Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection
Page 23
His mouth slid away from her, and he covered his lips with his hand. Eyes wide with affront, he cursed. “Nia, I only wanted to help.”
She scrambled to her feet and cradled her offended hand. “When I need your help, I’ll ask.”
He chuckled, rose on his knees, and encircled her legs with steely arms. “Come back down here with me. I’ve no wish to fight, only to prove my worth as your lover.”
“My l—” Nia tried to walk out of his arms, but his hold held firm. She bent over him to push against his shoulders. “We are not betrothed. I’ve no wish to lie with any man but my future husband.”
Maddoc released her legs and snatched her shoulders with lightning speed, dragging her toward his lips before she knew his intentions. His mouth was hard and hot against hers, his beard grating against her face. She strained against him as anger poured through her. Unable to bear it, she closed her eyes to survive his assault on her mouth. This felt nothing like Caerwyn’s kisses, but her mind returned to the day in the orchard again.
Caerwyn’s youthful face, still untouched by the harsh desert sun, loomed over her. His cheeks were tinged red from tickling her as they lay beneath the apple trees, and he leaned down, beaming with delight between kisses.
“You’re a thief.” He tweaked her chin with his thumb.
“ ’Twas one apple, and it is my orchard, after all.” Lying on her back, she could see the tiny black whiskers underneath his chin, and her toes curled in her slippers to see such proof of his masculinity.
“Nay.” He shook his head and lowered his face to hers. “ ’Twas my heart.”
“Your heart?”
“You stole it, and I trow you will never return it to me.” He pressed his mouth to hers softly, slowly, lingering as if to make the moment last forever.
Pressure from Maddoc’s hands brought her toward him and the hay, and the imminent danger of what would happen if she allowed him to continue. The image of Caerwyn vanished. Tumbling down with her captor, she dropped her knee at the juncture of his thighs.
“You whore!” he bellowed, releasing her shoulders.
Nia gave her knee an extra grind as she pushed off his prone body, eliciting a high-pitched cry from the man. “You think I owe you my body for helping put out the fire?” She dragged the back of her hand across her burning lips.
He cupped his sex and winced. “Nay. I know you to be a de Brionne, a whore just like your sister, but you’re worse. You’re a cock-tease—a damned, lying harlot.”
Nia scrambled toward freedom.
Pausing at the door, she turned, seething. “And you are a bastard and a brute, Maddoc de Guildo! You can be certain my father will rescind his invitation to Walwyn for you forever.”
Fury propelled Nia through the darkness and across the bailey until she reached the sanctity of her bedchamber. Sore and frustrated at her naivety, she shirked off her kirtle and splashed cold water on her face. She still smelled of smoke, and worse, hay, keeping Maddoc’s actions fresh on her thoughts. Taking a damp cloth, she scoured at her face and bare arms while practicing her explanation of the night’s events that she would share with her father.
Then she noticed her hands for the first time since the tussle with Maddoc.
Caerwyn’s gold ring was missing.
PADRIG SLEPT ON his side, snoring peacefully, oblivious to the other men in Walwyn’s barracks doing the same. The cramped accommodations were far from the worst Caerwyn and his brother had ever experienced, and with bellies full of food and ale, no one complained. Still, Caerwyn found that sleep eluded him.
The sentry sat outside the barracks door keeping watch, and Caerwyn gave him a nod as he walked past on his way to tend the fire in the hearth. Most Christmastides, the lord would’ve given his servants the fortnight as a holiday from their duties, but after the attack in the woods, he took better care to guard his guests. Something about the brigands bothered Caerwyn, along with the conversation he’d had with Nia as they’d walked back from the metalsmith. She’d said she thought she’d seen someone following her in the market.
He picked up an iron and poked at the embers of the hearth as he mulled over the danger.
While he didn’t wish the baron any harm—he respected him perhaps even more than he’d respected his late father—his greatest worry was keeping Nia safe. Although she seemed to be a woman who could take care of herself.
On the forest road, she’d held her own amongst the men, arming herself and keeping her head. And what a pretty head it was.
