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

by Kris Tualla

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “I can no’ foresee that happening.”

  “No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough. I know that.” She lifted her gaze. “I am completely alone, Drew. There is no one to lift me up, should I fall.”

  He shook his head. “No one is completely alone, Eryn.”

  “Spoken like a man who has family!” she huffed.

  Drew leaned away from her then. “I’ve no family.”

  She felt blistering color flood her cheeks. “Oh! I’m sorry. Was it the Death?”

  “No.” His cheek rippled as he clenched and relaxed his jaw. “There was an—accident. When I was fourteen. I left my father’s house and never went back.”

  She was shocked out of her own concerns. “You left?”

  “Aye. I went to Stirling Castle.”

  “And you never went back?” That idea made no sense to Eryn.

  “No. I stayed and worked my way up to where I am now.”

  “You had a father? And a mother? And you just left?” she exclaimed. The thought of Drew throwing away the one thing she ached for so deeply all of her life—but would never, ever have—nearly knocked her from her chair.

  “I had reason,” he grumbled.

  “I can’t imagine any reason strong enough to throw over your family! I never had—I mean, I always…” Stop talking.

  “My own troubles aside, I see the same determination in ye.” He reached for her hand. His was warm and rough with calluses. Steady. Strong. “Which is why yon MacDougal and ye do no’ suit.”

  Why did he always have to do that? Change subjects in the middle of a sentence? Eryn gave her head a small shake to sort out the sudden shift.

  “And what about never being good enough?” he continued. “What sort of nonsense is that, then?”

  “I have reason,” she grumbled back at him. “But if Geoff doesn’t suit me—as you are so very certain he does not—then what sort of man does?”

  “Ah, that is the question.” Drew unfolded her hand and tugged on one finger with each point: “Ye’ll need someone smart enough to keep up with your plans. Someone strong enough not to be threatened by how capable ye are. Someone who can protect ye, should ye ever need protecting. Someone who won’t get cut by your tongue.”

  Eryn thought she might die of embarrassment right then. In spite of his three previous points, it was the comment about her sharp tongue that sliced her to the quick. It had always been her greatest fault. She slumped in her chair, wanting to cry like a baby.

  Drew lifted her hand by her thumb and waited for her to look at him. “But most of all, Eryndal Bell, ye need a man who knows the exceedingly rare value of a woman such as yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “And where, pray tell, am I to find such a man? My choices are slim, as you are well aware. The Death saw to that!” she blurted.

  Drew stood slowly and pulled Eryn to her feet before he let go of her thumb. She frowned and scrutinized his eyes for any sign of anger, sure that she had offended him yet again. Their color shifted and darkened. He was not smiling.

  His deep voice rumbled like a lion. “Perhaps there is such a man standing in front of ye.”

  Eryn gasped. Every one of her defenses tumbled away, leaving her stunned and vulnerable. She might as well be naked. Did he know what he said? Could he mean what he said?

  And what if he did?

  I am a pretender. If he found out, surely he would report her to the king. And confiscate the land. And turn Liam out with nowhere to go, but to the crofters. Would they take him in or let him die? What if what she did was treason, as he hinted? Might she be locked away? Or killed?

  It was amazing how many thoughts could fly through her awareness, when all she did was stare into Drew’s eyes. His beautiful eyes. And his beautiful face. Stand in front of his beautifully built body. She wanted to acquiesce. She wanted to melt into him.

  Could his arms protect her? Could his interest in her keep a roof over her head? Could she finally have a family of her own? She ached to belong to someone. She ached to belong to him.

  Oh, dear God! I’ve gone completely daft!

  “I—I’m not sure I understand…” she stammered.

  Drew’s fingers slid through her hair on either side of her head. He tilted her face upward and took her mouth with his. His lips were warm. They seemed to hold hers without effort, moving softly, teasing hers open.

