Grace’s accusation that he had killed Curtis pierced him like a dagger. While he knew he had not killed the young knight, the fact she believed he did was enough to tighten his chest in despair. He had wanted to shout at her that it was not true; he had wanted to shake her into seeing he had not hurt Curtis, that it had been Curtis’s own foolish, dishonorable actions. But in his experience, people believed what they wanted to believe no matter what one did or said.
He looked down the overgrown road and wondered how long it would be before her father’s men came for Lady Grace.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to find Grace carrying a pile of wood from the cottage. She placed it outside the building and turned to enter again. “What are you doing?” he called, approaching her.
She lifted her chin and dusted off her skirt. “I am cleaning my new home.”
She was stubborn. He forced down his smile. She had put her golden curls up, at the back of her head and somehow that accented the soft lines of her face and jaw. She had long lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips. She moved to turn away and he called softly, “Grace. I will not force you to return. But your father’s men will. I would say you have only a day before they arrive.”
She turned to him, a troubled frown on her brow. “I have no desire to return.”
“I don’t think that matters to your father.”
She glanced back at the cottage. “Let them come,” she said in an unconvincing defiant voice. “I will never return.” She turned to enter the cottage.
“Do you need help?”
She froze and stood that way for a moment. Then, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You would help me?”
A curl of golden hair hung over her cheek and her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight; a sheen of sweat made her brow glisten. Lord, she was beautiful! “It is my duty as a knight.”
Confusion shone in her eyes as her gaze moved over him. She nodded. “You have a shovel,” she stated. “You can start clearing the garden.”
He watched her disappear into the cottage. For a moment, he debated what the use of clearing a garden she would never get to tend was. He sighed softly. It didn’t matter. It would give him something to do. He removed his tunic and picked up the shovel.
William finished when the sun was just past noon. He wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed his work. The weeds were gone, having been pulled and heaped into a pile. The ground had been turned over and prepared for the crop. If there was any. He couldn’t imagine where Lady Grace was going to get seed. It wasn’t a very big garden. If this was what the Mortain family had been paying a tithe on, it was amazing they hadn’t starved.
“It looks good. The land looks fresh and ready for the seeds.”
He didn’t turn to know she stood just behind him. He nodded.
She handed him a flask.
He was pleased to see she had been drinking. She probably got it from Mortain’s steed. He had seen her come out to the horse once during the day. He took it and drank deeply. It was not the best ale, but he was thirsty and it didn’t matter. He handed it back to her and noticed the dark rings beneath her eyes. “You should not overwork yourself. It’s been a long week for you.”
She looked at him with those large, blue eyes.
Even with the dark rings shadowing her eyes, his heart missed a beat. Strange. Her hair was unkempt with fly-away strands blowing gently in the wind; half of it had fallen from the tie she had put it up with. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her dress was a mess. One sleeve was ripped from the elbow to the wrist and the front of the blue gown was smeared with mud. He was stunned that through all of that he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was fitting she wanted nothing to do with him. More penance, he thought, and looked at the garden again. “What were you going to plant?”
She laughed softly, a chuckle that sounded strangled. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I guess the idea was better than the reality.”
“As so happens with many things,” William agreed. He put the shovel over his shoulder and walked to the side of the cottage. “It’s going to rain. I will put the horses in the cottage with you tonight.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“The tree will offer me enough shelter. I shall be fine there.” He put the shovel down and turned to her. “I have bread. Are you hungry?”
She nodded and a strand of her golden hair fell forward over her cheek. She brushed it aside. “We can eat inside. I found two chairs sturdy enough to sit in.”
He returned to Hellfire and picked up the two bags at his hooves and followed her into the cottage. He was surprised at how clean the small dwelling was. She had removed the broken furniture and swept the floors, removing the mattress. It was almost presentable. Two chairs were positioned near the cold hearth. He had half expected the room to be as it was when he had arrived. She had actually done a lot of work. It would have made a fine home. For someone. She sat in one of the chairs, he the other. He removed a loaf and handed it to her.
She took a bite. They ate quietly. “Will they come tomorrow?” she asked after she had swallowed. “My father’s men.”
“At the earliest, yes. If they followed the clues I did. If not it could be later, but they will come.”
She silently ate her bread, chewing thoughtfully.
William didn’t want to distress her, but he knew she was going home. One way or the other. Her father’s men would not dally with her as he was. They would haul her on a horse and be off for the castle within minutes of finding her.
“You said it was your duty as a knight to help me.”
He swallowed a bite of the bread. “I will not raise my sword against your father’s men.”
“I would not ask you to. That would only lead to your death. But if I asked you to help me, you would be bound by your duty as a knight.”
He narrowed his eyes. What was the little imp up to? “It would depend what you asked me to do.”
“Would you help me escape my marriage to you?”
