Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

  Lucy did not state the obvious, that once he returned to Cluny, the state of his manhood would be of no consequence.

  Working nearly blind, she washed out the wound, then dug through the pack again to find the ointment that had helped to heal the injury on her shoulder. His muscles were tense under her ministrations, and she knew from experience how badly it stung, though she could not determine how deep a wound it was. “I may have to sew it closed in the morn when there’s enough light.”

  “Nay. Leave it.” His voice was tight with strain.

  “I cannot believe a bit of stitching would worry you, husband.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “If there’s anything clean in here to use for wrapping it, I cannot find it,” she said, digging through the pack once again. “Your torn hose will have to do for tonight.”

  He did not reply, but pulled her down next to him.

  “I am not going to apologize for coming after you,” she said, careful not to bump into his wound.

  “Nay?”

  “I did what I thought necessary.”

  “Mmm…”

  She knew she should help him pull off his hauberk and try to make him comfortable for the night, but he seemed exhausted, and Lucy had no energy, either. She’d walked for miles, then stood watching in terror while he fought for his life. All she could do was curl up against Alex and share his warmth, and hope that it would not start to rain.

  She yawned and placed one arm across his chest. Each beat of his heart pulsed through her soul, and Lucy closed her eyes, cherishing the life that flowed through his veins. She snuggled closer. “I could not let you ride into the inn yard to be so outnumbered and trapped….”

  He said naught, and Lucy thought he might well be asleep.

  “Stay angry with me forever, if you will, husband,” she said on a sigh. “But that is how long I will love you….”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By dawn, Alex’s wound throbbed unmercifully. As light broke, he peeled his hose away from the sliced muscle and determined that it would not need stitching. The bleeding had stopped and the salve was doing its healing work.

  Lucy was still asleep, and he did not want to wake her. Leaving the inn, and walking miles to find him in the dark had been foolhardy…and heroic.

  And she’d done it out of love for him.

  He looked at her, sleeping soundly on the blanket among the bracken. Her features were not relaxed—her little frown line was deeply etched between her brows, and her mouth, always so lush and giving, was now a somber crescent. Loving him had brought danger to her. He thought he’d been protecting her when they wed, but naught had gone according to plan. He closed his eyes and prayed.

  “Deus, qui corda fidelium Sancti Spiritus illustratione docuisti. Da nobis in eodem Spiritu recta sapere, et de eius semper consolatione gaudere.”

  The familiar words did not bring the same peace he’d experienced only a fortnight ago. And his thoughts of Cluny were hardly comforting when he considered leaving Lucy here in England while he traveled to the monastery.

  “How does it look this morn?” Lucy asked, stretching. She sat up and looked at the wound.

  “Not as bad as it feels,” he replied lightly.

  Lucy rubbed the sleep from her eyes and knelt beside him, pulling his tunic away to look at the wound. Alex nearly smiled at the expression she made while she struggled to avoid an actual grimace.

  “Have we anything to use to bind it?” she asked, leaning across him to reach for her pack.

  “Lucy.”

  “I can tear my chemise—”

  “I would rather have your kiss,” he said, pulling her onto him.

  Clearly surprised by his ardor, she fell into his arms readily. “Alex, I don’t—”

  “Kiss me, wife.”

  When she gave him an insignificant peck on the side of his mouth, Alex took charge. He slid one hand around her and turned her so that she was on her back looking up at him, startled. He lowered his head and gave her the kind of kiss he’d craved ever since hearing that she loved him.

  She cupped his head with her hands, then slid her fingers through the hair at his nape, sending a tremor of exquisite pleasure through him. He slid his tongue into the welcoming warmth of her mouth, and was rewarded with Lucy’s sough of arousal.

  With his eyes closed, he tasted her mouth, then moved to her jaw, her neck. He pulled her kirtle away from the notch at her collar and kissed her there.

  “Alex, should we…?”

