Cyn smiled. “Surely your mother was equally as clever, in her own way?”
“I expect she was.” Reticence again defined Magdalen’s features. Was her hesitation related to discussing her parent or keeping her secret?
Cyn would discover that secret. He was duty-bound to do so, as sheriff and as William’s friend. He owed William his life.
As she turned to another page of the tome, Cyn moved down the bed to lift the blanket covering her leg. He untied the bandages to find her wound was much improved. He swiftly applied more ointment and then retied the strips of linen.
“All is healing well,” he said, tugging the blankets back into place.
“Good. I was wondering… Would it be all right to get out of this bed for a short while?”
“Well—”
“To stretch my legs? Please?” She closed the tome and set it down. “I am not usually lying still for so long. At the keep, I am always busy, looking after Timothy or helping Edwina with tasks.”
’Twould be better for Magdalen to stay off her hurt limb. Yet, Cyn understood the restlessness she was experiencing; he’d been confined to bed due to an illness two winters past and had nearly gone mad with boredom.
Moreover, if he wanted to win her trust, he should concede to her now and again.
“All right,” he said, “as long as you let me help you.”
She nodded.
He returned the tome to its special shelf by the fire while she pushed aside the blankets. As he walked back to the cot, he tried not to watch her, but he simply couldn’t resist. As she moved, the linen shirt shifted across her upper body, enhancing the tantalizing shape of her full, round breasts underneath. Folds of the cloth gathered at the tops of her thighs, drawing his attention down to her smooth, bared skin. And then there were her legs, long and elegant, like a doe’s.
Heat burned in his gut, along with a wicked craving he didn’t dare acknowledge. He averted his gaze and busied himself with grouping the candles on the table. He must have made a small sound, because she asked, “Did you say something?”
“Nay. I…was mulling how best to get you down from the cot. Here. ’Tis a bit cool this morning.” He grabbed the top blanket from the bed and helped wrap it around her shoulders, which thankfully removed her partial nakedness from his view.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, her head bowed, she heaved in a breath. Her hands clenched the bed frame.
“Are you dizzy?” Cyn managed to keep the worry from his tone. If only her long hair hadn’t slipped forward to hide her face.
“A little. I will be fine, though,” she quickly added. Her head lifted, and he was relieved to see color in her cheeks.
“If you are not fine, I will put you straight back in bed.”
“Of that, Sir Knight, I have no doubt.”
She was teasing him; of that he had no doubt. Before he could gather his thoughts to reply, though, she’d stepped down from the bed and was grabbing onto him to steady herself.
On instinct, his arms went around her waist, drawing her in close. She fitted perfectly against him, molding to him as if they’d been made for one another. This near, he caught a sweet floral smell clinging to her skin. The scent reminded him of his childhood, of his days climbing the cherry trees in the orchard of his sire’s castle. Cyn inhaled more of her tantalizing fragrance, while fighting the ache spreading through him; he’d been happiest when he’d been a child—and when he’d been in love with Francine.
Magdalen curled her hands into the front of his tunic, and her right palm pressed over his heart. Slowly, she lifted her chin, her dark lashes flicking up, her focus shifting from the neckline of his garment to his throat, then up to his jaw, then higher, until their eyes met.
The moment their gazes locked, she startled, as if she’d experienced an intense physical jolt. He’d certainly felt the fiery spark; it had lanced straight through him to heighten the sensual fire within him.
He clamped his jaw, for he resented his desire. Never again would he be enslaved by it and rendered a lovesick fool. ’Twas a vow made to himself that he intended to keep. He drew back slightly.
A question formed in Magdalen’s eyes.
Ignoring the answering tug on his soul, he said, “Come. I will help you to that cushioned chair by hearth.”
***
The hearth. Aye. ’Twas exactly where she wanted to go.
Magdalen fixed her gaze on the chair a short distance away. She must stay focused, even though she’d seen anger and dismay harden Cyn’s eyes a moment ago. She longed to know why. He wasn’t upset with her; she sensed that with certainty. Yet, somehow, being in each other’s arms had stirred up difficult emotions for him.
