Dangerous

by Hawthorne, Julia

  The hand balanced on his leg curled into a tight fist, his eyes blazing like furious sapphires. But when he spoke, his gentle tone brushed away some of her fear.

  “I swear to you, milady, no one will take you from Caileann against your wishes.”

  Because it was Eric, she believed his grim vow. For good or ill, he was a man who’d proven he would do whatever was necessary to protect her. While she didn’t always approve of his methods, she couldn’t deny feeling comforted by the fierce warrior’s dedication to keeping her safe.

  Out in the bailey, she cast a longing look toward the stable nestled against the far wall. “I haven’t taken Cassandra anywhere in ages. I visited her this morn with her favorite apple treats, and she was delighted to see me. When I left without saddling her, she looked so crestfallen, I felt horrible.”

  “If you wish to go riding, perhaps the soldiers will allow you to use their training corral.”

  His suggestion was a sound one, but plodding about in circles didn’t appeal to her. She missed the freedom she’d once enjoyed to go where she pleased, when she wished to go. At the risk of sounding petulant, she let out a resigned sigh. “It’s not the same.”

  “You’re obviously very fond of her,” he said, clearly attempting to lift her spirits by a change of topic. “Have you owned her long?”

  “She was a wedding gift from my late husband. One of many, but the only one I kept.”

  “Might I make a suggestion?”

  Glancing over at him, she nodded. “Of course.”

  “You may find it better to remember those days while you learn to live in this one.”

  She considered him for a long moment and in spite of her dark mood, she smiled. “Eric Jordanne, I think you have the heart of a poet. How did it come to rest inside such a fierce warrior?”

  “I’ve no idea. A legacy of my father, perhaps.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I’ve no idea. He was a Spanish troubadour who visited Marchet one year. Even my mother knew only his first name, Leandro.” He added a soft chuckle. “That, and he was the most handsome man she’d ever met.”

  “Like his son.”

  Eric glanced down at her, his brow raised. Realizing she’d spoken her thought aloud, Elisabeth felt embarrassment heat her face. “Forgive my audacity, but you must have been one of the most pleasing men in France.”

  “What know you of the men in France?”

  “I’ve been to Rouen and Paris,” she assured him haughtily. “I was married, not blind.”

  As they entered the village gates, he gave her a look that was more wince than smile. “’Tis an honor to know you think so highly of me.”

  His exalted treatment of her still rankled, but repeatedly correcting him had done her no good, so this time she held her tongue. Their first stop was a cozy storefront that kept all manner of goods for its customers. When she and Eric stepped inside, the proprietor’s wife Davina greeted her with a warm hug and nodded to her escort. “Fáilte. Welcome to you.”

  He responded with a slight bow, and the older woman eyed him with forthright approval. Apparently, the Frenchman’s appeal extended beyond the young maids at the keep.

  “I’ve been saving something for you, Elisabeth.” Disappearing into the tiny storeroom, Davina returned with a square package wrapped in sheepskin. “Fergal bought it during his last trip to Paris.”

  Inside she found a volume bound in rich brown leather that had been carved into a fanciful design and accented with gold leaf. Fanning through the illuminated pages, she smiled. No doubt Fergal would be mortified to know he’d purchased a volume of provocative poetry for her.

  “It’s wonderful.” She barely managed to quell her laughter. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading it.”

  Davina drew herself up proudly, a smile lighting her heavily lined features. “He’ll be pleased to know you like it. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  While Elisabeth considered the array of slippers and brooches, Eric passed behind her. It seemed that he’d noticed something she hadn’t, and she watched him stroll around the wall that separated the business from the living quarters.

  “Eric!” Fergal greeted him with an enthusiasm that told her they’d already met. “I’d no idea you were here. I must thank you again for your help with my cart the other day. Without you, I’d have been sore pressed to return home before dark.”

  “I’m pleased that I could be of assistance.” He joined the merchant in the far corner. “’Tis quite a hole.”

