The Centurion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Dyl, please,” he urged quietly. “It would not do well for you to injure yourself. And Alyx; think of her. She will need you to be strong for her.”

  “No… no tell Alyx!”

  “Dyl, be reasonable. I have to tell her.”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “No Alyx,” he gasped, drool and tears on the top of his thighs. “She hurt… enough.”

  The reply was cryptic at best but Torston could not pursue it. Dyl, obviously, was lost. He bolted from the chair, sending it crashing on its side. Torston tried to steady him, but the young man was beyond his reach. Wailing and sputtering, Dyl ran from the solar, his fingers gripping his hair and his face a mask of grief.

  Torston followed him as far as the stairs and sent a soldier up after him to make sure he didn’t kill himself in his sorrow. Standing at the foot of the stone steps, Torston listened to Dyl’s distant cries, feeling weary and miserable but renewed in his determination to locate Alyx. As bad as Dyl’s reaction was, he could only imagine Alyx’s.

  Turning for the doors that led out into the bailey, Torston found himself briefly wondering why Dyl was determined to locate Caesar before the news of his father’s death distracted him so. Dyl had even tried to tell Torston, but Torston had other things on his mind. Now, the knight wondered if it had been wise to put the young man off. But it couldn’t have been too terribly important, he mused. What matter of importance could Dyl have possible sought to tell him?

  Certainly not a matter of life or death.

  Alyx was familiar with the woods outside of The Lyceum and the smell of mold and wood was comforting. The night had been dark and cold and still, but as the sun rose, she began to feel more like herself again. She was in her element. She was singularly focused as she trudged through the foliage, her mind a haze of jumbled thoughts and feelings. She had thought that the comfort of the trees would help her to think and help her to fortify her faith.

  Faith in Torston.

  But a night of deliberation had not done what she had hoped. In fact, it had seemed to make her feelings of angst more intense. She could see Torston’s face with every step, with every breath she took, feeling so much pain and confusion that twice she had nearly vomited with the force of her emotion. Her stomach was twisting so painfully that she thought she might die. But it was her heart, more than any other part of her anatomy, that was in danger of shattering completely.

  Alyx didn’t want to believe the lies of Lady Lilia’s women. She knew that they were attempting to dupe her. She was convinced. But they had sworn to have witnessed Torston’s presence, the violence against Lilia. And the ring… the ring was a powerful indicator.

  It had happened the day after she permitted Torston to bed her. Was it possible that Torston, once Alyx’s virginity was taken, decided that she wasn’t worth the trouble? He had conquered, he had sampled, and then came to the conclusion that she wasn’t worth the effort of breaking his betrothal, so he had run straight to Lilia?

  But, no…

  Alyx shook herself sharply. She could hardly believe that to be true. Exhaustion had her mind running amok. She knew Torston as well as she knew herself, a man she had cherished for nine solid years. She knew his character, his nature, and what the women told her simply didn’t fit the man she loved so well. For whatever they had told her, for whatever grain of truth there might be, there had to be an explanation.

  And that explanation would have to come from Torston himself.

  It all boiled down to this – she needed to ask him.

  She had to go back to The Lyceum.

  Alyx stopped her pacing, glancing up through the canopy of trees to see which direction the sun was traveling. Shielding her eyes against the bright streams of sunlight, she determined the best path home was the one already mapped by her own footprints. Only just coming to realize that it had been foolish to wander outside of The Lyceum walls, though that had never stopped her before, she began to make her way back.

  Until a bush moved.

  Actually, it wasn’t a bush. It was brown long tunic made to blend in with the foliage. Startled, Alyx gasped as a man emerged from the camouflage of the forest, followed by more men than she could possibly count. Surprise turned to panic as the trees, the undergrowth, came alive with arms and legs and unshaven faces.

  “Alyx?”

  Someone called her name. She didn’t recognize the voice and, terrified, turned to run. But an arm reached out to grab her before she could bolt away and Alyx turned into a wildcat, biting and swinging her fists. Her accoster grunted as she made contact, admonishing the others to stay away. Finally, he managed to subdue her by capturing both of her flailing arms.