  He answered with the touch of his tongue upon her nipple. Lucy squirmed under him, her hands seeking his belt, careful to avoid his injury, but never wavering in their purpose.

  He was more than ready when she took him in her hand and skimmed his hard length from base to tip. He groaned and rolled to his side, taking Lucy with him.

  She continued her sensual foray, taking his breath away with her touch. He nuzzled her breasts, and pulled the blanket over them so she would not become too chilled by the cool dawn air.

  “I love to touch you,” she breathed.

  He shuddered and nearly lost his control.

  “Lucy,” he said, swallowing hard. “Straddle me.”

  She shifted, carefully swinging one leg over his waist. The weight of her body grounded him while her touch sent shocks of joyful pleasure through him. She moved against him and he shuddered as she slipped over him, on to him, becoming one with him.

  Lucy tried to slow the pace with her movements, adjusting her rhythm to accommodate his wound. But Alex was desperate for her, beyond caution. She lay across his chest as he bent one knee and drove into her again and again, whispering her name.

  He was beyond holding back when she suddenly cried out and he felt her muscles contract around him. They crested together, their hearts racing as one with their chests pressed against each another.

  Still joined, Alex ran his hand down Lucy’s back, soft and feminine, her silken hair warm under his palm. And he wanted to hear those words again, the ones she’d whispered when she believed he was asleep.

  “What did you learn at Eryngton?” Lucy asked, kneeling on the blanket beside him.

  “Only that your cousin is an avaricious worm.”

  Lucy had assumed as much, but she also understood that Alex had needed to go to Hugh Kyghley and see for himself, because of his promise to take the Mandylion to Eryngton.

  “I could not leave the cloth with him.”

  She nodded, understanding completely. “Who were the men who attacked you last night?” She could hardly believe he’d survived the attack with only the superficial wound in his thigh. One end of the slash was fairly deep, but she’d removed her old kirtle and torn it into strips to wrap tightly around the wound.

  “They were Eryngton’s men, I’m sure.”

  Lucy began to wind the cloth around Alex’s leg.

  “I have no doubt that the black knights promised to reward the earl if I showed up and he managed to keep me at the castle until their arrival.”

  “But when you would not stay…”

  “He sent those two rogues after me.”

  “Alex,” Lucy said, tying the bandage together, “those men meant to kill you, not just bring you back.”

  “Aye.” He rose to his feet and tested his weight upon the leg. “’Tis likely Skelton’s men told Eryngton that I carried something of great value, but did not say what.”

  He was so casual about it that Lucy was taken aback. “You might have been killed.” While she watched, unable to do one thing to help him.

  “Nay. There was never any danger of that.”

  Lucy had seen various scars upon his body—some serious—and knew that last night’s attack was not the first time her husband had faced peril. And now that she was not watching in terror, she realized that Alex was a master swordsman. Not many men would be able to best him in battle. ’Twas likely the reason he’d been chosen to travel to Jerusalem with her brother, and escort him back to England with the Man
dylion.

  In an impulse she could not explain, Lucy threw her arms around Alex and hugged him tightly, shuddering at the thought of what might have happened to him through all his travels. She nearly spoke the words she’d said the night before when he was asleep and did not hear. But Lucy kept her silence instead, and released him after a moment. She knew he would not care to hear of her love. ’Twould only make everything more complicated for him.

  Alex did not let go of her. He looked down into her eyes, then kissed her lightly.

  “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” he said. “Can you manage this horse alone for a distance?”

  “We cannot return to the inn,” Lucy said. She was mounted upon one of the spare horses and would manage to ride alone, as long as they kept a slow pace. “The black knights will be there.”

  “Or they’ll be on the road to Eryngton today, so we don’t want to encounter them.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “East.”

  Lucy could not imagine where Alex thought they could find refuge, unless there was another inn—or perhaps an abbey or convent nearby.

