by Paula Quinn
He picked up a shield and a sword and tossed both to her. She let the shield fall into the grass but caught the sword by the hilt.
“Ye will be needin’ that,” he said, smirking at her discarded shield.
She shook her head. “’Tis too cumbersome.”
“Verra well. Prepare,” he said, pulling his sword free from its sheath and making it dance in the air.
Was this truly happening? Was she going to spar with him? How real was this going to get? What if she hurt him? She watched him swing his blade over his arm and rest it flat over his elbow. He stared at her down the length of it, his eyes harder than the steel. She doubted she would hurt him at all.
“Ready.” He was thoughtful enough to warn before he swung.
She threw up her sword and blocked a blow to her neck that shook her arms all the way to her chest. He was holding back and, still, just blocking him nearly brought her to her knees. She blocked another strike to her waist, her shoulder, her knees. Over and over his assault continued, until after only a few moments, she leaped away and held up her hands, too exhausted to continue. Nothing she had trained for had prepared her for the strength and ferocity of his arm. She didn’t have the power to hold him off. If she was going to gain a point, she had to make a move swiftly. There was no time for defense.
She straightened her shoulders and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Ready,” she said and sprang forward. She caught sight of his smile before she jabbed, stabbed, and thrust. He blocked every strike with effortless ease. She couldn’t land a single blow.
A memory of practicing with Giles flashed across her thoughts. He was thirteen years older than she and more like a father than a brother. He made her practice archery every day and commissioned Sir Richard and the other knights to help her learn swordplay when he was away, which was often. She knew she possessed skill. She had even bested Giles once after he’d returned from the Holy Land.
The commander lifted his sword for a swipe to her ribs. Instead of trying to block it, she crouched as low as she could go and swept her leg across his ankles. He went down on his back with a resounding thump. She wondered if his head hit the ground.
She didn’t waste time thinking about it now, but leaped atop him and held the edge of her blade against his throat.
Now was the time to win back his trust.
She leaned down, until she could feel his breath on her face and stared into his eyes. “Will I kill you, Commander?”
She had no idea what his reaction would be to her besting him. She could hardly believe it herself. She didn’t think it happened often. But he wasn’t angry.
His eyes sparked with warmth and humor as they drank her in. His smile washed over her like a gentle caress in the midst of all the ice.
“Nae, lass,” he said, his voice, low and rough. “Ye willna kill me.”
She felt lost in his smile, swept away on foolish, fanciful thoughts of leaning down just a bit further and kissing him.
“What the hell is this?” someone shouted.
“Has she killed him?” another male voice called out.
Aleysia realized immediately what his men were seeing and tossed her blade in the grass.
Unconcerned with what might be about to happen, the commander continued to smile at her, but the sensual slant of his mouth and the challenging quirk of his brow proved that she was on her own.
“He lives!” she shouted, pushing off him. She looked down one last time and lifted her chin. “We were sparring good-naturedly,” she added with a smile.
“And ye bested him?” Father Timothy asked, stunned, and stepped forward from the small crowd of men.
“Aye, she bested me,” the commander confirmed, finally rising to his feet. “She swept me off my feet.”
The men stared at him, slack-jawed and struck dumb.
And then Rauf winked at the others and they all began to smile as if they understood some secret meaning to his words.
Aleysia was about to correct them but she caught the commander’s eyes as he began to look away from her. Their gazes locked for an instant, the residue of amusement…and something else she couldn’t define, still shone in his eyes.
She wanted to smile at him, but Richard was watching her and she would not—she could not—let him see her betrayal.
Commander Cainnech MacPherson was a Scot, worse, a Highlander, the most savage of them all and she was supposed to hate him.
But she didn’t.
Chapter Sixteen
“More of the villagers have returned.”
Cain stood on the battlements and swept his gaze toward the village dotted with firelight. People had been returning all day, anxious to see their lady. He’d let her greet them all and settle their nerves with her confident smiles. He’d stayed in the background, listening and watching her mostly, until he finally had to leave her alone.
He probably shouldn’t have. Who knew what the hell she could plan against him if left to her own devices? But he had to leave. Being near her was driving him mad.
She had asked his forgiveness for tainting the wine and he’d granted it. He worried that he would grant her anything.
If he lived to be as old as Sir Richard, he would never forget the way she looked poised and ready to fight him, her sword held above her shoulder, her long, black braid dangling down her bodice. He never expected her to stand up to his strikes. But she’d braced herself on steady, shapely legs, boot heels to the ground. Who taught her how to fight? Her brother? Of course, Cain didn’t use his full strength to strike her blade, but still, she held up. Damn it, but it stirred his blood. When she ducked low to avoid his next blow and physically swept him off his feet—well, he could have died happily at the edge of her blade, her face, the last thing he saw.
“Has Miss d’Argentan seen to them?” he asked the priest without turning to look at him. He wasn’t certain what his long-time friend would see. Just speaking her name brought to mind her viperous tongue and the glory of her face. He liked being around her, but it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin, as if he were someone else. Someone he didn’t know.
