The Knight's Return

by Joanne Rock

“You have me to thank for your life, you know. I was charged with killing you but thought poisoning you would be less painful than running you through. I thought I was doing you a favor by slipping the potion into your drink and I figured if I struck you in the head, you’d be able to crawl off into an alley to die. I thought for sure I gave you enough poison to bring down an ox.”

  Sorcha winced at the thought of what Hugh had been through. No wonder he’d lost his memory with his body sustaining so much torment. However, she didn’t understand why these men would wish to kill him.

  “Who is du Bois?” Hugh rose up, frighteningly intense as he pressed his blade harder on Gregory’s forehead.

  The effort didn’t even make the man flinch, and Sorcha suspected he was halfway to dead.

  “Edward du Bois is your cousin.” The dying man’s eyes closed.

  Sorcha feared they would never know the rest. She snatched the weakened man’s blade and leaned closer to his face.

  “Why would he harm Hugh?” she shouted, moving closer to the fallen enemy. “What is Edward called now?”

  “Mont—” The sound was little more than a whisper before the man’s head cocked sideways in a lifeless slump.

  She watched his chest. No sign of rise and fall. He was truly dead. And with him died any other information he may have known about Hugh or Edward.

  “Mont what?” she asked, desperate to have answers about why anyone would hurt her and hurt Hugh purposely. Why anyone would want her precious son dead.

  Why did Edward wed her falsely and convince her of his death? Why come after her now? So many questions and the danger growing by the hour.

  “Montaigne.”

  Hugh’s answer silenced the questions racing around in her brain. She peered up at him. Hopeful.

  “What?”

  She saw a new set to his shoulders. A powerful presence that blocked out the sun behind him.

  “I am Hugh de Montaigne.” He sheathed his sword, his expression grim. “I remember everything.”

  Hugh waited to speak to Sorcha until after everyone had been loaded onto the ship, his newly recovered memories swirling around his head.

  He’d found Onora before the riders had descended on Sorcha back at the beach. She’d been tied to a tree, but aside from some scratches, she had not been harmed. Hugh had debated sending the reckless girl back to her father, but deemed it too risky when the king might already be embroiled in battle. Ireland was crawling with Normans.

  So he’d ushered the women and Conn onto the ship along with his men and the horses. He took some of his enemies’ mounts as well, though he did not have enough room on board for all of them. He’d paid the captain with two of them, which had saved him gold in the end.

  Now Hugh sat on a trunk in the bow of the ship, away from the animals at the stern. Eamon and the others had asked his leave to open the wine rations for the journey and Hugh had given it, seeing the whole company had been shaken by the brush with du Bois’s men back at the beach. The men played dice on the wooden planks of the deck at midship, their conversation more boisterous with each tip of the flagon.

  “May I speak with you?” Sorcha had approached so softly he had not heard her, his head swimming with memories as he tried to sort through his past.

  Nodding, he moved over on the trunk to make room for her. The chest was nearly as big as a trestle table and contained the silver Sorcha’s father had insisted on sending with her. The ruler’s love for his daughter had been obvious to him, even if Sorcha didn’t recognize it.

  “Where is Onora?” He didn’t see her on deck.

  “The captain showed her a place belowdecks where she and Conn could rest.” Sorcha tucked her skirts beneath her to prevent them from blowing in the wind off the water.

  She’d plaited her hair to keep it confined in the breeze and he noticed her veils had been twined around the heavy plait to weight them down. She had spoken little after the incident on the beach, staying close to Onora. He’d learned the dead man had been the false clergyman who’d performed her wedding to du Bois, but she’d been too distracted by caring for her son and her sister to speak about what happened in any detail.

  As the creaking craft eased through the slapping waves, Hugh took in a bracing breath of the salty air.

