The Knight's Scarred Maiden

by Nicole Locke

  She had been counting on seeing his reaction to her disfigurement; an advantage she needed if her strategy to save Rhain was to work. But now she realized his standing in the dark was almost as good.

  Because his standing in the dark hallway without guards, without company, told her something of him, too. He was a man used to observing and standing on the outside.

  ‘Ah, you’re making an assumption that I am civilized.’

  He stepped out of the darkness then. His voice made her think of summer, but his looks were anything but. Dark hair, almost black, blue-grey eyes and skin darkened by days in the sun. But there was something else about him.

  His clothes were all black, as if he was in mourning for his brother whom Rhain had killed. A reminder that his revenge against Rhain was justified. How would she react if someone killed her sister? She, too, would hound the murderer to the ends of the earth. As it was, she had killed her sister and she haunted and hated herself for it.

  ‘Of course you are civilized,’ she said. ‘Or else you would have killed me the moment I approached your gates.’

  ‘I enjoy the fact he told you of me, you know. It proves everything I surmised.’

  Nicholas was right, they did have spies everywhere. While she was here, Rhain and Nicholas could be fighting elsewhere.

  Reynold was a man to make such strategies. Civilized. Cunning. Shrewd. She felt like she was baking in the dark, with ingredients she couldn’t see.

  But she didn’t need to see. If Rhain was right in his description of Reynold, she personally knew the ingredients he was made of. Which was why she was here.

  A curve to his lips that made the grey in his eyes colder. ‘As for reaching my gates, I could have killed you in Tickhill when I realized you were no mere passenger in Rhain’s little band of misery.’

  Days had gone by since then. Days where this man plotted and planned, where he grieved for his murdered brother, and yet...he had held his hand.

  ‘I am a mere passenger.’

  He shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on her with certainty.

  ‘I came to York, which was always to be my home,’ she added.

  ‘Was it?’ He seemed amused by something, and stepped further in the room. The door to the right creaked open and in came three servants carrying trays of refreshments and arranged them on the table.

  Such luxuries she wouldn’t have taken for granted mere weeks ago when all she had was her own skills in trying to make the dull fare palatable.

  Now she had Tickhill, and more fine food at York, but it didn’t stop her curiosity about the array in front of her.

  ‘Afraid if it’s poisoned?’

  ‘Just becoming accustomed to things I never dreamed of before. I should have you know, when I become accustomed to things, I keep them.’

  ‘Ah, you mean my brother’s murderer. You won’t be able to keep him. Not when he come’s for you.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head slowly, the way he did. His lips quirked in acknowledgment.

  This was a strange conversation and certainly one she was ill prepared for. It wasn’t just her lack of communication skills.

  It was the difference between the brothers. Guy stamped the head of a nursing dog. Reynold invited her in, gave her reprieve, comfort and food. Now he watched her as if she provided him amusement.

  ‘York was to be my home. He was leaving me there.’

  His smile was almost apologetic in its satisfaction. ‘Yet, he told you of me and you came here.’

  The way he said it, made it sound like she was significant. Rhain had warned her that simply telling her could harm her. Here was proof. ‘That is no proof of anything,’ she said.

  ‘If you believe that,’ he said, ‘then why are you here to plead for his life?’

  ‘I’m pleading for mine.’

  ‘Yours? There isn’t any threat on your life.’

  ‘You are threatening my life, by threatening his.’

  He made another tsking sound. ‘And you call yourself a mere passenger.’

  ‘I was a mere passenger, but I’ve realized a few things along my journey.’

  He signaled to the chair behind her and she knew she was right about him. He was powerful, well guarded and alone. There were soldiers and servants everywhere in the great house, but no company for him.

  He was a man who stood in darkened hallways and surrounded himself with books.

  Now she was inside and he was providing opportunities to talk like she was a visitor. And he was curious about her. As she sat, she’d seen his gaze on her scarred hand and the side of her face. Nothing overt, but contemplative.

  She found she did the same with him as he prepared their repast. She saw the scars and scrapes of a man who lived by a sword. Certainly, he was more refined, but there were similarities between Reynold and her mercenaries. It wasn’t until he handed her a cup of wine that she saw the scars from burns Rhain spoke of. They were on the palm of his left hand, creating their own ridges and fissures that fanned around his fingers. It was as if his hand was held to a flame.

  This man grieved and had known pain like hers. When she was done explaining, he would know why she was here.

  She tilted the cup to her lips—again the heady smell of wine was almost as intoxicating as the sip she took. ‘I would like to tell you of my scars.’

  He set his own cup down, and gathered a plate, filled it with small bites from the selection. Methodical. Polite ‘Do you intend to find if I have a heart?’

  ‘No, I already know you do.’

  ‘I threatened the man you’re here to plead for, am now holding you for ransom and you think I am soft?’

  ‘Just...hurt.’

  ‘You know because you speak of my brother.’

  ‘I know, because I speak of my sister. The flames that harmed me consumed her entirely.’

