The Blood and The Bloom (Men of Blood Book 1)

by Rosamund Winchester

  Tristin sighed, then turned. He walked to where he’d tossed his hose and picked them up. He began to put them back on, and Bell Heather watched him, her gaze ravenously devouring his every moment, every sharp edge and thick, hard bulge.

  He caught her staring and grinned wickedly. She raised an eyebrow mockingly and crossed her arms, caring little for his arrogance.

  Once he was dressed, he crossed his arms, tilting his head back to look at the moon through the roof. “You call me hard…cold…”

  “Aye.”

  “I cannot be anything else.”

  “And why not?” she asked, her curiosity tinging her voice.

  He let out a heavy breath. “I made a vow.”

  She’d known that many knights made vows, promising to serve their masters until run through by an enemy sword. But, she could tell from the rigidity in his stance and the look of regret on his face, that his vow was something else entirely.

  “What vow?”

  He dropped his face, hiding his expression—his eyes from her.

  “To never let my desires rule me,” he answered, and finally everything made sense.

  Why he’d ignored her—her as a person and her physical needs; water, rest, food. He hadn’t been trying to be mean, he’d been trying to keep her at a distance, which meant putting her out of his mind and out of his way.

  “So…I ruined ye because…” Because she’d lain naked next to him and begged him to kiss her, to ravish her. Guilt formed a rock in her belly that quickly grew to encompass her heart, crushing it beneath its weight. She’d ruined him because she’d tempted him to break his vow.

  By the stars above, she was truly a wanton. A wicked and terrible woman.

  “Bell,” Tristin whispered, moving to take her arms into his hands, she pulled back, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

  “Does that mean ye cannot be Homme du Sang?” Please, please, don’t let it be!

  A heaviness settled over his shoulders, and his face pinched. “I do not know.”

  “But—”

  He finally gripped her arms. “Let it be for tonight. I will worry about it on the morrow. For now, we need rest. We will have to walk to find the other men.”

  Stunned at how calm he sounded about the fate of his life, Bell Heather simply nodded.

  Tristin lead her to the makeshift bed in the hay and she allowed him to pull her down and lay beside her, wrapping her up in his arms. Right where she wanted to be. Right where she had no right to be.

  “Sleep, now,” he murmured into her ear.

  The fool! She’d never be able to sleep. Not with the sharp blade of truth swinging over her head.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tristin watched Bell Heather as she sat down by the brook to remove her boots. They’d been walking for more than an hour, and he knew her feet were still sore from the battering they’d taken that first day.

  And he still felt like a low dog for allowing her to suffer as she had. If only he’d pulled his head from his arse and thought of her rather than his own selfishness, she would have been spared the pain.

  She grunted, pulling the boots from both feet, then she unwrapped them. She inspected the sole of one foot, then the other, and sighed.

  She hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him that morning, asking him to give her privacy so she could make water. Her terseness, stiffness, and inability to meet his gaze told him that he wasn’t done convincing her that she meant more to him than any vow.

  But had he even begun doing that? The night before, after their explosive lovemaking against the wall, he’d known that his time with the Homme du Sang was drawing to a close. She had turned his very soul inside out, and he realized then, as he reached completion within her body, that he wasn’t meant to die by the sword at the hands of his enemies. He was meant to love her…

  And now, more than anything, he wanted to tell her that. But it wasn’t the time or place. Before he could swear to love her and cherish her forever, he first needed to explain his decision to the cardinal. Tristin knew the cardinal wouldn’t take the breaking of his vow so easily, but what choice did the man have? He couldn’t force Tristin to remain in the Homme du Sang any more than Tristin could defrock the cardinal.

  And Elric… Elric had been with the Homme du Sang as long as Tristin had. He was the first man Tristin had recruited. They’d fought side by side, trusted each other implicitly, had grown stronger and wiser together. Elric would be a great commander, if he didn’t get arrested for killing Tristin first. A chuckle escaped before he could stop it, and Bell Heather flinched as if struck. She was incredibly tense, the whole of her petite, curvy frame practically thrummed with the force of her anger.

