The Centurion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Torston’s balance made a swift return, as did his defensive stance. But gazing up at him in the growing darkness was a pair of familiar eyes and his broadsword fell to the ground.

  “Alyx!” His relief was obvious. As was his puzzlement. “What in the hell are you doing, lass?”

  Eyes as blue as the summer sky blinked with realization. “Torston?” She swallowed hard, peering at his closed visor. “I could hardly recognize you with nightfall approaching. I thought you were a Scot.”

  He reached down, pulling her to her feet. “Scots do not usually approach on horseback nor speak with an English accent. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  Alyx brushed the leaves off her bum. “It was difficult to hear anything over the distant battle and the birds in the trees.”

  He regarded her a moment. She was safe and whole for the most part, if not a bit shaken. “So what were you trying to do – attack me?”

  “If you were Scots, I was going to kill you,” she said flatly. “I could hear your approach but considering I have been hearing war cries for the better part of the day, I knew not whether you were friend or foe.”

  “So you set a trap?”

  “I thought to use the element of surprise to steal your weapon.”

  Her answer was without fear. He lifted his visor and scratched his chin again, watching the fading light play off her delicate features. She was such a lovely creature, with blond corkscrew curls that fell to her buttocks and the face of an angel. But she was also careless and foolish, as her venture into the woods this day had proved.

  “Come along.” He bent down to collect his sword. With the other hand, he grasped her by the wrist to make sure she wouldn’t somehow get lost again. “The Kerr have launched a raid this day, as indicated by the cries you have been hearing. They’re after your father’s sheep again.”

  “Which is why you have come?”

  His warhorse had wandered away in search of edible foliage. Clutching Alyx tightly, Torston followed the animal’s crunching sounds. “Your father and my liege have been allies for so long that our armies fight as one.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And when I should be repelling Scots, I am forced to play nursemaid to a thoughtless young lady.”

  Alyx made a face at him. Although she felt much safer now that Torston de Royans had found her, still, the eerie shouts of battle had her on edge. Every snap of a twig and every rustle of a leaf sent her heart racing.

  “Is it a large raiding party?”

  “Large enough.”

  “How many men did you bring from The Lyceum?”

  “Enough to turn back the Scots and then some. You want I should discuss strategies for your approval?” The warhorse was sighted through the trees and he smirked when Alyx sassily stuck out her tongue. “Now, I must determine a way to return you home without running headlong into the battle. Unfortunately, most of the fighting is taking place between here and your home of Makendon Castle.”

  Alyx sighed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Is Father frantic?”

  “Terribly. You should be ashamed of yourself, sending your maids back to the castle while you remain out here, alone.”

  She averted her gaze as he lifted her onto the saddle. “I like it out here. It’s peaceful and lovely.”

  “And dangerous.” He fixed her with a pointed stare, trying to make eye contact. “I have known you for nine years, Lady Alyx de Ameland, and this foolishness must stop. You’re constantly prowling the countryside and Lance or your father are forever in search of you.”

  She shrugged carelessly, toying with the leather on his saddle. “I simply cannot stay in one place for too long, Torston. I like to get out, to see the world and its beauty. When I marry, I will insist my husband take me all over the world so I can experience everything.”

  “God help the man. He’ll have to be obscenely wealthy.”

  Alyx grinned at him, then. “How much money do you have, Torston?”

  He cleared his throat loudly and looked away. “Don’t start that again. I don’t have nearly enough. Besides, you know that I am already betrothed.”

  Her smiled broadened and she reached out, pinching the cheek that wasn’t covered by the hauberk. “But I would make a much better wife.”

  “You’d break me.”

  “I would not. I’d make you see beyond this world we live in. Don’t you want to see what all life has to offer?”

  She was so young, so full of grand dreams. Torston lowered his visor and tightened up the cinch of the saddle. “Life is fighting and dying, my lady. Anything beyond that is superfluous.”

  He stopped fumbling with the saddle and she knew he was looking at her, even through the lowered visor. The Torston de Royans she had been in love with for as long as she could recall.

  “Your views are too narrow, Torston. Why not live my dreams with me?”

  Why not indeed? Torston gazed into her sky-blue eyes through the blocked vision of his faceplate. He had always thought she was exceptionally beautiful and exceptionally out of his reach. Partly because she was so young, but mostly because he was already betrothed.

  Strange, he didn’t feel betrothed. A contract made at birth that his father had made, something he had constantly been aware of, knowing the time would eventually come when he would be compelled to marry a woman he’d met only once before. Even if he was willing to pursue Alyx and her dreams, it was clear that he was not meant to have either – Alyx or her dreams.

  So, he ignored her question because he couldn’t give her a pleasing answer. In truth, perhaps it hurt him a little, deep down, not to be able to tell her what she wanted to hear.

  “I’m too old to live dreams, Alyx,” he said quietly.

  “You are only thirty years and four.”

  “And you are eighteen. I am past my prime and you are entering yours.”

  He collected the warhorse’s reins and turned the beast around. Alyx watched him, tall and broad and powerful. When the helm was removed, he had the most wonderful blond hair and granite jaw, and a toothy smile that turned her limbs to jelly.

