She scowled, considering his question. “He was a friend. He worked at my father’s castle for years. Why do you ask?”
William was silent for a long moment.
Grace twisted to look back at him.
His blue eyes were focused intently on a point in front of them. “We talked about ransom. Remember I told you you were lucky? He could have killed you.”
Grace nodded. She remembered his words. He had been trying to figure out why Curtis would have brought her back to a place that was so easy to find.
William reached back and with a tug pulled something from one of the bags. He brought his fist forward and it was wrapped around an arrow shaft. “Apparently, that was exactly what he had in mind.”
CHAPTER 11
Shock raced through Grace as she stared at the arrow William clutched in his hand. Curtis had wanted her dead? They were friends! She had known him all of her life! She trembled even as everything in her body rebelled at the prospect. “It can’t be. Why do you say this?”
“I know that man who came to the cottage. He is a killer. He kills for coin. And not much of it.”
Numbness and disbelief spread through Grace. She couldn’t believe it. “Maybe my father hired him to bring me back.”
“Your father has castle guards to bring you back. He would not have hired a man like him.”
It just couldn’t be. Curtis couldn’t have wanted the coin. They were friends. She trusted him. He wanted her dead? It was too much to believe. “Sir Curtis was a knight bound by his oaths. He would not have hurt me.”
“He wasn’t going to.”
Silence spread as Grace thought about William’s words. Curtis had eaten most of the food under the pretense of needing his strength to protect her. He had not taken very good care of her, nor had he remained with her to protect her. Nothing he had done made any sense. She had given him coin, under his direction, so they could escape. He had taken her to his old home, which turned out to be the exact place they would come to look for her. Would he have paid someone to kill her? Could William be right? She shook her head, still not believing Curtis was capable of something like that. She knew him. Or thought she did.
Distressed, disturbed, and unsure, she remained silent. Thoughts swirled through her mind. They had made plans of escape and a future together. But as she thought back on their journey, she realized he hadn’t come up with the idea of running; she was the one who had thought of it. And he hadn’t brought up the thought of their fantasy life together; she had asked him about it. He had told her once of his father’s cottage, but she was the one who had decided they would live there. The only thing he had contributed was asking her to bring coin. She bowed her head. What a fool she was! She had been so blind, so eager to run away from a marriage to a knight who was damned that she had not seen the reality before her. She looked up at William, her thoughts returning to the man pursuing them. “Can you stop him?”
“I will see you back to your father safely,” William proclaimed. There was no doubt in his voice, only fact.
She felt tears flood through her eyes, closing her throat. He would take her home. To her father. Back to another man who wanted nothing to do with her. Maybe in the face of her prolonged absence, her father's anger would calm. While she was at Bovey with William, perhaps her father would know she was safe and that would be enough for him. Perhaps. But she knew it wouldn’t be. She had never been able to make him happy. Not him or any man. Not her father, not Curtis.
The horse moved from side to side beneath her as it walked forward. William’s arms were around her, clutching the reins. “You needn’t worry, Grace,” William said softly. “I will protect you and see you safely home. The marriage will be dissolved and you will have everything you wanted.”
Grace nodded and looked away. Yes. Everything she wanted, her mind repeated but there was doubt festering at the edge of her mind that made mockery of his words. Was she sure of what she wanted anymore?
When William was convinced they were not being followed, they stopped near a stream in the forest. William gave her bread to eat and left her alone by the stream. She rinsed her hair and face and any exposed skin she could manage to reach without removing any clothing.
When she returned to their camp, the sun was setting. Dappled red light fell upon the ground. At first, she didn’t see William and her stomach clenched in nervousness. Had he abandoned her? But as she stepped around a tree, she saw him on his knees. She inhaled in alarm, thinking at first he was hurt. Then she saw his folded hands and bowed head and realized he was praying. His dark hair fell over his strong shoulders. His powerful body was completely still. His eyes were closed.
The sight shocked her. A cursed knight was praying? To a God who didn’t listen. The irony didn’t escape her. She turned to go, but stopped. The golden rays of the sun touched his head and shoulders making a halo of gold. She couldn’t take her gaze from him. She knew she was intruding and she should let him pray, but she couldn’t move; she could only stare at the sight of the humbled knight on his knees. He was magnificent. So strong and so proud. And so amazingly handsome.
And cursed.
She felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She wished he wasn’t cursed. She wished he hadn’t killed the archbishop. She wished he had peace.
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, locking gazes with her. He made the sign of the cross, touching his forehead, his stomach and each shoulder before standing.
Grace came forward. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“I was done.”
“Do you pray every night?”
“I pray every chance I get.”
It was the fact that he had never given up hope that sent another wave of sympathy through her. After everything that had happened to him, he still prayed. He moved by her. “Why did you do it?” she couldn’t help asking. “Why did you kill Archbishop Becket?”
He stopped cold, his shoulders stiff. He gazed into the darkness of the forest for a long moment, almost as if remembering. Then, he slowly turned his head to her. His stunning blue eyes fastened on her. “I did it for my king.” He narrowed his gaze slightly and continued past her.
