A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3)

by Catherine Kean

  He halted Rom by the fallen poachers. Leaving them to their comrades, he clenched his teeth against the pain in his side and hoisted the stag up behind her. Then he headed to the river and tossed the carcass into the water. When the poachers returned, they wouldn’t find their illegal spoils still waiting for them.

  He washed his hands in the water. Then, drawing in a fortifying breath, he swung up into the saddle behind Leona.

  I did not know you were so easily tempted.

  Her words teased again as he settled against her, trying to ignore his hose dragging against her gown, her hair brushing his arm, and her scent. His loins stirred.

  He spurred Rom into the forest, even as he heard once more: I did not know you were so easily tempted. This time, her voice sounded husky with desire—the way she’d speak when she meant to seduce him. Aching heat stretched his groin, not helped by the jostling together of their bodies when Rom traveled uneven ground.

  His side ached, too, but in a very different way. Once he got Leona to safety, he must see to his wound.

  Leona shifted forward, putting distance between them, as she had the other evening when they rode to the forest. Not enough distance that he could forget her sitting between his thighs, but he’d endure. She looked uncomfortable, though, with her back as straight as a roofing truss. If a leaf dropped on her shoulder, she’d likely shriek and jump in the air.

  He glowered at her lustrous hair, close enough to seize in his fist. How his fingers itched to pluck a leaf from a branch and toss it at her, to see her flinch. To torment her, as she tormented him.

  Such unchivalrous thoughts. He should not indulge such folly.

  Aldwin forced his attention to the forest. No sign yet of the poachers’ return. He steered Rom toward the road.

  Leona’s head turned. Sunlight softened the curve of her cheek as she asked, “Where are we headed?”

  “A village where we will spend the night.”

  Did her posture stiffen even more? He hadn’t thought it possible.

  “Where, exactly?”

  “Does it matter? You will go where Rom and I take you.”

  Her eyes hardened beneath the sweep of her lashes. “I am, indeed, going where you say. Thus, because my question is of little consequence, you have no reason to deny me an answer.”

  She’d mimicked his exact tone when he’d challenged her refusal to obey him a short while ago. Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Very well, then. We are headed to a village north of this forest, a day’s journey from Branton Keep.”

  “Oh, that one.”

  He grinned.

  The trees ahead thinned. Moments later, Rom’s hooves clopped on the hard-packed dirt road.

  “Hold onto Rom’s mane,” Aldwin said.

  “Did you see poachers?”

  “Nay, and I do not wish to.” Aldwin kicked Rom to a gallop.

  Even when they’d cleared the forest, he kept Rom at a brisk pace. Twice, he stopped to water Rom at the river and give Leona a moment to stretch her legs; while she attended to her private needs, he washed his wound. In a small town where boats bobbed at a dock, he halted only long enough to lean down from Rom’s back and buy two pork pies from a street vendor before nudging the destrier onward.

  When the afternoon sun slid toward the hill ahead, he knew they neared their destination. Good. From the pain in his side, he knew he’d be wise not to travel much farther this day.

  “We are almost at the village,” he said, breaking the silence between him and Leona that had persisted most of the day. He’d tried to initiate conversation, without much success. No matter. Once they were settled for the evening, he’d ask her how she got the pendant, as well as the other questions he’d thought of during the ride.

  “This landscape seems familiar.” Leona’s gaze fixed on the church steeple rising from behind slate-roofed buildings. “Is this Anwenbury?”

  “Aye.” Hellfire. If she knew her surroundings, she might know the roads away from here.

  “My parents brought me and Ward to a fair here when we were children,” she said over her shoulder. “My father pointed out the church because of the stone carvings above the door. My mother found silk for a special gown for me. I wore it when . . .” She shrugged. “Never mind.”

  “When you were stung,” he finished for her.

  She nodded. He sensed her retreating into her thoughts again.

  “This evening, we will eat well and rest,” he said. “’Tis safest for both of us if you do as I ask tonight. All right?”

  “I will not pose as your wife and share your bed. If you even think to ask that of me—”

  Aldwin laughed.

  “’Tis not amusing.” She rammed her elbow back, knocking his arm against his side.