  When his tongue slid into her mouth, Eryn’s knees buckled. She grabbed his waist to hold herself up. One of his arms wrapped around her, pressing her against him, while the other tangled in her braid. Her entire body rested against his, from muscled chest to hard thigh, in wondrous and perfect alignment.

  Eryn mimicked Drew’s ministrations and kissed him in the same manner he kissed her. He moaned a little. His breath was hot on her cheek. He tasted like mead and meat and smoke and warmth. He smelled like leather and horses and cold.

  She felt what must be his arousal swelling against her hip. Her own breath quickened as tingling warmth pooled in her belly, then rippled outward at the thought. Eryn was a virgin; she was protected in the nunnery and had never seen a grown man unclothed. What she felt now was considerably larger than any parts young Liam owned.

  Drew pulled his lips from hers. She couldn’t open her eyes until he kissed each lid. Even then, she required a moment to focus.

  “No slap this time?” he murmured.

  “I’m still considering it.”

  Drew chuckled. He let go of her and she sank into her seat.

  “Why? Why did you do that?” she asked, embarrassed by the huskiness of her voice.

  “Because ye deserve to be kissed well,” he answered. “And because I could no’ help myself.”

  She nodded. “I highly prefer the second reason.”

  Drew sat beside her once again. “Now what, Eryn?”

  “I don’t know, Drew.”

  He held her hand. “What don’t ye know?”

  I don’t know anything. “We live such disparate lives. You are always on the move, and I am firmly in place. You have no one to watch out for, and I have an estate full of people who look to me for their livelihood.”

  “I had thought of, perhaps, making a change…” he began.

  Eryn laid a hand on his thigh and spoke with completely fabricated confidence. “Do not give up your vocation for me. In spite of your kind words, it is impossible for us to pursue a future together.”

  “And why is that?”

  Regret thickened her throat and stung her eyes. She blinked the tears away and forced words past the obstacle of her birth. “It simply is. Please don’t ask me any more than that.”

  Drew stroked his forefinger across his upper lip, a habit she had noticed before. “Are ye truly betrothed?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” she assured him.

  “Are ye—please forgive me, Eryn—deflowered? And ye think I would care?”

  She laughed at his obvious discomfort. “No! The nuns would come up here and flay me alive if I had given myself so freely.”

  Drew visibly relaxed at her words, but his demeanor was still somber. “Can you no’ tell me?”

  “If I did, nothing would be solved. Trust me, Drew; some considerations are just too big.” She rose to her feet. “But I suppose I might enjoy your attention while you bide here, and we shall part friends.”

  As she walked to the doorway his voice reached her and took hold of her heart. “I’ll no’ hurt ye, Eryn. I promise ye that.”

  She stopped and drew a slow breath. “Aye. You will. There’s no hope for that.”

  Then she turned and gave him the best smile she could manage. “But you’ll do so with my consent.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Drew crunched through melting snow under a hard sapphire sky. The low winter sun reflecting off the slick layer of white nearly blinded him and he walked with his eyes half-closed. He climbed a rise and looked back towar
d the Bell manor. Pale wisps rose straight from her chimneys, no breeze diverted their upward path.

  He hadn’t intended to present himself as a suitor to Eryn today, but the thought of her marrying—and bedding—the Cob Constable had twisted his gut. She deserved better. And not to boast about it, but he realized of a sudden that she deserved him.

  He saw her intelligence. Her determination. Her strength—as well as her underlying fear. She was still holding something away from him, as if by hiding it behind her skirts, she could actually make it disappear. But he saw it in the flit of her gaze and the upward tilt of her chin. What was she afraid of?

  And what did she mean there was ‘no hope’ for me hurting her?

  That pricked his pride. Drew had never intentionally hurt a woman in his life. Of course, sometimes they were hurt when they did not believe his words. They convinced themselves that he could be corralled into marriage, though he stated repeatedly that he would be a knight, not a husband.

  Until Grier. The most gifted healer he had ever seen, she was also beautiful. Like fire. But she turned down his offer to accompany him to Stirling Castle, probably because he did not offer marriage outright. If he had, she might have considered leaving her tiny keep in Durness.

