A Knight and His Rose

by Catherine Kean

  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.”

  “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 Seven

  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.”

  His thumb stroked her chin. “I love it, too,” he rasped.

  “Then I say—”

  The rest of her words were crushed under his mouth. As their lips met, she groaned and kissed him hungrily. He sighed against her mouth, kissed her fast, hard, as though he was starved for the taste of her. Her heart soared.

  His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she shuddered before gliding her tongue against his. Their mouths parted then met once again in a passionate kiss. Their snatched breaths echoed into the shadows, until at last, they broke apart.

  “I will agree to your terms,” he said softly. “If you agree to mine.”

  “What are yours, then?” She ached to know.

  Grinning, he stepped away. “I will tell you, but not just yet.”

  ***

  Resolve burned within Osric. Before he sent Violetta home by the twilight deadline, they would talk, not just about his terms, but about the moments they’d spent together. ’Twould mean admitting he’d known who she was all along, but if they had any chance of a future together, whether as friends or—he hoped—far more, truth must be the basis of their relationship. He would have it no other way.

  Torchlight hit the walls of the passageway a short distance ahead. God’s blood—

  “Osric?”

  “The tunnel dips ahead.” He walked faster. “It opens into a cavern.”

  “Wait,” she called, the gritty thump of her steps quickening.

  He waited for her to catch up. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation as together, they entered the small chamber that smelled of damp soil.

  He held the torch as high as he dared. Not far above the flames, roots dangled down between several horizontal stones that created a low ceiling. The walls were also buffered with stone. He turned slowly, so the light played over every part of the cavern.

  “Astonishing,” Violetta whispered.

  “’Tis indeed. The outer edge of the stone circle must be above us.” Toward the left corner of the ceiling, one of the large stones had tilted downward, at an angle. Over the years, the earth had shifted and sunk in. The recent rains might have worn away the soil even more. He prayed the ceiling wasn’t ready to collapse; not whilst they were inside the cavern.

  “No bodies,” Violetta said.

  “Not in this part.” He glanced at her, standing in profile. “No ghosts yet, either. Disappointed?”

  “A little, but….” Her gaze fixed on a low section of the wall. “Is there a mark on that stone?”

  Osric approached the wall. There did indeed appear to be an image cut into the bottom right edge of the rock.

  He crouched for a better look. “I think ’tis a flower.”

  “A rose?” Violetta moved closer.

  “It might be.”

  “Who would have carved it, and why?”

  “Not sure.” The stone, though, didn’t fit the wall as perfectly as the others around it. Did it mark a hiding spot?

  Excitement sparked impatience as he searched the wall for a place to secure the torch. He found one, and once the burning reed was in place, he knelt in front of the rock again. Drawing a dagger from his belt, he slid the blade into the roots and earth that had grown over the top of the stone—proof that the rock hadn’t been pulled out in a long while.

  Dirt tumbled onto the cavern floor.

  “Be careful,” Violetta said. “You do not know what lies behind that stone.”

  He smiled at her. “I am not worried. I have you to rescue me, if necessary.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He set aside the knife and put his fingers to the stone. Little by little, he maneuvered it forward. With a rough, scraping noise, it came out of the wall. He fetched the torch and lowered it to the opening, so that light shone within.

  Violetta huffed. “Tell me what you see.”

  “A bag.” He reached in and carefully drew out the leather sack tied at the top with a drawstring cord. Judging by the way it was disintegrating, it had been in the wall for years.

  Something clanked inside the bag.

  After putting the torch aside, he set the sack on the ground where Violetta could see. He drew the bag open. A plain, rectangular wooden box as long as his hand came into view, as well as a pair of small, badly tarnished silver goblets. Judging by the engraving on the vessels, they were of fine quality.
>
  “The items look old, but not ancient,” Osric noted.

  “Do you think…’tis the treasure said to have been lost with the thief?”

  “I do not believe so. These few pieces hardly make legendary riches.”

  What had they just found?

  Caution niggled at the back of Osric’s mind, warning him that if he dared to look further, he might discover things that would irrevocably change his life.

  “The box,” Violetta coaxed.

  Osric picked it up. The smooth wood felt cool against his fingertips.

  Warning clamored within him again, but he mentally shoved it aside.

  He disengaged the small latch.

  With the faint creak of hinges, the lid opened.

  ***

  Violetta held her breath, for she sensed something vital was hidden in the box.

  She knew the moment Osric saw what was inside, for his gaze sharpened.

  “Osric?”

  “Just a moment.”

  Puzzlement and shock crossed his features, before he reached into the box and drew out a thin, rounded object with crumpled edges. He held it up for her to see.

  “A dried petal?”

  “Aye,” Osric said. “From a rose. There are several in the box that have come loose from a bloom.”

  “You found a love token, then.”

  Osric glanced up at her. “No ordinary one. The petals….”

  “Go on.”

  “I believe…they are blue.”

  Blue? “Are you sure?”

  “I will be absolutely certain once I see them in sunlight. But, they look blue to me.”

  Violetta knew of only one garden with blue rose bushes: the one at Darringsleigh Keep. How, then, had dried blue rose petals come to be in the box concealed on Seabrook lands?

  “There are initials carved inside the lid,” Osric continued, as he returned the petal to the container. “On the right, a W. I suspect that stands for William. ’Twas my grandfather’s name.”

  The anticipation within Violetta became a ringing-noise in her mind. “The other initial?”

  “J.”

  She gasped. “Jacqueline Molineaux. My grandmother.”

  Chapter Eight