by Paula Quinn
She made him want to cast his fears to hell and smile back. He wanted to kick away everything in his life and run toward her. But his heart clanged too loudly in his ears, like an alarm trying to wake him up before it was too late.
He moved his hand away and was horrified to find it shaking. Had she felt it? What was she doing to him?
“William and Rauf will accompany ye.”
“I will go as well,” Father Timothy offered.
“No, Father,” Aleysia told him. “The abbess would not take kindly to a Scottish priest. If she sees Will and Rauf, she will not speak to them. But she will speak to you, and when she hears your speech, she will have you dealt with.”
“Dealt with?” Father Timothy echoed in a hollow tone. “A nun?”
“A reverend mother,” Aleysia corrected him then turned to Will and Rauf. “If you meet her, she is not to be touched.”
“Ye sound as if ye know her well,” Cainnech noted.
“I spent some time at St. Peter’s. She’s a mean-spirited woman who fears nothing. She possesses some sort of power many speculate is given to her by God, but I believe ’twas the devil.”
“What is this power?” Father Timothy asked, engrossed in the tale.
Aleysia met the priest’s troubled gaze with wide eyes of her own. “She can fell a man with a single touch. Just a touch and he goes into a deep slumber.”
“Fer how long?” Rauf asked, looking worried.
“Not long.”
Cainnech’s short burst of laughter restored everyone’s good mood.
“And you?” Aleysia asked him, crushing the stones of his thick walls with her soft voice. “Will you not join us?”
“Nae, I willna.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more, but did not. When she turned to William again, Cain breathed in her hair, and then turned to find Father Timothy was back to staring at him.
She made him regret his decision while they ate and pretended there was nothing between them, no spark when they reached for the bread and their fingers touched, no racing heartbeat when she caught him staring at her and a blush stole across her cheeks.
He ate until he could no longer stand sitting with her and not taking her in his arms. Finally, he pushed away his cup and rose from the bench. “Ye will leave fer Newton on the Moor at sunrise.” He settled his attention on Will and Rauf. “I want ye both back before sunset.”
He told himself to just walk away. He didn’t need to say anything else to her. But he bent to her and said against her ear, “Thank ye fer today.”
He left the hall without looking back. He needed to be away from her to clear his head. It seemed when he was near her he had little control over his tongue. Why had he thanked her? He didn’t know whether to laugh at himself or groan. She must think him a fool. He was a fool.
He didn’t go to his room or to the battlements. He wasn’t used to living inside, sleeping in a bed, or pissing in a bucket. He preferred it outside, and with the platforms in the trees…he smiled. He liked it here at Lismoor.
He left the keep beneath the soft glow of moonlight. He had to think about what he was doing. He wasn’t staying at Lismoor. Soon, Aleysia d’Argentan would no longer be his responsibility. He told himself that he couldn’t wait. He’d had a good day with her at the glade. So what? Would he abandon everything he’d learned throughout his life for one good day? For a lass who would very likely bring love into his life? He closed his eyes and breathed a deep breath. He didn’t want to pursue anything with her, but when she was near, his mouth and his body didn’t give a damn what his head told them to do.
When he made it to the trees, he looked around to make certain he was still alone, and then began climbing an old, sturdy oak.
Now, he was sending her off the Newton on the Moor with William, who was no warrior, and Rauf. What if they were attacked?
He carefully made his way over thick branches to a wider plank and sat on it. He dangled his legs over either side and leaned his back against the trunk with a sigh of contentment. Here was what he knew, sleeping under the stars—not high in the trees—but under the stars nonetheless.
He relaxed and tried to think with a clear head. How had he allowed someone to penetrate his armor? Father Timothy was no help. He was delighted that Cain was losing his damned mind. He didn’t understand that caring for her scared the hell out of Cain.
He had to deny it, defy it, resist it. Not because she was his enemy. He didn’t believe she was his enemy any longer, but she was still just as deadly. She could do more damage to him than any army. She’d made him think about his family today for the first time in many years. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d fought it, not ready to look that demon in the face yet. The truth was he couldn’t remember anything about his parents or his brothers before that day. Nothing. Not a smile, a habit, or even a word. When they left, they took love and the memory of being loved with them. He grew up in the madness of his anger. But he could not be sad for something he did not miss.
Mayhap it had been the serenity of the glade, or her voice beside him, like a soothing stream against his ears, that compelled him to speak of things he preferred to leave unsaid. Strangely enough, he found that the telling wasn’t so terrible. She seemed to understand him.
Kissing her afterward had been even better. He could have continued all day, but he knew it was dangerous. He knew it would lead to more affection for her—possibly love. He wanted to pray for strength to resist her but, according to Father Timothy, God was in on this.
He sat alone for a few hours, nodding off for a bit and dreaming of crying faces, pleading, unrecognizable voices, his mother screaming, Torin running, and Nicholas being lifted up by his trews. It was always the same, and it left him wide awake and ready to fight.
It was the best time to practice.
