“I dunno. Some man. ’Tis of no importance.” Her face brightened. “Eh, but I am glad to see you.”
“Answer my question, lass. Why are you here?”
“Lass? What happened to m’lady?” Edyth wrinkled her nose, hooked her arms around Turi’s neck and pressed her body to his. “There’s sickness in Melcombe. It’s come over from France. Folks are breakin’ out in boils and droppin’ dead. So, a few of us decided to head off to Exeter. My brother runs a brothel there.”
She announced it with such pride that Turi couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll be an asset to him.”
“We will. There’s three of us, in all. Came in ’ere because of the rain. Never thought to see you, though. ’Tis your coin what’s payin’ our way. I’m ever grateful.” She winked and pointed her chin over her shoulder. “I’m not usually one for sharin’, but I’ll introduce you to the others, if you like.”
The sound of a throat clearing drew Turi’s attention and Gilbert appeared to the side of him.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your company, lad,” he said, a measure of disappointment evident in his expression and his voice. “But I think you should know that your lady is watching.”
Turi’s heart plummeted. “Oh, Christ,” he muttered, and unhooked Edyth’s arms from his neck. He spun round in time to see Cristen turning away, her pale face wearing an expression of absolute misery. “Christ,” he said again.
“Your lady?” Edyth peered past him. “Are you married, then?”
“Nay.” Turi gave Gilbert a pointed look. For some reason, he wanted to challenge the old man’s obvious disappointment. “The lady is not my wife. But she is someone important to me. Someone I care about.”
“Oh.” Edyth sniffed. “Then I suppose you’ll not be needin’ me tonight?”
Turi shook his head “Sorry, Edyth.”
“Ah, well, ’tis a pity.” She shrugged and sniffed again. “She’s a fortunate one, your lady. ’Twas nice to see you, though, Turi. And thank you again for the coin. ’Tis keepin’ us fed and dry.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He tugged on her braid. “Stay safe, lass.”
Feeling slightly sick, Turi turned back to the bar, intent on acquiring the food he’d promised Cristen.
“I would apologize for misjudging you,” Gilbert said, “if not for the fact that my initial judgement of your character was correct. I am pleased, not sorry, that my secondary judgement was wrong.”
Turi tasted bile at the back of his throat. It was partly due to his usual misery, but accentuated now by the sad image of Cristen’s face. He uttered a swift and silent plea to the gods that her trust in him had not been irreparably damaged.
“You know nothing of me, Lord Allonby,” he said, while trying to catch the innkeeper’s attention. “My life, thus far, has been far from exemplary.”
“Self-recrimination is an unhealthy pastime,” Gilbert replied, “and if you want my opinion –”
“I do not.” Turi threw the man a fierce glance.
Gilbert waved the retort away. “I warrant the lady in your care will accept your explanation, Turi, for it will be an honest one. And as for the woman with the wandering hands, she has returned to her table and her bowl of soup. A meal paid for with the money you gave her.”
Turi scoffed. “I was not being charitable. I intended to bed her.”
“But you did not.”
“Nay, but I would have if not for…” He shook his head. “Never mind. ’Tis of no consequence.”
“Hmm.” Gilbert scratched at his stubble again. “I was about to ask you a question earlier. Before we were interrupted.”
Turi threw him an impatient glance. “Then ask it now.”
“How well do you use that sword?”
Turi’s lip curled. “With respect, my lord, I’m unlikely to admit ineptitude. But as it happens, I use it well enough.”
Gilbert chuckled. “You’re right. ’Twas a foolish question. I have a proposal for you, lad.”
Turi answered with a raised brow.
“You’re heading north,” Gilbert said.
“Aye.” Anticipation lifted the hair on Turi’s neck. As far north as you can get.
“Yet you admit to lacking an actual destination,” Gilbert raised his chin, “and I am lacking in youth and companionship. What say you, then, to this? Give me your fealty, Turi. Honor me with your protection and travel with me to Eamont, where you may then remain for as long as you need. Both you and your lady.”
