by Paula Quinn
She stared at him while he put the rim to his lips, the challenge unmistakable in her eyes.
He drank, tilting his head to take the entire contents in one long guzzle. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the cup back to her. “Needs more cloves.”
He threw his leg over the bench she was sitting on. He guessed he should be sitting at the higher table in the front of the hall, meant for the lord. But he wasn’t one for indoor etiquette. Besides, he wanted to be near her—and she was sitting with the men. He faced her and looked into her fiery eyes. “Ye dinna want to do it, lady.”
“Do what, Commander?” she challenged with a quirk of her full, honey-dipped lips.
He couldn’t answer with the truth, not with the men listening. They would suspect something if they thought she wanted to kill him.
“Ye dinna want to slap me,” he supplied.
She raised a questionable eyebrow.
“Och, dinna slap him, lass,” cried Rauf from the other side of the table, clearly concerned for her well-being.
Cain gave him a stern look, though he was not surprised she’d won the poor fool over so easily. Had she won the rest of them, as well?
“’Twould not be the first time I’ve slapped him, or tried to,” she offered boldly.
Everyone at the table, including Sir Richard, grew wide-eyed. The men murmured among themselves about her bravery. They had seen their commander slaughter men for lifting their swords to him. It shocked them to think of her striking him—and him letting her live to smile about it.
Cain saw the admiration for her in their eyes. He let her have her victory. He felt her eyes on him but didn’t turn back to her. He took the cup of wine set before him and drank.
Sir Richard’s laughter seemed to pull the rest of the men out of their wonderment, for they joined in and then slowly went back to their cups and bowls.
Cain took some bread and meat from the large bowl in the center of the table and began to eat with the rest in silence.
“How long has Lismoor been your home?” William finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
“I came here with my…grandfather twelve years ago,” she told him, softening her tone. “I was eight.”
Cain knew she was speaking of her brother, not Richard. “What aboot yer father?” he asked, tearing into his bread.
She offered him a curious look, as if she knew joining in on the informal conversation was unusual and uncomfortable for him and was surprised he did it anyway. “Before we came here,” she replied more gently, “my parents suffered a fever and died.”
“What is Lord de Bar like?” Rauf asked.
“It doesna matter,” Amish said, raising his cup. “We’ll soon find him and scatter his parts over Rothbury, aye, Commander?”
Cain held up his cup, “Aye, from the trees.”
He flicked his gaze to the lass while the men agreed with loud cheers and clanking cups. He hoped she understood the danger of them finding out the truth. Presently, the danger came from her friends.
“How many more people d’ye expect to return?” he asked her.
“Twenty-seven,” she said without thinking about it. “And I would like to hunt a nice stag for them since they have been away and will not have much food left.”
Cain liked that she knew exactly how many among her people were missing and that she was concerned with their bellies. It was a sign of leadership. If she weren’t fighting for the other side, she would make a good commander.
“Then there is the staff, which lives here,” she continued, popping a small piece of bread into her mouth and smiling as she thought of the people she named. “There is Matilda my hand—” She stopped and corrected herself. She was the granddaughter of the steward, not the lady of the castle. “And the other maids, Agnes and Sarah, Harry the carpenter, Philip the cook, the seamstress, the laundress, the spinner, the other knights, and Elizabeth.” She moved closer to him until he could smell the honey on her breath when she tilted her lips to his ear, “Elizabeth is my brother’s betrothed.”
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to carry her to her grand bed and delight in her viperous tongue and her lithe body until the sun rose.
He turned his head just a bit and almost brushed his lips over hers. “Will they keep yer secret?”
A dreamy languor stole over her face. “Who?”
He had the urge to smile at her like a pitiful fool. She hadn’t recoiled. In fact, she seemed under the same spell as he. Hell, he found her irresistible when she fought with him, but he grew completely captivated by her when she was being herself and not a warrior with a mission.
Hunger gleamed in his eyes but he did not touch her. He moved back, breaking the hold she had on him. He was afraid of letting himself grow fond of her. Was it already too late? He would not have believed it was even possible.
He turned away and found Father Timothy watching him with a gentle, knowing smile on his face.
What did he know that Cain didn’t? Aye, he was attracted to her. Every man here was, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.
He lowered his gaze and ate his supper in silence, aware of her every move, the slightest touch of her leg against his. Her warm voice seeped through his skin when she answered the men’s questions. Her rich, sensual laughter reverberated in his blood.
His head felt light—too light. He tried to stand but stumbled against the table. Was that Father Timothy’s voice he heard saying his name, sounding alarmed, afraid. The priest never sounded afraid. Cain looked around at William and Amish, both of them falling into their bowls. He turned to look at Aleysia and glared at the two of her that appeared before him. “Ye did—”
Then he crumpled to the rushes.
Chapter Fourteen
Aleysia watched, horrified, as one by one the commander and his men fell under the effects of poison.
“No!” someone shouted. A man’s voice.
She looked across the table at the only other person still sitting upright, besides Father Timothy, rushing to the commander’s fallen body.
“Richard! What have you—” She realized what she was saying immediately and snapped her mouth shut. She had to think. The priest was awake! Oh, Richard. What did you do?
