Obviously startled by his bold question, Mistress Sexton flushed. ‘The Sextons have held the manor for a long time, my father receiving it from his father. But my father had no siblings who lived beyond infancy, and he took as wife a gently born woman who was orphaned. I was their only child.’
‘But surely your father made some provisions for you?’ To be married, Reynold did not add, to be under the protection of a man with the power to provide for you and to keep you safe.
‘I am his heir, yes, though I’m sure he expected, and deserved, to live much longer. But the dragon had other plans,’ Mistress Sexton said, frowning fiercely at the soil beneath her hands.
‘The dragon? The dragon killed him?’ Reynold asked, with sudden interest. How was it that he had never been told this?
‘The dragon struck him down,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘We heard the roar, and Urban advised everyone to go below, but Father would not. He ran out of the hall, shaking his fist at the sky, and then he fell. I was inside, so I don’t know exactly what happened, whether he saw the beast or it breathed upon him, but when I went to him, he was clutching his chest, barely alive. He spoke some words before he died, but nothing that made sense. Perhaps he died of fright.’
‘I am sorry,’ Reynold whispered, wishing that there was some way he could take away that horror, that pain. He had been so young when his mother passed away that he had never really felt the loss, though he had been aware of the lack of a nurturing female as he grew older. Sometimes he wished that his father had married again, not now, when he was grown, but when a woman like Joy might have made a difference in his life.
Mistress Sexton acknowledged his words with a nod, and for a long time they both were silent, until Reynold realised she had never really answered his question. Was there no one in the area deemed worthy, or had her father valued her too much to part with her? ‘Did he not wish you to marry?’
Mistress Sexton started, as though surprised by the question, and for a moment Reynold thought she would not answer. ‘There was talk of an alliance, but he is…dead,’ she said.
‘Again, I am sorry for your loss.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said, in a tone of dismissal. ‘It was long ago.’
And that, Reynold decided, was another reason why he hadn’t wanted to know more about Mistress Sexton. For now he was racked with curiosity about this proposed alliance and what it had meant to her. But even had he dared ask her more, Mistress Sexton effectively put an end to the conversation.
‘I think that’s enough for now,’ she said. Rising to her feet, she brushed the dirt off her hands, still pale and beautiful, despite the use she put them to. Were her fingers trembling? Reynold nearly took them in his own, but she leaned down to retrieve her basket, and he could only do the same. Had the mere mention of the dead man so upset her?
Reynold frowned as he followed her from the garden, but the gentle sway of the hips in front of him and the warmth of the day soon chased such thoughts from his mind. The breeze was fresh with the tang of salt air from the sea, and a bright sun shone upon them as they wove their way toward the manor.
When they reached the pond, Mistress Sexton called to the boys, and they stopped to admire the morning’s catch. It was a far cry from the bounty Reynold had once taken for granted, and yet he found himself enjoying these simple pleasures far more than others he had known. Glancing at the woman who laughed and teased with Alec and Peregrine, Reynold realised that he did not want these days to end.
But end they would once he accomplished his task here. Reynold wondered, suddenly, if his brothers had shared this feeling. Simon had taken it upon himself to undermine his future wife’s manor. Stephen had been given the task of escorting Bridgid to her family home. Dunstan had been assigned to deliver Marion to her home, as well. When had they decided to linger, to wed?
Startled by the direction of his thoughts, Reynold told himself it did not matter what they had felt or done. For the first time in his life, he was so at ease with a woman that he could almost pretend that he was one of his brothers. But he was not.
Although some of their adventures might have ended in marriage, his own set of circumstances prevented any such romantic ending. He was to slay the dragon, that was all. And if he survived, there would be no reward and no damsel to wed.
As Reynold squinted into the sky, he decided there was no comparison. Even on a day like this, without a cloud within view, Mistress Sexton’s eyes were bluer. And he could tell. He had only to glance over to her, perched upon Peregrine’s black, alongside Sirius, to see for himself.
