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

by Kris Tualla

  Eryn’s angry brow slammed down to meet her widening eyes.

  He glanced her way, and hoped his intent was clear. Do no’ say a single word.

  “I’ll need another pound for the shackles,” the magistrate embellished.

  “Of course.” Drew counted out the coins, fully aware that half the money would go no farther than the man’s own pocket. “And I shall need the key.”

  The leg irons were removed, after the guard was found and summoned. And the exchange of payment and shackle key was made with Eryn remaining mercifully silent. The magistrate signed and dated the bottom of Drew’s warrant. A uniformed squire added the official seal with dark green wax. Drew ignored Eryn while he waited for the business to be concluded. There could be no indication of his feelings for her or the whole plan might go awry.

  “Here you are, my lord.” The squire handed Drew the sealed document. “You can take her out that door there.” He pointed to an alcove sheltering a single side door.

  Drew nodded and tucked the paper inside his tunic. “Thank ye.”

  He strode across the chamber to where Eryn waited. He gripped her arm just above the elbow and gave it a tug. “Come on, then.”

  She tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but she hadn’t the strength. “I can walk by myself,” she growled.

  “And are ye thinking to walk away from justice?” Drew said loudly. “Because I have the king’s leave to behead ye or hang ye—my choice—should ye give me trouble along the way.”

  Eryn looked up at him, and he could tell by her expression she believed him.

  “Let’s go.” He turned toward the door and pulled her along in his wake.

  “I’ll bet she doesn’t make it as far as Northampton,” the magistrate’s comment floated behind him.

  Eryn stumbled after Drew. He slowed his pace so she wouldn’t drop at his feet. He wondered if she would be able to walk all the way to his apartment, but she was too dirty to take into a public establishment. And then there was the detail of the manacles.

  “Am I truly charged with murder?” were the first words she spoke once they were clear of the Tower.

  He looked down at her. “Aye.”

  She stopped walking. “Geoffrey is dead?”

  Drew rounded on her. “He is.”

  Disbelief and confusion sculpted her features. “H—how?”

  “They say ye pushed him down the stairs. And then ye fled.” Drew was in no mood to ease her mind. Once he had a chance to hear from her own lips why she did what she did, he might grant her absolution. For now, she would bear the brunt of his anger for trying to deny him his child.

  “He fell down the stairs?” The words were as wispy as the cloud of breath they produced in the chilled day. “I didn’t hear… I couldn’t see…”

  Drew caught her as she slowly folded to the ground, limp as wet thread.

  “Eryn?” he said.

  Nothing.

  He heaved her boneless body over his shoulder and hurried toward his home.

    

  Hours later, and mercifully unchained, Eryn sat in the small wooden tub and scrubbed hard, trying to erase the memories of the last three days. It was unfortunate she couldn’t scrub away the bruise discoloring the lower half of her left cheek. But the serviceable soap successfully removed the repulsive dirt of London’s streets and the Tower’s dungeon.

  Drew ordered her food and let her eat half of it while the bath was prepared, which she managed in spite of her sore jaw and the heavy iron manacles. Then he released her and left his apartment so she could bathe in solitude. Her ablutions complete, she stood in the tub and began to dry herself.

  She lifted a linen shirt from a nearby chair. The only clothing she could don was his; hers were in her satchel in the room she rented. But she had apparently spent two nights in the dungeon and had not paid the innkeeper, so there was no guarantee her things were still there.

  Sadly, her beloved gelding Rory was in the same situation. It was near dark now, and she was in no condition to go wandering the streets trying to retrieve him.

  Drew’s shirt reached below her knees. His hose were far too big as well, but at least she was covered. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sat to finish her meal—her first in three days. Her mind was starting to function again. And with that, came deep sadness.

  Geoffrey is dead.

  No matter how horridly their last meeting went, she never wished he would die. He had been her best friend since she was fifteen. She honestly considered marrying him. Until the knight arrived, of course.

