by Paula Quinn
She raised her brow. “You are friends with a heathen?”
The priest nodded and softened his smile. “Who else will point oot to him the goodness of God when he canna see anythin’ but his past?”
His past? Her interest piqued, Aleysia darted her glance to where the commander sat with his men. He was hard and well disciplined. He demanded obedience from his soldiers and, as far as she could tell, he had it. How many men had he killed in battle? What else had he done? What was so terrible about his past that he couldn’t see beyond it?
“I’m sure he will tell ye aboot it if he sees fit.”
In other words, the priest would tell her nothing else. Not that she had asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. It made the hall spin in circles. “Everyone has a past—” she paused thinking of Normandy, “—or a future they wish they could change. He is no different.”
“What aboot ye?” the priest asked her.
“Future. What…ehm…what will happen to the people who live in the castle, my staff, my friends, Sir Richard and the other knights?”
“They can stay on if they wish,” Father Timothy told her. “Cainnech doesna want to remain here. He only needs to stay until the king chooses who will permanently hold Rothbury and Lismoor in his name.”
He’d taken her home and he didn’t even want to live in it. She felt a rush of heat wash over her and knew her blood was boiling. He told her she could stay—but with who? She would have to wed whoever it was. Robert the Bruce would be a fool not to require it.
She looked across the cavernous hall and let her scorching glare burn into him.
The bastard thought to marry her off! He thought she should be grateful! She hadn’t realized it when he’d first mentioned her staying even though her land had been seized by the Scots. Her choices were to leave and be married in Normandy, or stay and marry someone worse.
She cursed herself for not killing the commander when she had the chance—many chances. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She muttered an oath and rolled up her sleeves.
He met her gaze and rose from his seat. His unblinking stare almost shook her to her core, but whisky fired her temper and kept her from running when he charged toward her.
He reached her in less time than it took his men to realize what was going on. They remained looking confused, as did Sir Richard and Father Timothy, when the commander took her by the arm and pulled her away.
“Come with me,” he growled and dragged her out of the great hall while she pounded on his arm.
“Let me go! I will not marry him!”
He stopped on the three small steps and spun her around to look at him. “Who? What are ye sayin’ and what d’ye mean by comin’ at me in front of the men?”
“I did not come at you!” she argued, feeling quite dizzy. She pulled on her arm to no avail.
“Ye were aboot to,” he corrected. “I willna have ye—”
He stopped and easily avoided a fist to his jaw. She swung so hard she nearly fell over.
His arm was there to catch her. He said something that sounded indulgent but she couldn’t be certain because everything went black.
Chapter Eleven
Cain caught her in his arms before she crumpled to the floor. “Miss?” He knelt on one knee and supported her limp body in his arms with the other. What the hell was the matter with her? Why did she appear so small and fragile in his big hands? What should he do?
“Father!” he called out into the great hall.
He fixed his gaze on her again. “Lass, wake up.” He gave her a slight shake.
Where the hell was the priest?
When she didn’t respond, he gave her cheek a soft slap, and then felt rather sick for doing it. He might be one of the most feared warriors in the kingdom, but he didn’t strike women.
“What happened, Cainnech?”
Thank God. Cain looked up into Father Timothy’s concerned eyes.
“She fell faint. I attempted to awaken her to no avail.”
He waited while his friend bent to have a careful look at her. His gaze slipped to Sir Richard standing in the doorway watching, a bit pale, remnants of anger fading from his eyes. He’d seen Cain slap her.
“She is fine,” the priest concluded. “She is in a drunken stupor. Carry her to—”
“A drunken what?” Cain’s voice bounced off the walls as he rose up on his feet with the lass in his arms. “Who is responsible fer this?”
“I am afraid I am,” Father Timothy confessed meekly.
“Ye?” Cain shouted even louder—so loud that the priest looked down to see if Miss d’Argentan was still unconscious.
She was.
“And ye.” Cain turned his angry glare on the knight next. “Where were ye whilst he was gettin’ her drunk?”
Richard balked. “He was not—”
“Cainnech, I wasna tryin’—”
Cain was already halfway down the hall by the time they both finished what they wanted to say.
When he reached her bedchamber, he pushed open the door and carried her inside.
He set her on her bed and tried not to look at her overlong. It was dangerous. Distracting. For she was as beautiful in her slumber as when she was shooting him with arrows.
She and her friends had done much and had sacrificed four years of their lives to keeping the Scots away. Now, she had to call them back to a conquered castle.
Hell, why did he give a damn how hard it must have been for her?
She’d told him that his arrival robbed her of her choices and, in that sense, he was a threat to her independence.
To his surprise and dismay, he understood it all.
She stirred up compassion and guilt in him. He didn’t want them. All he knew of them was that they caused his belly to ache and his decisions concerning her and her knight to be lenient.
But, he thought while he returned to the door and kicked it shut, he wouldn’t let her pierce anymore of his armor.
