Loving the Knight: Book 2: Eryndal & Andrew (The Hansen Series: Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  Drew’s threat to her was not an idle one. Her men knew that as well as she did. She had no choice but to unmask and face the knight’s anger. But he wasn’t angry. Eryn believed that to be the biggest surprise of the day.

  Until he kissed her. Eryn had never kissed anyone in her entire life other than Geoffrey MacDougal. She truly did have a care for that man, and always thought his kisses were fine.

  Until now.

  When Drew’s mouth landed on hers, she was shocked. He tasted different than Geoff. Darker. More… smoky. And his skin smelled like snow.

  “Now I know you’re daft. That doesn’t even make sense!” she muttered and stuffed the surviving piece of roll into her mouth.

  It wasn’t only the taste of him, though. It was how his touch commanded every fiber of her body to stand up and take notice. Geoffrey’s kisses never did that to her. She thought surely that was because Drew’s actions astounded her so.

  But if she was being honest, that wasn’t true either. As soon as he cupped her chin Eryn sensed his intent. He acted so swiftly she hadn’t time to respond. She slapped him because he surprised her. She growled at him because she was scared.

  Eryn lifted her goblet of mead and sipped it without really tasting. ‘Twas the second kiss that had her holed up in her room tonight.

  Even in the fading light she saw Drew’s expression shift. Her bowels shifted with it. She had thrown him a challenge and he was glad to accept. She could have turned away. Or wriggled from his grasp. Or screamed. But she didn’t.

  Instead, she kissed him back.

  What was I about, kissing him back as I did? Her face heated and her heartbeat stumbled.

  At the least she had enough of her wits not to lean into him. Even if she did open her mouth just a little and let his tongue touch hers. The tiniest moan started in the back of her throat. She pushed away from him before it could escape.

  She slapped him a second time because of the hungry look in his eyes. And the way his kisses made the ground move under her feet.

  Lord Andrew Drummond was proving very dangerous in more ways than one.

    

  Drew stood in the doorway to the room where he and Eryn ate supper every night. Food waited on the table in front of a single pewter platter and goblet.

  So she wasn’t coming. He must have either scared her earlier this evening—or infuriated her beyond reason.

  What could I have been thinking, kissing her like that? Obviously, he had not been thinking at all.

  But discovering Eryn as the leader of the raid was shocking. She looked so feral, so vibrant. So very un-ladylike in her man clothes—and so improbably appealing, that the shock shot straight to his groin. He kissed her without thinking about it. And she let him.

  The slap was merely a challenge.

  Drew was more deliberate with the second kiss. If pressed, he would admit he knew well how to kiss a woman. It appeared the Lady Eryn agreed, despite her palmed protest.

  Her lips parted. Her tongue touched his. The tiniest moan escaped her.

  When she pulled back, he saw the confusion in her eyes. He smiled softly, hoping to encourage her. But he knew she would need to slap him again and he braced for it.

  What an astounding woman.

  Drew’s belly rumbled. The steaming scents of meat and bread filled his nose and mouth. But in his mind, eating alone was a waste of time. Perhaps he should summon the Cob Constable. The one who kissed Eryn afore.

  That might prove interesting.

  He rang the brass bell on the table intended to summon servants.

  Jamie appeared quickly. “Yes, my lord?”

  Drew waved a hand over the table. “I ask ye to summon the constable to share my lonely meal.”

  The steward hesitated. “My lord… have ye looked out the way?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The storm has thickened. It wouldn’t be cannie to send anyone out this night.”

  Drew went to the window and peered through the small diamond-shaped panes into the darkness. He could see nothing beyond swirling snow that pelted the thick glass without melting. He nodded, sank into the chair with a sigh, and lifted the lonely goblet.

  “Aye, Jamie. Another time, then.”

  The man’s head bobbed. “As soon as the weather clears, I’ll have him brought to see ye.”

  The food in front of Drew seemed to taunt his solitary situation. He drained the goblet and regained his feet. “Have this meal sent to my chamber, will ye?”

