Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640)

by St. Harper George; Fuller, Meriel; Locke, Nicole

  ‘As though I’m the finest of pastries?’

  ‘More baking terms?’ He paused to think. ‘No, you’re more like a pastry displayed in some shop that Rhain can never afford.’

  He made her sound like something rare, when she was far more common than that. Rhain had said similar words, and she no more believed Nicholas now, than she did Rhain.

  Even if she did, she had no experience with it. She had never been spoken to this way before. Teased and flirted with as if she could ever have suitors. She didn’t know how to respond. ‘What of…what of the other men?’

  ‘We’re all stray dogs. I haven’t been home since—’ Nicholas’s eye darted to the side and he cleared his throat. ‘The other men we’ve met along the way of our journeys in Spain and down south. Subsequently, they haven’t been with us that long, but we stop often enough; thus, there’s been no discord about women travelling with us.’

  And there was his protective tone again. ‘You think I’ll conflict with other flavors?’

  He raised a brow, all serious now. Or puzzling her terms, but she didn’t know how else to phrase it. The subject was too painful and filling her with a longing she didn’t know she even had.

  When he shook his head and shrugged one shoulder, she said, ‘I’ll cause discord by travelling with you?’

  A knowing look in his eye like he was pleased with the direction of the conversation. ‘You already do.’

  She wasn’t pleased; her heart sunk. She hadn’t meant to cause discord, hadn’t even realized she had. The men were quiet and she’d seen no arguments, but what did she know of mercenaries?

  ‘I’d like to apologize to the men for making Rhain take me.’

  Nicholas almost smiled then. ‘I’d talk to Carlos; if anything, he’d understand.’

  * * *

  Nothing. Yet again. Rhain fought his bitter frustration as he wound his way through the market stalls to return to the keep.

  Tickhill wasn’t large, but some of the stalls were decent enough to show the needlework and necklace. To ask a few pertinent questions.

  The answers were the same. Polite remarks on the needlework’s workmanship; gasps of greed and sometimes envy as they regarded the necklace’s beauty. But never any indication of who might have made or sold the necklace in the past. Never any recollections of the pendant’s whereabouts.

  This time, he felt the loss and knew it came because Reynold was coming for him. Tomorrow or the next day, they’d leave for York and he wondered if he had enough time for the markets there. York was very large. There was still a chance to find the answers on who his father was, on why he’d abandoned his mother.

  He felt loss, but he was beginning to wonder if he felt another loss now. One that didn’t make any sense since it was fragile…only a beginning. How could someone lose a beginning? Yet, that was the other emotion he fought. How he was soon to lose Helissent.

  She didn’t know his past, or the ugliness that flowed through his veins. He’d shared with her stories of his mother, his true mother. He’d never done that. Not once. If his mother came to conversation, he’d talk of Lady Gwalchdu, who died during his childbirth. Lady Gwalchdu, whom he thought was his mother until five years ago.

  No, the woman who was truly his mother was Sister Ffion, whom he thought to be his aunt. A healer most of her life, it was she whom he followed in the gardens.

  It was she who he told Helissent was his mother. What was it about Helissent that compelled him to tell the truth? Not even his cousin, his brother, knew the whole story, and he told Nicholas none of it.

  He trusted Helissent as he had trusted very few and, last night in the hall, he had hurt her. He’d probably hurt her again today. But there was no remedy for any of it, not if he intended to keep her safe.

  Rhain stopped short of reaching the keep. To his right, unmistakable in the soft light of the afternoon, was Helissent wandering the gardens with Carlos, alone.

  He watched as Helissent lifted a sprig of rosemary to Carlos, who tilted his head to smell the fragrant herb.

  A pleasant exchange, Carlos attentive as he walked a respectable distance on Helissent’s scarred side. To anyone it would appear they were merely exchanging friendly conversation, but when Carlos’s eyes lingered on Helissent’s lips, no doubt to interpret the terminology he wouldn’t understand, Rhain didn’t care.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Helissent heard the steps before she saw the source, but knew it was Rhain when Carlos scowled and stepped away.

  Rhain said a few words in Spanish. Carlos said words back, stronger, very curt before he bowed to her and took his leave.

  Rhain’s eyes stayed with him, as did his fierce expression, then he turned his amber gaze to her.

  Fierce. Troubled. She didn’t expect, nor should she have expected, Rhain’s attention today. Not after being dismissed by him yesterday.

  And yet, with his studying gaze roving her features as if starved for the sight of her, a tiny bit of herself lifted inside.

  Had Rhain meant those words from yesterday? She could almost believe it. Right now it looked like he was still trying to decipher the color of her hair and eyes. But she didn’t know. Didn’t know the way of any of this because he’d thoroughly dismissed her yesterday and ignored her today.

  ‘Do you like these gardens?’ he asked.

  He wished to talk of plants? She was certain she didn’t understand. After her strange conversation with Nicholas, and then with Carlos, who was more than attentive, gardening was the last subject she expected to talk of.

  He waved his hand around them. ‘Are they vast enough for you?’