There was something practiced and stiff in his speech. It was a rehearsed answer, she realized. Almost as if he had been asked so many times before that it was the only answer he could give. And it served its purpose, she realized. She had stopped asking about it.
William moved to Hellfire and opened a bag. He pulled the blankets out, handing them to her. “We can’t light a fire, but you should be warm enough with these.”
Grace took the blankets, unable to look away from him. So strong. So stoic. She felt confident he would protect her. But she had believed that about Curtis, too. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered, drawing his gaze. “You could have let my father’s men return me to Willoughby Castle.”
“Is that what you think of me? That I would leave you in the forest to fend for yourself until your father’s men came?” His square jaw was tight; his blue eyes snapped flame. “I suppose you would think that. After all, I am the same man who killed the archbishop.” He whirled away from her.
She stood, stunned. “Sir William!” she called. He halted, his shoulders rigid. “I meant no insult. I just thought... As my betrothed, you would be angry I ran away with another man.”
“You were under a misguided assumption. You were not running away with another man as much as running away from me. That, I can understand.”
Again, she felt the pull of heartache. Running away from him? “William,” she said, moving to his side. She reached out and touched his arm. The muscles beneath his tunic jumped at her touch. She didn’t know what to say to him; she just knew she wanted to comfort him. “You are a very honorable knight.”
He looked down at her. His hard eyes softened and he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you for thinking that.” He held her hand for a moment longer before releasing it and turni
ng away.
Grace stood, frozen. She stared at her hand. It tingled where his lips had brushed her skin. She ran her fingers over the spot. He had kissed her.
She was running through darkness. Long shadows reached for her. An ominous dark hand grabbed her skirt.
Grace jerked awake. Startled, unnerved, she glanced around. The surrounding forest was shaded in grey tones. It was night. She moved her legs, but her skirt caught on something. She pulled her legs away from the object and found the edge of her dress had snagged on the branch of a bush. She sighed and sat back. Something was stabbing her in the back. She brushed at the ground to find a stick had worked its way beneath her. She noticed one blanket was pulled over her waist, but the other lay uselessly aside. She must have thrown it off.
Instinctively, she looked across the camp to where William slept. He was in a sitting position, but she knew he was asleep because his head lulled to one side. She gathered the discarded blanket and rose, moving to him. She spread the blanket out and eased it up over his legs.
There was a sudden flash of movement. In the next second, his eyes were open, his sword tip pressed to her throat.
CHAPTER 12
William stared into Grace’s wide eyes. Through his groggy sleep, he had heard movement and reacted instinctively, grabbing his sword. He dropped the blade, horrified. “Grace.” He leaned forward, taking her face in his hands. “Are you hurt? Did I--?” He inspected her neck, running his hand over her smooth skin to ensure there was no blood, no mark.
She shook her head.
He held her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he whispered over and over. If he had hurt her, even by accident... His gaze swept her face, touching every inch of her soft skin, every curve. Lord, he had not meant to raise his weapon to her, to touch her warm skin with the cold blade. Alarm gripped his stomach in a tight knot of horror. All he wanted to do was make sure she was unhurt. All he wanted to do was touch her skin. All he wanted to do was kiss her lips. In a frenzy of concern and desperation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was soft. So soft and pliant. And warm.
She gasped softly beneath his kiss.
The spell was broken and he pulled back quickly as if she had scalded his skin. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was mortified at what he had done. He had no right to touch her, no right to take such loveliness against himself, no right to stroke his cursed lips against innocent ones. Even as he thought the thought, his gaze settled on her lips and desire engulfed him. He shot to his feet and retreated to the tree behind him as if to distance himself from the temptation she offered. “Forgive me, m’lady,” he uttered, horrified at his audacity.
She stood, pressing her fingers to her lips, gazing at him.
He clenched his teeth and looked away. “Grace...” That was when he noticed the blanket on the ground. He looked up at her. She had come to give him the blanket. The simple gesture warmed his heart until he remembered he had greeted her with violence, almost cutting her neck. “You should stay on your side of the camp.”
“You are not a danger to me.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “I put a sword to your neck.”
“You would not have harmed me.” Her tone was confident.
Much more confident than he felt. He had seen so much blood, in the wars, in the death of the archbishop, at the hands of others, by his own hand. It was instinct for him to protect himself with a weapon. But he never wanted to raise a blade to her. “I don’t want to. That’s why you should stay on your side of the camp.”
She dropped her chin as if in confusion.
He stepped toward her. “Grace. I promised to see you safely to your father. I intend to honor that vow.”
She lifted her large eyes to him. They reflected the moon in their depths. And William knew he was in trouble. How could he resist her? Such beauty. Such innocence. But he had to. She did not want to marry him. And he had given his word to help her escape the betrothal. She was right. No woman in her right mind would want to be wife to him.
“You kissed me.”
He gritted his teeth and looked down. What could he tell her? He would have to hurt her so she kept her distance from him. He would have to lie to her to keep them apart. “I thought you were someone else.”