  “Of course.” Jamie gave a small bow and then exited the room.

  Drew doggedly made his way up the stairs. Unfortunately, the goblet of wine had not succeeded in washing away the sweet taste of Eryn’s kisses. And his nerves were on full alert, sending messages to a part of his body that responded uselessly. Even if he were ready to end his period of Death-prompted celibacy this very night, the weather thwarted the search for a suitable vessel for his relief.

  He could not stop himself from glancing at Eryn’s closed door. Should he knock? Could he engage her in conversation? After he fought off the English, might she trust him enough to tell him why she led the raid on this particular day? Because if it were up to him, he certainly would not have planned such a thing while housing a powerful Scottish knight.

  She was pushed to it, then.

  By what, I wonder.

  The appearance of his supper tray halted his musing. He followed the boy into his chamber. Later, after he had eaten his fill, hopefully his baser appetite would wane. If not, he would need to take care of that himself.

    

  The next morning was white. That was the only way Drew could think to describe it. He couldn’t see more than twenty yards beyond the front door of the manor any more than he could distinguish sky from ground. No one was going anywhere this day.

  “I believe it’s a good time for me to visit young William,” he muttered and closed the door with a swirl of frosted air. He retraced his steps back up to the second floor and entered the only open portal.

  William sat at a desk, his back to the door, and was reading aloud. His tutor stood by the window gazing out at the white world. Drew listened a moment, unnoticed in his approach. The boy read well. Drew was impressed.

  He raised his fist and tapped a knuckle on the wooden door.

  The tutor spun around, the question in his expression shifting to respect as he stood straighter. The man was perhaps a little past thirty and softly built as fitted a scholar; his dark hair was cropped short. “Good day, my lord.”

  “Good day,” Drew replied. His gaze shifted to William. The boy’s rounded eyes inched up his frame, finally reaching Drew’s face. “Good day, William.”

  “Aye,” the boy croaked.

  “Is this man yer tutor?”

  “Aye.”

  “Has he a name?”

  “Mister Macintyre.”

  At that the teacher strode forward. “Lord Drummond. I am well aware of your presence here. We are honored to have ye.”

  Drew nodded. “Might I have a few moments alone with young William here?”

  Liam appeared to believe the request was akin to being sentenced to death by fright, but Mister Macintyre merely dipped his chin and exited the room. Drew pulled a chair close to the boy and straddled it backwards. He rested his forearms across the carved seatback. Liam looked everywhere but at him.

  “William.”

  The boy glanced at him, then examined the floor with a frown. If Drew was going to glean anything from this exchange, he had better throw Liam off his guard.

  “How old were ye when you’re mither died?”

  Brown eyes jumped to his and held as Liam shrugged. “I dinna ken.”

  “Do ye remember her?”

  He shrugged again. “I dinna ken,” he whispered, the frown still solidly in place.

  “And your father?”

  “That was this year. I remember.” Liam’s lower lip retreated and was pinned between his teeth. />
  Drew nodded. He was getting somewhere now. “And the Lady Eryn takes good care of ye, does she no’?”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “I wanted her to die—no’ him!” he blurted.

  “Aye, that may be so. But ye ken it was no’ her decision that your father die. Only God can decide who lives and who dies,” Drew countered.

  The frown deepened and Liam twisted to face Drew. “But ye are a knight. Ye kill men.”

  “Aye, I do as I’ve sworn to do.”

  “So you chose who dies!”

  Drew leaned closer to the boy. “No. ‘Tis God choosing the men who face my sword.”

  Confusion was pulling down Liam’s defenses. “So you do no’ try to kill them?”

  “I did no’ say that!” Drew chuckled and pointed a finger at Liam. “I fight when I must, and I fight to win. I’ve no desire to die, make no mistake about that, young William.”

  Liam silently chewed his lower lip. His brown eyes were now locked onto Drew’s and showed no sign of wavering.

