The Knight's Reward (Border Series Book 10)

by Cecelia Mecca

  That thought was what had at last driven her into a panic.

  “My lady?”

  Neill walked toward her as the other men left their horses and made their way toward the inn. Those two words were more than he’d spoken to her over the last day. Why couldn’t he leave her alone now if he’d decided to keep his distance?

  Deep breaths.

  “Something is wrong—”

  “Nay, all is well,” she lied. “Shall we go inside? And it is Kathryn, if you please.”

  Though she was very much a lady, her mother the only daughter of a minor baron whose lands had been forfeit to the crown upon her parents’ death, she didn’t wish to call any attention to that fact.

  She attempted to walk past him, but he stopped her.

  Night had fallen, the only light coming from two open shutters at the front of the inn and the moon above them.

  “Tell me,” he said, so gently it should have comforted her. But his kindness had the opposite effect.

  This attack would not be held off. Like it or not, it was happening.

  She allowed him to guide her around to the side of the building, a similar one to The Wild Boar, just two structures, the inn and stables directly next to it. They stood on the far side of both, the area silent but for the sound of her gasping for air and the trickling of a stream not far into the trees beyond them.

  The inn was surrounded by thick forest, hidden from view of the road, odd for an establishment that relied on the business of travelers.

  As she struggled for breath, Neill watched her with a pity that was worse than anything.

  “I will be fine,” she said as soon as she could manage it. When it finally felt she could breathe without her chest feeling as if it would explode, Kathryn tried to get him into the inn.

  “Your men are waiting.”

  He took her hand, reminding her of their encounter outside The Wild Boar.

  “Let them wait.”

  He let go of her hand but continued to look at her with a combination of concern and sympathy. This would not do.

  “It happens from time to time. Please, there’s no cause for concern.”

  He didn’t believe her.

  “Whether or not there is a cause matters little. I am concerned. You were unable to breathe.”

  “And am now breathing quite well.”

  The arrival of a small riding party caught their attention, and Kathryn thought to use it as a distraction. She once again walked toward the entrance to the inn.

  Neill had other plans. “Wait. Has this happened before?”

  She shrugged, frowning, but she didn’t wish to lie to him. Not about this. “It has.”

  Why did he appear so concerned now, when he’d taken pains to avoid her for the past day? She’d not intended to mention it, but . . .

  “You ensured I had my own mount today.”

  It came out like an accusation, which was absurd. Surely she should be thanking him for his pains. She turned away. “I should not have mentioned it.”

  He grabbed her hand again, pulling her back. It didn’t take much convincing. Kathryn hadn’t wanted to leave him.

  “Not for the reason you think.”

  This time, he did not let go, his warm, callused hand engulfing hers. Those calluses had been born of hard work.

  “How can you possibly know what I’m thinking?”

  “Because . . .” She sucked in a breath as he stepped closer. To anyone walking by, they would appear to be talking casually, side by side, but Kathryn knew otherwise. His hand, though concealed from view, hadn’t moved.

  “I know the assumption I would make, if I were you. But you’re wrong.”

  Her first assumption was that he’d wanted to distance himself from her. Could she have been wrong?

  “Have I offended you? When I asked about Clan Kerr?”

  It was the only other possible explanation that had come to mind during the long ride that day. But Neill shook his head vigorously.

  “No. God no, I don’t offend easily.”

  He smiled again, that devastating smile that made her forget he was reputed to be one of the most fearsome knights in all of England.

  “I can only offer the truth,” he said, his thumb rubbing her palm. Did he even realize what he was doing?

  “I am much too curious about you,” he continued.

  Oh my.

  “I want to know how you really came to be at The Wild Boar. I want to know if you truly are as well-bred as I believe you to be. And if so, how a lady such as yourself came to be at The Wild Boar with Magge as a mentor. I want to know why you’re able to ride for two days straight as skillfully as one of my men, all of whom were trained to do so. And why you weren’t afraid when we met those reivers.”

  This time, she couldn’t breathe for very different reasons. As he spoke, the low pitch of his voice cut through her like a knife through Magge’s freshly baked bread.

  “You could have asked,” she said quietly, fully aware she’d not have answered. He’d warned her he would ask, hadn’t he?

  “And be pulled toward you more than I am already?”

  So he felt it too.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  As if he had just now realized what he was doing, Neill dropped her hand for the second time.

  She felt the loss immediately.

  He stood there, the sound of his breathing capturing her attention more than the distant sounds coming from inside the inn.

  “To answer your question about the Kerrs, I hate them . . . and love them too,” he said finally. “Toren. Alex. Reid. Catrina. They are family now, and I love nothing in this life more than my family. But I hated them for so long that it’s hard to forget, especially when I allow myself to remember the raid. My parents were both killed that day, and although Toren and Alex did not slay them themselves, Clan Kerr men were responsible. I’m not sure I can ever forget that fact.” He took a step back. “But, like my siblings, I have forgiven them. We have moved beyond it.”

  She’d asked, and he’d answered. Was he waiting for her to do the same?