He hadn’t forgotten that she killed nine of his men. God only knew how long she would have gone on trying to kill him. His men had found over one hundred daggers, kitchen knives, and crudely made blades hidden throughout the keep. Hell, he couldn’t help but smile, returning to her bedside.
He had never met anyone like her.
Mayhap she was mad. Mayhap he was, too.
Someone banged on the door. Cain left her side to open it.
“Commander,” Sir Richard came barging inside with Father Timothy close behind. “’Tis not to the benefit of Miss d’Argentan to be alone in a bedchamber with you. Her future would be damned.”
Cain knew he was correct. He hadn’t thought much of her future. Why would he? Now that he did, who was she so upset about marrying? “Verra well, but I canna trust either of ye to keep her safe, even from herself.” He knew his words struck them hard. He didn’t care. They deserved to suffer as she would suffer when she woke from her drunken stupor. “Bring William to me.”
When neither of them moved, he turned his most lethal glare on them. “Go, or I will have ye both put away in the dungeon.”
He watched them both hurry out. Sir Richard left the door open. Cain didn’t close it after him. He thought about asking them what they were discussing that made her so angry, but he decided to wait and ask her instead.
He dragged a softly cushioned chair to the side of the bed and sat in it. After a moment of shifting uncomfortably, he decided that if the priest was going to sleep in here again tonight, he’d need something more comfortable.
Defying his logic, he looked at her. She had come back for him after they had fallen from the tree. She could have run and kept on running but she came back. Hell, he liked it so much about her he found himself smiling. He’d accused her of enticing him because he’d felt lost to desire. He’d wanted to kiss her mouth, her face, touch her, breathe her, have her for one night.
She was as close to being English as anyone could be, damn it! He sickene
d himself and scowled, turning his eyes away from her.
He couldn’t change what was already in motion. Robert knew he was here whether Cain told him or not. The king knew his second in command would not fail.
He ran his palms down his face and groaned. What the hell had he done promising her she could stay? She made him regret taking her home. What the hell was she doing to him, making him feel such useless things as regret, sympathy, and, God help him, fondness?
He’d finally gone mad. He knew it would only be a matter of time, but he’d always believed it would be the things he’d seen and done that drove him over the precipice. Not a lass.
Her vow to never forgive him tore at his guts.
He would write to Robert again and ask the king to allow Miss d’Argentan to keep her holding in the king’s name.
But first, he needed to get her to swear fealty to the Scottish king.
It wouldn’t be easy.
His gaze involuntarily softened on her hand dangling over the mattress. Palm up, her slim, seemingly delicate fingers relaxed in a beckoning position.
He blinked away from them, remembering those same fingers wrapped around the hilt of a dagger, and pulling the string on her bow.
He flared his nostrils, blowing out a great exhalation. What was wrong with him? He was beginning to worry. Mercy was being given where none would have been given before. He had already proven he would do much for her. His guts seemed to constantly ache. Why?
He had desired women before. But this woman was different. She stirred the ashes.
He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. No. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Commander?”
He turned his head to see William standing in the doorway with the other two.
Where the hell was Amish? Why wasn’t he keeping an eye on Sir Richard? He was still a damned prisoner.
“William, aye,” Cain said, rubbing his belly. “Come in. Father, take Sir Richard to Amish and then return here so that I can get on with the day.”
This time, they knew enough not to argue.
“Father Timothy told me about Aleysia. Is everything all right with you, Commander?” William asked when they were alone.
“Aye,” Cain assured him, and then slipped his gaze back to her. “She vexes me.”
“They all do,” William agreed with a shy smile.
Cain cut him a furtive glance. “Och, what would ye know of it, lad?”
He had never pressed William to speak of the lass he called for at night. He wished he hadn’t let the conversation get personal now. He didn’t share the intimacies of his life with the men, and he didn’t ask them to share theirs with him. He was their commander in charge of their lives, not their friend.
But William wasn’t a soldier.
The lad moved closer to the bed, his gaze lowered. “I do not know much, save that caring for one can be quite painful.” His gaze took on a glazed look as he stared into the past. “And losing her is maddening.”
Cain hadn’t expected the lad to open up. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with such shared intimacies. He didn’t know what kind advice to give.
“Father Timothy says that love does not just come once in a lifetime,” William said, “but I do not think ’tis possible to love again. Do you, Commander?”
“I dinna know,” Cain admitted quietly and looked away. “But if ’tis offered to ye, ye should take it. Ye are not a warrior. Ye should have a wife and some bairns and get old.”
“You should have those things as well,” William offered, glancing up from beneath the spray of chestnut-colored curls falling over his brow. “You have done much for Scotland. You deserve to be happy.”
Cain wasn’t sure he deserved anything but soot and ashes after all the battles he’d fought, all the lives he’d taken without mercy, but he said nothing. He should have.
“What vexes you about her?” William asked, breaking the silence.
Cain strangled out a short laugh. He’d hoped the topic had faded. He wasn’t sure how to answer without giving too much of the truth away.