  Drew tilted his head. “I fight my best. God expects us to always do our best. But He chooses the sword that wounds. And He chooses whether a man dies of those wounds.”

  “Have you been wounded?”

  “Aye. Many, many times.”

  “Why did God choose the other man to die?”

  That question punched Drew in the gut. He felt his brother’s death afresh and he struggled to control his reaction. It was fifteen years past but Liam’s words made it feel like this morning. Drew swallowed his pain—again.

  His voice somehow escaped past his tightened throat. “I do no’ ken, Liam. I truly do no’ ken.”

  The boy nodded slowly. His next words ached with loneliness. “May it be so ye could come here?”

  Drew was punched again. Nothing about this conversation was going as he had planned. Rather than milking William for information about the enigmatic Eryn, the boy was probing his deepest wounds, laying them open, and pouring the salt of his own need on them.

  How do I answer him?

  “I cannot think that we are Lord Andrew’s destiny.” Eryn’s voice leapt over Drew’s shoulder. “I would first believe he is that indispensible to King David.”

  She moved into the room, but didn’t look at him. “Where is Mister Macintyre?”

  Liam’s posture shifted; the sulky boy had returned. “Lord Drummond wanted to talk to me.”

  “Did he, now?” Eryn looked at Drew. Her gaze was guarded and the light green of her eyes nearly swallowed by the blackness of their centers. “And has he finished?”

  Drew stood, swung the chair around, and dropped it back in its place. “I have, Lady Eryn.”

  She looked back to Liam. “Well then, Liam. Go on with your reading while I ferret out Mister Macintyre.”

  Liam made a face, but turned back to his book.

  “Would you like me to send up a biscuit or two?” Eryn asked. “Perhaps warm milk with honey?”

  Liam gave her a soundless one-shoulder shrug.

  Drew deliberately cleared his throat and Liam turned toward him. “Young William, is that how a knight responds?”

  The boys face ruddied. He faced his book again and mumbled, “Thank ye, Lady Eryn.”

  Eryn’s expression mixed irritation with gratitude, though Drew couldn’t discern which might win out. “You are quite welcome, Liam.”

  She turned to go when Drew’s words stopped her. “I’d like a moment of your time as well.”

  He swore he saw her straighten and heave a silent sigh.

  “Wait for me in the Hall,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be there as soon as I’ve returned Mister Macintyre to his duties.”

  Chapter Nine

  Eryn’s hands would simply not stop shaking. She found the tutor, sent him back to the schoolroom, sent a maid up with the promised refreshments—and had no reason to further delay facing the knight.

  Does he wear nothing but black, she groused. The way his clothes matched his thick, inky hair seemed to make his eyes glow and shift constantly from grass to amber to tanned leather. Every sort of light brought a different nuance to their color. She could spend a lifetime cataloging those nuances.

  No, she could not. Stop that, and now!

  Eryn stepped through the doorway into the Hall, her hands clasped in front of her waist. Drew turned to face her. He gripped the back of a chair by the fire, obviously meant for her. Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of him.

  “I believe we will be most comfortable here.” His words crossed the room without effort, though he did not speak loudly.

  “Thank you,” she answered, and sat stiffly in the proffered seat.

  Drew sat in a chair that angled toward hers. His long legs stretched toward the hearth, hard muscles visible through his knit hose as he shifted his position. Eryn pretended she wasn’t looking. They sat in silence for more minutes than Eryn wanted to count. Or perhaps it was only the one.

  “How can I serve you, Lord Drummond?” she finally asked.

  “Lord Drummond, is it then?” His voice was dark and silky and it gave her gooseflesh. “What happened to ‘Drew,’ Eryn?”

  She stared into the fire. “I’m not certain that’s wise.”

  Eryn heard him breathing; slow, deep breaths floating over the crack and hiss of the flames.

  “Why do ye fear me so?”

