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

by Catherine Kean

A shame, too, that their earlier understanding had turned to animosity. When she’d accused him of seeing her merely as a means to knighthood, he’d looked wounded. How vividly she remembered the hurt in his eyes, for it had filled her with an anguish unlike any she’d felt before.

  She smothered a yawn with the edge of her blanket. How could he cause her such anxiety? What did that nagging angst inside her mean?

  The scuffle of boots reached her, followed by rustling cloth. He was either organizing his bed or undressing. She bit her lip against the urge to see for herself. She did not care.

  Reaching out a finger, Leona traced the knot. She dug in her nail, hoping to find a spot where the binding wasn’t as tight. Naught.

  How tempted she was to jump to her feet, shove against the cupboard, and send it crashing to the floor, while she yanked the rope from the leg. But she’d have to get past Aldwin. He’d easily catch her and tie her up again, which meant she’d be right back in this position.

  Fatigue and despair threatened to bring her to tears. Crying would solve naught tonight. Neither would fretting about her father and the others at Pryerston Keep who meant so much to her.

  Smothering another yawn, she tried not to let her thoughts return to Aldwin. She shut her eyes, tugged the blanket up around her shoulders, and listened to the crackle of the dwindling fire . . .

  She stood bound to a tree, her back pressed against the bark and her hands tied behind the trunk. Aldwin stood before her. Twisting her wrists, she jerked her head to the side as he leaned down to take her mouth in a kiss.

  “Nay!” She struggled, trying to evade him.

  Aldwin’s lips brushed hers in a coaxing kiss.

  Pleasure. Oh, what pleasure.

  She tore her mouth away. “Nay.”

  “Aye, Leona,” he whispered against her cheek. “You want my kiss. Admit that you do.”

  “Nay,” she panted, hating the tears stinging her eyes. “Untie me. Let me go.”

  He laughed while his hand skimmed down her cheek. She tried to fight the yearning cresting inside her, but her body arched toward his touch, needing more.

  Bzzz.

  “Bees,” she gasped, glancing about to locate them. Her legs shook. She couldn’t bear to be stung again. The agony. The horrible, painful swelling. Sickly sweat broke over her body. Fear sharpened each of her breaths.

  “Bees!” she repeated.

  Aldwin didn’t seem to hear her. His fingers slipped down her jaw, along her throat, in tempting caresses that made her limbs weak.

  Bzzz.

  Leona’s eyelids opened. As her sleepy mind focused, she realized the thud-thud in her ears was the sound of her hammering pulse.

  She blinked, her muzzy gaze coming into focus. Light slipped over the dirt floor underneath the cupboard. Somehow she’d slept through the night. She’d woken from a nightmare about bees.

  A shudder rippled through her and she wiped her damp brow.

  Bzzz.

  Panic jarred her fully awake. She pushed up to sitting, reminded, when the rope scratched her skin, that she was still tied to the cupboard. Trapped, as she’d been years ago, the day she almost died.

  Fear raced through her. Had the buzzing come from inside the cottage? Or had her mind, still caught up in the nightmare, tricked her?

  Sitting very still, she listened, her free hand twisting into the blankets that had tumbled to her waist. She couldn’t remember covering herself with a second blanket. Aldwin must have draped it over her in the night. How thoughtful of him.

  She couldn’t think about that now. Her frantic gaze searched the sun-streaked cottage before falling to the blankets lying by the cold fire; the top blanket was rumpled as though cast aside when Aldwin rose.

  Where was he? Somewhere in the cottage?

  “Aldwin?”

  As she spoke, she saw the cottage door stood slightly ajar—

  Bzzz.

  Oh, God. Her head swiveled. Her breath rattling in her throat, she stared at the kitchen shutters. A small, dark shape moved in the bottom corner. It ambled in a purposeful line along the window ledge.

  A bee.

  Oh, God, a bee!

  It must have come in through the open door, which Aldwin hadn’t closed behind him.

  She fought a shriek burning for release. Calm yourself, Leona. You haven’t been stung since that day years ago; you won’t be hurt now. ’Twill be all right.