The flames licking at the Yule log reminded him of Nia’s hair as she’d worn it earlier at the feast, unbound, with the long, cinnamon-gold tendrils curling just below her breasts. Aye, he’d made the right decision, giving her his mother’s ring, and he’d seen from where he’d sat at his table, she’d placed the ring on her finger. Her cheeks bloomed with red that even her shadowy corner could not hide.
The ring had been his father’s gift to his mother. A symbol of faith and trust. Whilst gone on the Seventh Crusade, his wife, the boys’ mother, had taken a lover. Her deceit had broken his father in many ways, but in time, he forgave her. She wore the ring until the day she died, returning it to him only on her deathbed. Though his father had said nothing ill about the daughters of de Brionne, Caerwyn wanted to take care in making his choice of wives.
Nia had sworn she was everything he sought in a match, and in truth, her behavior had been the exact opposite of her scandalous sister’s during the feast. He’d followed his instincts to give her his mother’s ring, and his instincts hadn’t misled him in years.
Tomorrow, he would seek Nia out, ask for her vow of faithfulness, and if it sufficed, he would ask her father for her hand in marriage. Again.
The last time he’d asked had been after they’d shared an afternoon in each other’s arms, coming so very near to a precipice from which there would’ve been no return.
Blossom petals fell from the trees like a gentle shower, dusting the grassy bed around Nia. Her gray eyes danced as she watched the orchard’s show above her, laughing as if she’d been tickled. Stretching out beside her, Caerwyn found the notion of tickling his darling girl more than he could resist. While the petals distracted her, he reached across her stomach and gave her ribs a fast stroke.
“Ack!” She jerked like a fish. “Stop!” Her cheeks dimpled with her grin.
“You don’t like it?” He swept his hand along her side, making her writhe in a breathless tide of giggles.
“Serena says I shouldn’t laugh too much. She says you’ll not like me anymore if I do.”
He groaned. “Nay. You pay your sister too much heed. Nothing she says is ever sound, Nia.” Leaning over her, he brushed a petal off her forehead and delighted in the excuse to stroke her smooth brow.
Her nose wrinkled, seemingly opposed to his viewpoint, though she still smiled. “She’s had scads more wooers than I.”
He stopped his motion, freezing with the thought her words conjured. “Do you want more wooers?”
Her turn to pause, she grew serious, and her throat moved as she swallowed. “Nay.”
Warmth spread through him, and he leaned closer to her face. He whispered, “My lady, your laughter fells me more surely than any opponent in any tournament. It’s like listening to the sweetest music.” He lowered his mouth to her shoulder for a kiss.
Her skin felt warm and pulsed with life beneath his lips. Her hands wrapped around his arms, not pushing him away for his boldness but actually holding him—nay, drawing him closer, keeping him there.
His heart surged with gladness . . . and hunger for more.
Caerwyn bent closer to Nia, stretching long over her while taking care not to crush her. He wasn’t much bigger than she was, but he was a boy in training to be a warrior, built of harder muscle and sharp bones. His hip rested against hers, and he braced a knee beside her thigh while he made a trail of kisses along her throat.
“Nia, you are mine always,” he murmured, prayerfully.
He lifted his head to look in her eyes, to see if he’d see the same heat reflected there.
Her chest heaved, slightly winded, as she stared up at him. So innocent, she looked up at him with worry, as if she’d done something wrong. That look was his undoing.
“My lady, I must kiss you.” Must? Nay. He shook his head to clear the fog of his brain. Then he tried again, “What I-I mean to say is ‘may I kiss you?’ ”
“Aye.” Her small hand curled against the back of his head, and he heard himself moan before he lowered his lips to hers.
Voices brought Caerwyn back to the present. The sentry spoke to someone. He pushed himself away from the stone mantel of the hearth and went to see who would be about at this late hour. His hand reached for the sword that wasn’t there. He’d forgotten he’d removed his belt and scabbard before lying down earlier. His hands closed in fists, his only weapons as he approached the men.