  After what he revealed, the lies Kathryn had been preparing would not form on her lips. Instead, she remained silent.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She was taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. She’d expected him to press her.

  “Aye.”

  He nodded toward the front of the inn.

  “This is the last real meal and bed we’ll have until we arrive at Dunbar. Shall we?”

  This time it was she who stopped him. It didn’t feel right to give him nothing when he’d given her so much. Kathryn could not share her secrets, but she could at least address what he had shared.

  “You are a better person than I.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I do not think I could forgive, were I you. But I admire you for it.”

  That, at least, was true. When she finally learned who killed her father, forgiveness would not be foremost on her mind.

  “As I admire you,” he said, startling her.

  “For?”

  “For your strength. I know not what you are about, Kathryn, but I can tell you have undertaken a quest most ladies would not dare consider, one that requires you to leave one dangerous place to seek another. My sister, Emma, and my sister-in-law, Sara, would admire you very much indeed.”

  To that, Kathryn had no response, so she followed him inside instead.

  Chapter 7

  Neill remembered Bo and Berit, the brothers who ran the Anvil Inn, from his youth. The inn was less than a four-day ride from Bristol Manor. The bulky brothers appeared older, understandably, and more hardened. As did all of the borderers in the months after the Day of Truce had fallen apart.

  As the men on each side of him filled their stomachs, Neill put thoughts of the past behind him, wondering how Kathryn was faring. He’d attempted to secure a private room for the night, but by the time he got around to asking, his resource
ful companion had already made her own arrangements. Bo had informed him, “Your sister-in-law’s cousin is already abovestairs, her room paid for.”

  Catrina’s cousin. A likely story for why she was headed to Scotland, and why he might be escorting her. Since they hadn’t originally planned on stopping here, Neill had never agreed upon an explanation for their situation. He’d meant to discuss the matter outside, but he’d been distracted. By Kathryn. By the raw fear he’d seen in the unusually resilient lady. By her graceful movements, which seemed so contrary to her simple attire. By the way she held her shoulders high and straight despite the fact that she was at the mercy of men she hardly knew, traveling to a place she’d never been before.

  And, if he were honest, by her beauty. Though she wore her hair in a lone, long braid at her back, Neill could not forget the one time he’d seen it loose. Not one color, but with brown and blonde strands woven together as if she’d not been stuck inside an inn all summer working for a woman who terrified knights and reivers alike.

  “Caxton is the worst sort of bastard.”

  The sound of the English warden’s name from the table behind them forced Neill back to the present. Immediately, Aylmer caught his eye. They wordlessly conveyed to the others to stop talking so they could listen.

  “Aye. Openly taking black mal now that the Day of Truce is no longer.”

  “Berit,” one of the men, a Scot, called to the innkeeper. “Have ye heard about this council? There’ll be borderers from both sides there.”

  “Ah, won’t do any good,” the innkeeper said, waving him off. “Another pitcher?”

  Neill broke the silence at his own table. “Say nothing.”

  It would serve no purpose for them to bring attention to the fact that they were headed to that very council.

  “Piss on your king for keeping Caxton in power.”

  Though Neill’s back was to the men, Aylmer’s expression confirmed his suspicion. The insult was directed toward them.

  “Say nothing,” he said again, looking from one man to the next, his hand held up.

  “You’ve been warned before, MacDuff,” Berit said.

  Neill moved his hand slowly down. And waited.

  “Are you not ashamed to call the man your king?”

  Privately, Neill had no love for King Edward, who had taken two years to return home from the Holy Lands after his father’s death, leaving his country to regents, but neither could he and his men continue to ignore the treasonous words much longer.

  And they all knew it. They were prepared, as he was, for the worst. But it had not yet come to that, and with any luck, it would not. Neill shook his head again, ever so slightly.

  “You’ve had too much ale,” Berit said. “Stop inciting trouble or leave.”

  Bo, even bulkier than his brother, caught Neill’s eye as he walked past him to join his brother.

  Neill sighed. This was one of the reasons they avoided inns. Unlike The Wild Boar, most inns along the border were not known for being peaceful. He should not have stopped here. But the thought of Kathryn going without a proper bed or meal for four, maybe five nights . . .

  The sound of benches scraping the wood floor, rushes so thin they hardly did their duty, meant there’d be no peace this night. Hand gripping his sword, Neill moved just slightly toward the edge of his own bench.

  “I’ll take that pitcher now,” the man called MacDuff growled.

  “No.”

  Neill couldn’t tell which of the brothers had denied him, but when the sound of scraping metal reached his ears, he did not hesitate.

  This was his homeland, his king, and Bo and Berit needed assistance.

  So he gave it.

  Neill stood, twisting away from his men, and pulled out his dagger, opting to leave his sword sheathed. The smaller weapon allowed him to escape notice until he stood directly behind the instigator. Arm wrapped around the man’s neck, the tip of his dagger pressed to his man’s throat, he issued his only warning.

  “Do as you’ve been instructed and leave. Or you will lose men this night.”

  Both sides stood facing each other now, Bo and Berit in the middle looking at Neill with a combination of hesitation and gratitude. He couldn’t see the eyes of the man he held at knifepoint, so he watched his men instead for an indication of how this might proceed. He could see they were preparing to fight.

