Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  As he rode out of the gatehouse’s shadows into the bailey, the scent of roasting meat wafted from the open door of the kitchens. The breeze also carried the laughter and chatter of servants unloading a wagon full of firewood and children splashing in a puddle by the well.

  He halted his horse near the thatch-roofed stable, and several young men hurried out of the building to assist.

  “Good journey, milord?” a dark-haired lad asked.

  Ryder handed the young man the destrier’s reins. “Better than expected.” He slid down from his mount and strode to the carriage, halted near a water trough.

  One of Amelia’s men-at-arms was about to open the carriage door, but Ryder waved him away. “Help get your injured friends to the infirmary.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  When Ryder opened the door, Honor blocked the doorway. The dog barked twice.

  Frowning, Ryder said, “You and I are friends. Remember?”

  The wolfhound wagged its tail and licked its lips then jumped out of the carriage.

  Ryder helped Nanette out, and then Amelia.

  “This is really most kind of you,” she said. He was glad to see more color in her cheeks now. “I am sure you are very busy, though, so we will not be staying long.”

  You will stay as long as I choose. Ryder nodded, as though agreeing with her, and gestured to the keep’s forebuilding. “Come and have a drink with me.”

  Nanette beamed as though he’d offered her a costly present. “I am rather thirsty.”

  “As am I.” Amelia glanced at her guards, who were being helped to the infirmary. “But, my men—”

  “They will be well cared for,” Ryder assured her. “My servants will give them food, drink, and aught else that they need.”

  “So very gallant of him,” Nanette said in a whisper loud enough for Ryder to hear.

  Trying hard not to grin, Ryder walked with them to the iron-bound door of the forebuilding and escorted them up the enclosed stone stairs illuminated by burning reeds. On the last few steps, Honor raced past them to reach the great hall first.

  A maidservant had just finished adding more logs to the fire in the massive hearth, and Ryder summoned her over. “Please fetch a good wine and the silver goblets.”

  “Of course, milord.” She curtsied and hurried out.

  “Mother Mary,” Amelia murmured, her gaze on the vibrantly-hued weaving hanging on the far wall—one of the tapestries he hadn’t been able to part with. The dried herbs and straw covering the floor crackled as she walked farther into the vast room with its high ceiling. Honor had followed Nanette to the fire and was making friends with a pair of Ryder’s hounds who’d been dozing on the warm hearth tiles.

  His attention returned to Amelia, gilded by sunshine. How exquisite she looked, with her hair gleaming and her gown shimmering against her body’s dips and curves. While she was a grown woman now, he could still remember her as she’d been years ago. In the set of her lush mouth, the curve of her cheek, the inquisitive tilt of her head, he saw the willful girl who’d felt threatened by his friendship with her beloved brother—a sibling who not long ago had been taken from her, leaving her with no one to depend upon but herself.

  Her family was related to a powerful Norman earl who’d fought alongside William the Conqueror, so ’twas a miracle that the crown, upon Tilden’s death, hadn’t swiftly arranged a marriage for her. With her brother no longer around to watch over her, and England in crisis, the crown would see her as a lucrative prize, to be awarded to secure military and financial support for King Richard.

  Did she realize how perilous her situation was? Aye, she probably did. She wouldn’t like to be reminded of it, but Ryder must use any possible but honest means to convince her to give him the ring; he wasn’t going to commit sin and steal it from her. If he must intervene in crown affairs on her behalf to get the jewel, or call in favors to ensure she had a secure future ahead of her, he would.

  She was still admiring the tapestry which depicted two Templar knights, holding swords and white-painted shields bearing the red cross; they were fighting a dragon at a lakeshore. He’d bought it because it had reminded him of an afternoon in his childhood when he and Tilden had undertaken a make-believe quest. Amelia had been upset that she couldn’t be a knight as well, and as he’d witnessed her distress, he’d realized, in that moment, how much she’d meant to him.

  Ryder crossed to her. “Do you like the tapestry?”

  “Very much. ’Twas in this hall when you became lord?”

