by Julia Latham
“But if I have you, ’twould be foolish of him to risk your life.”
She said nothing.
“You cannot think your own father wants you dead,” he said softly.
She gave him a swift glance. “Nay, not that. I am still…valuable in many ways. But protecting himself comes first in his mind.”
“Why? What does he feel so strongly about protecting?”
She hesitated for only a moment, and he thought she might be about to reveal something he could use. But at last, she shook her head. “Protecting his life, his position. His power is all important to him. And you’re threatening it. Perhaps he’s taking this to King Henry.”
“Nay, he would not do that,” Adam said with conviction. “He doesn’t want made public what exists between my family and his—yours.”
Florrie noticeably flinched as he tied her to her family, and against him. She looked at him with imploring eyes. “Tell me what it is, Adam.”
And for a moment, he considered it. Blood had been spilled, his family destroyed. She might be so outraged by the truth that she would no longer speak so easily to him. Nay, it was best to wait for the right time.
He looked away from her, back to the fire, and reached for the meat kept hot on a spit for him. “I cannot speak of it now,” he said softly. And because she might take his silence better, he added, “’Tis too painful.”
Compassion flooded her eyes, obviously driving away her doubts. She put a hand on his arm, and it took everything in him not to flinch. But not because of the problems between their families; nay, when she touched him, he didn’t care who she was, only that he desired her.
Michael silently returned from the horses and looked evenly at Adam. “You’ve made your presence known in Nottingham,” he said.
Adam nodded. “Now that the marquess has not responded, I sense possible problems. We cannot remain here.” He stood up, relieved when Florrie’s hand dropped away from him. “If anyone is now pursuing me, I want them mislead. Michael, I bought dry blankets in town. Let us leave the wet ones behind.”
Michael and Robert exchanged slow smiles.
Florrie looked at all three of them with a bewildered expression. “Why would we leave blankets?”
“While you’re packing away your belongings,” Adam said, “we’ll show you.”
Only a brief time later, they stood near the horses, ready to journey in the night. The moon was shining, and if they kept to the edges of the forest, they’d be able to see well enough to travel for several hours yet.
Florrie watched in surprise as Michael and Robert arranged the four blankets in mounds around the dying fire. By the low light, it almost seemed as if someone slept there. She met Adam’s gaze and gave him a slow, impressed smile.
“Robert, remain behind for several hours,” Adam said. “Your report will prove interesting.”
Florrie felt like the night would never end. They’d been journeying for several hours after dark, and the horses had to pick their way slowly over tree roots and rocks and around mud holes. But they seemed well trained for such work, never once giving any of the riders a problem.
She had plenty of time to think. Had she made a mistake not showing more emotion at her father’s apparent rejection? Part of her had thought he’d send a blustering letter of threats since Adam had one of his “possessions.”
She’d been taken aback by the absolute silence. Adam was so certain that a response could have come had her father chosen to send it, that she had no choice but to believe him. Though Adam challenged her father, she already knew that he was the more honorable of the two men.
And she was used to being ignored; she would not let it bother her. Most of the time, it freed her to do what she wanted, within limits. And right now, it allowed her to be traveling the English countryside, on an adventure that she’d never have again. Because when her father had her back, he might finally have had enough of her, and she would be hastened off to the convent.
But as she rode in the moonlit darkness, listening to ancient trees rustle on one side of her, seeing farmland stretch away endlessly on the other side, she couldn’t imagine being confined inside four high walls.
She glanced at Adam who rode straight in the saddle, his eyes seeing everything. At the convent, she would never see men again—would never see him.
Would this adventure turn against her, make her remember for the rest of her life what she’d be missing? Nay, she had always known what she’d miss; she wanted good memories to cherish.
At last he called a halt, and they made camp in silence. Were they thinking about Robert, she thought, glancing to the north every so often? Was Adam worried about his little brother? Or did men think differently?
She and Adam slept side by side again, the wet ground from the night before an unpleasant memory. The shared warmth between them always made her relax.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept before she heard their voices. Robert had returned, and Adam was no longer beside her. She guessed that they would speak more freely if they thought she slept, so she didn’t open her eyes.
“You were right, Adam,” Robert said, sounding tired. “You were followed.”
Florrie tensed, but Adam’s tone was just as calm as ever.
“I saw no one as I left Nottingham,” he said, “and if they’d followed me immediately, they would have attacked us.”
“Then they tracked us,” Robert continued. “But I do not actually know who they were. There were only two of them, and they didn’t attack. I watched from up in a tree, and heard their curses when they discovered our ruse.”
“Two men?” Adam said, his voice contemplative. “Surely Martindale would have sent more.”
Michael said, “But perhaps they had to spread out to find you?”
“So Martindale’s men could be all over the countryside,” Robert said, not sounding too bothered by that.
Awfully confident, wasn’t he? Florrie thought.
“I still have a hard time believing he could send men north so quickly,” Adam mused.