  “The man with a knife to your throat is the younger brother of Geoffrey and Bryce Waryn,” Bo said. “Think carefully on his words.”

  Not the approach he would have chosen. His success at the tournaments had led to an unfortunate side effect—many men wished to challenge the “great” Neill Waryn. And though he was not as well-known here in the north, the skills he’d learned defending himself had traveled with him.

  Neill’s victim lifted his head ever so slightly. Neill tightened his grip on the man’s arm—watching, waiting. The air crackled with the promise of a brawl. All other activity around them had ceased.

  “Waryn,” the drunk Scot growled. “You’re the reason for the council.”

  “Aye.”

  “We are headed there as well.”

  He loosened his grip ever so slightly. Only border wardens, clan chiefs, and selected elders would attend, along with a few English border lords. If this man was on his way to the council, Neill had no fight with him.

  “Ferguson MacDuff, Chief of Clan Kern, ally to deSowlis—”

  “DeSowlis,” he said, “is an ally to my family.”

  “Aye, the Kerrs. I know them well.”

  Neill realized he’d heard of this very man from his brothers. Although not a warden, he was well-respected along the northeastern border. And notorious for his temper.

  He lowered his arm, and MacDuff turned to face him.

  “You may be the younger brother, but you are no boy.”

  “And you may be a friend to deSowlis, but you’ve insulted my king. As well as the owners of this fine establishment.”

  MacDuff, a robust man whose beard hid most of his face with the exception of his bulbous red nose, laughed. “Not so fine as that.”

  Neill glared at the insolent chief, his meaning not so subtle.

  MacDuff rolled his eyes. “My apologies, sirs,” he said to Bo and Berit, “for any insult I’ve caused.”

  Even though he’d silently demanded that the man issue an apology, Neill was surprised MacDuff had been agreeable. So too, apparently, were the Scotsmen’s fellows, who grumbled their displeasure.

  MacDuff merely slapped Neill on the back. “Ale for the Waryn boy and his men,” he bellowed to Bo and Berit. “We were just on our way out.”

  His men did not seem appeased, but they followed their clan chief out willingly enough. What were they doing this far south? He was curious, but the question would have to wait. For now, Neill wanted to ensure the men truly were leaving. The last thing he needed was for one of MacDuff’s men to retaliate for his treatment of their chief.

  So while his men enjoyed more ale, courtesy of the Scotsmen, Neill found himself standing guard near the front of the inn, watching as MacDuff and the others entered the stable.

  And that was when he saw her.

  Kathryn couldn’t sleep.

  She’d told Neill she wished to go to Dunbar, and now he aimed to bring her there. Soon. That would not do. She had to get him to agree to bring her to the council.

  Noise from the inn reached her on the second floor, and rather than attempt to block it out, she did something quite foolish. She broke her self-imposed exile and left her room.

  Although she had already damaged her reputation past saving, Kathryn absolutely did not wish to be accosted by drunk and inappropriate men—which was why she immediately began to rethink her decision as she made haste toward the hall. The stairwell from her room led directly outside, the lock on her door the only impediment to an intruder. Kathryn knew it was a typical arrangement for an inn but was grateful Magge’s was not similarly situated.

 
Hurrying along, eager to reach the relative safety of the hall, Kathryn came to a stop when a group of men walked out of it. Unfortunately, she’d caught their attention.

  Kathryn knew their kind well. Far along in their cups. Eager for an argument. Magge always said when the sun went down and the moon rose high in the sky men lost themselves. Kathryn believed it had more to do with the consumption of ale than some ancient legend about men turning into beasts under the influence of the moon, but Magge was more superstitious than most.

  “Kathryn?”

  The men moved on.

  Neill stood in the doorway of the hall. He looked just the same as when they’d parted ways earlier, but for some reason, he appeared foreboding now. As she continued her approach, she knew the reason for it.

  He had been responsible for those men leaving.

  Kathryn had witnessed more brawls than she’d ever thought possible, even though Magge expressly forbade them, and she’d come to recognize the telltale signs.

  The men who’d left the hall were clearly drunk.

  Neill clutched a dagger in his hand.

  She couldn’t help but voice her observation.

  “You?” She nodded toward the stables, where the men disappeared.

  “Aye.”

  “Dare I ask what happened?”

  “Dare I ask why you’re out here, wandering about alone at this time of night?”

  He moved them away from the doorway.

  “I’m not alone, not any longer.”

  “It is not safe for you out here.”

  “And yet, I’ve never felt safer.” As soon as the words were out, Kathryn wished them back. She hadn’t meant to say such a thing, even if it were the truth. What would he think of her?

  “Why?” he said, holding her gaze, and she knew he wasn’t asking her why she felt safe with him. He wanted to understand why she’d gone into hiding, why she’d asked him to help her. “Tell me, Kathryn.”

  Her answer was immediate. “I cannot.”

  Even those words were probably a mistake, for Kathryn had effectively admitted to having a secret. Of course, Neill knew that already. He’d known it from the start.