A Knight's Temptation (Falling For A Knight Book 2)

by Lana Williams

  Again, Matthew struck, this time to the right. Braden dodged the blow. If the knight’s sword had struck its mark, Braden would’ve been severely injured once again.

  Not waiting any longer, Braden made his move while momentum carried Matthew’s arms downward and struck the knight on the shoulder with the flat of his blade rather than the edge. Never mind that he didn’t believe Matthew had intended to offer him the same courtesy.

  Braden had the distinct impression that if he were to injure Matthew, the reaction of not only the knights around them but Lord Graham would be much worse.

  Braden intended to knock the man on his arse but doing anything worse would be fraught with difficulty. He walked a fine line, yet he wanted to show the man he was not an easy target.

  The men surrounding them cheered for Matthew. He nodded to acknowledge Braden’s blow, his eyes narrowing as though he realized his opponent had more skill than he expected.

  Good. Mayhap that would end this demonstration all the quicker.

  But nay. With a roar, Matthew lifted his sword, nearly catching Braden off guard. Braden leapt back then thrust forward to tap Matthew in the ribs. The knight’s chain mail would’ve lessened the blow if Braden hadn’t pulled back.

  “Matthew, what ho! Show him how ’tis done!” The men around them were growing impatient to see their favorite land a blow.

  Braden nearly cursed as he caught sight of Lord Graham at the edge of the group. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself with this demonstration.

  Matthew apparently noted Braden’s moment of distraction for he lunged forward to prick Braden’s ribs. Nay. More than a prick. He put enough force behind the move to cause Braden to catch his breath.

  Braden ignored the pain as he nodded to Matthew to acknowledge the hit. Would he call it over and end this before one of them got hurt?

  Based on the gleam in the man’s eyes, Braden had his answer. Before he had a chance to adjust the hilt of his sword to compensate for his weak shoulder, Matthew moved.

  This time, Braden anticipated incorrectly. Matthew’s blade nearly struck his chest before Braden lifted his sword to block him, then spun his weapon to catch Matthew’s weapon, neatly jerking it from his grasp.

  “Enough.” Graham stepped forward. His command had everyone, including Matthew, quieting. “Let us begin the competition.”

  His smile still in place, Matthew nodded and retrieved his weapon. “Well done.”

  “And you,” Braden replied.

  “That was quite the exhibition,” one of the other knights said as he drew near. “I don’t suppose the two of you can be convinced to enter the tournament.”

  Before Braden could answer, Ilisa stepped forward. Only the fact that he knew her well allowed him to see past her tight smile to the fear that gripped her. “Nay. Sir Hugh promised to leave the fighting to the others. He did enough of it in France.”

  Braden smiled down at her, grateful for her words. “When my beautiful wife asks for such a boon, what can I do but oblige?”

  “Indeed,” Matthew agreed. “Mayhap I should offer my thanks to your wife as I’m not certain I would’ve emerged the winner if we continued.”

  While Braden realized the knight had admitted as such only once the other men stepped away, he appreciated it all the same. “Shall we call it a draw?”

  “Of course,” Matthew said. “I must see to my duties before my lord replaces me.” He bowed to Ilisa, nodded to Braden and quickly strode away to direct the first two competitors to their places.

  “I thought that was supposed to be a demonstration,” Ilisa said under her breath as they slowly followed the crowd. “Are you well?”

  “Aye. It seems Sir Matthew thought he had something to prove.”

  “I think he did but not to you.”

  Braden glanced at her in surprise. “Then who?”

  “We shall have to wait and see.” She took his arm, studying him. “You’re certain you are well?”

  He straightened, testing the stiffness in his shoulder only to be reminded of the mark Matthew had left on his ribs. “Well enough. No doubt I’ll be sore on the morrow.”

  Ilisa shuddered. “Promise me this won’t happen again. That was far too dangerous when you’ve yet to fully recover.”