  The puzzlement in his tone pulled her gaze to his. She opened her mouth to say she did not fear him, but the words refused to leave her tongue. She had never lied in her life—until this year—and found it harder than she ever imagined it to be.

  Drew leaned his elbows on his knees. “Eryn? Do ye think I’m here to hurt ye?”

  “No…” Not intentionally, at any rate.

  “Then what is it about my being here in the manor that has ye so flummoxed?”

  What could she say? That she must ignore all the lies she told him about who she was and why she was called Lady Bell.

  Go to yesterday—that was safe.

  “I’m not in the habit of being kissed so publically.”

  Drew sucked a breath, but by the look in his eye she doubted he fully believed her. “I’d like to say I am sorry about that… but I can no’ lie.”

  “Lie?” she squeaked. Her heart thudded. What was he insinuating?

  “Aye. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, and found the cost acceptable.” He rubbed his cheek and his eyes twinkled golden over a crooked grin.

  “Oh!”

  That was all. Not another word solidified in her mind, crowded out by the unacceptable desire for him to kiss her again. Shite.

  “Oh, indeed.” Puzzlement returned to shape Drew’s expression and shift his eyes to brown. “So what were ye about raiding on such a day?”

  That was a safer subject. Not by much, but safer nonetheless.

  “I offered to loan my tenants the use of livestock for the purpose of breeding their own herds,” she began, watching for his reaction.

  “Did ye…” He gave nothing away of how he felt about that.

  “I did. That way, I don’t have to feed them all winter by myself.”

  Drew’s brow lowered. “Is it that bad, then?”

  Eryn allowed a wry smile. “Aye. We had a plague. Perhaps you’ve heard about it?”

  Drew barked a laugh. “Forgive me, Eryn. But the manor is so well kept, I thought perhaps ye were no’ so badly hit.”

  She couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at his words. “I’ve worked exceedingly hard to keep hearth and home together. I’m glad you noted it.”

  He smiled at her then, a genuine smile that spoke of respect. “Ye are quite a woman. I’ve noted that as well. Now back to the raid?”

  Eryn physically felt her thoughts clashing into each other at his unanticipated compliment and sudden shift back to business. She rubbed her forehead as she sorted the mental pile.

  “Aye, the raid. So many of my tenants were willing to make the arrangement that my own stock was depl
eted.” She shrugged and her hand fell to her lap. “I had to go retrieve what was mine.”

  A look of satisfaction smoothed Drew’s brow. “I thought something had pushed ye to it.”

  “Did you…” It was her turn to give nothing away.

  “As ye said, feeding the animals over winter can be a hardship. And the day was no’ particularly hospitable.”

  “There was a half moon,” Eryn offered, then smirked. “It was a bit hard to find, however.”

  Drew laughed again. His eyes went mossy. “Ye did warn me that first night—that ye steal back what is yours.”

  She pressed her lips together and crafted her next sentence with care. “I do thank you, um, Drew, for your help in sending the English back. Your assistance was probably indispensible.”

  He placed a hand over his heart and tilted his head. “I am honored, my lady, to have been present at the right time, and in the right place, to use my sword in aid of my countrymen… Countrywoman!” he quickly amended.

  Eryn smiled, relieved to have crossed the twin hurdles of the raid, and its discussion, intact.

  “Tell me about the constable,” Drew shifted topics yet again. “He was no’ on the raid, as I recall.”

  Shite. The man was exhausting.

  “No. Geoffrey MacDougal thought that as the law keeper, it would not do for him to be in the midst of law breakers.”

  “But he let ye go?”

  Eryn spread her hands. “As far as he knows, ‘tis their word against ours. He didn’t see a thing!”

  Drew shook his head. “No, I did no’ mean the raid itself. I meant ye, Eryn—as a woman.”

  “And why should I not?” she bristled.

  “It’s dangerous enough business for a man,” Drew growled. “What if something had happened to ye?”

  Her shoulders drooped and her gaze fell to the floor. “If I died tomorrow, I don’t know who would notice.”