She thought of making up an answer. In this rare moment of understanding between them, though, she didn’t want to lie. “Failure,” she said softly.
“To escape me?”
“Aye. And, to save my father’s keep.”
Aldwin’s rib cage expanded on a breath. “As lord, your sire is responsible for his holdings.”
She pulled on the thread and tried to stop her hands from trembling.
When she didn’t say more, Aldwin’s hand edged under her chin. Tilting her head up, he forced her to meet his stare. “Since we will reach Branton Keep tomorrow, ’tis best I do understand. Above all, how you came to have de Lanceau’s pendant.”
Her palms moistened. She didn’t want to reveal her sire’s moral weakness. To speak of it was akin to betrayal.
“I vowed to help you, Leona,” Aldwin said. “I sense you are caught up in a situation greater than you anticipated. Yet I cannot speak to de Lanceau for you unless I know the truth.”
“About the pendant,” she murmured.
“To begin. How did you come to have it?”
She rubbed her lips together. “I . . . stole it.”
“From the man paid to deliver the jewel to de Lanceau?”
“From the baron and Veronique. I do not know how they got it.”
Aldwin’s gaze brightened with interest.
She pulled from his hold, relieved he didn’t try to keep her captive. As she knotted the thread, she recalled hurrying up the secret passageway that led to the locked door behind a tapestry in her father’s solar; she’d huddled against the door, her ear pressed to a crack. “Days ago, they arrived at Pryerston’s gates and asked to speak in private with my father. They claimed to have new details of my mother’s death. I reminded him ’twas an accident and that no good could come of revisiting her demise, but my sire welcomed them in.”
“Did he not know they were criminals? That de Lanceau had been searching for them for years?”
Leona shook her head. “I did not realize who they were, either. I sensed, though, when they arrived at Pryerston, that their intentions were not honorable. That is why I listened in on their meeting.”
“Ah.”
“My father took them to his solar. There, they presented the pendant and asked him to keep it for them for a while. He agreed.”
Aldwin whistled. “He was not suspicious?”
“At first, he was.” She blinked away the sting of tears. “He would have refused, I am sure, but Veronique was . . . persuasive. She preyed upon his grief. In return for his help, she promised to see my mother’s death avenged.”
“I thought ’twas an accident.”
His harsh tone made the hair at Leona’s nape prickle. “I am certain ’twas. However, Veronique insisted that de Lanceau had neglected his duty to repair the road my mother traveled the day she died. A terrible storm overtook her and her armed escort on their return from shopping at a nearby market. The road turned into a sheet of mud. When her horse fell, she was crushed beneath it and died.”
Aldwin rubbed Leona’s shoulder. Somehow, that made the anguish inside her worse.
“My sire, at one point, believed de Lanceau responsible, too,” she went on, focusing on cutting the thread. “My father was devastated by Mother’s death. He drank too much and wrote a bitter letter to de Lanceau—”
“I remember it.”
She didn’t doubt de Lanceau had discussed her sire’s fiery words with his trusted men. In his curt reply, de Lanceau had expressed his condolences and promised to have the road inspected and repaired, but hadn’t accepted blame. “I urged Father to burn that letter rather than send it, but he wouldn’t listen. When he agreed to aid Veronique and the baron, I refused to let him become further enmeshed in that mistake. I took the pendant from its safe box without their knowing, arranged the meeting at the tavern, and—”
“Became my captive.”
“Aye.”
“What of the reward for the pendant’s return? You were determined to have it.”
She sighed. “To replenish Pryerston’s coffers. That coin is much needed for food, repairs, and”—shoes to mend little Adeline’s legs—“other necessities.”
Aldwin raised his brows. “The revenue from your sire’s estates, wisely spent, should pay for what you mentioned.”
“It should, aye.” She looked away, hating the moisture blurring her vision. “My father is a strong man. He might be unwell now, but he will rise from his despair. Until then, I must do all I can to help him.” Setting aside the scissors, she picked up the ointment pot and pulled off the lid. The strong scent made her eyes water even more.
