Resigned, he decided the only thing he could do was look for himself to be certain she’d stayed where he had left her. He listened for voices, but heard nothing. Alarmed, he cracked open the door to peek inside.
Hell’s teeth.
He swallowed hard at the sight before him. He’d made a terrible mistake. A tactical error from which he might never recover.
She stood with her back to him, her unbound, golden brown hair cascading down her bare back. The steaming water lapped at her hips, teasing him with a hint of more curves. Somehow he’d had the impression that she was plumper but the slim form before him was nothing of the sort.
He licked his suddenly dry lips and told himself to close the door and back away. But then she tipped her head back and laughed at something her maid said, and he was held captive once again. Cristiana turned ever so slightly, revealing the delightful curve of her breast.
His breath caught in his throat, his groin heavy with desire. She was so beautiful, from the pert upturn of her nose to the narrowness of her waist to the flare of her hips. How he wished the situation was different, that he wasn’t honor bound to deliver her to the bishop, that he could claim her for his own.
Life was full of complications. He’d learned that time and again. His growing feelings for her were inappropriate. She’d recently lost her mother and everything familiar. He would not take advantage of her current imbalance with all the changes in her life.
No matter how much he longed for her.
Unable to bear any more of the bittersweet torture, he closed his eyes and stepped back, but the vision of her was already firmly planted in his mind.
***
Cristiana dried off with Branwen’s assistance, grateful to have removed the dust from the road which had seeped into every part of her body. Branwen seemed happy to have had a bath as well, though she’d insisted on hurrying through her own so she could assist Cristiana.
Despite her hope that some normalcy would restore Branwen’s memory, that was not the case. Twice Cristiana had raised the subject of the night of her mother’s death, but each time, Branwen had become extremely upset, her sentences dwindling to muttered words which made no sense.
“Will you see if anyone guards the door?” Cristiana asked the maid. She didn’t want to miss an opportunity to sneak away if possible.
Branwen frowned at her request but did as asked. “One of the men-at-arms is watching the entrance.”
Cristiana sighed. She should’ve known William wouldn’t forget. But the night was still young and with luck, additional opportunities would arise.
Few people were in the bath house. Cristiana guessed it was because most women would be busy preparing the evening meal. She’d been grateful to find the women’s section separated from the men’s. Having William escort her and Branwen this far had been distracting enough. She couldn’t imagine sharing a bath with him.
Or rather...she could.
The man did things to her when she but looked at him.
“Here, my lady.” Branwen held out Cristiana’s kirtle. She’d shaken out as much dust as she could. The maid combed her fingers through Cristiana’s hair, leaving it loose to dry quicker.
“Sister Mawde managed to acquire a clean gown for you, Branwen.” Cristiana waited, wondering if the maid would wear it. The nun had gotten it from the innkeeper’s wife. Though worn, the simple brown dress was far better than the rag Branwen had arrived in.
With tentative fingers, the maid took it and held it up to her slim form. “That was kind of her.”
Cristiana breathed a sigh of relief as Branwen donned it, seeming quite pleased with her new gown.
“Let us go see if the others are ready. You look much better, more like yourself. Are you hungry?” Cristiana asked.
They made their way out of the bath house where the man-at-arms waited for them. Before Cristiana could ask about the others, William and Henry exited the opposite side of the low, stone bath house.
William’s dark tunic clung to his body, still damp from his bath. Seeing him without his surcoat and mail made her heart quicken. His hair was wet, even wavier than usual. The smile on his face froze as he caught sight of her. The intensity of his gaze made her wonder how dirty she’d been that a bath would change her appearance. She glanced down to make sure she was properly attired.
The others started toward the inn, but William remained before her.
She raised her brow in question, studying his brown eyes that held a ring of green in their depths. “What is it?”
His heated gaze dropped to her lips and her breath caught in her throat. He reached out to run a finger along the length of her unbound hair, making her scalp tingle.
“Do you ever long for things that cannot be?” he whispered, sending shivers down her spine.
“Indeed, I do,” she whispered back. Impulsively, she gave into one of those longings by lifting up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.
Before he could react, she stepped back and spun to hurry after the others, refusing to regret the moment. Now she had one more memory to cherish in the uncertain days ahead.
That made her smile.
***
Cristiana stirred restlessly, unable to get comfortable in the inn’s bed later that night. All she could think of was the heat of William’s gaze as he’d stared at her earlier. Of his whispered question about longing. What had he meant exactly?
It made no difference she told herself as she pounded the bolster yet again, trying to manipulate the straw to a more comfortable position.
Soon, they would part ways. With luck, that would come yet this night.
Branwen slept on a pallet on the floor near the fire. The maid had seemed more like her usual self after their bath and the roasted venison they’d had for supper. Cristiana still hoped more time without the stress of being on her own would allow the maid to recover her senses. She couldn’t bear to think Branwen would never be able to tell her what had happened the night of her mother’s death. She would do everything in her power to help Branwen recover. As the only witness, the maid might be the one way Cristiana had to prove what had happened to her mother.
