“I wear them to spare others from seeing just how repugnant my hands are now.”
The barely leashed rage in his voice sapped the breath from her lungs.
“My caregivers did what they could to help me. They used different kinds of poultices, ointments, and some other treatments I barely remember because…”
“Because?”
“I was in pain, and I was angry.” He scowled. “I did not want to be lying in a hospital bed. I wanted revenge, but they insisted that my life depended upon me resting and focusing on my healing. When I received a missive from King Richard, ordering me to stay with the Knights Hospitaller, I had to obey.”
As though speaking of his hands had made him self-conscious, he linked them together atop the table, the leather of his gloves whispering.
“The scar across your brow is not so awful,” she managed to say. “Neither, I am sure, are the scars on your hands.”
He laughed roughly. “They are more than enough to make a gently-raised maiden swoon.”
Did he mean that they would make her swoon? She frowned, for she hated that he would assume such a thing. “Should I not be able to make that judgment for myself?”
Ash shook his head. “No one sees my hands. No one.”
Her heart ached for him. What must it be like not to be able to touch another person? To be denied the sensations of warmth or softness beneath one’s fingertips? To be forbidden the pleasure of giving…a caress?
Years ago, he had touched her as though he loved the feel of her skin, as though she was precious and treasured—
She forced aside the unwelcome thoughts.
“What are you thinking?” Ash asked softly.
She reached for her goblet of wine. “If you must know, I am honored that you shared—”
“Nay, you are not.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “You might not care to remember that I once knew you intimately—”
She gasped. She had not lain with him, although she’d wanted to, so very much.
“—but I have not forgotten.”
Rosetta bit down on her bottom lip and struggled to keep hold of her emotions. She didn’t want to talk about their past together, although he seemed to be luring her down that hazardous path. He must realize they could never go back to those days now that she was bound by her betrothal to Edric—no matter how wondrous their relationship had been, or how much he’d once meant to her.
“I know what you are thinking,” Ash said, his tone a gritty rasp. “You wish I had never returned to England.”
“Ash—”
“You cannot stand to look upon me with my ugly scars—”
“Not true!”
“—and you hate that I prevented Edric from taking you to his bed—”
Her hand moved, purely on instinct. She hurled the rest of her wine at him. The ruby red liquid splashed his face and dripped down onto the front of his tunic.
Before she could fully register what she’d done, he’d risen from his chair and was upon her. His gloved hands closed on her arms, hauling her to her feet.
“Ash! Stop,” she screeched, struggling. She clawed at his tunic, tried to break his imprisoning hold, but he was so much faster, bigger, and stronger. He propelled her backward, his muscled legs knocking hers, his breath as hot as fire on her brow. Her heels hit the wall and she gasped, breathless, as he pinned her against the cold, rough stone.
Fear tingled through her, but also a wild, wicked excitement.
He growled like a wounded beast and set his right hand to her throat. Cool leather pressed against Rosetta’s skin, causing a shiver to ripple down her spine. His hand shook, but gently, so gently, he forced her chin up with his thumb.
She tried to avoid meeting his gaze, how she tried, but the heat of his stare bored into her until she had no choice but to look at him. What she saw in his eyes made her tremble. “Ash,” she whispered.
“Aye, Ash,” he answered, his voice hitching on what sounded like a sob. “Not Edric. Ash.”
Before she could say a word, Ash lowered his head and kissed her.
Chapter Five
Rosetta tasted of heartfelt promises, forgotten dreams, and a true love Ash never wanted to relinquish. Shuddering, he crushed his lips to hers. Her sweet fragrance mingled with the piquant scent of the wine soaking into his tunic, and his mind revived every nuance of every kiss they’d ever shared.
Her mouth tasted wondrous. Her slender body, crushed against his, fitted perfectly, just as he’d remembered. Just as he’d dreamed, while he’d slept on the ground at Acre. Just as he’d desired.
