A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3)

by Catherine Kean

  Drawing in an unsteady breath, she glared at him. “You make no sense.”

  “I do. You know I do.” A brazen smile tilted his mouth. Pursing his lips, he blew across her fingers.

  Astonishing sensations leapt through her. Heat. Cold. Longing.

  Need.

  She shuddered, unable to stop her body from trembling. “Stop.”

  He blew again. His soft exhalation swept her skin like the brush of the sheerest silk. “Do I tempt you—”

  “Stop!”

  “—to be—”

  “Stop!”

  “—a woman?” He kissed her fingers.

  Her lips parted on a gasp, and her knees wobbled. That kiss . . . She felt it down in her womb.

  As he raised his chin, she yanked hard on her hand. She expected him to keep her trapped, but abruptly, he released her.

  She stumbled back, scrambling for balance.

  He turned away. “Tempt me once more this evening, Leona, and I will do far more than kiss you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Refusing to look back at Leona—although he’d love to see her expression after his threat—Aldwin headed to the tub. He had to walk away from her. Standing close to her, touching her, made his thoughts shift to the many pleasurable ways to spend a night in a cottage with a woman.

  He clenched his hands, welcoming the discomfort. By God, he wouldn’t lose his grip on the knightly morals he valued so highly. Not when by tomorrow night, they’d reach Branton Keep. Indeed, his warning he’d do more than kiss Leona was as much to caution himself as her.

  When he neared the tub, he tried not to let his strides slow or his shoulders slump. Yet his pain had worsened to a point he could barely tolerate. He longed to grab his flask and finish off the brandy; he dared not indulge. One careless mistake on his part and Leona would be gone, along with the pendant.

  He dipped his fingers into the water, slightly cloudy from the soap Leona had used. The bath wasn’t as warm as he’d hoped to cleanse his injury and ease his fatigue, but ’twould do. Neale and his family had done so much; Aldwin wouldn’t ask for more hot water. And, after the day’s ride, he longed for some quiet.

  Leona, thankfully, hadn’t said a word since his threat. That could well mean, however, that she was up to mischief.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find her standing by the pallets, running her fingers through her tresses to smooth the strands. She should be staying warm by the fire while her hair dried, but doubtless she wanted to be as far from him as possible.

  Her back faced him but, clearly sensing his stare, she spun around. Suspicion sharpened her gaze and her lips pressed together. Did she think he’d changed his mind about kissing her if she tempted him again? That he wanted to kiss her now?

  He did. Despite the tortuous past between them. Despite her aggravating willfulness. Despite the tired gown that swamped her body with all the allure of a turnip sack. Desire for her pulled at him, coaxing him to walk back to her and take what he wanted.

  Aldwin forced himself to look at the bath. If their lips met, he wouldn’t be satisfied with a kiss. Her hair, tangling in a shiny mane about her shoulders, invited his hands to plunge into it and feel its softness. Her skin, glowing from a healthy scrubbing, begged to be touched. And, the gown hiding her lithe beauty . . . His fingers itched to rip off her garments and explore her nakedness.

  A muffled sound—an oath?—made him look her way. She’d turned her back to him again.

  “Pardon?” he said.

  Leona shook her head. With jerky movements, she pulled more hair between her fingers.

  “You are not tempting me, are you?”

  “Nay!” Leona gaped at him. “Why would you think that?”

  He shrugged, then flinched at the pain in his side. “While I am bathing, do not think about running for the door. I can be out of this tub faster than you imagine. Neale is also keeping watch.”

  Aldwin caught the hem of his tunic and drew it up over his stomach.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Undressing.” When the garment pulled past his rib cage, he groaned. The pain made his stomach churn.

  “’Tis . . . ’Tis not—”

  “Proper? You do not have to look.” Resisting the temptation to remind her that in the cavern she’d seen all of him anyway, Aldwin yanked the tunic over his head and dropped it on the floor. He released his breath on a gust.

  More muttering. He caught the words “hellfire” and “wretched.”