  “Nay. I bought it from a French merchant on my way home from Crusade. I purchased eight different designs, but later sold all but two.”

  “The scene reminds me of…our childhood.”

  He smiled. “The day Tilden and I sought the Holy Grail?”

  She nodded.

  “’Tis why I bought it, too.”

  “What was it like on Crusade?” Nanette asked. She was sitting in one of the chairs by the hearth, but obviously didn’t want to be left out of the conversation. “Was it exciting being in foreign lands?”

  “Exciting?” he asked. “In what way?”

  “The towns, the foods, even the animals must have been very different from those in England. The things you must have experienced and seen….”

  Some of what he’d experienced and seen, he longed to forget. Even now, in the dark night hours, past battles haunted him, as did the faces of colleagues who’d died and Saracens he’d slain. ’Twould have been easy for the torment to destroy him, but at Acre, he’d learned a way to distract his focus: he’d thought of Amelia, how exquisite she’d looked at Merringstow in her revealing gown, of the way her loveliness had enticed him. She was the reason he’d survived the emotional hell, although he’d never dare to tell her so.

  “I did enjoy traveling through distant lands by both land and sea,” Ryder answered. “However, like my fellow Templars, I was there because of my duty to protect pilgrims and fight with King Richard.”

  Amelia’s gaze returned to the tapestry. “Tilden was proud to belong to the Order.”

  “We all were,” Ryder said, thinking also of Stephen and Gladwin. The four of them had fought side by side; they’d saved each others’ lives many times.

  “Is it true that the Templars brought treasure home from the East?” Amelia asked, glancing at him.

  God’s blood.

  “Treasure?” Nanette echoed.

  Keeping his tone light, Ryder asked, “Where did you hear such rumors?”

  Amelia shrugged, as though reluctant to divulge more details.

  “Did you mention the rumors to Tilden? If so, what did he say?” Ryder truly hoped that if the Templars had been betrayed, her sibling wasn’t the traitor.

  “Tilden dismissed them as nonsense. Then he fell ill, and when he was dying…. Well, it hardly matters. What he told me made no sense.”

  Ryder must find out exactly what Tilden had said, but not in front of Nanette or in this very public place.

  The maidservant he’d sent away earlier re-entered the hall: a most welcome distraction. “At last, our wine has arrived. Will you two ladies join me in a toast?”

  ***

  Seated by the fire, Ryder half-listened to Nanette’s tale about a shopping expedition gone awry. Honor, his head on his front paws, was sleeping beside Amelia’s chair. The fire snapped and hissed as it burned, the sounds soothing, but Ryder’s restless mind taunted him with questions about the outlaw attack.

  If Amelia knew of the Templar treasure, who else did? Had the men who’d attacked the carriage known that she wore a ring that was part of the hoard? If so, was she likely to be attacked again? What troubling thoughts.

  Mayhap he should write again to the Templars in London. Since Gladwin and Stephen were still members of the Order, they should also be informed—

  “Ryder,” Amelia said.

  He blinked. “Mmm?”

  “Would that be all right with you?”

  He had no earthly idea wha
t had been proposed. “My apologies. What did you say?”

  Her fingers tightened on her wine goblet. “I would like to send a letter home to tell them what has happened.”

  “Of course.” Word of the outlaw attack would be spreading quickly; the families of the injured men would be worried. “My steward can pen the missive, if you like.” The letter should say what Ryder wanted it to, after all.

  When Amelia looked about to protest, Ryder coaxed: “He enjoys such responsibilities. I am sure he would be delighted to be able to help you.”

  Amelia smiled. “All right.”

  “Good.” Ryder rose, his chair scraping on the plank floor. “Please, enjoy the fire and the wine. If there is aught else you need or desire, just ask a servant.”

  ***

  “I think Ryder would be a wonderful husband,” Nanette said after he’d disappeared from the hall. “Not only is he a hero, but he is attentive. Intelligent. Kind.”

  Amelia stifled a groan. She didn’t want to discuss Ryder’s remarkable qualities yet again.