  “My memories had been returning by slow, maddening degrees until the encounter in the clearing brought it all back. Something about hearing my name—just that one piece of the title that should be mine—made me remember it all. I was on my way to Connacht to warn you about du Bois when I was struck down by his servant.” He launched into the basics before she could ask, wanting her to understand that his intentions had been noble despite his relationship to du Bois. “I knew he had been in Ireland to wreak havoc among the enemies to the Norman cause, but until shortly before my accident, I did not know that meant he had seduced and deceived the daughter of a royal household.”

  Hugh had been fighting wars of his own, protecting the Montaigne earldom, at the time Edward had been in Ireland. Edenrock Keep was a new holding for him and the former baron continued to attack Hugh’s tenants whenever they left the town walls. By the time he’d vanquished that enemy for good, he’d heard rumblings of Edward’s return to London and rumors of private meetings with King Henry about his reward for what he’d achieved in Ireland.

  “He wooed me to backstab my father.” Sorcha’s hands clenched into fists, her gaze fixed on the sea as they cut through the waves. “I can see how much cheaper it would be to besiege a woman as opposed to a strong keep. Especially when the woman in question is a foolish girl.”

  The bitterness in her voice did not surprise him, but Hugh could not tell if it was all anger at what had happened or if the anger was tinged with regret. He knew that people did not always love wisely. His experience with Rosamunde had taught him as much.

  The woman he’d recalled in his dream had indeed been promised to him. Between his conquering of a new keep and his betrothal to one of the richest women in the kingdom, Hugh had had a solid future mapped out as the new Montaigne lord. He would have been one of the king’s most important knights, a position that would guarantee him security. But he’d been betrayed by both his cousin and his betrothed. Rosamunde had defied her father’s choice in husband in the same way Sorcha had protested the men Tiernan suggested to his headstrong daughter. The difference was that Rosamunde had been obligated—legally promised to him. Not only that, but Rosamunde had spoken sweetly to his face and behaved as if she wanted him.

  Hugh could not forgive such deception, as he would have never entered into the arrangement if he had suspected the woman did not want him.

  He remembered Rosamunde clearly now that his memory had returned. Her carefully perfected beauty paled in comparison to Sorcha’s windswept magnificence.

  “A foolish girl could not have acted so bravely back there on the beach.” He reached for her hand, unable to resist that small connection with her after all that had happened today. It had been hard enough resisting her the night before when they lay so close to one another without touching.

  His blood still ran hot and fast in the aftermath of the fight. He burned to hold her, taste her, claim her so fully no one dared try and harm her again while she was under his protection.

  “Any mother would do as much for her child.” Her voice shook and he feared her tears.

  Comforting her would test his restraint uncomfortably, especially now that he knew without a doubt he was free to court where he pleased. To lay with Sorcha without reservation—or at least he would as soon as he was certain she saw no one but him.

  “You are wrong.” He had seen villagers and noblewomen alike treat their children with far less compassion than Sorcha showed Conn. “And even if that was true, how many other mothers would have known how to elude capture? Falling to the ground where the rider could not reach you was brilliant. Perhaps you don’t know how close you were to being swept up onto that destrier, but I’ll tell you, I did not think you w
ould escape.”

  Sorcha finally pulled her gaze from the water, her eyes clear now. “I learned well how to elude my father’s guards when they were forced to chase me around the courtyard at bedtime or when they needed to drag me back to the keep because women were not supposed to join them on their warmongering journeys.”

  “Your father told me about some of your adventures.” He had not believed a woman could have such audacity or be so quick-witted. He believed it now.

  A man would be proud to claim such a woman for his own. If only he could trust her. The doubt frustrated him when he wanted her so badly. He needed to start replacing her old memories of her first lover with moments so heated they would burn away all else.

  “But tell me why you came to Connacht. You wanted to tell me what Edward had done?”

  “Nay. I wanted to inform you that your life and your son’s were at risk. I heard that du Bois was to be wed and that he wanted to make sure his legal heir would be the only claimant to his growing legacy.”

