by Paula Quinn
“If I say I believe ye aboot yer knight, will ye quit tryin’ to kill me?”
She quirked a skeptical brow at him. “Will you set Sir Richard free?”
He drew an inward sigh. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he about to promise the knight’s safety? He turned to Father Timothy with a look of uncertainty he hadn’t felt in years. The priest offered him a gentle smile in return.
“I suspect he willna go far withoot ye,” Cain finally answered her, “so he will be confined to the keep.”
She looked as if she might argue, but then thought better of it.
Cain breathed.
“We have a bargain then, lady.”
Her hesitation when he tried to escort her out of the hall made him close his eyes and clench his jaw.
“What about my castle and land?” Her smoky voice rolled across his ears like a sorceress’ whisper.
She was either the most courageous lass he’d ever met, or the most foolish.
“They now belong to King Robert.” He opened his eyes but looked away. “I have already written to him and had the missive sent today. There is nothin’ I can do now.”
“Then we do not have a bargain,” she said, furthering his misery.
“Verra well then. Come.” He took her by the elbow and pulled her back to her chamber, where William lay sleeping or dead in her bed.
Cain hurried to the bed, dragging Miss d’Argentan behind him. Father Timothy reached the bed at the same time, and leaned down to listen to William’s chest.
The priest looked up and breathed out. “He lives and his color has returned.”
Cain’s shoulders relaxed from around his ears. He let his prisoner go and bolted the door.
“Why do you both care so strongly for him?” she asked.
Cain tugged at his léine. “I told ye. He is innocent. He is—”
“What are you doing?”
Cain turned to her after he pulled the léine over his head. “I am goin’ to get some sleep. I suggest ye do the same.”
“Here?” she asked incredulously.
“Would ye prefer I put ye back in the dungeon, alone with at least five guards? Ye have proven yerself a clever opponent, but I think five men are enough to keep ye where I put ye.”
She bit her lip. His gaze dipped there. “Father Timothy will move the partition and sleep in that chair. Aye, Father?” he asked the priest as Father Timothy added more wood to the hearth.
“Aye, Son.”
“Ye have nothin’ to fear from me,” Cain told her.
She cut her glance to the priest, and then returned it to the long, smooth muscles of the commander’s bare arms. “I do not trust either of you. Where will you sleep?”
Cain pointed to the floor in front of the door.
Her gaze on him darkened. “You mean to use your body to keep me here?”
He nodded, staring into her eyes. Images of lying naked in bed with her flashed across his thoughts. He pushed them away. She was his enemy. She had killed his men—had almost killed William.
He let his gaze slip from hers and settled it on the lad in her bed.
“Where am I to sleep?” she asked without waiting for his reply to her first question.
He yanked off his boot. “Anywhere ye want. In bed beside William. In Father Timothy’s lap. I dinna care.” He pulled off the other boot and turned away from her. “I am goin’ to sleep.”
He expected her to fight back, threaten to kill him in his sleep. He would have told her she wouldn’t be the first to try it.
But she remained silent as he sat on the floor and propped himself against the door. He almost smiled with relief and closed his eyes.
They opened a moment later when she sat on the floor beside him.
Hell.
Chapter Eight
“What are ye doin’, lady?”
“I am going to sleep.”
“Here?”
“Would you prefer I stay awake and tell you what I think of you?”
Aleysia was glad when Father Timothy blew out all the candles. She thought that in the dim light of the hearth fire, she could ignore the raw sensuality the commander exuded and get some sleep.
But she was wrong.
He appeared almost magical in the soft, golden light. Like some god of war, fallen from the heavens and landing on the floor in her chambers. She could easily retrieve her other dagger but she realized she didn’t want to kill him.
He was keeping her safe from his men. He was willing to let Sir Richard go free.
Why?
“I would prefer ye to sleep somewhere else.”
His deep, gruff voice sent little fissures of warmth through her blood. Though she did her best not to think on it, the memory of being held in his strong embrace when she had tried to kill him in the great hall made her a bit breathless. Why had he shown her mercy yet again?
He had disarmed her five times already in the space it took her to blink. He was quick and strong, and infuriating.
And quite honestly, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and fell over his broad shoulders. His eyes were closed so she let her gaze rove over the dips and crests along his arms and chest, all dusted with dark hair. His belly looked to be made of beaten iron. A battle-hardened man. She was tempted to run her fingers over his scars and ponder how many times he had come close to death.
She disgusted herself for finding him so distracting.
“Why are you protecting me from your men?”
She almost bit her tongue. She hadn’t realized she was speaking her thoughts out loud until he opened his eyes again.
“Yer brother was England’s hero.” His frosty gaze settled on her. “King Robert is involved in talks of final peace with the Archbishop of York. I dinna wish to jeopardize everythin’ he’s done by killin’ the sister of Edward’s favored knight.”