This morning, he had intended to ride the perimeter of the village, as he often did, while Mistress Sexton was still abed, but she had caught him in the hall and begged to join him. Her eagerness for the exercise had been difficult to resist, and Reynold could guard her nearly as well horsed as not. But somehow his familiar task of searching for anything unusual on the outskirts of Grim’s End had turned into a pleasure ride.
His first.
Reynold had seen his father and Joy out surveying their lands, laughing and smiling as they did so. And sometimes, they returned with their garments awry, as though they had ridden more than their mounts. His brothers and their wives, too, would go off together, sometimes leisurely seeking out the banks of the pond, sometimes racing full out upon a stretch of level ground. And although they had often invited Reynold to join them, he had seen no point in riding for leisure.
Until today.
It was his companion who made the difference, for Mistress Sexton took a simple pleasure in the boundaries of her world, in pointing out to him her favourite spots, where flowers grew and birds nested and the ocean could be seen between the trees, where broom and heather stretched off into the distance and the cries of gull and heron could be heard.
And in that moment, Reynold wished that they could go on for ever like this, even though he knew they could not. When the chain was finished, he would set his trap, and even if he caught nothing, they could not survive the winter without meat and other provisions. Nor was there much sense in buying supplies. A community had to be self-sustaining to survive, and soon his own coin would run out.
Perhaps he should take her to Campion, where she would be safe, where they would all be safe, Reynold thought suddenly. But then what? Would he leave, or would he stand by and watch another take her hand? She could not be that much older than his brother Nicholas. Was that his fate, to provide the youngest de Burgh with a wife? Reynold shuddered. He did not know if he had the strength to do that, even if Mistress Sexton would be willing to go.
Slanting a glance at her lovely profile, he saw that her gaze was fixed on the lands she loved and Reynold knew that he could never convince her. And would she ever be happy elsewhere? Would her eyes light up when discussing some other patch of coastline, another copse of birch? Reynold shook his head.
‘We should be getting back,’ he said gruffly.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, though her expression fell. ‘We have dallied too long. Why, the others will be wondering where we are! And you have had nothing to break your fast.’ She babbled, as though apologising for her brief happiness, and he felt churlish for cutting short a time when she seemed to have forgotten her woes.
She was quiet as they reached the stable, and Reynold wondered why he had even suggested they return. What awaited them here, but an empty hall, Urban with his biting tongue, and Ursula, who nattered incessantly about nothing? For an instant, he almost suggested that they ride away, but where? There was no avoiding the situation, no escaping himself no matter how far from Campion he might run.
Dismounting, he turned to see her eyeing him with concern. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
Reynold shook his head. It was nothing. It was everything. He felt a stranger to himself, assailed by too much when he had always made do with too little. And because he had no answer for what ailed him, he could only return to the one thing they had in common.
‘Where is it?’ he
asked, squinting at the horizon once more. ‘Where is the worm? How can something so big hide itself so well? And why does it strike so infrequently?’
Mistress Sexton shook her head. ‘The pickings are slim here now. There are no animals, no villagers, little movement to attract its attention. Perhaps it has found better feeding elsewhere.’
Reynold had heard that refrain before, so put little faith in it as he stepped forwards to help her from the saddle. He moved automatically, but when his hands closed about her waist, he was seized by a yearning so strong that he shuddered with the force of it. His fingers tightened around her, and he glanced toward her face, only to see a startled expression on her lovely features.
Hurriedly, he set her on her feet, then turned and walked away, determined to fetch Peregrine, rub down the horses, and forget everything about this morning. Absently, he rubbed the leg that ached from his ride as he tried not to think of what else pained him: a body that he usually kept under tight control and a heart that he had thought long dead.
Reynold had not waited for her, so she was a few steps behind him when the deafening roar shook the air. Without conscious thought, he leapt towards her, taking her with him to the ground and covering her. For a long moment, he lay there, protecting her with himself even as he expected licks of fire upon his back. But when he felt nothing, he lifted his head and looked upwards.
