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

by Lana Williams

  “Definitely. Your form is on point. Mayhap when you have a few moments, you could give Alec some advice on his.”

  “Learning to joust, is he? I’d be pleased to. Has he decided to take up life as a squire?”

  “That remains to be seen, though my wife would prefer he choose another path.”

  “He will be a knight, of that I have no doubt, and a fine one. ’Twould make his brother proud, would it not?”

  Braden nodded. “Did you hear any word of Sir William during your travels? I know Ilisa is anxious for news of him.”

  Chanse sobered. “Nay. Sophia asked if we could send a message to the keep where he’s being held, which Garrick did. But no reply had been received by the time I left. I hope he’s well.”

  “He must be beside himself with worry over his family and their fate while he rots there. Why he’s being held instead of the leaders in Scotland is beyond me. They’re the ones who determined forming an alliance with France behind King Edward’s back was a wise notion.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Chanse kept his gaze on the knight taking a run at the quintain. “Did the earl say anything of interest?”

  “I have no doubt he’s one of the Sentinels. He mentioned ‘we’ several times but didn’t answer when I questioned that. I would venture a guess that the group includes more than him and Graham.”

  “I’ll see who I can visit with and if I can uncover anything more. Playing the part of your cousin rather than your brother is not easy.”

  “’Tis far more difficult than I expected to guard one’s tongue with every conversation.”

  “I’ll be pleased when we put this place behind us, and I only just arrived.”

  Braden couldn’t agree more. Watching each person, wondering who might want them dead, kept his nerves on edge.

  ~*~

  “This is a terrible idea.” Braden scowled at Ilisa as they made their way up the steps of the keep for the evening meal.

  Ilisa nearly laughed, considering his words matched hers from only a day or two ago. But this was no laughing matter. Their time here had become increasingly dangerous.

  Or mayhap she only felt more vulnerable.

  They were alone on the steps. The other guests had already gathered in the great hall, but Ilisa had procrastinated as long as she could, not looking forward to facing everyone.

  She drew a deep breath, still amazed that she could, considering how she’d felt when she first woke. The realization that walking up these steps caused her little pain was shocking as well. Other than tired and bruised, she’d nearly recovered.

  Physically, at least.

  Emotionally was a different matter. The feelings tumbling through her were confusing and conflicting and left her uncertain and fragile. She had to find a way to set those aside and remember why she was doing this. Why they were here.

  “Attending the feast this eve will prove to everyone that I’m well,” she told Braden. She didn’t add that she hoped to also prove it to herself. She was well. How come she didn’t feel as much?

  Instead, it seemed as if one misstep would tip her over, and she’d be flailing through the air once more.

  She shook her head to remove the image from her mind.

  “What is it?” Braden asked.

  He seemed even more aware of her thoughts and emotions than before. Had healing her connected them in some new way? Or was this another area where her imagination had taken over?

  “I’m just trying to prepare myself for all the curious stares.”

  “I thought that was what you wanted. To arrive a bit late, so all note your entrance.”

  “I do so that we might see the guilty party’s shock, telling us who...shoved me off the stairs. He or she might not be able to hide their reaction to my appearance and therefore give away themselves.”

  “This still seems like a terrible idea.” Braden tightened his hold on her arm.

  She loved his protectiveness more than she should. It warmed her from the inside out, something she needed as she felt so cold.

  “I must make an appearance sooner or later. I can hardly hide in the tent the rest of our visit. That would do no good.” She said the words to convince herself more so than to convince him. “You’ll stay with me this eve.” She didn’t know if that was an order or a question. Perhaps both.

  “I promised I would.” He paused on the landing before opening the keep door and turned to face her, glancing about to make certain they were alone before taking both her hands. His gaze searched her face. “And I will.”

  She nodded, blinking back tears. What was wrong with her? “My thanks.” As she looked up at him, she gathered her courage. “I must ask you something.”

  “Oh?” The cautiousness in his tone nearly made her smile. He was uncomfortable with her knowing about his gift. She could tell from the way he looked at her as if he expected her to run screaming from his side at any moment.

  That would never happen.

  “Did you...did you heal me further this afternoon while I slept?” She felt remarkably better than beforehand. While she knew sleep could be restorative, she didn’t think it could’ve made this much of a difference. But had she truly slept through it?

  “And if I did?” he asked at last.

  “Then I would give you my gratitude.”

  “What if I don’t want your gratitude?”

  She studied him, puzzled by the question. “What would you want?”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, causing her breath to catch. The corner of his mouth tilted up. “A simple kiss would do.”

  Unable to resist, she rose on her toes and placed her arms over his shoulders. His very broad shoulders. She smoothed the hair at the back of his head. Then she kissed him, drawing out the moment to enjoy it fully.

  His lips were warm and welcoming, filling her with more heat. Her body fit perfectly against his, especially when he wrapped his arms around her.

  She wanted more. Not out of gratitude but just because. Because this felt good. He felt good. She boldly traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, hoping for entrance.

  As though thirsty for her, he deepened the kiss, holding her even tighter against him. His tongue danced with hers. The desire spiraling through her shocked her. If they weren’t standing at the front door of Lord Graham’s keep, heaven knew how far she might take the kiss.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat had Ilisa jerking back.

