Cort laughed softly. “Dillon, I outweighed your mother when I was eight years of age,” he said. “That did not seem to matter to her. I was twice her size as a youth and, still, she would grab my ear and drag me wherever it suited her. The woman fears nothing. Not even me.”
Dillon chuckled, moving to the door and opening it. “Then be in the hall when the feast starts or suffer her wrath,” he said. “I will see you there.”
“Where are you going?”
Dillon winked at him. “I’ve not seen the fishmonger’s daughter in a couple of days. I can make it to Swaffham and back before sup.”
Cort wriggled his eyebrows. “Then I shall come with you,” he said, shoving Dillon from the door and following him into the small foyer of the knights’ quarters. “I’ve yet to see this fish daughter who turns your head.”
Dillon put his hands on Cort’s chest, giving him a shove back. “I told you that you are not allowed to see her,” he said. “You would charm her away from me and I would have to kill you for it.”
Cort gave him his best smile. “Me? My friend, I would never do anything so dastardly.”
Dillon wasn’t having any of it. “Aye, you would, and then you would laugh at me and kiss me and celebrate your victory. Therefore, you cannot go. Find Bella instead and comfort her.”
Cort’s smile faded. “Comfort her? Why?”
Dillon reached the door, yanking it open. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think something is wrong between her and Brend. Mayhap she heard that he turned down the offer to marry her.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
“It is none of my affair.”
Cort shook his head. “Nor is it any of mine,” he said. “I am not getting in the middle of the situation between your sister and Brend. Mayhap I’ll go and visit Vulcan instead.”
“Damien is convinced you are trying to steal his horse.”
“I am.”
Dillon shook his head at his bold friend, turning to leave the knights’ quarters when he came to an abrupt halt. Cort ran into the back of him, looking at him curiously until he saw where Dillon attention was.
Dera was heading in their direction.
“I wonder what she wants,” Dillon muttered. “I am going to the stable to get my horse. If you are wise, you will make yourself scarce.”
Cort didn’t reply. Dillon headed off in the direction of the stable, completely avoiding speaking with, or looking at, Dera as she came near to the knights’ quarters. Cort simply stood in the doorway, watching her approach. He didn’t say a word, nor did he change expression. He simply watched her. She was looking at him, however, and as she drew close, she smiled timidly.
“Greetings, Cort,” she said, sounding very hesitant. “Are… are you feeling better?”
“What do you mean?”
She gestured in the direction of the great hall. “You have missed sup the past two days,” she said. “I thought you might have been ill.”
“I was not ill.”
“I see,” she said, her smile fading. She averted her gaze, looking to her hands. “I… I was hoping for a moment of your time.”
“You can always have a moment of my time.”
She looked up at him as if surprised by the answer. “Truly?” she said. “Thank you. I just wanted to say that I realize what I did in Lynn was wrong. When I tried to help you in your fight, I mean. I should not have done it and I did not mean to suggest you were not capable of taking care of yourself. And also… also, I should not have argued with you about England’s occupation of Ireland when we were by the lake. I know you are not responsible for it. I was very rude when I left you and I do not blame you for being angry with me.”
She seemed terribly ill at ease, but she also seemed sincere. Cort was, frankly, shocked to hear an apology come out of her mouth. The last time he’d seen her, she’d staunchly defended her actions and Ireland’s right to be free to the point of becoming belligerent. But apparently no longer. He couldn’t fathom this change of position.
His curiosity had the better of him.
“Come in here,” he said, reaching out and grasping her by the wrist. “Come in here and speak with me.”
He pulled her into the tiny foyer, hardly big enough for two or three men to stand in, but it was quiet and private. Cort shut the door and faced her.
“Now, what’s this about?” he asked. “Why should you apologize to me over something that only two days ago, you were quite certain was the right thing?”
Dera looked more unsure than he’d ever seen her. “Because I realized that my actions had offended you,” she said. “It never occurred to me that you would be insulted and I am very sorry. I killed the English knight to help you, not strip you of your manhood. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
He was trying to figure out where her change of heart was coming from. “Is that what you thought you did?”
“Isn’t it?”
After a moment, he nodded. “In a way,” he said. “It was my fight. You had no right to enter it.”
“I see that now. I am sorry.”
“Promise me you will never do anything so foolish again and I will forgive you.”
“I promise.”
He smiled at her. “Then am I to assume you have forgiven me from the other day at the lake? You stormed off before we had the chance to smooth things over.”
She lowered her gaze. “You may as well know that I have a bit of a temper,” she said. “’Tis the Irish blood in me. When I am speaking of things I believe in, I am always quick to anger.”
“Then mayhap we should not speak of such things,” he said. “I do not want to anger you and I do not want you stomping off in a rage again.”
She eyed him. “I suppose the rage was mostly at myself,” she said. “I said things I should not have. I called the English Béarla dogs and I regret saying that.”
She appeared genuinely contrite. Cort was a good judge of character because his life often depended on it, and he could see that she was truly sorry for her behavior. At least, she wanted him to think she was. But the truth was that he would never believe that she’d had a complete change of heart in any of her views. She’d spoken very strongly of something that couldn’t be destroyed in only a couple of days.