The sky was just as clear and empty as before, perhaps more so, for this time, he did not even see the flash of a bird’s wing. Still, Reynold knew better than to linger when he should get Mistress Sexton inside and below as quickly as possible. He turned his face towards her to tell her just that, but found himself staring into eyes that put the heavens to shame. Her flawless skin was barely inches from his own, and her rosy lips were parted in surprise.
Although he had knocked her to the earth in haste, Mistress Sexton showed no sign of fear of the beast and made no move to rise. She simply gazed into his eyes, and then her attention dropped lower, to his mouth. And, once again, Reynold did not pause to consider his actions. Without thought, he dipped his head and took her mouth with his own, seizing what he could, for this moment, at least.
When he felt her start beneath him, he pulled back, shocked at his behaviour. Had he learned nothing these past days? But before he could loose her, Mistress Sexton’s arms slid around his neck and she lifted her mouth to his, kissing him just as boldly. And then he was lost, sinking into sensation, revelling in softness, warmed throughout. She tasted as heady as fine wine, not too tart and not too sweet.
A fine strand of her hair caught against his cheek, and Reynold welcomed it. Beneath him, her lithe form curved against his own, as if moulded to him, and he felt his body stir to life. He gasped, burying his face against the smoothness of her pale neck, where the delicate scent of her golden hair enveloped him, as though calling him home.
‘Mistress? Lord de Burgh?’
At the sound of Alec’s voice, Reynold jerked away, rolling to his feet as though roused by a weapon. Indeed, such was his state of mind that his hand went to the hilt of his sword. Thankfully, the boy was not yet upon them, but was approaching from the entrance to the kitchens. By the time he saw them, Reynold was already standing, and Mistress Sexton was rising to her feet.
‘Are you hurt?’ Alec asked, running towards them.
‘No,’ Reynold said. ‘We fell to the ground when we heard the roar.’
‘Why are you outside?’ Mistress Sexton asked. ‘Adele will be worried.’
‘Peregrine and I were going to check our traps when it sounded,’ he said. And, as if hearing his name, Peregrine burst upon the scene, sword drawn.
‘Was it here? Did you see it?’ the squire asked, his eyes wide.
At the boy’s simple question, the full import of his actions struck Reynold like a blow. As if struggling from a dream, he came awake to realise that he had not gone after the beast. He had not even seen it. He had been too busy making love to Mistress Sexton.
‘No,’ he muttered.
‘Lord de Burgh was concerned with protecting me,’ Mistress Sexton said, in a breathless whisper.
But Reynold knew that was a lie. Once he had hold of her, all awareness of danger had left him. His responsibilities had been abandoned while he lay upon her in full view of anyone looking out of the hall, as well as the dragon. What more would he have done, if Alec hadn’t called for them? Instead of guarding her, Reynold had not even protected her reputation.
He could not bear to look at her, for fear of what he might see in her face, so Reynold again headed towards the hall, silencing his squire with a dark look. And Mistress Sexton said nothing either, no doubt eager to escape to her chamber.
Although he could not like them, Reynold understood his own failings. But why had Mistress Sexton responded, instead of flinching from him as she had in the past? Perhaps she had been driven by a different kind of need, he thought, with a scowl, the same striving to keep her home that had made her beg a stranger for help.
But it hadn’t felt like that. Reynold knew what it was like to be kissed out of obligation, for payment rendered. His few encounters with women had been hurried joinings far from his home, where he had not revealed either his leg or his name. He had not wanted any talk about himself, or, worse yet, any comparison to his brothers, to reach Campion.
Although no coin had changed hands today, had Mistress Sexton’s kisses been bartered for his duty? Reynold frowned, searching for a more palatable answer. Perhaps the peril of the moment and their close proximity had seized them both, he thought.