CHAPTER 9
William stared into Grace’s amazing blue eyes for a long moment. He wasn’t shocked by her request, but he was surprised she had asked him to help her. How could he condemn her to a marriage with him? His mission had been to bring her back to her father. He looked away from her. Knowing she did not want to marry him, he would never condemn her to a life with him. “Have you spoken to your father?”
“Of course. He is insistent that I marry you. He wishes to honor his vow to your father to combine the lands.”
A vow and an increase in lands were both good reasons to marry. “And that is not important to you?”
Grace sighed. “Of course it is important. But... I think there is more to his request.”
“What do you mean?”
She picked at the bread for a moment delicately, thoughtfully. The light from the setting sun showered in through the open door, casting a golden glow over her. “I can’t explain it. My father loves me.” But there was no conviction in her voice. “He wants what is best for me. And yet, somehow I feel this is a punishment.”
A punishment. Marriage to him was a punishment for her. Of course it was. Why would a woman as beautiful as Grace need to marry a knight without a future?
She wasn’t looking at him. She gazed at the bread without really seeing it.
A punishment for what? Maybe she had it wrong. Maybe she didn’t understand her father was telling the truth when he said she would marry him to combine the lands. Maybe... Then realization swept over him. Perhaps her father knew of her relationship with Sir Curtis and didn’t approve. “You loved Sir Curtis.”
“No!” Grace objected. “No. We were friends. He had agreed to help me escape.”
William took a thoughtful bite from the small loaf of bread in his hand. He chewed quietly. A punishment for what? What could she have done to merit a futureless life with him? “Perchance your father thought there was more to it.”
> “More than friendship?”
William nodded. “And he disapproved.”
She shook her head. “I don't think he cared who I was friends with. He never asked me. All that was important to him was his vow and gaining lands. Not my happiness.”
There was something sad in her words, some underlying tension between her father and her that was obviously bothering her. “Women are often not consulted in their betrothal.”
Grace looked down at the bread in her hands, shaking her head. A scowl marred her brow. “I never want to see him again,” she whispered and tore a piece off.
Surprise rocked him. Her own father. She never wanted to see her father again. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and was shocked. His surprise gave way to anger. “Did he hurt you?”
She didn’t look up. “He was my father,” she said quietly. “Why would he hurt me?”
The question was directed at herself as much as him. She looked fragile and frightened. A sudden image of Lord Alan raising an angry fist and Grace cowering before him flashed in William’s mind. His jaw tightened. He knew some men kept their women in line with a stern fist and an occasional beating, a philosophy he had never agreed with. “Did he hit you?”
Grace shook her head, but didn’t look at him.
He didn’t know if he believed her. And it wasn’t his place to ask.
Grace’s shoulders drooped and her head bowed.
William had the sudden urge to take her in his arms and comfort her, to hold her. But he knew she would only pull away from his touch. Instead, he reached to her and placed a comforting hand on her wrist. “At some time you must face him, face your future.”
She snapped her gaze to him and there was accusation in her eyes. “Have you faced your future?”
William closed himself off from the sudden, unexpected pain her angry words aroused in him. He slowly removed his hand. He had no right to touch her. “Yes. I know what my future holds.” There was nothing for him. Just penance and a loveless life. No woman would have him. And he deserved none. He didn’t even hope anymore. He tried to live his life honorably after the death of the archbishop. He prayed every night and attended mass when he could. But he lived under no illusion. He knew there was no forgiveness for him.
“And you are content with it?” Grace wondered.
“I have accepted my fate.”
She took a bite of bread and stared into the fire with resolve. “I will not accept mine. I am asking for your help.”
“Your father will betroth you to another.”
“He will not be cursed, will he?” She lifted her chin stubbornly.
Surprised at her sharp, hurtful words, he looked away. No. There were only three other men who could understand what he felt and what he was combating. “As you wish, m’lady. I will do all I can to help you break our betrothal.”
William had given Grace a blanket for the evening and she curled up in it. One of the first things she had done when cleaning was to make a spot to sleep. It wasn’t as comfortable as her chambers at the castle, but it wasn’t filled with bugs. She had to admit William was more attentive than Curtis ever was. He saw to her comfort, her hunger. And he was honorable, which truthfully surprised her. He had agreed to help her prevent his own marriage to her. For that, she was grateful.
She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew, a large trembling boom shook the ground. She leapt up in a panic. Curtis’s horse whinnied and stomped its foot. William’s horse remained calm, gazing out the door. Rain pelted the ground outside the doorway of the cottage in an onslaught of large, hard drops. It was raining. Not just raining, storming!
William was outside, caught in the thick of it!
She stepped forward, her hands stretched out in the darkness so she wouldn’t bump into anything. The blanket slid off her shoulders. The blackness inside the cottage was so complete, she couldn’t see anything.
Another flash of lightning lit the room and she used the flash of light to quickly make her way to the door. The heavy rain pelted the earth like a sheet of water, making it difficult to see in the distance. She looked at the tree where William had been sleeping, but couldn’t see anything except shadows of trees swaying in the wind, their branches bending like fingers. “Sir William!” she called. Her heart pounded like the thunder. Her gaze swept the surroundings. “Sir William!” He was probably soaked through.