He longed to lose himself in the intoxicating pleasure of her kiss, as he’d done years ago. Rosetta, though, remained very still. Her whole body was rigid while his lips moved over hers. Her mouth stayed shut. Unyielding.
His lips glided, pressed, demanded that she respond by kissing him back. As she remained unresponsive, a groan of frustration welled within him. Had she forsaken him? She couldn’t love Edric, the cold-hearted bastard. God’s blood, but she couldn’t.
He squeezed his eyes shut, fought the sting of bitter tears, as he kissed her.
Still, she didn’t kiss him back.
The rage within him softened under the burn of regret. A tear slipped from Ash’s eyes and ran down his cheek. He’d loved her every day that he’d been away from her, and he loved her still. He’d rather die than have her marry another lord, especially Edric. Yet, how did he show her what she meant to him? He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t.
Despair gripped Ash, just as a betraying tremor raced through her. Hope sparked within him, the smallest ember of encouragement, and he gentled his kiss. With his lips, the sweep of his tongue, he asked her to remember him the way he was years ago. He coaxed, teased, and tempted, focusing all of his love for her into his kiss.
A moan broke from her.
“Briar Rose,” he whispered against her mouth. So tenderly, he kissed her. Fighting the need to deepen the kiss, to take control, he lowered his hand from her throat and slid it into her silken hair. How he wished he could feel her tresses brushing against his fingers, but he mustn’t be greedy; at least he was touching her.
Rosetta sighed, her breath warm against his lips.
She shivered, and then she kissed him back.
Relief rushed through him, followed by an overwhelming surge of joy. Their mouths meshed, slowly at first, and with utmost tenderness. Then, as she initiated a deeper kiss, his pent-up emotions could no longer be contained. His kisses quickened, deepened. His breaths became impassioned rasps. His hands slid down to settle at her waist; hers buried into the front of his tunic. Ah, God, he wanted to drown in the fury of the desire she was unleashing, to kiss her and kiss her until they were both gasping and straining for—
A rap sounded on the solar door.
Breaking the kiss, he cursed softly.
Rosetta, her eyes glazed with need, blinked up at him. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses.
Another knock, and the solar door creaked inward. “Milord?” Herta called.
Rosetta dashed sideways along the wall. He spun away, wiping his face with his sleeve. As Herta stepped inside, he noted that Rosetta had reached the hearth and stood facing it, her arms crossed, her back to him and the maidservant.
“I am sorry, milord,” Herta said, “but you asked me—”
Ash nodded. He had indeed asked her to fetch him if Justin needed him. “I will be there in a moment.” Herta smiled and began to retreat, and Ash added, “We have finished dining. Send servants to clear away the table.”
“Right away, milord.”
When the young woman had left, he crossed to the hearth, but Rosetta’s shoulders stiffened. The intimacy they’d shared moments ago was gone, as if it had never happened.
But it had, and he’d be damned if he would let it go.
Beside her now, he set his hand in the small of her back. Her chin nudged higher, causing the glossy fall of her hair to brush a
gainst his arm. “After that kiss—” he murmured.
“Please leave, Ash,” she said quietly.
“I must, for the moment, but—”
“Just go!”
The desperation in her voice both encouraged and scorned him. How he longed to take her in his arms again, to kiss her one last time before he left.
Instead, his hand fell away from her, and he turned on his heel and walked out.
***
Rosetta remained by the hearth while the servants carried out the table and what remained of the meal. Once they had left, though, she crumpled into a heap on the glazed hearth tiles. Pressing her hand to her mouth to smother the sound, she wept.
She should have resisted Ash. She should have found the strength within her to shove him away and rail at him for daring to try and kiss her. Her marriage to Edric had been sanctioned by the crown, and ’twas nigh impossible to break such a commitment. And yet, while in Ash’s arms, even as those thoughts had clamored within her, her foolish heart had embraced the chance to kiss him once more. He was the only man she had ever loved, and her heart hadn’t forgotten.