  Aye. The width of a cottage separated her and the insect. If she sat very still, the bee would find its way out between the shutters and fly away.

  ’Twill be all right.

  Bzzz-zzzz.

  The droning grew louder. Angrier. Unable to wrench her gaze away, she watched the bee try to climb onto the right shutter. It fell back to the ledge.

  Bzzz—

  The bee launched itself away from the window and soared in a wide arc toward the middle of the cottage.

  Leona screamed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Standing in the sun-drenched space between the cottage and the small barn, Aldwin inhaled a breath of clean morning air. Two of the three farmers Neale had hired to keep watch during the night walked away down the road, counting the silver Aldwin had just paid them. He’d sent the third man to Neale’s home, as previously arranged, to tell the family Aldwin would like a meal and fresh water sent to the cottage.

  Smothering a groan, he rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles in his back that ached from sleeping in an unfamiliar position to keep pressure off of his stitches. Aye, that was the reason he’d stayed on his left side, his head propped up by his saddlebag and rolled blankets—not just to watch over Leona, who looked even more beautiful as she slumbered.

  “Leona,” he murmured, his thoughts turning to moments ago, when he’d looked down at her curled beneath her bedding, sound asleep. Her brow had pursed with a frown. Had she been challenging him in a dream? How lovely she was, with her features relaxed in slumber. Wisps of hair trailed over her forehead, down her smooth cheek, past her slightly parted lips. Did she have more freckles than days ago, or was he imagining such?

  Simply looking at her . . . Aldwin’s blood had stirred with a reckless urge to kneel beside her, press his lips to hers, and wake her with a kiss.

  He’d resisted. He might have roused her, but he’d only tied one of her hands; she’d likely swat him with the other. Moreover, she’d looked exhausted yestereve. While he waited for the food to arrive, he’d let her sleep.

  A good time to check his injury.

  Aldwin reached for his tunic’s hem, which covered the knife belted to his hip. Baring his wound to the daylight, he examined the line of stitches. No dried or fresh blood, due to Leona’s fine work. This morning, he’d thank her again for her efforts. He’d have her know he respected her skill—

  A scream rent the morning quiet. A sound of sheer terror.

  From the cottage.

  He spun, wincing at the pain in his side. He’d left the door ajar to clear the stale air; the opening didn’t appear any wider. Had someone got inside, even though he stood near? Or had Leona tried to get free and hurt herself?

  A more unsavory thought wove into his thoughts. Leona might be trying to trick him. She might have untied the rope and not be in peril at all, but hoping to lure him inside; then, she’d attack him and run.

  His body tensed as he started toward the cottage. She might indeed try such, but he’d easily overpower her.

  Yet the shrill scream hadn’t sounded practiced. It rang with such horror, his skin had crawled.

  A wail echoed inside the cottage. God’s blood, but he couldn’t seem to move fast enough.

  He reached the threshold. Shoved the door open.

  With a booming crash, the door hit the inside wall.

  Drawing his knife, he scanned the cottage interior. All appeared as he’d left it.

  His gaze fell upon Leona, squeezed against the cupboard’s side. She sat with her back against the wall, her bent legs pressed to her chest. Her a
rms were crossed over her head in a protective gesture, as though to ward off an attacker. The rope still snaked from her wrist to the cupboard leg.

  Or so it appeared. Had she untied the rope, but trapped the end under her palm, waiting for him to draw near? Mayhap she waited for the right moment to spring to her feet and attack? A clever ploy, if ’twas what she intended.

  His fingers tightened on the dagger, wariness and suspicion clamoring inside him. He looked about the cottage again, and she sniffled and buried her fingers into her hair. And then he saw the knot securing the rope around her wrist.

  She wasn’t trying to trick him; she feared for her life.

  There must be an intruder after all.

  Dropping to a crouch, Aldwin edged toward the table.