  He set the plate on the small table next to her chair. It clattered as he lost his firm grip.

  He did not get a plate for himself, but grabbed the flagon and his own cup and sat down.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ he said, setting the flagon next to his chair.

  She’d heard that before. ‘It’s my story to tell. Let me be the judge of that.’

  He held the cup in both his hands and sloshed the liquid from rim to rim before he gave a curt nod.

  As she talked, he courteously poured wine for her, wine for him. He graciously inquired about the honey salve. She watched him rub his thumb against the palm of his burned hand and wondered if he had similar concoctions or if he suffered through the pain.

  When she got to her shame of not saving her sister, he set the wine aside and so did she. Then there were no more words left and Reynold stood, paced to the window.

  ‘I know about pain and grief,’ she said. ‘I’m also beginning to know about something else.’

  Keeping his back to her, he answered, ‘Are you saying if the murderer of my brother was murdered, that “something else” would be gone?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  She saw his shoulder rise and fall with a breath before he turned to her. ‘You are interesting company, of that there is no doubt. But you also put me in a dilemma.’

  She tried to hide the relief in her eyes by setting the plate of food he offered earlier on her lap.

  ‘I can’t just let this go,’ he said. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘But you expected me to have some reaction. Knew it enough to risk coming here. How?’

  ‘Rhain told me of your brother and that you had an uncanny ability to cheat death despite your many injuries. I know something of cheating death.’

  Reynold’s scarred fist clenched. ‘Since you are so wise, what now must be done?’


  ‘No compensation can make up for your brother, but I offer what I can.’

  His brow rose. ‘Yourself.’

  ‘I am here. I can cook, bake—’

  ‘You do not offer your virtue?’

  She was used to mockery, but his had a artful edge to it. He didn’t care for her virtue, he wanted to know how deep their relationship was. How badly he could hurt Rhain.

  ‘I’m innocent, but why would I offer my scarred self?’

  His eyes scanned hers, and though she didn’t grow warm as she did under Rhain’s studying gaze, Reynold’s gaze held that same tenor.

  ‘Why indeed. It’s a pity you’re not from a wealthy family,’ he said instead. ‘But Rhain is and I’m glad he’ll be here soon.’

  ‘He won’t give you money.’

  ‘I must have some compensation.’

  He hadn’t said it yet, but she knew then he’d let them go. He treated her like a visitor and now bargained like a market vendor.

  ‘You smile?’ he said. ‘Because you are pleased with yourself.’

  She nodded her head.

  ‘Did you rob him?’

  ‘I took every coin I could carry.’

  The corner of his mouth curved. ‘You were expecting this reaction as well.’

  ‘Your wealth and greed are well known.’

  He pretended to look around. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Your men took that, too.’

  He made a sweep as he sat again and grabbed some fruit.

  ‘Ah. Then I just have to wait.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘They are probably checking your cakes for poison, your bags for traps.’ He bit into a fig. ‘Money, cakes and entertaining company. It’s going to be difficult letting you go. But I am right when I say he’ll be here. Until then, enlighten me as to why he is worth saving?’

  Rhain wasn’t coming for her. She’d seen the finality in his face as he left the cellar. She knew he’d lied with his parting words, but she had no doubt he believed them. That was why she was here, to buy them more time.

  Eventually Reynold would get tired of talking to her and let her go. She just needed to wait him out.

  * * *

  ‘She isn’t in the Cathedral.’ Nicholas strode up the stairs, but Rhain didn’t stop scanning the fields beyond the wall. ‘Nor in any kitchens in any part of the town.’

  Clenching his hands against the rampart, Rhain wanted to wrench it from its mortared hold and hurl it. He wanted to rip the entire city apart until he found Reynold. Then—

  ‘Steady,’ Nicholas said, ‘we’re doing what we can.’

  Rhain cursed against his helplessness, until Nicholas’s words stopped him short. ‘The men have been looking?’

  There was no money in it for them, no prize. He knew who they were and what they did for a living.

  Nicholas nodded like he was reassuring a madman. ‘They’re a bit attached.’

  So was he and he felt like a madman.

  Frantic hours of searching the city, of asking questions. Of trying to figure out how a woman of Helissent’s appearance could go unnoticed. Because she did and he knew with certainty she was no longer in York. The city was huge, but the right questions with money always led to information. Any trail on her was cold.

  Almost a full day and he came to the terrible conclusion. ‘He’s taken her. What are the men’s thoughts?’

  Nicholas crossed his arms across his chest. ‘You’ve never asked that before.’

  ‘And you’re avoiding the question.’

  ‘That’s because you’ll not like the answer. As I said, they’re attached. Especially Carlos now that her honey salve healed his wound.’

  He didn’t want to talk of Carlos now. ‘You act as though I’d be angry at her.’

  ‘You would if you guessed what they have.’

  He wanted to growl. He had no time for guessing; no time for Nicholas’s jibes. To think at one point he’d wanted to save his oldest friend. Right now he wanted to chuck him and his men over the wall.

