The chamber was well-enough lit, and the beeswax taper wasn’t burning, but she did as he’d asked.
“Candle…out.”
Such a request made little sense. Yet, when she broke the wax melted at the base and removed the taper, something glimmered in the holder: a gold ring set with gemstones.
“Mother Mary.” She tipped the ring into her palm.
“Keep…,” Tilden rasped.
“I will.” Why, though, had he hidden the ring? Had he feared the healer might steal it? Surely not. The woman, ever loyal, had worked for their family for many years.
“Protect…. Must protect….” His breaths became wheezed moans.
“Protect what, Tilden? I do not understand.”
“I wanted to scream for the healer,” Amelia said, drawn back to her meal with Ryder by a loud pop of the fire. “Tilden stopped me.”
Ryder studied her intently. “Did he finish his sentence?”
Would Tilden, if he were alive, agree with her confiding in Ryder? In truth, she had little choice. She couldn’t fulfill her sibling’s wish if she didn’t know what to do.
“He said you must protect something,” Ryder coaxed.
“The crescent.”
Chapter Eight
Protect the crescent. Not the ring, but ‘the crescent.’
What did Tilden’s words mean?
’Twas perplexing, too, why he’d given the jewel to Amelia. Why not to Gladwin or Stephen?
A more sinister thought edged its way into Ryder’s mind. Had Amelia lied to him about her brother’s last words to try and trick him? To distract Ryder from his quest to get the ring from her? He didn’t see any hint of duplicity in her expression, however, only bewilderment and grief.
“Do Tilden’s words mean aught to you?” she asked.
“I am afraid not.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her napkin. “I wondered if he spoke in some kind of secret code; a phrase of significance to the Templars.”
The symbol of the crescent moon was used by the Order, and the knights certainly had secrets, but Ryder wasn’t aware of specific words or phrases being used among those who had returned to England with treasure.
She heaved a sigh. “I just wish I understood what he wanted of me.”
“In the coming days, the meaning may become clear,” Ryder said.
As she sipped more wine, firelight gleamed off the ring on her finger. Hellfire, but after hearing that Tilden had concealed the ring and what he’d said to her, Ryder was even more determined that she must relinquish the jewel to him.
Amelia’s chair rasped on the planks. She rose and went to the fire, her arms crossed as though to ward off a biting chill.
“You have not eaten much,” Ryder said. “Do you not care for the pottage?”
“’Tis tasty, but I do not have much of an appetite.”
She crouched beside Honor and stroked the sleeping hound’s head. Ryder left his meal and joined her at the hearth; he leaned his right shoulder against the rough stonework.
Heat from the fire warmed his lower body as she glanced up at him, her expression somber. “I want to return to Callingston.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“I will have to, in order to look through Tilden’s belongings.”
“Have the chests sent here. We can look through them together.” ’Twould also help him determine if Tilden had ended up with the list made at Acre.
“Then I can leave?”
“As we have discussed before, you can once you yield the ring to me.”
Her eyes sparked. “Would it not be wise to find out first why my brother hid the jewel, until he could give it to me?”
“I have my own reasons for wanting the ring back,” Ryder said evenly.
“You have not shared those with me.”
“For other, just as important, reasons.”
She rose slowly, mutiny in her eyes. “You can only keep me here so long before ’tis impossible to contain the gossip about us.”
Ryder smiled. “If necessary, the tale of you suffering from extreme fright after the attack today can be elaborated upon.”
She stared at him as if he had gone mad.
He shrugged. “I can always say we are betrothed.”
“What?”
“I can insist we were secretly betrothed to one another by our families when we were children. When I left on Crusade, we felt it best not to speak any more of a wedding until I had returned home, and we knew the nuptials were going to happen.”
“There is a significant flaw to your tale,” she said hotly.
“What is that?”
“Your Templar vows—”
“I resigned.”
“You—?”
“Days ago.”
She gasped before drawing short, shocked breaths. “You are no longer a Templar?”
“I am no longer a Templar.”
“Oh. Well, I…I will not agree that I am engaged to you.”
“Amelia—”
“Nay. I will not tolerate this situation any longer.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the door. Her fingers touched the door handle. Before she could yank the panel open, he’d closed in on her, slipped his right arm around her waist, and spun her away. Her hair, fragrant and like fine silk, whipped his face.
Her fingers dug into his arm. “Let me—”
“Go?” Ryder pushed her back against the wall. His palms flattened on the stonework either side of her head. He focused on the rough texture and coolness of the wall, on keeping their bodies a hand’s span apart, the effort of concentration keeping him from acknowledging the desire to lower his head and claim her mouth.
Air hissing between her gritted teeth, she glowered up at him. “I will scream.”
“A waste of breath.”
“Really? If I do, no one will believe I want to wed you.”
He winked. “I will find witnesses to say otherwise.”
“Witnesses?” She flung out her arm. “Honor is the only one here, and he will not betray me.”
Ryder struggled not to smile, but failed.
“Stop grinning.”