“Come, dear lady.” He stood up and beckoned with both hands. “We must hurry! Father Timothy,” he called out, covering his ears. “Stop your shouting. ’Tis only a sleeping enhancement I put into the wine. They will wake up in a few hours.”
Aleysia closed her eyes and held her breath. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? He’d done this! The priest was sure to tell the commander if he woke.
“Sir Richard,” Father Timothy warned after he made certain the commander was still alive. Was he? “If he doesna wake up, I vow before God I will kill whichever of ye is responsible fer this.”
“I am,” Richard assured him. “I am getting her the hell out of here.”
“No!” Aleysia shouted, quieting him. When she had his attention, she softened her tone. “I did not want to go. But now, he’s…” Her gaze fell to the commander lying on the floor, guarded by his friend. Her heart skipped beats and she closed her eyes to try to think clearly. “He’s going to think ’twas my mead.”
“We could be on a ship back to Normandy in two hours,” Richard said with more urgency. “We haven’t a moment to spare. Come! Please, Aleysia, enough talk! You will be given over in marriage to someone either King Edward or Robert the Bruce choses. Come, for your brother’s sake.” He moved around the table to go to her. “We must leave! I promised your father, your brother, that I would protect you. This is our only chance to escape. We can go home, dear girl.”
She put up her hands to stop him. “Do you know what you have done?” She didn’t want to go to back to Normandy. The commander had told her his king would grant her Lismoor without having to marry. It was better than losing everything. Better than Normandy. Better than running.
“Father,” she cried
, turning her gaze on him. “You must not tell him ’twas Richard. Do you hear? Let him believe ’twas my mead.”
“My lady, I—”
“I beg you, please. I will not leave if you vow not to tell him ’twas Richard.”
“Aleysia,” Richard said sternly. “Absolutely not! If we leave now, no one has to take any blame for anything.” He reached for her wrist to pull her away. She snatched it back and shook her head at him. “We will be long gone by the time he awakens!” he argued. “I will not let you do this!”
“’Tis already done, Sir Richard!” she told him. “By your hand. I am trying to save your life. You will be silent and not order me about again.”
She turned her attention back on the priest and looked into his doe-like eyes. “Do you vow it?” she asked softly, praying for his agreement. “Richard did this to save me. He would do anything to save me. Just as you would do anything to save him.” She pointed to the commander.
Father Timothy turned to Richard. “Do you vow ’twas only a sleep enhancer?”
The knight nodded. “I vow it to you. I did not know you would not be drinking, Father Timothy. I would not harm you. But I will not let—”
“I will not run,” she promised, cutting Richard off. “I will take the blame.”
“No! I will not let you!” her knight fought on. His eyes were glassy, his voice broken. “Please, my lady. This was not my intention. He will be so angry.”
“Sir,” the priest said, finally leaving the commander and going to lay his hand on Richard’s arm to offer forgiveness and mercy. “If she stays and takes the blame fer what is already done, he will be lenient with her.”
“How do you know he will be lenient?” Richard asked.
Father Timothy turned his gaze on her. “He is…fond of her.”
Her laughter sounded a bit mad to her ears. “Fond of me? Are you mad? He hates me—” Her eyes darted to Richard. The last thing he or the others needed to know was that she didn’t hate the commander. Not entirely.
“No,” Father Timothy corrected. “I know him and if ’tis anyone he hates presently, ’tis himself fer what he thinks of ye.”
She remembered his lips brushing against hers and brought her finger to her mouth. “What does he think of me?”
The priest shrugged his narrow shoulders. “That, he will have to tell ye himself.”
She nodded. All right. There was no time for that now. “Will you promise, Father?”
“Aye, lass. I promise.”
She smiled and offered him her gratitude. “Now, what should we do?”
“My lady, I do not—”
“Sir Richard, ’tis decided,” she said, stopping him. “We are staying. Lismoor in the Bruce’s name is better than no Lismoor at all.”
She left both of them and went to stand over the commander. Would he be lenient this time? He’d looked so angry just before…she rubbed her eyes and then let them move over the length of him, from his bare knees to his strong thighs—one of which was exposed by his plaid riding up from his fall. Her face grew warm and she looked at Richard speaking with the priest where she’d left them.
She knew it wasn’t a good idea, but she sat on the floor with the commander. What was there to do but wait for him to wake up? While she waited, she thought about what Father Timothy had told her. Was the commander fond of her? What did it mean? What did she want it to mean? She looked down at his sleeping face, his dark hair falling over his cheekbone and the wound she’d inflicted on him with her arrow. She could have killed him. She never missed. Giles had made her practice archery from an early age.
She’d let the commander’s stark, deadly beauty distract her. She felt something for him she didn’t understand. It wasn’t love. It felt more feral, more like she wanted to tear off his clothes and climb all over him.
“You look at him as if you feel something soft for him,” Richard said, coming to stand over her.
She closed her eyes to gather patience. Her friend had put their lives in danger by tainting the wine. Would Cainnech still help her keep Lismoor? She wanted to weep. She loved Richard and knew he’d done this for her. She would not let him die for it.