“She is with some of her staff that have also returned,” the priest informed him. “One called Matilda, whom Aleysia was most happy to see.”
Aleysia. Cain wanted to speak it, feel it on his tongue. What had befallen him? He was most likely ill from something. What the hell else had she poisoned? “Where are they?” he asked, trying to keep from spinning around, grasping the priest by the collar of his robes, and begging him for help.
“In Aleysia’s solar. William was with them earlier.”
Was William safe with her? He knew he was a fool for believing her, but he didn’t think she would hurt William.
Still, what did he know of her save that she was headstrong and determined to fight with him at every turn? And she’d already killed some of his men. But she’d been protecting her home—something he wished he could have done when his was taken.
He’d never faced an opponent like her before. When they weren’t fighting, or she wasn’t trying to kill him, she made him want to smile at her clever wit and seductive smile.
“I would prefer it if William wasna alone with her, and we should put Amish at her door,” he said, trying to regain his composure.
“Why?”
“What d’ye mean, why?” Cain finally turned. “The lad doesna know how skilled she is with her tongue and with a sword.”
“What will she gain by harmin’ Will?” the priest asked, his dark eyes tender as always. “Escape? She could have easily escaped last eve, Cainnech. She began this fight to stay here. This is her home. She doesna want to be handed over to Edward and she doesna want to go to Normandy.”
“Since when does it matter what any of us want?” he asked, not looking for an answer. His life was his answer.
Father Timothy knew it and looked defeated for the first time since Cain had known him.
“It matters to me,” his friend f
inally said on a quiet voice. “If there is a way fer her to stay, ye must tell her how to do it.”
“I dinna wish to involve myself with what happens to Lismoor once I leave it, which will be as soon as I hear from the king.”
“Cainnech, ye must help her prepare to swear fealty to—”
“Why do I have to help her? I owe her nothin’. She killed nine of my men, lest ye ferget!”
“God wants ye to help her,” the priest insisted.
“I owe Him nothin’ either,” Cain sneered. “What has He done fer me?”
“He has continued to keep ye alive long enough fer this, I suspect.” The priest held up his hands as if he were just guessing.
“Fer what?” Cain asked, stunned. “Fer her?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what I get? A lass who wants me dead?”
But she’d proven that she didn’t want him dead. In fact, he was sure the fiery spark in her eyes was beginning to burn with a different kind of passion—for his mouth, his touch, and, mayhap, the thing he was most unwilling to give, his heart.
What did she want from him, and why did she want it? How long could he resist her? He had to. His life depended on it. “I dinna want her.”
“Cainnech—”
“And as fer keepin’ me alive, my battle-arm has done that.”
“Careful,” the priest warned. “Pride has brought down bigger men than ye, Son.”
Cain shook his head. “Nae, Father. I remember the stories ye told, from Adam, to David, to Solomon. Even poor Samson. All taken down by women. I willna make that same error.”
He stepped around his friend and left the battlements. He needed to stop whatever Aleysia d’Argentan was doing to him. He didn’t know how to stop it, since he had no idea what the hell was happening to him. Was he going soft? He shook with the thought of it. If so, she was the cause. He had to find her and tell her they could no longer practice together—or do much of anything else together, since they always seemed to end up on the ground.
He had other, more important things to see to, like hunting and keeping his men in good condition, and getting a good night’s damned sleep.
He marched toward her solar, determined to remain resolute in his decision to stay away from her.
He approached her door and found it ajar. He heard her honeyed voice from the other side and paused to listen.
“The commander is a bit of a brute, but he has not been unkind to me or the others. You have nothing to fear from him or his men. When you meet him, try not to stare for he is both pleasing and terrifying to the eye.”
Cain was surprised to hear what she thought of his appearance. He wasn’t certain how he felt about it. He supposed it was a good thing to appear terrifying, but he didn’t want to frighten her. And how did he feel about being pleasing to her eye? He’d never concerned himself with how he looked before. He combed his hair to keep it from knotting and getting caught in things. He washed to keep from stinking.
He ran his palm over his jaw. He should have shaved his face.
Nae. He dropped his hand and reached for the door. He didn’t care if God wanted them together. He wouldn’t let her change who he was. She’d killed his men. She served the English king. As long as she did, he could never…care for her. Though to be honest, he could never care for her for any reason. He didn’t believe he was capable of wanting and forming attachments, which made his reactions to her even more confusing.
“Now tell me of Elizabeth,” came her melodious voice. “Are you certain she went back to the abbey? Why did she not stay with you?”
“Oh, Aleysia,” cried another female voice, “’twas just awful. We slept in the forest the first several nights. Many of us had nowhere else to go and the ones who had families close by could not take all of us, so we were turned away. Elizabeth could not do it. She decided to return to the abbey in Newton on the Moor rather than live in the woods. I do not blame her really.”
“Mattie, I will never forgive myself for what I put you and the others through.”