“I am only acknowledging the truth. Honor will not say a word because he cannot, being a dog.” Ryder gave in to the temptation to brush his fingers along her cheekbone. “By the way, the guards outside, who will hear your scream? They owe me their lives. They will say whatever I want them to say.”
She groaned, shut her eyes, and with a sigh, dropped her head back against the stone. With her mouth tipped up toward his, kissing her would be a simple matter. Yet, when he kissed her, he wanted it to be a pleasure for her—and for her to acknowledge him, not shut herself off from the experience.
She opened one eyelid. “Still, you hover over me.”
“Still, I do.”
“Are you waiting for me to concede?” Her tone hardened. “Fine. In this battle, you have won.”
He hated the way her voice wavered. “I do not see this as battle,” he said.
“Conquest, then.”
He leaned in and kissed her brow. “Negotiation.”
“Persuasion, of the wickedest kind.”
He laughed; he couldn’t help himself. “I can think of far wickeder persuasions.” He was familiar with a few, for he hadn’t been celibate until he’d joined the Order.
“You mean you could wrest the ring from my finger?” Amelia challenged. “Indeed, what is stopping you from taking it from me right now?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “As I said before, I want you to give me the ring of your own free will.”
“And I have refused. I will continue to refuse.”
“Then be warned, I will continue my persuasion. ’Twill become wickeder….” He claimed the remaining space between them, pressing his torso and thighs against her. When her startled breath warmed his mouth, and their breaths mingled, he gently pressed his lips to hers. Softness. Warmth. The piquancy of wine. His senses r
oared with the onslaught of sensation.
He raised his head as she squirmed against him. “Ryder—”
“And wickeder.” He kissed her again. Not just touching her mouth with his, but lightly sweeping his lips over hers, tempting her to join him in the kiss. He sensed her shock, her hesitation, and brushed his mouth over hers again, and felt her push back against the wall and rise up on tiptoes.
All the better for kissing her.
“Wait,” she gasped.
He was done waiting. “And wickeder,” he murmured, cupping her face. His thumbs under her chin, he held her still as he kissed her again. Hunger flared. Desire burned, and he deepened his kisses, indulging all of the yearnings that had built up within him from the moment he’d known she was in the carriage.
At first, she resisted. She caught hold of his wrists, tried to pull his hands away. But, as his lips continued their tantalizing onslaught, her grip on him eased. She slid back down against the wall, and with a helpless sigh, her mouth opened beneath his. Their kisses quickened. When at last he lifted his head, she appeared dazed, her lips still parted.
His desire for her ran as hot as flame. He might have initiated the sensual persuasion, but in terms of who had gained the upper hand….
“You are wicked indeed,” she said.
When her hand rose to her lips, as if to touch where they’d kissed, Ryder turned away and strode for the door. Every part of him wanted to stay, tempt her further, and seduce her, but to do so would be damned wickedness indeed.
***
She’d never imagined a kiss could feel like that!
Once the door had shut behind Ryder, Amelia slowly slid down the wall, until she sat on the planks with her back pressed to the stone. Her whole body—nay, her entire being—felt awakened in a manner she’d never experienced before. Her lips were hot and tingly. An odd, aching heaviness gnawed in her belly, and her skin felt both flushed and cold at the same time.
The sensations were not repugnance, of that she was certain. Enjoyment? Possibly. Delight? Oh, she hoped not. She must be immune to Ryder. Her heart understood that resolve, even if her body didn’t.
She swept her hand over her face, just as the click of claws sounded on the planks. Honor trotted over and nudged her arm.
Taking his muzzle in her hand, she looked him in the eyes. “You were no help.”
Honor’s tail wagged.
“You could have barked, even,” she said with mock sternness.
The dog yawned, and his tail swished even harder.
Amelia rose and brushed the creases from her gown. The servants would arrive soon to take away the table and chairs—if they were not on the way already. If she wanted to escape the keep, she must go now.
Honor fell in alongside her as she crossed to the tapestry and drew it aside to reveal a door. She tried the handle. It didn’t budge.
She fetched a hairpin, pushed the ends into the lock, and wiggled the pin. One summer day years ago, Ryder had borrowed one of her pins to break into Tilden’s room and put slugs in his boots—retaliation for a trick her sibling had played. Ryder had shown her how to throw the lock. She applied more pressure to the pin, wiggled it again, and the lock yielded.
When she opened the door, musty air wafted out. A narrow passageway opened before her, but she could see no more than a few paces in. Honor darted past her into the darkness.
“Wait!” She slid the pin into her hair and fetched a candle from the table. Holding her hand in front of the flame to protect it from going out, she entered the passageway, ignoring the cobwebs drifting into her face. A short distance ahead, Honor glanced back at her then padded onward.
An object winked on the ground ahead. Amelia stooped and picked it up: a thin leather cord with a metal clasp. She wondered who it belonged to as she closed her fingers around it and continued on.
The passageway split, and she followed Honor into the right corridor. A flight of steps led down to an iron-bound door. Sunlight shone through cracks in the wood panels, and she guessed the bailey was beyond. His hind end wiggling, Honor stared at the door, waiting for her to open it.
