The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Fear drives her. And loyalty.”

  Cain leaned forward and inclined his head to the knight. “Fear of what?” But he already knew the answer. “Us.”

  Sir Richard nodded. “From the moment she learned of her brother’s death, she was fired up with this maddening need to prepare for the day when the Scots showed up at Lismoor. She swore to never surrender the castle or the land to her brother’s enemy.”

  “Who helped her?” Cain asked.

  “Everyone,” Richard told him and reached for Father Timothy’s cup instead of the one Cain had given him.

  Cain watched with a smile lifting one corner of his lips. The knight didn’t trust him. Good.

  “I had helped make some of the weapons, as had my brothers. Everyone who lived here, as well as all the villagers helped in the building of the traps and the walkways. But that was all any of us did. She insisted from the beginning that the war was hers and hers alone. When news had come of the siege on Berwick, she sent everyone away to ensure none were harmed.”

  “How could she have hoped to defeat us on her own?” Father Timothy asked after a sip from Sir Richard’s cup.

  “She could have done it,” Cain admitted in a quiet voice. “The traps were everywhere I looked. We likely wouldna have made it oot of the forest alive. She is brave.”

  “She is headstrong,” her knight added, unwittingly sharing a slight smile with Cain.

  Cain’s eyes caught sight of her entering the hall with his second.

  Hell, she was pleasing to Cain’s eyes. This lissome lass in her breeches and boots had rained havoc down on his men. She was doing the same to his senses. How could he think her so alluring after all she had done? She’d tried to kill him! More than once! All he had to do was tell his men the truth and he would be done with her.

  Her wide, worried eyes found her knight and she hurried forward.

  “Sir Richard!” she cried reaching them. “What have they done to you?”

  “Never mind me, my lady!” he said, taking her hands in his. “Have you been harmed in any way?”

  “The beast still lives,” she said, slipping her frosty, green gaze to Cain. “If he had touched me, his innards would be spilled in the rushes.”

  Cain found himself aching to smile at her.

  Her eyes shone with a fire that had been fanned for four years. He remembered being filled with the same passion. He knew what it did to the soul when the fire was extinguished and the heart lay abandoned in an empty shell, dead and yet alive.

  What did he care what happened to her heart? Or her body if his men discovered the truth? She was his enemy. He would allow her some time with her guard and then lock her up someplace she couldn’t escape.

  “Release him!” she demanded. “He has done nothing!”

  Cain guzzled down the rest of his whisky, then looked at her. “Prove yer claim and I’ll release him.”

  Her lips tightened as she drew in a deep breath readying for a fight. His bemused gaze dipped to her hands balling into fists. “How am I supposed to prove my claim?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked into his empty cup. “That is yer dilemma, not mine.”

  “It will not be a dilemma once you are dead.”

  “Commander.” Amish stepped forward. He’d heard the lass’ threat. Cain didn’t want him hearing anything more. What had changed? He had been ready to give her to his men just a short while ago. She’d lost her home. He understood the pain of that. He’d lost his, as well. He’d lost more than that.

  “Take the steward away,” he told his second.

  “What? No!” The lass grabbed hold of the knight’s arm when Amish began to lead him off, and turned to glare at Cain. “I have barely had time to say a word to him!”

  Cain pushed aside the urge to give in, the temptation to drag her into his arms, to his bed. He had to keep in mind the heavy blow she alone had dealt his men. He wouldn’t betray them by bedding the wench who took them from the earth. “Mayhap, ye should have spent less time flappin’ yer tongue at me.” He flicked a warning glance to his second. “What is he still doin’ here?”

  Amish yanked Richard by the arm and Father Timothy hurried to stop her from going after them.

  “He willna be harmed, my lady,” Cain heard the priest tell her.

  She fastened her eyes on her friend as he was pulled away and then turned her gaze on Cain.

  “Back away from me, Priest,” she warned without taking her eyes off Cain.

  He raised his brow and quirked his mouth when she produced a dagger from somewhere in her bodice.

  “Ye think to fight me, lady?” he asked, pushing off the table.

  “I think to kill you, Highlander,” she replied, holding her dagger out before her.

  Father Timothy moved forward. “Miss d’Argentan—”

  Cain held up his hand to quiet him, then crooked the same hand at her, motioning her to come forward. “Let me see just how determined ye are.”

  He expected her to rush at him swinging. Instead, she flipped her dagger in her hand, caught it by the end of the blade, and flung it at him.

  He had just an instant to move out of the way and another to regain his balance. Their eyes met, locked in a moment of surprise, stubborn determination, and trying to guess what the other would do next.

  Her gaze slipped to the left. Cain strode forward, and then took off after her when she sprinted toward a candle stand along the eastern wall. She reached it before him, grasped for something attached to the stand, and produced yet another dagger.

  “Stay back!” she warned, then swiped the blade at him when he kept coming.