  He’d heard that Edward had debauched a princess while in Ireland—an act that stirred political trouble without ever swinging a blade. Of course, Hugh hadn’t known that Edward had tricked the girl in question into a secret, false marriage. When her father had written to important families in England requesting information about the Norman who had visited his daughter, Sorcha’s claims had been dismissed as the lies of a desperate woman.

  All of which he was certain Sorcha understood. There was no need for him to reiterate the past she’d grown to resent.

  Sorcha paled and he knew the rocking boat was not the cause. She stared at him in silence for a long moment while the men-at-arms shouted insults at one another and argued over their dice game.

  “Onora told me the men in that riding party forced her to tell them where I was. They were after me and Conn. And you knew Edward wanted to kill us.”

  “I did until the fake friar poisoned me and then bludgeoned me.” His head ached with the old wound just thinking about it. “I am fortunate he did not skewer me when he had the chance.”

  “Perhaps he did not possess as black a heart as his overlord.” Sorcha shook her head and frowned. “I cannot believe any man would target his own child.”

  Hugh could see the disillusionment in her eyes. Surely any feeling she had for du Bois had to have withered under the harsh light of truth. No woman could care for such a man. But would her new understanding make her all the more wary of the feelings she had once had for Hugh? It was too soon to tell.

  “Du Bois was raised by a cruel stepfather.” They had not met until both were already knighted, and Edward had coveted the family legacy of power and influence that had been Hugh’s. Instead of political importance, however, Edward had inherited a mean streak. “He sided with the baron I deposed at Edenrock. And even though I had the king’s blessing to take the keep, Edward was trying to intercede by suggesting to Henry that I used excessive violence.”

  Sorcha blanched. “You would not.”

  “Of course not. But he had his men make random attacks on my new villagers and flew my banner while he did so.” He’d been on his way to London to argue his case to the king personally when Edward’s man had waylaid him. Hugh had met Gregory to discuss the possibility for a peaceful resolution between the feuding cousins, but Hugh’s efforts had been rewarded by treachery. “His cause was helped by the fact that we bear some family resemblance. Our mothers were sisters.”

  “Onora could have ended up with a son like Edward.” Sorcha mused, her voice unsteady with the realization. “For that matter, Conn would have grown up with a cruel father if Edward had not left me. My own son could have turned into such a person.”

  He reached out to touch her. Comfort her.

  “I do not think your father will thank me for harboring your sister for long.” He thought it too risky to send her back to Connacht with Edward’s men searching for them, but that didn’t mean he could allow an Irish princess to reside with them indefinitely. The king would need the political affiliation that came with her marriage, especially since Sorcha’s nuptials had cost him more than they benefited him.

  Hugh was not sure if his marriage would be sanctioned by his king and ultimately blessed under his real name, but until he could make Edward pay for what he’d done to Sorcha, Hugh would not risk upsetting the Irish king. Fate had tied Hugh to the feisty ruler as surely as it had tied him to the man’s daughter.

  Sorcha bit her lip as a rogue wind caught one of her veils and freed it from the heavy plait of her auburn hair. The airy linen snapped in the breeze as the rolling water splashed up on the side of the vessel and dotted their faces with cool spray.

  “Would you consider waiting to decide Onora’s fate until after the winter?” She busied herself with tucking the veil back under her hair with the others. “She would be of great help to me in a new household.”

  “You assume I will have a household to return to.”

  Her hands fell away from her hair as she straightened.

  “I thought you recalled your holding. You said your conquest of Edenrock was ordained by your king.” Her forehead furrowed with confusion.

  He heard her distrust of men in the question and he knew she had reason to doubt him. Because of that, he took his time to answer her question patiently.

  “It was a new holding and my reign was marked by turbulence. Considering I’ll have been gone for nigh on three moons and that Edward has coveted it from the start, I will be surprised if my men have retained control of the holding.” Hugh suspected that taking control of Edenrock had been a key motive in Edward’s attempt to kill him. And perhaps Edward had spread word of Hugh’s death from the moment his vassal had said the deed was done.