  “Alyx,” the man sounded calm enough for having just been thrashed. “Dunna be frightened, lass. It’s me. It’s Douglas.”

  Alyx came to a halt. Eyes wide, she twisted so that she could see his face. Douglas gazed back at her, his hazel eyes glittering in his handsome, bearded face.

  “Laird…?” She swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath. “Laird Kerr?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “What are ye doing out here, all alone?”

  Alyx blinked as if she didn’t understand the question. Kerr released her, albeit reluctantly, when she pulled insistently from his grasp.

  “What am I…?” She was at a loss for words. “What are you doing out here?”

  Kerr didn’t reply immediately. He wasn’t about to tell her that he had actually been looking for her, hoping she was as predictable as he thought she was. He’d seen her out here before and hoped to see her again. But actually running in to her… that had been a damned bit of good fortune.

  He could hardly believe it.

  “Is something the matter?” Douglas avoided her question. Until he could answer her truthfully, he decided that he wouldn’t answer at all. “Ye appear disheveled, lass. And troubled.”

  Alyx’s brow rippled with emotion. He had asked the question so kindly that it was difficult not to respond. “I was… I was walking, m’laird. Just walking.”

  “There are other places tae walk.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I like the woods. I find it calming and it helps me think.”

  “What are ye thinking about?”

  “It is none of your business,” she said firmly. “If you will excuse me, I must return to The Lyceum now. I have been gone overlong.”

  Douglas smiled gently, disarming her. “What has ye so troubled, sweetheart?”

  There were several men standing about, witnessing the conversation and listening to Douglas address her with a tender name. Alyx’s cheeks flamed and she lowered her gaze, fidgeting as she struggled to come up with an acceptable reply.

  “Nothing,” she said, her tone nearly a whisper. “Nothing is the matter. I was merely walking and… well, ’tis time for me to return now, that’s all.”

  Douglas watched her in the weak light, the way the sun glistened off her marvelous hair. And he knew, even as he stared at her, that she would not be returning to The Lyceum. Whether or not it was kicking and screaming, however, would rest on his shoulders alone. He could no more let her go than he could forgive Winslow for his treachery. When one door closes, another always opens…

  Now, he had what he wanted.

  Quickly, he passed a glance at Robby, silently commanding the man to take the Kerr men and retreat to the forest. Robby acknowledged, nearly imperceptibly, and motioned to the men with a swipe of his big hand. Douglas continued to watch from the corners of his eyes as Robby sent out two scouts in the direction of The Lyceum to watch the place when the rest of them retreated. That was usual to make sure they weren’t followed.

  When the men disappeared into the bramble like ghosts, Douglas returned his gaze to Alyx, still fumbling with the wrists of her heavy traveling dress. She seemed so terribly forlorn and he, in turn, felt himself soften.

  “Willna ye tell me why ye’re here?” he asked gently. “My men are gone no
w. They willna hear ye.”

  Alyx looked around, noticing that, indeed, they were alone. Uncomfortably, she glanced at Douglas again, but still, she would not tell him.

  “It is nothing, I tell you,” she repeated, deciding to make an attempt to move past him. “I must return before the legions come looking for me and discover you. If you will excuse me, I really must go.”

  Douglas reached out as she walked past, grasping her wrist and instantly realizing that she was as cold as snow. Diverted from his prying questions, he enclosed her fingers in his warm palm.

  “Good Saints, lass, ye’re freezing tae death,” he scolded gently. Before Alyx could protest, he lifted up the hem of her gown to peer at her feet. “Christ! Ye’re naked!”

  Alyx’s mouth opened in outrage, her brow furrowing. But Douglas was already dragging her across the damp ground, heading for a cluster of moss-covered rock. As Alyx struggled to vent her opposition, he reached out and grasped her underneath the arms. Lifting her effortlessly, he plopped her on the cold, cold rock.

  “There now.” He was fumbling with his tunic. “I’ll warm ye.”

