Candace C. Bowen - A Knight Series 02

by A Knight of Battle

  Torn between her fear of Hamon and her instinct to trust Albin, she remained speechless. Her golden-brown eyes glittered in the candlelight as she stared up at him in mute appeal.

  “Lecie,” he whispered brokenly.

  In response, her full lips parted in the only invitation he was waiting for. Seizing her lips, Albin dragged her against the hardness of his chest. Gently coaxing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue, he slipped it inside to join with hers in a dance as old as time.

  Crushed against his chest, Lecie’s hands slid around his waist to draw him even closer as she moaned with the pleasure his touch elicited.

  Lifting her off the ground, Albin crossed to the bed to follow her down upon it without breaking their kiss.

  He broke away for a breath, cradling her face in his hands. “I have waited for this moment for what seems to be the whole of my life.”

  “Then let us not waste it,” she breathed. “Kiss me, Albin.”

  Capturing her lips, Albin slid his calloused sword hand up her slim waist to cup a full breast beneath the thin linen chemise. A low groan escaped him as she arched her back into his caress seeking more.

  His mouth trailing along her face and neck, he pulled the chemise down to expose Lecie’s breasts to the cold night air. The peak of one hardened as he lightly thumbed it before drawing it into his mouth.

  Lecie’s small gasp encouraged him as she twined her fingers in his hair to hold him close against her.

  Lifting his gaze to hers, Albin’s lids were heavy with desire as he rent the chemise from collar to hem in one fluid motion. “I must see all of you.”

  Lost to the first stirrings of desire, Lecie watched him unashamed as he drank in the sight of her naked body.

  With the look of a starved man, Albin dragged his gaze to hers. Nudging her knees apart, he settled down between them to capture her lips in a bruising kiss.

  Lecie moaned in ecstasy against his lips. The feel of his body against her bare flesh had her seeking something she could not name.

  Reaching between their bodies, Albin untied his breeches to shove them down with his braies. “Forgive me, Lecie. I cannot wait any longer to claim you.”

  In one fluid motion, he entered her.

  Lecie’s shocked cry of pain had Albin leaping backwards off the bed. Frozen in shock, he stood staring down at her. The look on his face had Lecie scrambling to cover herself with the coverlet.

  “Impossible,” he breathed half to himself. “How can this be?”

  Fear and confusion darkened Lecie’s eyes as she gazed up at him. “Albin? Did I do something wrong?”

  “You are a maiden,” he accused.

  Stung by his tone, Lecie sat up holding the coverlet across her chest. “Of course I am…was. Did you believe otherwise?”

  “Aye, I did.” Roughly raking his hands through his hair, he frowned as he spotted a smear of blood on the sheets. “It makes no sense.”

  “Oh, I see.” Anger suffused Lecie’s cheeks with color as she stood on the bed to meet his confused gaze. “You think because I run a tavern and inn I am naught but a whore.”

  “Of course not,” Albin retorted, belatedly adjusting his clothing. “That is the last title I would lay at your feet.”

  “I do not believe you.” Lecie backed out of his reach when he held a hand out to her. “By virtue of breeding, all titled men believe themselves above us commoners.”

  “Enough talk about commoners,” Albin attempted to soothe her. “I do not put myself above anyone, nor do any of Fulke’s knights, for that matter. We have all earned by toil and blood what we have in this life.”

  “Then what has you believing me to be anything other than a maiden, if not for the fact I am a lowly alewife?”

  “Cease speaking about yourself in such a manner. I will not have it.”

  “Then answer my question,” Lecie shot back. “Why did you doubt my chastity?”

  “How can you be chaste?” Angry himself Albin came close to shouting. “When you are married with three young children?”

  Stunned into silence, Lecie stood looking at him with a blank expression as his words slowly sunk in.

  Her eyes narrowed to angry slits the moment she realized the misconception he had been under for so long. “You believe Edric to be my husband?”

  “Is he not?” Confused, Albin reached for her shoulders.

