Warrior's Moon A Love Story

by Jaclyn Hawkes

  She led him along a stone hallway and through a doorway beyond. In a drawing room of some sort she began to unfasten the cuff at his wrist. He glanced around, wishing for some miraculous intervention to help him avoid her attempting one of those inane dalliances he and Matthew had jested about, but alas, there was nothing. She and he were completely alone in some out of the way area of the castle.

  With his sleeve unfastened and cuffed up, she began to pull at the bandage that covered his arm, but he stopped her. He didn’t need a physician. The wound had already been seen to. It simply needed pressure applied more steadily than he’d been able to as he was preparing for this banquet. She continued to pull at his arm and he said as diplomatically as possible, “It truly is fine, Princess. But a scratch. By tonight it will be forgotten.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s bleeding terribly. You must sit and relax, Sir Peyton.” She indicated a large padded chair. “Sit here and place the arm just so and I’ll have a look at it.”

  He didn’t want to sit, yet he didn’t want to offend her either and glanced around once again in hopes of some intrusion. She saw his glance and gave him a sultry smile and said, “You needn’t worry about someone bothering us. We’re quite removed from the others. Only my family comes here and they are all back in the great hall. You may rest assured we won’t be interrupted.”

  That was exactly what he was concerned about. He sat and even elevated his arm, but kept his other hand securely clamped around the wound to both keep pressure and to prevent the princess from removing the bandage. He needed to keep it intact in order to be able to escape as soon as he figured out just how to do that diplomatically.

  That plan changed as the princess took his clamped hand in both of hers and began to rub it in a guise that she was trying to make him let go. It worked. He let go of the bandage with alacrity to move his hand clear to the other side of the chair from her. She seemed to think his hesitancy to let her touch him was humorous as she went back to untying the ends of the wrap with a small smile on her face.

  For a moment, she picked at the bandage in a silence that made Peyton even more uncomfortable, and then he was horrified to hear her say almost conversationally, “This would be a most opportune moment for you to kiss me. Would it not?”

  He quickly looked up into her smiling face and finally decided he needed to handle this situation once and for all, even if it did put him in danger of offending the crown. Shaking his head with an apologetic look, he replied gently, “Highness, I am but a humble soldier. You are princess of the kingdom. One such as I could never even consider such an offense to your position. ‘Twould be unthinkable.”

  She merely tipped her head coyly and continued her tempting, “Ah, but what if you knew I wished it anyway?”

  Giving one more slow head shake, he replied calmly, “Princess, I am confident you would never wish to be so intimate with one such as I.”

  Rolling her eyes, she let go of the bandage she was fiddling with and straightened to look at him, but he only met her gaze evenly. That seemed to frustrate her and she gave the daintiest stomp with her satin slipper and smiled and said, “Sir Peyton, stop being obtuse and kiss me this minute! I demand it! I am princess, and I can have whatever I want!”

  Still watching her, he simply said, “No, Your Highness. Please forgive me, but I cannot. It’s not my place.”

  She gave a pretty little grimace of surprise. “But I have just given you an order!”

  With another apologetic half smile, he said, “Your father trusts me.”

  “My father will never know!”

  He shook his head again. “But I am worthy of your father’s trust.”

  She gave a small sound of outrage and turned to him in full haughty royalty. “You’ll do as you’ve been told, Sir Peyton, or I shall tell my father that you tried to take advantage of me! Would you disobey me at the price of your life?”

  Peyton struggled not to roll his own eyes at the incongruity of her accusation as he said in an infinitely gentle voice, “Princess, you don’t understand. I would fight to the death in battle to protect you and your virtue. I could certainly do no less here in your own home. Pray forgive me for being disobedient, but I cannot kiss you. ‘Twould not be honorable. Tell your father an untruth at the price of my life if you must. I’m sorry.”

  For a long moment, she stared into his eyes and then turned aside to go back to working over his bandage, as she said almost too quietly to hear, “Drat your honor anyway, Sir Peyton. ‘Tis no fun at all.”

  “No. I suppose not. Pray forgive me.”

