never met any of them, though. At eight years old, she’d been sent away from home to become a ward of her father’s youngest brother, and had lived at his fortress until her return last summer, when she’d moved back to Darringsleigh to finish preparations for her wedding—arrangements that had to be cancelled upon Melwin’s death.

  Whenever she’d gone into the town, she’d been escorted by guards who had ensured no one got close to her. Her father had pointed out Anson Crawford to her one day at a tournament most of the local folk had attended, but hopefully, that one instance wasn’t enough for the man to recognize her now, especially when she wore common garb.

  Still, Violetta avoided facing the doorway and kept her head down.

  Step number six. Step number seven.

  ’Twas not easy to keep her mind from those wondrous kisses.

  Kissing Osric had been a wholly different experience to kissing Melwin.

  While kissing her betrothed had elicited a limited kind of pleasure, with Osric, her consciousness had sparked with the most astonishing sensations. Her skin still tingled, dizzying elation still swirled inside her, and her heart still hammered as though she’d run up a steep hill.

  How could she feel so, after kissing him? He was, and always would be, her enemy.

  Surely ’twas wrong to have enjoyed kissing him? Yet, she couldn’t have denied Osric, not even if she’d wanted to; ’twould have threatened her ruse.

  Step number thirteen. Step fourteen—

  “Lettie.”

  She halted. When she glanced at Osric, his intense gaze robbed her of breath. Wicked heat rippled through her, for she very much wanted to kiss him again. Knowing she couldn’t—not with Crawford present—somehow made her crave it all the more.

  Was Osric, too, wishing they could be back in each other’s arms?

  “I am afraid I must leave,” he said. “I will see you on the morrow.”

  Right. Tomorrow they’d venture into the tunnel…unless the missive Crawford had mentioned would force a change of plans. Did the matter concern her? Not likely, since she’d been reported found. “I do hope all is well, milord.”

&n
bsp; “As do I.”

  Sensing Crawford studying her, Violetta dipped her head and did her best to curtsy. “Until tomorrow, then, Lord Seabrook.”

  ~ * ~

  Osric entered the solar. Once the steward had followed him inside, Osric shut the door, went to the hearth, and unfurled the parchment. In the shifting firelight, he read:

  Lord Seabrook,

  If you harm my daughter in any way, I will cut off your ballocks and feed them to the pigs.

  Osric’s stunned gaze flicked to Crawford, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Did his lordship read a different letter to the one I sent? God’s blood, but he is bold with his threats.”

  “’Tis the Molineaux way.” The steward’s tone implied he’d expected a fiery response.

  “My letter was cordial.” Osric frowned. “How could he have taken what I said to imply I would hurt Violetta?”

  “’Twould not matter what you said, or how diplomatically you conveyed it. You are enemies. Molineaux clearly intends to remain so.”

  Osric’s grip on the parchment tightened. Violetta had mentioned the strain of family pressures. Her sire seemed to be an impulsive, hard-headed man—as Osric’s own father had been.

  No way in hellfire would Osric send her back to a tyrant. But, he didn’t want to go to war, either. Innocent folk always ended up being killed in the fighting, and he’d experienced more than enough slaughter in the East.

  “Read on, milord,” Crawford urged.

  You will return Violetta to Darringsleigh Keep by twilight tomorrow. Fail to do so, and I will crush you.

  “He is mad!” Osric crumpled the missive into a ball.

  “My advice, milord? Order Lane to ready your men for battle.”

  Osric shook his head. “If Molineaux heard I was gathering an army, he’d believe I had no intention of returning Violetta to him. He might not bother to wait until twilight. He might immediately order an attack.”

  The steward scowled. “Your late father would have—”

  “I vow even my sire would have agreed the best arrangement for all is to send Violetta home by twilight tomorrow.” Anguish gripped Osric, for he might never see her again, but what he wanted was less important than preventing bloodshed. “I will write another missive to Molineaux and confirm ’tis what will happen.” Osric strode for the trestle table and his supply of parchment, quills, and ink.

  “’Tis growing late. I can do the letter for you, if you wish, and have it sent at dawn.”

  A sigh wrenched from Osric, for his head was hammering like a battle drum. Over the past weeks, Crawford had done an excellent job with the missives he’d penned and that Osric had reviewed before they’d been sent. By now, Osric should be able to trust the steward to handle the correspondence.

  He nodded his agreement.

  “As a matter of interest, does her ladyship know she will be going home on the morrow?”

  “Not yet, but I will tell her. I will be seeing her in the morning, anyway.”

  “Aye. Your exploration of the tunnel.”

  ’Twas supposed to have been kept secret. “How did you learn of it?” Osric asked.

  “Lane consulted me on the preparations. He had some concerns about your safety.”

  “Why did he not share those concerns with me?”

  The steward shook his head. “’Tis our duty to handle such matters for you. I trust we have not disappointed you in any manner? We Crawfords always strive to serve with excellence.”

  Nicely said, but Osric would still have preferred to keep knowledge of the tunnel limited to but a very few men. However, he hadn’t told the captain-of-the-guard that he was forbidden to discuss preparations with his sire. “All right. And I do appreciate all that you do for me, Crawford.”

  “’Tis an honor, milord. Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to that letter.”

  Chapter 7

  Supported by her crutches anchored in the dew-laden grass, Violetta peered down at the opening in the ground. “It looks larger than before.”