  Leona moaned. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  Pressing against the wooden bench alongside the table, Aldwin froze. Listened. He mentally catalogued all he heard: the trilling birds outside; the distant barking of a dog; and Leona’s ragged breathing. None of the sounds suggested aught amiss. But she obviously had reason to be afraid.

  Once more, he glanced at her. She was sobbing now, her shoulders quaking in violent shudders. Her fingers, threaded into her hair, twitched.

  Why was she terrified?

  Aldwin stood. “Leona.”

  She shuddered again.

  “Are you injured? What is—”

  Bzzz. He heard the insect a moment before it flew toward him.

  A bee.

  Hellfire!

  He tried to hold back a dizzying rush of guilt and torment. “Leona,” he whispered.

  “B-bee.” Her voice sounded hoarse. As the insect looped around and droned back toward the shutters, she screamed again. She kicked at the blanket about her feet and tried to press further against the cupboard.

  Aldwin swallowed to clear the vile taste from his mouth. He’d thought some fresh air inside would benefit them both; he hadn’t expected a bee would find its way in. He’d failed to consider all of the consequences of his actions. As, all those years ago, caught up in the excitement of his game, he hadn’t once thought Leona’s life would be at risk.

  Pent-up regret pummeled him. More compelling than his remorse, though, was the need to safeguard Leona. Offer comfort. Let her know that never, ever, had he meant to scare her or cause her harm.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned again.

  “’Twill be all right,” he soothed. He set down his knife and snatched a rolled blanket from his makeshift bed.

  “B-bee.”

  “Do not worry.”

  Leona sniffled.

  “I will send it outside. I promise.”

  The bee buzzed against the shutter. The insect was as much a victim, he realized grimly, as Leona; it only wanted to find its way out. He batted the window ledge with the blanket. With a startled buzz, the bee flew up toward the roof trusses.

  Again, Aldwin flicked the blanket, forcing the insect to veer toward the open doorway.

  Leona whimpered.

  “Go!” he cried.

  The bee flew down past the table. Then, as though sensing freedom, it went out the door.

  Aldwin closed the panel.

  Throwing aside the blanket, he crossed to Leona and dropped down beside the pallet. The toes of his boots scraped on the dirt. The hard-packed ground bit into his knees, but he blocked out his discomfort. His needs were far less important than hers.

  She was shivering. Her body still folded tight, she didn’t look up. Judging by her posture, she was doing her best to shut him out. To confront the emotional sting all on her own.

  How like her, to shoulder her pain alone. How true to the proud, independent spirit of hers that, of all unexpected happenings, he’d grown to cherish. But she didn’t have to carry this torment all by herself. He could help. Wanted to help. If she’d let him.

  The silence in the cottage grew. He sat back on his heels and waited for a small sign from her to show she recognized he was there for her. Fighting for patience, he curled his fingers against his thighs. If he had his way, he’d draw her into his arms whether she wished it or not. The temptation to do just that made his palms itch. But he must wait.

  At last, he dropped his head in a sigh. “The bee is gone,” he said, knowing, even as he spoke, ’twas a senseless statement. But somehow, he must get past her emotional barricade.

  She sniffed and blew out a shaky breath. He dried his sweaty palms on his hose. Now, could he hold her? Or must he wait until he knew for certain she’d accept his comfort?

  He shifted his right foot, to find ’twas going numb. Turning his lower body so as not to strain his stitches, he sat on the end of the pallet. The straw filling rustled as he bent his legs up to brace his arms on his knees.

  With a tiny smile, he realized he and Leona were closer together now. ’Twould be easier to draw her away from the cupboard and take her into his embrace. Tucking her head under his chin, he’d hold her until her sobs quieted. He’d whisper words of comfort—as he had long ago while she lay motionless in the river—until the tears dried on her face. He’d tell her, in gentle ways, that he was sorry.

  If she let him.

  A painful tightness locked in his chest. She might tell him to leave her alone. And he couldn’t blame her.

  “Leona.” Daring to move even closer, he reached out, his hand hovering over her crossed arms. How he longed to touch her. To prove he could be as gallant as a chanson knight.

