by Joanne Rock
And yet, she did not know how to construct memories that would last her a lifetime in this short window she’d been given before she was handed over to the good sisters at a local abbey.
“I cannot answer well without knowing who I am,” Hugh answered finally.
Sorcha had been so lost in her own thoughts as the trees grew denser near the cottage that she’d scarcely recalled that Hugh had been taking a long time to respond to her question. Now, she half regretted her query since it must call up frustrating reminders for him.
As Eamon approached them to take their horses, she asked herself how would a man spend his last days of freedom if he knew not his family, favorite activities or his most beloved friends?
“It was thoughtless of me—”
“No.” He silenced her with a look as Eamon hastened his pace, his hand extended to take the reins while Hugh leaped to the ground. “Thank you, Eamon. You’re wanted at the keep today. I will watch over things here if you can make haste to leave.”
An unfathomable expression crossed Eamon’s face. Worry? Sorcha was uncertain.
“I think my father wishes to reward you for your service,” she assured him, not wanting him to dread the meeting the whole way across her father’s sprawling lands.
The groom nodded his thanks but did not look as reassured as she thought he might be. Nevertheless, he held the reins for her courser as Hugh helped her down.
She noticed the feel of Hugh’s hands upon her waist.
Though he touched her with quick efficiency, the warmth of his palms seeped through her gown to heat the skin beneath. Each finger left an enticing imprint before he released her.
Surely it was only because she had allowed herself to think about indulging in such pleasures during her last days outside the convent that her mind ran so quickly to fleshly desires. Because if not for the sudden knowledge that her time as a layperson was almost over, she would never consider inviting a Norman into her bed again.
As Eamon departed with their mounts for the stables, Hugh’s palm landed on her back once again.
“Are you all right?” His voice stroked her senses like a minstrel’s fingers plucked his instrument, coaxing a sweet, singing response that fairly vibrated right through her.
“Fine,” she blurted, unsure of herself. Of him. She had merely opened a mental door when she thought about making a forbidden memory with Hugh. She had not committed to the idea in fact.
Had she?
“You look a bit nervous. I hope you do not doubt my ability to keep you safe.”
Ah, she did not doubt this man’s ability on any level. Therein lay the problem. There was a subtle self-assurance about Hugh’s touch. His speech. The way he moved through the world. She admired the way he had confronted her father, even if he had not won all he wished. Edward had not the courage to seek out her father during battle to ask for her hand. He had merely solved the problem by marrying her quietly.
Hugh would have never settled for such a solution, and she appreciated his stalwart strength. His determination to follow through on what he felt was right.
How many men could have made the journey he had—with no memory of the past—and land in the good graces of a notoriously temperamental monarch?
“I trust in your sword arm.” She looped her hand about his sleeve, reminding herself of his capable power. Her hand strayed onto hard muscle, the delineations apparent through the thin fabric of his soft linen tunic.
“Sorcha.” He halted their progress toward the cottage when they were a stone’s throw from the riot of budding roses around the front door.
He said nothing for a long moment, merely staring at her with his gold-flecked eyes that seemed to glow from within. All at once she realized what her touch had done to him. His face wore an expression not unlike the one it bore the day she lifted her skirts to catch Conn’s kitten.
Only now, the look did not scare her away.
“Aye?” She let her fingers trail along his forearm in the subtlest of caresses, taking in the warm, virile strength of him as if she could absorb his might right into her skin.
“You play with fire,” he warned her, his gaze flicking down the length of her body with a slow, measured stare. By the time his glance returned to hers, she was fairly humming with awareness. “But I think you already know that.”
“I have been thinking about how I would spend my final few days of freedom,” she confessed, keeping her voice down in case Conn’s nurse lurked near an open window.
“And what conclusions have you reached?” He halted her roving fingertips by clapping his big hand on top of hers, imprisoning her between his arm and his palm.
Her heart stuttered in her chest because she knew he had guessed her wayward thoughts. She bit her lip, less sure of herself as she stood so close to him, enveloped in the heat of frank, masculine interest.
“I have not.” She swallowed back the other words that had warred for dominance on her tongue. “There are so many reasons to consider besides what I would like.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. She had caught him off guard. He recovered quickly, however, and he leaned closer to speak softly in her ear.
“If I were you, and I faced life within an abbey’s walls, I would not consider anyone but myself. And, Conn, of course,” he clarified, his words a heated rasp against her ear. “But until you can be certain about what you want, you would be wise not to stoke fires that will burn you unnecessarily.”
She nodded her understanding, but the movement was jerky. She tried to blink away the sensation he stirred inside her, but found her eyelids heavy.
Spellbound by the man and the moment, she splayed her free hand on his chest. Just to steady herself, she thought. But she ended up leaning closer, her mouth watering for another kiss that would help her make up her mind—
The cottage door unlatched from the inside. The scrape of metal against wood warned her away from Hugh and she stumbled back.
“My lady,” Conn’s nurse greeted her, the woman’s eyes drooping with exhaustion. She held Conn in her arms, and the child whined pitifully. “I think he misses you.”
Immediately, Sorcha relinquished her hold on Hugh and she hurried toward the cottage.