“She is…I dinna…” He cleared his throat and began again. “She is spirited and stubborn.” He looked toward the door. “What the hell is keepin’ Father Timothy?” He didn’t want to be here anymore. Once the priest returned, he could leave. It was best if he go.
Why the hell did he send for William instead of Amish? She’d escape a moment after she opened her eyes.
“She’s bold for a steward’s granddaughter,” William said, dragging Cain’s attention back to him. “And she does not dress like any lady I have ever seen.”
Cain’s heart pounded. What did William know? Had he guessed that she was the one they were all looking for? That Cain had lied to them? “I—”
“And Richard and Father Timothy have explained to us that de Bar had put her and many others to work day and night building his traps. It explains her odd behavior.” William lifted his gaze and offered her sleeping form a smile. “But I like her.”
Cain swallowed and then looked at her. Did he like her, as well? No, he couldn’t. She would likely end up dead after she killed even more. He couldn’t like her.
He stood up from his chair and forced himself to smile when William shrank back a bit.
Hell, it made Cain want to find the bastard who made the lad this way and beat him senseless for a few months.
“I had planned on goin’ huntin’ once the priest returned. I know a safe path through the forest, and we have no food.”
“Oh,” William said, sounding disappointed rather than relieved. “Of course, Commander. She will be safe with me.” He took Cain’s seat and rested his gaze on her, giving Cain no other reason to speak to him.
Cain looked at the door. He moved toward it. This was how it should be. He couldn’t go around liking people and still be the same on the field. He couldn’t care. Not again. Never again.
He stopped before he left the room and thought about turning back. But behind him were memories of death and screaming while English soldiers carried his brothers off and took away his life.
He left the bedchamber and shouted Amish’s name when he passed the great hall. He didn’t think about Miss d’Argentan again while he retrieved his bow and quiver and stormed out of the keep.
Chapter Twelve
Aleysia opened her eyes and grasped her head. Oh, why had she guzzled down that devil’s brew? “Am I in hell?”
“I hope not, else that means I am there, too.”
William’s voice startled her nearly out of her skin. It made her head pound all the more. She wanted to scowl at him but it hurt too much to move…or to think.
“Here, drink some water.”
She let him feed her from a wooden cup and swept her gaze around the room. No one else was here. “Where is…everyone?”
“Father Timothy stepped out to have a pi—to use the garderobe.” He tossed her a sly, knowing look and set the cup down on a small table by the bed, proving he wasn’t as innocent as he appeared. “Or is it the commander you are looking for?”
She stared at him for a moment and thought about pretending not to be affected by his boldness. But she gave up quickly and rubbed her aching head. “’Tis the commander. But ’tis not what you think.”
It was much worse. She had dreamed of him in her deep slumber, dark, sensual dreams of him atop her, gazing into her eyes, lowering his head, kissing her. He had kept the truth from her. She was going to have to marry someone of the Scottish king’s choosing if she wanted to remain at Lismoor.
“I do not trust him,” she said as William gave her another sip of water.
William blinked his striking gray eyes at her then set the cup down again. “The commander has never given me a reason not to trust him.”
“You are a Scot and on his side.”
“He did not know I was a Scot or on his side when he found me.”
She remembered the commander telling her about finding him and asked Will
iam about it now. “What were you doing on the road?”
He shifted in his seat and remained quiet for so long Aleysia thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then, he began in a quiet voice. “Julianna had finally agreed to let me kiss her.” He smiled softly, remembering. “We were caught. Her father had me beaten and tossed onto the side of the road outside Berwick. He had beaten me many times before for minor offenses, but he never threw me out. I awoke to find the Scots had taken the village.
“The commander’s regiment was leaving Berwick and found me. Father Timothy told me there was nothing to go back to and I would not make it far before I was killed. They had seen the carnage and they would not let me return. But I do not believe Julianna is dead.”
Aleysia forgot about her headache and patted his arm. “Then we will find her,” she promised. “Do not lose hope. I have already spoken to the commander about it and he has agreed to help.”
His eyes looked almost blue in the light as the whites turned red and they misted with tears. He looked away and then back at her. “I am in your debt already.”
She shook her head and offered him a tender smile. “As your commander said, there is no debt.”
She had many more things to ask him about himself…and others, but the chamber door opened and she looked up instead to see the commander entering the room.
She was completely taken aback by the way her heartbeat accelerated in his presence. She fought to keep from lifting her hand to her messy braid.
“Good. Ye are awake,” he said, barely looking at her. “Come with me.”
Brute. He didn’t ask her how she felt after practically being poisoned by his priest. Did he think her a pet to come at his beck and call? Let William jump to his feet, she would not!
“Lady,” he said on a low growl when she didn’t move. “Some of the villagers have returned. Father Timothy has taken them to the chapel.”
Aleysia didn’t consider her aching head or her thrashing heart, but scrambled out of bed. “Why did you not say so?” She smoothed some wrinkles out of her léine and bodice and quickly rebraided her hair. “Take me to them. I am ready.”