“S-scared,” Tye whispered.
“Tell your men. Now,” Veronique went on, “or I will drop Tye. ’Twill be your fault if he is crippled or dies. Yours, to regret for the rest of your living days.”
“Nay!” Throwing the candlestick on the rushes, Leona hurried across the hall to stand beneath Tye. His head tilted. Eyes stark with fear, he looked down at her. The anguish in his expression . . . She couldn’t bear it.
“Do not be afraid, Tye,” she said gently. “’Twill be all right.”
Those were the same words Aldwin had spoken to her years ago, when all hope seemed lost. Yet they were the right words, for she wouldn’t let Tye come to harm.
“Stay away, Leona,” Veronique snapped.
“This is my father’s keep,” Leona answered. “My keep. No child will come to harm here because of you.” Holding Tye’s gaze again, Leona stretched up her arms. “If you should fall, I will catch you,” she murmured. “I am good at catching. My brother taught me, so you need not be afraid.”
Tye shivered a breath.
Rustling straw alerted her that someone else approached. Aldwin reached her side and set down his crossbow. Raising his arms, he said, “I am here, too.”
“So am I,” Lord Ransley said, striding over to join them.
“I, too,” Twig and Sir Reginald said together. Other castle folk hurried forward to raise their arms in support.
Tossing back her hair, Veronique laughed.
She let go with her left hand.
Tye screamed anew as he hung at an angle, with Veronique’s right hand clenched into his tunic and hose. Tears streamed from his eyes.
“M-Mama!” He flailed his hands and legs.
Seams ripped.
“Oh, God,” Leona cried.
“Did you hear that tearing sound, Geoffrey?” Veronique gloated. “My arm is shaking, for it grows weary of holding Tye. Do you want him to fall?”
“Do you want the boy to be harmed?” de Lanceau shot back.
“The boy,” Veronique taunted. “Your bastard son.”
“Enough! Pull him up, Veronique.”
Her eyes glinted, but she didn’t obey. She drew a small knife from Tye’s hose and held it at his chest. Astonished cries rippled through the throng waiting to catch him.
“You will let me leave Pryerston unharmed, or I will kill Tye.”
The boy screeched.
Over his cries, Veronique shouted, “Do you understand?”
“Aye,” de Lanceau grated. “Pull him up.”
“Your word, as Moydenshire’s lord.”
“You have it,” Geoffrey roared.
She yanked Tye up over the edge of the railing and slipped her arm around his waist. Holding him tight to her, she poised the dagger at his neck. He sobbed, his face pressed to her bosom, his little fists clenched together against her cleavage.
“Dominic, take your men and escort Veronique to the bailey.”
“Aye, milord.” Dominic’s dark scowl left no doubt how he felt about her.
“Give her a horse. Open the keep’s gates, and see that she leaves,” de Lanceau said.
Her head at a saucy tilt, Veronique sauntered down the stairs. Her smug gaze lashed Leona, and she was tempted to elbow her way out of the crowd, walk over, and slap the merciless bitch. Yet Leona would never forgive herself if Tye got cut by the knife.
Dominic, Veronique, and the guards disappeared into the stairwell. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, de Lanceau sighed. He stood motionless, his eyes shut, until the forebuilding door boomed closed.
“Milord—” Aldwin said.
“’Tis not as I wished, either. But I will not see that boy hurt in my eagerness to punish his mother.”
“With respect”—Aldwin shook his head—“she now knows your weakness.”
De Lanceau’s mouth tightened. “Weakness, or what is right for a boy too young to speak for himself? No child should witness a parent being injured or killed. ’Twould be . . . enough to haunt the boy for life.”
Leona sensed he wasn’t just referring to Tye, but to the loss of his own father long ago.
As de Lanceau shoved hair from his brow, resolve glinted in his eyes. “My battle with Veronique is not done, that I promise you. She may have got her way this day, but she knows I am not a man to yield.”
“True.” Aldwin grinned.
