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

by Catherine Kean

  Shouts, whinnies, and thudded hoofbeats erupted from the meadow.

  “Do not harm the boy!” Geoffrey yelled.

  Veronique smirked. How noble. From Geoffrey, however, she expected no less.

  Arrows whistled through the air. With a thud, one embedded in a nearby tree. She raced on, ignoring the brush grabbing at her gown.

  Footsteps crashed behind her. Raising her dagger, she whirled, to see Sedgewick approaching.

  “Mercenaries,” he wheezed, while wiping his face. “Fighting de Lanceau.”

  The clang of swords carried from the meadow. Cries. Screams of pain.

  Through the trees ahead, she spied their horses, and the four mercenaries left to guard them.

  Turning Tye in her arms, she let his head settle into the crook between her neck and shoulder. As he cried against her, she grinned at the baron. “To Pryerston Keep. I cannot wait to celebrate our victory.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  With a firm tug, Aldwin tightened the strap of his destrier’s saddle, the familiar smells of leather and horse a reminder of the ride ahead. And his duty, soon to be fulfilled.

  Looking up at the sky, he found the sun behind the trees near Neale’s barn. Midmorning already, but if he and Leona rode with only short stops, they should reach Branton Keep by nightfall.

  Startled squawks erupted near the front door of Neale’s cottage. Soot had flopped into the dirt among a crowd of chickens, inviting Leona to scratch her belly. Dressed once again in her own clothes that Gillian had cleaned yestereve, Leona dropped to her knees and gave the dog’s chest a hearty rubbing. Soot groaned, a sound of utter delight.

  “Silly dog,” she murmured.

  Aldwin tried not to let his gaze linger—they must begin their journey—but he couldn’t stop his gaze from traveling over Leona’s profile. How vibrant she seemed, her face aglow and her tresses shining in the sunlight. He wished he could see her that way every day.

  Concentrating again on the saddle, he forced himself to think of what needed to be done before their travels. Not an easy task, when memories of her lying beneath him, panting, wanting, made him want to drag her back inside the cottage and finish what they’d begun. To sit another whole day with her thighs brushing his . . . Argh!

  Leona glanced at him. That one look shot heat straight to his loins.

  He averted his gaze and ensured, for the third time, that his saddlebag was secured. Keep focused, you besotted fool. Until they were safely within Branton’s walls, his beautiful captive still might try to flee. She’d already proven to be more resourceful than any woman he’d ever known.

  Rom snuffled at Aldwin’s shoulder, clearly eager to be on the move. Patting the horse’s glossy side, he turned toward Leona. “We must be on our way.”

  Leona rose.

  Good. She wasn’t fighting him. He deliberately hadn’t told her that only Neale’s wife and babe were within earshot. Neale had left earlier to deliver eggs and finish other business in the town; his older children had gone to work the fields. If Leona knew so few were around, she might try to run. Neither did he want another confrontation this morning.

  With his booted foot, he pushed over a wooden mounting block. Holding tight to Rom’s reins, he waved to the horse’s back. “After you, Lioness.”

  A hint of rebellion touched her gaze. Still, she stepped up onto the mounting block, reached up to the front of the saddle, and hauled herself up. Straightening out her gown and cloak, she stared down at him, her hair shot with gold.

  Aldwin swung up behind her. Rom sidestepped, rocking Leona’s body more snugly against Aldwin’s. He didn’t shift away—and neither did she.

  Surprise spread through him, along with a sense that in some significant way, their relationship had changed.

  Setting aside the thought to ponder later, he checked his weapons one final time, and then nudged Rom with his heels. The destrier wheeled toward the main road.

  “Will we reach Branton Keep today?” Leona asked, her voice carrying over Rom’s rhythmic hoofbeats.

  “Aye.” He’d make certain they did.

  “What will . . . happen to me there?”

  Aldwin longed to draw her close, kiss her hair, and assure her all would be well; he’d do all he could to spare her from the consequences of her sire’s willingness to help Veronique and the baron. Yet Aldwin had heard only her account of the situation at Pryerston. There might be far more she hadn’t told him, because she’d wanted to protect herself or her father. De Lanceau must undertake a full investigation, and Aldwin dared not guess what his lord might or might not decide.