  Alyx watched him in horror. “Warm me? I think not!”

  He ignored her. The tunic came loose and he was suddenly reaching under her gown, grasping her by the ankles. Alyx shrieked softly as her cold, dirty soles came into contact with the delicious warmth of Douglas’s fuzzy abdomen.

  “M…m’laird!” she gasped. “I must protest this!”

  “Quiet,” Douglas growled, holding her feet tightly as she wriggled. “I must warm ye before ye catch yer death. Dunna ye know how foolish it is tae wander about less than clothed? Have ye no pia mater, lass?”

  Alyx was preparing a forceful retort when his last two words caught her attention. “Pia mater? What’s that?”

  “Brains. Have ye no sense?”

  Alyx was frowning, masking the fact that she was impressed by his use of educated words. They had flowed easily, not at all forced as if attempting to impress her. “I do, indeed. What language is pia mater?”

  “Latin.”

  “You know Latin?”

  “I know quite a bit.” He raised a well-shaped brow. “Contrary tae what ye’ve been told, not all Scots are ignorant savages.”

  “I never said they were.”

  “Ye dunna have tae. Yer expression tells me much.”

  She tried to imagine what sort of expression she might have on her face, her brow fluctuating as she tried to relax her features. “You see no such thing,” she said. “And if there is any expression at all, it is my outrage over your bold move. Let go of my feet!”

  “Not until they’ve thawed,” he said evenly.

  Alyx frowned again, trying to free his grip. Douglas expended a bit of effort to maintain his hold, especially when she turned onto her side and attempted to slide down the rock. But he held her fast, going so far as to slap her on the buttocks as she twisted.

  “Enough!” he commanded as she yelped in pain. “I am trying tae do ye a favor, ye foolish wench. Would ye rather lose yer toes tae the cold?”

  Puffing and furious, Alyx blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “It’s not that cold.”

  “If I put yer feet in hot water now, ye’d scream from the agony of it. Ye’d be lucky if yer toes didna fall off from the shock.”

  She paused to rethink her strategy. Obviously, he was not going to let her go until her feet were sufficiently warmed. But the more Alyx stared at Douglas in challenge, the more she wondered if he would let her go at all.

  Something told her that she was trapped.

  Douglas could read her thoughts. Her features were so innocent, so pliable, that it was impossible not to. He tore his eyes away from her wide-eyed gaze, glancing at the slender ankles he held in his hand. Her small feet were freezing against his flesh and her tender white calves were hardly any warmer. Gently, he began to massage some circulation back into her skin.

  “Will ye tell me why ye were running about without yer shoes?” He glanced up from his rubbing fingers. “Is someone after ye that ye must find a place tae hide?”

  Alyx shook her head, torn between the uncertainty of his rubbing fingers and the fact that they were doing a great deal of good. “No one is after me.”

  “But ye’re distressed about something.”

  She watched the top of his blond hair as he tenderly rubbed her ankles, moving to the soles of her feet. In truth, it was coming to feel wonderful and her protest at his intimate action was fading. Not strangely, his gentle attentions seemed to be breaking her resistance. Douglas was an older man, that was true – more than twice her age – but in that age, there was maturity and wisdom that was calming.

  She sighed heavily.

  “Something,” she murmured, looking away. “You cannot help.”

  Douglas glanced up from massaging her feet, sensing that her defiance was waning. He rubbed more forcefully and watched as her eyes closed, briefly, with pleasure. “How do ye know?” he asked. “Tell me, lass. Mayhap I can help ye.”

  Alyx shook her head, her body gradually relaxing the harder he rubbed. “No one can help. This is something I must contend with on my own.”

  Douglas turned back to his duties, taking a stab in the dark with his suggestion. “De Royans?”

  Alyx’s once-relaxed features were suddenly hard again. “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Because I can only imagine that he would be the reason powerful enough tae have ye wandering about like a lostling. What has he done tae upset ye so?”