  His pride was pricked then, too. But as the months passed, he realized his heart was fine. He could not imagine that being the case with Eryn.

  Eryn was beautiful, too. Eyes like spring and hair like summer. Drew felt renewed when he was with her; as if she offered him another season of life. One filled with warmth, growth, and hope. Languid days and passionate thunder storms. Stimulating conversations. Shared labors. Enthusiastic play.

  He never wanted a woman the way he wanted Eryn. And his suggestion that she consider him as a husband surprised them both.

  Even so, her shift in demeanor caught him unaware. It was as if an invisible skin was shed, and she softened with its loss. She leaned into him when he kissed her, so affected that she couldn’t open her eyes. There seemed a vixen buried beneath the nun-crafted exterior, but Drew doubted Eryn was savvy enough to be aware of it.

  I suppose I might enjoy your attention while you bide here, and we shall part friends, she said.

  What sort of attention did she mean? He couldn’t take her maidenhood; that would not be right. But to touch her repeatedly with less intent would drive him mad.

  Perhaps if he kissed her well enough, but pushed no further, she would begin to trust him. She might pull that thing from behind her skirts and let him see it. What could be so horrid that her entire future must bow to its being? Drew felt he could forgive her anything, if only she’d give him the chance.

  December 20, 1354

  Eryn awoke on her birthday feeling as though she had stolen happiness. The last ten days with Drew filled her with the kind of joy she had often heard of, but never experienced. Not even with Geoffrey.

  If she ever doubted her love for her friend, she was certain now; she did not love Geoff. She never had. Not the way a wife might love a husband.

  The big, handsome knight made her soul sing. That was the only way she could think to describe it. There was music in her head and rhythm in her movement. Even Liam was acting differently toward her, as if he heard it too. The boy actually smiled at her yester eve, when he watched Drew teach her to dance.

  Eryn ran her palms down her body, remembering the feel of Drew’s muscular form leaning against her back as he adjusted the position of her arms. It grew increasingly harder to maintain any sort of decorum in the man’s presence when all she wanted were more of his kisses.

  She felt her face heating at the recollection of last night’s secret interlude. Drew led her to the servants’ staircase and closed the door. Sitting on the wooden steps in the silent dark, his hands moved under her gown. First it was her bosom, then up her leg.

  He stopped before he reached the part of her that waited for him, and she was both deeply disappointed and deeply relieved. If he had touched her there, she might have encouraged him to continue. And she needn’t be a harlot to know where that would lead.

  Of all the things Eryn swore to in her life, the one irrevocable promise she made was never to follow her mother’s path. She would never give herself to a man who was not her husband and conceive a bastard. No matter how much she ached for him.

  Instead, emboldened by the close darkness, she touched Drew. She heard him gasp when she gripped him through his hose. She gasped a little herself at the heat that radiated through his clothing. His manhood felt like a thick iron poker wrapped in just enough wool to keep her hands from being seared.

  She began to stroke him, afraid she might hurt him, but curious about what her fingers found. His huge hand clamped over hers and he showed her what to do. He moaned softly, then tensed and grunted with the release she freely offered.

  They lay against the steps for a long time, not speaking but simply holding each other. And Eryn felt safe. Safe, and happy. Happy, and whole.

  But when something is stolen, it never truly belongs to the thief.

  She knew she was stealing happiness, and that she would have to let it go.

  He said he was leaving the first day of the new month. She had twelve days left.

  Christmas Day, 1354

  The manor’s occupants were up early, long before the lazy winter sun, and the rooms smelled of holiday things: cinnamon, cedar smoke, yeast, wine, meats, onions, nutmeg, ale. Warmth. Family.

  “I do have a family here,” Eryn whispered as she carried yet another platter of food to the plank tables set up in the Hall. “Even if I never take a husband, nor bear a child of my own. There’s always Liam.”