“Sedgewick, who helped pay for and carry out her treachery, is dead. She will find it far more difficult to work her evil without an ally to manipulate. She is alone, without money, with a child to care for. Moreover, every man, woman, and child in this county owes loyalty to me. My men will track her. Soon, she will make a careless mistake, and we will snatch the boy. Then she will have no choice but to surrender to me. Or die.”
Leona couldn’t resist a smile. That would be a great day, indeed, and one worthy of its own chanson.
Approaching de Lanceau, her father bowed. “However I can help you, milord, I shall. I am in your debt for rescuing my castle.”
“You are.” De Lanceau motioned to the rest of his men-at-arms, standing nearby. “Help the folk clear the bodies from the hall and bailey. Treat the wounded prisoners, but hold them to be taken to Branton Keep. Ransley”—his forceful stare settled on Leona’s sire—“you and I will talk.”
Dread trailed through Leona. Her father had a great deal to explain to de Lanceau; as much as she yearned to speak for her sire, ’twas a discussion he must manage on his own. Pryerston was secured, the pendant safely in de Lanceau’s possession, and her father had vowed to quit drinking, but de Lanceau might well take Pryerston away from her sire and award it to another lord.
A painful thought.
And Aldwin . . .
Her gaze strayed to where he stood talking to several of his warrior friends, his quiver on his shoulder and his crossbow in his hand. Torchlight washed over his muscled back as he gestured, then laughed. The sound wove through her, rousing a sweet shimmer of joy, anticipation, and relief that they were alive.
As though he sensed her stare, his head swiveled. He met her gaze, and a powerful, invisible thunderclap seemed to shatter the space between them.
Aldwin’s stare darkened with sensual hunger.
A slow tremor rippled through her.
“Lioness, you and I must talk.”
***
Aldwin waited, a few steps behind, while Leona opened the door to a chamber on the keep’s upper level. “We can talk in here.” She glanced over her shoulder, her face lit by the candle she carried. A hint of shyness softened her features as she motioned him inside.
He crossed the threshold, his boots creaking on the chamber’s plank floor. His gaze swept the shadowed room, while Leona set down the candle and removed her cloak, then moved to light more candles. Soon, a flickering glow played across the bed’s plain blue coverlet. A chair and sheepskin waited before the hearth laden with unlit logs. A small, leather-bound book with warped pages lay on the chair’s seat: Ward’s sketchbook.
Bittersweet nostalgia swept over Aldwin, at the same moment that pale light washed across the floorboards. He glanced toward the window, to see Leona standing with her hands on the shutters’ edges, looking out. Moonshine swept over her, giving her skin the hue of fresh cream, while accentuating her high cheekbones and lush mouth. His gaze slid like a wayward finger of light down her bodice to her breasts.
Enrobed in moonlight, she was beautiful, serene . . . A warrior queen resplendent after a victorious battle.
His hands longed to touch her. Feel her. Know her, in all ways.
A ravenous ache spread through his groin as his attention returned to the bed. “Whose chamber is this?” he asked, although he knew the answer.
Her hair glimmered as she faced him. “Mine.”
He’d known. Still, an astounding blend of emotions walloped him: surprise, excitement, and desire. Bringing him to her chamber wasn’t at all appropriate for an unmarried lady.
But she wasn’t like any lady he’d
ever met.
The hunger in his loins intensified. If she’d brought him here to couple with him . . . His pulse leapt. Nay, he mustn’t dare assume. His lustful imaginings could well be wrong. Moreover, lying with her in this chamber, without being betrothed, would be dishonorable.
He struggled against his disappointment. Instead of dwelling on how much he wanted to seduce her, he must use this moment to divulge the truth about Ward. She deserved to know what had happened to her brother, and how highly Ward had thought of her—
Leona’s gown rustled as she walked past Aldwin and shut the door.
Clasping her hands behind her, she leaned back against the rough-hewn panel and studied him, her eyes bright with determination. Aldwin’s sweaty fingers tightened on his crossbow. What thoughts were going through her mind? Did she know how much he desired her, that to see her standing there, so close and lovely, nearly drove him mad with yearning?
