Alex hung the pot over the fire and took hold of her wrist. “Your hands,” he said.
“Oh, ’tis naught,” she replied as she tried to pull away.
He knew by her blush that she was embarrassed, but he did not release her. “You’ve ruined them,” he said. “You cannot possibly think you can do all the work here yourself.”
“Well…”
“You’ll be no good to anyone if your hands get any worse,” he said. “Come here.”
While the pottage cooked, she sat down on the blanket she’d laid near the fire and Alex took his jar of ointment from his pack. “This will help ease the pain and soften the skin.”
“Who would ever believe an earl’s daughter would need such a remedy?” she said with a laugh.
He looked up at her then and frowned. She’d said something of her background, but he hadn’t given it much thought before.
“You mentioned a cousin who inherited the title?”
She nodded as he wrapped a clean, thin cloth around her hand. “Yes. Hugh. He became earl when my brother, John, died,” she said. “My brothers were very devout knights. I often think they should both have gone on Crusade.”
“And left you alone?”
She shrugged as if it did not matter, but Alex saw the shadow of an old sadness in her eyes. “They left me alone anyway.”
It angered him to think how it must have been for her as a child, weak with her infirmity and illness. Could not the younger brother have remained at home to care for his sister who clearly needed him?
He finished wrapping her hands and she sat still, looking at them as she held them out in front of her. “You have defeated me, Sir Knight.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“I won’t be able to get any work done at all, with my hands bound so.”
“Mayhap ’twas not meant to be done entirely by you.”
She laughed. “Then by whom? You said there were no laborers to be found.”
“Neither in the village nor in York.”
“Then who… Surely not you? A great knight on his knees—scrubbing floors?” She chuckled.
Alex felt the tug of a smile coming to his lips. “Mayhap the Craghaven nuns will have to take to their knees when they arrive.”
Still smiling, she tilted her head and gave him a puzzled look. “Do you jest, Sir Alex?”
He hesitated, abashed by his mirth. He could not remember the last time his heart had felt so light. “I believe I do.”
Chapter Ten
The meal was better than any Lucy had had in days. Their thick soup, eaten with bread, was filling and satisfying. And they were able to wash it down with mugs of ale from the cask that Alex had purchased in the village.
Sir Alex would not allow Lucy to clean up after the meal, but rinsed their bowls and mugs himself. Then he brought in more firewood and they sat quietly in the warm, dry kitchen while the rain continued. She cringed a little when the lightning and thunder began, but was so astounded by Sir Alex’s tender care of her hands that she did not experience the usual terror that accompanied a violent storm.
She was even more bewildered by the knight’s small attempt at levity. Lucy would suffer any injury if it would bring a lightening of his spirit. She did not think she’d ever known anyone whose soul was so sadly burdened.
She wondered what evil thing had befallen him to make him so somber. For some reason, he planned to give up arms and become a monk. Lucy could think of no reason a powerful man would do such a thing, especially one so comely as Sir Alex. She had no doubt that there would be many a young maid willing to become his wife.
Studying him covertly, she admired the strong lines of his face. His jaw bore the shadow of his beard and Lucy wondered if ’twould be necessary for him to shave it daily. She was unsure of such things, having had no contact with men since her childhood.
“Years ago, when I was a child and it stormed,” she said quietly, breaking the silence, “my brothers used to take me into my father’s study and hide me under his big oaken table. One would close the curtain and the other would cover the table with a blanket so that I wouldn’t be afraid of the lightning.”
Bright light flashed in the small window behind Sir Alex, and Lucy braced herself for the thunder that would follow. Her fear of storms had abated over the years, but they still made her uneasy, even now, when she knew she was safe in Holywake’s kitchen.
“They were good enough not to tease me,” she said, drawing her legs up under her and wrapping her arms around them, “even though they were much older and absolutely fearless.”
“Were they not gone to foster?” Sir Alex asked.
She shook her head. “Only for a short time,” she replied. “My father brought them home when our eldest brother died while fostering at a nearby estate. My father said he would not risk his heirs to the care of any other man.”
Though Alex did not turn to look at her, Lucy saw that he was perplexed. As any knight would be, Lucy supposed. Lads did not stay at home once they reached the age of reason. They were sent away to becomes squires in the households of great lords.
She was certain that Alan’s death, along with her own infirmity, had given her father reason to keep his other two sons close, instead of following the usual custom. Lucy was glad of it, too. She’d gotten to know and love her brothers, and had mourned them well when they died.
“Have you any brothers or sisters, Alex?” she asked.
The muscles of his throat worked before he answered. “One brother,” he finally said. “Philip.”
“And he is well?”
“Aye,” Alex replied. “Last I heard.”
“When was that?”
“Three years ago,” he said. “When I left England.”
“’Tis a long time,” she mused. Her hip had begun to ache, as it often did during wet weather, and she shifted her position. “Have you been in France all this time? At Cluny?”
He shrugged. “Only for the first two years. Then I escorted one of the monks to Jerusalem.”
