Knight Furies

by C. C. Wiley

  “Help me trust what you say,” Nathan said. “Tell me your secrets, my lady.”

  “And what secrets do you keep from me? Either we do this together, or we are already lost.”

  “I vow to share this keep. This land,” he murmured.

  She arched her neck as he nibbled a trail down her neck. A sigh whispered through her lips. Her legs threatened to wrap around his middle on their own volition. Meg tore away from his hold, putting distance between her breasts and his masterful lips. The floor called to her. It begged for her to lie on her back and spread her legs. She wanted him to return, to sink deep and ride with her to the brink of madness and joy. Panting from the mere thought of what could be, she drew in a breath and prepared to tell him all. Her nipples brushed against her bodice. They pebbled, aching for more. At what price? She stepped out of reach. The loss of contact with his lips flayed her skin and broke open her heart. If only he would listen.

  “We keep the peace by paying for protection. That which we make, we sell,” Meg said in a rush. Nathan’s scrutiny bore into her, demanding all. “And that which we cannot sell in Carlisle, we sell to the smugglers.” She glanced through her lashes, clenching her jaw until her teeth ached. What would he say?

  Nathan walked to her father’s spyglass. It swung back and forth as he searched for something. Meg waited. The silence stretched.

  When his outrage and blinding blow never came she dared cut the distance between them. She placed her hand on his sleeve. The muscles tensed and bunched under her palm. “And what have you to reveal before we are wed? What is it that you want from me?”

  * * * *

  What could he say to her? I thought I was losing my mind, my soul. Then I found you. And then the pieces began to return. Only now they no longer resemble who I was. But who I am. Only I don’t know who that is anymore.

  Nathan played with the tube. It was easier to touch the cool metal. He knew if he allowed himself to reach out for her, he would take her on the table. Too many things were unresolved. He never wanted to see her looking at him with fear. Never again. Coward that he was right then, he would ride away before he let that happen. So, instead of seeing the distrust in her eyes, he forced his attention on the navigator’s glass.

  It fascinated him to know that he could look through a set of lens and be brought so close. Mayhap he would send it to Henry. A gift to remind his liege that he was needed on the battlefield. He searched the bailey and then the tilting yard below. The movement brought the terrain in sight. It was clear that the path to the private cove was the beginning of the map. Did he dare reveal the primary reason his king sent him?

  Ah, but there were the smugglers. And the Scotsman. How was he to move forward with any plans if Duncan Graham hovered over him? He could not find fault in Meg’s plans. They were set in favor of the village. The only one who paid was Meg. And what a dear price she had forfeited. There were weary lines about her mouth and eyes. ’Twas his duty to see them removed.

  If only she would give him more. She had told him of the guilt she bore. She revealed the heartache. One in which he believed she should never have accepted. To come to him, offering up her trust, had nearly brought him to his knees and he never wanted to break that fragile trust that had only just begun.

  Judging from the skirmish, there were few smugglers remaining. They had mentioned his name. Linking it to the bastards Vincent and Hugh DePierce. Mercenaries without someone to pay their bills were an angry and hungry lot.

  Nathan’s stomach cramped. His heart slammed into his chest. They would stop at nothing to gain what they determined was theirs. He gripped the wooden table, fingers digging into its surface. The leather journal Henry sent to him rested near his hand. A breeze must have caught a corner of the parchment, lifting it enough to draw his attention.

  What could he offer, but his own truth?

  Nathan dropped his hands to his sides. He flexed his fingers. The only saving grace he could latch on to was realizing he had not slipped into a mindless walking nightmare. He almost wished that it was. Then he could awaken and find himself nestled against his new wife. Unable to look upon the contempt he feared he might see, he turned his back to her. He braced his hands over the window casing and peered into the bailey.