  Braden lifted his shoulder once more. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  ~*~

  Ilisa winced as one of the knights competing in the sparring competition delivered a strike. The afternoon had been filled with such moments, and she’d been torn between turning away and watching with fascination as the competitions grew exceedingly fiercer.

  Part of her wanted to scream at them to stop if only to keep from having to relive the visions from her nightmare over and over again. A glance around at the other ladies suggested that many of them didn’t care to watch either, which made her feel better. ’Twas no surprise that Lady Gideon appeared thrilled by the action, cheering her favorites with calls and a wave of her kerchief.

  “Are you well?” Braden’s deep voice rumbled in her ear, causing a flush of heat to roll down her spine.

  “It appears as if each blow will end a life.”

  “Most are using a blunted tip. Liege lords don’t appreciate their knights being injured or killed in tournaments as it means they won’t have use of them should the need arise.”

  When at last it ended, she breathed a sigh of relief, having done her best to pretend to watch while avoiding doing so.

  “Are you certain that is all that bothers you?” He looked at her, one brow raised.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed that he knew her so well already. She shook her head, not wanting to discuss the reasons the performance bothered her in front of the guests. Actually, she didn’t want to discuss it at all. She could only hope what she’d watched wouldn’t return to haunt her in the dead of night.

  “I’m pleased you didn’t participate any more than you already did.”

  “As am I.” He shifted his bad shoulder with far less success than he had earlier. “I believe it’s stiffening.”

  The memory of Sir Matthew striking Braden there flashed in her mind. That had nearly been more than she could take. Braden’s skill was undeniable but also represented the violence she wanted to keep at arm’s length. She would do all in her power to never witness such a scene again.

  How could she think for even a moment that the best future for her would be anywhere but St. Mary’s?

  Yet instead of the relief she normally felt at the thought of joining the convent, something less clear held her emotions. If pressed, she might have described the feeling as disheartened. She nearly shook her head at her wayward thoughts.

  “Shall we return to our tent before the feast this even?” Braden asked.

  “Aye.” She shook out her kirtle to remove the dust from the field, hoping the gown was clean enough to wear to the feast to be held in the great hall this evening.

  Lady Gideon called her name, but Ilisa pretended not to hear. She smiled up at Braden to make it appear that she and her husband were deeply involved in a conversation. “I do not wish to speak with her.”

  “I can understand why. I think it best if we both avoid her, don’t you?” He chuckled and patted her hand, pretending right along with her.

  The simple gesture warmed her. He truly was a kind man despite his occupation. As they walked quickly toward the tent before the lady had the chance to call out again, Ilisa reminded herself that while she appreciated his kindness, it mattered not. He’d be gone in a fortnight or two. The idea of him remaining in Berwick for any length of time upon their return was ridiculous. He was a man of action, and the need to watch over her and Alec would soon be at an end.

  Once they returned, she and Braden would determine the best way to annul their marriage then go their separate ways. Alec would most likely return to England with Sophia and Garrick. She’d be free to focus on her vows. Surely upon her return, Prioress Matilda would allow
her to take the next step to join St. Mary’s.

  She’d try to focus on her future to help endure these next few days. With luck, both Lady Gideon and Monroe, the steward, would keep their distance. And she felt certain that Sir Matthew would leave Braden alone from this point forward. Yet none of that assisted them in their goal of discovering with whom Lord Graham might be in league or what they planned next.

  “What has taken your thoughts?” Braden asked as they neared the tent.

  “I’m wondering what this evening will bring,” she lied. “Do you think we’ll at last meet Lord Graham’s daughter? Or does he have her locked away in a tower?”

  “’Tis odd that the person we’re celebrating has yet to make an appearance.” He held back the flap of the tent to allow her admittance.

  Though pleased to be away from prying eyes, the space suddenly felt too small with both her and Braden in it.

  To her surprise, he sat on their pallet and lifted his tunic.

