by Regan Walker
He sat, and she leaned down to give him the child. A honeyed scent wafted from her, one that reminded him of sweet, ripe fruit. He longed to shut his eyes and drown in the fragrance of her. But, as she bent over, and her gown’s bodice gaped a little, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of creamy skin and shadowy cleavage.
Desire flared. His mind went blank.
Thankfully, he quickly regained control of his senses. As Norwin’s weight settled into the crook of Holden’s left arm, and he tucked in the edges of the blanket, the lad burbled up at him.
Holden grinned. “Good afternoon to you, too, Norwin.”
Mary perched on the edge of the nearest chair. “He has the sweetest smile.”
“He does indeed.” Holden rubbed noses with the baby, whose smile broadened. “He is going to be a charmer when he grows up. No woman will be able to resist him.”
“No woman can resist him now. The maidservant who fed him did not want to hand him over to me. She is completely smitten. So is Claire, even though she has a babe of her own.”
Envy threaded through Mary’s words. As Norwin caught hold of Holden’s index finger and hung on, Holden said, “You want children, then.”
She made an indignant sound. “Once again, you are bold.”
“Most women do want young ones. I will just assume you do.”
Her mouth gaped. “Did no one ever warn you ’tis foolish—and potentially disastrous—to make assumptions?”
She appeared so indignant, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “As soon as you stepped into the room, I knew how you would answer.”
Surprise, but also interest, lit her gaze. “What do you mean?”
He gently rubbed his thumb against Norwin’s small, pudgy hand. “Your face was glowing. Your expression told me that you enjoyed holding my nephew, that it fulfilled you somehow. ’Twas not difficult to guess that one day, you would like to be holding your own son or daughter.”
“One day, mayhap. I must fall in love and wed first, before I think about bearing children.”
A practical answer, but filled with longing. “Is that the wish you will make this Christmas? To find true love and marry?”
She shook her head. “I do not believe in Christmas wishes.”
A pang of sympathy wove through him, for he sensed that once, she’d had faith in such things. Had she given up on marriage and a family? Surely not. She was young, comely—
“I am very happy for Claire that she found happiness with Tye,” Mary said. “Seeing them and Isolde together…. They make a perfect little family.”
Perfect. ’Twas how Holden felt about being an uncle to Norwin. If being a father was even half as humbling and wonderful, he’d be happy for the rest of his days.
“Judging by your expression,” Mary murmured, “you also want children of your own.”
“I do.” Difficult memories brushed his thoughts, while he kissed Norwin’s fingers. “I have wanted them since I was young.” When Mary remained silent, he added quietly: “My mother died giving birth when I was seven years old. The babe, a boy, lived for a few days. I had promised my mother I would protect him, and I did. I went without sleep, holding and rocking him while he wailed, but he was born too soon. He did not survive.”
“I am sorry,” Mary whispered.
Silence settled, while the fire snapped in the hearth. For some reason, his thoughts slipped back through the years to the winter afternoon when he’d rushed into the fire. His protective instincts had spurred him to rescue Anna, and those same instincts had determined his actions on the road earlier today. If he were presented with the same circumstances again, he’d made the same choices, without hesitation.
“Until the day I die, I will do all that I can to protect children,” Holden said. “Above all, those who are my family.”
Oh, mercy, but she wanted to weep.
Holden’s revelation about his baby brother had touched her deeply. For so many years, it had been easiest for her to be selfish, to hold tight to her anguish, to remember Holden as an arrogant, insensitive knave, rather than a hero who’d braved an inferno to rescue an infant. And yet, his story about his younger brother further proved he had a champion’s heart.
She longed to rise and go sit beside him on the cot; to show support for what he’d said and done. Her stomach knotted, though, at the thought of being so close to him. ’Twould take tremendous courage. More, mayhap, than she had within her this day.
“You have gone quiet,” Holden said.
She nodded, still struggling with indecision.
“Did my words offend you?”
“Nay. Quite the opposite. I just….”
“Mmm?”
“Well, I…never expected you to share such a personal circumstance with me.”
“To be honest, I never expected to, either.”
While she mulled that surprising admission, Holden carefully laid Norwin lengthwise on his legs. The baby now faced him, with his head resting on Holden’s knees. After catching hold of Norwin’s hands, Holden bounced his legs up and down, jostling the infant. The child beamed and giggled.
“He loves that,” Mary murmured.
“’Tis my role, as his favorite uncle, to teach him about riding a horse.”
Mary laughed. “He needs to grow up a bit first. He cannot even crawl.”
“Aye, but he is going to be a big, strong knight one day. He will benefit from starting his training early.” Holden continued to bounce the infant. “Our destrier is at a walk now. We are going over the castle drawbridge and onto the main road, for we are going on an important quest for our liege.”
Oh, goodness, but Holden was silly…and thoroughly charming. “You will take forever to complete your quest at a walk,” Mary noted.
“True. We shall spur our mount to a canter.” He jounced the child a little harder. Norwin burbled in delight. Then Holden gasped. “Enemies! We are being attacked.” His legs quickened in their bouncing, as though he’d urged the horse to a gallop.