  Lord Andrew Drummond.

  The name stirred up so many disparate emotions, Eryn couldn’t decide how she felt about the man. On the one hand, just the thought of his kisses set her insides to thrumming. The passion he sparked in her was as frightening as it was compelling. She longed for him to bed her again; and now that she was with child there was no need for a sheath.

  Not that he knew that, of course.

  Not that she would tell him, either.

  Because she was still furious at his presumptive actions. Furious and humiliated beyond her ability to express. The pompous knight had deliberately set about to discern her past and prove her a liar. Then he presented his information to her as if it was a valuable gift! As if she should be pleased at what he had found! Pleased that he had spoken about her lies to the king of Scotland!

  What could he have been thinking?

  As much as she was drawn to the man, the shame he caused her pushed her away. Just meeting his cocky, knowing gaze mortified her to her marrow.

  And yet he saved her today—for the second time. She owed him her life. She was carrying his child. And she could barely stand to be in the same room with him.

  Eryn’s head began to hurt thinking about it. She washed the last bite of her supper down with the remaining ale. Then she curled on the couch—styled like a high-backed church pew with cushions—wrapped herself in the blanket, and stared at the fire.

  The apartment door swung open.

  “Eryn?” Drew called.

  “Here,” she answered.

  He came around the couch in a cloud of cold smoke-scented air and looked down at her. His cheeks were ruddy from being outside, and his eyes looked golden in the firelight. He is so incredibly handsome. She hated that the thought came unbidden.

  “Did ye have enough to eat?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she murmured.

  He took off his cloak and hung it on a peg by the fire. Then he rubbed his hands together and held them toward the warmth. Kennan stepped forward and hung his cloak beside Drew’s before he disappeared into one of the sleeping chambers and latched the door.

  “We found your horse.”

  She almost missed his words, spoken in such an offhand intonation. She gasped and sat up straight. “Rory?”

  “Aye.” Drew looked at her over his shoulder. “He was stabled where I leave my own steed. I paid for his care until the day after tomorrow.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “Thank you, Drew.”

  He shook his head. “Do no’ thank me. Ye’ll need a mount for the three hundred miles back to Scotland. It’s a bit of a long walk.”

  Eryn’s smile died and she leaned back against the cushions. Was he angry with her? Did he believe she killed Geoffrey? Did he truly think her capable of such a deed?

  “Might I see the warrant?” she asked.

  He looked surprised. “Why?”

  “Don’t I have the right to see what it is I’m supposed to have done?” she snapped.

  Drew lifted one brow in silent warning at her impudent tone, but he pulled the document from his tunic. Eryn unfolded it and read the king’s accusing words. So it was true. She was accused of murder and theft. Her hands began to shake.

  “I didn’t do it,” she whispered.

  Drew pulled the paper from her trembling grip. He refolded it and tucked it safely back inside his tunic. “Nonetheless, ye stand accused.”r />
  Eryn rubbed her eyes, staunching tears. She was so tired she didn’t feel competent to face anything right now; not the unfounded warrant, not Drew’s inexplicable anger, nor her unsettled circumstances.

  “I think I shall sleep now,” she mumbled.

  Drew lifted the manacles and chain from the hearth. He looked at her expectantly.

  “You are not serious!” she blurted.

  He rattled the chain. “Wrists, ankles, or one of each?”

  “But why?” she cried.

  He stepped closer. “Ye see for yourself ye are an accused murderess. Ye have been released into my custody to be returned to Scotland. I’ll not have ye running from me again.”

  “I never ran from you!” she lied.

  Drew stroked one finger over his upper lip. “Well ye ran. And ye did no’ run to me. So…”

  “I came to find my mother!”

  “But your mother is no’ living!” he countered.

  What? Eryn’s aching jaw dropped. “You knew that? Why didn’t you tell me?” she cried.