  Holding his breath, he placed his hand on her forearm.

  Warmth. Softness. A hot spark of physical connection.

  She tensed. Her fingers twisted into her tresses, an unspoken response to his touch.

  When she moved, the rope around her wrist shifted, revealing a red mark. His guilt bit deeper. Not only had she endured the bee, but she couldn’t move to safety. She was helpless to escape her bonds, just as years ago.

  Moisture stung his eyes. She must think him the most wretched of men. How could he convince her he never meant for her to suffer in such a way? That he’d never intended to revive the pain of long ago? If only she understood how much he wished that day had never happened.

  Frustration rushed out of him on a bitter oath. Closing the space between them, he reached up and grasped the rope. Her head whipped up. She stared at him, her eyes reddened and heavy with tears. The anguish in her gaze . . . His heart clenched.

  “I will free you,” he said, very gently. “I promise, I will never tie you again.”

  Her lips moved on a swallow. Then she nodded.

  Untying her would take a while. Cutting the rope would take moments. Rising from the pallet, he strode to the table, picked up his knife, and returned to sit beside her. She watched through her tangled hair, her mouth a taut line, while he carefully sliced the knife across the rope. The binding fell away.

  He threw aside the dagger. It slid across the dirt before coming to rest near the table.

  Her shoulders lowered on a heavy exhalation and then she rolled her arms, the right first, and then the left. Reaching up, she rubbed the muscles between her neck and shoulders.

  Stand up. Walk away, his conscience cried, before you do something rash.

  He couldn’t leave her. Walking away was the act of a coward. Staying, facing her anger, providing solace, was his duty. Especially when he was responsible for her being upset.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She squinted at him through mussed strands of hair. Judging by her expression, she was wondering if he’d tripped and knocked his head while outside. She looked so endearing, he might have chuckled. However, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  He held up one hand, his fingers splayed in surrender. “A foolish question, I know. But . . . I want to help. If I may.”

  Looking away, she pushed the strands from her face. Her lashes glistened with tears. A droplet slipped into the corner of her mouth. At least she wasn’t sobbing. Her shaking had lessened, too.

  Then her head turned, and the f
ull force of her liquid gaze settled on him. Her eyes were almost gold. Such beautiful eyes.

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t give him permission to help her.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered. He tried to keep the anguish from his voice, but it bled through.

  Still, silence.

  “I am sorry, too, for what happened when we were young.”

  At last he’d given voice to the guilt that had eaten at him for long, long years. He waited, hoping for the hint of a smile from her and a nod of forgiveness. Gestures that would free him from his emotional hell.

  Instead, her shoulders stiffened. The reminder of that afternoon, and his part in what had happened to her, was obviously more painful than she could consider right now.

  Her gaze began to cool, and he sensed her retreating from him. He couldn’t let her block him out. He must fight for her forgiveness. Fight, as any worthy knight would, for . . . her.

  Catching her hand, he wound his fingers through hers. “Please, Leona.”

  “Aldwin—”

  “I know what you endured years ago. Agony no one should have to suffer—especially not because of someone else’s foolish mistake.” He forced words past the tightness in his throat. “Do you know how I felt, watching you suffer such pain? Seeing you lying in the river, your body swollen with bee stings? All because of a game I had convinced Ward to play?”

  Her eyes dampened again. Her fingers twisted in his. “I cannot—”

  “You remained with me every day since then. In dreams that tormented me in the night. In moments of despair. My God, Leona, the guilt . . .” He wished he didn’t sound such a witless idiot. “I will never forget the shame I brought my parents. Or forgive myself for hurting you.”

  Leona’s lips trembled. He thought she was going to tell him to go away.

  “I want to know,” she whispered.

  “What?” Aldwin wondered if she meant to ask him about Ward. If, by chance, she did ask, he’d tell enough of her brother’s last days to appease her, and no more. Ward would have wanted it that way.

  “Why,” she began, “did you tie me to the tree that afternoon? I did not want to be bound. We could have played the game pretending I was tied.”