The sentry laughed and touched the shadowy figure’s shoulder. Not an enemy, then. Caerwyn relaxed as the moonlight from outside fell on Sir Maddoc’s face at the doorway.
“Isn’t it late for you to be walking the bailey?” Caerwyn said, as the knight stepped inside the barracks.
The sentry stepped back outside to his post, leaving the men in the darkened entry.
Maddoc wore no mail, only breeches, and carried some garment, probably his missing tunic, over his shoulder. The white of his teeth flashed in a grimace. “Would that I hadn’t left my bed this night!”
The man smelled of ashes. A dart of alarm went through Caerwyn. “What happened to you?”
Maddoc sniffed, dragging the back of his fist under his nose. “That female. The whore! She nearly maimed me.”
He immediately pictured Lady Serena taking the lusty de Guildo to her bed, where she’d be more than even he could handle. Still, anger stuck in Caerwyn’s craw for the knight’s lack of respect for a woman, no matter her sexual proclivities.
He jabbed a finger in Maddoc’s chest. “If you spoke to Lady Serena like that, you likely deserved it—or worse.”
“Ha!” He raked a hand through his gold locks, casting off a cloud of dust and bits of straw that then vanished into the shadows. “Lady Serena, Lady Serena. As lief I had been with her! Unfortunately, I spent the evening with Lady Nia, for what good it did. I saved her life. Pulled her from what would’ve been her death in the stables. And this is how she thanks me.” He shook his head and shuffled off, limping toward the rows of sleeping men and his empty pallet.
An invisible dagger ran through Caerwyn’s heart. Nay, he must be lying! Surely Nia hadn’t met Maddoc in secret.
Caerwyn thrust out an arm, stopping the man. “Is what you say true? You and Lady Nia—”
Maddoc gave him a half smile. “Aye.” He winked.
Caerwyn dug his fingers into Maddoc’s arm, feeling the pinch and twist of the man’s muscles yielding to his superior strength.
“Damn it, Caerwyn! Would you see me wounded twice in the same night?” He grimaced painfully though his smile grew.
“What did you do to her to make her maim you?” Caerwyn spoke through his gritted teeth, rage pressing hard inside his skull. He shook the man so hard, his head popped back.
Alarm crept into the knight’s expression, wiping the smugness from his countenance. “Nothing. Nothing to warrant her spite or yours. A betrothal is still available to the best man, still worth winning, I suppose. But know you this, Caerwyn, I will win her. When we wed, and I come to her bed as a husband, I trow she’ll be more biddable.”
Caerwyn released a breath but kept his firm hold on Maddoc. “If she tells me you hurt her, I will tear you apart, piece by piece—”
“I swear, she is unharmed and alive thanks to me.”
Maddoc pulled loose from Caerwyn’s clutch and rubbed the white lines where Caerwyn’s hands had gripped him.
“God’s blood, you must control yourself, Crusader. Besides, after I beat you in the tourney, she’s as good as mine.” He lifted his hand, scratching at his beard, and the moonlight reflected on something metal on his little finger.
A foul grin spread on Maddoc’s lips, knowing and wicked, and Caerwyn stood transfixed by the deliberate action, watching as light winked off his mother’s gold ring.
Chapter Four
SERENA POKED AT the straw on the floor with her toe while Nia crawled on the ground. Her sister’s arms were crossed over her chest, anchoring the heavy gold chain around her neck to keep it from swaying across her breasts like a pendulum. Looking as ridiculous as ever, by Nia’s estimation, she’d gilded herself with gifts from suitors whom she would later scorn.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nia caught the flash of the morning sun on something in the hay. She scrambled for it, being careful not to look away.
“Did you find it?” Serena stilled.
Nia reached in the straw and retrieved a polished buckle. Drained, she sighed, and tossed the piece to her sister. “Only that. Keep it for the groomsman. It may be Christmastide, and Father is feeling more generous, but you know he isn’t easily forgiving of waste.”
Serena rolled her eyes and went back to poking with her feet. “Why the barn? You could’ve brought the man to your bed. By my troth, Nia—”
“I didn’t want him. He’s a brute.” Her hands and knees ached as she sifted through wads of hay. “Unlike you, I’m still innocent. I didn’t bring him in here for anything sordid. We were merely collecting ourselves after the fire.”