  The knight glared at her. “When I spoke to ye last, ye screamed at me like a banshee, ordered me out of your sight forever, and then locked yourself in your room afore I could.”

  “Even so,” she objected.

  Drew’s expression hardened. “If I’d had any notion that ye would go haring off to London—alone, no less—I would have knocked down your door and made ye listen.”

  She wasn’t winning this argument; she needed a new tactic. Eryn flung an arm toward the wooden tub. “I wasn’t shackled when I bathed and none was here!”

  Drew’s mouth formed a crooked grin. “Kennan was guarding the door the entire time I was gone. Ye do no’ believe I would be so careless, do ye?” He rattled the chains again. “I’m tired as well. What’ll it be?”

  Realizing the stubborn knight was in earnest, Eryn glowered at him while she quickly evaluated which form of bondage would be the least uncomfortable.

  “I recommend ankles, since ye will be wearing them on your wrists for the larger part of the morrow,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “And the knit hose will protect your skin.”

  Eryn flopped on her back, seething with righteous rage. Why didn’t he trust her? She felt the irons close around her legs and heard the clank of the lock. They were warm from being near the fire; had he done that intentionally?

  Drew leaned over her.

  One hand rested on the cushion beside her. The other gripped the back of the couch. His face was inches from hers. Was he going to kiss her? Her lips parted. She stared into his eyes. She held her breath.

  “On the morrow we will procure your clothes. And then ye’ll tell me exactly what transpired atween ye and the constable. Every bit of it, do ye hear?” he growled.

  Eryn moved nothing but her barely nodding head.

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “And the next day, we’ll be on our way.”

  Drew pushed himself upright, walked into the second sleeping chamber, and shut the door with a decisive thunk, leaving her to sleep on the cushioned bench.

  Eryn deflated. She swore silently and curled under her blanket. Her heart pounded with both the fear and the hope of his threatened seduction.

  Drew’s actions assured that she wouldn’t die tonight; but she wondered if tomorrow she would wish she had.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  February 22, 1355

  Eryn kept her shackled hands hidden inside Kennan’s cloak as she directed Drew to the inn. He had to bend down to hear her voice and he wondered if she played a game with him.

  Yester eve, when he leaned so close to speak to her, his intent was to frighten her. But her pale green eyes widened, her lips parted, and her breath stopped. His body reacted immediately, jumping to attention and pressing for renewed intimacy with the woman. Bruises couldn’t hide her beauty. And she possessed no guile to disguise her hopeful anticipation.

  Shite.

  He was reacting again just thinking of it.

  “Down here?” he barked, pointing to a side street.

  Her brow flickered at his suddenly harsh tone. “Yes.”

  He softened his voice. “What’s the place called?”

  “The Tower Tupe.”

  Drew saw a carved wooden sign with a ram’s head, painted in unlikely colors, a few doors down the street.

  “There it is.” He reached for Eryn’s elbow. “Come on, then.”

  The innkeeper was summoned. His eyes rounded when he saw Eryn—guiltily, Drew thought. And when the man’s gaze ran over Drew’s well-dressed and well-armed frame, he paled. Aye, he’s culpable of something.

  “This woman rented a room from ye, did she no’?” he began.

  The man made a show of examining Eryn before admitting he recognized her. “She looks familiar,” he tempered.

  Drew decided to change the direction of his query. “She fell ill after eating your food. I found her fevered and initially unable to point to the source of her discomfort,” he said rather loudly.

  “What?” The man glanced at the inn’s patrons, all turning to see what Drew spoke of.

  “She could not, being so disposed, return to pay for her room. I’ve brought her here today to collect her things—all of them—and settle the account.” Drew clasped his hands behind his back, pulling his cloak away from the jeweled hilt of his sword as he did do, and stared down at the man.

  “Of course. I understand. But there might be a small, insignificant, problem,” he demurred. “You see… we were robbed yesterday.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Now see here—”

  “Bring the lady’s things immediately, so we may determine which items have gone missing,” Drew commanded.