He’d done it often over the years while the men, including Father Timothy, slept. He swung his legs to the plank now and pushed up to his feet. He couldn’t practice in the trees, though, he thought, it would be quite a skill to master.
First, he had to master moving through them in the filtered moonlight. There was one good thing about the dark though. It didn’t make him lightheaded when he looked down.
A rush of admiration washed over him for how Aleysia had used the forest to her advantage, for learning to walk up here—to run. He remembered the tunnel in the dungeon and how she’d come through it, ready to fight.
She was vivacious, fearless, and well trained. She stirred his blood like no lass before her. He doubted he would meet anyone like her again.
He left the last tree, dangling first from its lowest branch to let his muscles stretch. Once done, he went quickly to his room and retrieved his sword. It didn’t matter if he didn’t practice with a flesh and blood opponent. Practicing alone let him devise new combinations.
He walked to the grassy field, rolling his wrist and making the long blade dance in the night air. He pulled his axe free from its place in his belted plaid, and gave it a good swing.
And almost cut Aleysia in half.
She stepped back on lightning quick reflexes and swung a sword of her own at him.
Before he had time to take in what was going on, he sent his blade chopping down on hers, imbedding hers in the ground.
He gave her a moment and stepped back while she pulled her weapon free. She’d changed into her hose and léine, with a dark bodice laced up the front. She’d also cast off her bluebell circlet and wore her long hair braided down her back.
“What d’ye think ye’re doin’, Aleysia?” he demanded, tossing away his axe and walking back and forth before her.
“I want to practice with you,” she told him, stepping back with her freed sword. “Is that so terrible?”
“It could be dangerous,” he answered. “Our sight is poor.”
“William says you are the Scottish king’s finest soldier.” She raised her sword, ready to spar again. “I want to practice with the best.”
Moonlight caught her smile as it flashed off her blade. It held him captive long enough to slow his reflexes and he barely dodged a swipe intended for his throat.
“Are we fightin’ fer blood then?” he asked, eyes gleaming.
She shrugged her dainty shoulder. “That depends on how well you block me.”
He gave out a short, surprised laugh at her boldness, and then readied his sword and braced his feet in case she thought to knock him on his arse again.
He thought he heard her laughter in the midst of swiping and plunging at him. Her blade kept him on his toes, but he soon adjusted to her movements and found himself looking at her while he blocked.
Tendrils of her hair had escaped her braid and blew across her face like war paint in the pale moonlight. She met his hungry gaze through the streaks and faltered in her defense. He used the opening to grab hold of her sword wrist, hold it up, and move in close for the kill.
“I would hate to cut such a bonny throat,” he whispered with a warm breath as he held the edge of his blade to her neck.
Her chest rose and fell hard against him. When she spoke, her breath fell upon the flat of his blade. “You beguiled me.”
Moonlight glinted in her eyes, promising delights in which his soul could bask. He dipped his gaze to her mouth, dropped his sword, and dragged her closer.
“And here I thought I was the one bein’ beguiled.”
She let go of her sword and clung to him as his mouth descended on hers. She wanted this, he thought as his lips molded and teased. His blood seared through his veins, making him burn for her. He felt her heart thumping in unison with his and, though he rejoiced in their equal measure of delight, he feared she would be his undoing.
He was losing fast with every stroke of her tongue against his, every touch of her fingers in his hair, down his back. Falling with every inhalation of breath, filled with sweet orchids and bluebells. She had managed to knock him off his feet yet again. Off his axis. Spiraling downward into the darkness. He held her closer as they kissed, not wanting to let her go.
But too afraid to hold on.
He broke their kiss and stepped back. “Lass, I—”
“Do not say it, Cainnech.” She held out her fingers to his lips. “I will not be such a fool for you again!”
She ran off, back toward the keep.
Cain did not follow.
Chapter Twenty
Aleysia secured her saddle outside the stable as the sun came up. She looked over it at Sir Richard standing on the other side.
“I do not understand why you do not simply send a missive to Miss Elizabeth,” her old friend said. “Why must you go to Newton on the Moor and why must I wait here?”
“You know the nuns will not give Elizabeth my letter. I took her from them for five years.”
“What makes you think they will let you speak to her?” Richard insisted.
She shrugged. “Whether they want me to speak to her or not is of no concern to me. I will see her and I will speak to her. And you are staying behind to keep Father Timothy company. I thought you were friends.”
“We are friends,” he argued, “but my duty is to see to you, not a priest.”
“And you have done your duty well, dear friend. But I will be fine.” She secured her water pouch and her bow and some borrowed arrows to her saddle.
“Why is the commander not going with you? Who will protect you if you are attacked on the road? You know how dangerous—”
“I will protect myself, Richard,” she told him, growing frustrated with his fears.
“Besides, have you not watched William practice with the others? What he knows, he has learned from the commander. I’m certain if we were attacked, he would do quite—”
Her mouth snapped shut when she saw Cainnech approaching. Had he come to see her off?
She grinded her teeth when Richard spotted the commander next and hurried toward him. “Speak to her!” the old knight insisted. “Why are you allowing this?”