“I see,” she said quietly, relieved that at least he wasn’t planning on killing her in the future. “But taking my home will not jeopardize it?”
He sighed audibly and folded his arms over his chest. “Go to sleep.”
“How can I sleep when my home has been taken from me?” she put to him. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. “What would you know about it? You do not understand and, so, there is no further point in speaking to you.”
She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say but rose from the floor and went to sit at the edge of her bed.
He left her no other choice but to devise a new plan of action to kill him—him and all his men.
She didn’t look at him again. It was too dangerous. She set her drowsy gaze on William instead. Would the commander truly have killed her if William died? She hadn’t wanted to risk it. Besides, if the young man was truly innocent, she didn’t want him to die.
Who was Julianna? His beloved, judging by the way he looked at Aleysia when he called her by the girl’s name.
She studied him in the soft light. He was quite handsome and free of scars. His hair was dark and curling, now that it was dry, over his brow. His square jaw and dimpled chin were cut almost to perfection beneath a plump, pouty mouth.
She yawned and, when she finished, she saw that he was awake and looking at her. Looking through her. His eyes were the color of lightning across a summer sky; they pierced her like arrows and made her want to look away, lest he see her most hidden thoughts and desires.
But there was something in his gaze, as well, that made her smile at him.
“Who are you?” he asked and pulled himself up. Seeing Father Timothy and his commander asleep on the floor seemed to comfort him. He relaxed and looked at her again.
“I am Aleysia. Richard’s granddaughter,” she told him softly, careful not to say too much. “You drank poison wine and I knew the cure for it. We helped you drink it.”
He nodded, and then grasped his head with his hand. “I remember. I think. You saved my life.”
She main
tained her smile, though he did not return it.
“You are English,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral.
“French,” she corrected. “And you are…?” She wasn’t certain. The commander had said William was a servant. But to whom?
He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin. “I am a Scot.”
A proud one, no doubt.
She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. “You sound English.”
“I was…was raised in the home of an English family,” he said, giving in to her prodding.
His tone lost its neutrality and quavered on a wave of emotion.
He wasn’t raised by them, but in their home. Aleysia saw the image of a child in her mind. A dirty, uncared for servant who was beaten by his master. Her heart softened on him.
“You called me Julianna,” she gently reminded him.
He stared at her, but it wasn’t her layers he was peeling away. It was his own, falling away at the mention of her name.
“Who is she?” Aleysia whispered while his breath stalled. “Your beloved?”
“Aye.” A quiet declaration.
Aleysia’s eyes filled with tears. “Where is she now?”
“With her father, the Governor of Berwick, if she still lives.”
Martin Feathers, Governor of Berwick. Aleysia knew little about him. Giles had had some dealings with him years ago and mentioned him having servants.
She closed her eyes and tried to slow her racing, breaking heart. How terribly tragic! William loved his master’s daughter! She opened her eyes to see a tear falling from his. “Forgive me,” she said and wiped her nose. “We do not have to speak of this anymore.” She did her best to smile again and reached out to pat his hand. “You certainly have earned the affections of these two.” She motioned with her chin to the commander and the priest, snoring in his chair.
“Have they found Lord de Bar?” he asked, looking hopeful for the first time.
“Lord de Bar?”
“Aye, your grandfather confessed his name to the commander.”
Dear Richard, Aleysia thought, he had tried to save her.
“No,” she lied and looked away. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want William to know it was she who had almost killed him, killed men who were likely his friends. “But you must promise not to eat anything made with the grain.”
“I promise.”
She yawned again and closed her eyes. “And stay out of the forest.”
She didn’t remember saying or hearing anything after that.
She was awakened several hours later by a gentle shove. She opened her eyes to find herself sprawled out across her empty bed and the commander standing over her. They were alone.
He held up a small loaf of bread.
“We found grain in one of the villager’s homes. Is it safe to eat, lady?” He brought it to his mouth and stared down at her with a hint of warmth softening his hard features. And then it was gone again.
Aleysia rose from the bed and said nothing to stop him while he took a bite. She hadn’t thought about poisoning the villagers’ grain! She’d remedy that the first chance she got. “You risk your life on the hope that I will save it? You are a fool.”
“Not entirely,” he corrected and held the bread out to her. “Richard ate the first loaf.”
She pushed him out of her way and then whirled on him. “How did you know I had not poisoned all the grain?”
“I didna know. I know now. Richard will be tastin’ all our food first until the Bruce answers my missive aboot what to do with ye both.”
Oh, she wished she had stabbed him. Every moment she spent with him made the thought of it easier. She would not hesitate again when she had the chance.
Her belly rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since before the attack. She swiped the bread from his hand and bit into it.
“Where did ye send the villagers?” he asked while she chewed.
“Away.”
He looked mildly annoyed by her defiance, but his voice remained steady. “This grain willna last. We need the farmers back.”
“They are not coming back until you are dead. I promised them safety from you.”