This torment was different than what he battled in his nightmares. She could only guess that someone—a woman?—had hurt him very badly in his past.
She respected that Cyn was a proud warrior who valued his privacy, but she wished he would let her in just a little. She was a good listener. If he could trust her enough to confide in her, mayhap she could help resolve whatever haunted him by day and by night. She’d certainly be willing to try.
“Are you ready to take a step?” Cyn asked.
She tightened her right arm around his waist, while holding the blanket closed with her left hand. “Aye.”
She hobbled a short distance forward, relieved to be able to lean against him. He was deliciously warm, and the way he smelled…like crisp forest air and rich loam, blended with herbs and mingled with wood smoke and soap. An intriguing, thoroughly masculine scent.
Her leg hurt, but the pain wouldn’t stop her from reaching the chair. She must get there, because already another day was passing.
With luck, her garments would have dried overnight. Since the rope holding her clothes was within reach of the cushioned chair, she’d find a discreet way to check that the missive was still inside her sleeve. If so, she had only to wait for the right opportunity—Cyn would likely be called away on sheriff duties, and Borden was usually busy in the kitchen—and she’d dress and flee out the door. She’d make her way to the forest road, wave down the next passing traveler, and ask for a ride into the town. While she didn’t have a lot of coin in her bag, ’twould hopefully be enough to pay the traveler as well as a messenger to deliver the missive to London.
Taking another step, she pressed her lips together, fighting a grimace. ’Twouldn’t be easy to travel through the forest with her injured leg. Yet, her discomfort was far less important than saving a man’s life.
“Only three more steps to the chair,” Cyn said.
His breath stirred the hair at her temple and sent awareness skittering down her spine. Who knew that a mere breath could elicit such sensations? Being crushed against Cyn—the first time she’d ever been so intimately close to a man—was certainly enlightening; an adventure in its own right. Suppressing a little shiver, she concentrated on finishing the last few steps.
With a sigh of relief, she slumped into the chair.
“Well done.” Cyn grinned. He looked younger when he smiled, and far less intimidating. Heat spiraled through her. As she smiled back, her heart fluttered, like a tiny wren trapped in her breast.
Cyn pulled over a rectangular wooden stool and carefully set her hurt leg upon it.
Perceval bounded over and sniffed her bandages.
“You are always into mischief,” Cyn said, his tone softened with affection as he leaned down to scratch the kitten’s head. The feline nuzzled his fingers.
Cyn’s large, callused hand stroked down the cat’s back. Delighted, Perceval arched into Cyn’s skilled touch again.
A knot lodged in Magdalen’s throat, for such tenderness softened Cyn’s features. He could fire arrows, slay Saracens, and subdue criminals, but with this kitten, he showed great compassion—a respect for the living, even though the life in question wasn’t even human.
Knowing that Cyn respected life, should she confide in him about the letter? If he was loyal to William, t
hough…
Uncertain, she looked at her clothes hanging so near. She reached out and caught hold of her chemise, the closest item of clothing, and found it was still slightly damp, but wearable if necessary.
Perceval leapt at her hand, fell to a crouch, and then raced away through the clothes.
Chuckling, Cyn knelt beside the wooden stool. “Silly kitten.”
“Borden told me how you saved Perceval from a poacher’s trap. He said you rescued all of the animals that live in your home.”
Cyn nodded, his expression somber. “I found Tristan and Isolde, my two other cats, in a sack someone had tossed into the woods near the main road. They were barely a day old. I brought them home, doubting they could be saved, but I was determined to try. As it happened, the next day, Borden and I learned of a mother cat—one belonging to Dyane—that had birthed kittens but had lost her litter to hawks. I paid Dyane to bring her cat here; the mother took to Tristan and Isolde as if they were her own. Once the kittens were old enough to be weaned, Dyane took her cat back home.”
“And your dogs?” Magdalen asked. “How did you come to own them?”