Finding it locked, she blew out the candle, set it aside, and used her hairpin once again. The unlocked door swung outward, and Honor bolted outside.
Amelia found herself toward the rear of the fortress. The postern couldn’t be far away; she’d slip out of the castle and make her way to the road. She must beware, though, of being seen by men-at-arms on the battlements or any guards at the postern. After calling Honor to her side, she headed for the rear wall.
When she turned a corner, she came upon a young man and woman, pressed against the side of a building and caught up in a fevered kiss. She recognized both of them.
“Nanette!”
The young woman had already seen her. John sprang back, running his hands through his mussed hair and tugging at his garments. Honor, recognizing Nanette, raced to her, all happy wiggles.
“Lady Bainbridge.” John appeared terrified—as well he should. A kiss could be as binding as a betrothal. Was that what he’d intended, to better his position by trapping Nanette into marriage? Or had the young woman initiated the kiss?
“Where is your chaperone?”Amelia demanded, as Nanette approached.
“She was summoned to help in the kitchen, milady,” John said.
“Do you realize the consequences of what you have done?” Amelia eyed Nanette first and then the nervous squire.
Nanette’s chin nudged up. “I do not care if anyone saw us.”
“You should. What of your maidenly reputation? What would your parents say if they learned of this incident?”
The young woman pressed her shoulders back. “I could have died today in the outlaw attack.”
“But you did not—”
“Still, it made me realize there are many things I have not done. I wanted to know what ’twas like to kiss a man…and so I kissed John. I did ask his permission,” Nanette added.
“She did,” agreed John. “If I am to be punished by his lordship for what we did, so be it.”
As the lovers exchanged a longing glance, Amelia silently groaned. How could she remain upset with Nanette when as Ryder had shown her a short while ago, kisses could be quite marvelous and…enlightening?
Matters to ponder at a more convenient moment. The servants might already have reported Amelia gone from her chamber.
“We will speak more of this later, Nanette. Right now, you must come with me.” Amelia resumed walking toward the castle’s rear wall.
“Where are you going? Why—?”
“There you are.” At the sound of Ryder’s voice, Amelia’s heart sank. There was no hope of escaping now.
She faced him while he strode toward her, his expression one of grim resolve. Had he guessed she’d been trying to flee?
“The servants reported you gone from your room,” he said, stopping in front of her.
“Honor needed a walk,” Amelia replied.
Ryder’s attention strayed to where she’d tucked her hairpin. His mouth eased into a knowing grin. “I see you remembered the trick I taught you years ago.”
***
Thank God he’d found her.
When the servants had informed him Amelia was gone, he’d experienced a sudden, sickening dread that an enemy he didn’t know he had yet had realized her ring was part of the Templar hoard and had abducted her, not only to get the jewel, but to pry information from her. He was most relieved she was safe and well, although she had cobwebs in her hair.
“What trick did you teach Amelia, milord?” Judging by the flush in Nanette’s cheeks, walking with John, who was hovering nearby, had agreed with her.
“I showed her how to unlock a door with a hairpin,” Ryder said.
Amelia smiled. “A useful skill. One every lady should know.”
“How fortuitous that you knew me years ago, then, to learn it.”
Her smile turned wry, and he experienced the overwhelming desire to haul
her to him and kiss her again. Their earlier kisses had left him in a state of craving he’d never felt before, not even in his dreams.
“You must teach me that trick, Amelia,” Nanette said.
The last thing Ryder wanted was them practicing on the locks in his keep. Some of the doors were kept locked for good reason, and a few of the secret passageways could be treacherous to those who didn’t know them well. His tone stern, he said, “No more picking locks and exploring hidden passageways.”
Nanette gaped. “I missed exploring hidden passageways?”
“You did.” Amelia held up her hand. “I found this.”
When Ryder saw the cord dangling from her fingers, his brows rose. ’Twas the cord that had held the ring around his neck.
As he held out his hand to take the cord, John wiped his brow with his sleeve. He appeared to be sweating profusely.
Ryder frowned at the lad. “Are you all right?”
“A-aye. Fine, milord. Perfectly fine.”
The lad clearly was not fine. He was a conscientious sort, however, and took his duties very seriously. Mayhap he was overwhelmed by the responsibility of keeping Nanette occupied. “Have you shown her ladyship the rose garden?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Escort her to see the blooms.”
John cleared his throat. “First, milord, I must confess—”
“Whatever you need to say to me can wait. Go, both of you.”
As the two walked away, Amelia sighed.
“You sound troubled,” Ryder noted. “Is there aught you wish to tell me?”
She hesitated, as though debating difficult options. “Not just now,” she finally said.
“Very well. Now, come with me. I wish to talk somewhere private.” Somewhere that I can once again be alone with you.
“You wish to talk about—?”
He indicated the cord.
She fell in beside him as they crossed the bailey and headed for the tiltyards. The afternoon breeze rustled through the wildflowers and long grasses and swept them against her gown. She picked a dandelion head and plucked at the petals while they walked.
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