It worked. Her face fell; hurt shone in her vulnerable eyes before she turned away. Without a word, she moved back to her spot beneath the tree opposite of his. She lay down, keeping her back to him.
Guilt assailed William, but he knew this was better for them both. He would not be tempted to kiss her again. And she would not be tempted to be near him. Part of him was very sad at this prospect, but he knew it was the right decision. He turned and lay down, tucking his hands beneath his head to stare at the stars through the leaves of the tree. He reached down and pulled the blanket over his legs. Regret and remorse kept him from sleep. The only thing he managed to think of was a cottage and Grace to come home to.
‘I thought you were someone else.’ The words haunted Grace. Humiliation burned her cheeks. Hurt pierced her heart with a stinging sensation. She could barely look at William. Why? Why should it matter to her? She didn’t want to marry him anyway! And yet, she could not stop thinking about his kiss. The urgent, desperate feel of his lips moving over hers. It was so unexpected, so... warm.
As they packed up the camp and she folded the blanket he had slept beneath, she wondered if he kissed her again would it be tender?
It didn’t matter. He would never kiss her again and she should not want him to. She opened one of the bags to put the blanket inside. The golden cross tumbled out. She gasped, afraid William would be angry with her for going through his items again. She glanced over her shoulder at him across the camp. He was saddling Hellfire, tightening a cinch strap. Grace picked up the cross to put it back in the bag, but then she paused, staring down at the face. The face had been carved with such emotion, such heartbreak. The blank eyes gazed skyward, the mouth open as if crying out. She felt such anguish. She wondered if that was why William kept it. To remind him of his duty. Her thumb swept down the cross...and caught on a chip in its surface. It hadn’t been there before, she was certain. She wondered briefly how it had gotten there, but quickly put the cross back into the bag and closed it, lest William catch her with it again. She picked up the bag and noticed a tear in the side. She put her finger in the hole, confused. It hadn’t been ripped before. She straightened as realization struck her. The arrow! It must have hit the bag...and the cross.
“What is it?” William asked, moving toward her.
She spun and for a moment guilt settled over her. Then, she lifted her chin. She had done nothing wrong. “This tear. Is it where the arrow hit?”
William looked at the hole with a scowl and then back over at Hellfire. He nodded. “I believe so, yes. Why do you ask?”
Her mouth dropped slightly. “It was a miracle that it didn’t hit Hellfire.”
William grinned, taking the bag from her. “Well. I don’t know if it was a miracle, but it certainly was luck.”
The golden cross caught the blow of the arrow. It couldn’t have been coincidence, could it? As William turned away from her, she stared at him. She had prayed for a knight to save her. A knight she could love. Could it be...? No. William was going to help her escape the betrothal. He was not the knight she had prayed for.
They rode toward Bovey. William’s arms were around her, clutching the reins, almost holding her as he steered Hellfire. His arms were strong and secure and safe and comforting and... For a moment she allowed herself to be swept away into a daydream. William holding her tenderly, pressing his warm lips against hers.
Then she snapped herself out of her reverie. She was a silly girl! She was a foolish girl! The men she wanted didn’t want her. William was like Curtis and her father. She could not make him happy, any more than she could make Curtis or her father happy. And she shouldn’t want to! He was a cursed man,
his soul damned to the fires of hell! Still... She couldn’t help but wonder if his soul was like that golden statue carved atop the cross. Anguished and crying out.
They came to the top of a small hill. Birds chirped in the blue skies above, men worked some of the land in the fields below. Small cottages dotted the landscape. Further in the distance, Grace could see a wall surrounding a town and manor home beside a river. She could only assume this was his home. This was Bovey Tracey.
He spurred Hellfire into a canter down the hill.
The sun was warm and welcoming and relief surged inside of Grace. They had made it to safety. A warm bed. Food. William’s home.
They came to the bottom of the hill and William urged Hellfire forward with a gentle kick. The horse walked toward the town. The large wooden gates leading inside were open and William steered Hellfire through them. Merchants called out from open shop windows. The baker ran up to them with a basket of fresh bread. “Care to try a piece of bread? Baked fresh here just this morn!”
They continued past him. A child raced across the road before them, chasing a duck. Somewhere behind them, a woman called, “Paul!”
Before they reached the manor home, William stopped Hellfire before a small church. He dismounted and stood staring at the building for a long moment.
Grace looked up at the tall steeple. At the very top was a bell. William said he prayed whenever he could. He glanced back at her. Without a word, she stretched her arms to him. He assisted her dismount. Then, she took Hellfire’s reins.
William grinned, taking the reins from her hand. “I won’t leave you.”
She hooked her hand through his arm. “Then we shall go in together.”
William tethered Hellfire and they walked up the two steps to the church.
At the tall wooden double doors, William hesitated. Even though the doors were open in welcome, he was still excommunicated for his part in the murder of the archbishop. He glanced at Grace. She was looking at him with concern. He placed his hand comfortingly over Grace’s where it lay on his arm, then took a small breath and entered the church.
A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series Page 7