“Galahad was just a pup when I saw him, Lancelot, and Guinevere locked in small, filthy cages and for sale one day at the town market. After arresting and jailing thieves who’d robbed a merchant’s stall, I returned to the cages to see the dogs were covered in sores and so poorly fed, their ribs were showing beneath their fur. I was angry, but the man at the stall insisted he couldn’t afford to feed them. I bought all three dogs; I simply had to.” A wry smile curved Cyn’s mouth. “I likely paid too much for them, but the man had four children. Hopefully my coin went toward buying food for his family.”
Tears pricked Magdalen’s eyes. Cyn was indeed a kind soul. One of the kindest she’d ever met.
“I cannot bear to see animals suffering,” Cyn added, shaking his head. “I do not regret helping any of them.”
“Of course not,” she said.
His gaze, very direct, lifted to hers. “Likewise, I could not bear to see you suffering, especially when I had caused your wound. Never could I have left you unconscious and bleeding in the forest.”
His words, while softly spoken, held an edge.
Warning tingled through Magdalen, raising the fine hairs at her nape. She wanted to run, but ’twas impossible with her injured leg and Cyn positioned so that he blocked any chance of her getting past him.
“Tell me why you were running from William. I want the truth, Magdalen.”
She swallowed hard. Did she dare to tell him?
Cyn braced his arm on the wooden stool, alongside her leg. “I know you are reluctant to confide in me for some reason. Are you afraid of what might happen if you betray a confidence? William’s confidence, mayhap?”
Oh, God. A cool sweat beaded on her brow. “Cyn—”
“If not William’s confidence, then Edwina’s?” Resolve burned in Cyn’s eyes. “I promise, Magdalen, no matter what secrets you hold, no matter how foul they might be, you are safe with me. I will never allow anyone to hurt you.”
Misery wove through her. He sounded so earnest, and the passion in his gaze… It made her stomach swoop. No man had ever looked upon her in that way before, as if she were precious and irreplaceable.
She nervously tapped her fingers against the chair cushion, confusion and fear knotting up inside her. How keenly she wanted to share the burden of what she knew, but once she’d told Cyn, she could never take back the dangerous words.
William was a powerful lord with many allies throughout England. If he wanted to destroy her reputation or, God help her for even thinking such things, kill her, ’twould be easy for him to accomplish. No doubt he could achieve what he wanted without any of the blame being traced back to him.
A tremor shook her. “I want to believe you, Cyn.”
“Good.”
“But—”
The rest of her words vanished as he lifted her stiff, white-knuckled hand from the cushion. He slid his fingers through hers, so their hands became intimately entwined. A raw ache spread through her, while caution warred with the urge to tell him all.
His expression a heart-wrenching blend of frustration and concern, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, reverently, just as she’d read about in the most romantic chansons. Oh, mercy—
“God above, Magdalen, I cannot bear your silence any longer. Tell me what William wants from you. Please.”
Chapter Eight
Reluctance still shone in Magdalen’s eyes, and Cyn stifled a groan. The morning was swiftly passing, and today, William would likely arrive with his men-at-arms to take her back to Glemstow. Cyn had to find out her secret, and soon.
He squeezed her fingers. Her eyelids fluttered, but her expression remained wary.
“Magdalen,” he urged. He’d never felt so torn up inside, not since the day he’d returned to his family’s castle to see Francine standing hand-in-hand with his brother.
Magdalen gnawed her bottom lip; she clearly struggled with her conscience. “I…”
He swore under his breath. There must be some way to earn her trust. Sharing the book of old tales hadn’t worked, but he couldn’t give up trying… What, though, would persuade her?
Cyn glanced away, and his gaze found her bag tied to the rope. Remembering what he’d found inside the bag, he rose and went to the shelf near the fireplace. Light glinted off the silver stag ornament as he retrieved it from its special spot near the book. After untying her bag, he brought it to her and set it in her blanket-covered lap, along with the stag.
Her eyes widened. Drawing in a sharp breath, she picked up the ornament.
“I am certain ’twas made by the same silversmith who designed your doe. The style is identical.”