  And he had no idea what she was angry about.

  Will I ever understand women? Nay. Never. But at least he could spend the rest of his life with her, trying. If she would have him.

  “Are you not curious about my laughter?” he asked, silently begging her to turn and upbraid him, yell at him, hiss at him—do something other than stew in her anger toward him.

  She shook her head and continued inspecting her feet.

  “I will tell you anyway; I was laughing at an image of Elric trying to kill me.”

  She turned toward him slightly, and from that angle, he could see the very corner of her mouth rising into a smile. She was fighting hard against it, but she was slowly losing.

  “Apparently, he will want me dead because I will have given him far too much responsibility as the new captain of the Homme du Sang…”

  She gasped and jumped to her feet, her face crimson in her rage.

  “Nay! Ye cannot just hand over everything ye have worked so hard to attain!” she shrilled, and he smiled.

  “So, you do care,” he drawled, walking toward her to take her head in his hands, his fingers sliding into the silken autumn strands of her hair. She tried to pull away, to turn her face from him, but he didn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.

  “Bell Heather…what is troubling you? Surely there is something I can do to ease this…tension between us?” He needed to know, and he’d beg her if necessary. He didn’t want to start their lives together with such a wall between them, a wall he didn’t know how to climb.

  She shrugged, her gaze landing and staying on his chin. Again, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Bell?” he coaxed.

  She pinched her eyes shut and sighed, the heat of her exhalation hitting his neck, rising gooseflesh over his limbs.

  “I only wish to go home,” she admitted, her shoulders slumping.

  Tristin fought back the urge to kiss the frown from her lips. “I wish you could, as well.” To his home, with him. Where they would build a new life together. The thought of Bell Heather in his bed, in his arms every morning stirred something brilliant within him. And he didn’t have the words to explain it.

  Please…look at me. See me as the man who longs for you…

  Finally, her green eyes looked up, meeting his gaze. There was sadness, regret, and a spark of defiance in her eyes. He cupped her face, bending down to brush his mouth over her forehead. She tensed. And he stalled. What was it about the gesture that turned her so? After their night together, surely she wasn’t cold to him now?

  He dropped his gaze to her lips, which were parted in an anxious “O”. He leaned closer and she shuddered. There—she wasn’t cold to him, on the contrary. She was just as given as he was, just as attuned to their attraction as he was.

  Taste her…show her.

  Dipping his face, he brushed his lips over hers, and she gasped. Using that moment of surprise to take control, he captured her lips, drawing her breath into his body. His blood thrummed with pleasure, and his body vibrated with the need to lay her down and fill her luscious womanhood, once again. She groaned, melting against him, and his shaft ached, coming to life.

  He pulled away, ready to tear the clothes from her delicious curves and experience unutterable pleasure with her, only with her, but the
sound of pounding hooves pushed all lust from his form. Whoever they were, they were coming closer.

  “Get behind me,” he commanded, pulling Bell Heather until she stood behind a tree trunk, then he stood with his back to her, facing the coming riders.

  Damn! His sword was in the river, and his breastplate was probably sunk with it. He had nothing with which to defend himself…to defend Bell Heather. Damn! How did he allow himself to get into such a predicament? He should have been watching, alert. He should have been focused on getting back to Elric and the men and not on the woman who’d burned through his blood like an unchecked blaze.

  Tensing, he steadied his breath, preparing to do battle—the sight of a riderless horse cresting the distant hill made him squint to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  “Chevalier!” he called, his heart returning to normal speed. A laugh erupted, a whoop of relief and joy. And that joy grew when more horses appeared, their riders displaying the crimson and white of the Homme du Sang.

  “Is that Elric?” Bell Heather murmured from behind him.

  “Yes,” he replied, unable to stop from smiling. “I knew those blackguards would find us.”

