by Eliza Knight
“You would share your lips, your touch, but not your thoughts, your fears? I do not go around kissing maidens for the hell of it, Alexandra. Do not play coy with me. I’ll have your truth now or I’ll lock you in your chamber without a second thought.”
Why did she burn him up more than any other? Anger and something else, an emotion he refused to name—for it made him feel like less of a man, weakened, at her mercy—ate at his insides. Alaric loved a good courtly flirtation, and he’d had several mistresses, but he wasn’t the type of man to go around kissing virgins, or flipping the skirts of the closest servant. He had standards and Alexandra was making him forget them all. ’Twas like she’d put him under a spell. All he wanted to do was kiss her, touch her, take away the pains of her heart that were so clearly written on her face.
Alexandra’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He hated seeing her like that.
“I didn’t come to court to simply serve Princess Margaret,” she said.
Alaric blinked, keeping his face blank of any reaction, though his gut twisted. Why did he have a feeling she was about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear? Something that would change his view of her completely? Why did he feel he was about to be gutted?
“I am the youngest of ten. The most mischievous of all my parents’ children. The most unwanted. Are ye certain ye still want to hear this?” Whatever fear had been written on her face before was replaced by resentment.
Alaric’s heart broke for her. “I will listen to anything you wish to tell me today, tomorrow, just as long as you are speaking to me. Don’t hold back, Alexandra. I would hear it all.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t want to arrest you.”
She half-laughed, though it was bitter. “’Haps not after I tell ye all.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to react in a way that would make her cease her words. Alexandra’s eyes shifted and she turned to the side slightly, staring up at what could be seen of the moon through the arrow slit.
“My parents sent me to court to listen. To find out anything and everything I could. They sent me here… To spy. But they also sent me here to take something.”
Alaric’s insides twisted. Alexandra was a spy? He felt his blood chilling.
“They wanted me to take a necklace. One that belonged to my grandmother. She was mistress to the king’s brother, and when she died… her necklace was reclaimed by the crown.” Alexandra flicked her gaze to his, staring straight into his eyes. “Now ye know the truth about me. About my family. Arrest me. Lock me up. Do it right now.”
Alaric observed how the tears had dried up. The pulse point at her neck had quickened. She looked… hopeful.
“Is that all of the truth? Are you a spy? Because I do not believe you.”
Alexandra pushed off the wall, coming closer to him, her eyes wide with unspent anger. “What do ye know about me?” She poked him in the chest. “Nothing.”
Alaric smiled tenderly. “I know enough, Alexandra. I know that you are full of fire. That there is more to you than being a tenth child. I know you are clever, intelligent, and full of sass. That you want more from life than to follow in the footsteps of others. Being in your presence for only a moment makes me laugh and smile and think, really think.” He stepped closer, letting the heat of his body mingle with hers. “I know I want to kiss you. That you want me to, and you like it when I do... this.”
She trembled before him, but not in fear. He had an idea of what it felt like, to be hopeful, to be full of anger. To be confused and wary. Everything conflicting inside you at once. “I should hate ye. I should hate all of ye. I should want to steal the necklace that belonged to my grandmother back from the Sassenach princess. I should want to destroy all of ye. To be happy that a fire was set and destroyed English things. But I can’t. I won’t. I’m no traitor, Alaric. I’m not my parents. And I hate myself for considering it.” She heaved a breath. “And ye… Ye… Ye make me daft, and dizzy and hot. And, aye, I like kissing ye, but I cannot keep doing so.” She licked her lips, drawing his eyes to that spot. “’Tis not proper at all. Even if I want to. Even if when I’m in yer arms the entire world falls away and for the first time I feel… wanted, needed… cherished.”
Alex pushed away from him again, running up the stairs, the sounds of her slippers slapping against the stone steps echoing, but being drowned out by the pounding of his heart.
What just happened?
Heart pounding, mind reeling, for once in his life, Alaric was struck speechless and had no idea what to do.
Alex pounded up the stairs until she reached the chamber she’d shared with another maiden, relieved to see the other lass had not yet returned.
Holy Mary Mother of God! What had she just confessed to Alaric? Everything!
She ran to the window, noting the fire was mostly put out, and dropped to her knees, hands clasped, eyes on the darkened, smoke filled night. And prayed. Prayed for forgiveness for all of her sins. Prayed her parents would some day find it in their hearts to forgive her, for she was going to betray their wishes. Prayed that Alaric didn’t change his mind about arresting her. Prayed her punishment wasn’t too severe.
All the while she knelt on her knees, atoning for her sins, she waited for the door to burst open and a flood of knights in armor, swords scraping on the stone, to grab hold of her and drag her down the castle stairs to the dungeon.
She’d confessed her purpose for being here. Named her parents treasonous to the king.
Even more discomforting, she’d confessed to Alaric the way he made her feel. She’d never spoken words like that to anyone. Now Alaric knew all her secrets. She’d opened up her chest and laid her truth bare before him.
He’d not pushed back. Hadn’t sneered at her admissions. Hadn’t tossed her over his shoulder and marched her to the dungeon. Saints, but he’d confessed much of the same to her.