“No one will disturb us.” Her husky voice sent a shudder of promise racing through him.
“Good,” he said, while he acknowledged she was right. All of the other warriors and castle folk were clearing up after the battle. Still, ’twould not be long before he and Leona were missed.
“There is much I”—want to do to you—“need to discuss with you,” he said, switching his crossbow to his other hand to dry his palm on his tunic.
“And I, you.”
He nodded. How he hated this awkwardness—as if he were alone with a woman for the first time.
Trying to decide how to begin, he headed to the trestle table near the window. His gaze fell to the objects lying there: burning candles in iron holders; a wooden comb; a pot holding three wilted roses; and a piece of yellow silk adorned with clumsy needlework.
She laughed from beside him. “I do not think I will ever master embroidery. My aunt was so patient with her teaching, too.”
He smiled. “’Tis a charming flower.”
“Butterfly, you mean.”
He winced. “Of course. I see now.”
Leona frowned, but humor glinted in her eyes. “You do not need to be kind. I know ’tis awful.”
“Mayhap you simply need more practice. And”—he added with a grin—“patience.”
“You sound just like Ward.” Sadness filled her gaze.
“Leona.” Aldwin set down his crossbow and caught her hands. “I am sorry I did not tell you before about your brother. During the past days, I wanted to tell you all, but I thought . . .” He tried to find words that didn’t make him sound judgmental or heartless.
“I want to know the truth. Please.”
He nodded and inhaled a steadying breath. “As you know, Ward went to the East to help defend the lands King Richard had claimed for the Christians. From what Ward told me, he found the journey to Acre and the Eastern sights fascinating.”
“I guessed that, from his sketchbook,” Leona said softly.
“About four months after he reached that port city, he was beaten in a skirmish with Turks. In the fight, his sword arm was slashed to the bone, and the wound became corrupted.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“The Knights Hospitallers cut off his lower arm to try to save his life. Unable to wield a sword, not able to serve the king, Ward had no choice but to return to England.”
“What?” Leona blinked hard. “Father told me Ward died in foreign lands.”
Squeezing her fingers, Aldwin said, “Ward feared he couldn’t return to Pryerston. He wasn’t a battle hero. Neither had he been knighted, as your sire had fervently wished. Also, with only one arm, Ward felt he wouldn’t be able to defend and maintain Pryerston as a lord’s son should.”
Tears swam in Leona’s eyes.
“Entirely by chance, while fulfilling a task for de Lanceau, I came upon Ward in a small inn in northern Moydenshire. The corruption had spread through his body. Feverish, weak, and having run out of money, he could no longer travel. I sent a missive to my lord, telling him I would be delayed in my return to Branton Keep, and I stayed and cared for Ward as best I could.” Aldwin tamped down rising anguish. “I was at his bedside when he died. In a letter, which I sent to your father along with the sketchbook, I detailed all that Ward had told me in his last days.”
“I never saw that letter,” Leona said. “My father told me Ward had died in battle.”
“I know.”
A sigh parted her lips. “I realize why you did not tell me about Ward before now. You thought I would be disappointed.”
“Aye. Especially when you viewed him as a hero.”
Aldwin yearned to embrace her and shoulder some of her pain. When she met his gaze, however, she smiled through the tears clinging to her lashes. “Whatever befell him, he will always be the Ward of my memories: brave, strong, and invincible.”
Aldwin smiled back. “That is how I shall remember him, too.”
Her focus dropped to their joined hands. “’Twas honorable of you to spare my feelings. You protected me . . . as a noble knight would protect his lady.”
“I guess I did.”
“Likewise, you protected me from your true opinion of my embroidery.”
Her lashes remained lowered, keeping him from reading the expression in her eyes. Yet there was warmth in her voice he hadn’t noticed before.
“Needlework is far from the most telling quality of a lady. Far more important, you are strong of will, loyal to those you love,”—his voice softened—“and . . .”
“And?” Raising her lashes, she snared him with the golden fire of her stare.
He released one of her hands, unable to stop himself from catching a honey-brown wisp of hair curling down by her cheekbone. “Irresistible.”
