The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection
Page 93
“When have I ever told ye that I didna think ye could?”
She said the only thing she could remember in this moment. “When you drank the mead.”
His jaw relaxed and softened, along with his gaze. He moved closer, hovering over her until she could count each lush, black lash surrounding his guarded, sapphire eyes. “That was to show ye that I didna think ye would.” He stepped back and turned away. “They are two verra different things.”
When he tugged her forward, she tugged back. She didn’t know why she did it. She had no idea what to say to him. She believed gaining his trust was a difficult, if not almost impossible endeavor. She’d had it, perhaps to the slightest extent, but she’d had it. “I know that,” she said faintly and drew closer. “I regret losing your trust that I would not kill you.”
He watched her while she spoke, sending a thread of heat through her when his gaze dipped to her lips. Did he want to kiss her? Would she let him if he did?
“I regret it as well,” he answered, and then pulled her toward the rear tower without another word.
He was taking her to where his men were. “You will no longer protect me?” she asked him, trying to calm her anxious heart. Was he finally delivering her to her fate?
He stopped before they crossed the short walkway and turned to her. “I protect ye fer the king.”
Her expression grew dark. “Of course.”
“Just agree with what I say.”
“I can speak for myself.”
“Not today.”
She wanted to say more but he continued walking.
Anchored to him by the wrist, she had no choice but to follow him across the walkway and up the stone stairs to the narrow door to the tower.
Father Timothy greeted them on the other side and asked how she fared.
“I am alive—for now,” she told him, a bit out of breath from keeping up with the commander’s long strides.
The priest stopped them and drew his friend down so that he could whisper something into his ear.
The commander turned to her and watched her breathe, then kept his pace slow as he walked her through the short corridor to the massive doors that led inside.
Her heart pounded when she saw Amish and William, Rauf and Richard, standing with the rest of his men. What had Richard and the priest told them? Was her friend safe?
They all grew quiet when they saw her, or perhaps it was when they saw their commander lift his hand for silence.
“Aleysia was just found by me on the floor of her solar.”
“I felt sleepy and tried to make it to my bed,” she added, pressing her palm to her forehead for good measure. She ignored him when his slipped his gaze to her, but let him continue.
“It seems Lord de Bar tainted all the wine, includin’ what ye found in the cellar. And though Aleysia served as his bottler—” he flicked his gaze to Rauf, “—she knew nothin’ aboot it.”
Relief flooded through her and made her feel lightheaded. She was thankful he was protecting her, but was that it? These men were dangerous. She knew what they wanted to do to the one who’d killed their friends. If doubt was allowed to creep in, they would start drawing their own conclusions.
She had more to say to them, to William and Rauf mostly. Her life and the lives of her friends could depend on it.
“I am sincerely dismayed that you all drank something that was meant for your harm—even if it only made you sleep. I consider some of you my friends.” She smiled at William and then at Rauf. “I would not put my friends in jeopardy.”
“We didna blame ye, lass,” Rauf promised, returning her warm smile. “We knew ’twas de Bar’s doin’.”
The others agreed and welcomed her back into the fold.
“Ye are convincin’, lass,” the commander leaned in to whisper close to her ear. “Even I believe ye.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back.
He offered her a practiced smile and ushered her out of the large gathering hall before she had a chance to speak to anyone else. They left the tower and headed for the main stairs outside.
“Now where are we going?” She looked over her shoulder for Richard or Father Timothy but no one was following. Why was she following him? She should have insisted on staying with Richard. How could she betray her friends and her brother by liking this man, by wanting to fall into his arms and kiss him?
“I am takin’ ye away from the men.”
“You do not trust me with them.”
“Or them with ye,” he added and picked up his pace.
They reached the long, narrow stairway and began the descent. She paused for a moment to watch him. She told herself she was mad, and then hurried after him.
“You have my gratitude for helping me get out of that,” she said, a few steps above him. “Even if ’twas for the king.”
“I dinna know how much longer I will be able to keep ye safe if ye continue.”
She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t done it. He’d been correct. She wouldn’t try to kill him. She hadn’t wanted to kill him from the moment she set eyes on him. She could have let him move forward into the meadow of arrows. He’d been first in line, but she’d stopped him with her ill-aimed arrow. She could have stabbed him to death in the dungeon after rendering him almost helpless with a kick to the groin. And when they had fallen from a tree, she tried to wake him up instead of swiftly cutting his throat.
She could have, but she hadn’t. She hated her weak resolve, but she hated even more the thought of his new misgivings about her.
She could tell him the truth about the wine and regain his trust, but she wouldn’t put Richard in danger.
“You do not have to concern yourself with me any longer,” she told him. “I may still try to strike or pinch you when you are overly infuriating.” She stopped speaking when he turned to look at her with a wind-tossed strand of hair and amusement dancing across the cool surface of his eyes. “But I…no longer…want to kill you.”
“That is comfortin’ to know,” he said with a teasing smile and then returned his attention to the steps.
