A Knight's Temptation

by Lana Williams

  As though Ilisa sensed him weakening, she reached for her cloak. “I’d rather you stayed here too. That makes us even.”

  “We can’t all walk toward the keep at once. Most everyone is settling in for the night.”

  “Let us go as far as the stables together,” Alec suggested. “If anyone asks, we can say I wanted you to check your horse again.”

  Braden nodded. “Very well. We’ll leave Alec there while Ilisa and I continue to the keep. I’ll enter first. Wait a short time before you enter, Ilisa. Alec, remain at the stables until we return. If we don’t do so by the time you think we should’ve, come and look for us.” He paused before stepping out of the tent, hoping he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. His attention held on Ilisa. “Do you know where Arabela’s chamber is?”

  “I’m guessing ’tis in the tower.”

  “Very well. Let us see what we can discover. No one lingers overlong. We meet back at the stables as quickly as possible.” He reached out to graze a finger along Ilisa’s cheek. “Take great care. Information is not worth your life.”

  “I would ask you to remember that as well.”

  They walked to the stables, the quiet of the evening at odds with the nerves tingling through Braden.

  When they made it close to the stables without encountering anyone, Braden directed Alec to remain there. He and Ilisa moved toward the side of the keep and paused. No one was in sight. At least twenty steps led to the massive front door. Once they started to climb them, they’d be visible to any guards posted at the inner bailey gate. Luckily, there had been none when they walked past moments ago.

  “Wait here before you enter.”

  Ilisa nodded, then Braden made his way to the steps, taking them two at a time.

  Relieved when the door opened, he continued inside, pausing to listen as he peeked into the great hall. Many slept on the pallets spread along the floor, the glow of the fire providing enough light for him to make out the forms of those already sleeping. A few men still sat at a table, their voices only a murmur. But Braden knew they were not the men he sought.

  He’d noted a door earlier between the great hall and the kitchen that might lead to a private solar, a chamber, which would serve as the perfect place for Graham to meet others without anyone the wiser.

  He walked past the door, noting a light glowing from under it. Moving slowly, he continued to the kitchen, pleased to find the room deserted. The scent of the evening meal still hung in the air, the fire little more than embers. He paused to listen but heard no one moving about. With careful steps, watching for anyone’s approach, he returned to the closed door. Though he listened carefully, he couldn’t hear any voices through the portal. Did that mean any meeting was already over or had they met somewhere else?

  Frustrated, he remained by the door, straining to hear while keeping close to the wall in the shadows, hoping he’d at last learn something useful.

  ~*~

  A brief time after Braden left, Ilisa entered the keep. She walked at an even pace that she hoped suggested she belonged there despite the lateness of the hour. She turned left, the opposite direction of the great hall, thankful for the rushlight that lit the landing, and climbed the stairs.

  With one hand along the wall to keep her balance on the dark, uneven steps—something many keeps had to give invaders a disadvantage—she made her way to the upper level. The center of the spiral stairs of the tower was open to the floor below, not so different than the governor’s keep in Berwick where she’d lived for many years.

  If she were Arabela, she’d want her chamber in the highest part of the tower, just as Ilisa had when they’d lived in the keep at Berwick. The tower chamber provided the most seclusion and the best view. That meant climbing three stories.

  The sound of a shoe on the steps below caught her notice. She paused, listening carefully but the sound stopped when she did. A glance behind her revealed only shadows. Uncertain if someone followed her, she took a few more steps then stopped again.

  If someone trailed her, wouldn’t she be better off in Arabela’s chamber than lingering on the stairs, looking guilty? The thought had her hurrying up the rest of the steps to the top where she knocked on the chamber door, hoping she’d been right. “Arabela?” she called quietly, breathless from the climb.

  The door opened, revealing a startled maidservant. “Who are ye?”

  “I was hoping to speak with Lady Arabela if she hasn’t already retired for the evening.”