A blush stained her face. “Stop.” She swatted at his hand, but not forcefully enough to deter him.
“The most beautiful, irresistible lady,” he went on, “I have ever encountered.” His fingers slid down her hair to linger over her breast. “Which is why—”
Her hand rose to cup his. Longing shone in her eyes. “Kiss me.”
Lust shuddered through him. Aye, Lioness. With such fire, you will never crave another man. Yet on his honor as an aspiring knight, he mustn’t abandon all reason and lie with her; then he truly would be the disreputable knave Lord Ransley had claimed him to be.
With great effort, Aldwin fought the desire to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed. “Leona, we—”
“Kiss”—she pressed his palm to her breast—“me.”
His thoughts scattered as he registered delicious warmth, plump flesh, and her hardened nipple beneath her gown.
“Lioness.” He growled and covered her mouth with his.
Her lips opened as though she starved for him. Her tongue clashed with his in a fierce, wet rhythm. Thrust. Glide. Suckle. God’s blood, how he craved her!
A shivered groan broke from her, and then her hands rammed into his hair, grasping fistfuls. Her nails scratched his scalp in a mindless frenzy that set his whole body aflame with desire.
His hand instinctively squeezed her breast tighter. A gasp wrenched from her, sucking his breath into her mouth. Rising up on tiptoes, she brushed her body against him. With the sinewy arch of her back, her breast pressed more firmly into his palm.
He growled again, a rough, carnal sound.
When he claimed her mouth once more, she eased away. She lured him, he realized through the arousal dominating his thoughts, toward her bed.
The voice of reason nagged like a chaperone. Leona wasn’t a courtesan, although she had the hungry little moans and gasps just right. She was a lord’s daughter. A woman who by her esteemed birthright deserved to be courted and—
“Aldwin,” she whispered against his mouth. She pressed kisses against his flushed skin.
He shuddered, even as her hands slid under his cloak, and then his tunic. The hot bliss of her hands . . . “H-hold,” he choked out.
She hesitated, only long enough to meet his gaze. Her cheeks flushed w
ith anticipation, she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.
“’Tis what you want,” she murmured, “to join with me.”
“More than you can imagine.” He tried to think clearly. “However—”
Her eyelids fluttered on a coy smile. “’Tis what I want, also.” Again, she squirmed against him. “Ever since the cottage, I cannot stop thinking about . . . us.”
Aldwin swallowed down a hoarse cry. He, too, had thought about them coupling. Over and over and over again, until his need for her was sated. If that was possible.
Her gaze suddenly turned solemn. “When the baron and Veronique held us prisoner in the hall, and I realized we might never have the chance to be together—”
He kissed her. “That is over now.”
“Aye, but soon, you will be returning to Branton Keep with Lord de Lanceau.”
“Leona—”
“Please. Give me this moment with you. Let us finish what we began in the cottage.” Her eyes sparked. “If for no other reason than what you forced me to endure as your captive.”
Aldwin laughed. “And what you forced me to endure.”
He expected her to be indignant. Instead, she winked and withdrew her fingers from his tunic. “Then we owe it to each other.”
How neatly she’d turned their discussion around to suit her desires. If only he could give her what they both wanted. But he couldn’t. Not without a betrothal between them, for as fiercely as he was tempted, he mustn’t ignore his knightly morals.
“Why do you not touch me?” she whispered.
He groaned, sensing his willpower wavering. “Lioness—”
“Am I not enough of a lady for you?”
Argh! “Of course you are. Ah, God, Leona—”
Cloth whispered. He suddenly realized she’d taken a step backward, untied her gown, and was drawing it and her chemise over her head.
He could only stare, helpless to look away. With a muffled whisper, her garments fell to the floorboards. She stood naked before him.
Her breasts were as perfect as he’d imagined. So was her smooth belly, leading down to her curved hips and thighs. He’d never seen a more lovely woman.
She tipped her chin up. “Well?” Her voice held a glimmer of uncertainty.
A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3) Page 31