  More, he wanted to grab his sword and rush off to save her. What he needed to do was make another plan since his intention of saving his men and Nicholas was no longer viable.

  But he couldn’t think, not when she could be dead, or tortured or—

  ‘It’s true then, isn’t it?’ Nicholas said.

  ‘What’s true?’

  ‘You intended to just hand yourself over,’ Nicholas said, his brow drawn. ‘When? Last night when we made the pact?’

  ‘Why bother with asking this now?’

  ‘Because you look half-crazed with Reynold taking Helissent and half-frustrated because you’ve been thwarted from your every desire.’

  Rhain wanted to turn his back on his oldest friend, but it was too late to hide that truth. ‘What else did you think I would do?’

  ‘I don’t know whether to be honoured or swing my fist.’

  ‘Try,’ Rhain bit out. ‘You had to know I would save you.’

  ‘For that endearment, I’ll let you know what the men think now.’

  Scraping his hand against the brick, Rhain welcomed the cold sharp pain. It was either that, or gutting his friend. He didn’t need any word games when Helissent was outside the safety of the city’s gates.

  ‘Is it possible,’ Nicholas said, ‘Helissent went to him? You told her about him.’

  ‘To make her stay away. She wouldn’t know he was outside the gates. Unless...’

  ‘Unless she overheard us last night,’ Nicholas said. ‘The conversation we had is right off the path of the ovens.’

  ‘This is what the men think?’

  ‘The men don’t think she was taken. There was no sign of a fight or a struggle. No one heard or saw anything. The city’s large, but you planted her in a very public area. Kidnapping isn’t likely.’

  It couldn’t be true. ‘What do you think?’

  Nicholas lifted one shoulder. ‘That you’re well matched. After all, you were rushing off to save me and now she’s rushed off to save you.’

  Rhain’s heart thumped harder. Rage and frustration warred throughout his veins. What Nicholas suggested was impossible.

  There’d be no reason she’d run into his enemy’s grasp. No reason...except she’d run into a burning house to save her sister.

  Nicholas didn’t know the story, but he did. He did. And he didn’t know who to direct his anger at, Reynold or her.

  But he was about to find out. Anger fuelling him, he released his sword. Fear making him reckless, he rushed down the steps and out the gates.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A bellow broke out from the courtyard below and Reynold crossed to the window.

  Helissent rubbed her hands against her skirts, then jumped when the door banged open and a man carrying her bags strode in. Dropping her precious cargo on the table, he whispered in Reynold’s ear before darting a glance to her and closing the door.

  Silence again, except the calls from outside. Did she imagine the sounds of swords clashing? The shrill scream of horses in pain, the cries of men?

  ‘Ah, yes, he’s come to rescue you. Do you want to see?’

  She was compelled to, but the sounds froze every one of her limbs.

  It was her eyes that darted for any kind of weapon she could use, as her ears all too acutely heard sounds outside that couldn’t be as horrific as her imagination.

  For Reynold stood too calmly with his hands clasped behind his back and a genial curve to his lips.

  She breathed in raggedly. Forced reason through her panicking imagination. Until she heard only the angered calls and the clanging of gates.

  Then she could move and stand next to Reynold to look out at the courtyar
d below.

  Days without seeing Rhain should not have dimmed her memories of the cellar, of the garden. But it was almost a physical blow to watch him stride through the gates.

  Even from a distance she recognized the broad jut of shoulders, his long legs. His innate grace of nobility though his clothes were marred, his scabbard empty and three men surrounded him.

  When they reached the doorway below, she saw the unmistakable jerk of his chest as he suddenly took in a breath, then he tilted his head and stopped. One of the men grabbed his arm before he yanked it out of his reach. In that moment, she thought he would look up, but instead he continued into the manor.

  Soon she would see him. Even now she could hear the additional voices down below and the ascending footsteps.

  She was expecting him, but not expecting the full brunt of his anger.

  For when he entered with two guards on either side of him, his eyes slid across the room, across her and settled on Reynold.

  He was angry. Had he noticed the money she took? Had he felt forced to come here as if she gave him no choice?

  He knew nothing of her and Reynold’s discussion, or that Reynold intended to let him go free. He was now trapped in his enemy’s home, just awaiting the noose, the sword thrust into his gullet, the axe against his neck.

  Moreover, she had no guarantee Reynold would hold to their verbal agreement. By leading him here, she may have killed him as certainly as if she’d swung the killing blow.

  He must hate her.

  She hated herself at this moment. The loathing in the pit of her stomach was never ending. This man, who given her honour, was only trying to save his men, and she returned his kindness with death.

  Shame swirled with her emotions. By her actions, she’d failed again.

  She should have thought of this. Maybe written a note, but what guarantee did she have? Reynold had said it was a risk coming here. It was.

  Despite everything, self-hate wasn’t the only emotion flooding her. So was love.

  Staggered with the emotions, she released the hold of her gown and shifted her shaking legs. Prayed they wouldn’t crumple beneath her.

  All the while his attention remained locked on Reynold.