Once Upon a Kiss
Page 15
She was beautiful, so beautiful, but there was more than that—there was a vibrance about her that was compelling, alluring. Though he hated all things Marlbury, he couldn’t help but admire her fierce loyalty to her family and her kingdom.
Tynon had been too busy fighting Marlbury all his life ever to have the time to envision settling down with any one woman, though he had tasted the charms of many. But he found himself wishing for a moment that Erinn was a llachlander. She would be the kind of woman he would seek as a wife, and as the mother of his child. She was passionate, brave, spirited—and lovely beyond words.
But she isn’t a llachlander, he reminded himself sternly, backing off a step. She is your enemy.
The fight had gone on for a hundred years, and now it was down to the two of them. He must use her, use her to find a way to break the spell, or to force King Vort to find someone who could.
She is a pawn, nothing more, he told himself. A tool to use to free the keep from this damned enchantment.
The worst thing he could do would be to start thinking of her as a woman. Then he would be susceptible to whatever feminine tricks or wiles she might employ.
He had to find a way to break the spell, and he had to extract as much as he could from Marlbury in the meantime. Now that his father was dead, the fate of the llachlands rested on his shoulders alone. The people depended on him. So did his brother.
Tynon had never been one to shirk responsibility. No, he had always taken on more than his share, and he excelled at whatever he endeavored to accomplish, be it swordsmanship, jousting, or leading men into battle. He didn’t believe in half measures, and he had never tolerated fools.
He had always vowed to himself that one day he would bring the border wars to an end, and his people believed that he would do it. His brother believed he would do it, and so did Marguerite, his old nurse, who had first served Tynon’s great-grandmother and who had lived through the wars for nearly all of her life.
What must they all be thinking now—trapped in a dimension that was inaccessible to the outside world? Not for the first time, he wondered if Rhys and Marguerite and the servants and soldiers in the keep could see him as he saw them.
He wished to hell he could get his hands on whoever had played this evil trick.
Just then, Erinn shifted in her sleep, and the animal pelt slid from her body into a heap upon the stone floor. He gazed down at her, realizing that he had yet to see her without that heavy cloak. His gut clenched as he wondered what she looked like beneath its dark, fur-lined folds—wondered if the rest of her was as exquisite as that breathtakingly delicate face.
Without knowing why, he took out his knife, then bent down and cut through the knot that held her trapped upon the settle. He lifted her in his arms and strode from the chamber, telling himself that what he was about to do would further his cause, that it had nothing to do with any softness he might be feeling toward his enemy’s daughter, nothing to do with her. It was simply that a touch of goodwill from the princess of Marlbury could not but help his cause.
And except for the small warning voice in his head, he actually believed it.
5
ERINN CAME AWAKE slowly, peacefully, the fleeting remnants of her dream lingering in her mind as she began to stir. She had dreamed that she was in her own velvet-canopied bed in Marlbury Castle. It was a sparkling summer day, and she was going to a fair. To escort her, her father had chosen a handsome stranger she had never seen before—a strapping knight with silky dark hair and a hard-planed face and fire-blue eyes—
Tynon of Bordmoor.
She jolted upright, fully awake, as memory rushed back and doused her with panic like a pail of ice water. She found herself not in her own bed but on a straw pallet in an unfamiliar chamber of Bordmoor Keep. And stretched out beside her was Tynon of Bordmoor. His eyes had snapped open at her sudden movement. Even as she stared down at him, he pushed himself up on one elbow and met her stunned gaze.
“You…you…we…”
Her heart sank. He was bare-chested, his silky hair tousled, his eyes calm and sleepy. He wore only his breeches, she noted, while she—
She glanced down, apprehension tightening her throat. With relief she saw that her cloak still draped her. For a moment she had feared to find herself stripped naked.
“What are we doing here? I…I was on the settle…”
“You looked uncomfortable. I thought you’d sleep better here.”
She sprang up, trying to move away from him, but she realized suddenly that a rope was wound around her waist and the other end was knotted around his waist.
“I couldn’t very well leave you unbound,” he pointed out as she glared at him. “You might have tried to leave me while I slept.”
“I shall leave you. You may be sure of that.”
“Not before we’ve struck a bargain, little witch.”
“I make no bargains with a savage like you—” Erinn began, but the words were cut off as with one hand Tynon yanked her down upon the pallet, and in a twinkling, before she could even draw breath, he was upon her. She struggled furiously, but she was pinned beneath him.
“Let me go! Savage! Brute! If I could, I would turn you into slime, into dust, into dirt beneath my very feet!”
“But you can’t,” he said softly. “And I, in turn, can do whatever I wish with you.”
He spoke the words quietly, matter-of-factly, and they were far more devastating than if he had shouted them. He spoke the truth. Her own helplessness against his physical power was brought to bear fully as she felt vulnerable in the way only a woman could feel.
She stared up into his eyes, her own filled with a measure of fear that she could not hide, though she tried. From their gold-flecked depths, however, defiance still blazed even as she fought back tears of frustration.