But no matter what excuse he gave her, Reynold knew it was already too late for him. Against his better judgement, against all the reasoning that had served him well over the years, he was becoming as besotted as his own squire.
Sabina made her way to her chair in the hall, trying to keep her composure while her mind raced and her heart pounded. She would have sought the sanctuary of her room, but she didn’t want to raise any questions, and, in truth, she didn’t know if her shaky legs could take her that far. She had been so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t considered what she was doing, but now the ramifications of her actions hit her, stealing her breath.
Finding her chair, she sat down and let Adele put food before her. She took out her knife to cut a piece of apple, but her hands moved by rote while her thoughts were in a turmoil. There was no need to panic, Sabina told herself. It had been but a kiss, that’s all, and not her first. Yet ’twas the most important, the only one that moved her, shook her, and threatened to alter her very world.
Although the kiss had surprised her, her own reaction did not. It had been coming on for some time, Sabina realised. And why not? A handsome stranger, a knight and a lord, tall, dark and confident, vowed to protect them all and slay a dragon for her. Even Ursula was soon taken with him. And the more time Sabina spent with him, learning his quiet strength, his gentleness, his far-ranging knowledge, the way he squinted his eyes when he was thinking…Well, only a stone would be unmoved.
Of all the men in the wide world, why did it have to be Lord de Burgh? Sabina almost choked back a laugh, for no one had ever affected her except this one, who held her hopes, her future, her life in his sword hand. And yet perhaps it was best, for what she had asked from him was too much for anyone, and only now did she see that.
Sabina’s hand trembled and she nicked her finger. The tiny drop of blood set her heart pounding again, and she felt light-headed. How could she go on as before? But what about her home? Her legacy? What of Grim’s End?
‘You’ve cut yourself!’ Ursula’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Sabina saw her attendant take her hand and dab it with a piece of linen.
‘’Tis nothing,’ Sabina murmured. For it was nothing, nothing to the blood that had been spilled here in the village and might yet be spilled. His blood. Her breath caught.
‘I think I know what ails you.’ Alarmed at Ursula’s words, Sabina looked up to see her attendant
wearing a sly grin. She leaned close.
‘When Adele told me you had gone out riding with Lord de Burgh, I was beside myself,’ Ursula whispered. ‘That is until I looked out the window to see him kissing you!’ She straightened, a triumphant expression on her face, but Sabina shook her head in confusion.
‘You are dazed to be sure, and who can blame you? A handsome man like that…’ Ursula raised her other hand to fan her flushed cheeks before leaning close again. ‘But do not take too long to recover your wits, for you would be wise to plan what you would do and say now.’
Sabina could only gape at her attendant, uncomprehending.
‘See? All your worries were for naught. And lest you still harbour any, I spoke with Peregrine, questioning the boy subtly, mind you, and he said that Lord de Burgh has no children, no wife, no betrothed, no sweetheart. So he would make an excellent match! Indeed, the boy claims the family is very wealthy. Isn’t that wonderful news?’
Sabina shook her head, for she had no desire for riches. She had only wanted one thing, but now…
As usual, Ursula could not understand her hesitation. ‘Surely you do not think him the type to take liberties?’ the older woman asked. ‘I would not believe him capable of compromising a gentlewoman and abandoning her. Still, perhaps we should put some pressure upon him to offer for you as soon as possible.’
‘No!’ Sabina finally roused herself to respond. ‘I cannot allow it.’
‘Why?’ Ursula asked, frowning in disapproval. ‘Do you intend to let him kiss you and let it go, as if you were a dairymaid and he the blacksmith’s son?’
Sabina shuddered, as though Ursula had doused her still-heated form in ice water. ‘He is not the blacksmith’s son.’
‘I know, dear,’ Ursula whispered. ‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean—’
Sabina did not let her finish, but took Ursula’s hands in her own. ‘You will do say nothing of this, and you will do nothing.’
‘What? Why?’
Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight Page 11