  He fought a grin. “You must have seen your brother undress.”

  “Aye, years ago.” A pause. “He was my brother.”

  Her wobbled voice made him grin. He shouldn’t tease her, but she’d enjoyed tormenting him earlier, when she’d slid her fingers over her fetching bosom and then bared her shoulder.

  Trying to shake off that enticing memory, he said, “Surely you have seen men-at-arms disrobe. Most warriors do after an afternoon practicing their fighting skills.”

  “I have,” she agreed, “but—”

  He flexed his shoulder muscles and rubbed at the tension knotted there.

  She made a breathy sound.

  A noise a woman made while experiencing bliss.

  Desire grabbed at his loins like a whore’s hands. God’s blood! What she did to him was unprecedented. She must never know, or she could use that against him. Here. Tonight.

  The faster he got in the bath, the better.

  His hands dropped to the suddenly tight fastenings of his hose. “As I said, you do not have to watch.”

  He expected to hear frantic cursing while she turned away in maidenly outrage. Instead, he caught a soft whisper. She’d moved from beside the pallets. Toward him.

  Surprise—and anticipation—slammed through him.

  She stood only a few steps away, staring at his torso. Not at the bulked swell of his chest, but the slash below his rib cage. The coolness on his skin wasn’t a draft, he realized, but blood.

  Her gaze lifted to meet his. “’Twill need stitching.”

  What was she about? Didn’t she realize how perilous ’twas for her, when desire raged in his veins?

  “I will manage.”

  “Leave that wound, and ’twill become corrupted.”

  He was already corrupted, in more ways than he dared admit. Yet in terms of his wound, she spoke true.

  “There is a skilled healer at Branton Keep. She will tend my injury when we arrive there.”

  Leona frowned. “’Twill need care before then.”

  “I will cleanse it well”—he unfastened one point of his hose—“while in the bath.”

  Leona’s gaze dropped to his fingers, then his swollen loins. Her eyes widened and she stepped back.

  Good. She was fleeing.

  Squaring her shoulders, she held his stare. “You warriors are all alike. Proud and stubborn. Just like my brother.”

  “Neither of us as stubborn as you.”

  Leona smiled. Why did she have to be so beautiful?

  Aldwin yanked another point on his hose. It hissed free of its fastening and this time, she whirled away.

  “Once you have washed that wound, I will stitch it.”

  She spoke as a warrior queen would address a lowly foot soldier. “Will you?” he growled, willing her to look at him, but she didn’t glance back as she headed for the cupboards.

  Before he could protest further, she said, “Unless you close that wound, you will fall ill. Feverish, weak, you will be of little use to Lord de Lanceau.”

  Damnation, but—

  “You got the wound while saving me from cutthroat poachers. Since I do not wish to be blamed for causing the death of the legendary crossbowman Aldwin Treynarde”—she arched an eyebrow at him—“I will stitch your wound.”

  Facing the cupboard, she pulled open the top drawer.

  He rubbed his brow. Somehow, she’d justified her meddling by taking full responsibility for his injury.

  The drawer slid shut. She
pulled open another.

  “Bathe,” she said, “and I will find a needle and thread. There must be some about. You can give another coin to Neale to pay for it.”

  Leona was not touching his body tonight. “I will stitch the wound myself.”

  “Impossible. You cannot reach properly.”

  “How do I know you will not stab me in the eye? Or sew my skin to my—”

  She sighed as though he was speaking nonsense. “I might be tempted”—she waited, clearly toying with him—“but I would not. No matter how much I hated you.”

  She’d bent down to rummage in a drawer. As she reached forward, her hair slipped past her shoulder in a shiny swath. The gown pulled tighter over her breasts.

  Ah, God.

  Aldwin tugged down his hose, stepped into the tub, and sank into the water.

  Tipping his head back against the wooden side, he groaned.

  He’d forgotten the soap.

  ***

  Leona continued to search the kitchen cupboards. She tried to ignore the slosh of water. Not an easy task, when the aftereffects of Aldwin’s request to bring him the soap still sparked inside her.