Eyes bright with excitement, Norwin squealed.
“You are just going to run away?” Mary feigned surprise. “Surely, if you are bold knights of the realm, you should draw weapons and vanquish your foes?”
Holden immediately halted the bouncing. “In honor of Lady Westbrook, we will fight.” Imitating the way a warrior would thrust a broadsword, Holden moved the baby’s fists through the air while making a swooshing sound. “Strike left. Then right. Ha! Our enemies are fleeing. Run, cowardly bastards—”
“Holden!”
“What?”
“Are you teaching him to curse like a knight as well?”
Holden winced. Holding the baby’s gaze, he murmured, “Forget I said bastard, all right? ’Tis not a word a young knight should know. Not on his first quest.”
Grinning, Norwin cooed.
Holden nodded. “Good lad. Now, back to our celebrations. You fought bravely and well, Sir Knight of the Soft White Blanket.”
Norwin squealed again and kicked his legs.
Giggling, Mary shook her head. “You are silly, Holden.”
“You should see me after a few goblets of wine.”
Anguish gnawed. “I believe I have.”
As soon as she’d spoken, disquiet gripped her. She didn’t want to revive the past, and yet, ’twould be best if she and Holden talked about what had happened. Unable to sit still any longer, she rose, crossed to the fire, and added another log.
Holden sighed. As she brushed off her hands and turned to face him again, a knock sounded on the door.
“Aye?” he called.
A maidservant entered the chamber and curtsied. “Milady, the babe is due fer a feedin.’”
Gratitude warmed Mary, for she guessed Claire had figured out where she’d gone and had sent the servant to the tower; an interruption, in case Mary needed a reason to leave.
“Will ye bring ’im, Lady Westbrook?” the young woman asked.
Mary’s pulse skittered, for she could leave
and Holden wouldn’t suspect a thing. But, she found herself reluctant quit the chamber just yet. “I will stay a bit longer.”
“Very well, milady.” The maidservant crossed to Holden.
“I will see you again soon, Norwin,” he said then handed over the infant.
With a click, the door shut behind them.
Once again, Mary was alone with Holden.
A curious tension, akin to a thick and invisible fog, suddenly settled in the chamber. The burning of the fire seemed unnaturally loud, as did the thump of her heart.
Holden made no move to approach her, but remained sitting on the cot. He was far from relaxed, though. With his muscles bulging in his arms as he gripped the side of the mattress, he looked ready to lunge at the slightest provocation.
Leave.
“I should go. I must finish decorating the hall.”
Holden’s gaze darkened slightly. “So, you are just going to run away?”
Seven.
Seven paces, Holden guessed, for him to reach the door.
The challenge, though, would be getting to it before Mary.
She glanced at the doorway. Was she also assessing how many paces to reach it? Her slender throat moved with a swallow before she pushed her shoulders back, as though determined not to appear nervous. “I am not running away.”
“Nay?” He loosened his grip on the mattress, little by little.
Her fingers twitched. “I have a responsibility to complete the decorations.”
“You have your own kind of quest,” he said.
“I suppose so.”
“Well, I have a quest, too.”
“Oh? What is yours?”
He smiled.
“Are you going to make me guess?”
Laughing softly, he pushed to his feet.
Her eyes widened. He thought she was going to bolt, but then, her chin nudged higher, a small sign of defiance that stirred within him a hot flare of admiration.
“My quest,” he said quietly, “is that before Christmas is over, you and I will be friends.”
A startled laugh broke from her. “Will we?” Again, she glanced at the door.
“Aye, we will.”
“You cannot force me to become your friend.”
“True. But”—he winked in the roguish way that had always worked for him before—“I can persuade you.”
A shocked sound broke from her, and she took a step toward the door.
So much for that manner of persuasion.
“Surely you would like to be friends, too?” he coaxed. “Otherwise, why did you come to visit me?”
“I visited you so you could see Norwin.”
Holden fought a pang of disappointment. “Not at all for friendship?”
Uncertainty etched her features. “Should we be friends, after what you did to me?”
Shame lanced through him as he took one slow pace toward her. “’Twas years ago. I am not that foolish lad anymore.”
She took a nervous sideways step. “My memories are ever sharp.”
“As are mine.”
Her breaths were coming faster now. He ached to touch her, calm her. He longed to glide the backs of his fingers down her face, to know the warmth and softness of her skin. Caressing her, though, was a privilege he must earn, not take.
He took another step.
A tiny squeak broke from her as she scooted sideways.
“You said you were not going to run.”
“I am not running. I am walking quickly.” She reached for the handle of the door.
Before her fingers could close on it, he swooped in. He caught her hand, slid his arm around her waist. Her skirt flaring, he spun her back toward the chair.
She gasped. “What—? Cease! Right this instant.”
“Cease what?” he murmured. Her tresses tickled his jaw. Hellfire, her fragrance was going to drive him mad. The heat of her skin, too, taunted him, where his hand pressed against her waist. He yearned to pull her closer, nuzzle her hair, and kiss her.