  The gardens were magnificent, but his question was far from what she thought he’d say. ‘Why are you asking me?’

  He leaned down and brushed his hand against a lavender plant. ‘After yesterday’s feast, I expected you here before now.’

  He hadn’t been ignoring her, had known where she was. ‘I’ve been at the market…like you.’

  He nodded as if she answered his suspicions.

  ‘Why did you show them that needlework and necklace?’ she asked, though she’d been hardly aware she wanted to know.

  He gave a small smile. ‘Why am I always talking about her with you?’

  Her… Last night, he’d dismissed her after they talked of his mother. ‘I didn’t know I was. I—’

  ‘No, don’t apologize. It’s… I have not talked of my mother with anyone for a very long time and yet with you it’s as if I cannot stop.’

  Why not talk of his mother? A noble woman, who also knew gardening and healing. She sounded remarkable. Then she realized what she should have before. ‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’

  ‘Five years now.’

  She had lost family, too. Maybe this was why he seemed familiar to her. Though in truth, nothing about him and his gaze seemed real to her, let alone familiar. Especially not in the soft glow of afternoon with the heady scent of sage and rosemary.

  Not when the very cut and color of his clothes differentiated them. The fine leather of his breeches, the thickness of his belt, the weave of his dark-green tunic, all of it a marked contrast to her torn and poorly patched brown gown.

  And yet they strolled through the same gardens, they shared moments of their past together. They were sharing this moment.

  ‘The necklace and needlework were hers,’ Rhain said. ‘She left them to me. The necklace is missing a pendant that’s depicted in the needlework. I’d like to find it, hence when there are markets, I make enquiries.’

  When he cleared his throat, and averted his eyes she knew he wanted to find it very much.

  She knew how she felt about the parchment. The one she’d opened finally, but still couldn’t fully comprehend. A few letters looked familiar. Her father had taught her how to
read with a stick in the dirt. It had been many years since then and she’d forgotten most of it.

  There wasn’t much written down on the tiny piece, hardly anything, but she longed to understand it.

  Was this how Rhain felt? She didn’t think it was possible to understand another human being, let alone this man who looked as though the world fell at his feet. Yet, they both felt loss and longing. For one bright moment, she thought of showing him the parchment.

  Perhaps her longing to know the contents of the parchment were like his longing to find answers about the necklace. But what if the parchment had no answers? At least with him, he would have other markets, other opportunities. Once the parchment was read, she would have no more hope. Would be left with only…longing.

  ‘What do you think about the castle?’

  He changed the subject again, but it was easier to talk of castles instead of connections.

  She waved towards the soaring structures to her right. ‘I know I am to be impressed by the ramparts and the gatehouse, but the kitchens would have to be my favorite.’

  Rhain’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger before he clasped his hands behind his back. ‘I hoped you would get a chance to see them.’

  ‘Oh, yes, and the cellars. I dragged Nicholas there before we went to the market,’ she said.

  ‘Were they everything you expected?’

  She could never expect the abundance she saw. ‘So many duties, rooms and supplies! Everybody had a position and all worked together. It was mesmerizing to see.’ She almost smiled and just stopped herself.

  They walked in silence until they turned the corner where the garden wasn’t as private.

  Three women stopped their animated conversation to stare in their direction. At first, she turned her head so they could see her disfigurement. But they weren’t looking at her.

  Rhain turned his head away, but one of the women giggled and it was apparent they wouldn’t hide their gazes until they caught his eye.

  He’d forgotten to put his hood up. She thought he used it because he was a mercenary, but it was for this. He must have been plagued with stares all his life. How could he not?

  He was god-like. Perfect. From his golden hair, to the arch of his darker brows, to the almost blackness of his long lashes framing eyes that rivalled warmed honey. Days she’d watched him and now travelled with him. Of course, she noticed the looks he garnered.

  His face too beautiful, his body lean and predatory. Her father had told her of wild beasts in other lands. Of lions displayed on the King’s arms. When she couldn’t imagine them, he’d drawn one in the sandy dirt. He was always drawing and explaining when they should have been tilling the field. She remembered the lion’s great mane, the paws the size of a man’s head that held claws as big as daggers.

  Her father was too analytical to exaggerate, and yet, she didn’t believe him when he said the lion would rest and wait for his prey, then attack before the prey realized the lion was there. How could no animal notice such a fantastical creature?

  Rhain was like that. A lion. A golden beast, who lived in the golden sands and sun of some far-off land.

  But she imagined the lion proud of his strength and of his dominion over those lesser. Rhain acted as though he hated it.

  What man hated the attention of women? At the market that morning, she’d watched as Rhain crossed a different section than her and Nicholas. Constantly he was given free tastes of food, and handed small trinkets. A little girl had given him a handful of perfectly round pebbles. Almost like offerings to a god or a lion.

  Attention. Honour. Respect. All because of the way he looked, his obvious wealth and the spurs announcing his station. He lived a life exceedingly opposite of hers, but never more than in this. His beauty against her beastliness.