Aleysia’s voice broke through his reasoning, his anger, and weighed him down with guilt. Why? He’d done his duty. He’d reclaimed Scottish land. He was loyal to the Scottish throne. Wasn’t he? Or was the war more personal for him? Had he had enough killing?
“I would have you know, Mattie,” she continued, “I did everything in my power to stop this but, alas, I failed.”
Cain’s heart raced. Was William still with them? Had she told him the truth? What if he told the men?
Without another thought, he plunged inside the room and looked around.
William was not with them. Aleysi—Miss d’Argentan sat on her bed with another lass, whom he guessed was Matilda. She was younger than Cain had expected. She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen summers, with a fair complexion, and a long, white-blonde braid slung over her shoulder. Her pale blue eyes opened wide when she saw him.
Cain remembered what he’d heard and tried not to look terrifying.
“Welcome back to yer home,” he said to the girl. “I am Commander MacPherson.”
Her eyes darted to Aleysia, who smiled reassuringly at her. “This is Matilda, my friend and handmaiden.”
He nodded then turned his gaze to Aleysia. “I was wonderin’ if I could have a word with ye in private.”
She turned to her handmaiden. “Do you mind, Mattie?”
The young lass shook her head and scurried toward the door in her tattered skirts. “I have much to do,” she called out and left the solar, closing the door behind her.
When they were alone, Aleysia looked up at him waiting for him to continue.
Where should he begin? “I have been…” He brushed a wrinkle out of his léine. “Ehm…thinkin’ aboot things—”
“What things?”
He looked up. Hell, why did she have to be so lovely? He could be looking into a room of a hundred lasses and she would stand out among them. It didn’t matter. He had to hold to his convictions. What kind of pitiful fool was he that he should lose his nerve when faced with his opponent? He wouldn’t let her do it.
“I dinna think we should—” He paused when she slid off the bed and went to her wooden chest to retrieve her comb.
“Go on,” she said with her back to him and waving her hand over her shoulder. “I am listening.”
“I would like yer full attention.”
She sighed and turned to him with her comb in her hand. “Aye, Commander.”
He wished he’d kept his mouth shut about having her full attention. It was easier with her back to him. Hell, her large, fiery eyes nearly melted him. What was she doing? Why was she unbraiding her hair?
“Well?” she asked, moving her delicate fingers through her raven plait until it was set free to cascade over her shoulders. “You do not think we should what?”
He swallowed then looked away. He took another instant to remember what he wanted to tell her. “I dinna think we should spend so much time together.”
Damn it! It didn’t come out correctly.
“That has not been up to me, Commander.”
He breathed in deeply, which was an error because the air smelled like her. “Well.” He let his gaze fall to her again. She was running her comb through her long tresses, watching him, “From now on ’twill be.”
“Why?” she asked with a trace of amusement lighting her eyes.
“Why d’ye find this humorous?”
“Why did you need to come here and tell me if not being around you was up to me from now on? You could have just stayed away. Do you think I would seek you out?”
How had he lost control of this conversation? “Nae, but ye might have a query.”
“I see,” she said, combing with one hand, stroking with the other. “So you do not want to see or speak to me at all. Why?” she asked softly. The humor in her gaze changed to confusion with a blink of her eyes. “Have I angered you?”
What should he say now? He wasn’t expecting to have his decision
questioned. “It has nothin’ to do with that. ’Tis just better this way.”
“I see,” she said again, as if she understood. She didn’t. She couldn’t. “If you wish to be secretive about it, I shall just draw my own conclusions.”
He laughed but it sounded hollow to his ears. “And what conclusions will they be?”
She slanted her gaze and her smile as she turned away from him. “Perhaps, you are fond of me and you do not want to be.”
“Ye are my enemy,” he reminded her, and himself, on a low growl.
“True.” She lowered her lashes, shielding her gaze from him. “I can see how being fond of your enemy would be a dilemma.”
What? He hadn’t said he was fond of her. Had he? She twisted his words with such effortless ease, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d said. “Miss d’Argentan—”
“I thought we were calling me Aleysia, granddaughter of the steward.”
“Aleysia,” he corrected, and then threw her an impatient look for interrupting again and for making him say her name. “Dinna make things up in yer bonny head, lady. I—” He stopped while her smile softened on him and a slight blush stole across her cheeks. “—I am not fond of ye,” he continued in a low, heavy voice. “I mean, I…dinna know ye well enough to be fond of—I do think verra highly of ye. Higher than most, but—”
“I am your enemy,” she finished for him.
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest like a shield to guard his heart when she stepped closer.
“I refuse,” she said, close enough for him to reach out and touch her.
“Refuse what?”
She walked around him, causing him to uncross his arms and free them at his sides, ready to fight. It was a reflex whenever someone was close behind him. When she faced him again, she was closer—and he had no shield. “I refuse to stay away from you.”
He stared at her for a moment. What was this she said on the softest of breaths? She refused? His belly sank with dread while his blood raced through his veins like fire.
“At least until everyone has returned to Lismoor and things are settled with the Bruce,” she finished, stepping away from him.