“Unless they were already here,” Robert said, “at a nearby castle or manor house. He has property all over England. Only a swift messenger would have to be sent to alert his soldiers.”
“A good thought, Robert.”
Robert sounded exasperated. “Adam, ’tis not necessary to compliment me as if you’re still training me. I know I’m your little brother, but I am also a—”
He broke off, and Florrie almost groaned. Also a what? Knight? Perhaps they’d misled her about their titles, and Adam really was still training him. She lay still, listening intently.
“It bothers me that we were found,” Adam said.
“But they didn’t trail us farther,” Michael added. “We are not even going directly south anymore, as we would be expected to do to reach London.”
“Do you think Martindale has Bladesmen working for him?” Robert asked.
In the somber silence that followed, Florrie found herself feeling an old excitement she’d thought buried. Were they actually discussing the League of the Blade? She’d always been told they were nothing but legend, tales to make a fire-lit evening exciting. But these men spoke of Bladesmen as if they’d actually met some of them.
When she was eight, confined to her bedchamber for many long weeks because her leg was broken, her nurse had lifted her spirits with tales of the League. As an adult, Florrie had made herself leave such fantasy behind, because no one was going to rescue her. Yet still, it was wonderful to hear that legends could be the truth.
“If Bladesmen are working for Martindale,” Adam said impassively, “there is nothing we can do about it. And Martindale would not even realize it himself, due to their vows of secrecy. Right now we must concentrate on the fact that we are being followed. We should try to spend more evenings under shelter, giving us more defensible positions. I will have the two of you circle back occasionally during the day, to look for people following us. But that will exhaus
t the horses, so we’ll have to take the most remote paths available, and not always in a direct line to London.”
There seemed to be nothing else to say, and they fell silent as they returned to their various blankets. Michael must be taking first watch, because she already heard Robert’s deep, steady breathing. Adam finally slid in behind her. Florrie stretched and blinked, turning to look at him drowsily over her shoulder.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.
She smiled and thought to relax back on her blanket, but suddenly, misleading him that she’d been asleep bothered her. “I heard what the three of you were discussing. So you think that my father sent men.”
He sighed and shook his head. “’Twould appear so. Are you pleased?”
She gave that thought. “I should be, I know. But if they capture me, they’ll return me home. I do not want to leave just yet.”
“But now is when our journey is becoming truly dangerous,” he warned.
“And I find that I don’t care.” She smiled at him with relish.
His dark eyes seemed to lighten as his gaze took in her face, then centered on her mouth. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? For a suspended moment, as her shoulder leaned into his chest, they stared at each other. Her breathing felt too fast, her heart seemed to find a new rhythm. She felt his hand on her hip, and then it slowly slid up her waist. Bending over her, he put his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. She gave a quiet moan and rubbed her cheek against his soft hair.
But when she felt his fingers brush the underside of her breast, she stiffened without thinking, so shocked by the pleasurable tension that was building inside her.
He froze, and suddenly she was desperate for him to continue. She brought her hand up to his head and held him against her, threading her fingers through his hair, while her body arched as if she could make him caress her.
“Florrie.” He spoke against her neck, her name a whisper on his lips.
She shuddered and turned her head. Her cheek slid along his short beard and then his breath was on her lips. She waited, wanting his kiss, ready to pull him to her.
And then his mouth pressed to hers, several gentle, sweet kisses that made her forget everything but him. Pleasure shot through her, and only intensified when his hand at last captured her breast. She trembled and quaked, feeling him knead her through her garments, as sensation flooded her body and centered between her restless thighs. This was glorious and unexpected, and at last she knew why men and women craved each other.
She realized that he was watching her, and felt no embarrassment. Slowly his kisses deepened, parting her lips. And then she felt his tongue seeking entrance. She hadn’t imagined such a bold kiss. His mouth captured her moan even as she yielded to his persistence. He took her open mouth in a kiss that was hot and deep and wildly exciting, so unexpected.
His hand moved between her breasts, caressing, tweaking her nipples through the bodice of garments that she desperately wished were gone. To her surprise, his other hand slid beneath her body, then across her belly. She shuddered as he cupped between her thighs, pressing through her skirt. His touch was like a spark igniting a flame through her body. She wanted more. His other hand tugged at her neckline as if testing what clothing could be pulled down. She felt him touch the pendant she always wore—
And then he froze, his body so stiff it was as if they’d never enjoyed a single caress. His warm, pleasurable hands left her. He slowly lifted his head, looking past her face, his expression one of shock and growing darkness as he came up on his elbow.
“What is it?” she whispered, the first blush of shame overtaking her. Did he think her sinful now? Was she supposed to resist and prove herself a true lady?
And then she realized he hadn’t let go of her pendant. He was lifting it into the firelight, which made the Martindale crest, a rearing dragon on a shield, glitter.
And then he met her gaze, and for a moment, she saw pain in those dark blue depths. She rolled onto her back, touching his chest, desperate to find out why he was looking at her that way.