  No doubt unsettled by his silence, Leona twisted around to look at him.

  “I cannot say,” Aldwin answered. “’Tis a matter for de Lanceau to decide.”

  Leona’s expression turned pensive. “Surely you have some say in the matter.”

  He resisted the lure of her tempting mouth. As much as he cared for her and hoped for a happy resolution, his vow bound him to his lord, not her. So close to achieving his lifelong ambition, he’d be a fool to let her stand between him and knighthood. “I will report on what occurred over the past days,” he said, looking across the lush green field on the road’s right side. “I will make my recommendations. I cannot promise, though, that my lord will accept my suggestions.”

  “Or mine.”

  Glancing back at her, Aldwin raised his brows.

  “I am a loyal subject. Should I not have an opportunity to offer my thoughts?”

  Aldwin glanced again at the field, where birds swooped to catch insects. De Lanceau was a just man; he’d let her speak. “I am sure you will have your say.”

  “Good.”

  Unease coursed through him at the determination in her voice. With tears brimming in her eyes, she might portray Aldwin to be a cruel knave who, although he knew she was a noblewoman, had treated her with dishonor. The red mark on her wrist would support her claim. If she handed the pendant to de Lanceau, insisting she’d meant to return it to him all along, she’d have his gratitude.

  Aldwin focused on the dust-blown road ahead. If that moment came, he’d defend his actions. So he hadn’t treated Leona like a delicate flower. He’d done what he believed was necessary to succeed in his mission—and get his willful captive to cooperate. After Aldwin’s years of diligent service, de Lanceau knew Aldwin’s character. Moreover, de Lanceau knew how headstrong women could be; his own lady wife was as stubborn as Leona.

  The saddle creaked as Leona faced forward. She said no more. Did she believe she’d had the last word? He’d let her believe such.

  Ahead, a church steeple rose over the roofs of two-story townhomes, and Aldwin thought back to Neale’s sketch in the dirt that morning. After collecting a fresh supply of crossbow bolts from the blacksmith—an associate of Neale’s who knew a good armorer and owed Neale a favor—Aldwin would head for the road scoured out centuries ago by the Romans. Neale had insisted this road ran straight and true toward Branton Keep’s lands. This route would be safer than lesser known roads, too, since ’twas well-traveled.

  The scent of baking bread, the clang of a hammer, and merchants’ shouts guided Aldwin through the town to the cobbled square cornered by the stone church.

  “The door,” Leona said as they rode near. “Just as I remembered.”

  A semicircle of intertwined carvings above the doorway merged into two figures—a man and woman—wrapped around with leafy vines. The figures stood on either side of the wooden door banded with wrought iron.

  “See the serpent?” With her finger in the air, she traced the carved snake slithering over the doorway. Then she pointed to the figures. “Adam. Eve.”

  “Impressive.” How many men had seen these doors and pondered their own temptations?

  He dragged his gaze from Leona’s awed face and headed Rom into the square. Townhouses rose toward the sky. Assorted shops, situated on the homes’ ground levels, featured leather goods, pottery, clothes, and other wares set out on
fold-down wooden shutters.

  A tavern sprawled along the square’s opposite side; its sign, held by worn rope, hung at an angle above the door. Horses stood by a water trough, while townsfolk, arriving by cart or on foot, chatted or made their way to make their purchases.

  Shielding his eyes against the glare of sunlight, Aldwin searched for the blacksmith’s. There. By the baker’s shop. He guided Rom through a gap in the crowd.

  As he drew near, Aldwin caught sight of a broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair standing by a forge, examining a yellow-hot horseshoe at the end of a pair of iron tongs. Shaking his head, the blacksmith set the horseshoe on an anvil and brought his hammer down with a sharp clong.

  Sickles, tools, locks, and other metal objects covered the interior walls of his shop.

  Aldwin drew Rom to a halt beside the premises. “I am looking for Stowe.”

  The man turned, his ruddy face streaked with grime and sweat. “Ye found ’im.”

  “Neale said you could help me.”

  The man’s eyes brightened. “That I can, milord.” His appreciative gaze skimmed over Leona before he set down the tongs, still holding the horseshoe. “Come in. I will fetch yer goods.”