  “I desire a woman to love me for who I am. Not because it pleases the king. Or seals an agreement that keeps her safe from poverty. I desire a woman to challenge me, and respect me, and trust me. I desire a friend in whom I can confide. One who I can share my bed and body with and know that when I have grown old, we will still come together and hold each other. I desire my woman, no, my wife, to want me as badly as I want her. I desire to create a family that I can oversee, protect and nurture. I desire my wife to love me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. The aches and pains from all the battles he had ever fought never left him feeling as raw as in that moment. “To love me. For. Me. A broken knight. One who still has dreams and aspirations.”

  Silence filled the room. Had she left him as he bared his soul? Gathering his courage in case he faced an empty chamber, he turned to face Meg. “I thought I had found all that I desired and so much more in you.”

  “Imagine my surprise when I discovered you standing across the stream. My beautiful warrior. Our king sent me to search out a treasure.” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “I never intended or knew that he would hand over Fletchers Landing or force us to wed.” He turned, lifting his head, he searched for her understanding. “I swear it.”

  Fearing what he might see, he shut his eyes. His flinched at the first touch of her hand. Meg stroked his back. His muscles contracted and then turned to liquid as he reveled in her gentle caress. “I might have failed in finding the king’s treasure. But instead I found something greater. I found you, my healing Margaret Grace.”

  “’Tis a bit frightening. Isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Nathan turned, catching her hand to kiss the crest of her fingers. He blinked, surprised by the tears scorching his lids. “I never meant to harm you or your family.”

  “Tell me of the treasure,” she whispered. “How may I help?” She traced his cheek. Her fingers danced over his jaw, down his neck. “I must confess. I’ve scoured those caverns. Followed the paths into the caves. There is no treasure to offer our king.”

  Nathan cupped her chin, drawing her deeper into his embrace. Their lips grazed, sending a tension to his loins. “Years ago, while in my youth, I vowed to never give in until my dying breath. I will stand and fight. And this I vow again, to King Henry and to you.”

  Meg swiped at the tears streaming down her cheek. “I do not ask that of you. My wish is that you live to a ripe old age. If you wish to be a treasure seeker, than we shall do it as one.”

  Nathan’s spirit lightened. Years had passed since he felt this light. Knowing that someone cared whether he returned from battle or not brought a grin that he could not contain.

  “Then let us away to our patient. Mayhap Duncan Graham has an idea of the hill or valley our prisoners have run to.”

  Meg dug her heels in as she held him back. “He is a good man. He saved our lives. You shared a battle. I ask that you take this into consideration.”

  Jealousy, wrought in a dragon’s form, reared its head. He curled his fists wanting to strike out at anyone who stood in his way. “I spoke with him once. The man lied.”

  “Patience. For me.” Her slender fingers wrapped around his upper arm, drawing his attention. He sighed. He was lost. The woman had but to wiggle a finger and he would come running. He dared not reveal the power she held over him. “I’ll speak with the head of the Clan Graham when we are through here.”

  Meg’s gasp surprised him. Her beautiful obsidian brown eyes widened and drew him into her spell. “Head of the clan?” she squeaked.

  Nathan could no longer ignore the lure of her mouth and leaned in. “Aye
,” he said. “I’ll speak with him anon.”

  Her fingers dug into his hair, tugging, kneading until he wanted her to consume him. What could he say? He was lost into her charms and he did not want to turn back.

  “They’ll come for him,” Meg warned, her lips moving against his, driving him to distraction.

  “If they do, we’ll be ready. Either the man will call them off or there will be a battle.”

  Meg pulled away, leaving a yawning empty cavern that he never wanted to know again. “A battle. We are a village. Not an army of soldiers. Families. Women and children already striving to survive while their men are away.”

  “There will be peace.”

  “How can you know this?”

  Desperate to ease her heart, he swept up her hand and caught a fingertip with his tongue. “I will make it happen. This I vow.”

  She sighed despite the concern etched on her brow. “How? You will be too busy searching for the king’s nonexistent treasure.”

  “I have to do this.”

  “And you have to protect your people. They depend on you. On us.”