  The maidservant looked behind her then Arabela appeared behind the older woman, her expression nearly as surprised as her servant’s. “Lady Cairstine? Is something amiss?”

  “I hoped for a moment of your time.”

  Arabela nodded at the maid who opened the door wider.

  Again, Ilisa heard footsteps on the stairs below. Why it created such a feeling of panic within her, she didn’t know. But she found herself quickly entering the chamber, pleased to close the door behind her.

  “You’re certain all is well?” Arabela asked.

  “Aye. I wanted to know if...” She paused. What did she want to know? What could she say that would justify this late-night visit to the lady’s chamber? She glanced at the maidservant then at Arabela, wondering if she dared say anything of relevance in front of her.

  “Will you give us a moment, Edith?” Arabela asked.

  “Aye, my lady. I’ll refill the pitcher while ye have a visit.” The older woman smiled kindly at Arabela then fetched the pitcher and left, closing the door again.

  “I hope I’m not causing you a problem with my visit,” Ilisa began.

  “Nay. Edith is well aware of my upset over my upcoming marriage.” Arabela gestured toward a bench under the window. “Would you care to sit?”

  “I won’t stay long,” Ilisa said as she and Arabela sat, “but I just wanted you to know that I understand how difficult your predicament is. If there is anything I can do to aid you, anything at all, I would be pleased to do so.”

  “How kind of you.” Her warm smile eased Ilisa’s concern that once again she’d overstepped her bounds with the woman. “My father can be overbearing at times.”

  Ilisa debated how much to reveal, knowing that admitting anything carried a risk. Saying nothing did as well. “Rumors say he has detailed ideas on who should rule Scotland.”

  Arabela stilled, her surprised silence revealing more than she could possibly know.

  “’Tis said that he wishes to see those with English ties punished,” Ilisa continued, finding it more difficult than she could’ve guessed to discuss his intent. “Though punished might be too tame of a word.”

  Arabela pursed her lips. “His hatred for King Edward and all things English runs deep. I don’t believe ’tis a secret.”

  “Rumors also say there are others who agree and will do all they can to see anyone suspected of siding with the English murdered.”

  The lady looked away. “Murder is a strong word.”

  “But a true one.” Ilisa refused to downplay the facts. ’Twas all she could do not to state that she was one of those at the end of that ‘strong word.’ Instead, she waited, hoping she’d said enough to convince her to share what she knew.

  “These are difficult times. Full of unrest and uncertainty.”

  Arabela might be unhappy with her father and her situation, but she wasn’t dull-witted. As frustrated as Ilisa was with Arabela’s lack of response, she understood her respect—or fear—of her father and her unwillingness to say anything more.

  Then again, she might not know more. Ilisa couldn’t imagine Lord Graham sharing much with his daughter or his wife.

  “Indeed, they are. We must all take care.” Ilisa reached out to pat Arabela’s arm. “Including you.”

  Arabela returned the squeeze. “Aye.”

  “And we women must help each other. Men may rule our world, but that doesn’t mean they truly know what’s best for it.”

  That coaxed a smile out of Arabela. “On that, w
e agree.”

  “If I can aid you in some way, please let me know.” Ilisa rose, certain that if she said anything more, she’d only make Arabela suspicious if she wasn’t already.

  A sense of unease came over Ilisa, sending her thoughts to Braden. Worry suddenly raced through her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if something was amiss. “My thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

  “Of course.” Arabela rose as well. “I appreciate your words. Please know I will keep them in my heart.”

  Ilisa nodded. “Good. I meant every one of them.” Unable to resist she gave Arabela a brief hug, surprising the lady and herself as well. “I will see you on the morrow on the list. I look forward to watching the jousting.”

  “I would more so if your husband were competing.” Arabela chuckled.

  “Who am I to disagree?” Even the memory of watching Braden ride with the lance was enough to heat her blood. “Sleep well, Arabela.”

  “And you, Cairstine.” Arabela opened the door, allowing Ilisa to step out before closing it behind her.