  There was nothing about Torston de Royans that didn’t turn her to jelly.

  “Are you really too old for me, Torston?”

  He continued to lead the warhorse. He feared what would happen if he mounted behind her and was forced to cradle her soft, supple body in his arms. “I am.”

  “You keep telling me that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  A smile teased her lips. “You hurt my feelings.”

  “Then I apologize.”

  She tried a different approach. “So you would rather see me with a young foolish knight instead of your mature level wisdom?”

  “Your father will choose your mate wisely.”

  Her approach hadn’t worked. Alyx was rethinking her strategy when a piercing howl suddenly filled the air. Terrified, she watched in horror as several men in dirty tunics emerged from the trees, swinging their weapons menacingly. Torston stopped leading the warhorse and mounted in a flash.

  Alyx clung to his back, protected from the attack by his broad body. Torston deftly collect his shield from the left side of the saddle, unsheathing his sword as a mace came flying at his head. Fending off the blow, he struggled to spur his warhorse through the rabble.

  “Hold on, Alyx.” She could hear his calm, steady voice. “I’ll get you through, lass.”

  Someone grabbed her by the hair. With a cry, Alyx was pulled back as Torston swung around, dropping his shield in order to prevent her from being yanked off the warhorse. It became a brutal tug-of-war, the grip on Alyx’s hair painful as Torston pulled on her arm. Alyx bit her lip to keep from screaming, her agony mercifully cut short as Torston leveled a blow from his sword that sent Alyx’s attacker to the ground.

  Gasping, she wrapped her arms around Torston’s torso once again as he faced forward, his sword arcing brilliantly in the dim forest air. The marauding Scots fought hard, landing heavy strikes against his thig
hs and arms. One blow caught Alyx on the leg but she didn’t utter a sound, instead, concentrating on huddling behind Torston as he maneuvered through the vicious horde. It seemed to take forever when, in fact, it was only a matter of minutes before he was able to leave the pack behind.

  Galloping through the trees, it was difficult to see now that the sun had mostly set. The horse stumbled a few times and, at one point, Torston narrowly avoided being impaled on a rotted stump. But it was more important that he remove Alyx from danger, no matter what the personal cost, and when they finally burst free of the forest, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  The battle against the main Scot army had apparently moved away from the sheep fields, pushed back by the combined forces of The Lyceum and Makendon Castle. Torston slowed his warhorse to an easy canter, cresting the hills and crossing the pastures as they made progress away from the Scots. Reaching behind him, he patted Alyx’s leg.

  “We’re safe, lass.” He lifted his visor, trying to turn and look at her. “Are you well?”

  She was holding him so tightly that all of her fingers were white. When she didn’t reply, he thought he heard a muffled sob. Immediately, the horse came to a halt and he bailed off, deeply concerned that she had been injured.

  “Alyx,” he hissed, grasping her lowered face. “What’s the matter, lass? Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, avoiding his probing gaze. “I… I’m fine.”

  “Then why are you weeping?”

  She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m not,” she insisted weakly. “I simply want to go home.”

  His hands stayed on her face, forcing her to look at him. Alyx’s heart fluttered with familiar excitement when he smiled. “If I were you, I would be more frightened of your father than a few savage Scots.”

  She couldn’t help but smile in return, wiping the last of the tears she swore she hadn’t cried. “Won’t you protect me?”

  He shook his head, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Not from Baron de Ameland. The man would quash me like a bug.”

  “But I would protect you if you ever needed it.”

  He laughed softly, deep dimples in his cheeks. “I believe that you would, little pigeon. But, of course, you are much braver than I.”

  Pigeon. He’d been calling her that since the early days of their association, a term of endearment that meant the world to her. Sometimes he simply called her Pidgy, but it all meant the same – a name he used, only for her. Instinctively, she leaned into his hand, relishing his touch even though his flesh was covered in mail. “No one is braver than Harringham’s Centurion. Everyone on the border knows that.”

  Torston’s smile faded as he watched her rub her cheek against his palm, the softness of her eyes drawing him in. He knew very well that he should pull his hand away, but he simply didn’t have the will to do it. Or the desire. Alyx smiled when she read his torn expression, turning to press her lips against the cold mail of his fingers.

  Torston felt the kiss. Through layers of leather and steel, he felt it as if a searing dagger had suddenly been plunged into his hand. Alyx kissed his hand again, and a third time. Weakly, Torston shook his head.

  “No, Alyx,” he murmured, making a very futile attempt to remove his hand. “You… mustn’t.”

  She glanced up, hardly taking him seriously. But she let go of his hand, only to throw both arms around his neck. As she slipped off the saddle, Torston was forced to grab hold of her. Face to face, their gazes locked.

  “Live my dreams, Torston,” she whispered, and he could feel her sweet breath on his face. “Forget about this betrothal and sail the world with me. We’ll do things no one else has ever done and go places men only imagine. Doesn’t that appeal to you in the least?’

  He stared at her, his soft brown eyes weakening with emotion even as he struggled to stay his control. But the battle was already lost. “I’ve done my traveling and have seen all I ever wanted to see.” He watched her features soften with disappointment. “I’m too old to chase your dreams, Alyx. My life has already been lived.”

