“I gathered as much.”
She pulled away from him, glancing into a tall mirror with a frown. “I’m a ghastly sight, all in black. Sometimes I wonder—”
When her voice trailed off, Eric moved to her side. “You wonder what?”
“Nothing,” she answered hastily, shaking her head. “’Tis foolishness.”
“What is foolishness?”
Looking down at her folded hands, she softly said, “I wonder if a man will ever want me again.”
Gently, he tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. He longed to kiss her, prove just how desirable she was. But once he gave in to that temptation, he knew that not even chivalry would keep him from claiming her. Sadly, he knew a few clandestine nights with Elisabeth would be as much torture as pleasure. She was the daughter of a noble house, he the bastard son of a seamstress, so there could be nothing lasting between them. French or Scot, the rules of the nobility remained the same.
“No gown can hide beauty such as yours,” he said. “A man need only look to your fine spirit to see all he could ever want.”
Tilting her head, she gave him a curious look. “And what is it you want, Eric?”
He wanted her. In his bed at night, bringing light into his days. He wanted her laughter, her bright intelligence, everything she was for his own. Delicate and sweet, Claire had been his first love, his only love, for so long, he’d never considered that another woman might one day take her place at his side.
But an arm’s length away stood a woman who looked on him with adoration in her emerald eyes, offering him everything he could possibly wish for.
He need only reach out and take it.
“You’ve surely been missed by now, milady,” he said, holding his arm out to her. “We should return to the hall.”
***
Alone in his chamber, Eric tried to fall asleep. His evening with Elisabeth fresh in his dozing mind, he clung to the belief that he’d done the right thing leaving her with her father and retiring for the night.
A clear conscience made little difference to the rest of him. ’Twould have been easier to leash the hounds of hell than deny his longing for her. Finally, he gave up trying. Driven by frustration, he lurched to his feet and donned his woolen cloak. In the darkened corridor, he tumbled a caped figure to the floor.
The hood fell away, and his apology died in his throat. “Where are you going?”
Elisabeth pushed aside his hand and stood on her own, eyes glittering angrily in the dim light. “For a walk.”
“You can’t.”
“I can, and I will.”
She spun on her heel, but he caught her arm. “You mustn’t leave the keep, milady.”
“I’ll go mad if I stay in here another moment.”
She lifted a defiant chin, her expression so fierce it would have cowed the Devil. Bowing slightly, he offered her his arm. “Then I’ll accompany you.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Unarmed?”
Grinning, Eric reached into his right boot for his dagger. “I am always armed.” He replaced the blade and straightened. “You’ll be well-protected, I assure you.”
“Not a word to anyone,” she cautioned, pointing at him as if they were children planning an illicit romp.
Crooking his arm again, he chuckled quietly. “As you wish.”
When they strolled past the night guards, each nodded to Eric and bowed to Elisabeth. As they moved through the bailey, she drew her cloak more tightly about her throat.
“You’re trembling, Lady Redmond. Do you feel chilled?”
Rolling her eyes, she exclaimed, “Eric, by the saints! You’re an honored guest in my father’s house. Will you please call me Elisabeth?”
“I am in your father’s employ,” he corrected her evenly. “’Twould be most improper for one such as me to address a noblewoman by her given name.”
“One such as you? What sort is that?”
“You well know—”
“An honorable man? One of courage and integrity? Pray tell me, Eric Jordanne, just what kind of man are you?”
While he searched for a way to answer her, he noticed her staring intently into the shadows beside the stone blacksmith’s hut.
“You see something?” he asked, following her line of sight.
“No.”
She moved away, but he caught her arm and turned her to face him. “You’re certain?”
After another glance at the building, she nodded. “I’m certain. Would you take me back, please?”
Elisabeth’s sudden desire to return to the keep roused his suspicion, but Eric did as she bade him and walked her to her chambers.
“Bolt this door behind me.” He pointed to the other that led to her sitting room. “And that one.”
“I will.”
“Don’t open them for anyone but Glenda or your family. Or me.”
He turned to leave. To his surprise, she pushed past him and closed the heavy door, standing with her back against it. “Please don’t go back to the bailey.”
“You did see someone.”
“Over by the smithy. He was watching us.”
“What did he look like?”
“A shadow. His cloak was black, and I couldn’t see his face.” Her hands curled into fists, as if she were making ready to fight the man who’d invaded her home. “Someone in Caileann let him through the gates.”
“’Twould seem that way,” Eric grumbled absently while he planned the best strategy for capturing their unwanted visitor.
“Promise me you won’t leave the keep until morning.”
Her perceptiveness was unnerving, at best. She read him as easily as one of her books.
“Promise me,” she insisted. “Don’t make me tie you down.”
Unbidden, Eric’s gaze drifted to the wide tester bed. All but one of the drapes had been drawn for the night, giving him a tantalizing view inside the intimate space they created. Inviting him to sink into the sumptuous feather mattress and allow her to do as she’d threatened. He easily conjured an image of Elisabeth tying his wrists to the posts, caressing his naked body with her own. Laughing merrily as she rendered him helpless before having her way with him.
“Eric, what’s wrong?”