  “That it is.” Fergal rubbed his left arm, which hung in a sling. “I’ve been trying to patch it, but the thatch keeps falling.”

  “A difficult job with only one hand. Would you care for two more?”

  “I’d welcome them. I can hold the lengths if you’ll weave the cross pieces.”

  Eric did as he was asked. While he patiently wove in the new section of thatch, the two men talked, their deep voices blending harmoniously in the small room.

  When they’d finished, Eric crossed his arms and surveyed the roof. “I fear this won’t last you the winter.”

  “The rains have been heavier than usual and with my arm still mending, I’ve not been able to repair it. So I’ve been praying for sunshine.”

  “We all have,” Eric assured him with a rueful grin. “But that may not be enough. I’m accompanying Lady Redmond on her errands, but if you’d like I could come back later and help with the rest.”

  The merchant beamed in gratitude. “’Tis a generous offer, but I canna accept.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve much more important duties.”

  Eric chuckled. “More important than keeping the rain off your bed?”

  “Listen to him!” his wife called out while she folded a length of heavy wool for her display.

  “Very well,” Fergal relented, “but I must pay you.” When Eric shook his head, the shopkeeper pressed. “I may not be a wealthy man, but I’m a proud one. I won’t be indebted to anyone.”

  “As you wish.”

  They walked back into the front room, and the owner motioned about him. “What do ye fancy?”

  Elisabeth watched Eric’s gaze sweep the shelves, then light with interest on a book far above her view. He reached up and drew it from its spot, tracing the tooled cover with his finger.

  “I’d very much like this.”

  She peeked over his arm at a green volume with the profile of a horse’s head on the cover. He held it out to her, and she flushed at being caught observing him. She took it and leafed through the pages filled with stories of legendary horses from Pegasus to silver-horned unicorns.

  “The pictures are beautiful,” she commented as she returned the book to him.

  “They are. Perhaps you might teach me to read some of the stories.”

  It was the first time he’d asked her for anything beyond keeping his identity secret, and her heart leapt at the knowledge that he now trusted her enough to ask for her help. “I’d enjoy that.”

  His eyes softened as he returned her smile. “Merci, milady. You’re very kind.”

  A few moments later, the smile faded, and he pulled back a step. Not far, but far enough to make it plain that he felt she’d drawn too close. He began sliding her purchases into the bag she’d brought, and she stopped him with a hand on his. Artfully, he slipped his hand free and resumed his task.

  “Eric, you’re not my servant,” she murmured as they left the shop. “There’s no need for you to carry my things.”

  Without meeting her eyes, he said, “’Tis my pleasure to help a lady with her parcels.”

  During their walk back to the keep, she jested with him, trying to dispel the stiffness that had suddenly arisen between them. When he was with Christian, he seemed much more at ease, and she repeated some of her brother’s droll comments, with no success. Perhaps she didn’t have them quite right, or Eric was distracted by something.

  Or, she thought with a little smile, perhaps i
t was her.

  Her bright mood dimmed when Eric stiffened beside her. Though he maintained their leisurely pace, he smoothly shifted her purchases to his left hand, grasping the hilt of his sword beneath his cloak.

  “Keep walking,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping the expanse of trees at the base of the hill. “Reach to my belt and unsheathe the knife. Take your new book from me and hide the knife inside.”

  She did as he bade her, a difficult task with her heart in her throat. She prayed she’d not need the blade he’d given her, but she blessed him for thinking to arm her. This time she wasn’t defenseless, and that knowledge gave her a measure of comfort.

  The castle walls didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She was unaware that she’d quickened her steps until Eric gently drew her back to match his stride.

  “Chatter and laugh as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Enjoying myself?” she echoed in disbelief. “Are you mad?”

  “Do you recall my promise to you, Lady Redmond?”