She hoped traveling on their own would not set the maid back further, but Cristiana had no choice—they had to leave now. If not on the morrow then on the day after, they would arrive at the bishop’s.
The sounds of the inn’s occupants settling down for the night drifted through the building. The footsteps on the stairs faded, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.
With a sob, she put her hands over her face, overwhelmed at the task before her. She wanted to continue the journey with William as much as she longed to escape. For several moments, she remained in the warmth of the bed, undecided. Did she do the right thing? Was any other path open to her that would honor her mother and allow herself a chance at happiness?
Nay. She’d set her course and she must continue.
Cristiana rose and donned her clothes quickly, resigned to what needed to be done. Her cloak hung on a peg near the door and she put on that as well. Treading lightly, she moved to where Branwen slept. The maid was curled into a ball on her side, facing the fire, snoring softly.
Cristiana put another piece of wood on it to warm the small room, then reached out to shake Branwen’s shoulder. Her cloak billowed out as she bent over.
Blood curdling screams rent the air. The maid’s terrified gaze saw something that Cristiana did not want to imagine. “Demons! The demons have come again!”
“Branwen! Stop! ’Tis only me.”
The maid looked at her with wild eyes, not seeming to recognize her at all. The screaming continued as Branwen scrambled back.
Pounding sounded at the door. “Cristiana?”
Cristiana hesitated, her hands over her ears, uncertain as to which noise to try to stop first.
The sound of splintering wood helped her make up her mind. She hurried to the door before William broke it completely. She struggled with the latch, at last freeing it,
and swung open the door.
With a glare at the tall knight, she hurried over to the terrified maid and knelt down beside her.
“Branwen. That is enough. You are safe.” She said the words more sternly than she meant to, but truly, the screaming and crying were enough to make her daft. She shook the maid’s shoulders for good measure. “You are safe.”
At last the maid seemed to gather her wits. Her chest heaved as her eyes darted around the room, tears running down her face.
“Planning to leave, were you?” William asked from directly behind Cristiana.
Cristiana sighed. The night was going nothing like she’d planned. She rose and turned to face him. “Nay. Why do you ask?”
He ran his gaze up and down the length of her, taking in her cloak and kirtle. “That seems like unusual attire to wear to bed.”
“I was cold.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, whether from impatience or suppressed laughter, she couldn’t tell.
“Why was she screaming?” he asked, his voice quiet as he glanced at Branwen.
“I startled her when I put more wood on the fire.” At least that part was true. She hated to lie.
Henry appeared in the doorway. “Is all well?”
“Aye. Go back to sleep,” William said.
With a frown at Cristiana and her cloak, Henry nodded, closing the door behind him.
William stared at her, making Cristiana shift uneasily. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She couldn’t help but ask, “Were you really sleeping outside my door?”
He smiled, but it was not a friendly sort of smile. “That is for me to know.”
With a scowl, she turned to Branwen. “Are you all right?”
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady. You startled me. I’m not used to being woken like that.”
“Lady Cristiana woke you?” William folded his arms over his chest as though prepared to listen to all the maid had to say.
“Why do you have your cloak on?” Branwen asked with a frown. “Are you going somewhere?”
Cristiana had the urge to hit something.
“She was cold,” William answered on her behalf, his lips twitching as he glanced at Cristiana. “Isn’t that right?”
“But ’tis quite warm in here,” Branwen argued.
“I would like to get back to bed if the two of you are done chatting.” Cristiana gritted her teeth with frustration.
Branwen’s eyes widened in alarm. “I meant no offense, my lady.”
Cristiana sighed, suddenly weary. “I know, Branwen. Let us return to bed. I didn’t intend to frighten you.” She turned to William. “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep.”
“I’m sure you are.” The look on his face would’ve been amusing if it hadn’t been directed at her.
Branwen settled down on her pallet by the fire as Cristiana walked William to the door.
“Lock it behind me.”
“I’m grateful there’s a door left to lock,” Cristiana said as she unfastened her cloak. Her plan had been so thoroughly compromised she didn’t think any hope remained of reinstating it. Now she realized that escaping with Branwen posed a bigger problem than she’d anticipated. Yet she couldn’t leave her behind.
William tipped up her chin. “No more attempts to escape. ’Tis not safe.”
She nodded. Anything to avoid saying what came to her mind: Neither is staying with you.
He pressed a light kiss on her lips. “Sleep,” he ordered then closed the door firmly behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
William scanned the narrow road ahead then turned his horse to the rear of their small group, making certain all was well. They’d gotten off to a slow start that morn, much to his frustration. While he wasn’t eager to part company with Cristiana, traveling with Sister Mawde and Branwen was a challenge unto itself—one of which he’d be pleased to see the end.
“Will we be resting soon?” Sister Mawde asked as he rode by.
“We’ve only just left.” He had always thought of himself as a patient man, but the nun tested his limits. “Do you require a stop already?”