*
Cristen sat on the bed and stared at the small, shuttered window. She imagined it to be a mirror, with her candlelit reflection staring back at her. What would she see? A small, unremarkable face with pale cheeks and wide, sad eyes. Untidy hair, roughly braided. Not an appealing image at all, but at least an honest one. It portrayed what she was. Or at least, what she had become. A homeless creature at the mercy of strangers. A fugitive, hunted by evil men. A woman unloved. She closed her eyes.
Cease this torment of yourself.
But the pitiless, downward spiral continued unrelenting. Seeing Turi locked in an embrace with the beautiful, dark-haired woman had sent Cristen’s mind into an icy spin. Pain, as solid as stone, filled the space beneath her ribs. It pressed on her lungs and squeezed her heart. Dear God, it hurt to breathe. She failed to understand why she felt so distressed by what she’d seen. She should have known. Turi was a man like all men, after all.
Nay, that is unfair. He is not like the others. And I have no right to feel as I do. After all, we are not…
They had shared the past few days and nights together. She had slept at his side, free from fear. He claimed her touch soothed him. Gave him peace. He had vowed to keep her safe. To protect her. But they were not…
Lovers.
She could not justify, then, her unreasonable response to his actions. Turi had every right to pursue intimacy with other women. The act of love held no pleasure for her and, even if it did, Turi had never given any indication that he found her attractive. He’d shown her affection and respect, but nothing more.
It was not her name he called out in the night.
Nor could she hope to compete with the woman downstairs. Physically, they were as different as a swan and a sparrow. The image of Turi in the woman’s arms refused to leave Cristen’s mind. She drew breath and pressed a hand to her chest. God help her, her heart ached so much. But why? Why did it ache? It made no sense. She had known Turi less than three days. Already, she admired him. Depended on him. But she was not in love in with him. She couldn’t be. Not after so short a time. Not ever, most likely. True love was as rare as a unicorn.
A rap on the door made her jump. “’Tis I, Cristen.” Turi’s voice. “Let me in.”
Cristen regarded the door with absolute dismay, her stomach roiling. God help me. How can I face him? Turi missed nothing. He’d know as soon as he looked at her that something was wrong. She had to gather herself. She took a breath and held it.
Another knock. “Cristen, open the door.”
He sounded grave. Why might that be? A brief and unthinkable answer brushed the edges of her mind, but she refused to pay it heed. Taking another deep breath, she stood, smoothed her skirts, and forced her trembling legs to carry her across the floor. She slid the bolt back and Turi stepped into the room, carrying a bowl of what looked like soup.
To avoid meeting his gaze, Cristen feigned interest in the greasy contents of the bowl. She even managed to force a smile. “Smells delicious!” she said and took the bowl from his hand. “Thank you. I’m starving.”
The soup’s aroma made her stomach clench. Swallowing against nausea, she set the bowl on the table and perched atop the stool. A wisp of vapor swirled upward and Cristen blew it away as she eyed the broth. A morsel of greasy mutton surfaced and her stomach clenched again. She doubted she’d be able to swallow a single mouthful without vomiting. Still feigning interest in the food, she heard Turi slide the bolt on the door, followed by the fa
miliar thud as his sword landed on the bed.
“Leave the soup, Cristen.” His voice sounded flat. Cautious. “Give it time to cool. Come and sit by me.”
He obviously had something of importance to say. Cristen clenched and unclenched her hands to stop them from shaking. The terrible fear she’d previously tried to ignore filled her head.
You’re abandoning me for her. That’s it, isn’t it? God help me, what will I do now?
The familiar flutter jumped to life in her belly when she turned to look at him. Candlelight and shadow played across his face. A face she had become used to. A face she liked to look upon. The thought of being without him, of another woman taking her place at his side, was unbearable. And it had little to do with her original predicament. She didn’t want to face it alone, of course. But more than that, she didn’t want to be without Turi. No man had ever had such an effect on her. Again, she tried to define what she felt for him. Tried to name it. Comprehend it. At that moment, she wished she didn’t feel anything for him at all.