  The sight of the gash caused her to gasp. “He cut you.”

  “Mayhap now you’ll understand why I don’t care for the man.” Braden shook his head and dropped the tunic again.

  Ilisa hurried forward to lift it to examine the injury closer. As she ran her fingers along his side, his stomach dipped in, drawing her eye to the muscular expanse. Mouth suddenly dry, her hand moved of its own accord, caressing along his belly.

  “Ilisa?” The sound of her true name on his lips had her looking up to meet his dark gaze. A question lurked in their dark depths, but how could she answer when she didn’t know the question?

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, releasing her to do the same. The urge to kiss him overwhelmed her. What was wrong with her? How could she reaffirm her decision to join St. Mary’s one moment only to be tempted by Braden the next? But tempted she was. She moved closer, holding her breath, expecting him to draw back and end this madness.

  But nay. He remained in place, while she shifted nearer still, her hand on the warmth of his side as it moved with his breath. Longing flooded through her. She eased forward until her lips pressed his.

  He released his tunic to reach for her, one hand cupping her cheek, the other warm on her waist, neither pressing her closer or pushing her away. Left in limbo, she deepened the kiss, loving the feel of his firm lips, of the rasp of his beard against her skin.

  She moved her hand along the heat of his side, careful to avoid his injury. His strength both drew her and filled her with awe. She had no idea what to do with this handsome knight or the way he made her feel. How could she be so certain of what she wanted for her future one moment only to feel like this with Braden in the next?

  With a gasp, she drew back to stare into his eyes. Though an apology for her forward behavior came to her lips, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She didn’t want to apologize because she didn’t regret the kiss.

  Did she?

  “Surely we have something to bind this with,” she said, aware of the heat filling her cheeks as she glanced about the tent. She didn’t want to know what he thought of her behavior.

  “Ilisa.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, kissing her with such need that her heart stuttered.

  “Oh.” Alec’s voice caught her by surprise.

  She jolted back to find Alec at the tent opening, eyes wide as he stared back and forth between them. “You’ve come just when we need your assistance.” Ilisa lifted the bottom of Braden’s tunic, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Do we have anything with which to wrap this?”

  “’Tis fine,” Braden insisted.

  “Not if it leaves a spot on your tunic. Do you want Matthew to know he cut you?”

  “Nay. He’ll be too eager to tell everyone that he drew blood.”

  Still staring at them warily, Alec stepped inside to dig in one of the saddlebags. “This might work.” He held aloft a long strip of linen.

  “Perfect.” Ilisa didn’t meet her brother’s gaze. While she knew he must have questions, she didn’t have any answers. ’Twould be difficult to use the excuse of practicing to act as husband and wife when they were in the privacy of the tent.

  “How do you fare?” Braden asked him as Ilisa bound the wound. “Is all well at the stables?”

  Ilisa breathed a sigh of relief as Alec responded, his attention shifting away from her to Braden. “Aye, but your horse has gone lame. I don’t think ’tis serious, but I thought you might prefer to check him yourself.”

  Within a few moments, Braden and Alec left, leaving Ilisa behind in the tent. She breathed a sigh of relief, although being alone with her thoughts wasn’t necessarily a good thing at the moment.

  If someone would’ve told her a fortnight ago where she’d be and what she’d be doing, she never would’ve believed them. Though she should know by now how quickly life could change, ’twas always a surprise when it did.

  She laid back on the bed, staring up at the roof of the tent, reliving that kiss with Braden. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. A smile settled on her face. Who knew what she might be bold enough to do next?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Braden knew it was wrong. Completely wrong. Yet he couldn’t help but be grateful for the crazed situation that forced Ilisa to sit at his side, smiling at him.

  The great hall was filled to the brim that night. Long trestle tables and benches lined the floor with the high table on a raised dais at the far end where Lord Graham and his special guests sat. A fire burned brightly in the hearth and ale was being served.