  “Leona,” he’d said in a voice so tight, she thought he’d break his teeth speaking her name. “I need the soap.”

  “Mmm.” She’d kept searching through the clothing in the drawer. If he wanted the soap, he could fetch it himself.

  “Bring it to me.”

  Her head had snapped up. Glaring at him, she’d said, “’Tis on the table. Get it yourself.”

  His gaze had lit with anger, as well as frustration. Water clinging to the ends of his hair, he’d looked at the table and sighed. “I thought, because of my wound—”

  Ward had sometimes spoken to her in that same self-pitying way, hoping she’d tackle a task for him. Of course, his wounds had been less serious than Aldwin’s.

  Gripping the tub’s rim, Aldwin had started to rise. To know he’d soon be walking across the room behind her, naked—

  “Wait!” She’d straightened so fast, her spine had popped. “Do not stand up.”

  He’d paused. Muscles had bunched in his arms. “How else will I get the soap?”

  Was he grinning?

  “I will fetch it for you.” Skewering him with another glare, she’d added, “For all I know, you might fall getting out of the tub.”

  “Imagine what I might injure then.”

  To her embarrassment, she had, indeed, been able to imagine. Heat had swept her face. Waving her hand, she’d said, “Sit down and . . . wait.”

  To her relief, he’d sat.

  “You are most kind for helping me,” he’d said, an unnerving lightness to his tone.

  Kind? I didn’t want to see your gorgeous, naked arse. She’d strode to the table and snatched up the bar. “The longer you soak your injury to cleanse it, the better.”

  Stay in there all night, why don’t you? She’d almost smiled.

  Until he’d crooked his finger. “As you ordered, I am waiting.”

  He had watched her through the wet tangle of his hair. How wicked he’d looked. And, heart-wrenchingly handsome. And . . .

  Don’t be a fool!

  Leona had marched to the tub.

  Aldwin’s eyes had widened with the faintest alarm. “Thank—”

  She’d tossed the soap into the water. It had landed with a plop near his belly. At least, where she’d guessed his stomach to be, beneath the filmy water.

  “—you.”

  “My pleasure,” she’d gritted. Spinning on her heel, she’d gone straight to the kitchen and pulled open the closest drawer, trying not to heed her shaking hands.

  As her frazzled mind focused on the items now before her, she catalogued assorted spoons, a stone mortar and pestle, and other implements. How interesting. No knives. At some point Neale must have removed all that could be used as a weapon.

  She pushed the drawer shut and opened another to find several small earthenware pots. After removing the stopper from the largest one, she inhaled the brisk herbal aroma. Ointment. Folded cloths and bandages were pushed to one corner and beside them lay a small drawstring bag. Inside it, she found a small pair of scissors, several needles, and thread.

  She snatched up some cloths and the salve. With a triumphant bang, she shoved the drawer closed.

  When she turned to announce her find, she sensed Aldwin close by. Her gaze flew to the tub. He stood between it and the table, the towel wrapped around his lean hips.

  He glanced at the bag in her hand, as though to gauge any potential threat to his well-being. “Did you find a needle and thread?”

  She dangled the bag between her fingers.

  He didn’t look relieved, but worried.

  She held up the salve. “Ointment, as well.”

  He nodded.

  Leona frowned. He looked paler than moments ago. Did he fear the pain of the stitches? Or was he concerned she’d do a rotten job?

  “What is wrong?” She tried to sound sympathetic.

  “Naught.”

  “Does your wound hurt? Do you feel faint?”

  He scowled. A reddish hue tinged his cheekbones. He looked almost . . . embarrassed.

  Whatever his quandary was, they’d discuss it later. She put the cloths, bag, and ointment on the table, and then returned to the kitchen for a small pot, which she filled with fresh water. She set the vessel in the fire.

  “’Twill be easiest if you stand by the table,” Leona said.

  “All right.”

  She drew out a needle, dropped it into the pot, and waited for the water to heat.