  “More of the earth at the sides must have fallen in.” Osric rose from dropping a length of rope into the tunnel. He handed the rest of the coiled rope to the captain-of-the guard, who started passing it back to the two men-at-arms lined up behind him.

  Hot-cold tingles skittered through her as Osric’s shoulder muscles bunched and shifted beneath his tunic. She forced her gaze back to the grass, even as she recalled his arms around her as they’d ridden together on his destrier to the field. He’d insisted ’twas the best way for her to travel with her injury. She’d agreed, not realizing just how aware she’d be of his chest pressed against her back, his breath stirring her hair, and the jostling together of their lower bodies that had brought to mind pursuits far too scandalous for an unwed maiden to ponder. Thankfully, after he’d helped her down from the horse, she’d succeeded in getting the improper thoughts under control. Mostly.

  Near Violetta, a guard used a flint to light reed torches. The other two men-at-arms watched over the horses grazing near the stone circle, while keeping a lookout for folk who might wander over to see what was going on. Osric had ordered his guards to keep spectators away.

  Osric adjusted the strap, running diagonally across his torso, of the leather bag at his hip then glanced at her. With his dark hair wind-ruffled, and his sun-bronzed face swept by sunshine, he was truly breathtaking.

  Violetta smiled; she simply couldn’t help it. From the moment she’d woken, she’d sensed the day would be extraordinary, and whatever surprises the tunnel held, she couldn’t wait to discover them with him.

  He winked, and she barely resisted crossing the few paces between them and kissing him, regardless of who might see. Last night, as she’d lain in bed, her mind had replayed their kisses over and over again, and she’d found it difficult to fall asleep. Restless, tormented by yearning, she’d stayed awake until the fire had burned low, before finally drifting off.

  “Ready?” Osric asked her.

  “Aye.”

  With leather-gloved hands, he caught hold of the rope vanishing into the ground. They’d agreed earlier that he would go first, so he could help her descend. While a maidservant had returned her laundered clothes and gloves that morning, Violetta had decided to wear the borrowed garments until she returned from the tunnel. She had brought her gloves, though, and slipped them on.

  The rope creaked, and the men-at-arms holding it grunted as Osric descended into the ground. His tousled head disappeared, and an instant later, she heard a muffled thud.

  “Your turn,” Osric called.

  Violetta dropped her crutches, caught hold of the rope, and slid down into the hole. Dirt rained onto her clothes, while Osric’s arms went around her and guided her down into the shadows. The captain-of-the-guard lowered down her crutches, as well as two burning torches.

  Osric waited until she’d got the crutches positioned under her arms. Then, holding the flaming reeds aloft, he said, “I suggest we go this way first.” He tipped his head to the left.

  “I agree.” She’d hoped they’d explore the section near the stone circle first.

  As she hobbled along, her gaze traveled over the dirt walls supported in places by stones. The cool air smelled damp and musty, as she remembered.

  Ahead, near the spot where she’d collapsed to rest, Osric slowed and lowered a torch to illuminate the ground.

  “What did you find?” she asked, moving closer.

  “Footprints. Left by someone wearing boots.”

  “One of us, yesterday?”

  He crouched for a better look, glanced down the passageway then rose. “They are not ours. We did not get that far into the tunnel.”

  “That means—”

  “Aye. Someone came through here after I rescued you, even though I forbade it.”

  Mother Mary. “Who would dare to disobey their lord?”

  Osric’s eyes narrowed. “I will find out.”

  They continued on, the crackle of the
torch punctuated by the thump of her crutches. Violetta recalled the terror of being on her own in the tunnel. She’d dreaded being discovered by Osric, but now, she couldn’t imagine her days without him.

  What would happen when he learned the truth about her? Would he hate her for her deception? What if he—?

  “All right, love?” Osric asked over his shoulder.

  “I am.”

  “You are very quiet.”

  “I am committing to memory what I am seeing.”

  “Ah. So you can tell your family?”

  Fighting a frisson of unease, Violetta said: “I want to remember everything about this adventure. I am not likely to be down here again.”

  “Nay?”

  “Of course not.” She skirted a stone protruding from the ground. “I would have no way to get in or out of the tunnel on my own.”

  “I am sure we could think of a way.”

  We? “Are you saying you want me to return to this place, milord?”

  Osric faced her, and his lips curved into a mischievous smile. “’Tis an excellent spot to be alone.”

  “This shadowy, damp tunnel?”

  “This shadowy, damp tunnel.” He shoved a torch into a tangle of roots in the wall; the reed stayed put in its makeshift holder.

  Violetta’s pulse raced as Osric approached. His right hand slid along her jaw to cradle her face, his fingertips touching her hair. Torchlight flickered, washes of gold, orange, and yellow, as he murmured, “Would you come to this place, if I asked?”

  For him, she would. But, she didn’t want to give in too easily. “I might.”

  “Might?”

  “As long as you agreed to kiss me.”

  He laughed. “Anything else?”

  She delayed answering for a moment. “I would also like to have pleasant conversations about things that are important to us.”

  “Like ancient stone circles?”

  She chuckled. “Aye.”

  “Those are all of your demands, then?”

  “Except for one more,” she said.

  “And that is?”

  “That you…touch me.”

  His features tautened with sensual hunger. “Touch you?”

  “Mmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his hand, still cupping her face. “I love the feel of your skin against mine.”