“I merely wanted to know,” the sister said, obviously offended at his tone.
“I will be sure to advise you as to our schedule.”
He continued to the back where the men-at-arms rode. Except for snaring the rabbits, the two men’s performance on this trip had left much to be desired. It seemed they were better hunters than guards.
“Keep a watchful eye. This area is more populated and we’re likely to come across others.”
“We will be extra vigilant,” one man replied.
Somehow, his comment didn’t make William feel any better. He remained in the back of the group, content for the moment to let Henry lead the way.
The wooded hills and curving road made for limited visibility of anyone approaching but this was the only road to Longsbury. He didn’t know what had him uneasy this day, but he felt the need to be on guard. He’d learned long ago never to ignore his instincts.
They’d made good progress when Henry raised his hand high.
William galloped forward and immediately saw what the problem was. A small group of people, most likely a family by the look of them, were huddled on the side of the road beside a cart. The conveyance listed to one side. An ox grazed the grass beside the road, the broken cart of no concern to it.
The family looked as though they’d seen better days. Their clothes were worn and dusty. The mother had been crying, her tears leaving tracks on her dusty face. As they drew closer, William could see she held a young boy in her arms. A girl stood nearby, keeping an eye on the ox as the father stared at the broken wheel.
“Good day to you,” William said. “Can we offer assistance?”
Henry glanced at him as though surprised he’d asked.
While they were in a hurry to get to Longsbury, William couldn’t imagine not helping someone obviously in need of aid.
“We would be most grateful,” the man said as he rose from where he knelt beside the wheel. “We are on our way to Longsbury, hoping to work on the renovations to the cathedral when my son fell ill.” He gestured toward the cart. “Now we are having problems with the wheel.”
William gestured to one of the men-at-arms to assist and for the other to remain on guard with the women. Henry dismounted along with William and the other man-at-arms.
Before he had a chance to tell her not to, Cristiana had dismounted as well.
“I know something of healing. Perhaps I can be of assistance while the men repair the cart,” she told the woman.
“Oh, that would be most welcome, my lady,” the woman said.
William moved to stand near Cristiana. “Are you certain about this?”
“I have to do what I can to help just as you do,” she advised him with a nod at the cart.
“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “Take care.”
She nodded. “The less people watching the better off I’ll be.”
With all the men assisting, they moved the cart to level ground so the wheel and axle could be examined closer. To William’s relief, the axle was only splintered. He thought it could be bound with rope as a temporary repair until they reached Longsbury and could replace the axle.
Cristiana left the cart to the men and knelt beside the mother who held the sleeping boy in her lap. “How long has he been ill?”
“Nearly two days. At first, he was very tired and wouldn’t eat. But this morn, a fever took hold and now he can barely keep his eyes open.” Her worried blue eyes met Cristiana’s. “He’s never been so sick.”
“How old is he?” Cristiana asked as she studied his small, thin form. His dark hair framed rounded cheeks. Long, dark lashes cast shadows on his pale face.
“He’s seen eight winters.” She ran a gentle hand over his hair, her worry evident.
Cristiana glanced over to where the men worked on the cart. They all appeared engrossed in the task. She decided there was no better
moment than now.
“Has he had any other signs of illness?” she asked, hoping to keep the woman distracted.
“Not that I have noticed.”
The mother watched closely as Cristiana ran her hands along his shoulders, his neck, seeking the hottest part of his body. That was the best spot from which to draw the illness. The problem with the boy lay in the fact that his entire body felt hot.
“Do you have some herbs or something to give him?”
Ah, yes. Time for the doubt, the worry about what she was doing. She should know to expect it, but that didn’t make it easier to respond.
“I want to see if there is any particular area that bothers him most.” She continued moving her hands along, pausing here and there. A glance at the mother’s concerned expression guided her next words. “Sometimes my placing pressure on an area of the body will release the illness.”
“Truly?” Hope lit the mother’s eyes and Cristiana’s unease faded.
If she had a child, she’d be leery of a stranger touching him or her. She pushed away the thought, for she was certain a child was not in her future.
“The repairs on the cart seem to be coming along. I wonder what they’re doing with that rope.”
As Cristiana hoped, the woman turned to look at the men, giving Cristiana the opportunity she needed. She quickly drew a breath and focused. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed her thoughts into the center of the heat.
The woman spoke to her, but Cristiana had no idea what she said. She kept all her focus on the heat. The illness had a strong hold, so she tried to push it out with no success. Well aware she had little time before the concerned mother interrupted her, she inhaled, drawing in the sickness. The depth of it had her slowing the process, not wanting to pull it in too quickly for fear she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She tried the process again, this time with more determination. At last it released, coming more easily as it flowed into her, weakening her body.
“Are you well, my lady?”
“I am.” Cristiana attempted a reassuring smile as she breathed through the pain and heat. She said a brief prayer to thank God for the gift he’d given her to help people like this little boy.
Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me Page 9