As she rubbed the greenish cream on his wound, he said, “You have risked your life for your sire.”
“And, the good folk of his keep. Ward would have done so. Since he is dead, the responsibility is mine.”
“A noble—but foolish—sentiment.”
She paused. His expression held no mockery, only determination.
“You and I both have strong loyalties,” she said while applying more ointment.
“On that matter, we agree.” A wry smile touched Aldwin’s mouth.
She managed a smile back. “How do you feel?”
Dread clouded his gaze. Did he worry he’d need more stitches tonight?
“I am finished tending your wound.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Good.”
Shifting back on the bench, she dried her fingers on a clean cloth.
His arm muscles rippled as he slowly rolled his shoulders. The planes of his torso shifted, and she smothered an appreciative sigh. What would it feel like to run her hands over his chest? Would that skin feel as smooth as what was at his ribs?
Shaking her head, she pushed the lid back on the ointment pot. The scissors and needle would need proper cleaning, and—
Strong fingers swept into her hair.
Leona started.
With gentle pressure, Aldwin tipped her head back, his fingers sliding against her nape. He stared down into her face. If he bent at the waist, he could kiss her. Not that she wanted such, for he might strain his stitches.
Her breath fluttered. The bench squeaked as she pushed up to standing.
Aldwin didn’t let go of her. Neither did he step away, even though their bodies were shamefully close.
Of all wickedness, she yearned for the brush of his mouth. She remembered the delicious, demanding taste of him, and her insides seemed to melt.
He studied her lips. Was he about to say she tempted him? That he was taking the kiss he’d threatened earlier?
Oh, God, aye. Aye!
Her breath floated. It hovered, like a bird waiting to soar.
“Thank you,” he murmured, “for tending me.”
“Aye,” she whispered back.
“I thank you, also, for telling me the truth.”
She should say more—something, anything—but her mind seemed hazy. Mayhap the strong-smelling ointment had muddled her senses. Or he was confusing her thoughts, with his near nakedness and smile that seemed so genuine.
He is your captor, Leona. Let him into your heart, and you’ll never escape.
Turning her head away, she said, “I will tidy the—”
His hand at her nape drew her back.
“Aldw—”
His lips covered hers. Not a hard, possessive kiss. Not a crushing of her will. But an honest, tender kiss that made her heart plummet to her toes.
As quickly as it began, it ended. Her breath whooshed between her lips and she blinked while the cottage gradually came into focus.
Confusion and desire rushed through her while she stared at Aldwin. She squeezed her eyes shut. She did not desire him. Nor did she wish he’d offered more than that fleeting kiss.
“I will tidy up.” His footfalls echoed. “Why not eat some of the fare Neale brought, before it grows cold?”
She opened her eyes. Aldwin was pouring water into the pot she’d used to clean the needle. He glanced at
her, but she saw none of the longing she’d spied when he’d drawn away, rubbing his lips together.
“That kiss?” she asked.
He shrugged as though she’d mentioned the best way to sweep the floor.
A peculiar ache weighed upon her. “Why did you kiss me? Because, somehow, I tempted you? Because I shared memories of Ward? Because I confided in you about the pendant?”
“Because you are you, Leona. ’Tis reason enough.”
***
While Aldwin dealt with the items used to tend his wound, he discreetly watched Leona. She marched to the bathing tub and washed her hands so thoroughly, he vowed she was soaping away all memory of touching him. Then she stomped to the kitchen, fetched bowls, mugs, and spoons, and served herself some vegetable stew and wine. She sat with a huff and began to eat.
Not once did she look at him. Her face remained flushed, though, suggesting she was fully aware of him and that kiss he’d bestowed upon her.
Aldwin shook his head and tucked the needle, thread, and scissors back into the bag. He couldn’t fault her anger. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. That brush of his lips had been a whim. An impulsive need to taste her, right then.
Would he do the same again?
Aye.