  Mischief in her eyes, Nanette said, “I want you to know…I have reached a decision.”

  Rather ominous words. Amelia sensed, though, where the conversation was leading. As sparks soared up from the blackening logs in the fire, she said, “You are too young for him, Nanette.”

  “I am not. We both know ladies who were wed at twelve or thirteen, and a few who were married at an even younger age.”

  Amelia sighed. “I cannot claim to know Ryder’s desires, but from all I learned about him years ago…I just do not think you would be happy together.”

  “Why not?” The young woman sounded hurt.

  “Well, for a start, a successful marriage is founded on love.”

  Nanette snorted and drank more wine. “My parents did not wed for love. They had no choice in their union, for ’twas arranged by King Henry the Second in order to consolidate lands. Their feelings for one another grew from their marriage, not the other way around.”

  A hint of desperation tinged Nanette’s voice. Remorse poked at Amelia, for she knew the strain that Nanette’s parents had placed upon her with their expectations of a good union. One of the reasons Amelia had taken her on as her lady-in-waiting was to give her a measure of independence, so mayhap she’d find love with a man of her own choosing.

  “I cannot fathom marrying for any reason other than true love.” Amelia rubbed her thumb over the raised decoration on the stem of her goblet. “Tilden supported me in my wish to marry only when I had found a man I wanted to wed. Unfortunately, with him gone, I may well find myself betrothed to a lord I barely know.”

  “If I can avoid an arranged union, I will,” the young woman said firmly. “’Tis why I am going to pursue Ryder.”

  Unwelcome jealousy stirred within Amelia. “Nanette—”

  “’Tis not as though you want him.”

  She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. And yet, as Honor stirred, and Amelia leaned down to scratch the hound’s ear, her heart ached at the thought of Ryder drawing the younger woman into his arms, of him tilting up her chin so he could claim her mouth with his.

  Amelia gnawed her bottom lip. What would it be like to yield to temptation and kiss Ryder the way she’d done in her daydreams? To touch his face and feel his skin against her fingertips? And to—

  “Miladies.”

  Glancing up, Amelia found a maidservant hovering nearby.

  “’Is lordship asked me ta show ye to yer chambers.”

  “Chambers?” Amelia glanced at Nanette. “We are not staying the night.”

  “’E thought ye might like somewhere ta rest, after yer scare earlier.”

  “How considerate.” Nanette’s eyes gleamed.

  “’E also ’ad me arrange ’ot baths for ye both.”

  “Baths?” The younger woman gasped and swatted Amelia’s arm. “I am in love already.”

  Misgiving flickered inside Amelia. Why was Ryder being so kind? “The bath sounds lovely,” she began, “but—”

  “Please tell your lordship that we are grateful for his concern,” Nanette cut in as she stood. “I will thank him myself at the earliest opportunity.”

  Chapter Five

  “I wrote it as you asked, milord.”

  Standing in the belowground chamber the steward had claimed as his private quarters, Ryder reviewed the missive, written in black ink in precise, swooping penmanship. As he’d instructed, the letter confirmed Amelia and the others were safe, but avoided saying when they’d be returning home.

  Ryder handed the parchment back. “Excellent work. Have it sent right away.”

  The infirmary was close by, and Ryder headed there next. The healer, assisted by several young women, was still tending to the injured. Seated on a wooden stool, the captain-of-the-guard looked wan as the healer applied a pungent-smelling poultice to his wound.

  “The bastards who attacked us,” the captain-of-the-guard said.

  “They will be captured,” Ryder vowed.

  “Indeed, they will.” The man glowered. “Once the healer is finished with me, I will gather reports from my men. If there is more I can do to help, do not hesitate to call upon me, milord.”

  Ryder nodded. “Very well.”

  Regret shadowed the captain-of-the-guard’s features. “I promised Lord Bainbridge that I would keep her ladyship safe. I failed in that vow today, but I will not do so again.”

  Ryder’s sympathy for the man increased tenfold, for he also knew the torment of not living up to one’s promises. Soon, though, Ryder would resolve his failure to protect the ring.