Oh, mercy, what had she done? How would she explain her moment of weakness to Edric? Honorable, handsome, loyal Edric, who cared for her so much that he had asked her to be his wife. He hadn’t given up on her when she’d turned him down the first two times he had proposed, which surely proved he really did love her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto her gown. Sniffling, she gathered her tattered emotions. She couldn’t change what had happened, but she could prevent it from occurring again.
She was de Wolfe. She would do what had to be done, for de Wolfe women always endured, no matter what obstacles they faced.
After pushing to her feet, she wiped her eyes and then strode to the bedside table. When Herta had brushed out Rosetta’s hair, she’d removed all of the pins that had held the braid in place and left them in a neat pile. Rosetta picked up a pin and headed to Ash’s linen chests.
She knelt on the planks beside the smaller of the two chests. Lifting the iron lock, she shoved the pin into the opening.
Metal scraped against metal, but the lock didn’t click.
She pulled out the pin and tried again. She pushed, twisted, and shoved.
The lock didn’t budge.
Frustration bubbled inside her. There had to be a way to get into the chest. Mayhap the pin wasn’t thick enough to trigger the internal workings of the lock?
She retrieved another pin. Using both of them at the same time, she pushed and wiggled them into the lock. Work, she silently begged. Please.
With a gritty click, the lock sprang open.
***
Muffled sobs reached Ash as he entered Justin’s chamber. Regret gnawed at Ash for his brief but necessary delay; he had changed out of his wine-soaked tunic and shirt, to avoid the questions the ever-curious boy would undoubtedly ask if he saw the soaked garments.
Several candles burned beside the bed, their glow piercing through enough shadow that Ash could see the boy lying on his side beneath the blankets. Justin was facing the wall, his hair an unruly tangle on the pillow.
As Ash approached, the sheets rustled. Justin wiped at his face and then rolled over, his face blotchy from crying.
“Another bad dream?”
Justin nodded. “I…I dreamed about Father.”
Ash knelt beside the bed and stroked mussed hair away from the boy’s forehead. “I am sorry.”
“I…I miss him.”
“I know,” Ash murmured, as the boy began to sob again, his cries racking his small body.
Ash rose and sat on the edge of the bed, the stone wall against his back. He pulled Justin up to lean against him and then tucked the blankets around the child to keep away the night chill. With his arm around the boy, Ash listened to the lad weep; Ash offered his handkerchief, comforting words, and hugs whenever he sensed they were needed.
How he hoped that what he was doing was of some help to Justin, for he had no experience at being a father or a guardian. Ash hadn’t been involved much in Justin’s life until a few weeks ago, and he certainly didn’t want to fail in the responsibility he’d brought upon himself so that the boy would be raised by a relative and not a stranger.
One thing Ash did understand that he and Justin shared: anguish. It ate at one’s soul, day and night. It robbed one of sleep and taunted in moments of self-doubt. At least, though, Justin didn’t have physical wounds to overcome. For that, Ash was grateful.
At last, Justin’s sobs diminished and then quieted. Ash remained still, waiting for the boy to tell him that he was ready to try and go back to sleep.
Justin rubbed at his eyes and then gazed up at Ash.
“Feeling any better?” Ash gently asked.
“A little.”
“Good.”
Justin blew his nose on the rather soggy handkerchief. “I was wondering…”
“Mmm?” Ash fought an encroaching yawn.
“Will you stay in my room tonight? If I have another nightmare—”
“Of course I will stay. I will ask servants to bring a cot and bedding in here for me. It might get a bit cramped in your room—”
“I do not mind,” Justin said.
Ash smiled. “Neither do I. I have a few matters to attend, but when I am ready to sleep, I will come straight here.”
The boy was quiet a long while. Ash almost believed the child to be asleep, when he said, “Did you see the lady tonight? The one you did not want to disturb to get the chess set?”
Ash managed to keep the surprise from his voice. “Aye, I saw her.” And I kissed her.
“What is she like?”
“She is golden-haired, strong of will, clever…”
“What color are her eyes?”