What was she to do? There was nothing she could do. He was an English knight, set to leave and return to his own castle across the border in just a few days’ time, a week at most. And what then? She’d most likely never see him again in all her days. She’d be married off to some lowly baron. Nay, she’d not even be that lucky. When her parents found out that she refused to do their bidding, Alex would be sent away. To a convent. A lowly convent, for her parents would not give a dime of her dowry to any decent place. The nuns would cut off her hair and force her to wear a rough woolen gown that scratched over her skin. The rest of her days would be spent repenting and scrubbing until her fingers were cracked and bleeding.
Alex crumpled to the floor, sobbing.
Mayhap she should just run away. Leave all of this behind. Forget about her family, about court. About any obligations or familial duty.
But that also meant leaving Alaric. Perhaps that was what made her sad most of all. Not seeing him. Not kissing him. Not laughing with him. Sparring. There was more to it than simply liking the man.
Alex wrapped her arms around herself, curling up on the floor. What was this painful ache within her chest?
The thought of never seeing Alaric again hurt so badly, it tore apart her heart.
Eyes popping open, Alex was suddenly very clear about one thing, and it frightened her, brought on a fresh bout of tears.
“I’m in love with a Sassenach,” she whispered to the dark.
Chapter Eight
In the wake of the fire, the court was in an uproar, but for another reason entirely—Margaret Tudor was about to enter the town of Edinburgh with the king where the true festivities would begin. A tournament, a feast, and the formal wedding. In just a few hours’ time, the princess would become the Queen Consort.
Alex was on edge the entire two days it had taken them to vacate Dalkeith and make their way to Edinburgh. Alaric had been busy keeping the castle secure along with the king’s men in light of the fire. No other incidents occurred, and no one had been caught yet, though there were many that were interviewed.
The king promised his young bride more h
orses, jewels and fabrics, which she was very receptive to. So when they finally began their procession to Edinburgh, the mood of the crowd had lightened and a sense of joviality had returned.
Alex prayed every morning, noon and night, repenting for her part in wishing ill on Princess Margaret. Not once more did she attempt to listen in or steal the necklace. Even still, she waited for the guards to come knocking. Each morning that she woke in her borrowed bed, she thanked her stars that no one had come for her. Alaric must not have told anyone of her confessions, at least not yet, and she prayed it remained that way. She owed him a great debt for keeping her secrets.
Princess Margaret kept Alex close, the ladies were all kind to her and even the king had complimented her on how well she was fitting in. How kind she was, and how well-mannered. Her family would have laughed at that. But Alex had learned a lot since coming here.
Despite all the praise she’d gotten (minus the endless disapproval of Lady Home), there was really only one person she wanted approval from: Alaric.
People lined the road throwing flowers and singing praises. All dressed in their Sunday best. Little girls, and even some of the women, had woven flowers in their hair. Men bowed and women curtsied. Children giggled and waved. Dogs barked and chased after the procession.
“Have ye ever seen anything like this?” Alex murmured to no one in particular.
Lady Home, who happened to be riding beside Alex, snorted. “Lass, keep up those types of mutterings and all will know just how much ye don’t belong.”
The woman never ceased her hurtful prods, but Alex learned to ignore them. No way was she going to let some self-important, stuffy noble make her feel less than she was. She’d had enough of that her entire life.
The cheers grew louder the closer they came to the castle. And finally, the structure came into view, their procession had reached Edinburgh. High up on a hill, the castle’s keep jutted toward the sky from behind a high, thick wall. The flags of Scotland and the king’s crest flew from the battlements, and trumpeters played. Their procession seemed to gain speed with their destination in sight. Up the royal mile they went, past shops, houses, taverns. Beneath the palace gates and into the courtyard.
Alex had never seen anything like it. It was so exciting to see the people welcoming their king and his new bride.
Now that they’d arrived, time flew by in a frenzy. Unloading, freshening up and helping the princess change clothes would begin to test everyone’s sanity. They had to hurry as a tournament had been set up and the king had agreed to do a run of jousting.
Alex had also heard a rumor that Alaric was going to participate.
A tent filled with carved wooden chairs, woven tapestries lining the floor and tables laden with various snacks and jugs of wine had been erected for the ladies.
“Sit beside me,” Princess Margaret said.
Alex nodded, ignoring the puff of annoyance from Lady Home who had been continually rejected with Alex being the preference. Lady Surrey took up the space on the other side of Princess Margaret, pushing Lady Home to the rear.
Margaret clapped. “Here comes the first knight!”
Covered in armor and riding a black charger, Alaric led his mount onto the field. His faceplate was down, but still she knew each and every angle of his face. Shoulders broad, thick, muscular legs clutching the horse’s sides, strong arm holding a jousting lance. Alex couldn’t help but sigh. He was so solid, so enchanting. Emotion swelled her chest.
Blast it all, but she loved him so. And she’d most likely never get to tell him.
As was custom, Alaric led his horse toward Princess Margaret’s tent. He stopped before the princess, but Alex could feel his eyes on her. Glancing down at her folded hands in her lap, her face heated.