  “And if that were not bad enough.” Lecie slapped his hand away as she leapt from the bed. “You believe me low enough to make a cuckold of a dying man. A dying man lying paces from this very room.”

  “Well,” Albin mumbled once again reaching out to soothe her. “I did not exactly look at things that way.”

  “Get out,” Lecie’s voice was so low she cleared her throat to speak louder. “Get out and never come back.”

  “Lecie…”

  “Leave before I scream,” she forced out between clenched teeth. “I do not ever want to see you again.”

  “It was all a misunderstanding, lass.” Realizing his mistake too late, Albin struggled in vain to make amends. “I had no idea, none of us did.”

  “You are not only lowly you are an outright liar,” Lecie shouted loud enough to be heard in the passageway. “Others knew, surely as his lordship did.”

  “Fulke believed as I. Although he did not approve, he accepted my feelings for you without condemnation.”

  Past conversations with his lordship asking after Albin played in Lecie’s mind. Humiliated, angry tears burned the back of her eyes. “Then you are both fools.”

  Glancing nervously at the door as the sound of voices carried to them, Albin swore, “I shall have this out with you yet, Lecie.”

  “Darken my door again and I shall have you arrested for trespass,” she angrily responded, tripping on the edge of the coverlet as she followed him to the door.

  Steadying her, Albin withdrew his hand when she nearly fell avoiding his touch. “Lass, please, it was naught but a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Our entire acquaintanceship has been a misunderstanding, Sir Albin,” Lecie replied fighting back tears. “However, you made yourself perfectly clear in believing me to be a coldhearted whore.”

  The moment she backed him into the passageway, she slammed the door.

  SEVEN

  Albin pounded down the steps, nearly ripping the inn’s door from its iron hinges as he stormed outside.

  Talan raced from the shadows with sword drawn, searching for trouble, as Albin headed to the stables without slowing.

  Obviously confused, Talan sheathed his sword to follow. “Albin, are you mad?” he hissed. “You are bound to awaken the entire village.”

  Untying his horse, Albin fought to gain control of his temper. “Have you seen aught of Hamon?”

  “I spied him follow Gunilda to her chamber after they closed the tavern for the night.” Leading his horse out behind Albin’s, he glanced towards the dark windows of the inn. “I would not be surprised were he to awaken upon your boisterous exit.”

  Vaulting into the saddle of his charcoal gray destrier, Albin spurred him in the direction of the tower. “Then let us be off before he shows himself and I slay him.”

  Ashamed and disgusted, Albin’s pace had clumps of soil churning beneath the battle-trained horse’s hooves. He did not slow until he reached the tower’s outer wall.

  Reining up, he dismounted to unbuckle the saddle before giving the horse an affectionate slap on the hindquarters. “Do not wander far afield.”

  Talan slowed to a halt to dismount at a much more leisurely pace. “Care to enlighten me as to what happened back there?”

  Flushing to the roots of his hair, Albin averted his gaze. “What makes you think anything happened?”

  “Albin,” Talan said in exasperation. “You stormed out as if the very devil were hard on your heels. Did you, or did you not, speak with Lecie?”

  “Aye,” he mumbled. “I spoke with her, among other things.” Slanting his weary gaze to Talan,
he shook his head. “We have been fools where Lecie is concerned, the bloody lot of us.”

  “How so?” Dropping his saddle on the ground, Talan settled down to prop his shoulder upon it. “Do you believe Hamon’s account after all?”

  “No,” Albin scoffed, dropping down beside him. “I would swear on my life that he is guilty of the thieving offenses laid against him.”

  “Then what have we been wrong about?” Talan pressed.

  “Lecie is not Edric’s wife,” Albin admitted. “She is his eldest daughter.”

  “I already knew that.”

  Swinging his head to look at Talan, Albin’s dark brows drew up in surprise. “You knew?”

  “Aye, Mylla told me as much when we first met in London.”

  “Zounds, Talan,” Albin swore nearly gaining his feet. “How could you not think to tell me?”