  He led the way through the field, staying as close as possible to the tall hedgerow. If anyone came up the road, she hoped their eastward path would not be obvious, and that they would not be easily seen.

  “I should have moved the two dead knights farther afield,” he said.

  “Alex, you could not. Your leg—”

  “If they are found too soon…”

  She sighed. His concern was not ill-founded, but there was naught to be done about it now. They’d ridden too far to go back and bury the two men.

  Their path took them across beautiful green and gold farm fields, each one squared off by a row of rocks, or another hedgerow. The land rolled gently, and they continued to ride eastward. Lucy did not know where Alex was leading them, nor did she think he was even certain where they were going. But they continued on, stopping only twice to rest, sharing the meager rations they found in one of the packs.

  By the time the sun was at their backs, Lucy felt sore and out of sorts, and did not understand how Alex had managed to ride so long with the wound in his leg. She was hungry and wanted something to eat, other than a piece of the hard brick of cheese they’d found in one of the Eryngton knights’ packs.

  And she felt small and petty for thinking her complaints while Alex had to be suffering a great deal more than she was.

  “Lucy.” He stopped at the crest of a hill and pointed into the distance. “Not much farther, now.”

  She saw a massive castle in the distance, encircled by a high wall with towers placed at intervals.

  “Darington Castle,” Alex said. “I fostered there.”

  “Did you know we were coming here?” Lucy asked.

  Alex shook his head. “I only hoped our path would bring us close.” He kicked his heels and rode ahead.

  Alex’s memories of Darington Castle were mostly fond ones. His father and Viscount Darington had fostered together many years before, and were as close as brothers. Darington had one son who was an ass, but the other two were fine men and Alex had no doubt that he and Lucy would be given a warm welcome.

  They entered through the western gate.

  “Alexander Breton!”

  Alex turned to the voice and saw an old, familiar face.

  “Theo Croke!” He slid off his horse and greeted the man who had trained him as a youth, embracing him fondly.

  “How many years has it been, lad?” Theo asked. “Ten? Twelve? Ye’ve not changed in the least.”

  “You’re looking fit, old man,” Alex said, more pleased than he’d have thought to revisit the friends of his youth. He slapped Theo’s broad back affectionately.

  “Ye wouldn’t be callin’ me old, would ye?”

  Alex laughed aloud and denied saying such a thing, then turned to help Lucy down from her horse. “My lady wife,” he said. “Lucy of Eryngton.”

  The expression she wore was one of astonishment—at his lighthearted demeanor, he supposed—but she greeted Theo graciously, took the arm Alex offered, and began their walk through the bailey to the keep. Theo summoned grooms to deal with the horses, but pulled the saddle packs down himself.

  “Viscount Darington is away,” the old knight said, catching up to them. “Gone to see his grandchild christened at Pickering.”

  “Whose child?”

  “Lady Alice wed Lord Pickering a year ago at Eastertime,” Theo said. “Bore one child that died the day it was born, and now this one.”

  Alex did not need to be reminded of the fragility of life. He gave up a silent prayer for the health and well-being of Alice’s child, and started up the stairs to the keep. When they reached the top, Theo put a hand upon Alex’s forearm. “Only Roland is at home,” he said.

  “Does Meg still run the household?”

  “Aye,” Theo replied. “And everyone in it. She’ll welcome ye like a son, lad.” He pushed open the door to the great hall, and allowed Alex and Lucy to pass in front of him.

  Servants were lighting candles and adding wood to the fire that already blazed in the massive fireplace. Theo walked past the massive oaken table and shouted Meg’s name. “She’s likely overseein’ the supper preparations, though they be small with Lord Darington away.”

  “Meg!”

  She soon appeared, looking much as she had a decade before, only smaller. Her shoulders were stooped and she had a few extra lines on her friendly face, but Alex would have recognized her if he’d seen her on the streets of York.

  “Why, Alexander Breton!” she cried. “What brings ye here to Darington?”