  Nathan growled and shoved his hands behind his back to keep from slamming a fist into the wall. All he wanted was the sharing of secrets. Easy things like admitting to pleasuring oneself when no one was about. Not the refusal of taxes. Or the information gathering of the people to the north of the debatable lands.

  “Meg,” Baldric called. He stood in the doorway. A questioning glance swept over them. “Is there truly treasure hidden in the caverns?” He bit his lip, an accusatory glare swept over the chamber and stopped on Nathan. “Mayhap you won’t have to wed the bastard after all.”

  Chapter 18

  “Baldric, never say such a terrible thing.”

  “’Tis true isn’t it? I heard them talking in the village. He’s Nathan Staves of nowhere. He’s not good enough for you. To be our lord.” He limped forward. His little sword drawn from its sheath.

  Meg rushed to her brother and knelt before him. His little body trembled against her chest. “Baldric, my love. Where did you get this fine sword?”

  “From the blacksmith. He,” Baldric said, pointing in Nathan’s direction, “ordered it from Wayland before they locked him up.”

  “Put it away.” She pried his fingers from the hilt. It clattered against the floor. “’Tis not as simple as that. We must do as our king edicts.”

  He lifted his head. Angry tears slid down his cheeks. They dripped from his chin and stained the leather jerkin. It joined the myriad of stains from days before. He had determined he must wear the garment ever since he had his first lesson of swordplay with Sir Nathan. When he had thought of the knight as a friend. “I won’t let him harm you, Meg,” he cried.

  Her heart broke. “Nathan would never harm me. He is attentive. Gentle. Do you not recall how he championed Whitefoot for you?”

  “I heard you arguing.” Baldric sniffed, wiping the tears with his sleeve. Lips still turned down, he glared at Nathan. “I saw him grab you. Rough like. You were fighting him.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Nathan stood still, his hand hung limp at his sides. His skin had paled visibly next to his auburn curls.

  Worry.

  Sadness.

  Compassion.

  These emotions flitted over his countenance. Nathan cared what she thought of him. She knew in that moment that what she said was not a lie. Nathan did care for her. He would never purposely harm her or her family. Would they ever fall deeply in love? How did one truly know? She had to give them a chance and hope that it would happen. Meg offered an understanding smile over her brother’s head. Nathan rewarded her with an arched brow. The corner of his mouth wavered and tugged upward.

  She gripped Baldric’s shoulders. They had become stronger, wider than she recalled. It was time she treated him like the growing boy that he was becoming. He attempted to turn away, forcing her to bring him to face her. She winced. “Baldric, how did you come by that bruise?”

  He moved under her hands. “I don’t recall. I must have tripped. You know how clumsy I am.”

  Meg closed her eyes. The image of his limp had already embedded itself behind her lids. Perhaps it was best not to make a fuss over it. “You’re growing. It happens to the best of us.”

  “’Tis why I can protect you now, Meg.” He gripped her hands. “You don’t have to marry him or anyone else.”

  “Baldric, you must listen. Sir Nathan and I are to be wed. On this day.” She brushed his damp forehead with her lips. “I ask that you be strong and welcome him as your lord. He will be part of our family.”

  “Mother and Father…?” Worry marred his fair complexion.

  “Would have approved.” She nodded, and locking her gaze to Nathan’s, they shared a moment. He took a step toward them, before pausing to scrape his fingers into his hair.

  Meg grinned. Hope began to bloom. She had confidence that that her family would grow to care for him. Just as she had.

  She looked at Nathan, her betrothed. A shiver of anticipation ran through her body. “’Tis time for you to wash, Baldric. You’ll want to present yourself in a good light as I want you, Phillipa, and Anna to bear witness to our marriage.” She stood, tugging Baldric with her and nudged him toward the door. “Sir Nathan and I are to see one of Anna’s patients.”