“His own pilgrimage?”
“I suppose you could call it that.”
“When I was ten years old, we received word that one of my brothers had died en route to Jerusalem,” Lucy said, remembering that sad day. She’d been in her bed, lying ill from one of her many maladies when the messenger had come. And she had been too sick to attend the requiem said in his honor, though she’d said many a prayer for both her brothers in the days since then.
“John was thrown by his horse not a year later,” she said, as Sir Alex turned his intense green gaze on her. ’Twas not without sympathy, but he said naught. “It killed him.”
“And you were sent to the nunnery.”
She shrugged. “’Tis a woman’s lot,” she said without bitterness. “To do as her master bids.”
“Your cousin.”
“Aye,” she replied. “I had no choice but to go to Craghaven when he ordered it.”
“But you will not stay with the nuns.”
Lucy shook her head. “Though I will never be able to do what really suits me, I will find work somewhere and make my own way.”
Alex stood up and added a log to the fire. Though ’twas comfortably warm in the kitchen, if the fire went out, the cold and damp would quickly find them. Alex pushed the logs around and made the flame flare. Then he turned to look at her.
“What suits you?” he asked, though it seemed to Lucy a reluctant question.
Had anyone else asked, Lucy might have worried about ridicule. But Sir Alex was not a man to sneer at another’s weakness.
“I would have a husband,” she said. “And children. But, as my cousin—and the abbess herself—often told me, there isn’t a man in England who would knowingly take a lame and sickly wife of my advanced age and no dowry to speak of.”
Alex’s tongue felt thick and as dry as leather. Only a fool would look at Lucy and see naught but an awkward gait. She had a kind of beauty that was more than just th
e silken tresses that fell in waves to her waist, more than comely features and a fetching form that ought to tempt any man.
He turned away and looked into the fire again, afraid that if he gazed at her any longer, he’d fall into the depths of her eyes and never be able to come out again.
She was as robust as anyone he’d ever known—man or woman. Alex had no doubt that she would be able to make the voyage to Jerusalem and back—as arduous and dangerous as anything he’d ever done—without complaint.
But Alex had met many a fool in his life, so he knew that Lucy’s cousin and the abbess had not been mistaken. Once Lucy left the abbey, she would have to make her way alone.
He stood abruptly.
“I’m going to take a look around and see where the roof leaks,” he said. He picked up one of the new candles and strode from the room before he could think of her on the streets of York, looking for work.
Or for a husband who would deign to have her.
A loud crack of thunder shook the abbey before Alex reached the main hall. A moment later, Lucy was right behind him.
She made a valiant attempt to hide her nervousness in the storm, but Alex saw the way the flame of her candle quivered. She was just as frightened as when she was a child and her brothers had made a safe place for her to hide.
But there were no brothers to care for her now.
A sharp edge of protectiveness surged over Alex. And if his good sense had not prevailed, he might have fashioned some small shelter for her as her brothers had done in the past. Chivalry had been deeply bred into him, and that was the only reason he felt such a strong urge to take care of this woman.
But it did not explain why his arms ached to pull her close, or why the air suddenly seemed too thin to breathe.
“I think the roof leak is t-the worst in the dormitory,” Lucy said, holding her blanket close.
She took the lead and kept going until they reached the large room where the beds were lined up against the walls.
“At least the water isn’t pouring in,” Lucy said. “It’s just a steady drip.”
“Enough to damage the floor.”
“Can it be fixed?” she asked.
He nodded just as lightning flashed and a fierce clap of thunder startled her. Lucy jumped, dropping her candle in the puddle on the floor.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, covering her mouth with one hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
“’Tis all right.” He retrieved the candle, then took her arm. “Let’s go back to the fire.”
She went without hesitation, and they used the light of his candle to return to the kitchen, stopping in the front entry to pick up the bundles Alex had left there earlier. One of the packages contained the items Lucy would need to make her wardrobe more suitable for the day she ventured out of the abbey. Alex did not want to have to think of her going out in the streets of York or any other town, dressed as she was.
She was much too alluring for any man to resist.
As Lucy sat down by the fire, Alex knelt and slit the string that held the package closed. When the cloth wrapping fell away, he pulled out a deep-blue woolen shawl. Refusing to admit that he’d purchased it because it made him think of Lucy’s eyes, he handed it to her without looking at her.
“For me?” she asked. She let the blanket fall and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders.
He nodded. “You can’t wear that blanket forever.”
“But I… What’s this?” she asked.
“Cloth,” he replied, watching her unfold the linen. Fortunately, the merchant had reminded him of the need for thread, as well as needle and shears. “You can sew something to wear while your hands mend.”
“Sir Alex,” she said softly. If he was not mistaken, she sounded a bit breathless. “You…”
“’Tis naught,” he said, opening the other packages and ignoring her gratitude. “Winter will soon be upon us. You have only the gown you wear, and it—”
“Is indecent,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I know.”
She crouched down beside him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then stood and walked away.