Aleysia watched him reach the last one and walk toward the grass. She wondered what it would be like to surrender to her desires and set her mind on breaking through his heavy armor. Could she do it? Could she drag him out of his past and into the present? Why should she try? He was still her enemy. But he didn’t treat her like he hated her. Even when he believed she’d managed to put what was left of his company to sleep, he still protected her. He hadn’t laid his hands on her, and had even begun to trust her.
“Though I must tell ye,” he called out, his deep voice wrapping around her like a glove, “the threat of a pinch is not enough to keep me from irritatin’ ye.”
His error was slowing his pace and waiting for her to catch up.
“Is that so?” She quirked her brow and gave his upper arm a hard pinch.
“Hell, lass!” he erupted, springing away from her. He rubbed his arm and glared at her. “I think I would prefer yer blade.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She walked toward the stairs to return to the keep but he caught her by the wrist, and pulled her back, gentler this time.
“Why wait?” he asked, giving her a slow half-smile. “With everythin’ else that kept ye busy over the last four years, did ye find time to practice?”
“Every day,” she told him, a bit breathless when he tugged her toward the grassy inner bailey. “I took my duty to kill the Scots who came here very seriously.”
“We shall see.” He came to a small area off to the side of the keep, where his men had left their extra weapons, swords and axes, shields and even maces propped against the wall.
He picked up a shield and a sword and tossed both to her. She let the shield fall into the grass but caught the sword by the hilt.
“Ye will be needin’ that,” he said, smirking at her discarded shield.
She shook her head. “’Tis too cumbersome.”
“Verra
well. Prepare,” he said, pulling his sword free from its sheath and making it dance in the air.
Was this truly happening? Was she going to spar with him? How real was this going to get? What if she hurt him? She watched him swing his blade over his arm and rest it flat over his elbow. He stared at her down the length of it, his eyes harder than the steel. She doubted she would hurt him at all.
“Ready.” He was thoughtful enough to warn before he swung.
She threw up her sword and blocked a blow to her neck that shook her arms all the way to her chest. He was holding back and, still, just blocking him nearly brought her to her knees. She blocked another strike to her waist, her shoulder, her knees. Over and over his assault continued, until after only a few moments, she leaped away and held up her hands, too exhausted to continue. Nothing she had trained for had prepared her for the strength and ferocity of his arm. She didn’t have the power to hold him off. If she was going to gain a point, she had to make a move swiftly. There was no time for defense.
She straightened her shoulders and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Ready,” she said and sprang forward. She caught sight of his smile before she jabbed, stabbed, and thrust. He blocked every strike with effortless ease. She couldn’t land a single blow.
A memory of practicing with Giles flashed across her thoughts. He was thirteen years older than she and more like a father than a brother. He made her practice archery every day and commissioned Sir Richard and the other knights to help her learn swordplay when he was away, which was often. She knew she possessed skill. She had even bested Giles once after he’d returned from the Holy Land.
The commander lifted his sword for a swipe to her ribs. Instead of trying to block it, she crouched as low as she could go and swept her leg across his ankles. He went down on his back with a resounding thump. She wondered if his head hit the ground.
She didn’t waste time thinking about it now, but leaped atop him and held the edge of her blade against his throat.
Now was the time to win back his trust.
She leaned down, until she could feel his breath on her face and stared into his eyes. “Will I kill you, Commander?”
She had no idea what his reaction would be to her besting him. She could hardly believe it herself. She didn’t think it happened often. But he wasn’t angry.
His eyes sparked with warmth and humor as they drank her in. His smile washed over her like a gentle caress in the midst of all the ice.
“Nae, lass,” he said, his voice, low and rough. “Ye willna kill me.”
She felt lost in his smile, swept away on foolish, fanciful thoughts of leaning down just a bit further and kissing him.
“What the hell is this?” someone shouted.
“Has she killed him?” another male voice called out.
Aleysia realized immediately what his men were seeing and tossed her blade in the grass.
Unconcerned with what might be about to happen, the commander continued to smile at her, but the sensual slant of his mouth and the challenging quirk of his brow proved that she was on her own.
“He lives!” she shouted, pushing off him. She looked down one last time and lifted her chin. “We were sparring good-naturedly,” she added with a smile.
“And ye bested him?” Father Timothy asked, stunned, and stepped forward from the small crowd of men.
“Aye, she bested me,” the commander confirmed, finally rising to his feet. “She swept me off my feet.”
The men stared at him, slack-jawed and struck dumb.
And then Rauf winked at the others and they all began to smile as if they understood some secret meaning to his words.
Aleysia was about to correct them but she caught the commander’s eyes as he began to look away from her. Their gazes locked for an instant, the residue of amusement…and something else she couldn’t define, still shone in his eyes.
She wanted to smile at him, but Richard was watching her and she would not—she could not—let him see her betrayal.
Commander Cainnech MacPherson was a Scot, worse, a Highlander, the most savage of them all and she was supposed to hate him.