  An odd scent filled Ilisa’s senses as she started down the stairs. She paused, trying to think of where she’d noted the smell before. The same scuffing noise that had followed her up the stairs sounded once again.

  She started to turn, her heart racing, when she felt hands shove her in the back. Then there was nothing but the rush of air filling her ears as she fell off the uneven stairs down to the stone floor far below.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The opening of the solar door sent Braden’s heart pounding. He rushed back into the dark passageway that led to the kitchen, hoping the shadows hid him.

  The Earl of Rothton strode out, continuing past the great hall and out of the keep. After waiting several moments, Braden eased toward the solar door again, nerves stretched taut. Unfortunately, he heard nothing nor did anyone else leave.

  Frustration filling him, he decided he’d learn nothing other than Rothton had spoken with Graham this even. He kept to the shadows and stepped outside and down the stairs, waiting in the same spot he’d left Ilisa.

  With each moment that passed with no sign of her, his worry grew, making it nearly impossible to wait.

  Where could she be? Had she found Lady Arabela? Were they still speaking or had something gone amiss?

  Alec arrived at his side, breathless. “I’m pleased to see you made it out of the keep,” he whispered. “Where’s Lady Cairstine?”

  Trust Alec to remember to use her pretend name.

  “She has not yet emerged.”

  Alec stared at the keep door, as though by sheer will he could force her out. “Shouldn’t she be finished by now?”

  “Aye.” Braden couldn’t take it any longer. Not with worry spiraling through him. “I’ll go look for her. If I don’t return shortly, come in and find me. We’ll come up with some excuse for our presence if need be.”

  “How will I know where to find you?” Even in the dim light, Braden could see Alec’s brow furrowed with concern.

  Braden recognized it. The same sensation burned in his stomach. The notion that something was wrong had only grown stronger. “You’ll find me. But with luck, I’ll return anon with your sister.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Have no worries. I won’t leave without her.”

  Alec nodded, looking far from relieved. Braden didn’t waste another moment reassuring him. Alec’s fears, along with his own, would be eased once he returned with Ilisa.

  Braden ran up the steps once more and opened the heavy wooden door of the keep. This time he turned left toward the side of the keep where the tower was, telling himself to move slowly when he wanted to run to the top of the tower and pound on Lady Arabela’s door.

  Moving as silently as possible, he started up the stairs, forcing himself to pay attention as the rushlight at the landing had been extinguished. The irregular steps were a challenge to climb in the dark and slowed his progress.

  He reached the first level of the tower, guessing Graham’s chamber was there. He’d continued up several more steps when a soft moan caught his ears, barely louder than a breath.

  Yet he knew immediately to whom it belonged.

  Ilisa.

  He held still, willing his heart to stop thundering in his ears so that he might locate her whereabouts.

  There it was again—not merely a moan, but a stilted cry of pain. He knew the sound all too well as he’d heard it too many times. The quiet sound echoed in the tall stone stairwell, confusing him as to its location. It seemed as if it came from below, yet he hadn’t passed her. Where could she be?

  He retraced his steps as quickly as he dared, desperate to find her. “Ilisa?”

  Only silence greeted his call.

  He reached the landing and searched the area, at last finding her crumpled on the floor below the tower steps, her foot twisted at a terrible angle. She didn’t move. Heart pounding painfully, he bent over her, fearing the worst.

  “Ilisa?” he whispered, shock causing her name to catch in his throat. With a trembling hand, he reached for her cheek to move aside her hair so that he might better see her face.

  “Hell’s blood!” Sir Matthew emerged from the great hall to kneel beside him. “What happened?”

  “What is this?” Monroe, the steward, joined them. “Lady Cairstine?”

  Braden ignored them both as he guessed at her injuries. She had a broken ankle based on the angle of her foot. A large bump marred her forehead.

  What he saw made no sense. If she’d struck her forehead, why was she laying on her back? The details flew from his mind as he focused on her stillness.