  He groaned.

  She twisted to look back at him. “Oh! I am sorry.”

  He exhaled a shuddered gasp and willed the agony to diminish.

  “I did not mean to . . . I am sorry,” she repeated, her expression one of genuine regret.

  “I am all right,” he ground out. How he wished for a strong pint of ale. That would dim the pain as well as quench his thirst.

  He turned Rom off the main road and down a narrower one dotted with wattle-and-daub cottages. Squinting against the dust, he looked for the sign: a carved wooden chicken hanging from a post by the road. There. Two cottages down.

  He guided Rom into the dirt yard. Hens scratched in the earth beside the low-roofed barn while a black and white dog darted to and fro, keeping them herded together. Neat rows of vegetables grew in a fenced area beyond the home. When they drew near, the dog rushed forward, barking.

  The cottage door flew open, and a man with dark brown hair trudged out. When his gaze lit upon Rom, his eyes widened.

  “Are you Neale Vale?” Aldwin called.

  “I am.” As the dog raced around Rom’s legs, Neale hurried forward. “Soot, come ’ere.” He grabbed the leather strip around the dog’s neck and pulled her back. “Hush.”

  Tongue lolling, Soot barked once more and reluctantly sat, while casting a baleful glance at the chickens straying from their neat grouping.

  “My name is Aldwin Treynarde. My lord, Geoffrey de Lanceau, said I could call upon you if needed.”

  Neale bowed.

  Aldwin flicked aside part of Leona’s skirt to reach into the saddlebag and draw out a sealed parchment. “He said to give this to you.” Leaning down—and wincing at the pain—he offered the document to Neale, who took and unfurled it. A moment later, his gaze rose.

  Aldwin waited for the exchange that must come next. If one word was incorrect, he must turn Rom and gallop away.

  “I ’ave ’eard tales of a mighty boar in this county,” Neale said with care.

  “A demented boar,” Aldwin added, “who fell in love with a black-haired beauty.”

  He sensed Leona shifting in the saddle. “Aldwin, what—”

  He raised a hand to stay her.

  “A knight’s quest fer vengeance,” Neale said.

  “In love, they found truth and honor.”

  Neale grinned and nodded.

  “Demented boar?” Leona said. “Quests?”

  “Part of a secret code,” Aldwin murmured against her hair, “made up of four unique sentences. Only de Lanceau’s most trusted men know them.”

  “I am ’onored, Aldwin, ta welcome ye ta me ’ome,” Neale said, releasing Soot to return to herding the hens. “Whatever ye need—”

  “Neale!” The shout came from inside the cottage, before a chicken, flapping and squawking, scrambled out through the open doorway into the yard. A plump, graying-haired woman with a baby on her hip appeared on the doorstep.

  “Fool ’usband! ’Ow many times must I ask ye ta close the door? Where ’ave ye got ta—” The instant she saw the horse, she fell silent.

  “Wot is it, Mama?” A dark-haired girl who looked about twelve years old and strongly resembled Neale appeared at the wife’s side, followed by two younger boys. />
  “Stay inside.” The mother shooed them away. Casting her husband a worried glance, she shut the door.

  “Me family.” Neale’s wry smile intensified the wrinkles around his eyes. “Please fergive me wife’s manner, milord. There ’ave been too many riders on the road lately.”

  Aldwin sensed an underlying message in Neale’s words. “You must tell me about these riders.”

  “Of course.” Neale’s gaze slipped to Leona. “What else, milord, might ye need of me?”

  “Food and lodging. Can you offer such?”

  “Aye. Our ’ome is small, but—” Neale clapped his hands. “Wait. Me wife’s sister and ’er family are away. Ye can use their cottage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Neale bowed again, and his scuffed boots scraped on the dirt as he turned to the cottage. “I will fetch the key and me children ta assist ye. ’Tis the fourth cottage down with the wood piled near the barn. I will meet ye there.”

  ***

  “We would’ve been ’ere earlier,” a man was saying to Sedgewick, “but we ran into a bit of a fight.”

