Now she was all alone with the man who could unsettle her with a mere glance.
“Please.” Ryder gestured to the table.
Her heartbeat quickened, for her instincts told her to refuse. “’Tis not proper for us to be alone together. Not in this manner.”
He pressed his lips together, as though amused by her qualms. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I might do?”
Nay, she feared she’d somehow reveal her foolish, sinful imaginings of him. “I am not afraid of you.”
“Good. I assure you, the servants who brought this meal can be trusted to be discreet. So, all is well.”
All was far from well. “If you went to all of this effort in order to get hold of my ring—”
“Well, if you are going to be my honored guest forever….”
She rolled her eyes.
Chuckling, he raised his hands, palm up. “I merely wish to enjoy your company. To properly catch up on the past.”
Truth be told, she would like that, too.
Ryder was clearly waiting for her to reach a decision. She nodded and went to the table. He drew out her chair and she sat, aware of his fingers brushing her shoulder as he moved away to take the seat opposite her.
“Did you arrange John’s walk with Nanette?” she asked.
Ryder grinned. “I did, so that we could be alone. John is a good lad; a skilled swordsman. His father, a wealthy earl, has a large estate in Gloucestershire.”
“You believe John and Nanette are well paired,” Amelia said.
“I do, actually. ’Tis not up to me, though. They must decide if they are right for one another.”
Amelia murmured her agreement, even as she marveled at Ryder’s thoughtfulness. Fire glow gleamed on the silver on the table, and when he picked up the wine jug, she said, “This all looks very nice.”
“I am glad you like it.” He poured red wine into the goblets. “To be honest, I fibbed a bit about my intentions. As well as giving us a chance to catch up, I am hoping to convince you I am not such a vile man.”
She dropped her gaze to the tablecloth, where a crimson rose petal had fallen from the bouquet. He couldn’t expect her to accept that she was a hostage; as far as she was concerned, they were once again enemies. But, the meal did provide her a chance to learn more about him. The more she knew, the better chance she had of outwitting him.
When he handed her a goblet, she asked, “Will you allow me to ask you whatever I like?”
Ryder’s gaze sharpened.
“’Tis only fair. Also, you will not deny me answers to my questions.”
“All right,” he said, “provided I am entitled to the same.”
Misgiving skittered through Amelia. Nodding her consent, though, she touched her goblet to his.
***
Amelia sipped her wine, and Ryder once again yearned to slide his fingers into her loosened tresses and kiss her. He wouldn’t stop there. He’d break the kiss to slowly, gently push her gown off her shoulders. The shimmering cloth would slip even lower to reveal the enticing valley of her cleavage and the upper swell of her breasts.
He’d lean in and kiss her neck, wresting a little gasp from her. Then his mouth would travel lower, and as her eyelids fluttered closed, as she trembled under his touch, he’d learn more about her, explore every luscious nuance of shine, curve, and shadow.
She set down her goblet. A droplet shimmered on her lower lip, and his imaginings turned to how the wine would taste on her mouth.
“So,” she said.
He gulped a large mouthful of his drink. “So?”
Amelia toyed with a petal she’d plucked from the tablecloth. “To start, mayhap you can answer some questions for me about Tilden.”
“I will do my best.”
She brushed her thumb over the petal; it seemed what she wanted to discuss was hard for her. She and Tilden had been very close, and since he’d died only weeks ago, she no doubt still keenly felt his loss. “When my brother came home from the East,” she finally said, “he was different.”
“Most men are.” Those three words came nowhere near to encompassing the impact of warfare on one’s conscience and soul. Stephen, or so Ryder had been told, still suffered from nightly terrors and even Gladwin avoided his brother when he was in a temper. “There are things that once seen or heard…live in a man’s mind forever,” Ryder added, hoping those vague words would be enough.
“The change in Tilden….was more, I believe, than the impact of battle. He seemed burdened by great responsibility.”
He had been indeed: with safekeeping a piece of the Templar treasure.
“’Twas almost as though he kept an important secret.”
The need for caution burgeoned inside Ryder. He’d be wise to draw her away from such musings, before—
“Do you know what that secret might be?”
Hellfire.
Mulling how best to respond, Ryder set aside his wine and took the lid off the covered pot, releasing the scent of herb-laden vegetable pottage. “Tilden returned home to be ceded an estate to govern,” Ryder said as he ladled pottage into a bowl. “There are always repairs to complete, disputes to resolve, letters and reports to write, and taxes owed to the crown. Believe me, the responsibilities never end.”
“I know, but—”
“And then there was you.”
“Me?”
“His beloved sister, still unwed.”
She curled her fingers around the petal.
“No doubt he hoped to see you married and settled with a husband and children. With your parents dead, that duty fell to Tilden.” Ryder handed her the steaming bowl. Putting aside the petal, she took the fare.
“Thank you,” she murmured, putting the bowl on the table in front of her. As he served himself a portion, she said quietly, “He did want to see me wed.”
“There is your answer.” Ryder put the lid back on the pot and spooned up a mouthful of his food.
A frown knit her brow. “I am not so sure.”
“Why not?”
