by Nicole Locke
She shook her head, her expression one of determination. ‘Tell me. What was in those carts...that boat? What were your mercenaries carrying? And stop lying! Why would they target that boat if you were not on it? I want answers.’
He wanted to argue; he didn’t understand why she was there watching his back. But she did need answers. ‘Because it would hurt me, because it would send a message that they could get to me.’
Her brows drew up, her body shuddering, her voice scathing. ‘A boat without your daughter would hurt you?’
‘My books were on that boat.’
Shock and disbelief wiped out her anger, but not the outrage or the betrayal. Damn him for having this conversation here. His men far enough away so they were private, but at what cost?
He wanted to draw her close to him, to comfort her, to explain, to ask questions, to make her warm again. But his own clothes were saturated with icy water as well. He ripped off his tunic, tore at the belt that held his breeches.
All the while Aliette stood glaring at him. Cautiously, he took the chemise from her hands. When she didn’t step away, he dressed her. First the chemise, then the gown. They were unlaced, but provided some protection.
‘Your books,’ she whispered. ‘You knew they’d attack that boat and you put your books on it.’
‘Yes.’ The cost was heavy, but not if he lost Grace or Aliette. ‘The Odyssey, and the ones I’ve read with you, are in the satchels with my men. Do you understand now? I knew they would attack. I knew that boat was a target. I made it one. I made it...interesting—worthwhile—for them to attack that and not Gabriel or Grace. Not you.’
She clenched her clothes to her. ‘I don’t understand. How would they know that would hurt you?’
A small comfort to know she understood the sacrifice he had made by placing those small bundles on there. All the hours reading to her, she understood what his books meant to him. The stories had been his sole company for years. But then his enemies knew that. ‘Because they know me. Know me like you do,’ he said.
‘Who is trying to hurt you?’
He needed to tell her. But it was cold, they were wet, Louve said the attackers were dead, but the shock that raced through them was easing. When it was gone, all that would be left was standing in the cold.
‘They’re not just trying to hurt me. They intend to kill me.’
He threw one blanket over his shoulders, unfurled the other and wrapped it around her. She grabbed the blanket, but shook him off. Again.
‘Swear to me they’re safe,’ she said. ‘That Grace, that Helewise, Vernon and Gabriel are well.’
He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I won’t let them harm those you love.’
‘I know you’re a Warstone.’ She yanked at her hair. Pulled free a few trapped tendrils. ‘I know the king has enemies. But who, who would be after you like this? Why the fortress? Why the subterfuge and the lying to me? Who is trying to kill you?’
He released his hands from her shoulders, and straightened his own. ‘My family. And if they hadn’t trained me into the unfeeling, cold-hearted monster I am, they would have succeeded in my death long before now.’
Aliette swayed. Her fear for herself, for the men who protected her, for her family, for Grace, plummeted away. Her terror brought by the burning boat, her helpless rage as Reynold dragged her to the sand instead of the opposite shore, disappeared.
Suddenly, as if the ground had vanished beneath her. Like knowing with certainty that Darkness could never be known, that Reynold would remain in the shadows forever. Only to be told in two words that everything she thought true...wasn’t.
His family. Reynold’s family were his enemies. They were trying to kill him and, from the men, the fortress, from his wariness with her, they’d been trying to do so for a very long time.
And then she knew, saw, everything. Every question she had about the man in front of her answered. Darkness—which expanded past her surroundings and imagination, which blanketed and bound every living thing in the world. Who could see far and make the rest of them blind. Who had the power to wrench everything she ever loved away from her—suffered.
Unbearable, utter suffering. A loneliness as vast and dark as an abandoned soul.
Like her own. Both of them harmed; neither of them wanted. Both unwilling to trust. This was the connection she’d felt between them that kept pulling her towards him despite the cruelty of his words, despite the danger to him. She felt this loneliness with him.
‘Your family,’ she repeated. ‘Why?’
‘We need to get you to a fire,’ he said. ‘You’re trembling.’
So was he. But something told her he didn’t feel the cold as he should though his breeches were wet, the melting snow was under their feet and every breath they exhaled was visible.
It wasn’t the weather affecting her. It was him. This lethal man, with wealth and power. Who could make kings beg and had done terrible things to others, to her, merely writhed and endured through life and she recognised him.
‘Do you mean anything you say to me?’
His gaze snapped to hers.
He said his words to push her away. Watch his deeds; she did. She was beginning to understand, but some things still didn’t make sense. ‘You didn’t want to kill the servant, did you?’
He swallowed once, twice. ‘My hand trembled. I was tying her up to dispose of her later when she threatened Grace’s life. I reacted immediately.’
‘You kept your sword sheathed tonight as well, until I was attacked. How did Grace’s mother die? Tell me.’
Reynold’s eyes looked everywhere but into her own.
Despite caution and survival, despite her certain doom, she took the one step between them and slapped him brutally across the cheek.
Relishing the sting in her palm, she snapped, ‘Never again will you hide facts from me. I can’t learn to trust you if—’
Eyes narrowing, his nostrils flared. Clenching her arm, he yanked her against him and slammed his lips against hers.