  She fair yanked at the ends of the bandage. “No. I’ll not forgive you. You’re a beast to me!”

  They both looked up at the sudden sound of chuckling to find Prince Laird standing casually against the doorway across the room. He laughed and shook his head and said, “A beast? You call that a beast? You’re nothing but a spoiled brat of a princess. You threatened him with his life! That is the lowest, most disreputable thing I’ve ever heard! And him not even here long enough to know you would never have done it. I think I’m going to tell Father just to see him warm your bloomers for such treachery!”

  She tossed her head and turned her back to him and spat, “You wouldn’t dare and you know he wouldn’t raise a hand to me at any rate. It’s rude to spy on people. Your manners are atrocious! And don’t you dare speak of my being spanked in front of a visitor!”

  “A visitor who you threatened with beheading for a kiss! You ought to be spanked and much worse!”

  At this, she turned on her brother. “Well, he obviously preferred death over my sweet berry lips, so pray, leave me alone!”

  Peyton had no idea how to deal with the two of them and felt terribly guilty for embarrassing her in front of her brother who bent over laughing and finally said, “Death would definitely be preferable to having to kiss an imperious troll. Sir Peyton was simply demonstrating the proper judgment of a knight.”

  “Death would also be preferable to having you for a brother! You’re pure beastly! Go back to the banquet and leave us be.”

  Prince Laird laughed again. “I thought you said he was the one being beastly. And it didn’t sound to me like he was ever going to break down and kiss you. You might as well give up begging and go back yourself. Perhaps Sir Peyton would prefer to stay here with me and laugh about you.”

  She glared at Prince Laird, but still appeared to be winding down as she said sadly, “No. He’s far too honorable for kissing, or laughing behind one’s back either. You’ll soon see. He’s a complete saint. It’s incredibly deflating. I believe I will go back. See to it his wound is properly cared for will you? There truly was a reason I brought him in here.”

  Peyton felt even guiltier, but her brother didn’t seem to as he continued to tease her, saying, “Beyond seduction, you mean?”

  She rolled her eyes. “A kiss is hardly seduction. You’re making me sound like a trollop. He’ll think even less of me. And if I have to go back to that tasteless potage then so do you.”

  “I didn’t leave dragging a victim like you did. No one will think a thing of me slipping out.”

  “Oh, pray, give it a holiday, Laird.”

  With that, she turned back toward the door, but Peyton stepped forward to go to a knee in front of her. He was indescribably grateful for Prince Laird’s comic relief, but he hadn’t truly meant to humiliate the poor, foolish princess. Trying to make some semblance of amends, he said, “Please forgive me my beastliness, Your Highness. In truth, I was trying to tell you that you were far too precious to be so treated—not that I would prefer death to your sweet berry lips. Indeed, I’m pure certain a single kiss from you would be worth dying for. As I am also certain I am unworthy of such an immeasurable honor.” He bowed his head as he finished in what he hoped was an indication of respect.

  She put a gentle hand onto his head and said surprisingly meekly, “You’re sweet, Sir Peyton. You’re still a beast, but you’re a sweet one. See to your a
rm and come back and eat your supper, as nondescript as that soup was. I’m sure those paltry bits didn’t fill up a man of your stature.”

  As she swept out the door, she said to Prince Laird, “See to his wound, brother. It truly was bleeding pure over the table out there.”

  When the two men were alone, Prince Laird began to laugh again and Peyton looked askance of him as he reached to begin rewrapping the wound on his forearm. Unsure of how to treat the young royal in such a circumstance, Peyton was surprised when the prince went right back to the teasing banter when he said, “That was a truly impressive show of ingratiation. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a smooth buttering of tender feminine sensibilities. You’re either the saint she was speaking of, or a complete rake.”

  Shaking his head, Peyton said, “I’m no saint. Surely.” With a grin, he asked, “Which is worse? A sweet beast or a complete rake?”