“Blue.” Without doubt, they were the prettiest eyes Ash had ever seen.
“Is she tall?”
Ash remembered the feel of her crushed against him. “Not too tall.” Indeed, her height was just perfect for kissing her.
“And beautiful?” Justin peered up at Ash.
Heat spread across Ash’s face as he studied the lad. “Why do you ask?” Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Do you intend to woo her?”
Justin giggled. “Uncle! Do not be silly.”
Ash grinned; ’twas good to hear the boy laugh.
“I merely wanted to be certain she was beautiful,” the lad said, his words sounding a little drowsy. “Ladies always are, are they not? They are in the old stories you have told me at bedtime, those ones about fearless knights who have to fight bad men to rescue the damsels they love.”
A wry chuckle tickled Ash’s damaged throat. Justin had listened more closely to those tales of romance and adventure than Ash had thought.
“She is indeed very beautiful,” he murmured. And she is mine.
***
Rosetta lifted the lid of the linen chest, and the scents of wood, leather, and clean garments rose up to her. Lying atop the folded clothes were four pairs of gloves, all black, as well as several sheathed daggers.
She removed the gloves and weapons, a chill chasing through her at the feel of the supple leather against her fingers. Her skin across her chin and throat still felt cool from where Ash’s gloved hand had held her, while the rest of her body burned. How shameful that his kiss had ignited such sinful heat within her, cravings she had last experienced with him in the days before he’d left for Crusade. ’Twas surely wrong for her to desire one man but to be betrothed to another.
Leaning over the open chest, she removed some of the garments. Only three of the items of clothing bore embroidery. The rest were plain—unusual for the wardrobe of a nobleman, especially one who had been granted an estate by the crown. ’Twould seem that in most instances, Ash wanted to keep his noble rank a secret.
How curious.
At the bottom of the chest, she found a sheathed eating dagger, a box containing quills and ink, and a leather bag filled with p
ieces of silver. There was also a collection of rolled documents bound with twine.
She carefully untied the bundle. Several parchments bound together at the top left corner held a list of lord’s names along with dates and locations, among them, local taverns, a mill on the outskirts of Clipston, and a tanner’s premises. Edric’s name was on the list, but her father’s was not. Her uncles’ names weren’t on the list, either.
Three other missives… Her breath caught as she recognized the parchment supplied to Millenstowe Keep by a local merchant. As she unfurled the cured skin, she recognized her own penmanship. Ash had kept her letters, even though he had not answered them. Yet, the fact that he’d kept them caused a knot to settle in her stomach, for he wouldn’t have kept them if he hadn’t cared. Why, though, hadn’t he replied?
Unable to ward off a growing sense of unease, she unfurled the last parchment. “Mother Mary!” she whispered as her gaze skimmed the black ink drawing. ’Twas crudely done, but there was no mistaking the image of the gold ring she’d discovered on her father’s lands, along with notes on the jewel’s size, where it had been found, and the decoration etched into the gold band.
The day she’d found the ring, she had given it to Ash for safekeeping. He had said he would give it back to her when they returned to the keep, but the moment they’d walked through the gates, Ash and Edric had been sent to answer to the captain of the guard for disappearing when they’d had chores to complete. Ash and Edric had been absent from the evening meal, and she hadn’t seen either of them again until the following morning, when Ash had passed her in a stairwell and pressed the ring into her hand.
She had stowed the jewel in her chamber, behind a loose stone to the left of the hearth. When last she had checked, ’twas still there. That meant Ash must have done the drawing years ago, most likely the night of the find.
Why had he made the sketch? What reason did he have for wanting to keep a record of the jewel? He’d been so insistent that they keep the ring a secret from her sire.
Only Ash could answer her questions, but asking him outright would be unwise. What she’d found were only fragments of what seemed to be a much greater puzzle. If she confronted him now, she might never learn what was really going on.
A Knight's Desire--World of de Wolfe Pack Page 5