  Rhain didn’t spare the women a glance and she almost felt sorry for them. She understood. Days in his company didn’t lesson his beauty. The sunlight or moonlight only revealed other facets as if he was a gem.

  Though they no longer faced the women, Rhain’s scowl did not ease, and his fingers flitted around the dagger at his waist. Was he tempted to throw it at them?

  ‘They cannot help it,’ she said. She knew that when it came to her own face.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘They need to.’

  ‘Is this why you wear the hood? Shouldn’t you be used to their stares?’

  He arched his brow. ‘Like you?’

  He had thrown the dagger; a verbal one, and it hit close to her heart.

  ‘I’ve seen you do it,’ he said. ‘Like now, your hair off to the side, perfectly covering the left side of your face and revealing all of your scars.’

  He was turning that verbal dagger and she wanted to increase her pace, but that would be too telling. ‘You’re being ridiculous. This is but one—’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s been everywhere. I’ve watched you do it. What I can’t appreciate is why?’

  ‘Are you saying I should hide under a hood like you?’

  Rhain lowered his eyes. When he raised his golden head again, there was a determination in his steady gaze. ‘No, never. But maybe it would be better if you did.’

  She had never, not once, been truly insulted by him. He had been so at ease with her. Now he revealed he knew the same horror everyone else felt when they saw her scars.

  ‘You need to let me pass.’

  He grabbed her scarred wrist, held her lightly, but firmly. ‘No, you misunderstand. I don’t want you to hide, but for some reason I don’t want you to show your scars to others.’

  She wouldn’t believe him. ‘You’re ashamed of me.’

  ‘Never. Only tell me why do you do it?’

  For a moment she wanted to spill her pain to him, but in the next held back. He could never understand.

  The women still stared and she knew they were making a scene or at least a prelude to a scene. But it didn’t feel that way with Rhain’s fingers sliding across hers…like a caress.

  ‘Let go of my wrist.’

  His amber eyes snapped to their hands, which were all but holding like they were lovers, and he released her slowly, reluctantly.

  He caressed her wrist. He talked to her, but avoided other women. He’d known loss as did she. Something about the way he looked bothered him; her own appearance only gave her pain. Yet, now he dismissed her, was short with her, as he had been with Carlos.

  ‘What did you say to Carlos?’ she asked.

  He walked in the direction they’d come and she allowed him the reprieve as he roughly brushed his hand against the lavender. When some flowers broke away, he rubbed them until their scent released into the air.

  ‘I always loved the scent of lavender.’

  ‘What did you say?’ she repeated.

  ‘I wanted to give you something, Helissent,’ he said. ‘He needed to go.’

  Shadows. He was all shadows now. They hadn’t finished talking of his mother, she almost mentioned the parchment, and now it felt like all was lost.

  Because of those women, because he was displeased she showed her scars. Why did he want to know why she did it?

  Did he feel the same, wanting to know more about her, the way she did about him?

  He wanted her to believe Carlos needed to go so he could give her a present. But she was learning. Carlos needed to go because Rhain didn’t want him there and it had nothing to do with presents.

  ‘I don’t need anything,’ she said. ‘Tell me about Carlos.’

  ‘You need this.’ He gave a light teasing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘It has to do with my mother again.’

  This wasn’t the same as knowing more of him. She knew it wasn’t the same, but resigned, she gave a quick nod.

  ‘She kept journals of her gardenin
g, and her healing,’ he continued. ‘I can’t tell you how many times my men and I used the different healing properties with other healers along our trails.’

  ‘You must have had some fierce arguments with those healers.’

  A curve to his lips. ‘I had no idea such things could be up for such debate.’

  ‘There were two healers in the town where I…stayed. I think I was their pride and their experiment to see what salves worked on me.’

  He stilled and she realized she had confessed something about herself. Something she hadn’t shared with anyone.

  ‘Did their care hurt?’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes, but everything hurt then. I’ve had a great admiration for healers ever since. Always wished I had learned something before I returned to the inn.’

  ‘I want you to have them,’ he said in a rush.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly, you said how useful they were. You aren’t quitting being a mercenary?’

  ‘Have you ever known a mercenary to quit?’ He wasn’t truly asking a question.

  ‘Other than you and the men, I know none at all, but I do know you get hurt. I won’t have them.’

  ‘Tender care, Helissent? I’ll have you know it’s wasted on me.’

  She’d blush if she could. She certainly felt embarrassment. But Rhain didn’t avert his eyes and they were as sincere as she ever saw them. ‘You mean it.’

  She couldn’t accept such a gift. She had nothing of her mother’s, only vague recollections of warmth and discipline. The smell of sunshine on laundry reminded her of that fateful day, but also better days. She knew how she wished for some trinket or spoon that her mother touched. But what Rhain was giving her was more than a spoon.

  Precious writing from his mother in her own handwriting. More than that, the journal contained medicinal healing subscriptions. He needed the journals.

  ‘You’ll treat them well,’ he said. ‘You said you always wanted to learn.’

  This wasn’t right. She knew it from his voice, from his stance. He expected her to disagree. ‘Why are you doing this?’