  When she glanced up, she met a very somber pair of eyes. They weren’t the flat gray she considered his knight’s stare, neither were they the warm blue she’d come to adore. This was a mixture of the two, a determined blend of soldier and something else she couldn’t define. Swallowing her fear, she nodded. “I remember.”

  “Good.”

  Resuming his watchful mien, he said nothing more until they reached the castle. It was all she could do not to embrace the guards at the gate, so grateful was she to be back safely.

  As they paused at the base of the bailey steps, she surreptitiously returned his knife. “Thank you, Eric.”

  “I’m pleased that you enjoyed your walk.”

  “I did, and I’m grateful to you, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

  Eyes narrowing, he asked, “What did you mean?”

  “I meant thank you.” Heedless of who might be watching, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “For being my knight.”

  ***

  Hard as he tried, Eric couldn’t make his quill behave. While a storm pelted the window with shards of ice, he diligently strove to copy the phrases Elisabeth had written. While hers flowed across the page, his clumsy attempts were spattered with black. To make matters worse, the ink stained everything it touched, including his fingers, which were far too large for such a dainty pen.

  For years, he’d longed to gain the ability to read and write for himself. In an effort to fill the dreary days when he was confined to the keep, he’d gladly accepted Elisabeth’s offer to tutor him. Sadly, though his mind had proven more than capable of understanding her directions, his coordination was sorely lacking. With a muttered curse, he began again.

  Laughing, Elisabeth looked up from her book. “What did you say?”

  “I need a larger quill.”

  “Or more practice with that one.”

  Eric threw the offensive thing down in disgust. “This is hopeless. I’m not suited to such delicate work.”

  “Surely, it’s not that bad.”

  She looked over his shoulder, the corner of her mouth quivering.

  “Laugh if you like.” He chuckled at his clumsy efforts. “’Tis most amusing.”

  Laugh she did, though she eased it with an encouraging smile. “Don’t give up hope. You’ll do better with time.”

  As she returned to her seat, Eric crossed his arms and leaned back to survey the snug sitting room. Elisabeth had transformed it into a library of sorts, with shelves full of books and sketches she’d done since returning to Caileann.

  “What is it you’re reading, milady?”

  “The book of poetry Fergal brought for me.”

  “May I see it?”

  Sitting beside him before the hearth, she opened the illuminated volume for them both to see. “The pictures are lovely.”

  From her tone, he knew she didn’t think he’d made enough progress in his lessons with her to read the intricate passages.

  “Truly, they are. And so is this: ‘For you have become a part of me, and I will love you all the days of my life. Longer, if I can.’” Noting her bewildered expression, he couldn’t keep back a grin. “These are love poems.”

  “They are.”

  “Such verses please you?”

  “Very much.”

  He turned to another gilded page. “Have you a favorite?”

  “They’re all very beautiful.”

  “Always with women, one is more beautiful than the rest.”

  “Do you mean to imply that men don’t have favorites?” She made to grab it from him, but he held it just out of reach. With a withering look, she put out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  “In a moment. What is this word?”

  Rolling her eyes, she looked to where he pointed. “Arouse.”

  “She arouses him? He wrote such a thing?”

  “She.”

  “She what?”

  “The poet,” Elisabeth explained. “A woman wrote this.”

  Eric lifted a fascinated brow. “About a man who arouses her?”

  “Her love. He arouses her love.”

  From the deepening flush on the lady’s cheeks, he suspected the elegant phrases could also be interpreted to hold the baser meaning he’d suggested. “How?”

  “By asking what pleases her.”

  He knew better than to pursue this subject with Elisabeth. Over the course of many lazy afternoons, they’d grown far too comfortable teasing one another. But already it was too late. He felt his stern resolve melting under the warmth of her smile.

  Because it was pointless to continue denying his fascination with her, he reached out to caress her cheek with his knuckle. “What pleases her?”

  “His attention. He listens when she speaks, hears what she doesn’t say.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” he murmured, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “Would you like more?”