But she didn’t.
Chapter Sixteen
“More of the villagers have returned.”
Cain stood on the battlements and swept his gaze toward the village dotted with firelight. People had been returning all day, anxious to see their lady. He’d let her greet them all and settle their nerves with her confident smiles. He’d stayed in the background, listening and watching her mostly, until he finally had to leave her alone.
He probably shouldn’t have. Who knew what the hell she could plan against him if left to her own devices? But he had to leave. Being near her was driving him mad.
She had asked his forgiveness for tainting the wine and he’d granted it. He worried that he would grant her anything.
If he lived to be as old as Sir Richard, he would never forget the way she looked poised and ready to fight him, her sword held above her shoulder, her long, black braid dangling down her bodice. He never expected her to stand up to his strikes. But she’d braced herself on steady, shapely legs, boot heels to the ground. Who taught her how to fight? Her brother? Of course, Cain didn’t use his full strength to strike her blade, but still, she held up. Damn it, but it stirred his blood. When she ducked low to avoid his next blow and physically swept him off his feet—well, he could have died happily at the edge of her blade, her face, the last thing he saw.
“Has Miss d’Argentan seen to them?” he asked the priest without turning to look at him. He wasn’t certain what his long-time friend would see. Just speaking her name brought to mind her viperous tongue and the glory of her face. He liked being around her, but it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin, as if he were someone else. Someone he didn’t know.
“She is with some of her staff that have also returned,” the priest informed him. “One called Matilda, whom Aleysia was most happy to see.”
Aleysia. Cain wanted to speak it, feel it on his tongue. What had befallen him? He was most likely ill from something. What the hell else had she poisoned? “Where are they?” he asked, trying to keep from spinning around, grasping the priest by the collar of his robes, and begging him for help.
“In Aleysia’s solar. William was with them earlier.”
Was William safe with her? He knew he was a fool for believing her, but he didn’t think she would hurt William.
Still, what did he know of her save that she was headstrong and determined to fight with him at every turn? And she’d already killed some of his men. But she’d been protecting her home—something he wished he could have done when his was taken.
He’d never faced an opponent like her before. When they weren’t fighting, or she wasn’t trying to kill him, she made him want to smile at her clever wit and seductive smile.
“I would prefer it if William wasna alone with her, and we should put Amish at her door,” he said, trying to regain his composure.
“Why?”
“What d’ye mean, why?” Cain finally turned. “The lad doesna know how skilled she is with her tongue and with a sword.”
“What will she gain by harmin’ Will?” the priest asked, his dark eyes tender as always. “Escape? She could have easily escaped last eve, Cainnech. She began this fight to stay here. This is her home. She doesna want to be handed over to Edward and she doesna want to go to Normandy.”
“Since when does it matter what any of us want?” he asked, not looking for an answer. His life was his answer.
Father Timothy knew it and looked defeated for the first time since Cain had known him.
“It matters to me,” his friend finally said on a quiet voice. “If there is a way fer her to stay, ye must tell her how to do it.”
“I dinna wish to involve myself with what happens to Lismoor once I leave it, which will be as soon as I hear from the king.”
“Cainnech, ye must help her prepare to swear fealty to—”
“God wants ye to help her,” the priest insisted.
“I owe Him nothin’ either,” Cain sneered. “What has He done fer me?”
“He has continued to keep ye alive long enough fer this, I suspect.” The priest held up his hands as if he were just guessing.
“Fer what?” Cain asked, stunned. “Fer her?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what I get? A lass who wants me dead?”
But she’d proven that she didn’t want him dead. In fact, he was sure the fiery spark in her eyes was beginning to burn with a different kind of passion—for his mouth, his touch, and, mayhap, the thing he was most unwilling to give, his heart.
What did she want from him, and why did she want it? How long could he resist her? He had to. His life depended on it. “I dinna want her.”
“Cainnech—”
“And as fer keepin’ me alive, my battle-arm has done that.”
“Careful,” the priest warned. “Pride has brought down bigger men than ye, Son.”
Cain shook his head. “Nae, Father. I remember the stories ye told, from Adam, to David, to Solomon. Even poor Samson. All taken down by women. I willna make that same error.”
He stepped around his friend and left the battlements. He needed to stop whatever Aleysia d’Argentan was doing to him. He didn’t know how to stop it, since he had no idea what the hell was happening to him. Was he going soft? He shook with the thought of it. If so, she was the cause. He had to find her and tell her they could no longer practice together—or do much of anything else together, since they always seemed to end up on the ground.
He had other, more important things to see to, like hunting and keeping his men in good condition, and getting a good night’s damned sleep.
He marched toward her solar, determined to remain resolute in his decision to stay away from her.
He approached her door and found it ajar. He heard her honeyed voice from the other side and paused to listen.
“The commander is a bit of a brute, but he has not been unkind to me or the others. You have nothing to fear from him or his men. When you meet him, try not to stare for he is both pleasing and terrifying to the eye.”