  He’d heard her moan only moments ago, but that meant little. ’Twas too dark to tell if her chest moved with breath. He bent low to place his ear near her mouth, praying she yet lived.

  The faint rush of air that reached him barely counted as a breath, but relief filled him all the same.

  “Is she...” Matthew’s unfinished question swamped Braden with unreasonable anger.

  He bit back a sharp retort and managed a more reasonable one. “She lives.” He couldn’t help but look up at the stairs, wondering how far she’d fallen and how bad her injuries were. Darkness hid the top of them.

  “I’ll fetch a light,” Matthew said then hurried away.

  “She must’ve fallen.” Monroe’s tone was full of disbelief. “The stairs are treacherous with no handholds for balance. What a terrible accident.”

  “Accident,” Braden repeated, yet he couldn’t help but think that wasn’t what had happened at all.

  “I’ll have a chamber prepared for her,” Monroe said as he stared at Ilisa.

  The glow of the rushlight that Matthew brought made her face look even paler, the bump on her forehead even larger.

  “Nay.” Braden at last moved, fear causing his limbs to feel heavy, his thoughts buried in mist. While he wasn’t certain what to do or how best to aid her, he didn’t want her to remain with the enemy. He wanted her close, where he and Alec could watch over her.

  “But—” Sir Matthew began.

  “She will be more comfortable in our tent,” he interrupted as he gently touched her cheek.

  “Surely you don’t want to move her so far,” Monroe said. “Mayhap at least for the night, she should rest here.”

  Braden shook his head. He needed privacy to truly help her. Remaining in the keep would be a terrible mistake. That much he knew.

  “Sir Hugh?” The sound of Alec’s trembling voice had Braden turning to face the boy.

  “She...fell,” he said, wishing he could tell Alec that he intended to do all in his power to make sure she lived.

  “Fell?” Tears filled Alec’s eyes as he stared at his sister.

  “We’ll carry her to the tent as carefully as possible.” He stared down at her pale face, the bump on her forehead looking worse by the moment. With effort, he focused on what needed to be done to take her to the tent without doing further harm. “We need a blanket to carry her
on and torches to light the way.”

  “Sir Hugh, surely it would be best if she spent the night in the keep,” Monroe suggested again.

  “Nay.” His gaze caught on Alec’s. “We’ll take her to our tent where we can care for her.”

  Alec nodded, keeping his tear-filled gaze on Ilisa, his fear palpable.

  “Alec,” Braden ordered, his tone firm, “can you find lights for us?” He couldn’t have the boy falling apart on him. He’d need him in the hours to come.

  “Aye.” Alec backed up slowly then spun toward the great hall to do as he was bid.

  “A blanket and three or four servants, if you please,” Braden said to Monroe.

  Still the steward hesitated. “Her leg is surely broken. Don’t you think it best if—”

  Braden stood, done with words. He was not above using his size to intimidate the smaller man. “I need a blanket and several men to aid me.”

  “I’ll help,” Sir Matthew offered then glared at the steward. “Can you locate a blanket?”

  “Of course,” Monroe said, though his reluctant tone spoke of his disapproval of Braden’s plan. “And I’ll alert others to aid us.”

  “Just find a blanket,” Matthew ordered. “I’ll rouse a few men from the great hall.”

  Both men left, leaving Braden alone with Ilisa.

  He quickly knelt beside her, holding her hand. “Ilisa? Ilisa, can you hear me?” She didn’t answer, but he continued to speak, hoping he was somehow getting through to her. “We will heal you. Have no worries. I’m taking you to safety now. Alec is with me. All will be well.” He lifted her hand to press a kiss on it, hoping she understood.

  All will be well, he repeated under his breath, girding himself for the task ahead. He’d never been so grateful for his gift. Without it, he feared Ilisa wouldn’t make it through the night.

  He gently lifted Ilisa’s leg to straighten it, hoping the broken bone hadn’t pierced the skin. From experience, he knew that would make healing it all the more difficult. Those details would have to wait until they reached the tent.