  The innkeeper ducked through a curtained doorway.

  “Do ye recall all ye had?” Drew murmured to Eryn.

  “I didn’t own much to begin with,” she huffed.

  After several minutes, the man returned with a leather satchel. Drew set it on a table and—to spare Eryn the embarrassment of exposing her manacles—began pulling items out and setting them aside until the bag was emptied.

  “Is anything missing?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The silver and emerald tiara.”

  “Damn thieves,” the innkeeper hissed.

  Drew ignored him. “Did ye have any coin?”

  “I kept that with me,” she said.

  That was a surprise. “And ye have it still? Even after ye were, um…‘inconvenienced’?”

  “I had a pocket sewn inside my gown,” Eryn stated. She looked pleased to have amazed him. “The gown that was ruined and burned.”

  She truly is canny. Drew turned his attention back to the prevaricating innkeeper. “Ye owe her for the jewels.”

  “I do not!” he yelped. “I can’t help being robbed.”

  Drew rested his palm on the hilt of his sword pulling the man’s glance. “Well, I think ye can. And I’ll return at sundown for the item itself, or the money ye sold it for.”

  “And if I cannot produce it?” he challenged.

  Drew leaned toward the man and growled is warning. “Do. Not. Try. Me.”

  The man blanched.

  Then Drew stuffed all of the items back into the satchel without another word. He took Eryn’s elbow and sauntered out of the inn.

  “That was clever,” she said.

  “As were ye. A secret pocket.” He looked down at her. “I am impressed.”

  She gave him a smug smile. “And I wrapped the coins to keep them from chiming against each other.”

  “Were the coins all yours?” he asked, honestly curious.

  Her expression shifted and her cheeks bloomed redder than the cold day could account for. “For the most part. If I had been paid for my services to the estate.”

  Drew shrugged. “I’m satisfied.”

  A small smile curved her lips. She looked so relieved, so vulnerable. He clenched his fists to keep from putting an arm around
her and pulling her close to his side. He wasn’t ready to forgive her; there was more he needed from her first.

  Back in his apartment, Drew removed the chains and Eryn changed into her own clothes. Then he sat her down, intending to hear her telling of the events leading up to Geoffrey’s death. She looked nervous. She sat on the cushioned bench facing the fire. Her foot was shaking and she had a falsely pleasant expression on her face. Drew pulled a chair close.

  “I need to ask ye about what happened the night the constable died, ye ken?” he began.

  She nodded. Her lips were pressed in a colorless line.

  “Ye need to be honest, Eryn. I can no’ help ye if ye hold back,” he said gently.

  She nodded again, and her lower lip moved behind her teeth.

  “All’s right, then. Tell me what happened first.”

  She shifted her position on the bench. “Geoffrey came to my room the night before the wedding.”

  “Did ye ken he was coming?” Drew asked.

  She shook her head. “No. It was late and I was in my nightclothes, going to bed. He just started pounding and shouting, ‘open the door’!”

  “Did ye?”

  “I had to—or he would have awakened the entire household!” She swallowed and winced. “He was very drunk.”

  “Very?” Drew prodded.

  Eryn nodded and wrinkled her nose. “Yes. And he stunk of it.”

  “Then what?”

  “He said he was celebrating our wedding with the men, but half the town was talking about me… and you.”

  Thus far her account matched Liam’s. “What were they saying?”

  She squirmed under his intense regard. “He didn’t tell me. But he said he would not be surprised if I bedded you.”

  “That strikes me as a bit harsh for a bridegroom who claims to love his intended,” Drew said.

  Her eyes glistened, but the tears didn’t spill. “He called me a whore,” she whispered.

  Drew fought with his reactions; even though the accusation of bedding was true, he would kill Geoffrey for making it if the man wasn’t already dead. “What happened next?”