Aldwin headed to the kitchen and dropped the items back in their place, groaning as he straightened and shoved the drawer shut. Every movement hurt. No doubt he’d feel better after a good meal and a sound night’s sleep, as would Leona.
His gaze slid to the fireside where he’d make his bed, perfectly situated between the pallets—where Leona would sleep—and the door. He must sleep tonight. If he didn’t rest, he’d be ill prepared to protect Leona and the pendant on the last part of their journey to Branton Keep. So close to completing his mission for de Lanceau, he wouldn’t fail.
Protect Leona. The thought stirred a heady warmth within him, close to what he’d felt when he kissed her. Each kiss seemed sweeter than the last. The one moments ago, although quick, had evoked such an astounding pleasure, he’d had to walk away before he decided he wanted more.
A lot more.
A clank drew his gaze to the table. Leona was serving herself more stew. Her lashes lifted a fraction and she glanced at him, and he smiled. She set her bowl before her with a thud and resumed eating.
The stew’s fragrant aroma drew Aldwin to the table. He sat on the opposite bench, served himself a portion, and scooped up a broth-laden spoonful of cabbage and turnips.
Leona met his gaze. “Why are you so determined to keep me captive and deliver me to de Lanceau?”
He chewed his mouthful. “He ordered me to find the pendant and bring it to him.”
She leaned her spoon against the side of her bowl. “Aye, but—”
“I obey my lord’s demands.”
“He did not order you to take me hostage.”
Aldwin shrugged. “After what you told me about the baron and Veronique’s dealings at Pryerston, I am even more convinced de Lanceau must hear what you know.”
She seemed about to challenge his words, but pressed her lips together. A memory of her soft mouth against his flashed into his mind, and, looking down at his stew, he picked through the chunks of vegetables.
“You want to succeed in this mission because of your duty to de Lanceau,” she said. “’Tis the only reason?”
Not exactly. “Do I need another?” He pushed more of the savory stew into his mouth.
She wiped her bottom lip with her thumb. “I guess not. I cannot help wondering, though, if there is more.”
“I swore fealty to de Lanceau for the rest of my life. Loyalty, chivalry, and honor are very important to me.”
“As to all knights. However—”
He swallowed, readying to correct her.
His expression must have alerted her, for her eyes widened. She glanced under the table at his boots. “No spurs.”
“No spurs,” he agreed.
“I thought—God’s teeth! You are not a knight.”
“Yet I will be, soon.”
Her expression turned cool. “After you deliver the lost jewel to your lord, you mean? When you return a hero, fit for a glorious chanson praising your victory?”
Aldwin’s hand clenched so tightly on the spoon, it dug into his palm. “Aye. Then I hope to have earned knighthood.”
Anger tightened her posture. “You are the most self-centered, arrogant—”
“Leona!”
“Let me go.” Her voice rose. “How dare you drag me into your selfish ambitions when my sire needs my help?”
She stood, the bench moving back with a screech. Harsh gasps broke from her lips as she grabbed the pendant’s chain, drew it over her head, and set the jewel on the table. “Take it. Let. Me. Go.”
He set down his spoon and rose. “I cannot.”
“Liar! How can you—”
“I cannot protect you, if you are gone from my sight.”
Her ranting abruptly stopped. “Protect me?” She threw out her hands. “I do not want your help! I can—”
“—outwit the baron and Veronique on your own? Do not be stupid. You would be dead in less than a day. So would your father.” If Lord Ransley wasn’t dead by their hands already. He wouldn’t worry Leona, however, by voicing his suspicions.
Her eyes looked moist. “Now I am stupid? For wanting to save my sire and the keep I call home?”
Balling his hands into fists, Aldwin sighed. This discussion had no hope of being easily resolved. “I know you are upset, Leona, but you will not change my mind. I will not let you go.” Because, Lioness, the thought of losing you rips me apart inside.
He blinked, stunned by the thought. Then he gestured to the table.
“Please. Finish your stew.”