“Are you ready to strike a bargain?”
She gritted her teeth. He leaned down toward her, his weight pressing her into the straw pallet. He brushed a pale tendril of hair from her eyes. For a moment his fingers lingered upon the silky strand, twining through it almost absently.
The intimacy of the gesture sent fear spiraling through her, but also a burning heat. “Let me go,” she whispered.
“When you agree to my bargain. I made you comfortable last night, allowed you to rest, and did nothing to besmirch your virtue.”
“How chivalrous.”
“I hoped to earn your goodwill, but you are proving yourself to be ungrateful.”
“Grateful? Should I be grateful that you kidnapped me from my home, struck down my brother, dragged me to this horrid place—”
“You should be grateful that I have found a reason to keep you alive.”
“And what reason is that?”
As Tynon studied her defiant face, reluctant admiration tugged at him—along with a surge of red-hot desire. Holding her beneath him like this was tormenting him far more than her. It was pleasant, and could be even more so—if only she were willing. But he would not take her against her will. And besides, she was a Marlbury. He ought to be repulsed by her very existence instead of being attracted by the mere sight of her, by the way she moved and spoke, by the softness of that luxuriant hair that shimmered like the summer sun. The necessity of controlling the urges that gripped him was not lost on him, but the effort required was considerable. Strenuous even, he thought as he savored the soft curves of her body beneath him and saw the trembling of those lush, kissable lips.
“I want you to help me find a way to break the spell.” Somehow he managed to speak in an even tone. “If you can’t do it, you must know of someone who can. Together we’ll find this person, be it witch or wizard, and bring him here. You’ll assist in whatever meager way you can. But you won’t go home, Erinn, until the enchantment imprisoning the keep is broken. And if—before that happens—your father and brothers dare to cross into the llachlands, their fates will rest upon your head.”
“Bastard.” She struggled anew, but he held her
firmly, trying to ignore the delicious squirming beneath him.
He waited until she grew still again, breathless and exhausted.
“Do you accept my bargain, witch?”
“Do you give me any choice, savage?”
“I must have your word.”
Erinn’s heart ached. Oh, how she hated him. He was cruel. Hateful. Yet a jumble of emotions warred within her, confusing her. Why did her heart pound so as she felt his body pressed against hers? Why was she fascinated by those cool eyes, by the thrust of his jaw?
She ought to feel only revulsion, and yet…
“You have my word!” She had to force herself to say what he demanded. Then she drew a deep breath as he moved off of her.
“Cut these bonds,” she ordered as she scrambled to a sitting position.
Tynon shook his head. “If you’re always this imperious, no wonder that you’ve not yet found a husband. Who would have such a sharp-tongued woman?” But as he spoke he sliced the knot with a swoop of his knife.
Erinn tore the rope from her and sprang up from the pallet. “I could have my pick of husbands, but I have yet to find one I wish to marry—or whom my brothers deem worthy of me. And you? Have you no wife? Or…” She remembered something abruptly and glared at him. “This Marguerite you mentioned—is she your wife? How would she feel if she knew her husband had spent the night upon a pallet with another woman?”
Tynon stood up, his bronzed chest gleaming in the vivid sunshine that filled the chamber. For the first time he chuckled without any trace of harshness. “Marguerite is not my wife.” He grinned, pulling his tunic over his head.
“Then who is she?”
“Enough of your questions. We’re leaving here.”
“Leaving here?” Erinn regarded him suspiciously as he donned the rest of his garments. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there—unless your powers of Sight are sufficient to reveal our destination to you.”
Erinn’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t have any powers of Sight—as you are well aware.”
“You seemed to know me when I seized you at Castle Marlbury,” he remarked. “We’d never met, but you recognized me even in the darkness. As if you’d known I was coming.”
“I didn’t know you were coming or I’d have been ready for you. The entire castle would have been ready for you.” She pushed her tangled hair back from her face and tried to smooth the folds of her bloodstained cloak. “I did have a vision,” she added in a low tone. “But not a very useful one. All I saw was your face, not that you were inside the castle grounds, getting ready to strike down my brother.” She gritted her teeth. “All of my visions turn out to mean nothing. Why couldn’t this have been one of those?” She shot him such a bitter look that Tynon grinned. And shrugged his big shoulders.
“Don’t ask me, little witch—I’m a warrior, not a magician. I’ve no idea how such things work. But it does prove one thing. You’re not completely bereft of magic.” He reached out, cupped her chin, lifted her face so that she was forced to look into his eyes.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you can produce a vision of whoever performed the spell.”
“One doesn’t just produce a vision—at least, I don’t.” Erinn found herself getting lost in those deep blue eyes, and it was difficult to concentrate when his gentle touch seemed to be burning her flesh. She stepped back, breaking the contact. “That one vision I had of you was the first one that ever held any significance,” she said, and not waiting to see whether it was scorn or pity that would cross his face at the admission, she straightened her spine and stalked past him toward the door. “And with my luck, it will be the last,” she muttered ruefully over her shoulder.