  “I was just coming to see where you two were, and here you are,” Chanse said, the amusement in his voice causing heat to rush to Ilisa’s cheeks.

  “Aye,” Braden said as he continued to hold her. “Here we are.”

  What was Braden thinking? She couldn’t tell, no matter how long she stared.

  “So are you coming in or...” Chanse nodded toward the great hall, a touch of exasperation in his tone.

  Braden sighed. “Coming in. Unless?” He cocked his brow at her.

  “Coming in,” she confirmed. Chanse had perfect timing, she told herself. She didn’t know what she wanted. She needed to think long and hard about what she felt for Braden. Was this some odd side effect of knowing that she was married to him? Or was she allowing her gratitude to twist into something it truly wasn’t?

  Part of her wished gratitude was all it was. Because the other part feared it was something far more. And she had no idea what to do about that.

  Braden at last released her and turned to the door, offering his elbow.

  She took it, her heart squeezing as he pressed her hand tight against his side and smiled.

  Chanse held the door wide to allow them to step through. “Anyone in particular I should watch for a reaction?” he asked.

  “Monroe,” Ilisa whispered.

  “Matthew as well,” Braden added.

  “I’ll watch them both,” Chanse offered. “What of Graham?”

  Braden looked to Ilisa rather than answering. Did that mean he trusted her? “He and his wife,” she said though un
certain of either as a possibility.

  “I’d suggest Rothton as well.” Braden had shared the conversation they’d had with her.

  “Lady Rothton too then.” She nodded, but the task felt more impossible by the moment. The area by the door where they stood was deserted, but the noise coming from the great hall suggested it was filled to the brim for the evening meal. How could they possibly watch everyone?

  “Ready?” Braden whispered.

  She nodded, but her legs refused to move. How could she walk into the hall when she knew that not only did Graham want her dead but someone else might as well? She shuddered at the thought.

  “Have no fear,” Braden said, patting her hand. “I won’t allow anyone to harm you this night.”

  Again she nodded, this time managing to make her legs move. Should she smile and act as if all were well or did she remain somber to show her concern at the close call she’d had?

  “You are truly amazing.” Braden’s praise caught her full attention. “Not only are you recovering from the terrible fall, but you’re willing to remain to continue our quest. Even more, you will boldly flaunt the lack of success to the person who did it.”

  She smiled. He made her sound so brave when she was anything but. “I hardly think any of that is amazing.”

  “You have no idea how courageous you are. Nor is this the first time you’ve been so.” He glanced at her as they entered the hall. “I’m proud to call you my wife, even if ’tis only temporary.”

  She studied his expression, trying to determine how he felt about that—how she felt about that—when the sudden silence drew her notice. She looked around, realizing the entire hall had fallen silent. How she hated being the center of attention, especially under these circumstances.

  The sudden urge to call out a demand to know who had tried to hurt her clogged her throat. Instead, her gaze sought the few she thought might be guilty.

  Monroe first. He sat at a table to the right of the raised dais. His shock was evident in his wide eyes and parted lips. He almost looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Matthew was seated at the table to the left. He, too, looked surprised, but perhaps more pleased than shocked.

  Lord Graham and his wife showed nothing more than polite interest. If they were guilty, they hid it well. Then again, Graham was already guilty of wanting her dead, though he didn’t know her true identity. Since they were the hosts, she curtsied as Braden performed a stiff bow.

  Graham and his wife acknowledged the courtesy with a nod. Then Braden led her to their table, walking slowly.

  She caught a brief glimpse of Arabela who sat to her father’s left. She moved as if to rise, only to have her father hold her arm, making it clear he didn’t wish for her to greet Ilisa. Interesting. Was he discouraging Arabela from becoming friends with her?

  Lady Gideon smiled at her, but no warmth lingered there. Only a chilly politeness, while her husband’s gaze held an admiration that bolstered Ilisa.

  The Earl of Rothton sat with his wife at the head table, his expression unreadable.

  Chanse’s presence made her feel even more protected. He took a seat on the other side of her, leaving her between him and Braden. That helped relieve her tension as well.

  At last, the guests seemed to realize their manners or perhaps their curiosity had been eased. At any rate, whispered conversations became louder until the hall was once again filled with noise and laughter.

  Ilisa reached for the cup of wine Chanse set before her, in need of a drink to help her see the meal through to the end.

  “Why didn’t Lady Arabela come to greet you? I thought you and she were friends of a sort?” The disapproval in Chanse’s tone on her behalf nearly made Ilisa smile.

  “Her father stopped her from doing so.”

  “Humph.” Chanse didn’t appear appeased at her answer. “Monroe looked quite surprised.”

  “I thought so too,” Braden added. “Matthew as well. Both he and Monroe saw you on the floor. Surely they knew how badly you were hurt.”

  “The steward doesn’t seem to be getting over his shock,” Chanse said even though he now looked in the opposite direction.

  Ilisa turned to find Monroe’s gaze on her, his brow furrowed as though he was still in disbelief. “If he believes I was in such terrible condition, how do you think he is explaining my remarkable recovery?”