  Veronique drew her gaze from the unconscious Ransley, whom Sedgewick had walloped a short while ago for trying to bribe a mercenary to untie him, and fought a flare of lust. She knew that gravelly voice. Glancing across the hall, she spied a broad-shouldered man with shaggy, graying brown hair flanked by several younger men. Clif.

  As he pulled a tied pair of dead rabbits from his shoulder, he winced, drawing her focus to his facial scar. Not a repulsive disfigurement, but one that somehow made him all the more interesting to her.

  Her hips gliding in lazy steps, she approached the men. The baron smiled at her, while Clif bowed. “Milady.”

  His voice held the hint of a caress, a reminder of their tryst. Her womb throbbed.

  “How good to see you again.” She shifted her stance to accentuate her body’s feminine sway, while holding Clif’s stare. Was he enough of a man to accept such a subtle challenge, especially in front of Sedgewick?

  Interest sparkled in Clif’s eyes. He held up the rabbits. “Fer ye, milady. I meant ta bring ye venison, as ye asked, but—”

  The baron frowned. “You said you had a fight?”

  A scowl darkened Clif’s face. “One of de Lanceau’s men destroyed some of me traps. ’E was in the woods when we went this morning. A man named Treynarde.”

  Sedgewick’s gaze flew to Veronique. “Aldwin Treynarde?”

  “The same,” Clif said. “’E killed me nephew Emmet, and another of me men. Some of the others”—he indicated the poachers behind him—“especially me men outside, need a ’ealer.”

  The baron wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Did Aldwin follow you here? If you brought de Lanceau’s man—”

  “’E did not follow. I do not know where ’e is now. ’E’s travelin’ with a woman. One of me men saw ’er.”

  “A woman?” Suspicion quickened Veronique’s pulse. “What did she look like?”

  “Peyton.” Clif motioned for a poacher standing a few steps behind to answer.

  “Tall. Long ’air. A spirited wench. Was wearin’ a gold chain around ’er neck,” Peyton said, while rubbing at a sore on his face.

  A dull pounding filled Veronique’s ears. She glanced at the baron, who appeared equally stunned. “Peyton, did you see the necklace?”

  The man shook his head. “’Twas beneath ’er clothes. The chain was gold, though.”

  Clif’s lip curled. “I will find that Treynarde and run ’im through fer killin’ Emmet—”

  “Did you catch the woman’s name?” Veronique cut in.

  Peyton nodded. “Leona.”

  Ignoring Clif’s grumbling, Veronique tightened her hands into fists. No wonder Ransley’s daughter wasn’t found at the keep. Somehow, she’d met up with Aldwin. Was the necklace she wore the ruby pendant? A vital question that must be answered.

  Veronique looked at Sedgewick, to find him grinning. “Aldwin is one of de Lanceau’s trusted men. His life would be worth a great deal to his lordship.”

  A smug cackle broke from her. “True. Moreover, you deserve your chance to make him suffer for betraying you to Geoffrey’s allies after the crossbow shooting. Aldwin’s account helped send you to the king’s dungeons, did it not?”

  “Aye.”

  She turned to Clif, who appeared disgruntled. With a coaxing smile, she said, “Thank you for the rabbits and the good information you have given us.”

  His head dipped in a stiff nod.

  “We have asked much of you and your men, but there is one more task we require. Bring Aldwin, Leona, and that pendant she is wearing to us”—Veronique trailed her fingers down his cloak—“and you will be very well rewarded.”

  Clif licked his bottom lip. “How well?”

  “You and your men will be rich enough to live as lords.”

  Pleased murmurs rippled through the poachers behind him.

  “Lords,” Clif said with a rough growl, “who deserve ladies.”

  Veronique smothered a sharp flutter of desire. “Do you agree?”

  “An enticing offer.” Cliff’s mouth eased into a brazen grin. “I do agree, milady, fer I live ta please ye.”

  ***

  Leona stepped inside the one-room, dirt-floored cottage and rubbed her arms with her hands. This was obviously home to a family. A length of twine stretched below the beams running between opposite walls, providing a clothesline where assorted garments hung in an orderly row. A clean but scratched oak table and benches provided an eating area near the small kitchen. Against the far wall were two cupboards, three pallets covered with patched blankets, a wooden stool, and a cot.