“I no longer want it.” Her gaze slid past him to the cottage door. Was she thinking of running away? If not now, when he was asleep?
He turned on his heel, crossed to his saddlebag, and drew out the rope.
“Nay!” She backed toward the kitchen.
Halting near the table, he extended a hand. “Give me your right wrist.”
Rage glittered in her eyes. “You are not—”
He lunged, caught her wrist, and looped the rope around it.
Leona fought him.
“I am sorry,” he repeated, more gently.
She pulled hard, almost whipping the rope from his grasp. When he drew her wrist back, his stitches pinched. If he’d torn any, he’d have to fix them on his own; she wouldn’t help him now.
“I sewed your side,” she said in a brittle whisper. “I cared for you.”
Cared. A word of several meanings, but he doubted she meant any that denoted tenderness. “That was kind and noble of you.”
“And yet you tie me.”
Aldwin tightened the knot before he raised his gaze to hers. Her anguished stare hit him like a hard slap. “I am tired, Leona.” He sounded weary even to his own ears. “My side aches. I need to sleep without worrying you might slip out the door. I cannot trust you; therefore, you must be tied.”
“You do not want to trust me.” She glowered. “Why should you respect me in that way? I am no more to you than a means to win knighthood.”
Her words cut deep. Self-loathing flared inside him. Aye, he did want de Lanceau’s commendation and the honor of being dubbed a knight. He’d wanted such for years, not just to advance his military career, but to make up for the disgrace he’d brought upon his respected parents; having them accept him back into the castle where he’d grown up, with pride, was important to him.
But Leona wasn’t merely a means to fulfill his ambitions.
How could she believe she meant naught to him? Had she been oblivious to his arousal and impulsive kiss? Had she not sensed, when their lips had touched, what he’d revealed to her without words?
Intriguing thoughts, which made him wonder exactly how much experience she’d had with men apart from her brother.
“Leona,” he said care
fully, “you are not . . . I mean—”
Judging by her expression, she was too upset to listen. He’d only look a fool, stumbling over his words while he tried to convince her he cared about her safety, and that the thought of her running off into the night, alone, on the outskirts of a village harboring traitorous mercenaries, made his innards clench with dread.
He gestured to the pallets by the cupboard. “Come.”
Resentment darkened her gaze. Then, as though the fight had drained out of her, she walked forward.
He led her to the pallet closest to the cupboard. “I will leave you enough rope to turn over while you sleep.”
Glancing at the other pallets, she said, “Where will you sleep? Not beside me.”
Stooping but keeping his body turned so as to keep watch on her, Aldwin wound the rope around the cupboard’s leg several times and tied a knot. “I will take some of the blankets and lie by the fire.”
He stood. She didn’t slump to the bed, lower the defiant tilt of her chin, or step back to put more distance between them, although their bodies almost touched. Standing close—near enough to inhale her sweetish scent—he saw moisture along her lower lashes.
Seeing those tears . . . His gut twisted. “Leona—”
She flicked her bound wrist, making the rope snap like a whip. Then, without a word, she sat on the pallet, drew over a blanket, and lay down with her back facing him.
***
Leona waited for Aldwin to gather his blankets and stride away, then rolled onto her other side to stare at the cupboard’s turned legs. Her free hand curled under her head in a makeshift pillow. The straw-filled pallet, while lumpy, was comfortable enough.
In Aldwin’s wretched opinion, he might have given her enough lead, but, if she lay on her other side, the rope snaked across her waist and belly. ’Twas enough pressure to remind her, with each breath, that she was fettered.
She scowled at the rope twisting like a dark vine around the cupboard’s leg and wondered, of all things, if Aldwin’s stitches were intact. She’d heard his pained gasp when he’d straightened away from the pallets, and his relieved grunt moments ago when he’d dropped the bedding. Arrogant turd. If he’d broken his stitches, he had only himself to blame. But ’twould be a shame when the wound had stitched so well.
A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3) Page 20