  The boisterous mood of the guests made the conversation loud. He’d heard the retelling of the events of the final two sparring competitions too often already and the night was young.

  Ilisa looked especially lovely. Her plum-colored kirtle made her skin even more beautiful. She’d left her hair loose, something unwed ladies rarely did.

  But she was now married.

  To him.

  That thought, along with the memory of their kiss earlier, had him shifting on the hard bench. His desire for her had only increased in the days since they’d left Berwick. He admired the strength she’d shown during this unusual situation. Her courage to face the man who’d ordered her and her family’s death would be admirable for a man, let alone a young woman. She’d already endured so much, and though no end was in sight to her family’s plight, she found the determination to accompany him on this mission.

  He’d had a stilted conversation with Alec as they’d walked to the stables earlier, wanting the boy to know he wasn’t playing with his sister’s affections. But what was he doing? It had been difficult to explain, so he’d settled with saying that he respected Ilisa and Alec and valued their friendship.

  Alec had nodded, yet based on the way his eyes had narrowed as he’d stared at Braden, he wasn’t certain he’d allayed the boy’s concerns. Or even if Alec had them.

  “Do you suppose the empty chair at the high table is for the daughter?” Ilisa asked, keeping her voice low.

  “If so, where is she?”

  “I wonder if ’tis her choice to remain tucked away or her father’s?”

  Braden considered her question. “Difficult to say. If she appears, mayhap we’ll learn more about their relationship.”

  Ilisa nodded. “I confess, I’m curious to meet her.”

  “As am I. After what Matthew said, I have to believe the rumors are true, and she’ll be the prize for the champion.”

  “Only if her father approves of whoever wins. Do you think he likes this day’s winner?” Ilisa’s gaze shifted toward the head table once again.

  Braden followed her gaze. Graham had invited the knight who’d won the sparring tournament to join him at the high table for the feast. The lord’s expression revealed little of his thoughts as he spoke with the younger man. “I would venture to say he’s biding his time to see who wins the next one. No doubt the jousting champion will be invited to do the same. The final day will be the melee.”

  “What does that entail?�
��

  “It depends on how Graham chooses to hold it. The melee normally ends the tournament. It might be an all-out mock battle, or teams might be assigned. Sir Matthew could probably tell you.” He frowned at the man in question.

  Ilisa glanced at Braden, her brow raised at his tone. “Whatever does that mean?”

  “You seem to like him well enough.”

  Before she could reply, the crowd quieted, drawing their notice. Lord Graham rose, a rare smile on his face. Even Lady Graham appeared pleased. Braden turned to look at what had caught their attention.

  A finely dressed young lady stood at the entrance of the great hall, the stiffness of her body suggesting how uncomfortable she was.

  Lord Graham raised his goblet, and the hall quieted. “May I introduce my daughter, Lady Arabela. Wishing her much happiness in the years to come.”

  The guests lifted their cups as well. “To Lady Arabela,” someone called out.

  With a tight smile and a nod, the woman acknowledged the introduction before walking across the hall to take the empty chair beside her mother.

  The puzzled expression on Ilisa’s face caught Braden’s notice. “What is it?”

  “Unless Lady Arabela has a sister, that is the same woman I met in the stables.”

  Braden studied the lady more closely. “I thought you said that woman was a villager.”

  “She didn’t say as much, but based on her clothes, I assumed that to be true.”

  “Interesting.” Lady Arabela sat with perfect posture, a distant expression on her face. There was a coolness to her demeanor that set her apart from everyone.

  “She doesn’t appear pleased to be here, but if I were on display, I wouldn’t be either,” Ilisa said.

  “A difficult situation for her no doubt. How fortunate that you befriended her before you knew who she was. Mayhap you’ll be able to further the friendship. She might know something of use to us.”

  “I hate to use her that way as it seems like she could use a friend, but I’ll see what I can do.” Ilisa was drawn into conversation with the person who sat on the other side of her.