  Aldwin and Neale’s voices carried from outside the doorway, close enough she knew she couldn’t flee. Not that she meant to run right now. Her dry throat begged for a drink and her legs ached from the day’s ride. They hadn’t hurt this much even when she’d beaten her brother home from their summer swim in the river and won their bet. She’d almost fainted from gasping for breath. For losing the bet, Ward had to wear one of her gowns to the evening meal, but somehow, he’d turned the embarrassing event into a jest that had the entire hall laughing.

  Ward, how I miss you. Especially now.

  She turned at footfalls behind her. The light in the doorway shifted as Aldwin strode through.

  “This should serve us well,” he said.

  “Remember, I am not posing as your wife.”

  His attention settled on her. “I remember.”

  “How, exactly, did you explain us traveling together?”

  “I told Neale that you are a runaway wife. De Lanceau sent me to find you.”

  “What?”

  “I am to return you to your lord husband, who is a good friend of de Lanceau’s.”

  Relief warred with her annoyance. Aldwin had kept his promise and not claimed she was his wife. His lie, however, left him fully in control in their dealings with Neale’s family. Describing her as a runaway eliminated any chance for her to secretly ask for help; none of them would risk offending de Lanceau, or her supposed lord husband, by helping her to escape Aldwin.

  How clever of him.

  Was that triumph glittering in his eyes?

  “I did not forget what you asked of me,” Aldwin said quietly. “Now I ask you to respect my wishes and accept the hospitality these good folk are providing us.”

  More footsteps carried from beyond, and then Neale walked in with his daughter, who carried an armload of firewood. The girl hurried to the stone fire pit in the middle of the cottage and began building a fire.

  “I spoke with me wife,” Neale said to Aldwin. “Me sons will be along soon with food and wine. Me oldest is carin’ fer yer ’orse now.”

  Aldwin smiled. “Please thank him for me.”

  Neale waved a hand. “We are glad ta ’elp. Oh, and me wife is readyin’ water. I will fetch the bathin’ tub from the barn fer ye.”

  Leona blinked. Bathing tub?

&
nbsp; Aldwin winked at her.

  Shimmering warmth slipped through her. Before she could say a word, the girl hurried past and out the door. Neale raised his brows and looked at Aldwin. A silent question.

  “We will speak in here,” Aldwin said.

  Neale’s cautious gaze shifted to Leona, but then, with a nod, he pulled the door closed.

  “What you hear cannot be repeated, Leona,” Aldwin said. “Do you understand?”

  “All right.”

  Turning to Neale, Aldwin said, “You mentioned travelers earlier.”

  “Aye. As ye may or may not know, I sell eggs and vegetables at the town market. I deliver two dozen eggs ta the baker each morning. Me brother also owns the local tavern. O’er the past days, we ’ave seen many strangers ta this village. Too many fer this time of year and this quiet village.”

  “Go on.”

  “The travelers,” Neale said, “are mercenaries.”

  “Mercenaries!” Aldwin scowled. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye. They’re ’eaded to Pryerston Keep.”

  “Pryerston?” Leona choked out. Her father didn’t trust mercenaries. He thought them a ruthless, greedy, unreliable lot. “You are mistaken.”

  Aldwin touched her arm. “Leona—”

  She shrugged off his hold. “You have confused the keep’s name.”

  Neale’s eyes narrowed. “I am certain ’twas Pryerston.”

  Denial burned inside her. “Who told you? Your brother? He must have got it wrong.”

  Neale’s expression hardened before he looked at Aldwin. “A couple of days ago, me brother noticed three mercenaries come into ’is tavern. ’E sent word ta me, and I rode ta the tavern and pretended ta drink. Not long after, the men stepped outside. I followed and peeked through a split panel in the stable’s wall. They met with a fellow with a scarred face and limp—”

  “Clif,” Aldwin murmured.

  “’E told them they’d get silver if they went ta Pryerston and did as instructed.”

  Aldwin’s scowl deepened. “Did this man say what they must do?”

  Neale shook his head. “Someone came ta the stable. I didn’t want ta be caught so I went back inside the tavern. When I went back out a short while later, the men ’ad gone.”