“Your Grace,” he spoke to Margaret, lifting his faceplate. “You have my loyalty, my service, for as long as I shall live.”
“Which will be a very long time,” the princess assured.
“A knight can only hope to live with honor and die the same way.” Alaric smiled, that flash of calm, confidence, underneath a hint of mirth.
“Play on then, Sir Alaric,” Princess Margaret said.
“If I may…” He glanced at Alex and she thought she might shoot out of her chair and race away.
“Yes?” Princess Margaret asked, excitement in her voice.
“If I may beg a favor from Lady Alexandra?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” Margaret said, giddy with delight.
Alex swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. He wanted a favor from her? Her tongue seemed to grow thicker in her mouth and she couldn’t form words. All blood drained from her body.
Alaric shifted his horse closer to Alex. He reached for her with a gauntleted hand, and she took hold of it, brought it to his lips, kissing her gently on the knuckles. She shivered, recalling each and every time his lips had touched hers. Remembered the feel of his fingers threaded in hers. She wanted to tug off his gauntlets and place her hand in the center of his large palm.
“A token, my lady?” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers.
If Alex could have given herself to him then and there, asked him to ride away with her to a place where neither of them had any obligations for the remainder of their days, she would have. Instead, she nodded, tugged the linen handkerchief she’d embroidered herself with thistles from her sleeve and tied it around his lance.
“I am ever in your service, my lady. I vow to honor you and protect you.” His words were softly spoken, quiet enough that she was the only one to hear.
That was as much of a confession to keeping her secret as she was going to get, but it went beyond that. Alex’s heart warmed, her belly did a little flip. Was it possible that Alaric felt the same for her as she did for him? His words, declared in a moment of heated anger, frustration and passion on the stairs two days before flashed back to her mind.
Theirs was a friendship steeped in more than just honor, duty and protection. There was more to it than that. She could feel it in her gut. In her heart.
Slowly he backed his horse from the tent, then trotted toward his starting place on the field.
Alex scooted to the edge of her seat as a Scottish warrior came out on the opposite end, following in Alaric’s wake. He asked for a favor from an English lady. It looked as though Sir Alaric had started a trend and it would be interesting to see if it stuck. A chivalric gesture to the Scottish King and his English bride. A thistle and a rose.
The trumpets blew and each of the men on horseback sat on their chargers at their starting points, waiting for the final horn. Alex gripped her hands tightly in her lap.
Margaret leaned over and patted Alex on the forearm. “Sir Alaric is the best jousting knight in all of England. I have faith he will win this competition.”
Alex nodded, giving a small laugh of agreement, though in her mind she wasn’t so certain. The Scots were brutal, much more so than the dignified English. That was one of the reasons they’d been able to win so many skirmishes. The Scots fought dirty. Being that they were her own people, she didn’t normally have a problem with that, but now, with Alaric on the receiving end of that dirty way of fighting…
The final horn blew and the men lunged forward on their mounts, their jousting lances held aloft, pointed ends toward each other.
Alex chewed her lip, kept her eyes wide, afraid to even blink.
Alaric was one with his horse, the lines of his body synching with the movements of his mount. Back and forth, and then—wham! The two warriors rammed each other with their lances. Wood splintered, the sound echoing loudly across the field.
The Scotsman jerked backward, losing his grip on his reins. His lance fell to the ground. Alaric, too, shifted slightly, but kept his grip and his seat.
“English!” shouted the herald, regaling the winner, though Alex would have liked the man to have said Alaric’s name.
She gulped in air, not realizing she’d ceased breathing throughout the fig
ht. Her eyes burned from keeping them open, tearing with joy at his win. Alaric leapt down from his horse, sifting through the shattered wood and grabbing hold of something white that he waved in the air.
Her handkerchief.
Alex’s heart soared. She wanted to leap from her perch, run across the field and throw herself into his arms.
“Oh, my,” Margaret mused. “I do believe you have an admirer, Lady Alexandra.”
Alex’s face colored as her chest warmed and her stomach did a little flip. Alaric may admire her, but he was not the only one who admired someone. Every time she looked at him, she found herself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.
“’Haps,” she said modestly, then bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too broadly.
Margaret leaned close. “He is my father’s favorite.”
Alex wasn’t surprised, he was loyal and strong and so many other good things. But what did the princess’ comment mean? Was it a warning to stay away from Alaric? A reminder that Alex was Scottish and a love affair or union between the two of them could never be? Or was it praise the princess hoped would appeal to a Scottish lady?
Alex had no idea and her head was starting to pound from the fright of watching Alaric fight and from the emotions somersaulting through her.
As she gazed around at the cheering people, the cohesiveness of the court, the way the English and Scottish on the outside, just for this one gathering, all seemed to be getting along well. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the handsome, fearsome knight sauntering straight for her. Alex knew, without a doubt, she would go against her parents. She would never be able to go home for contradicting their orders, but she’d never be able to respect herself again either.
And sometimes, a lass just had to choose herself first.
Before now, there had still been some part of her struggling with her choice. Not now. Conviction flowed hot in her veins.
“My lady.” Alaric bowed before her, the handkerchief gently swaying as an offering.