“’Tis my family crest,” she said softly, not hiding her confusion. “You know who I am, who my father is—why should this bother you?”
He sat up and she did the same, facing him. He reached beneath his own shirt and drew out a leather pouch that hung around his neck. He loosened the lacings and spilled into his hand another Martindale pendant on a chain.
Chapter 9
Florrie stared at the mark of her family in confusion. This was a bigger, heavier pendant, the sort a man would wear. And Adam’s hand briefly trembled beneath it, which was almost frightening.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
From across the fire, Robert groaned as he sat up. “Adam, just tell her the truth. I am going to sleep with the horses, where I can have true peace.”
Florrie didn’t watch him leave; she couldn’t take her gaze from Adam, whose face had gone so cold. What had happened to the man who’d kissed her so tenderly, touched her as if she were the most delicate of creatures?
He stared at her.
“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I need to know.”
“When I had but six years of age,” he said slowly, “I enjoyed hiding from my parents.”
She didn’t know how this connected to their matching pendants, but she was willing to hear anything about him, anything that would help her understand what drove him to risk his life.
“There was a coffer in their room that was my favorite hiding place.” He was looking at the fire now, but seeing the past, for his gaze was unfocused. “One day, I hid there, waiting to be discovered, and ended up falling asleep. When I awoke hours later, I heard an argument between my father and another man. My mother was crying.”
Florrie’s stomach was tense with a terrible premonition. She didn’t want to hear the rest—but she needed to.
“So…I lifted the lid the tiniest bit. My father and a stranger were struggling before the fire.” His eyes narrowed in concentration, staring at another fire many years later. “I remember so vividly the flash of firelight between them, the shadows of their bodies, then the glitter of a dagger.”
She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. In her mind, she chanted like a prayer, Oh God, Oh God.
“He killed my father right before my eyes.” Adam’s voice was dispassionate, almost as if he spoke about a stranger’s death. “I dropped the lid in terror, and then I heard my mother scream. I was too afraid to look, too afraid to reveal myself. I never heard the man leave. When I finally lifted the lid again, they were both dead. I climbed out, looking at the blood that was seeping through the woven mat on the floor.” His voice hardened. “And then I saw this.”
Stunned, sickened, Florrie stared again at the heavy pendant he suddenly held before her face.
“Recognize it?” he demanded with sarcasm.
He lifted her own chain again, and she had to move closer or have it break in his grip.
He leaned toward her. “Your father murdered my parents.”
She was trapped by the pendant in his fist, by the passion and determination in his cold eyes. Tears stung her.
“I—I cannot believe my father a murderer,” she whispered. But was she protesting too quickly? She knew he was a ruthless man.
Adam suddenly let the pendant go, and she sank back on her hands.
“The man had brown hair like yours,” he said. “Solid and stocky, not tall.”
She bit her lip.
“Martindale was seen secretly leaving the castle. He was an open enemy of my parents because of old political issues.” He lifted the pendant in his grip. “Does he give these out like trinkets, that just anyone would wear it? Or are they only for family?”
Nausea suddenly rose within her as she remembered the solemn occasion when her father had granted her the pendant on her sixteenth birthday.
And she thought about a frightened little boy
, watching his parents killed, finding this same pendant.
“I put it in the purse on my belt,” he said, “not even realizing what I’d done. I never told anyone I had it, and years later, as an adult, I realized that if I’d have shown it to someone that night, it might have been enough proof to take to the king the accusation of murder against Martindale. So ’tis my fault he wasn’t punished then.”
Oh God, Adam even blamed himself for his parents’ murder going unsolved. She suddenly crawled away from the fire as her stomach heaved.
She returned weaker, tired, full of sorrow. She raised watery eyes to Adam, who watched her without expression. He was a man who’d spent his life waiting for vengeance. Did he even realize that?
“I—” Her throat seemed to close up. “I know not what you want from me.”
“Anything in your father’s behavior that might seem suspicious!” he commanded.
She gaped at him.
In a painful flash, she remembered caring for her ill father, his raving during the fever, the terrible secret he wanted no one to know. Had Adam’s parents discovered it? Would her father actually kill someone to protect an ancient family scandal?
But whatever had happened long ago, she had seen what guilt and bitterness did to a man. Would Adam become the same way?
She couldn’t let that happen! More than ever, she had to make sure Adam and her father never met at all, let alone attempted combat. Because if Adam realized he could not have justice, what would he do? Florrie felt as if fate had put her there, trapped between two men. She would save Adam’s soul—perhaps his life—by whatever means she could contrive.
But going against a man, even for his own best interests, was so very foreign to her. She had always been forced to go along with others, to be content whenever her life was altered on someone’s whim.
But now, looking at Adam, she felt a sense of power and purpose like she had never known before. She would save him.
Adam stared at Florrie, at her pale face and tear-filled eyes. She believed the evidence implicating Martindale, that much was evident. And it obviously hurt her to know such a thing about her father, regardless of how he had treated her.