Deep down, that conviction was still there even though she was apologizing for it.
But that really didn’t seem to matter. All Cort knew was that he was glad to see her again, and quite glad that whatever tension had come between them was gone. Perhaps it was stupid of him, but that was the way he felt.
Reaching out, he took her hand gently.
“Some men are dogs,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. “Your assessment was probably fair of some. But you needn’t curse yourself over it. It is forgotten.”
Dera looked at him as he held her hand to his mouth, her eyes wide with the boldness of his actions. The heart that had leapt at the sight of him was now pounding firmly against her rib cage and the confusion and sorrow she’d been feeling suddenly vanished.
Dera couldn’t even stop to think that her attraction to Cort was dangerous. Deep down, she knew that it was, but as she gazed into his glorious face, she didn’t much care. English, Irish, French, or Spanish… it didn’t matter what Cort was. All that mattered was that he was the kindest, most handsome man she’d ever met and he’d shown her an inordinate amount of attention.
That baffled her.
“Why?” she suddenly whispered.
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She looked at her hand, tucked in his. “That,” she blurted. “Why should you kiss my hand? Why should you want to… Cort, I have been nothing but trouble to you. Why should you show me such regard?”
He grinned. “Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head before she could even stop herself. “Nay,” she said. Then, mortified as she realized how terribly bold she was, her eyes widened. “But you should. You know you should.
I am not something to be toyed with.”
His grin turned lazy. “Who said I was toying with you?” he said. He kissed the back of her hand again before flipping it over and depositing a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I wanted to kiss your hand to prove there is forgiveness between us and I did.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“What else could there be?”
That wasn’t what Dera wanted to hear. Her emotions had the better of her, emotions she usually kept quite guarded. She’d had more than one Irish lad declare his undying devotion to her and she’d deftly discouraged them, but not Cort. He had her emotions running rampant and she didn’t even know why. He seemed to destroy every ounce of control she ever had.
Yanking her hand away, she turned for the door.
“Nothing,” she said. “I did not mean that the way it sounded. I will see you at…”
She was cut off as he slapped a big hand against the door, right over her head, preventing her from leaving. As Dera stood there, hand on the latch, she could feel his enormous body behind her.
Her thumping heart was close to bursting from her chest.
“Aye, you meant it exactly the way it sounded,” he growled. “Shall I tell you what you meant?”
She shook her head, her breath coming in little pants. “You do not know what I meant.”
“I do,” he said, bending over to smell the top of her head; she could feel him inhaling. “I know exactly what you meant. You meant to know if I was kissing your hand because I found you beautiful. The answer is that I do.”
Dera had her hand on the door and now it was supporting her. She had never been so close to swooning in her life.
“You… you do?” she whispered.
“I do,” he said, his mouth practically on the top of her head. “You are beautiful and headstrong, fearless and stubborn. And I love to hear you sing. I find you beautiful in many ways, Dera.”
She could feel his hot breath on the top of her head and it turned her limbs to jelly. She looked over her shoulder to tell him so but his mouth was there and, somehow, it slanted over her lips. Her head was twisted back, upturned, and Cort’s arms went around her, holding her tightly as he kissed her deeply.
She’d never been kissed like that in her entire life.
Cort was strong, so strong that rather than feel intimidated by it, she melted into it. She was melting into him, her boneless body being supported only by him as his lips overwhelmed her. All she could do was let him take liberties that she’d never let anyone else take, succumbing to passion she had never known to exist. Somehow, she managed to turn around and her arms found their way around his neck.
The spark of attraction had turned into a raging fire.
Cort lifted her up so she was pressed against his body, her feet dangling off the floor. His kisses were forceful yet tender, and when he gently pried her lips apart with his tongue, she was a willing participant. He tasted deeply of her, feeling her tremble in his arms. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to kiss her like this, but the urge to taste her had overwhelmed him. Once he kissed her hand, all he could think about was kissing her lips. He wouldn’t deny himself.
And he wasn’t disappointed.
He lost track of all space and time as he held Dera in his arms, feasting on her flesh. But that moment of brilliance was disrupted when the door to the knights’ quarters suddenly opened up right into the back of Dera. Because Cort has his arms around her, the panel mostly hit his arms and they stumbled back with Dera ending up on her feet. Cort held her arm to steady her so she wouldn’t fall over as Dillon suddenly appeared in the half-open doorway.
He looked straight at Cort.
“My father needs to see you in his solar immediately,” he said. Then, his gaze moved to Dera. “And bring her with you.”
With that, he was gone. No mention of what the two of them had obviously been doing, even if he realized it. No shock, no teasing, only brusque businesslike manners. Puzzled, Cort opened the door wide to watch Dillon as he practically ran back towards the keep. He scratched his head.
“I wonder what that was about,” he muttered.
Dera stood there, trying to catch her breath after Cort’s steamy kiss. “Why… why should Lord Denys want to see me?”
Cort shook his head until he realized there was a man on horseback near the gatehouse, being watched by three soldiers. The horse was soaked with sweat and foaming, indicative of a long and fast run.