  “A…slight mishap upon the road, Mistress Meg,” he replied. He had long decided not to mention the circumstances of his travels, and even hoped that word of his arrival at Darington would not reach Skelton’s men. He doubted they would associate Alexander Breton and his wife with the Sir Alex they sought, but Alex would be cautious.

  He wished there was a way to avoid Roland, but Alex was a guest in the man’s home. He could not very well shun his host.

  “This is my wife, Lady Lucy,” Alex said. “She has traveled many a mile with me, and is weary. Have you a—”

  “The Tusk and Ale is another mile down the road, Breton. In case you did not remember.”

  Alex turned to see Roland—the heir of Darington—descending the staircase. The man was a good deal shorter than Alex remembered, but then Alex had been a younger, more impressionable man when he was squire to Roland’s father.

  “I remember it well, Roland,” he said, ignoring the sneer that curled the other man’s lip. The Tusk and Ale was an inn in the village, the kind of place where a man could find a harlot or two to quench his appetites. ’Twas not the sort of place where a man would take his wife. “But I thought better of it. Roland, meet my wife, Lucy.”

  Theo remained standing behind Alex while Meg set off somewhere, calling for servants to help her above stairs. Lucy greeted Roland with polite reservation. Alex cleared his throat to cover a smile and her reticence. She was very perceptive, though ’twas likely she’d never met anyone like Roland before this.

  Except mayhap her cousin, Hugh Kyghley, a petulant and peevish man if ever Alex had met one.

  “Alice’s child is being christened yet you do not attend your sister and her family?”

  “Bah!” Roland said. “Alice is…I cannot abide her husband, so I did not go.” He threw a pair of gauntlets upon the table. “Where is supper? ’Tis late, is it not?”

  Alex and Lucy joined him at the table in the great hall while servants brought the meal, course by course. Lucy remained quiet, only speaking when Roland asked her a direct question. And then she kept her responses short and on point. She did not invite conversation.

  But she ate as though she had not seen food in a week.

  It had been a long and tiring day, especially for Lucy. She was unused to riding a horse, and along with the miles she’d walked the night before, Alex wa
s certain she must be in pain.

  “Your chamber has been made ready, Lady Lucy,” Meg said as she came into the hall carrying a blazing candelabra. “I shall take you if you are ready.”

  Alex pushed his chair away from the table and arose, even as Roland groused about being left alone in his hall. Spending an evening in Roland’s dour company was the last thing Alex wanted to do, and he walked alongside Lucy as she climbed the stairs behind Meg.

  He stopped suddenly and realized that the company in the hall did not make the difference. Alex would have chosen to go with his wife, even had there been a grand fete going on here.

  Lucy’s love had changed him.

  He hardly heard Meg’s friendly chatter as he gazed up at the landing where Lucy lagged behind, surreptitiously rubbing her hip. Without considering the aching wound in his own leg, he bounded up the stairs and lifted her off her feet.

  “Lead on, Meg,” he said, ignoring Lucy’s squeal of protest.

  ’Twas another flight of stairs before they reached the tower. Their belongings were already inside, and the chamber was warm with a glowing fire. Meg took one candle to light her way down the stairs, and left them. In the meantime, Alex carried Lucy to a large, curtained bed that dominated the room and set her down gently.

  “Your hip is bothering you.”

  “’Tis naught, Alex,” she said.

  Of course she did not complain. Alex had never once heard Lucy utter a word of discontent, yet he knew she must be sore. She’d done much more than she should have, and he was going to do what he could to ease her discomfort.

  “Lie down.”

  “Nay. I would look at your wound and—”

  “Lucy.” He slid his warm hands under her skirts, startling her. But when he began to rub the muscles of her weak leg, she lay back on the bed and sighed with pleasure.

  “You walked a long distance last night. For my benefit. And I gave you grief for it.”

  “I know you were worried.”