She moved to interject. She didn’t have to.
“Her mind is her own, Richard,” Cainnech told him as they neared. “Or have ye not noticed that in all the years ye have known her?”
And how was it that the commander had known her for a sennight and knew it already?
Knowing he was correct, Richard gave in and stormed off.
Alone with him, Aleysia watched him from over her horse’s back. He didn’t wear his plaid, but breeches of undyed wool cut snugly over his long, muscular legs, and a léine beneath his long, gray cloak. He looked tired but still wonderfully fit.
She remembered being held in his arms the night before. What a fool she had been for him. She didn’t care if nothing in her entire life felt as good as kissing him; she would never let him do it again. She understood he’d had a difficult past and he hated the English because of it. She didn’t need reminding that they were enemies—especially after he kissed her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I am comin’ with ye,” he muttered. He moved past her without a word and disappeared into the stable.
She smiled, turning to Rauf and William heading toward her.
“Is he coming then?” William tossed her a knowing smile, but she had no idea what he thought he knew.
“It seems so,” she shrugged, pretending not to care. She didn’t look at them again while they entered the stable.
Though Cainnech was first into the stable, he was the last one out. By the time he finally sauntered out, leading his mount by the bridle, she tossed him an irritated glance. “I could have slept a little longer had I known you would take so long.”
“Ye slept?” he asked, gaining his saddle.
Two words. Two words were all it took to tempt her to forgive him anything, to wait for him forever.
“Let us be off!” He called out, then slid his gaze to her and said more quietly, “Which way is clear of yer traps?” When she pointed east, he flicked his reins and rode away.
She caught up with him and cantered her horse at his side. “What made you change your mind and come along?”
“I havena come along, Aleysia,” he told her, sounding mildly annoyed. “I’m here to lead this wee adventure of yers. What that means fer ye is that ye will do what I tell ye.”
She laughed softly, refusing to let him goad her. “Now, Commander, you know that I will not be ordered about, but I will consider any request you put to me. So, are you going to tell me what made you change your mind about coming?”
He looked as if he might be considering turning back. She held her ground, waiting. She didn’t think he would let her go to Newton on the Moor alone, now that he was here. She hoped she was correct. It was dangerous beyond the castle walls, especially for a woman traveling alone.
“I was worried fer the nuns,” he drawled. “And if ye met any English soldiers along the way, I wanted to be here to kill them.”
“Can you not control your lust for English blood? We are going to a holy place, Cainnech.”
He set his bloodshot blue eyes on hers. “Ye sound like the priest.”
“Good! At least one of you has sense in his head.”
She thought she caught sight of his elusive smile as he flicked his reins and led his horse away at a steady trot.
She watched him go. What kind of brute was he to always think about killing? One raised on the battlefield, surrounded by death, she reminded herself. One who had forgotten the faces of anyone he ever loved.
She thought about riding to him but stopped herself. No more. She’d promised herself. She wouldn’t go back on it. She waited instead until William and Rauf caught up to her and rode with them the rest of the way.
“Is he always so distant?” she asked them when they stopped just outside of Newton on the Moor for some bread and honey, and water for their horses from a nearby stream. The commander had claimed he wasn’t hungry and went to have a look around on foot.
“Aye, fer as long as I have known him,” Rauf told
her.
“How long has that been?” she asked, taking a bite of her bread.
“Four years. Most of us know little aboot him, fer he prefers to be alone when we are not fightin’.”
Aleysia wanted to know what they knew about him, even if it wasn’t much. She hadn’t asked them before because Richard was always around. She hadn’t wanted him to know she was curious about what kind of man the commander was…when he wasn’t fighting.
“Everyone seems to fear him. Has he given you a reason?”
“We dinna fear him,” Rauf answered. “We respect him. He has brought us oot of battle safely more times than any of us can count.”
“No one wants to fight with him on the practice field when he’s angry though,” William told her.
“Or when he is not,” Rauf laughed. “We all know the tales though,” he said a moment later, sobering.
“What tales?” Aleysia asked.
“The tales of how when the commander was just a lad ten and five he massacred an entire squad of men.”
“’Twas half that,” William corrected. He didn’t lower his gaze when they turned to stare at him, but continued. “I asked him and he said ’twas half the squad.”
“Still,” Aleysia said in a quiet voice, “that is a lot of men to—”
“They were the ones who killed his kin and held him captive,” William was quick to defend him. He knew Aleysia was aware of the commander’s past. They’d spoken of it briefly during Cainnech’s four-day disappearance. “They deserved what he did to them.”
Aye, Aleysia thought, perhaps they did. But it hadn’t changed anything for him, had it? He still hated the English. He could never have his parents back, and his brothers were likely dead.
He would always see her as his enemy.
“He seems to like you though.”
She turned to William sitting closest to her in the grass. “Why do you say that?”
Her handsome young friend looked at her with his penetrating silvery eyes and gave her a skeptical look as if she shouldn’t need him to tell her.
“He smiles when he’s with you. He does not smile often.”