“I feel nothing toward him but hatred,” she told him. “But I am not a fool. The King of Scots has ordered these things. If I kill this one, another takes his place.”
“You need not kill anyone else,” he tried arguing and sat on the bench. “No one will look for you in Normandy.”
“And what about Mattie and Elizabeth? The villagers? Do I leave them all to whoever comes here next?”
“No, no,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Of course not.”
“How long do ye think they will sleep?” Father Timothy asked, coming near them and checking on William and then on the commander again. “His pulse is stronger. He is well.”
“As I said, I would not kill him,” Richard answered. “He will likely sleep until morning.”
“He is goin’ to be angry.”
Aleysia looked up at the priest, glad to see that he had forgiven her as well. She hoped the commander was so generous. She had no idea what he would be like when he woke. What would she tell him?
Father Timothy sat beside her and touched his hand to her arm. “Dinna be afraid, my dear. All will be well.”
She exhaled a low sigh. Would it? “How do you know?” she asked him softly. It didn’t matter if he was fond of her, this wasn’t the first time she had tried to kill him.
He drank the mead. Even if it was an arrogant answer to her unspoken challenge, he still had to trust her to drink it.
“I canna say how I know,” Father Timothy said after she might have groaned. “But I was reminded of somethin’ tonight.” He paused and turned his tender smile on her.
“What was it?” she asked him.
“Alas, I canna say.”
She frowned and blew out her next breath through her nostrils. Why did he say anything in the first place? “Are you trying to be mysterious, Father?”
His smile grew into a chuckle. “No, nothin’ like that. I know all will be well because I have seen a slight change in Cainnech for the first time in sixteen years.”
What? What was he saying? He’d known Cainnech—the commander for that long? And in sixteen years, the man hadn’t changed? And what was the “slight change” he mentioned? She had questions. Lots of them.
She slid her eyes to Richard and then to the priest. “Father, I’d like to confess.”
He stared at her, looking unsure and a bit stunned. “Of course.”
She looked at Richard and smiled. “You will excuse us, will you not, dear friend?”
Her knight moved his gaze between them. Finally, he nodded and stepped away.
When they were alone, but for the slumbering bodies around them, she turned to look into the priest’s large, brown, blinking eyes. “Let us get this out of the way then. I lied.”
He sat, waiting for more. When nothing else came, he cleared his throat. “How many times?”
“I do not know how many times, but add to it the one I just told.”
A hint of his warm smile returned to his face and emboldened her to continue. “I wanted to speak to you without Richard.”
“Ye are fergiven, and aboot what?”
“About the commander,” she told him quickly and in a whispered voice.
He inclined his ear and she leaned in to him so that he could hear, poor old man.
“What kind of man is he when he is not killing his enemies?”
Father Timothy drew in a deep sigh and sat straight again. He paused for a moment and then said, “I dinna know. When he is not killin’ his enemies, he is thinkin’ aboot killin’ them.”
She sat there staring at him. Did he not understand the question? “But you have known him for sixteen years. What was he like before he became a soldier?”
“My dear,” He tried to pat her hand. “Cainnech should tell ye these things, not I.”
She shook her head
and pulled her arm away. “You tell me. I wish to know.”
“Why?” he asked.
She sat back, unsure how to reply.
“I willna tell him,” the priest coaxed in his soothing tone. “Ye are still confessin’, are ye not?” He continued before she had a chance to reply. “I am not permitted to repeat what I hear durin’ one’s confession.”
She knew that. But could she trust him? And what did she want to confess?
She turned to gaze down at the commander. She hated herself for what she was feeling. “I find him infuriating and arrogant. Part of my heart hates him, but…” Oh, how could she speak it out loud? She was betraying her brother, her friends, her purpose. She closed her eyes when the priest remained silent and patient. “He is not altogether terrible.”
“No, he is not.”
She opened her eyes and set her gaze on him. “How has he changed? Surely, you can tell me that.”
He nodded, his comforting smile returned. “He is sorry he came here.”
Six words that set her heart to pounding and insinuated so much she hardly knew where to begin or what to feel. He was sorry he’d taken Lismoor from her. She was glad to hear it. It softened the blow. She had seen fleeting glimpses of regret in his eyes, but she was unsure if she’d conjured it in her own mind. Could she forgive him?
“Why is he sorry?” she asked, settling her eyes on the sleeping commander.
“I dinna know. Truly,” he added when she gave him a doubtful look. “But I believe it has to do with ye. If ye and Richard had been anyone else, ye would both be dead, despite King Robert’s desired peace. Cainnech is not known fer his mercy.”
Her blood chilled. How could one so beautiful be so frightful at the same time? “How many did he kill at Berwick?”
“None. We saw what was happenin’, and with no way to stop it, we left. Cainnech doesna raid villages.”
The commander had told her the truth then. They had nothing to do with Berwick. Her stomach calmed a bit. He wasn’t a complete barbarian. What did it matter? He was going to wake up thinking she tried to poison him and his men again. She couldn’t put her trust in the assurances Father Timothy gave her when he wasn’t sure of half of them.