Her voice jolted him from his lustful thoughts, and he quickly returned his attention to her face. “Nothing.”
“Nothing truly, or nothing you wish to share with me?”
His heart pounded as if it meant to slam through his chest. If he didn’t leave in the next few moments…
“Pleasant dreams to you, milady.”
Pausing only long enough to hear the bolt slide behind him, he swore quietly as he strode along the corridor.
Guard Elisabeth Redmond. What had he been thinking?
***
What had he been thinking? She’d seen Eric’s regard shift to her bed, watched storm clouds blow through his eyes. Then he’d cleverly avoided her gaze and fled her chamber.
Pondering his odd behavior, Elisabeth strolled to her armoire and opened one of the carved oaken doors. She shed her heavy gown and hung it beside the other dark dresses. Gladly, she did the same with her stiff underclothes. She pulled on her new dressing gown, admiring the rich burgundy velvet in her looking glass. Completely inappropriate for a widow, somehow the elegant robe had found its way into her armoire. When she’d questioned Christian, her rebellious brother would only smile.
While she tied the bodice, she imagined Eric’s hands on her, caressing her through the soft material. In her mind, she turned toward him, tipping her face up for the kiss she’d thought he might give her earlier. One advantage of being a widow, she could read a man’s desire in his eyes.
And Eric wanted her.
The thought of having him with her all night actually made her shiver. Far from wifely duty, with Eric lovemaking would be truly that, sparked by something that she could neither define nor understand. Danger had thrown them together, and the more she learned about him, the more fascinat
ing he became to her.
As she settled into her bed, for the first time the prospect of sharing it with a man appealed to her very much.
***
A few terse queries to the guards told Eric none of them had seen anything unusual that evening. The bitter wind had scoured the ground near the smithy’s hut, leaving it smooth as clay. Along the far wall, however, he found the imprints of a man’s boots, heavier in the toe than the heel. Someone had crouched there a long time waiting for something.
A lover, perhaps, or some bargain best made under the cover of darkness. He followed the prints leading from the man’s hiding place and bent down to examine the trail more closely. Just behind the heels, the jagged marks of spurs ticked the hard ground.
He was a knight.
A clever one who’d doubled back on his tracks almost perfectly. Glancing toward the castle, Eric no longer saw the guards who’d been standing watch when he came out.
He ran across the courtyard and up the wide stone steps. Pausing only to bar the heavy doors behind him, he dropped to a soundless walk. Knife in hand, he crept up the winding stairs that led to the family’s private quarters.
Even before he reached the top, he heard whispers in the corridor. Though he couldn’t make out the words, the timbre of the voice sounded much like his own. Dread slithered up his spine as he rounded the top step to find a man cloaked in black outside Elisabeth’s door.
“Elisabeth! Don’t—”
His warning came too late. She’d no sooner opened the door than the man grabbed her in a stranglehold.
“Stay as you are,” he ordered, drawing a knife from its sheath on his belt. “Toss me your weapons.”
Eric slid his dagger across the floor, keeping a wary eye on the blade pressed to Elisabeth’s throat. In her eyes, he saw a worrisome mix of fear and anger. She wouldn’t go easily.
The intruder studied Eric a moment and nodded in recognition. “Eric Jordanne,” he acknowledged in a silken French accent. “So you escaped, after all.”
“As did you, Rafael. But you’ll not leave this castle alive unless you release her.”
“Come now, brother,” Rafael taunted. “You wouldn’t kill me over a woman, would you?”
“What the Devil?” Christian charged from his rooms wearing a pair of loosely laced trews. His sleepy eyes widened, then grew calm as glass. “Let her go.”
“For the love of God! Does no one in this house sleep?”
Christian’s chuckle was strained, but somehow he smiled. “Very seldom. So many interesting things happen this time of night.”
Eric knew Christian was stalling, allowing him time for the torturously slow progress he was making toward Elisabeth. Fortunately, the rest of the family slept in another wing. If luck were with them, no one else would join the fray. Men tended to become unpredictable when surrounded.
“Surely you can find a more willing maid somewhere about,” Christian said amiably.
“This one suits me. I have very fine taste,” Rafael boasted, pulling Elisabeth closer. “Roses,” he murmured with a lewd smile. “How I love roses.”
As he rubbed his cheek over Elisabeth’s, his fingers drifted to the laces closing her dressing gown. Deftly, he untied them and slipped his hand inside to fondle her breast. Willing her to allow the groping, Eric prayed the distraction would enable him to surprise Rafael.
His silent plea went unheeded.
The intruder hissed as her teeth sank into his arm. “You little heathen. You’ll pay dearly for that.”
When he drew his hand back to strike her, Eric rushed him. Shoving Elisabeth toward Christian, he kept a cautious eye on the fighting knife. He’d retrieve his own, but he dared not take his eyes from his opponent. Wily and without a conscience, Rafael had always been a formidable adversary.
Eric took a fist on the jaw, ducking as the blade whistled past his ear. Having thrown his attacker off stride for a single precious moment, he seized the opening he’d created.
He went to his knees as if dazed. When the mercenary bent down, Eric came up behind him. Grasping his waist in one hand and his head in the other, Eric twisted.