  “Thank you. We are eager to be on our way.”

  Stowe nodded. With a muffled grunt, he hurried off to the back of his shop. Aldwin slid from Rom’s back and then helped Leona down.

  Keeping a hand on her arm, he escorted her inside the building. Blended voices drifted in through the open shop window and door, along with the rumble of more arriving carts.

  After pulling her arm free, Leona wandered to a bench spread with different-sized iron rings. She glanced out the window.

  A frown knit her brow. “Aldwin.”

  “Mmm?”

  Her hands curled. What had she seen? Or was she going to ask him again about her fate once she reached Branton Keep?

  Aldwin crossed to her, his focus shifting to the crowd outside.

  “There,” she said. “By the tavern.”

  Three men garbed in long, green cloaks confronted an apron-clad man, likely the tavern’s proprietor. Two men stood with their backs to Aldwin. The third, his head bowed and his hands on his hips in a gesture that oozed impatience, looked at the ground.

  Clif.

  The tavern owner’s mouth moved before he gave a fierce shake of his head.

  “The man who attacked me in the cavern,” Leona said, so quietly Aldwin almost didn’t hear. “He wore a similar cloak.”

  “’Ere ye are,” the blacksmith said, his boots rapping on the earthen floor as he strode toward them with a quiver of bolts. “Fine quality, they are, as Neale asked.” He tapped his nose. “Got a friend who makes the best bolts.”

  “Aldwin,” Leona said, more urgently.

  He nodded to her, trying to ignore the sweat beading on his forehead. They must leave now. If the poachers saw Rom, he and Leona would be in danger.

  “Thank you, good man.” Reaching into the coin pouch at his belt, Aldwin withdrew some silver and shoved it into Stowe’s hand.

  A cry.

  A muffled thud.

  Leona gasped. “The poor man—”

  “What is goin’ on out there?” Stowe peered out the window.

  “Come on,” Aldwin snapped. He grabbed Leona’s hand and pulled her toward the doorway.

  Light shifted in the shop window. A customer? Or a poacher searching for them?

  “Oy!” Stowe groused. “Move, ye bastard. Yer blockin’ me view.”

  “I ask again”—Clif bellowed in the sudden silence—“and I ask all who ’ear me! I am lookin’ fer a man. ’E’s travelin’ with a woman.”

  “Oh, God,” Leona whispered.

  Drawing his sword, Aldwin edged toward the doorway. Hellfire. He’d left his crossbow tied to Rom’s saddle. He’d never imagined he’d need it in the brief moments they’d be inside the shop. What a stupid, stupid mistake.

  Through the open doorway, he saw frightened villagers jostling in the square. Somewhere in the crowd, a child began to bawl. He hauled Leona over the threshold.

  Two men rushed at him—one of them, the oaf from the cavern. Aldwin swung his sword, slicing the first thug’s arm. The man howled.

  At the same time, Leona kicked the cavern thug.

  “Come on!” Aldwin yelled, racing toward Rom but a few steps away.

  A sharp tug on his arm made him stumble. Then an eerie gurgle reached him.

  “Leona?”

  He spun. Sucked in a painful breath.

  Her hands clawing at her throat, Leona stood against the wall. Beside her, his fingers twisted into the pendant’s chain, stood the poacher from the cavern.

  “I knew I would find ye,” the man leered, his knife glinting against her breast. “I will ’ave that gold. And all else ye denied me.”

  ***

  Leona choked for breath, her vision blurring as the chain tightened around her neck. The links bit deeper. With a shaking hand, she swatted at Peyton.

  He laughed. “Not this time, love.”

  Anger seethed inside her while the chain tightened even more. Her face scorched as if she’d leaned into a bonfire. Stretching up on her toes, squeezing back against the wall, she tried to ease the unbearable pressure. She wouldn’t die at Peyton’s hand. She wouldn’t!

  “Let her go,” Aldwin said from close by.

  “Try ta save ’er, and she dies.”

  A moan came from across the square. The tavern owner, she realized, through the pressure threatening to burst inside her head.

  Just as blackness swirled into her vision, Peyton’s hand at her neck shifted.