  As she drained the hot water into the bath to retrieve the needle, footfalls scraped behind her. Aldwin had crossed to the table.

  Eyes narrowed, he watched her draw near. The flush still stained his face, and when he exhaled, he emitted a small, distressed groan.

  Part of her softened. She genuinely wanted to help him. Yet he was a proud man; she mustn’t let him know she’d guessed his fear.

  After drawing closer the items she needed, she inspected his wound. How warm and supple his skin felt against her fingertips.

  His chest rose and fell on a sharp breath.

  “I have sewn stitches before,” she said, withdrawing thread from the bag and sitting on the bench beside him. “Ward always came to me when he needed care.”

  Aldwin stared at the opposite wall, as if he’d discovered a fascinating distraction.

  “I will sew first, and then rub in some ointment.” She fingered her drying hair back over her shoulder, and then pressed together the edges of his wound.

  He flinched.

  She clucked her tongue. “I have not started yet.”

  His hands flexed and unflexed. “Tell me . . . Talk to me . . . about Ward.”

  A plea, to have a focus other than her stitching.

  She might have gloated over his terror. However, she’d vowed to help him; taunting him would only hinder her efforts. Nodding to acknowledge his request, she said, “Ward was always getting into mischief”—she eased the needle into Aldwin’s flesh—“right until the day he left Pryerston to begin his adventures in the East.”

  Aldwin winced.

  “I remember him stumbling into the great hall one spring afternoon. I must have been about seven years old.” With a soft rasp, the thread pulled taut. “He clutched his left arm against his chest. My mother was telling me about a lord and his family who’d soon visit the keep. When Ward saw Mother . . .”

  Leona pushed in the needle again. Using a cloth, she wiped blood from Aldwin’s skin.

  He grimaced. “Aye?”

  “Ward croaked like a drunken frog.” She laughed. “His eyes almost popped out of his head. He looked so comical, I chuckled. So did my mother.”

  “Then what?”

  “He asked me to come outside. Mother, busy with preparations, waved me away. Ward hurried me into the stable, whereupon he pulled up his left sleeve.”

  Three stitches done. A
few more to go.

  Sensing Aldwin’s stare, Leona looked up at him. He appeared less pale now. A promising sign.

  “And?” he pressed.

  She smiled, glad her story intrigued him. “He had fallen from a tree. His friends had dared him to climb up and snatch a starling’s nest. But before he reached the fourth limb up, his foot slipped. He fell, scraping his arm on a lower branch.” She shook her head. “I could have kicked him.”

  Aldwin chuckled. “Why?”

  His easy laughter sent a strange giddiness rushing through her. “We had climbed that same tree many times. I taught him the best way up.”

  “You?”

  His shock made her grin.

  “My parents never knew. My father would have bellowed until he turned hoarse. Mother would have forbidden me to go outside again. Ward and I swore to keep our tree climbing to ourselves.” After dabbing away more blood, she gently pulled the thread to secure another stitch. “I expect Ward ignored my advice about the tree because his friends were goading him on. Because of his carelessness, he tore one of his best tunics and needed five stitches.”

  Another successful stitch. The wound was coming together nicely.

  “While I sewed him up, I scolded him,” she went on. “I reminded him that because of his foolishness, I had to look after him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He reminded me I had been foolish more than once myself.”

  Aldwin laughed. “You, foolish?”

  She frowned up at him.

  Aldwin raised an apologetic hand. “I could not resist. You realize, of course, Ward did not have to ask you for help. He could have asked the castle healer or a friend.”

  “I know. He asked me because I would not give away his secret.”

  “That he fell from the tree.”

  “Aye.” Leona took another stitch. “Also, that he was terrified of needles.”

  Aldwin was silent a long moment. “Ah.”

  “Ah,” she repeated, tempted to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. But she didn’t.

  Their gazes met. Aldwin’s brow creased. She wondered if he was angry with her for noticing his fear. Before she could venture another word, though, he asked, “What terrifies you?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I am curious.”