  “Then we must devise a plan to win back your lands.” Sorcha’s jaw flexed with the intractable will of a woman who did not like to lose.

  A woman who had not only survived exile, but who had thrived like her profuse roses at her cottage in the wild. Hugh wanted to believe her thirst to win the upcoming battle was rooted in the connection they shared—a passion apparent to him even when he had no idea they’d been destined to meet. But he knew the fire in her eyes could well be all about revenge on the lover who had repaid her trust with the worst kind of betrayal.

  “Very well. We will remain true to our unlawful wedding vows for at least as long as it takes to ensure Edward is stripped of his power and stands accused of his wrongs.”

  “Agreed.” She nodded with cool satisfaction, assuring him she would not request freedom from the fictional Hugh Fitz Henry for at least a little longer.

  Seeing the fierceness in her expression, Hugh guessed he made a powerful ally, whether or not she could wield a sword. And consequences be damned, he couldn’t help the swell of pride in her fearlessness. She had faced down six riders today with nothing more than a dagger and her wits before noontime, yet she was ready to take on the world by nightfall.

  “Shall we seal the deal?”

  She reared back, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You require a blood oath?”

  “Hardly.” Another time, he might have laughed at a misunderstanding so far from what he had in mind. But right now, the heat in his veins burned away any other emotion. “I was thinking more along the lines of a kiss.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Like bellows to a flame, Hugh’s suggestion fanned a roaring blaze out of little more than ashes for Sorcha.

  She had been thinking about a strong partnership to defeat a common enemy. A battle plan to protect her son. Yet with a handful of words and one lengthy, assessing look, Hugh de Montaigne had set fire to her skin. She feared no amount of sea spray misting over her face could cool the sudden desire.

  “You play a risky game for a man who has vowed not to touch me.” She acknowledged that his declaration had hurt her heart far more than it tweaked her feminine pride.

  He had used her silence about her husband’s resemblance to him as evidence of her deceitfulne
ss. Yet why should she have trusted him any more than he trusted in her? The only reason he’d confided about his loss of memory was because she had guessed something was amiss and he had needed her cooperation to solve the mystery of his past. Besides, as a woman with a child to protect, she’d had far more to lose than he if she had put her faith in the wrong hands.

  “We need not touch save for the kiss.” He negotiated the deal as smoothly as a foreign courtier bartering for a handsome bride price.

  If he had been a guest at her father’s dinner table, she would have smiled at his easy persistence and seductive logic. But they were as good as alone considering all the supervision three drunken men-at-arms would provide. One of whom was already so deep in his cups that he snored.

  Perhaps that was just as well, Sorcha thought, a plan coming to mind. He wanted to kiss without touching? Any man who would be her husband—even for a short time—would do well to learn she did not take orders like a common servant.

  “Very well.” She forced herself to be still and allow him to come to her. She would not aid him in his quest.

  Instead, she hoped to thwart him mightily.

  For a moment, his expression registered surprise and perhaps a touch of suspicion. Soon enough, however, his amber eyes darkened to the deepest gold. He moved closer, nudging her heart to a faster pace. Her breathing quickened and she licked her lips at the last possible moment, anticipating the taste of him.

  It was no chore to put her plan into action. As soon as his mouth brushed hers she arched into him, pressing her breasts flush against his broad chest. She wound her arms about his neck, anchoring him there. It was then, when she’d touched him beyond any doubt of an accidental caress, that she had planned to pull away.

  She’d only wanted to make a point, after all.

  But the firepower of the kiss worked both ways, sliding over her senses with the thrill of a lightning storm. A bolt of pure sizzle struck her deep inside, sending waves of warmth tingling through her limbs. She shivered with the power of it, her whole body responding to contact with Hugh.