  When he lifted her chin, her eyes glowed like warm emeralds. And very slowly, she nodded.

  He brought her mouth to his for a soft, tentative kiss. Her lips parted, and he delved between them to taste her. Lush and sweet, she wrung a groan from deep inside him. Kissing along the graceful line of her throat, he felt her pulse racing under his lips.

  She arched back and opened herself to him, tempting him with all he’d been wanting since he first met her. It would be so easy…

  In a last desperate attempt to preserve her honor, he wrenched himself away from her, staring at the patterned rug while he fought to master his raging body.

  “Eric, look at me.”

  Well aware that his voice would betray his frustration, he shook his head.

  “Why?” she asked, ducking in to steal a look at his face. “What troubles you?”

  Brief as it had been, their kiss had rattled his brain somehow, and at first he couldn’t form a response to her question. Once he felt more controlled, he lifted his head to address her properly. “I shouldn’t be here alone with you. ’Tis wrong.”

  “It feels very right to me.”

  Before she could say anything more, he stood and helped her to her feet. “Many thanks for the writing lesson, Lady Redmond. I think it best that I go.”

  “I teased you into kissing me. You canna fault yourself for my behavior.”

  “That may be, but I must leave now.”

  “Before you do something you think is wrong?”

  Her perceptiveness unnerved him, and he felt himself being drawn to her, helpless in the face of her bewitching smile. God, she was beautiful when she smiled.

  He brushed a kiss over the back of her hand and retreated to the other room. He couldn’t leave his post, but perhaps removing himself from her intoxicating presence would afford him the distance he needed to regain his composure. Even as the thought drifted through his mind, he recognized it for the foolishness that it was.

  The woman haunted his dreams nightly when they were nowhere near each other. ’Twas ludicrous to think that a mer
e stone wall would make any difference at all.

  ***

  That evening, one of the maids enlisted a friend to help her serve Christian’s end of the table, and the two made a pretty fuss over the young noble and his companion.

  “Her name is Lydia,” Christian informed him, leaning back in his chair while he stared at her with typical male intensity. “What do ye think of her?”

  “Very pretty.” Eric chuckled at his friend’s droll look. “She’d be a handful, not the sort of woman to anger. Especially since you fancy those treats her mother makes for you.”

  Christian laughed and clapped Eric on the shoulder. “Such wise advice. Tell me, which of these fair morsels strikes you?”

  “I’ll know better once I’ve sampled a few,” Eric retorted as they headed out to join the dancing.

  After just a pair of dances, however, he found himself searching out Elisabeth. He was hesitant to ask after her, but Glenda hurried over and curtsied before him.

  “Elisabeth sends a message. She would see you in her rooms after the dancing, please.”

  “She’s not ill, is she?”

  “No, sir, only tired. May I tell her you’ll come?”

  A knot of people approached them, and Eric turned her away from prying ears. “Tell her I’ll try.”

  He remained belowstairs awhile longer, wondering what Elisabeth could possibly want. At last, he gave in to his curiosity and left the hall. He tapped quietly on her door and entered as she bade him. He found her sitting in a chair before the fire reading a book, and she smiled up at him.

  “Please sit.” She motioned toward the seat opposite hers.

  Stiffly, he closed the door and did as she asked. Now that he was here, he realized that after their passionate encounter that afternoon, he shouldn’t have tempted fate by agreeing to see her alone. Even more worrisome than his lack of foresight, he found himself unable to summon the will to leave. As he silently cursed his weakness, he noted the inquisitive look on her face.

  “Forgive me, milady. You were saying something.”

  “No, I wasn’t, but it’s clear to me that something is vexing you. Perhaps I can help.”

  She moved to sit on the footrest before him, and it took all his strength for him to remain in his chair. The only response he trusted was silence. She traced the scar on his right hand, and he watched in disbelief as she leaned down to kiss the wound that would never properly heal.