She studied the stag, and then her fingers tightened around it, as though to draw strength from it—just as he’d done many times through the years. “I vaguely recall that there was once a mate for my doe. How did you come by it?”
In as much detail as he could remember, he told Magdalen of that afternoon when he’d been gifted with the stag. “To this day, I remember her as the most beautiful lady I had ever seen. Her words helped me through some very dark days. “’Twill be all right,’ she told me—”
“‘You will see,’” Magdalen finished. Tears welled along her lower lashes.
“Aye. How did you know?”
“I believe…that lady was my mother.”
Magdalen’s mother. ’Twould explain the resemblance between the two women.
A sad smile curved Magdalen’s mouth. “She was indeed beautiful, not just in her appearance, but the way she treated others.”
“Was,” he echoed.
“She died in childbirth when I was ten. The babe, a boy, perished too, moments after he was born. I…was with my mother when she passed on.”
“I am sorry.” Cyn couldn’t imagine watching a parent and sibling die; the anguish would be unbearable. He’d been spared that kind of pain by being away in the East when his parents had perished. Bitterness, rage, and gut-twisting anguish stirred within him at the memory of his brother informing him of their deaths, but Cyn mentally shoved the recollections aside. Magdalen was most important now, not just for what she could reveal about the stag, but for what she’d tell him about William.
“My mother gave me the doe when I was a child,” she was saying, “but just before she died, she gifted me with the ruby. She told me to always keep it close to me, and that ’twould bring me good fortune. For a while, I thought ’twas true, until I found…”
“Found?” he coaxed.
She averted her gaze, and the silence lagged. He forced himself to remain still and quiet, to leave the burden of ending the silence upon her. “My mother… At what keep were you serving as a page when you met her?”
How neatly Magdalen had avoided answering his question. He could be patient, however, for a little while longer. “I served at Drandwick Keep, in Nottinghamshire.”
Magdalen’s eyes widened. “Lord Falderston’s castle?”
“Aye.” Cyn well remembered the broad-shouldered, dark-haired lord whose booming laugh could carry across a bailey.
“When I turned fourteen,” she said, “I moved to Drandwick to become a ward of Lord and Lady Falderston. My mother had been best friends with her ladyship, and the Falderstons were very kind to me. I also met my friend Aislinn there.”
“The lady whose letters are in your bag,” Cyn recalled.
Magdalen nodded. “She married Lord Hugh Brigonne and now lives in Lincolnshire.”
While Cyn had never met Hugh Brigonne, he’d heard the story of what had befallen him last year. Found naked and left for dead in a forest, Brigonne had survived a foul plot by a rival lord to claim his estate and intended bride. Brigonne was known to be one of the wealthiest lords in England.
“My parents were also friends with the Falderstons,” Cyn said. “’Tis how I ended up being sent to their fortress to train as a page. Your mother must have been visiting Drandwick Keep the day I met her.”
“Most likely.” Magdalen’s brow creased with a frown. “Sometimes I traveled with her. Is it possible that you and I met years ago, but do not remember?”
“’Tis possible,” he agreed, “although I only lived at Drandwick Keep for about four weeks, up until the day I…” A rueful laugh broke from him. “Well, let us just say that his lordship decided his castle might not be the best place for me. He sent me to his older brother’s keep, and I was much happier there.”
“What happened?” Magdalen was clearly fascinated. “Did you get into trouble?”
“Indeed I did. At eight years of age, I was one of the youngest pages at Drandwick. I was often bullied by older boys who had already become squires.”
“Oh, goodness,” she murmured.
“The teasing upset me, but I never fought back, not until that one afternoon—the day after your mother gave me the stag, actually—when I could stand the torment no longer. After a particularly cruel trick played on one of the other pages, I confronted the nastiest bully. I was terrified, but determined the mistreatment had to stop. He sneered and then mocked me, and my anger boiled over.” Cyn shook his head. “I walloped him in the jaw, hard enough to crack his teeth together, and then we were both clawing at each other, wrestling each other down to the dirt. Lord Falderston had to break up the fight.”
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