  Chanse scowled. “As long as he doesn’t guess at the true reason.”

  “You must stop looking so displeased,” Ilisa said, nudging Chanse in the ribs with her elbow. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

  “Aye.” He faced her, his charming smile in place. “’Tis true.” He raised his cup high. “A toast to Lady... Cairstine and her continued good health.”

  A ripple went through the hall as the guests nearby realized what he’d said. They raised their cups to join in. “Slàinte!”

  “Slàinte!” Braden repeated with his own cup raised. His gaze held Ilisa’s, his smile genuine. He drank, and others followed suit. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, much to her surprise.

  The chants and calls throughout the hall rang in Ilisa’s ears. When he drew back, she went with him, lengthening the kiss. The noise in the hall rose to a new level, as did the pounding of Ilisa’s heart.

  “Excellent performance, you two,” Chanse whispered as they finally drew apart. “You truly act like a wedded couple.”

  Performance? Act? Nay. Those were no longer words that described how she felt about Braden.

  But she had no idea how he felt about her.

  ~*~

  Braden pulled his gaze away from Ilisa, knowing he was indeed acting like a besotted husband. As Chanse suggested, they’d performed flawlessly. Surely that was how Sir Hugh would act if his wife had made a miraculous recovery.

  He stopped his thoughts from venturing further down that path. What purpose would be served by lying to himself? None. Yet nor did he know the truth. He needed time to think. To determine how he truly felt about Ilisa.

  Too many times he’d been betrayed by someone he’d thought cared about him. He’d learned that time was the true test. His feelings for Ilisa would have to wait until after they returned to Berwick. His focus needed to remain on making certain they made it out of here alive.

  The goal of the evening was to determine who acted the most strangely over Ilisa’s whole and healthy appearance. At the moment, that would be the only evidence they had.

  Lord Graham appeared relaxed, suggesting he had nothing to hide. His wife looked uncomfortable as always, as though she’d rather be anywhere but where she was. Was her life so unhappy or was it simply her nature? As he watched, she gestured for a servant to pour her more wine. Braden didn’t think she proposed a threat.

  Arabela shifted in her seat, her gaze casting about as though she were always on guard. Or looking for a means of escape. After all, Ilisa had first met her when she was lurking in the stables, dressed as a common villager. Did her mother and father know of her minor rebellion in doing such things? If so, she did it anyway. Perhaps she had more spirit than he realized.

  Braden smothered a smile as he watched Arabela’s gaze swing to Chanse. That was no surprise. Women frequently noticed his brother. Braden was used to that. She quickly glanced away when Chanse looked toward her as though he sensed someone watching him.

  Chanse leaned behind Ilisa closer to Braden and whispered, “Does she ever smile?”

  “Rarely.”

  “What does she have to be so unhappy about?”

  Ilisa leaned back to join in their whispered conversation. “She’s not pleased to be awarded as prize to the champion.”

  “Humph. Has she considered that the man who wins might not be any more pleased with the situation than she?”

  “That’s doubtful,” Braden answered as he watched the lady. “She’s attractive with a powerful father. I’d guess many are smitten with her already.” He turned to study Chanse. “I’m surprised you’re not.”

 
; Chanse shook his head. “She’ll be just like her mother—never happy. Who wants to be saddled for life with a woman like that?”

  “I think she could be happy if not caught in the middle of her father’s political aspirations,” Ilisa added.

  Chanse only shook his head again, suggesting he didn’t think that true.

  Braden didn’t understand Chanse’s dislike for Lady Arabela. She was well spoken, had been kind to Ilisa, and polite the few times he’d spoken to her. Yet Chanse seemed determined to find fault with the lady. Then again, ’twould be best if Chanse kept his distance. Dallying with Graham’s daughter would be a terrible mistake.

  Braden shifted his attention to the earl, who sat on the other side of Lady Graham. The lord smoothed one hand over his beard again and again, a motion that suggested he was deep in thought. Rothton’s gaze held on the steward, but Monroe merely visited with the man seated next to him. The earl had barely glanced at Ilisa, so Braden couldn’t believe he had any interest in whether she lived. Lady Rothton appeared happy enough, though her gaze seemed to linger on the younger knights in the great hall.

  “Lady Cairstine,” Matthew said as he reached their table, “’tis a true pleasure to have you up and about. After seeing you on the floor below the stairs...”

  Braden wanted to strike him. Hard. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to hold back his temper. How dare he remind Ilisa of what she’d been through? He cleared his throat, gaining Matthew’s notice so he could glare meaningfully.

  The knight’s eyes widened, as though realizing how insensitive he’d been. “My apologies for mentioning what must be an unpleasant memory.”

  Ilisa’s face had paled at his words, but she nodded. “I am feeling much better.” She glanced at Braden. “Your village healer, Effie, is quite gifted. Her poultice didn’t smell the best, but its effects were significant.”

  “Truly?” Matthew’s brows rose. “I would agree with the scent of her potions, and heaven forbid if you ever have to taste one, but I have not always experienced similar results.”

  “I cannot praise her enough. Her talent is remarkable,” Ilisa said.