  “I imagine that would depend on whether there’s a disgruntled princess involved. At least you’re not to be hanged or beheaded in the morning. Don’t worry. Other than being embarrassed for the next twenty two times she sees you, she’ll live. In fact, you’ve probably imbedded yourself permanently into her heart with that sweet bended knee speech. ‘Twas too touching. Truly.”

  Peyton ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Would that I had someone to give me direction in all things female.” He bent to use his teeth to tie off the bandage ends.

  The prince asked, “You had no trolls—I mean sisters, then?”

  Peyton had to work not to grin at his description of sisters before he said, “No. Although, there was a neighbor girl so close she seemed one. Especially when she was small.”

  “Troll or sister?”

  At that Peyton did smile. “Sister. Most of the time she managed to be entertaining rather than irritating.”

  “Did she move away then? When she was no longer small?”

  Dark silken curls and the sweet scent of fresh herbs suddenly filled Peyton’s head and he could swear he heard the sound of her laughter. He shook his head and gave the prince a mellow half smile. “No. She grew up into a girl far too beautiful to ever be considered a sister.”

  SSSS

  Even though Cook was old enough to be her grandmother, she and Chantaya became fast friends and Cook kindly didn’t hesitate to encourage Chantaya and Isabella to add their knowledge of seasonings and herbs to the fare of the manor house. Cook even ventured into the woods on occasion to learn of the origin of the secrets to Chantaya and Isabella’s culinary mastery.

  As they searched for mushrooms on one sunny afternoon, Chantaya cautioned Cook at length about the dangers of the mushrooms and how certain ones, or even too much of others, could make a body horribly sick and even possibly cause death. She put extra emphasis on how similar the mushrooms could appear and pointed out the distinguishing characteristics to ensure Cook never made the mistake of mixing them up and taking a poisonous variety into the kitchen.

  At that, Cook gave her a sassy grin and said, “Much as I’d love to do away with a couple of the nobles round here, rest easy. I’ll leave the use of the deadly things to them as knows best. I’ll keep to less dangerous ingredients like flour and eggs and such. I’ll also do the serving to protect ye. Heaven knows the Rosskeene men have no need to pester an old woman like me.”

  Conrad continued to watch over the Kincraigs and he became almost a father figure to Chantaya as she worked around the manor kitchen and gardens. Many were the times when Lord Rosskeene or Master Damian came sidling near, they would take one look at Conrad and then decide they had something else that needed doing. It must have been that they valued Conrad’s skill with their horses more than they wanted to press themselves upon the Kincraigs.

  Conrad’s steady, gentle demeanor to both her and her mother earned a large measure of trust from Chantaya and she often spent time with him in the stables brushing the horses and adding to her knowledge of their care when she wasn’t needed in the kitchen. He watched how she handled both the sweet gentle old campaigners, as well as the more spirited mounts of the Master and one evening, when one of the young grooms was ill, Conrad approached her as she worked in a stall and asked, “Have you ridden much, Miss Chantaya?”

  She looked up at him, wondering how much she dared to admit. They had become surprisingly close, but Chantaya also knew most peasant girls had no knowledge of riding horses and, in fact, it would have been deemed inappropriate at best. Especially the fact that she rode astride instead of sidesaddle the way the noble women rode.

  She looked into his warm brown eyes, remembered how he was almost tender with her mother and decided ‘twas safe to admit to him her prowess and said with a somewhat sheepish smile, “Much more than I should have, I’m afraid.”

  The kindly older man nodded. “I suspected as much. Does your mother know?”

  Chantaya scrunched her lips to the side and began a nod that ended in a shake and said, “I’m sure she suspects. I didn’t truly have her blessing, but then I also know she can ride astride as well as most men, herself. Pray, why do you ask?”

  “You ride astride then?” She nodded mutely, wondering if she was about to be given a fatherly lecture about acting like a lady. Instead, he asked, “Would you be willing to help me work a colt or two then? Just while Sven is out sick. ‘Tis shorthanded I am, and if the horses don’t behave near perfectly for him, they incur the Lord’s wrath. It also might be a good thing to keep in practice, it might.”