  “If you do not wish the camp to overhear our conversation, I suggest you keep your temper in check, or at the very least your voice down.” Talan glanced at the scores of sleeping men and women camped on the sloping hill around them. “Besides, I would have told you had I not assumed you already knew.”

  “Even Fulke does not know the truth,” Albin hissed. “He all but assured me he would have my back were I to make a cuckold of Edric.”

  “If that is the case, he is the only one of us who even realized you had feelings for Lecie.” Talan sat up to defend himself. “How many times in the past have you sworn not to take a woman to wife?”

  “It is all for naught now.” Closing his eyes, Albin shook his head in frustration. “Lecie banished me from her life with good reason.”

  “Lecie is nothing if not compassionate,” Talan soothed. “Tell her how you feel and I am sure she will forgive you.”

  “No, she will not.” Albin laughed bitterly as he shook his head. “And I do not blame her.”

  “Albin…”

  “Get some sleep,” Albin muttered, staring at the fading stars. “I still have to figure out what to do about Hamon.”

  “If you explain…”

  “I do not wish to discuss it further,” Albin ground out, hating himself.

  * * *

  Lecie stood with her back against the closed door after Albin left. Numb, she idly listened to lodgers complain as they filled the passageway to discover what had awoken them.

  One boarder’s gruff angry voice broke through her chaotic thoughts. “I shall have words with the innkeeper come first light.”

  “Leave off,” she recognized Betta’s weary tone. “The poor man has death itself knocking at his door.”

  “That is no excuse,” the gruff boarder complained. “I did not pay good coin to be so rudely awakened.”

  “No doubt a lovers’ spat,” another voice faded off down the hall.

  Lecie waited to hear the rest of the boarders return to their rooms before collapsing to the floor in sobs.

  Her cheek to the hardwood flooring, she wept until sheer exhaustion swept her into a fitful sleep filled with disturbing dreams.

  She woke in the dawn’s early light stiff and disoriented. Sitting up, she took in the state of the disheveled bed as scenes from the night before flashed through her mind.

  Slowly gaining her feet, her eyes focused on the proof of her maidenhood staining the sheets. Angry tears filled her eyes as she crossed to the bed to tear the soiled linen from it.

  Bundling the sheet into a ball, she retrieved clean clothing from her nook and made her way to the bathing chamber.

  Albin’s musky scent wafted up to her as she disrobed, causing angry tears to slip down her cheeks. Tossing the chemise on top of the bed linens, she began to scrub herself, somehow hoping she could erase the memory of his touch. Her blood mixed with the water, staining it pink as she washed her inner thighs. Tender and sore, she now had a newfound respect for the women who serviced the tavern. If it were like that every time they bedded a man it was no wonder they needed to fortify themselves with drink first. Determined to be more understanding of their plight, she quickly dried off to dress.

  Donning a brown chemise, she struggled with the side laces on the cream wool kirtle she pulled over top of it. Her hands shook as Albin’s passion-filled face rose above her, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

  With an unladylike curse, she finished in a rush. Intent to dispose of the evidence of her shame, she snatched up the bundle and hastened to the kitchens to stoke a fire.

  Betta strolled in as she tossed the sheet into the flickering flames of the hearth. Watching the linen smolder and turn brown to black as the flamed consumed it, Lecie buried her feelings behind a mask of calm.

  “Whyever are you burning costly linen, lassie? Your father shall not take kindly to you doing such a thing.”

  “As you well know, my father is beyond taking me to task for such things.” Brushing a tear from her cheek, Lecie busied herself preparing the morning meal.

  * * *

  Albin was half-listening to the master builder drone on as the messenger he sent to Castell Maen rode into view. Excusing himself, he met the man dismounting in the courtyard.

  “I have medicine from the Baroness, Sir Albin.” Digging into his worn leather pack, the messenger passed him a velvet pouch. “Lady Reina instructed that a fair measure be added to broth or warmed cider with each meal.”

  “Do you carry any other news from Castell Maen?”

  “Aye, Sir.” The messenger lowered his voice. “Her ladyship wishes you and Sir Talan good health and Baron Erlegh is in high hopes that all is going well with you and he on the battle front.”