The kiss was nothing but raw need, infinite longing. His hips shunting fast, hard as his tongue tangled with hers. She cried out between dangerous kisses. Warning kisses. They called to her own threats, her own need to punish him. Because he hid in the dark from her. Because he lied to hurt himself, to hurt her. No more!
Tugging back, clenching his arms, hooking a leg around his hip. He cared for her family, for Grace, her. He did so reluctantly, angrily, but he didn’t harm or abandon. He gave warnings and protected them. So many more questions, so much more she couldn’t fully comprehend. But for the first time in her life, she could see in the dark.
He pulled his lips away. ‘You have every right to be furious with me, but you’re in my arms again. I could barely let you go before.’
Her fingers twined with his hair, flitted across his ear, along his stubbled jaw. ‘I know. I know.’
‘I didn’t mean what I said in the study. I hid the truth because you need to be hid from it. There truly is danger.’
He was apologising because she had hurt him and he hurt her back. Apologising because his family wanted everything he cared for dead. The things he must have done over the years. The heinous acts to survive. But so had she, so had she.
‘I don’t want you to let me go. No more waiting.’
Adjusting his grip, he cradled and lifted her thighs until both her legs straddled his hips. He groaned low, feral. His fingers kneading, caressing. Dipping his head, grazing his lips below her jaw, he nipped along the cords of her neck. Hot breaths. Icy winter air. But she wanted more. She would take more.
She wrapped her hand around his neck, tried to return his lips to hers, but he kept firm. To wait? She tugged harder.
Growling, his breath fast and hard against her lips. His eyes unwavering as she pleaded, demanded. Then as if he was helpless, defea
ted, he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, and held on.
Just held on.
Fingers flexing against her hips, clawing his way into her. His body flushed and pressed against her. It was as if he was falling and he held on to stop himself.
Could Darkness fall? Expansive, swirling, forever... She knew with certainty that if she fell it would be there in that blind, boundless, dark endlessness.
If she fell it would be with him.
‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t end this. Please, Reynold. Please. I want you.’
‘Why did you attack that man, Aliette? When you were safe, why did you come to rescue me?’
She brushed through his hair. So many things she could say to him, but knew only one truth. ‘Because you needed me to.’
He made a sound like a wound. ‘Tell me something about this is true. That I’m not dreaming, that I’m not beating my wings towards a shore where you aren’t there. Tell me that—’
‘No.’ She clasped his face in her hands.
He gripped her hands to pull them away. She wouldn’t let go. ‘All of this is true. Don’t lie or hide from me again. I want to trust you. I need to.’
Grey eyes. Endless. Forever. ‘My God. I—’
Darkness unleashed. Shuddering, clasping her closer, knees buckling to the ground. He arranged her beneath him. The sand and pebbles muted by the blanket bunched underneath, by her gown, by her chemise.
Nothing buffeted her from him. His kisses, his hands that drew up her gown, that caressed her legs, widen them so she could cradle him between them.
She wanted it all. Now. Here. They weren’t safely ensconced in a study. Her skin was tight with the cold, with desire, with need. Her breaths painful because of the icy air, because she couldn’t catch it and didn’t want to.
The blanket he drew over his shoulders draped across his lower back, as he released his breeches, freed himself.
She laid her hand upon his cheek and his eyes flew to hers. Held.
‘Whatever this is, it’s true,’ she vowed. ‘All of it.’
He clenched his eyes. ‘I hardly dare hope. I need you so badly.’
‘Don’t wait.’
Releasing his breath, a reverent caress against her cheek. A moment poised. Then in one stroke, he took her maidenhead. Pain searing, but he did not stop. Thrusting his hips again, he took, he gave. His head lowering, teasing her gown open, pressing kisses against her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue. Her own hands gripping his shoulders, sliding under the blanket along his back, anything to find purchase as he dragged himself out and slammed back again.
And again.
Pain morphing to pleasure, as her bodied tightened to an unbearable degree. Needing release, she curled her body into him, pounded her fists. He curved his hands underneath to lift her towards him.
Bowing his head to her shoulders, his harsh breath, his prayers matching hers. Swivelling his hips, gentling his thrusts until her breaths grew jagged, until his own stopped. Until he gentled even more, she broke apart, and he drove his hips forward, holding them there. Just holding them there.
Her breaths eased before her heart did. Every limb shook as she slowly unravelled from him. He pulled away, gathered the blanket and drew it over them.
She petted him, laughed, and he lifted his head. ‘You laugh and I’m undone.’ Groaning, he flipped to the side. ‘I hurt you. I couldn’t stop, I wanted to, but—ʼ
‘You didn’t hurt me...just surprised me,’ she said, repeating her words she gave him before. She brushed away the darkest of hair that covered his eyes. Traced with her thumb the barest of marks in the tender part of his cheek. ‘I may have hurt you, however.’
A smile softened his lips. ‘Ah, yes, I’ll watch for your elbows next time we swim.’
He came after her and kept her family safe. If she was broken before, it was only because she hadn’t met this man who filled up the jagged pieces inside her with his own. If he hadn’t snatched her from the streets, how much more of her life would she have lived longing to belong?