  She was considering his request, wondering what the other staff and the Lord and Lady, and even her mother would think when he added, “I have an old coat and could swipe a pair of the younger lad’s breeches. Straight from the wash, of course. If we tucked that lovely mane of yours up under a hat, no one would be the wiser that you weren’t Sven himself if we didn’t venture close to anyone.”

  Slowly, Chantaya began to smile a wide, happy smile. She would love to be back astride a horse again and dressing up sounded positively adventurous! “You’ve got yourself a deal, Conrad, and gladly! Is it too late to go this very even?”

  He grinned back. “'Tis late, but a bit o dusk might make you even less distinguishable. There’s clean breeches on the bench in the tack room and coat and hat on the hooks. Tell your mother you’ll be gone a moment and I’ll get the steeds. Be off wi’ you now. When next I see you, it’s a young groom I’ll expect to see.”

  When she returned, only moments later, he looked at her and then shook his head and said, “Even for the hat, young Sven could never have been so beautiful. Here.” He took a clean, folded handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Pull up your collar and knot this about your neck and chin. And next time, wear the longer coat. No breeches in the world could hide that figure. If Master Damian ever saw you he’d be nigh out of control. I’d have to near trounce him.”

  She did as she was told, but laughed and said, “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Although, I’d wear a jester’s costume if I had to, to be able to ride again.”

  They rode for nearly an hour, working the two colts they were on side by side through the woods and meadows around the manor, putting them through their paces and brushing them up on stopping and backing. They brought them in at full dark and once back inside the stables, Chantaya slid off of the leggy sorrel she had been riding with a sigh that was part contentment, part fatigue and part sore hind end. It had been weeks since she had ridden and an incredibly long day since she’d gone into the kitchen to begin preparing the manor breakfast this morning. Still, it had been pure wonderful to be back in the saddle.

  As she finally lay down in her bed that night, she wished there had been a way to tell Peyton of her adventure of dressing as a boy and working horses. He probably would have given her that fatherly lecture, but he would have also been happy for the pleasure and the freedom she had found out there tonight. Her spirit seemed to need that sense of freedom. It made this indenturement seem far more bearable after all. She wished that ma
gistrate would hurry and get back with them about his decision.

  Peyton still didn’t know she was no longer in Navarre. She’d been going to write him of their trouble and the move, but every time she considered it, she decided against it, reasoning that she didn’t want the Rosskeenes to know she could write or that she had ties to the knights of the castle. The longer they were here at Rosskeene Manor, the more gossip came to them about nefarious activities of the younger two Rosskeene men, and over time, she had begun to gather that information and even write it down in the event there ever became enough threat that she would need to report it. Things weren’t right here at the manor. And it hadn’t taken long to realize it. Just how not right they were, remained to be seen.

  The next day in the kitchen, when Chantaya arrived to start breakfast, Cook was ill and while Chantaya worried for Cook’s health, she also worried about how she would protect herself from young Master Damian without Cook and the hefty rolling pin that she threatened him with.

  Chantaya made it through breakfast with only Damian’s pointed looks and comments to trouble her, and quickly did up the dishes, but then went back out to their living quarters for the short time until the midday meal, rather than get started on it right away as she typically would have done.

  Conrad saw her go into their room, and a few minutes later, he stopped by to ask why she had come out. When she admitted about Cook’s absence, he and her mother exchanged a glance, and her mother immediately got up and readied herself to accompany Chantaya into the manor to help her.

  While Chantaya appreciated the company and the help, now she worried about her mother’s safety as well, knowing that if Lord Rosskeene heard of Isabella’s appearance in the kitchen, they would need to worry about him as well as young Damian.

  Shortly after the meal, her concerns were indeed founded as first Damian sauntered into the kitchen, followed shortly by his father. Chantaya and Isabella stood side by side at one of the work tables and Chantaya wasn’t surprised when Isabella reached for the exact rolling pin that Cook used. That rolling pin, coupled with the appearance of the two had Chantaya’s breath catching in her throat and the beating of her heart increased even more than it had when the two had come in.