  “The battle front you say?”

  “I did, Sir. Baron Erlegh instructed me to say that he looks forward to the day you return with a lady in tow to build a manor house upon your recently acquired land.”

  “Battle front indeed,” Albin grumbled under his breath as he dug out a coin to hand the man. “Go with my thanks.”

  “I shall be off towards the south.” Vaulting into his saddle, the messenger reined the horse around. “Is there anything you wish to impart to his lordship?”

  “There is.” Albin dipped his head. “Tell him I remain a hopeless case. Sir Talan is more likely to return sooner than I.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Talan approached from the back of the tower as the messenger rode off. “Did her ladyship send medicine for Edric?”

  “That she did,” Albin replied tossing Talan the pouch. “And it looks like you will have to be the one to deliver it to Lecie.”

  Catching the pouch, Talan tucked it into his tunic. “What would you have me say to Lecie when I do?”

  After passing along the medicinal instructions, Albin fell silent.

  “Albin?” Talan coaxed. “Surely there is something on a personal note you would like me to pass along.”

  “Tell her,” he hesitated. Running a hand along his whiskered jaw, he exhaled heavily. “Tell her the regret I feel is more than I can ever convey.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Aye,” Albin replied, gazing off towards the village. “For now it is.”

  “I shall do as you say.” Gripping Albin’s shoulder, Talan smiled. “All will be well in the end, my friend. You shall see.”

  “Feel free to stay in the village as long as you like.” Albin changed the subject. “Your fair Mylla must be feeling quite neglected of late.”

  “Mayhap I can convince her to talk to Lecie on our behalf. With the weather turning to cold, we shall soon be missing the comforts of the inn.”

  “I would not count on anyone turning Lecie’s mind from the present course,” Albin chuckled bitterly. “She is the most stubborn lass I have ever met.”

  “Aye, you would know nothing about being stubborn, would you?”

  “I am beginning to think I preferred you best when you were surly and aloof.” Albin slanted his gaze to Talan. “You were much better at holding your tongue.”

  “Being around a group of drinking, wenching louts tended to
have that affect on me.” Talan shrugged. “I find of late that I no longer have reason to be surly or aloof.”

  “Lucky me,” Albin called to Talan’s back as he headed off to retrieve his horse. Grumbling under his breath, he stood undecided, until with a curse he took off at a run.

  Already in the saddle, Talan paused as he reined his horse around. Waiting in silence for Albin to join mount, he hid his smirk behind a feigned cough.

  “Not a word,” Albin grumbled as he spurred his horse in the direction of the village. “A man should not send a proxy to apologize for himself.”

  “No, of course he should not.” Giving in to his laughter, Talan spurred his horse to follow.

  “If you please, inform Lecie I would like a word with her in private. I shall wait outside.” Albin slowed when the inn came into view. “If Hamon gives you any trouble, summon me at once.”

  “Somehow, I do not think that is where I shall run into trouble.” Meeting Albin’s grim gaze, Talan’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword. “Still, I could always hope.”

  Young Joseph came running from the inn to tend the horses the moment the pair dismounted by the stables.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  The taunting voice from behind them had Albin reaching for his sword. Talan stilled his hand with a meaningful look as he responded to Hamon. “Not that it is any of your affair tapster, we have business with Lecie.”

  “Last I heard she banned you from the place with the sheriff as witness, or have you forgotten so soon, Sir Talan?”

  “Fetch your mistress or stand aside, Hamon.” Casually resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, Talan waited.

  Assessing the situation, Hamon’s lip curled into a sneer. “Wait here and I shall see if she will speak with you.”

  “That went well.” Albin rolled his eyes as Hamon sauntered away. “Mayhap next time you should let me do the talking.”

  “The only talking you would have done is with your sword.” Talan fell silent as the door to the inn swung outward.

  Followed closely by Hamon, Lecie stepped into the yard with an impassive look. Ignoring Albin altogether, she focused solely on Talan. “You wished to see me on a matter of business, Sir Talan?”