  Setting a hand on the warrior’s shoulder, Ryder said: “I will keep you informed. In the meantime, rest and recover.”

  As the healer prepared to bind the poultice in place, Ryder quit the infirmary. Outside in the bailey, servants were returning from the keep with empty water buckets. Ryder smiled, for he hoped the ladies enjoyed their baths. If pampering Amelia helped him get what he wanted from her, ’twas well worth the effort.

  As he started for the forebuilding, shouts carried from the gatehouse. “Riders,” the guards called. Ryder loped up the outside stairwell to reach the battlement. Three riders approached at a thundering gallop, one of them wearing Templar garments.

  Ryder recognized the blond knight in the lead: Gladwin.

  “Let them in,” Ryder shouted, taking the stairs back down to the bailey.

  Moments later, the riders raced over the drawbridge. Gladwin’s lathered mount hadn’t even come to a halt in the bailey before he slid down to the ground. “Ryder.” Gladwin swiftly embraced him, before stepping back. “Your men told me of the attack.”

  “I am glad they found you,” Ryder said.

  “Amelia. Is she—?”

  “She is fine. A little shaken, but otherwise unharmed.”

  A ragged sigh broke from Gladwin. “Thank God. What did the outlaws want? Did they rob her or…?” His expression became pained, as though he couldn’t bear to consider the violations she might have endured.

  “Thankfully I was able to stop the attackers before they stole aught from her,” Ryder said. “Exactly what they intended, we do not know.”

  Resting his hand on his sword’s hilt, Gladwin said, “I caught up with the sheriff while riding here. He said there are more and more attacks every day. Not just in this area, but all across England.”

  Ryder shook his head. “A damned shame.”

  “Aye, well, the sheriff intends to crush the low-born whoresons who—”

  “Not just low-born,” Ryder said evenly.

  Gladwin frowned. “What do you mean? The outlaws—”

  “—include noblemen.”

  “God’s bones! Are you certain?”

  “Amelia was quite sure.”

  Gladwin’s gaze sharpened. “What convinced her?”

  Ryder’s protective instincts roused, no doubt because he knew Gladwin would want to wrest every bit of information from Amelia. There would be time for
such questions once she’d had a chance to recover from the day’s fright. “She can tell you herself, when she is ready.”

  “Of course.” Gladwin glanced at the carriage, parked near the stable; the horses had been removed from their harnesses and led to a field to graze. “I was going to offer to escort her home, but it seems other arrangements have been made.”

  “Some of her men are wounded. ’Tis safest, for now, for her to remain here.”

  “You are probably right.” Gladwin’s mouth ticked up at one corner. “I should have known you would handle the situation in a most capable manner.”

  “You would have done the same. We did, after all, commit our lives to upholding chivalry and cherishing the fairer sex.”

  “We did indeed.” Gladwin hesitated, as though weighing his next words. “Since Tilden’s passing, I have done my utmost to be a loyal friend to Amelia. I know she and Tilden were extremely close, and that his death came as a shock to her.”

  “I am sure your friendship has been a tremendous help to her.”

  “I just hope she knows she can trust me with aught that is of concern to her, regardless of what that concern might be.”

  Curious words. Did Gladwin know of a particular concern Amelia might share? While Ryder was resigning from the Order, and thus wasn’t entitled to Templar business, the concern still might be important for him to know. Before Ryder could inquire, though, his fellow knight asked, “May I see her before I leave?”

  “I am afraid not. She is having a bath.”

  “Ah.”

  “I will tell her you stopped by, though.”

  Gladwin smiled. “All right. Wish her well for me, and I hope to see her soon.”

  Ryder waited until Gladwin and his men had ridden off before entering the forebuilding. In the dank stairwell, mayhap because he’d just spoken with his Templar friend, Ryder’s thoughts slipped back to the building on the outskirts of Acre, to the night he’d acquired the ring.

  Sadness gripped him, for he remembered days later finding the bearded knight and other Templars who’d attended the meeting dead on the battlefield.

  The list Tilden had made, though.

  Whatever had happened to the list?