A forked tongue of light split the sky and she winced. She stepped out into the downpour, searching desperately. “William!” A loud crack of thunder erupted over her head and she cried out. The storm was alive with anger.
A shadowy figure stood from beneath a tree.
Rain drenched her as she stared at the shadow, not sure whether it was Curtis coming back from the grave to punish her or William. The man’s figure approached slowly. She pushed wet strands of hair from her forehead so she could see. As the figure advanced slowly, she pressed her back to the wall of the cottage.
“What are you doing out here?”
Relief swept her. It was William, not some dead corpse rising, not some shadow monster, not a bandit. Just William. “It’s raining pretty hard. I thought you’d rather be inside,” she called loudly over the downpour.
He gently urged her back inside the cottage and followed her. He swept past her to his horse. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” she said softly. Thunder boomed again over their heads, shaking the small structure. She looked up at the thatched roof, half expecting it all to come down around their heads.
William moved to the hearth. He fumbled around for a moment before a small fire jumped to life. “Come. Warm yourself.”
Grateful for the light and the warmth, Grace did not need to be told again. She moved to the hearth and held out her hands, relishing the heat emanating from the fire. She knelt before the hearth.
He rose and moved back to his horse. When he returned, he draped a blanket over her shoulders.
She pulled it tight around her. They sat in silence for a long time. “He’s a beautiful horse,” Grace said. “What’s his name?”
William chuckled and it was a low rolling sound that moved through her body and made her smile. “Hellfire.”
“Why did you name him that? Such a beautiful animal deserves a more majestic name.”
“Because when he was young he was rather...stubborn and obstinate. Now...” He let the sentence hang.
“Now he’s not?” she asked.
“I was going to say now it’s appropriate.”
Hellfire. A fitting name that tied well with William’s future. Again, silence settled between them. A crack of thunder rocked the ground. Grace knew the tale. Everyone knew the tale. He and three of his friends had killed Archbishop Thomas Becket. The four knights had all proclaimed it was ordered by the king, but King Henry denied any knowledge of it. They were all excommunicated by Pope Alexander III. That was years ago. She had lost track of what had happened to the murderers. Until her father proclaimed she was to marry one. The darkness spread between them. Even the thunder was quiet. “Are you scared?”
“Of the thunder and lightning?” William asked.
“No. Of the afterlife. Of what it holds for you.”
A long silence lingered between them; even the storm seemed to settle to hear his answer. The fire in the hearth snapped and popped. “I’d be a fool to say no.”
Grace pulled the blanket around her shoulders as another quake of thunder rumbled over their heads. She felt sorry for him. He certainly wasn’t the image of the monster who killed the archbishop she had fashioned in her mind when she had first heard the tale.
“Thank you for allowing me cover inside. When the rain stops, I shall return outside.”
He was so honorable. So thoughtful. It was hard to imagine him wielding a sword in a cathedral to kill a man of the cloth. She looked at him. He stared into the fire, the glow of the flames casting his face in a red hue. He was clean shaven with a square, strong jaw. His nose was str
aight. His eyes reflected the fire light of the hearth with a dark intensity. Dark wet strands of hair hung around his face. He was handsome, she would give him that. Thunder boomed overhead and she cast her gaze to the ceiling. The rain pounded the roof. She looked at him again and realized she would feel safer if he stayed in the darkness with her. It was a silly thought. After his hard work and kind treatment of her, she felt obligated to treat him civilly. Even if he did kill Curtis. Although she knew in her heart he had not. She wanted to blame him for her friend’s death, but she knew Curtis had fallen on his own dagger. She had seen it with her own eyes. It had not been William’s sword that had pierced him. “You are not what I expected.”
William turned his head to look at her. “What did you expect?”
Embarrassed, Grace gazed into the fire. A small smile touched her lips. “Horns. Definitely glowing eyes.” She clasped her hands and her grin faded. “I suppose I expected a man more like my father. A man who would not listen to me. A selfish man filled with hate. A terrible, cold man who wanted to grow his stature and combine the lands regardless of all else.”
William was silent for a long time, until he asked, “What else is there?”
“Kindness. Love. I used to think God until my prayers went unanswered.” She stood and prepared to move to her small corner to sleep.
He reached out and clasped her hand. “Don’t give up on God, Lady Grace. His timeline is different than yours or mine.”
Strange that he should still believe in a God that had given up on him. She eased her hand from his. “You may remain inside,” she proclaimed.
He looked at her, shocked.
“If you’d like,” she quickly added. “We can sleep across the room from each other.” When she looked at him, she saw the confusion in his eyes. A smile spread across her lips. “I can’t have the knight who is to aid me weakened and chilled by the storm.”
“I assure you a storm will not weaken me.”
She lifted her chin, regally. “But the ground will be wet and cold.”
A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series Page 5