  Drawing Bell Heather into his side, he waited for Chevalier to reach him before he stepped forward and stroked his faithful steed’s neck and shoulders. “Good friend, Chevalier.” He pressed his cheek against the horse’s cheek, relishing the reunion. “I swear, I will never leave you like that again, old friend.” The horse, sensing his master’s remorse, whinnied, lifting his head in acceptance.

  As Elric and the men drew nearer, Bell Heather grew stiffer. Realizing that their new relationship would cause preponderances among the men, he dropped his arm from around her shoulders and let her step back a few paces.

  Elric and Bellerophon halted just beside Chevalier, and Elric glared down at him, displeasure etched into the lines in his usually immaculate face.

  “You bastard!” he ground out, and Tristin let the insult lie, knowing that Elric was only expression his worry in typical Elric fashion. Anger and belligerence. “What were you thinking, chasing after Gaubin without your breastplate and sword?”

  Tristin raised his eyebrows, arching them in interest and chagrin.

  “In truth, I had them both when I found Gaubin. It wasn’t until after Bell Heather fell into the river, that I lost them.”

  Elric tipped his chin, his glare landing on Bell Heather. “And you…are you well?” he asked, his concerned toned belying his hard expression.

  Bell Heather strode forward until she stood at Elric’s stirrup.

  “Aye, as well as I can be after a near-drowning and a head bashing,” she remarked, defiance in her voice.

  Tristin hid a grin behind his hand. He was grinning a lot more in the last few days.

  Elric’s golden eyes took in Bell Heather’s disheveled appearance, the pink on her cheeks, and then his all-too observant gaze landed on Tristin.

  “And you…are you well?”

  Tristin followed Bell Heather’s lead and came to stand beside Elric’s horse.

  “As well as I can be after losing my breastplate and sword, and spending the night without fire or food. And why are you here and not riding toward Cieldon as I ordered?” He made his tone as matter-of-fact as possible. It wouldn’t do for the other men to suspect the change in Bell Heather’s importance to him. He would have a private conversation with Elric once Bell Heather was safe.

  “I couldn’t trust that anyone else could find you,” Elric said, shrugging.

  “Where is Gaubin,” Robert asked, his face ruddy with unspent anger. “I want to rip his guts out through his arse.”

  His vehemence was expected after Gaubin had betrayed his trust, but Robert would only have Gaubin after Tristin was done with him.

  “He rode off after I jumped into the river to save Bell Heather, more than likely on his way to Hickston Close.”

  Elric cursed. “So, it was Willem Mason?”

  Tristin nodded, then turned to watch Bell Heather’s expression. Her lips were pinched and her nostrils flared wide beneath the small, adorable ball at the tip of her nose. Oh, yes, she was absolutely delightful in her wrath. And at least it wasn’t directed at him.

  “I have reason to believe that he only accused Bell Heather so that he could gain hold over her.”

  “Accuse her of witchcraft and then act the beneficent law keeper by taking responsibility of her punishment,” Elric stated, the gold of his eyes turning a burnished flame.

  “Aye. He has been sniffing after me for more than a year. He does not take nay for an answer,” Bell Heather supplied, her tone clipped.

  Pierre rode up, followed by Ioan and David.

  “He would do all of this for one woman?” Pierre asked, his deep voice like loose gravel tumbling down a cliff. Tristin fought back the indignant retort, knowing that arguing for Bell Heather’s worth would reveal more than he was willing to reveal in that moment. “What kind of man accuses the woman he wants, then hires mercenaries to attack the men escorting her, then hires another man to kidnap her? It is madness.”

  “And how did he get to Gaubin? The man is as lazy as a slug, and as smart as one, too,” Richard added.

  “Money can persuade many a man inta dastardly deeds,” Glenn said as he brought Sluagh to a halt on Tristin’s other side. The man’s black hair shone like a raven’s wing in the afternoon sunshine. “I saw Mason’s man in Middlemarch. He was quite cozy with Gaubin, and they were exchangin’ purse and plans.”