  Alyx stared at him, the words of Lilia’s ladies rolling around in her mind; the demands of a betrothed, the ring of the House of de Royans. Closing her eyes to block out the vortex of confusion and anguish, she found she couldn’t seem to escape it. Like the jaws of a predator, it snapped at her in little pieces, taking more and more each time until there was nothing left.

  “I don’t know what he’s done,” she heard herself whisper. “But… but I was told… oh, Heavens, I shouldn’t believe them. They’re only trying to deceive me!”

  “Who is trying tae deceive ye?”

  “Lady Lilia’s women!” Alyx insisted, forgetting the fact she was divulging the information to a virtual stranger. The dam gates burst and her words were coming forth before she could stop them. “They said Torston went to Lilia last night demanding his husbandly rights. They showed me a ring that they insisted he had given to her, and they told me that he had practically ripped the clothes from her body.”

  Douglas calmly digested her words. “Who is Lady Lilia?”

  Alyx’s mouth molded into a pout. She simply couldn’t help it. “His betrothed.”

  That drew a reaction from him. “De Royans is betrothed?”

  She nodded. “But he promised me that he would break his betrothal. He said that he loved me and that we would be married. But Lilia arrived at The Lyceum unexpectedly and Torston has had a difficult time progressing with our plans.”

  Alyx’s feet were warming but Douglas kept rubbing. In fact, he realized that rubbing Alyx’s digits at this moment was the best possible thing he could do. “So he has not been able to break the betrothal yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Has he tried tae buy out the contract?”

  Alyx shook her head, slowly. “Not that I am aware of.”

  “Did ye ask him what progress he has made at all?”

  Again, she shook her head. “Nay, I’ve not. He’s been very busy.”

  Douglas was silent a moment, his warm fingers working her small toes. “Did it ever occur tae ye, sweetheart, that mayhap he’s changed his mind?”

  “About what?”

  “Breaking his betrothal.” He could see the brilliant color in Alyx’s cheeks at the mere suggestion and hastened to clarify his remark. “What I mean tae say is that if I was serious, I would find a way. How long ago did he agree tae break the betrothal?”

  Alyx appeared more uncertain than she did angry. “A… a week ago, I s
uppose.”

  “A week,” Douglas repeated, almost ironically. “A week goes by and the man does nothing? It would seem tae me that a man, in love with another woman enough that he would promise tae break a legally binding contract, would have taken action by now and not left ye hanging on his empty vows.”

  “They’re not empty.”

  Douglas looked back at her pinkening feet. For a moment, he was silent. Then he asked, “Has he bedded ye yet, sweetheart?”

  Alyx’s cheeks flamed a dull red and she looked away. Douglas had his answer. While she was still struggling for a reply, he took her feet from his abdomen and placed them gently on the ground.

  “Did it ever occur tae ye that he promised tae break his betrothal simply tae coax ye into his bed?” he asked softly, rising to his feet. “De Royans knows ye adore him. Is it possible he’s using yer love tae his advantage?”

  “No!” Alyx leapt from the rock, her face flushed and her fists clenched. “Torston would never do such a thing!”

  Douglas maintained his steady, even manner. “How do ye know?”

  “Because I do!” Alyx shot back. “I have known Torston de Royans for nine years and he has been nothing but kind and chivalrous and wonderful!”

  “But have ye ever known him tae be with other women, or use them tae his advantage?” Douglas watched the emotions ripple across her face, wondering if his subtle attempts at persuasion were breaking through. “Surely de Royans hasna been celibate for the past nine years, waiting for the glorious moment when he would bed ye. If ye know him as well as ye suggest, then ye must have heard… things about his character. Surely the man’s not a saint.”

  Frustrated, Alyx struggled with her thoughts, remembering what Lady Lilia’s women had told her about Torston’s bastard. The serving wench he’d put his seed in had met with a mysterious death after the birth of the boy. Alyx had even asked her father if he’d heard of the bastard and Winslow admitted he had.

  Things about his character.

  There were things in Torston’s character that put a dent in his armor, but as Winslow himself had stated, no man was perfect.