Hugh could not imagine that he had been a father, since Sorcha’s instant abandonment of him for her child felt highly foreign to him.
Unlike swinging a sword or kissing a woman, being tempted sorely one moment and then overlooked for a chubby and bleating little boy was not familiar ground for him. And while the abandonment was not exactly flattering, he admired her gentle way with the child.
“Of course he misses Mama,” Sorcha cooed, holding her arms wide to receive her son. “My precious boy!”
Hugh bit back the tide of lust that had been sweeping through him just moments before. Fascinated by Sorcha’s transition from a sensual woman into doting mother, Hugh followed her into the cottage past the bleary-eyed nurse. The woman picked up a satchel from the floor by the door and bid goodbye to her mistress before heading toward the stable. Did the nurse have quarters there as well?
He might have asked, but Sorcha was busy juggling her son from one hip to another, keeping up a running commentary about everything from how much she’d missed him to how strong a knight he would make one day.
“… and he will carry the broadest sword and rule with the bravest heart,” she told the wide-eyed little boy who bore more of a resemblance to his dark-haired auntie than Sorcha herself.
Conn, for his part, seemed more interested in seeing how tightly he could wind his mother’s long, auburn curls around his plump fingers. Clearly, Hugh had lost his chance to be alone with Sorcha. But perhaps the anticipation would make the pleasure stronger if he got another opportunity.
“… and they will bow low to their king,” Sorcha told Conn, bending forward as she said it so that the boy’s baby-fine hair nearly brushed the straw mats on the cottage floor.
While the boy squealed with delight, Hugh did no
t bother to hide his interest in the curvy, delectable picture Sorcha presented with her antics. She was too overcome with motherly joy to notice where Hugh’s eyes lingered anyhow.
“Would you like to speak in the garden, Sorcha?” he asked, helping himself to the sideboard where the nurse must have laid out some ale and a few berries in a heavy stone bowl. “I will bring you something to eat.”
He still had the bread and cheese her father had insisted he take, although he’d have to visit the stables to retrieve them since he’d left them tied to his horse’s saddle.
“That would be lovely.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, her mood brightened immeasurably by the child she held in her arms. She did not seem to notice how the boy tugged her head sideways with the fistful of luscious red curls.
“I’ll meet you outside in a moment,” he assured her, patting the boy’s silky head before peering out a small window to gauge the distance to the stables. He could not roam too far from the woman he needed to protect. Her father might not take the threat against her seriously, but Hugh damn well did.
Laughing and playing, Sorcha wandered off with her charge, her hips swaying as she walked barefoot into a private chamber away from the main room. The cottage was small, but it had been cleverly designed to afford private sleeping quarters between the main room and the walled garden. A small cluster of buildings ringed the cottage but at a fair distance. Besides the stable, there was a kitchen with little more than a storage cellar and a hearth for cooking. Hugh assumed the other shelters were living quarters for guests and perhaps a garderobe. All of the smaller buildings bore thatched roofs like a crofter’s hut, the materials blending into the hilly landscape so well they weren’t apparent until one strayed close to them.
Leaving Sorcha to share a moment with her son, Hugh hastened to the stable. True enough, he wanted to retrieve the food stores. But he had left them purposely to speak with Eamon privately.
When he entered the stable, however, the groom did not appear overly eager to make his trip to the king’s keep. He had backed Conn’s nurse against a wall, his hands thrust into the bodice of her kirtle to free generous breasts. The woman’s cap had fallen off and her fair hair spilled over her shoulders to shield most of her nakedness. Only a hint of pink nipple jutted through the flaxen veil as her lover rammed his hips tight to hers.
Thankfully, the lad’s braies were still tied about his hips.
“Eamon.” Hugh didn’t care what the man did on his own time, but he did not consider this to be an hour of leisure for the groom. He should be seeing the king to arm himself for guarding his mistress, not losing himself in a woman.
The thought reminded Hugh how close he’d come to losing himself in Sorcha’s kiss just moments before.
The nurse squealed her dismay as she struggled to cover herself, but Hugh had no interest in her embarrassment. At least Eamon had the sense to look shamefaced, his cheeks flushed with more than thwarted lust.
“I am leaving for the keep immediately,” he sputtered as he yanked the ties on his tunic to pull the garment into place.
“A word with you first, please.” He eyed the woman, who appeared frozen in place now that her clothes were on once again. “Alone.”
The nurse sprinted for the door, her coarse leather shoes slapping the dirt floor as she ran out. Hugh took a moment to tamp down his anger while he watched her depart.
Eamon cleared his throat. “The woman does not know of my role in protecting—”
Hugh raised his forearm to the groom’s throat and backed him into the stable wall. Eamon’s head whacked into the worn boards, his eyes wide as Hugh’s arm pressed against his throat.
“You will not forsake your duty to the princess again or I will ensure you never serve the king in this lifetime.” He lifted his arm enough to put some pressure on Eamon’s jaw, tipping his chin up so he could look Hugh in the eye.
Hugh would make sure his message got through to the lad.