“I willna harm them.”
She laughed. “Why should a rabbit trust a snake?”
His gaze on her sharpened, making her skin feel warm. “Ye are no rabbit, lady.”
“No, Commander, I am not,” she told him, doing her best to ignore the effect his full attention was having on her. “And I will not send for my people until Lismoor is rid of you.”
“Verra well, then,” he said with a shrug that stretched his léine across his chest. “I shall offer their homes to others.”
Her eyes opened wide with surprise and anger at his audacity. “You most certainly will not offer their homes to others! You took my home from me! Do you think I will let you take theirs, too?”
Oh, she shook with fury. She’d failed. She’d failed her friends. Now they were going to lose their homes because of her. She felt tears filling her eyes and hated him all the more for it.
“I will…” She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes to gather control of herself. “I will send for them, but I want you to swear upon the Holy Book that none of them will be harmed.”
She thought she saw him smile. It faded before she could define it, but it seemed laced with regret.
“Verra well.”
He gave in easier than she thought he would. She wasn’t prepared for it and didn’t know what to say.
“Let us go find Father Timothy now,” he continued, and turned for the door.
She’d failed. She was bringing them back to a castle filled with wild Scots. She wanted to weep, watching him leave the room.
She bent quickly to the feather mattress and lifted the corner. She retrieved the knife she had hidden there and slipped it into her boot.
Chapter Nine
Cain turned to make certain his captive was behind him and not preparing to stab him in the back. When he didn’t see her, he clenched his jaw and hurried back to the room.
He barged into her chamber and found her combing her long, loose hair over her shoulder. She turned to him, her large, anxious eyes belying the brief smile she offered him.
“I will just be a moment.”
He knew she was up to something but, at the moment, he didn’t care. All he could do was stare at her while she ran her alabaster comb through her long, raven locks and think about how beautiful she was. Would the other men think so when they saw her?
He’d written to the Bruce about her but it would take time to hear back. What was he to do with her until then?
He was sorry he’d listened to Father Timothy and come here. It wasn’t the first time he’d had regrets. After his men died, he’d wanted to throttle his friend for volunteering them for the siege. But last eve, when the lass told him he didn’t understand what it was like to lose his home, he wanted to tell her about his parents, his brothers, his life.
It made him want to run, to leave Lismoor and never look back. If he hadn’t written to Robert already, he would have fled.
What had come over him to make him want to share pieces of his life with her? Why did he feel like hell…a monster for doing his duty?
She plaited her hair into one long braid hanging over her shoulder and tied it with a piece of twine.
She held the bottom edge of her bodice and wiggled in it, straightening it on her body. “There,” she said, turning to him.
“I have to use the garderobe.”
He nodded, beguiled by the way she moved, the way she looked. Who was she trying to impress?
He held out his arm to clear a path for her and breathed her in when she passed him and left the room.
He followed her out, and waited outside the door while she stopped in the garderobe.
He’d stayed awake listening to her speaking to William last eve. She’d been direct yet gentle and managed to get the lad
to open up a little about his past and the mysterious Julianna. He’d been the servant of the Governor of Berwick, and was in love with his daughter—who was likely dead.
Losing a loved one was difficult. That was why Cain made certain to stay clear of loving anything.
“How is William this morn?” she asked him, leaving the garderobe.
“He is well.”
Her smile lit the hall. “That is good news.”
“Aye,” he agreed. She liked the lad. It made Cain happy for some ridiculous reason. “Yer potion saved him.”
“As I told you ’twould,” she replied with her nose to the air and moved past him.
He followed her. “He is in better spirits than I have seen since we found him.”
She paused in her steps and looked up at him. “Found him?”
“Aye, we were leavin’ Berwick and found him on the road tryin’ to get back to the castle.”
“For Julianna,” she said softly.
“The governor’s daughter.”
“Aye, is that not the most tragic thing you have ever heard?” She wiped something from her eye and continued walking.
Cain could think of a few things that were more tragic than that. But he didn’t say so. Let her pity the lad. It might keep her from killing the rest of them. “Aye, ’tis tragic, indeed. I can find oot what became of him and his family after the attack.” Why was he volunteering for this? Why couldn’t he stop? “Mayhap we can find her.”
She stopped again and turned to him, surprise and delight lit her eyes. “Aye, mayhap we can.”
Should he smile back? He was tempted to. Was he giving her too much?
He was about to take her to the great hall, where she would meet his men. He had lied for her. He’d told them Sir Richard’s elaborate story of Lord de Bar to keep her safe. He’d done it for the king and for the peace Robert sought. He would continue to keep her safe no matter how many times she tried to kill him. When word regarding her came, he would see her off and get on with his life. He couldn’t wait.
She went back to walking without him. “Where is Father Timothy?”
“In the great hall,” he told her, turning left after she did. He caught up to her in two strides. “Stay close to me or someone may try to grope ye.”