Turi, meanwhile, seemed to be studying her. Appraising her. Was he planning what to say? Deciding how best to tell her his plans had changed? That she no longer had a place in his future? His solemn expression left her guessing. She feigned another smile as tears burned her eyes.
“You look so serious,” she said, swallowing. “Is everything all right?”
He cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the bed. “I saw you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Downstairs just now.”
“You did?” It came out as a squeak. She felt as if she’d been found out. Caught spying. Heat flared in her cheeks as she concocted another smile. “Ah. Yes, well, I went looking for you, but noticed you were… um, busy, so I decided not to disturb you.” A reckless tear escaped and tumbled down the side of her nose. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry, only I was a little worried. You were gone longer than usual and I thought maybe something was wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.” She sniffed and scrubbed the tear away. “’Tis likely the vapor from the soup.”
The familiar sadness shone in his eyes. “Come and sit by me.” He patted the spot beside him. “There are things I wish to tell you.”
Cristen laughed to smother a sob. “I don’t think I want to hear them.”
“Why not?”
“Because I already know what you’re going to say.”
“You do?” Turi raised a brow. “If that is so, then tell me the reason for your tears.”
“They’re not real tears. I mean… well, of course they’re real, but it’s only because I’m a bit worried about…” She frowned as she puzzled over his response. “I’m afraid you’re going to tell me you’re leaving me. Am I right?”
He released a soft sigh. “Nay.”
Another sob caught in her throat. “You’re not leaving me for that woman?”
“Nay, fy aderyn bach, I am not leaving you for her or anyone else.” He held out a hand. “Please, come and sit with me.”
Some of the pain eased as she took Turi’s hand and sat beside him, yet the image of him with the woman continued to taunt her. “When I saw you with her, I thought…” The words caught in her throat. “I thought maybe –”
Turi touched a finger to her lips. “I know what you thought and what you are likely still thinking, but you are mistaken.”
Cristen wiped another tear away. “I know what I saw, Turi.”
“And I warrant you misunderstood it, so let me explain. The woman’s name is Edyth. She was with me in the tavern the night you were attacked. I had just arrived from France and intended to spend the evening drinking wine and enjoying some female company.” He frowned and tucked a stray curl behind Cristen’s ear. “I am no monk sworn to celibacy, my lady. I am a man with needs. Edyth was paid to satisfy those needs. And she would likely have done so, but for the untimely appearance of a little lass in search of directions.”
Cristen pondered for a moment. “My arrival interrupted your night of pleasure?”
Turi’s mouth twitched. “Unintentionally, I’m sure.”
Another blush arose in her cheeks. “Then why is she here?”
“For the same reason we are. She and a few others are fleeing the pestilence. It has already struck in Melcombe.” He shrugged. “She was pleased to see me and made no bones about it. But she wrongly assumed I was alone. She now knows the truth of it.”
What truth? That he was sheltering a fugitive? Spending his nights with a burdensome female who did not enjoy carnal pastimes?
I am a man with needs.
“Do you still desire her?” The words came out before she could stop them. “Oh, dear God. I cannot believe I said that. Please forgive me, Turi. I have no right to ask such a thing.”
“I will answer anyway.” His expression softened as he ran a thumb across Cristen’s chin. “I cannot deny that Edyth is an attractive woman. But I’m not with Edyth, I’m with you. I choose to be with you. I want to be with you.”
She blinked and another tear fell. “You do?”
“Yes, Cristen. More than anything.”
The affirmation, spoken with such quiet conviction, stole Cristen’s ability to breathe. The sadness had gone from Turi’s eyes, she noticed. What remained gave the impression of perpetuity, akin to gazing up at a vaulted sky on a moonless night. His thumb continued its gentle caress, coaxing her lips apart. The flutter in her core had become a sweet ache that spread like fire through her veins.
She found a breath. “Turi.”
His name was all she could manage, but understanding showed in his face. The slight frown, the momentary clench of his jaw, the way his intent gaze rested on her lips. He tilted her chin up and touched his mouth to hers.