A messenger.
Cort’s curiosity grew. Reaching out, he grasped Dera by the wrist. “Come along,” he said quietly. “Let us see what Denys has to say.”
Dera let him pull her along, wiping at her mouth, which still had his saliva on it. She smoothed at her hair, feeling she was disheveled somehow. Surely Denys would see her state and known she’d let Cort take advantage of her. Truth be told, she didn’t care.
She’d let him do it again if he wanted to.
The thought didn’t distress her one bit.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Denys was sitting at his table, staring at the missive he’d just received.
It had come all the way from Dundalk, Ireland, by way of Blackpool in Lancashire, because that was where his three ships were docked. The messenger was from the House of de Cleveley, who lived near Blackpool and were allies of the House of de Winter. They also had lands in Ireland and helped maintain the de Winter ships, using them on occasion.
He still couldn’t believe what he’d read.
He put his head in his hands.
“I found Brend, Father,” Dillon entered with Brend on his heels. “Cort is coming. He is bringing Dera.”
Denys lifted his head, looking at the pair. Dillon seemed agitated while Brend seemed wary. The man still wasn’t over their meeting from earlier, perhaps wondering if Denys was about to begin Round Two of his interrogation. But Denys made no move to say anything to that regard; he simply nodded his head, lowering his gaze to once again read what was on the missive before him.
“Where is the messenger, Dillon?” he asked.
Dillon threw a thumb in the general direction of the bailey. “The soldiers have him out in the bailey,” he said. “I told them to feed him and rest his horse.”
“That is good,” Denys said. “He has come a very long way.”
“How far?”
Denys lifted his eyebrows, contemplating the question. “From Fosdyke, he told me,” he said. “But much further before that. The missive originated at Mount Wrath, so it has been traveling for quite some time.”
Dillon could see the distress on his father’s face. He glanced at Brend, who appeared equally concerned. Gone was the man’s wariness. As they exchanged apprehensive glances, Cort entered with Dera on his heels.
“My lord?” Cort said. “Dil said you wanted to see me?”
Now that everyone concerned was present, Denys sighed faintly and sat back in his chair. “Close the door, Cort,” he said. “Bolt it and stand by it. No one comes in and out of this room until I tell you. Is that clear?”
Cort didn’t even question him. He nodded sharply, went to the door, and bolted it. As he took up station in front of it, Dera moved over to her brother, looking at the man questioningly. The expression on his face gave her no indication of what was happening. In fact, he seemed rather stone-faced.
Denys finally spoke again.
“I have just received a message from Mount Wrath,” he told everyone in the room. “It has taken a month for it to reach me, meaning the events on the missive are a month old, if not more.”
“Mount Wrath?” Dera blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I am sorry, my lord. Forgive me for speaking out of turn.”
Denys did nothing more than look at her in such a way as if appraising her. Perhaps there was even a hint of disgust in his expression. In any case, his gaze lingered on her a moment before returning to the men.
“It seems that Mount Wrath has fallen to the rebels,” he said, hearin
g Dera gasp. He was looking at Brend as he spoke. “Brend, forgive me for being indelicate, but in the course of the battle, your father was killed and so was your brother, Ardmore. Declan and Finn are hostages, but it is not known what has happened to your mother.”
There was a moment of shocked silence, so heavy that it nearly crushed everyone in the chamber. But that moment wore off quickly and Dera suddenly turned away, bursting into soft sobs. Next to her, Brend’s features tightened but he held himself in check. Perhaps there was a moment or two that might have seen him become emotional, but he fought it. He remained stoic, but it was clear there was a great deal going on in his head. Before Dillon or Cort could offer their condolences, Brend turned to his sister.
“You listen to me,” he snarled. “Those rebels who killed Father and Ardie, and sacked Mount Wrath, are those same bastards you have been part of for years. This is your fault, Dera. You did nothing to protect our family and everything to further the cause of the Irish rebellion. You did this!”
Dera’s head came up, her eyes wide with astonishment at him. As she opened her mouth to respond, Brend’s hand came up and he grabbed her by the arm. No one knew what he was going to do, but the mere fact that he touched her brought Cort and Dillon. As Dillon grabbed Brend to pull him away from his sister, Cort put himself in between the two and threw a punch to Brend’s jaw that literally lifted him off his feet.
Brend’s flying body caused Dillon to stumble back as Brend went crashing into the wall behind him. Startled, Dillon stepped in between the knights, holding out his hands to prevent them from moving on one another, but Cort didn’t move at all. He remained standing in front of Dera, his sea-colored eyes blazing.
“Touch her again and I will kill you,” he hissed at Brend. “I do not care if you are her brother. You will never lay hands on her again. Do you understand me?”
Denys was in their midst now, pulling Cort away. “Emotions are high, Cort,” he said steadily. “Stand by the door. That is your post and you are not to leave it again.”
Cort wouldn’t go so easily. His gaze was shooting venom at Brend, who was half-conscious as Dillon bent over him and slapped his cheeks to force him to come around. Denys remained near Cort, seeing what a volatile situation this was but purely failing to see why Cort should strike Brend in such a vicious fashion.
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