Eamon made a gurgling noise, his face suffused with more color than his guilt had given him earlier. Reluctantly, Hugh released some of the pressure on his throat.
“Are we clear about that?” he asked, needing confirmation that Eamon understood exactly what was expected of him.
“Aye.” Eamon gave a small nod, his movements still impeded by Hugh’s grip.
“Excellent.” Hugh stepped back, knowing he’d taken out more frustration on the groom than was necessary, but when the king refused to protect his own daughter with any more men than Hugh and one undisciplined youth, it made him angry. “Leave now so you can take a watch by nightfall.”
Eamon pushed himself off the wall and wasted no time heading for his horse. Hugh watched him leave as he retrieved the food stores still tied to his saddle. Clearly the groom had done little more than undress the nurse since they’d returned from their trip.
Fuming silently, he left the stables and returned to the cottage, determined to keep a closer eye on Eamon and knowing well it wouldn’t be easy to do when Hugh needed to keep an even better watch on Sorcha now that he knew Eamon was more interested in his own needs than the princess’s.
He could only hope that the king’s faith in Eamon would give the younger man a new appreciation for what a large opportunity he was being offered to raise himself up in the world. Because Eamon’s sword arm and attentive watch might one day be the only things that stood between Sorcha and the enemy that lurked ever closer.
Why did Hugh remain here?
Sorcha watched the hulking warrior make a tentative peace with her son. Conn had been intimidated by Hugh at first, holding tight to her skirts whenever she placed him on the ground during their small meal. But Hugh seemed to be winning the boy over with a gentle game of chase through the fruit trees, where Hugh would hide behind the trunks until Conn caught up, keeping the distance between them close. Conn laughed with childish delight each time Hugh disappeared and then reappeared from behind a tree.
All of which entertained her with a bittersweet reminder of what her son was missing in life by not having a father. But the pleasure she took in the game did not account for Hugh’s continued presence. Surely chasing a wee babe through the gardens was not the sort of pastime most men would prefer while courting. So what was his true motive?
Hugh darted and feinted from one side to another as the two of them squared off beside a small sundial covered in moss. Conn made to move to the right, and Hugh followed suit, now on his knees. Then Conn hopped to the left on his wobbly, baby legs and Hugh did the same. Mostly, Conn giggled and held his belly until Hugh toppled over as if defeated by a stronger foe.
Sorcha studied his face as he mimicked minor death throes that did not even fool a child. She wondered if he had children in his native lands, since she could not envision any man playing so easily without having some experience at the games that would amuse a little tot. The thought sobered her good humor until she rose from the ground to scoop up her son.
“Did I scare him?” Hugh asked, sitting up suddenly from where he’d been convulsing so recently. “I did not mean to give the boy a fright.”
Her mother’s heart warmed at his concern and for the first time, she wondered if she should consider Hugh’s courtship after all. Perhaps he played with her son to demonstrate his ability as a father, and his seemingly natural ease with Conn had all been carefully orchestrated to persuade her.
“Nay, you did not frighten him.” She kissed Conn’s warm cheek and stroked his baby-soft hair. “I only thought he might be ready to nap now that he has eaten and played. I do not wish to detain you and I know you hoped to speak with me.”
That was only part of the truth. The other was that it tore at her heart to go through the motions of a family tableau, knowing they might all be separated in another fortnight.
Conn’s nurse emerged from the cottage before Sorcha could seek her out and she handed over her son. The nurse was unusually quiet as she took him, her eyes darting over to Hugh before she ducked back
into the doorway with the boy in her arms.
“We wish to speak privately, Enid.” Sorcha called after the younger woman. “You may rest after Conn falls asleep.”
“I did want to speak to you,” Hugh answered as he rose from the ground and dusted off the dirt and leaves clinging to his tunic. “But I did not mean to send Conn away early. He is a sweet lad.”
“I cannot help but think a man might say as much if he hoped to woo a mother,” Sorcha replied cautiously, walking closer to where the remnants of the meal still lay upon the ground. As much as she had begun to consider the option of an alliance with Hugh to escape her fate in a convent, Sorcha knew she must question her every impulse when it came to men.
She had been so wrong on so many levels last time. It was one thing to consider a dalliance with a man as a last selfish act before entering a nunnery. It was another entirely to bind her life and Conn to him when he might be as untrustworthy as Edward. She had no reason to suspect Edward would deceive her. So it hardly mattered to her now that she had little reason to mistrust Hugh.
He laughed now as he lowered himself to the ground beside her.
“You are probably right, but in this case, I stand by my assessment. Your son is a good-natured lad, and I think you must know it’s true enough. If I had raved over his disposition while he cried and pummeled me with tiny fists, you would have better reason to suspect my words.”
Hugh stretched his long legs in the direction of the catmint and parsley. He’d situated himself close to her, but not so close she could take offense at his presumption. He leaned to one side to retrieve the wine he’d placed in the brook during their meal. The water was shallow, but it was spring fed and cold, providing the cottage with a fresh supply.
“You wished to speak with me,” she prodded, unwilling to be lulled into thinking a future with Hugh would be the romantic haven she’d once dreamed her parents had enjoyed.