  “So, what do we do?” Bear chimed in. “I can ride for Cieldon, the cardinal should be appraised of the situation.”

  Tristin raised his hand, his thoughts swirling in his head. “Stay your eagerness. I must think on this.” Turning to look up at Elric, he continued. “Bell Heather needs to eat, then we will continue on, using the least conspicuous route. The fewer people who see us, the better. I do not want to give Mason another chance at Bell Heather.”

  Elric nodded, turning to pull a small sack from his saddle bag. He tossed the sack to Tristin. Inside was two apples, a hunk of cheese, and a hunk of bread. He retrieved an apple for himself, then handed the bag to Bell Heather, who was screaming questions with her emerald eyes. He pinned her with his gaze, pouring reassurance and comfort into her, as best he could.

  She gave a terse nod then opened the sack. She removed the remaining apple and took a bite, her eyes closing at the taste. Lord, but she was passion personified, desire’s human form.

  “Captain,” Elric snapped. “I think it best we get moving. This detour has already cost us a day.”

  A little annoyed at the man’s impudence, but glad for his strength, he moved to take Chevalier’s reins in hand; he would have to pull the horse-scared Bell Heather into his lap, as before. But this time, he’d have to keep his hands from exploring her body as they had the night before. It would be difficult to have her so close and not be able to caress her softness. Kiss her neck, nuzzle her just beneath her ear where the scent of heather was the strongest.

  “Captain,” Leon called out, riding up to him. “You will need these,” he said as he pulled Tristin’s breastplate out from behind him, and then handed Tristin his sword.

  Stunned, he took the items and stared down at them as if they’d magically fallen from the sky. “Where did you find them?”

  Elric chuckled. “Seems that Chevalier is not the only thing that can find its way back to you. Leon and Pierre retrieved them from the river. We followed your tracks and found Chevalier. He was eager to cross the river by a narrow passing with a rock jutting into the river from the other side. Leon found your breastplate along the banks as we headed down river, and Pierre saw the glimmering of your sword at the bottom of a pool on the other side of that rock.”

  Tristin pursed his lips, recalling his harrowing rescue of Bell Heather in that same pool.

  “Thank you, both of you.”

  Pierre and Leon gave short nods, and Elric dismounted to help Tristin secur
e his breastplate. Thankfully, the other pieces of his armor had survived, and he’d been able to put them on himself that morning, while Bell Heather watched the birds outside the barn. He’d known, even then, that something was troubling her. And now that they were back with his men, he doubted he’d find the time to have a moment alone with her. And by God he needed to be alone with her again. It was a craving, snapping at him with hungry jaws.

  Once the breastplate was in place—if a little muddy—Tristin turned to Bell Heather who had consumed her apple all the way to the core. She reached out, holding the apple core to Chevalier, who sniffed it, then took it, chomping happily. At first, Tristin was surprised by her decision to get so near to a horse, but then he remembered that his woman was brave. She wouldn’t let her fears keep her from doing what she wanted, even feeding a large black horse an apple core. Even facing down her own slavery to keep him from giving up his commission in the Homme du Sang.

  Pride filled him with a blazing light, and he nearly took her into his arms to claim her mouth, once again. Thankfully, the chink of metal and the movement of the horses reminded him that now was not the time for intimacies.

  “Right then, Bell Heather, I will mount, then I will pull you up in front of me,” he supplied, hoping the nonchalance in his voice fed her bravery.

  She met his gaze and squared her shoulders. “Aye.”

  With practiced movements, Tristin mounted an antsy Chevalier, then bent to scoop Bell Heather into a sideways sitting position across his thighs.

  The lush curves of her arse fitted perfectly against his groin, and his manhood appreciated whole-heartedly. Struggling to rein in his ardor, he reined Chevalier toward Cieldon, then kicked his steed into a gallop.

  The faster they rode, the quicker they’d arrive, and the sooner Bell Heather would know her fate. If they kept their pace, only stopping for the night, they would arrive in another day.