“He understood I wanted to marry for love. He wanted that for me, too.”
Ryder thoughtfully chewed his pottage. “I am guessing, then, that you have not yet been wooed and won over by the right suitor?”
Her gaze fell to her bowl. Dismay flickered across her face.
“I apologize. What I just said was insensitive.”
A rueful smile curved her lips.“’Tis all right. You spoke the truth.”
“You have had suitors in recent years, though?” With her beauty and excellent lineage, she simply had to have done.
Amelia nodded and swallowed some pottage. “I have had quite a few, including some Tilden arranged for me. Among them, though, I never found the man with whom I yearned to spend the rest of my life.”
Ryder thought back to Gladwin’s visit. “Gladwin obviously cares for you, since he came to my keep and asked after you.”
“He is but a friend. He is, after all, a Templar. Like you, he can never fall in love or…indulge in carnal pleasures.”
Her words had unsettled her. Understandable, considering she’d spoken of fornication. Ryder reached across the table and squeezed her hand, even as he resisted telling her that he wasn’t, in fact, bound to Templar vows any longer.
She studied their joined hands. “I am well aware, though, that my circumstances have changed since Tilden’s death. I may be wisest to forget notions of romance, for if I do not wed soon, the crown will likely arrange a union for me.”
“’Tis possible,” he agreed.
“I would rather marry a man I know, a friend with whom I can have some measure of happiness, than a stranger.”
God’s blood, but her words bothered him. “You are willing to betray your own heart?”
“Ryder—”
“You said you wanted to marry for love, but you will settle for friendship.”
She was silent a long moment. “As I said, my situation has changed. Mayhap I will seek instead
a lord who is loyal and honorable, just as Tilden was.”
***
Ryder’s eyes narrowed before he picked up his goblet and drank. He’d seemed upset by her musings, and then, at mention of her brother’s honor, his jaw had clenched.
Did he disagree with her opinion of Tilden? Surely Ryder didn’t believe that her sibling had taken the ring from him before giving it to her?
“Why do you look angry?” she asked.
Ryder wiped his lips with his linen napkin. “Your brother was one of my best friends. I am loath to believe he betrayed me, but until I know exactly what happened the night the ring was stolen—”
“Tilden would never steal from anyone.”
“Only a few people had the opportunity. He was one of them.”
“Tilden was always pious, and even more so after returning from the East. He donated a lot of coin to the church in Lynborn. Making sure the renovations were completed became his greatest priority.”
“All very admirable, but—”
“What I am trying to point out is, like other Templars, he would never resort to theft, for ’twould be a sin.” She held Ryder’s gaze, hoping that at last, he would agree with her.
He remained silent.
Honor, still in his dog bed, shifted to cover part of his muzzle with a front paw.
“If you will not accept that my brother is guiltless,” she finally said, “I will prove it to you.”
“How?”
Oh, God, I do not yet know. “Tilden’s belongings fill several linen chests. I have not had the courage to sort through them yet, but there may be a note, letter, or receipt inside that will tell us how and where he acquired the ring. ’Twould be a place to start.”
Ryder’s head dipped in a slight nod.
Memories of the day her brother had died crowded into her thoughts. Anguish welled up, threatening to choke her….
The solar reeked of potent herbs, sweat, and sickness. Amelia swallowed hard as, seeing Tilden lying pale and listless in his bed, she pushed the door closed behind her.
Her brother had always been so strong and capable, but the illness was swiftly destroying him. More than once, she’d dropped to her knees in the keep’s chapel and wept at the unfairness of his situation, but she mustn’t fall apart now. She must be brave for what lay ahead.
Gladwin and Stephen would have received her urgent summons by now; they’d be arriving soon for a final visit with Tilden. In honor of her sibling’s friendship with Ryder, she’d also sent a missive to Brindston Keep—the first communication between her and Ryder in years—but she’d received a reply that regrettably, his lordship was away on matters of estate.
At the bedside, the healer, her expression grim, ran a cloth over Tilden’s bearded face. His shallow breaths rattled in his throat. No more could be done for him now, but to keep him as comfortable as possible.
Amelia crossed to the bed and sat, taking her brother’s clammy left hand in hers. His eyes opened slowly, as if his lids were weighed down by rocks.
“Amelia,” he croaked.
“Hush,” she whispered, managing a shaky smile. “Do not try to talk.”
“Must.” A high fever had racked his body earlier, but his gaze, at the moment, looked clear.
“Leave us. Please,” he said to the healer.
The woman glanced at Amelia, but she nodded, promising without saying a word that she’d call the healer back in if Tilden was dying. Once the door had clicked shut, and Amelia and her sibling were alone, he pointed weakly to the pewter candleholder on the bedside table. “Pick…up….”
The chamber was well-enough lit, and the beeswax taper wasn’t burning, but she did as he’d asked.
“Candle…out.”
Such a request made little sense. Yet, when she broke the wax melted at the base and removed the taper, something glimmered in the holder: a gold ring set with gemstones.
“Mother Mary.” She tipped the ring into her palm.
“Keep…,” Tilden rasped.