  She could not help but wonder how the boy would react to the loss of Lord Drummond. She insisted that Drew be blunt with the lad and explain why he could not stay. And—that his leaving had nothing to do with her. Now that William had softened some, she didn’t want him to revert to his earlier nastiness if that could be avoided.

  “Good morning, Lady Bell.” Drew’s feline purr went straight to her belly. “I trust ye slept well?”

  Eryn turned to face him. Her smile had a will of its own and spread her cheeks so wide they hurt. “I did. Thank you. And a very merry Christmas to you, Lord Andrew.”

  “Your—hospitality—is the perfect gift for the occasion, my lady.” Drew held out his palm. A tiny bundle of velvet began to un-crumple in its center. “I hope ye enjoy mine.”

  Eryn frowned at the wad. “I said no gifts.”

  “That you did.”

  She glared into his golden eyes. “And you agreed.”

  He shrugged a little. “I lied. And I confess that I lied. And in the spirit of the day, I beg your forgiveness.”

  “You are not fair,” she grumbled. She lifted the velvet bundle. “As a Christian, I must forgive you, but I don’t have to be happy about it.”

  Drew grinned down at her and winked. When he acted like that, all boyish and charming, she wanted to catapult into his arms and cover him with kisses. Instead, she unwrapped the gift. A flint stone tumbled out. It was cleaved smooth on one side—its interior layers visible—and in the shape of a heart.

  “I found it,” Drew said. “It seemed appropriate.”

  Eryn felt a quiver of fear begin in her gut. “Why?”

  “I am giving ye my heart. Rough and unformed on the outside, but solid and smooth on the inside.”

  She thrust it into his hand. “No, I cannot take it.”

  “Eryn—”

  Eryn shook her head. “No. I want no promises from you. They are futile. You have your life, and I have mine.”

  Drew leaned down and captured her gaze. “Why, Eryn? What are ye hiding?”

  She pointed her finger in his face. “No questions. We have seven days left. And then you’ll go.”

  “Ye still can no’ trust me?” he whispered.

  Eryn rose on her toes and briefly kissed his lips, pressing hers hard against them. “I have work to do. The tenants will be here s
oon.”

    

  Drew tightened his fist around the flint until it hurt. He watched Eryn’s backside twitching away from him and wondered how she could be so immobile. She was even harder than the stone heart. He dropped it into his pocket and turned toward the Hall’s door.

  Geoffrey stood in the opening, his arms crossed over his chest, and his gaze shooting arrows. The constable’s jaw jutted forward, and the corners of his mouth pulled down.

  “I’d heard rumors, and now I see they are true.” He threw the words at Drew’s feet like a challenge.

  “What rumors are those?” Drew asked wearily.

  Geoff closed the distance between them. “That ye are meddling with the Lady Eryn.”

  “Meddling?” The knight straightened and glared down his nose. “The Lady has been a gracious hostess. We have enjoyed each other’s company. But—as ye undoubtedly overheard her say—I will be gone in seven days.”

  “She had better be intact.”

  Drew threw the punch afore he thought better of it. His fist buried itself deeply in the man’s unprepared belly. Geoffrey folded in half and dropped hard to his knees, wheezing and unable to breathe. His face was as red as the berries in the tarts.

  Drew knelt beside him and growled into his ear, “Think afore ye say such a thing again. Do ye hear me?”

  Geoff nodded and gasped.

  The growl turned into a roar. “I have fought to protect the honor of women, and I do no’ lose!”

  Drew jumped to his feet, strode past a gaping Eryn and the loaf of bread she dropped, and left the manor.

    

  It was cold outside and Drew did not have his cloak. He headed into the stable where at the least he would be protected from the wind. Kennan was there, sharing a cup with the scant group of grooms. One look at Drew, and Kennan handed him a cup as well.

  “My lord?” he ventured.

  Drew gulped the spiced wine and held out the empty vessel. It was promptly refilled. “I do no’ think that I can stomach that ass of a constable for another week!” he barked. One of the grooms snickered.