Elisabeth gasped as a sickening crack echoed along the wide corridor. With a last pathetic wheeze, the breath left the man’s lungs, and he sank to the cold stone floor.
Eric spared him not even a glance. He stepped over the body as if it were just so much litter blocking his path.
“Milady—”
She shrank against Christian, and Eric abruptly halted. In his eyes, she saw nothing of her champion. The jovial blue had cooled to steel, flat and soulless. As he regarded her, his visage slowly warmed. The monster she’d glimpsed gave way to the fine, courageous man who’d emerged from the darkness and saved her once again.
Bewildered by the transformation in his appearance, she could only stare at him. Seeming to sense her disquiet, he shifted his gaze to her brother.
“Stay with her, Christian. I’ll deal with this.”
Eric hefted the corpse onto his shoulder as if it were a sack of wheat headed for the grainary. He limped while he made his way down the corridor, and a chill swept over her as she watched him go. He’d killed his own brother to protect her.
What sort of man did such a thing?
***
With weary steps, Eric ascended the winding staircase. ’Twas long past the witching hour, and he welcomed the silence of the castle. While he’d dispatched his grisly duties, his thoughts had grown more tangled, until now they felt irreversibly knotted.
Never would he forget the horror in Elisabeth’s eyes.
The memory of it struck him like a physical blow, and he reached for the rail to steady himself. He had only to drag his leaden feet down the short corridor and collapse into his bed. Perhaps now he could sleep.
As he rounded the last curve in the wall, he froze in mid-stride.
Slowly, Elisabeth turned toward him. Alone in the dimly-lit corridor, she seemed a vision risen from the mist. The crimson gown swept the floor behind her, rising in graceful folds to the fitted bodice. The burnished richness of her hair cascaded to her waist in luxuriant curls.
He could imagine no sight more enchanting than Elisabeth Redmond silhouetted in torchlight.
Lust put a sharp edge on his tone. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you,” she answered evenly. “Where have you been?”
“I found a horse tethered outside the walls. I lashed Dumont to the saddle and sent the horse into the forest. No doubt, it will find its way home to be fed.”
He’d thought it impossible for her to look any more horrified than she had earlier, but he’d been gravely mistaken.
“The poor horse. Why would you do that?”
“Beyond disposing of the body, I wished to send a message to the others.”
“What message could they possibly receive?”
Eric grimaced and fought for control of his rage. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than he already had. “Another attempt to take you will meet with the same result. Even mercenaries value their lives above gold.”
“Dumont. That was his name.”
“Oui. Rafael Dumont.”
She absorbed that in silence, pacing a few steps away. When she faced him, he steeled himself for the question he’d known she would ask him. “Was he truly your brother?”
“No.”
“A Templar?”
Eric nodded, and her lips compressed into a harsh, disapproving line. “Have you any idea who he might have been working for?”
“None. I had no idea he was in Scotland. I haven’t seen him in more than a year.”
As he closed the distance between them, he saw the mark of Dumont’s blade on her slender throat. Without thinking, he tipped her jaw up toward the light. He traced the wound with his thumb, paused over the beat fluttering just beneath it.
Her day dresses covered her from chin to toes, but the velvet gown flowed over skin softer than the finest silk. As
he fingered the gold cording that trimmed the open neckline, her delicate shiver raced through his blood.
“You’re safe from him, milady,” he said as he withdrew his hand. “He won’t harm you again.”
Canting her head, she studied him with a grave expression. “You don’t regret killing someone you once considered a brother?”
“He’d have taken you from your own home to a fate I don’t wish to consider,” he replied darkly. “My only regret is that I cannot kill him again.”
Chapter Seven
Elisabeth glanced up as someone paused before her. Eric stood beside her chair, her heavy mantle held open in his hands. So handsome was he with a length of Redmond plaid tossed carelessly back over his shoulders. Worn over gray trews, the creamy tunic and doublet accented the deep blue of his eyes.
Of late, those eyes had been dulled by fatigue and worry. His devotion to her cost him dearly, yet he’d prepared for a walk in the damp, chilly air. Such a maze was he, it would surely take an entire lifetime to understand him.
“Is there something you wanted?” she asked.
“During breakfast, you mentioned needing linen and cording. I thought perhaps you’d like to go to the village and get them.”
“I hardly require an escort for a short walk down the hill.”
“With respect, Lady Redmond, you do.”
She raised a defiant chin. “I do not.”
He dropped to his knee and balanced a massive forearm across his thigh. “I understand that you detest my trailing after you, but ’tis the only way I know to keep you safe. If you’ve another suggestion, I’ll gladly listen.”
In truth, she didn’t mind him trailing after her. She only wished he’d do it of his own accord rather than as her paid protector. “It’s been a fortnight since Dumont was here, and nothing more has happened.”
“That doesn’t mean the danger to you is past. Often, an opponent will draw back to regain his strength while he plots his next attack. This man has expended considerable effort to take you, and I don’t believe he’d surrender so easily.”
She heard the meaning beneath his cautious words. “You mean he won’t stop until he has me.”
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