Serena tossed her shiny blond hair off her shoulder. “There is only one reason I would’ve come to this place with a man.” She flung a hand at the rustic barn walls. “Maddoc is a suitor, and a very handsome one, at that. You came here with him alone, after he helped you. It’s what he expected—what any of your suitors would have expected. No doubt our sire thought so, too.”
Bitterness surged in Nia. She slung a handful of hay at the wall. Her father had ignored her complaints. He’d refused to throw de Guildo out of their keep. The very idea that her father would continue to welcome that savage made her chest tighten with anger.
Her sister’s attitude sickened her further. “A true, chivalrous knight would not expect payment in flesh. Your way of thinking is erroneous and simply wrong.”
“Look, sister dear, you’ve been at this for an hour. ’Tis time to stop. You’ll not find the ring. And mayhap that odious Maddoc kept it. You don’t even know for certain it’s here. I could always ask Henri to fashion another when I go to the market again.”
“That would take many days, a sennight or more. The tournament will be over before then. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of engaging in such deception.” Nia sat back and rested her hands on her lap. The hay barn was enormous, the straw spread from wall to wall, pile to pile, and the men had beaten her to the place that morning to fetch fresh hay for her horse’s new stall. Poor, Merlin. Such a scare for him. “I guess I should check on Merlin and see how he’s faring. I can come back and search more later.”
Serena lifted her face skyward. “Thank the heavens.”
She floated outside, leaving Nia to struggle to her feet. Her legs had fallen asleep from crawling so long on the ground. She bent, rubbing them awake
“May I be of assistance, my lady?” Caerwyn filled the doorway in a casual stance.
How long had he been watching? A dark tremor passed through Nia. She straightened and instinctively held her hands behind her back. “Nay. I . . . lost something in the hay.”
He glanced at the floor for a flicker of a moment, then approached. His hair fell across his forehead, but Nia noted his half-hidden frown. “I heard about the fire last night. They said you were in the stables at the time?”
She nodded and arched a brow at him. “But you knew that. I received your message. I we
nt to meet you, and you weren’t there. Merlin’s stall was already on fire when I arrived.”
“What message? I didn’t send a message.” He folded his arms, causing the tunic to pull down across his muscular chest. With his legs planted wide and a haughty slant of his head, he seemed to doubt her.
“The page.” Nia rubbed her temple, trying to conjure the face of the familiar-looking boy who’d spoken with her. Where had she seen him before? And Maddoc had mentioned receiving a missive as well. “I’ll ask the steward to find him. He must have gotten you confused with someone else, but I cannot imagine who would’ve asked to speak with me there.”
“Can you not?” Caerwyn scoffed, staring at the floor. Then his gaze returned to her face with new intensity, and he drew closer. “But you’re all right? At daybreak, I went to look for you in your chamber. Your maid told me you were here.”
His question held a note of concern, which caused a jangle of delight, as well as guilt, to run through her. “I am fine. I put out the fire . . . with Maddoc de Guildo’s help.” She added the last grudgingly.
“So I’ve heard.” Caerwyn let out a long breath, but the tension of his expression remained. He circled her slowly, his gaze raking her kirtle, which was once yellow and now brown from her fruitless exploits on the barn floor. “De Guildo has been bragging in the barracks.” His lip curled as he spoke.
Her stomach dived. This was exactly why Maddoc needed to be sent away. “What did he say?”
Caerwyn touched her arm. His hand glided up to her shoulder. “I try not to give him my ear. His words and voice set my teeth on edge.”
Nia tried to smile, but her lips trembled. Though Caerwyn’s touch was tender, something about the way he stared sent sparks shimmering through her. Mayhap it was only her guilty conscience, but his lips twitched as if he took pleasure in her fidgeting movements.
“Mine too,” she admitted.
He rubbed her delicate collarbone under his thumb. “Nia, you have changed so much. I’ve often wondered if you would still remember me when we met again.”