Yet even as she swept out of the chamber, Erinn’s mind was spinning. She couldn’t help a twinge of wonder—and bewilderment. It was indeed strange, and more than a little unsettling, that the one vision that had actually meant something relevant to her life and the lives of those around her was the one involving Tynon of Bordmoor.
Why couldn’t she have had a vision that warned her—so that she might have alerted Braden and spared him injury? So that Tynon himself could have been caught by her brothers and the guards, and then he would now be the prisoner, not she.
Oh, how she would love to see him locked in the dungeon of Marlbury Castle. If only her vision had been more useful.
She pondered this in frustration until they left the dimness of the keep and stepped into the sunlit courtyard. Spring danced in the air. Unlike the previous day with its chill and wind, today was a harbinger of the mild days to come. The air smelled of damp earth, the breeze carried the fragrance of distant flowers, and the sun shimmered like a gold coin in an azure sky.
She turned slowly, scanning the land that surrounded the keep. It appeared to be greening even before her eyes. Lovely, with its hills and moors and sloping meadows. But, she quickly told herself, it isn’t anywhere near as beautiful as Marlbury.
Tynon gave her little time to embrace the day or take stock of her surroundings. Before she could even remove her cloak, which was far too heavy for so warm a day, he had her mounted before him on the black destrier and they were galloping south.
They flew past a sleepy village before she could glimpse more than a few low buildings, smoke curling from their chimneys, and a handful of people making their way with carts and horses. She heard the banging of a hammer, and from a cookshop came an aroma of fresh bread and buns. Geese and pigeons swooped and squawked, and a peddler’s cart was stuck in the mud. But Tynon never slowed the horse, and the village was gone in a blink. They didn’t stop until they had ridden well beyond the village and approached a house of timber flanked by many sheds and stables set amid groves of newly budding lemon trees.
“What is this place?” Erinn asked as Tynon pulled her down from the saddle.
“The home of a friend.” Taking her arm, he drew her toward the door, but before they could reach it, a passel of children came tearing through the courtyard to surround them.
“My lord, have you broken the enchantment?” The tallest boy, with russet hair and bright freckled cheeks, asked, his gaze fixed eagerly on Tynon.
“Is the keep now back as it belongs?” A small girl pushed forward to peer up at the duke of Bordmoor.
“Papa has us say prayers every single night,” another girl announced, folding her hands before her.
“Is this the witch of Marlbury?”
“Is she your prisoner? Will King Vort surrender?”
“My lord, did you know that Eadgyth is sick?” A boy with dirt-streaked cheeks and pale blue eyes piped up. “Mama cries every day and Nurse says Eadgyth might die.”
“Hush, don’t say that or you’ll bring on the evil spirits,” the girl with folded hands shrieked in alarm.
“What’s this? Eadgyth is ill?” Tynon looked to the tallest boy. “This is distressing news.”
“Aye.” The boy nodded and ducked his head. “Even Papa is afraid, I think. He says only a miracle will—”
He broke off as the door to the house opened and a thin man with a lined, careworn face and the same russet hair as the boy stepped out.
“Tynon, thanks be to heaven, it is you. We have been waiting these many days for your return.” He hurried forward, a bleak smile breaking across his features as he and Tynon gripped each other’s arms.
“Is this her, then? The witch?” The man stared at Erinn as if he expected her to sprout black wings and a beak and peck his eyes out. She stood perfectly still, watching in silence as his gaze swung back to Tynon with eager hope.
“Does this mean…has she lifted the spell?”
“Not yet, Stephen. Things turned out to be more complicated than I first thought.” You have no idea how much more complicated, Tynon thought, remembering how softly the little beauty beside him had nestled against him all through the night.
“But tell me, is it true that little Eadgyth is ill? What can be done?”
As the children ran off, chattering among themselves, Tynon and Erinn followed their host inside the house.
He ushered them through the hall into a large, handsomely furnished chamber where tapestries covered the walls and sunlight spilled through mullioned windows.
“The servants will bring food and wine. But tell me, how can I be of service to you, Tynon? How can I help?” His gaze flicked only for a moment, warily, to the slender, silent woman whose rich cloak was stained with blood. Then his eyes settled upon his friend, searching his face with a worried expression.
“We need food and supplies, Stephen. I present to you Princess Erinn of Marlbury.” Tynon’s hand at her waist pressed her forward ever so slightly. “She is in need of your lady’s care. It appears she’ll be staying longer in Bordmoor than I first thought, and she has nothing but the clothes on her back. If Hetta can provide her with what she needs, I’ll see that you’re compensated.”
“Of course, of course.” Stephen held up a hand. “Only—” He moistened his lips, clearly uneasy. “How can we know that she will not put a spell upon my wife, upon my house—even upon my children?” he asked in a low tone.
“I swear to you, she will not.”
Stephen hesitated, then gave a nod. “So be it, then. Your word is good enough for me.” Still, he sent a quick, warning frown in Erinn’s direction. “Whatever she needs, you can be sure, she shall have. And whatever you need, Tynon, you have only to ask.”