“I will.” Why, though, had he hidden the ring? Had he feared the healer might steal it? Surely not. The woman, ever loyal, had worked for their family for many years.
“Protect…. Must protect….” His breaths became wheezed moans.
“Protect what, Tilden? I do not understand.”
“I wanted to scream for the healer,” Amelia said, drawn back to her meal with Ryder by a loud pop of the fire. “Tilden stopped me.”
Ryder studied her intently. “Did he finish his sentence?”
Would Tilden, if he were alive, agree with her confiding in Ryder? In truth, she had little choice. She couldn’t fulfill her sibling’s wish if she didn’t know what to do.
“He said you must protect something,” Ryder coaxed.
“The crescent.”
Chapter Eight
Protect the crescent. Not the ring, but ‘the crescent.’
What did Tilden’s words mean?
’Twas perplexing, too, why he’d given the jewel to Amelia. Why not to Gladwin or Stephen?
A more sinister thought edged its way into Ryder’s mind. Had Amelia lied to him about her brother’s last words to try and trick him? To distract Ryder from his quest to get the ring from her? He didn’t see any hint of duplicity in her expression, however, only bewilderment and grief.
“Do Tilden’s words mean aught to you?” she asked.
“I am afraid not.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her napkin. “I wondered if he spoke in some kind of secret code; a phrase of significance to the Templars.”
The symbol of the crescent moon was used by the Order, and the knights certainly had secrets, but Ryder wasn’t aware of specific words or phrases being used among those who had returned to England with treasure.
She heaved a sigh. “I just wish I understood what he wanted of me.”
“In the coming days, the meaning may become clear,” Ryder said.
As she sipped more wine, firelight gleamed off the ring on her finger. Hellfire, but after hearing that Tilden had concealed the ring and what he’d said to her, Ryder was even more determined that she must relinquish the jewel to him.
Amelia’s chair rasped on the planks. She rose and went to the fire, her arms crossed as though to ward off a biting chill.
“You have not eaten much,” Ryder said. “Do you not care for the pottage?”
“’Tis tasty, but I do not have much of an appetite.”
She crouched beside Honor and stroked the sleeping hound’s head. Ryder left his meal and joined her at the hearth; he leaned his right shoulder against the rough stonework.
Heat from the fire warmed his lower body as she glanced up at him, her expression somber. “I want to return to Callingston.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“I will have to, in order to look through Tilden’s belongings.”
“Have the chests sent here. We can look through them together.” ’Twould also help him determine if Tilden had ended up with the list made at Acre.
“Then I can leave?”
“As we have discussed before, you can once you yield the ring to me.”
Her eyes sparked. “Would it not be wise to find out first why my brother hid the jewel, until he could give it to me?”
“I have my own reasons for wanting the ring back,” Ryder said evenly.
“You have not shared those with me.”
“For other, just as important, reasons.”
She rose slowly, mutiny in her eyes. “You can only keep me here so long before ’tis impossible to contain the gossip about us.”
Ryder smiled. “If necessary, the tale of you suffering from extreme fright after the attack today can be elaborated upon.”
She stared at him as if he had gone mad.
He shrugged. “I can always say we are betrothed.”
“What?”
“I can insist we were secretly betrothed to one another by our families when we were children. When I l
eft on Crusade, we felt it best not to speak any more of a wedding until I had returned home, and we knew the nuptials were going to happen.”
“There is a significant flaw to your tale,” she said hotly.
“What is that?”
“Your Templar vows—”
“I resigned.”
“You—?”
“Days ago.”
She gasped before drawing short, shocked breaths. “You are no longer a Templar?”
“I am no longer a Templar.”
“Oh. Well, I…I will not agree that I am engaged to you.”
“Amelia—”
“Nay. I will not tolerate this situation any longer.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the door. Her fingers touched the door handle. Before she could yank the panel open, he’d closed in on her, slipped his right arm around her waist, and spun her away. Her hair, fragrant and like fine silk, whipped his face.
Her fingers dug into his arm. “Let me—”
“Go?” Ryder pushed her back against the wall. His palms flattened on the stonework either side of her head. He focused on the rough texture and coolness of the wall, on keeping their bodies a hand’s span apart, the effort of concentration keeping him from acknowledging the desire to lower his head and claim her mouth.
Air hissing between her gritted teeth, she glowered up at him. “I will scream.”
“A waste of breath.”
“Really? If I do, no one will believe I want to wed you.”
He winked. “I will find witnesses to say otherwise.”
“Witnesses?” She flung out her arm. “Honor is the only one here, and he will not betray me.”
Ryder struggled not to smile, but failed.
“Stop grinning.”
“I am only acknowledging the truth. Honor will not say a word because he cannot, being a dog.” Ryder gave in to the temptation to brush his fingers along her cheekbone. “By the way, the guards outside, who will hear your scream? They owe me their lives. They will say whatever I want them to say.”
She groaned, shut her eyes, and with a sigh, dropped her head back against the stone. With her mouth tipped up toward his, kissing her would be a simple matter. Yet, when he kissed her, he wanted it to be a pleasure for her—and for her to acknowledge him, not shut herself off from the experience.
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