For Cristen, it was more than a kiss. It was an epiphany. A mind-shattering realization that she wanted this. She wanted Turi to kiss her. Wanted him to touch her. Being with him had released feelings she thought herself incapable of feeling. A rush of emotion pushed fresh tears to her eyes as she dared to move her lips against his.
Turi groaned and folded her in his arms. His kiss remained tender, yet his exploration of her mouth became bold. Still kissing her, he eased her down onto the bed, pinning her with his weight. Anticipating the usual surge of panic, Cristen stiffened slightly. The panic never came.
Turi drew back. “Why do you hesitate?” he asked, frowning. “And why are there still tears in your eyes? Ah, Cristen, please tell me you are not surrendering yourself because you saw a tavern wench hanging off my neck. She is no threat to us, I swear it. But I will not do this if you are uncertain. Tell me true. Before I put my hands on you, I must know where your heart lies.”
“It lies with you,” Cristen replied, without hesitation. “My very existence lies with you, Turi. My tears are a foolish response to things I have never felt before. Passion, desire, a longing to be touched. I am overwhelmed, is all.”
He muttered something in his language and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Then let me love you this night, little bird,” he murmured, emotion evident in his eyes. “Let me love you as you have never been loved before. Let me show you what it means to fly.”
Love?
That mythical creature. Cristen did not dare to believe she might have found it. She nudged the thought aside. It was of no consequence. Here, now, in the arms of this enigmatic warrior, she resolved to embrace whatever pleasures he bestowed upon her.
“I am yours,” she said. “I want only to be yours. Tell me what I must do.”
“Do?” Turi smiled and stroked her hair. “All you have to do is lose yourself in me. Allow your body to respond as it should when I caress and kiss you. Listen to my voice, for I shall caress you with that, too. Do not fetter yourself with uncertainty. Do not hesitate to touch me, any part of me, with your hands or your mouth. Guide me. Better yet, teach me.”
Cristen felt as if a locked door had at last be
en opened. It offered an escape, a temporary deliverance from her burden of fear and grief. The door had likely always been there, but hidden behind the selfish demands of men who cared only about their own pleasure.
And now, at last, she had Turi’s permission to touch him as she had secretly desired. She stroked her fingertips along the chiseled line of his jaw.
“You have a fine jaw,” she said. “Strong and determined. I have wanted to do this ever since we left Abbotsbury. From now on, as we ride, I shall touch you whenever I feel like it.”
Turi chuckled. “Then I fear our journey may take longer than anticipated.” A gleam came to his eye as he bent to kiss her again, hands and mouth exploring each part of her body as he undressed her. Fingertips traced a line down her throat, kisses trailed across her bare shoulders, and callused but gentle hands caressed her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his touch, the exquisite tightness drawing a stifled groan from her throat.
And all the while, Turi whispered soft words – foreign words, their true meaning unknown, but their resonance intensely sensual. His voice both soothed and stimulated. Combined with his touch, it lifted Cristen’s desire to dizzying heights.
Naked at last, she waited as Turi removed his clothes. Being twice married, she was not at all unfamiliar with the male physique and could not help but compare. Walter, despite his two score and eleven years, had kept himself hale and lean to the point of gaunt. Cedric had been broad and squat, as square as a bear and nigh on as hairy.
Turi, who stood taller than most men, had the powerful, yet lithe, physique of a warrior. Cristen was already aware of his strength, of course. She’d felt the solidity of his form when she’d slept at his side and ridden with him atop Samson’s broad back.
But seeing him naked, each sculpted part of him accentuated by the flicker of a solitary candle flame, set her heart racing. His generous arousal, which left no doubt as to his desire for her, sent a shiver across her flesh. What did he see in her? She wondered about that, as an image of Edyth’s seductive curves slipped unbidden into her mind.
“You are beautiful.” Turi stroked a reverent hand over the slight rise of her belly. “You possess a body worthy of worship. ’Tis small, yet exquisitely perfect.”
The Sentinel (Legends of Love Book 3) Page 11