  “The big burly one? He’s much larger than you, isn’t he, Sir Nathan? Imagine that sword fight would be a great one I would hate to miss seeing.” Not waiting on a response, he grabbed her hand. “May I linger a little while longer, Meg?”

  Nathan chuckled. “He enjoys the lens. Let him stay, Meg,” he said. “What harm could it do?”

  She bit her lip. Baldric’s foot dragged a little heavier than usual. She would ask Anna to check with him and perhaps give him one of her boiled bark unguents that returned one’s health. She prayed he was not coming down with a sickness. Dread gnawed at her. Had she dared Fate yet again by seeking her own bit of happiness?

  Baldric narrowed his liquid blue eyes over Nathan. “Many thanks, Meg. ’Tis true that I like to look out the window and imagine what the world is like beyond Fletchers Landing.” He held out his hand. “I ask for your forgiveness, my lord. I should have never repeated what our people were whispering.”

  Nathan bowed his head and gave a nod. “Mayhap we shall be able to continue our lessons of swordplay come the new day.”

  “Mayhap,” Baldric muttered. He spun on his heel and left them with only his back to see.

  Appalled, Meg shook her head in wonder. She must look into his training. “You will return and apologize again. This very moment.”

  “Let it be,” Nathan said. He held out his arm. “He’ll come around eventually.”

  Meg let him lead her down to the sickrooms that Anna had set up in the tower.

  * * * *

  “’Tis not true,” Nathan said quietly. “I’m not a bastard.”

  Meg nodded and kept her focus on lifting her skirts to clear the stairs. “It does not matter.”

  “It does,” he argued. “Though both of my parents died from sickness, my bloodline is strong. I was young, but old enough to foster into Sir Damien’s castle. He would have preferred that I stayed in the kitchens. But I demanded to show my strength. Much like Baldric has.” The memory made him smile. “I knew that disease took my family from me, but I wanted to find a way to protect those I cared for. And the only way that I had was by using my brawn.” He winked in an attempt to make her smile. “And my quick wit.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “You misunderstand. It does not matter to me. I will speak with my family. Show yourself to be a good man. Then they will accept you as you are.”

  Nathan shook off the sadness that threatened to tear him down. When had he become the ogre in Baldric’s eyes? The boy had mentioned overheard whispers in the village. And witn
essed an argument with Meg.

  He glanced down at Meg. Her ebony hair shined like luxurious silk. His betrothed. Did she fear him too? How were they to come together in their union if they could not get beyond this impasse?

  “Do you intend to join in questioning the Scotsman? Would you not wish to prepare for our nuptials?”

  “You’ve met him before. You know the man that he is.”

  Nathan sighed, and paused on the step below her. “I met him over a fire, and he answered my questions with lies.”

  “And you met him again. His back pressed against ours as we fought.”

  “His sword arm is strong. I’ll give you that.”

  “And now we keep him a prisoner.”

  “Because you have not been forthcoming with information. Now I must demand answers why he was there in the first place.”

  “I told you. We had an agreement for protection. There were difficulties with the smugglers. Someone was stealing our supplies and the orders ready for delivery. He went to the cove to ensure that there were no more problems.”

  “He did a pathetic job of it, wouldn’t you agree? S’pose he is taking two bites of the Shepherd’s pie?”

  Turning, he led her into the solar. Two of their servants had scrubbed the room, leaving behind an herbal fragrance in their efforts. Fresh flowers adorned every available surface in preparation for the ceremony.

  “Leave us,” he grunted at the women cleaning out the hearth.

  “’Tis no need to be rude,” Meg muttered. Hands planted on her hips, she dug in her heels and returned to the source of their disagreement. “Duncan Graham helped to save our lives.”

  Nothing would please Nathan more than to rid his land of that man. But he could not do so without ensuring that he had not released a wolf into the henhouse.

  “Where was he during the fire? Is he working with the blacksmith? Or the smugglers? DePierce’s mercenaries? Or is he a clansman who searches for additional ways to pad his purse?”