‘Reynold,’ she said.
‘Hmmm,’ He gathered her close, surrounded her with his warmth. With comfort.
‘Thank you for not waiting,’ she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Tell me about them,’ Aliette said. They were a sombre group who travelled the next day. The sun was full up by the time all the arrangements were made. Matters that never in her life could she have dreamed of.
Reynold attempted to hide most of it from her. Such as the bodies of the fallen men that the mercenaries had taken care of in the middle of the night. Louve explained there were pits and the Seine. Facts she’d remember next time she dove headlong into the river again.
Reynold waited as well until a rider waved on the opposite bank. An obvious signal that the carriage was intact and her family was well. She was happy they were no longer a full day behind, though she was still uneasy that they were separated. Her family would understand, but how was Grace faring? Mere weeks taking care of Reynold’s daughter and her arms ached to hold her again.
For now, she rode with Reynold, her back to his front, his legs supporting hers. Everything today different than yesterday because he had held her the night long, because they had left the beach, warmed themselves by the fire, stayed in his tent. She was fed, held, cherished.
She trusted him.
He lifted a tendril of her hair. ‘I detested this brown gown the moment I was forced to purchase it for you. When we arrive in Troyes, we’ll order bolts of new fabric. Your hair, your eyes. To clothe you in green...you’d make every man beg for your favour.’
The brown gown would serve her well. Reynold avoiding his family, wouldn’t. ‘Tell me,’ she repeated.
‘There’s a baker there, too, who is far superior to—’
‘Reynold.’
He unwound the lock and let it drop. ‘You ask me about my family after last night, after I told you their intentions.’
‘There must have been something good in your life. Something—’ She’d dreamed of a family her entire life—never did she dream of one that was cruel.
Exhaling, he rested his head on her shoulder. ‘There was nothing, Aliette. Nothing until you.’
‘Please don’t tell me that.’
He splayed his left hand so she could fully see the concentrated scarring in his palm, the fissures like veins that flared out around his fingers. ‘This wound was given to me by my mother. From the age of four, she made us hold our left hand over a candle. Year after year until we could hold it long enough to satisfy her. She ordered it to burn out our weaknesses. So we would know what true pain was.’
‘No more.’ Clasping that hand, she pressed it to her heart, kissed it, and he let her, so she didn’t let go.
‘Once my father thought my brothers were taking it easy on me in training. They weren’t. They were teasing and toying with me, but he was impatient for the pain to begin,’ he continued. ‘So he faced me himself. I was ten and every scar you see along my stomach, against my back, my legs, my arms were all made by his sword, his blade, his dagger. After I healed enough, I trained harder. Years went on with running, swimming, and, if it wasn’t good enough, my father forced me under the water to hold my breath.’
Anger scraped at his words, but underneath, she heard only loss.
‘That was the last time he touched me. I left that night.’
Now they were trying to kill him. Held by him, rocked with the sway of the horse, and her tears wouldn’t stop. Not for him, not for her.
‘Anything else, Reynold, tell me something else.’
At his sound of bemusement she shifted in her seat to see him more clearly.
‘You do this,’ he said brushing her tears. ‘Make demands, order me about. You don’t seem to understand that no one els
e would dare do it.’
‘When have I ordered you about?’
‘When I first met you, you demanded food for Grace. And now you want to know aspects of my life I’ve shared with no one.’
All true, but how to tell him it wasn’t for her, but for him. Because when her family left her, she remembered her brother and she found Helewise and Vernon... Gabriel. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, have had only cruelty and death.
‘Will you tell me of Grace’s mother?’
‘I’m not a good man, Aliette. I did raise my blade to her, but she died before I could harm her.’
He had raised his blade and had been punishing himself for it ever since. ‘I want to understand.’
‘You understand so much more than anyone. You always seemed to, even before I told you.’
Because he recognised her as well. ‘Then maybe I want something better for you.’
He trailed his fingers down her shoulder and along her arm. ‘Touching you is better. Your wanting something better for me is...better. You have no idea just the way you are with me—’ He flashed a smile. ‘I recognise that look.’
‘You’re stalling, waiting and thinking to distract me. I have no patience for such things. If I did, I would have starved to death.’
‘So not knowing about me equates to your survival as an orphan? Hmm, that is something better as well. If you must know something good, there are my books,’ he said as if talking of anything this personal made him uncomfortable. ‘They’ve been my companions. And once, when my brother Balthus was an infant, he smiled at me. Those were good moments in my life. Good, but not like you. Nowhere near as much as you.’
Books. A smile. These are what carried him through? What kind of life had he had before he kidnapped her? Cruel, selfish. No wonder he pushed people away with his words. She thought she couldn’t trust. She now knew he couldn’t either. And yet... Reynold had somehow retained his humanity. A weakness that he hid because of survival. Because his mother had burned his hand.
‘I had a brother,’ she said, turning back around, settling into the strength of him. ‘He is, was, older than I. I remember little about my family now. Mostly they are just emotions to me. I like to remember that he was kind.’