He felt a lightning bolt shoot through him and his face burned where her lips touched. Though she’d kissed him in the same manner once before, the heat of this kiss stunned him. He placed one hand against the spot she’d touched with her lips while he watched her leave the warmth of the kitchen.
Mortified by her rash gesture of gratitude and affection, Lucy stayed away for as long as she thought it would take Sir Alexander to fall asleep. She could not face him, not after such boldness.
Pulling her new shawl tightly around her, she sat huddled in a dark corner, well aware that she had committed a grave error. Sir Alex wanted as little to do with her as possible, yet she’d not only made him feel responsible for her, she’d made him uncomfortable with a kiss that was entirely unnecessary.
A simple thanks would have sufficed.
Some time later, when the storm had abated, Lucy returned as quietly as possible to the kitchen. Relieved to find her knight asleep, lying on his side facing the wall, she settled herself into her own blanket.
The night passed fitfully, her dreams mingling reality with the outlandish stories told by Lady Elsbeth. She dreamed of lips touching sensitive places, of hands giving pleasure, of tender words spoken. She felt agitated and overheated, and it did not help that when she awoke the following morning, Sir Alex was pulling off his tunic and the light shirt he wore underneath.
She lay staring at him, and as she became aware once again of the striking differences between them, her breath caught in her throat. His chest was big and broad, and it narrowed to a hard belly, ridged with muscle. The muscles of his arms were thick and well defined, hard as if hewn from stone. And much of that masculine flesh was covered by a layer of coarse, dark hair.
Lucy felt her face heat. She knew she should allow him his privacy, yet she could not turn away.
In all her years at Craghaven, she had seen no more of any man than their priest’s face and hands. Elsbeth had said men were made very differently. But besides their lack of bosom, Lucy had not understood what the woman had meant.
She had begun her education with little Bert Bavent. Now she wanted to know more.
Lying perfectly still, Lucy felt oddly disappointed when Sir Alexander took the clothes he’d dried overnight by the fire and slipped outside, being careful not to disturb her. She wondered if he’d have blushed pink had he noticed her eyes on him. And it occurred to her to wonder if he felt the same fascination when he saw her bosom half bare as it was in this kirtle.
She stayed where she was for a few moments, mulling over her strange thoughts, then rose from her bed, feeling overly warm and uncomfortable.
Lucy’s hands were still bandaged and she knew she could accomplish naught if they remained bound this way. She unwrapped them and saw that they were not as red as they’d been, and the skin was smoother than before. She should have known Alex’s ointment would help—her shoulder wound was almost healed because of it.
She looked for the bucket and realized that Alex had taken it with him. The rain had stopped and ’twas a beautiful morn, though much cooler than it had been during their travels. Gathering her shawl about her, she opened the kitchen door and went outside.
A little while later, she found Alexander filling the bucket in a narrow river. To her disappointment, he was fully dressed.
“Good morn to you, Sir Knight,” she said.
He gave a brief nod but did not look at her.
Lucy crouched and dipped her hands in the cool water, then washed her face. The little river was a good deal wider now than it was the day before, and the water rushed wildly past her. She could only imagine how much more treacherous the river where she’d fallen in would be today.
Alex picked up his sword and started to walk away.
“Where is your other sword?” He always had two swords with him, though why he would need them was beyond Lucy.
<
br /> He stopped in his tracks, then turned slowly toward her, buckling his sword belt ’round his waist. To Lucy, it seemed that he was unsure how to answer her, though she thought her question had been simple enough.
“The other sword… ’Tis a relic brought from the Holy Land,” he said. “Not a sword to be used in battle.”
Lucy stood abruptly, excited by the prospect of seeing a precious piece of antiquity. “Where is it?”
“Hidden safely away.”
“Why?”
Alex did not respond to her question, but turned and started to walk back to the abbey. Lucy hurried to catch up to him. “Are you afraid someone will try to steal it?”
“There have been several attempts since I left Jerusalem.”
“You mean someone— The black knights?”
“Aye.” The word was clipped short, as though he did not want to speak more of it, but Lucy was determined to see the sword that was held within the beautiful silver scabbard.
“And you’ve found a safe place in the abbey where it cannot be found?”
He nodded.
“In the cellar?” she asked. “Hidden in the rafters?”
Alex stopped abruptly. Turning to face her, he took her by the shoulders. “How did you know?”
She shrugged. If she’d had anything of value to hide, she supposed the foundation of the building would have been the choice place to hide it. “I just guessed.”
Her answer clearly disturbed him and he stood looking down at her for a short moment before turning away and heading back to the abbey. Lucy followed as closely as she could.
He went through the kitchen and beyond, into a storage room where a trap door in the floor led to the cellar below. A thick rope hung from one edge of the opening, and Lucy watched as Alex descended into the darkness. She heard his feet touch ground.
Lucy knelt at the opening and saw the top of Alex’s head in the gloom. He looked up. “Hand me a candle, would you?”
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