“Stop holding my hand…and remove your arm from my waist.”
Reluctantly, he released her, his arms falling to his sides. He didn’t move away, though. That was a concession he wasn’t willing to make.
Her breaths emerging in little pants, she stared up at him, her eyes huge and round.
“I did as you asked,” he said.
“I know.” She seemed bewildered. “I am wondering why.”
“I have no desire to harm you, Mary.”
“I hope not. However, you are keeping me from leaving this chamber.”
“We are not finished yet.”
“You may not be, but I am.” She tried to step sideways, no doubt to go around him, but he matched her pace. “Move aside. Please,” she added, her voice catching.
“I will, once we have reached an understanding.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat, as if to trap her racing pulse. “What kind of understanding?”
“One that, I trust, will be pleasing to us both.”
“Pleasing and intended to help us become friends?”
“Exactly.” He smiled down at her. “Does not sound so terrible, does it?”
“Well, since you have not really made clear what you intend—”
“You must realize you can summon the guards outside whenever you like. I am not stopping you from doing so. I also have not tried to take your dagger from you.”
“H-how did you know I have a knife?”
His smile broadened. “’Tis my secret. But, you are not, and never will be, my hostage. Nor are you without means to control this situation.”
Fascination touched her gaze.
He almost had her. Almost.
“You are free to accept what I offer or to refuse it.”
“Then you will move aside?” she asked.
“I will, if you still want me to.”
She sighed, a sound of intense relief. “Very well.”
Got you.
“Now, this understanding,” she said.
Anticipation crackled within him. “’Tis easier if I show you, rather than explain. All right?”
She hesitated a moment then nodded.
With a triumphant growl, Holden leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers.
Chapter 8
Oh, goodness.
Holy, heavenly saints above….
Mary’s eyelids slipped closed, while her stunned body acknowledged the gentle pressure of Holden mouth upon hers.
His scent—of herbal soap, worn leather, and wintry air—flooded her senses. An unfamiliar heat blossomed within her, a feeling that reminded her of drinking mulled wine in front of a blazing fire while wrapped in a cozy blanket.
His lips left hers, and his breath fanned her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open. A lop-sided grin curving his mouth, he stared down at her.
“Why…?” she whispered.
“I wanted to.”
How utterly mad, but she wanted him to do so again. Right away.
How could you let Holden kiss you? Have you forgotten what he did to you?
Self-reproach, anger, and confusion blended into an overwhelming surge of emotion. Her head reeled. Holden, the chamber, everything around her blurred.
“Mary.” His arm slid around her waist. “Mary!”
Blinking hard, she said, “I am all right.” She would not swoon; not in front of Holden ever again.
Her vision cleared. Where his arm pressed against her, heat spread through her lower back, coaxing her to linger in his embrace, to even nudge forward a little, so that their bodies would touch.
Step away. Show him you can manage perfectly well on your own.
Her legs felt a bit wobbly, but still, she moved backward, heedless of the support he was providing. He resisted, but then withdrew his arm. His gaze sharpened a fraction, as though he wondered whether he’d been wise to let her go.
“I am fine,” she insisted, smoothing her hands over her gown.
<
br /> “Are you quite certain?”
“I am.”
“I would not want rumors spreading that I was such an ungallant knave, I allowed a lady to collapse at my feet.”
Was he more concerned about his reputation than her getting hurt?
He swore softly and shook his head. “I did not say that very well. What I meant—”
“’Tis all right. I vow your first thought was for my wellbeing.”
“’Twas.”
“Thank you for keeping me from falling.”
“I was…honored to help. Never before has a lady almost fainted when I kissed her.” He grinned. “’Twas a good kiss, then?”
Oh, it had been marvelous. Her mouth still hungered for the teasing warmth of his lips. But, in truth, she’d never been kissed by a man before, until moments ago.
She’d seen other men and women kiss, of course, including Claire and Tye. When alone in her chamber or in the garden, she’d daydreamed about one day experiencing similar intimacies herself…but had never expected such a kiss would ever be granted by Holden.
Would it be right to praise his abilities when she hadn’t had any others with which she could compare?
He was obviously waiting for her to answer, and she’d rather be swept away by floodwater than admit to her inexperience. So, she shrugged. “’Twas a fine enough kiss.”
His expression registered shock, followed by indignation.
“’Twas most capable,” she added quickly. “As I had expected of an experienced warrior like you.”
“Capable,” he echoed.
“Mmm.”
“Not remarkable, or even memorable. Just…capable.”
Unease unfurled inside her. “What did you think I would say?”
A rough laugh broke from him. “I imagined a bit more enthusiasm.”
“’Twas pleasant, but if I was supposed to appreciate it more—”
“’Twas a kiss, for God’s sake!”
She frowned, confusion swirling up inside her. “A kiss to help establish understanding and friendship between us. Is that not what you led me to believe?”
A muscle ticked in Holden’s cheek.