  A grisly thwack. A pained cry.

  The pressure at her throat eased.

  Leona gasped for breath. As her head fell forward, the chain whipped up over her face and hair. Peyton had taken the necklace!

  Her body sagged. She must stop him, but, Oh, God, she was sliding to the ground.

  A strong arm looped around her. “I have you.”

  Aldwin.

  “Pen . . . dant,” she croaked, trying to point.

  Metal chimed. When she blinked and raised her head, she heard a clink. Peyton had thrown the jewel to the other poacher.

  “Ald—”

  “I know. I will get it back. I wanted to be sure you were safe. Now sit,” he said, pushing her forward onto a bench outside the blacksmith’s.

  Swords clanged. Squealed. As her surroundings came into focus, she saw Aldwin fighting the other poacher. Peyton stood bent over at the wall, his hand pressed to a bleeding stomach wound. He looked up at her, spittle dripping from his mouth.

  He still held his knife.

  As he staggered toward her, fury whipped through her veins. She stood on weak legs, glanced about for a weapon, and saw the iron tongs still holding the hot horseshoe.

  Peyton smirked. “Give up now, love.”

  She snatched up the tongs. “Never.” A feral cry burst from her as she lunged and slammed the tongs into his head.

  He fell.

  “A good arm ye ’ave there.” Stowe came up behind her, catching her elbow to steady her. “What do these thugs want with ye and Lord Treynarde? What did ye do ta them?”

  “Yesterday, Aldwin defended us from attack by these poachers. He killed two of them.”

  “And now they want yer ’eads.”

  She nodded, then gestured to Rom. “Please help me up.”

  After setting aside the tongs, Stowe dragged over the bench and helped her onto it. She pulled herself onto Rom’s back.

  From her vantage point, she saw many of the townsfolk were huddled on the church steps; others crowded behind wagons and peered from shop windows, unable to leave the square, because the ways out were blocked by armed poachers.

  Clif had grabbed the proprietor around the neck and pulled him away from the tavern door. A knife gleamed at the tavern owner’s throat. Sweat glistened on his face. Clif and his two grinning cohorts, watching Aldwin and the other
poacher fight, seemed to be waiting on the outcome.

  Clif’s gaze slid to her. He smiled, the look of a man convinced he’d already won the battle—a stark contrast to the petrified expression of the tavern owner.

  Resentment boiled inside Leona. None of the townsfolk deserved bullying, especially because of her and Aldwin. “Stowe,” she called down. “Please hand me that poacher’s knife.”

  As the blacksmith handed her the weapon, a sharp cry broke behind her. She glanced back to see Aldwin’s opponent stumble. Blood stained the front of the man’s cloak. He groaned and limped toward Clif, his sword listing downward.

  Rom’s saddle shifted. A heavy weight landed behind her.

  “Down,” Aldwin said by Leona’s ear, before shoving her forward against Rom’s neck. The crossbow appeared in her side vision.

  Still holding the tavern owner hostage, Clif spoke to the shorter, blond-haired poacher beside him, who hurried toward their injured colleague.

  Leona held very still, acutely aware of Aldwin’s body pressed against hers. A ghastly quiet stretched across the square, amplifying the injured poacher’s uneven footfalls.

  Nearing his blond friend, he held out the jewel.

  The crossbow trigger clicked. The bolt shot free and plowed into his back.

  Blood spattered. He teetered sideways.

  As he fell, the blond man snatched the jewel from his dead fingers.

  “Hellfire,” Aldwin growled.

  “We ’ave the jewel,” Cliff called, taking it from the blond man. “Now we want both of ye.”

  Clif yanked the proprietor’s head back to expose more of his neck to the knife blade. The man whimpered. “Surrender and we will spare ’is life. Refuse”—Clif tipped his head toward the shops—“and we will kill townsfolk until ye do.”

  Shrieks erupted in the crowd.

  “The pendant is not enough?” Aldwin bellowed. Leona heard him reloading the crossbow.

  Clif laughed. “There is a reward out for ye.”

  Leona’s hand tightened on the knife.

  “For ye and that jewel, there’ll be riches enough”—he looked at his men—“for us ta live like lords.”