  His nose and eyes were the only things visible through the raised visor. Tenderly, Alyx kissed him on the end of his nose and Torston nearly dropped her. “You haven’t lived yet,” she said softly, “until you have lived with me.”

  With his last shred of control, Torston lowered her to the ground and made a firm attempt to pull away. “Please, Alyx,” he said. “You know I cannot. I already have a bride, as much as the thought distresses me.”

  Alyx gazed at him, unwinding her arms from around his neck. “But I can see in your eyes that the thought of marrying me would not distress you.”

  He couldn’t lie to her, no matter how much he knew he should. “Nay, it does not.”

  “You are attracted to me, Torston. Admit it.”

  He turned away from her, collecting his warhorse’s reins. “Whether or not I am is of little matter. There is nothing either of us can do about it.”

  Alyx was silent a moment, moving slowly, thoughtfully, beside him. As he toyed with the reins, she gazed up into his face. “Then tell me how you feel when you think of me with another man?”

  “I have no right to feel anything.”

  Alyx hooked her fingers into his open visor, pulling him around to look at her. “I have been asking you to marry me since I was eight years old and the more I persist, the weaker you grow. I know you feel something for me whether or not you will admit it. Now, I ask you; how do you feel when you think of me with another man?”

  “It does not mat….”

  “He’ll be touching me, kissing me.”

  “Stop it, Alyx. It matters not….”

  “He’ll bed me, Torston. How does it feel knowing that he’ll be taking…”

  “Enough!” he roared, grabbing her by the shoulders. Alyx stared at him, wide-eyed, as he wrestled with his composure. When he spoke, it was slow and steady. “It does not matter how I feel, Alyx. Nor does it matter how you feel. We must do as we must do.”

  She couldn’t become angry with him, not when he was so dedicated to the organized path his life must follow. But the thought that, after all these years, she would be unable to convince him to break his betrothal ripped her heart into painful little pieces. She had been trying to persuade him for so long that the pleading, the coy suggestions, had become a part of their relationship.

  “Even if we must,” she murmured, “will you not tell me how you feel?”

  He didn’t know if he was strong enough. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to tell her. “I am unsure, Alyx. But if I knew, I would tell you.”

  She touched his cheek one last time, watching his eyelids flutter in response to her touch.

  “If you loved me, would you tell me?”

  He sounded as if he were gasping. “I would.”

  Smiling faintly, she moved to the saddle. Leaving Torston standing emotionally drained, she mounted the horse by herself. “Then I shall live for the day, Sir Torston.”

  And she had no doubt the day would come.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Lyceum

  The next day dawned peaceful and serene, as if there hadn’t been violence surrounding it only the day before.

  After their rather serious discussion yesterday, Torston had returned Alyx to The Lyceum for the night simply because it was the closest and the sun had nearly set. He didn’t want to travel any distance with her after dark.

  By the time they’d reached the castle, it was lit up with torches against the night sky. The Lyceum had an enormous curtain wall that encircled it as well as a nasty, smelly moat that was twenty feet wide in places. Because of an unseasonable dry spell as of late, the water was low and murky, probably no more than five feet deep in places, but it would be a brave and foolish man, indeed, who would try to cross such a mess.

  Rumor had it that snapping eels patrolled its depths.

  Torston had taken Alyx across that mucky moat and through the big gatehouse, into
the vast bailey of the castle that had belonged to the Harringham family for generations. He didn’t say much to her when he dropped her off at the keep for the night, a keep that Alyx had seen a dozen times before. It was vast and odd and lavish, and there wasn’t another one like it in all of England or Scotland.

  It was a place that sprouted legends.

  Once, the former Whitelee Castle had been a small, box-shaped keep and several outbuildings, including a great hall. It had been a normal castle as far as castles went back when it belonged to John Harringham. Baron Kielder, as he was known, had one son, Lionel, and when the baron died just after his son’s third birthday, young Lionel inherited the simple but powerful castle.

  It didn’t stay simple for long.

  Guided by his extravagant mother and his mother’s father, young Lionel didn’t have a traditional upbringing and that was where his eccentricities started. He didn’t foster in a noble home as all young men did but, instead, spent his formative years traveling with his mother and grandfather, everywhere in the world where their money could buy them the best of everything.

  Lionel Harringham had spent his autumns and winters in Rome, his springs in Paris, and his summers in the north at Whitelee Castle. Every year, he repeated the same schedule but the place he was most fond of was Rome. He studied its history and its architecture, learning from people who educated him on the ancient Roman ways from government to military capabilities so that when Lionel finally returned to England for good, he set about making Whitelee Castle into the finest Roman fortress the world had ever seen.

  That was when the eccentricity turned to madness.

  But most people didn’t call it madness. Lionel was simply peculiar. Strange. With a lust for demolition that would have made the Roman Caesars proud, he tore down the modest keep and outbuildings and built a spectacular keep with a feasting hall that was something that had to be seen to be believed.

  Rome of the North, they called it.

  Whitelee Castle was rechristened The Lyceum.