  “Ye canna win,” he told her while he fought the urge to pity her, to admire the hell out of her for thinking to hide daggers everywhere.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to do with her. Nothing about her was harmless. She had knives planted everywhere, hidden keys, poison wine and grain, and traps all over the damned forest. She deserved the worst punishment. But he didn’t want to see her suffer.

  “Even if ye somehow kill me,” he said in a softer voice than he’d planned to use, “ye still have to get past the rest of my men. Give me the knife, lady.”

  He reached out for it and she swiped again. He caught her wrist easily and pulled her hard against him. He looked into her eyes, momentarily mesmerized by her extraordinary power of will, glowing like a flame from within. “That will be enough of tryin’ to kill me.”

  Pressed to him, her breath felt warm against his chin, her body, soft and unyielding. “I have not even begun to fight you.”

  Part of him looked forward to it.

  “Ye tempt me to toss ye to the wolves.” He plucked the dagger from her fingers and wondered how many more there were hidden about.

  “’Twould be better than spending another moment with you,” she insisted, struggling to break free. “Now, let me go!”

  He held fast, doing his best to ignore the desire to dip his face into her inky hair and take in her scent. She wasn’t his. He didn’t want her to be. There was no place in his life for affection, especially not for a dangerous enemy. But he couldn’t help his fascination with her. She was intelligent, independent, and passionate. Even if her passion was to hate him. She’d feared losing her home to the Scots, and she had. He couldn’t do anything about it without defying his king.

  With a measure of reluctance, he released her. He watched her back away and, for a fleeting, mad moment, he wanted to pull her back. He ground his jaw. This had to stop. He should not spend any more time with her. Yet, if she continued to be a threat to him, he would have to keep her close.

  “If I say I believe ye aboot yer knight, will ye quit tryin’ to kill me?”

  She quirked a skeptical brow at him. “Will you set Sir Richard free?”

  He drew an inward sigh. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he about to promise the knight’s safety? He turned to Father Timothy with a look of uncertainty he hadn’t felt in years. The priest offer
ed him a gentle smile in return.

  “I suspect he willna go far withoot ye,” Cain finally answered her, “so he will be confined to the keep.”

  She looked as if she might argue, but then thought better of it.

  Cain breathed.

  “We have a bargain then, lady.”

  Her hesitation when he tried to escort her out of the hall made him close his eyes and clench his jaw.

  “What about my castle and land?” Her smoky voice rolled across his ears like a sorceress’ whisper.

  She was either the most courageous lass he’d ever met, or the most foolish.

  “They now belong to King Robert.” He opened his eyes but looked away. “I have already written to him and had the missive sent today. There is nothin’ I can do now.”

  “Then we do not have a bargain,” she said, furthering his misery.

  “Verra well then. Come.” He took her by the elbow and pulled her back to her chamber, where William lay sleeping or dead in her bed.

  Cain hurried to the bed, dragging Miss d’Argentan behind him. Father Timothy reached the bed at the same time, and leaned down to listen to William’s chest.

  The priest looked up and breathed out. “He lives and his color has returned.”

  Cain’s shoulders relaxed from around his ears. He let his prisoner go and bolted the door.

  “Why do you both care so strongly for him?” she asked.

  Cain tugged at his léine. “I told ye. He is innocent. He is—”

  “What are you doing?”

  Cain turned to her after he pulled the léine over his head. “I am goin’ to get some sleep. I suggest ye do the same.”

  “Here?” she asked incredulously.

  “Would ye prefer I put ye back in the dungeon, alone with at least five guards? Ye have proven yerself a clever opponent, but I think five men are enough to keep ye where I put ye.”

  She bit her lip. His gaze dipped there. “Father Timothy will move the partition and sleep in that chair. Aye, Father?” he asked the priest as Father Timothy added more wood to the hearth.

  “Aye, Son.”

  “Ye have nothin’ to fear from me,” Cain told her.

  She cut her glance to the priest, and then returned it to the long, smooth muscles of the commander’s bare arms. “I do not trust either of you. Where will you sleep?”

  Cain pointed to the floor in front of the door.

  Her gaze on him darkened. “You mean to use your body to keep me here?”

  He nodded, staring into her eyes. Images of lying naked in bed with her flashed across his thoughts. He pushed them away. She was his enemy. She had killed his men—had almost killed William.

  He let his gaze slip from hers and settled it on the lad in her bed.

  “Where am I to sleep?” she asked without waiting for his reply to her first question.

  He yanked off his boot. “Anywhere ye want. In bed beside William. In Father Timothy’s lap. I dinna care.” He pulled off the other boot and turned away from her. “I am goin’ to sleep.”

  He expected her to fight back, threaten to kill him in his sleep. He would have told her she wouldn’t be the first to try it.

  But she remained silent as he sat on the floor and propped himself against the door. He almost smiled with relief and closed his eyes.

  They opened a moment later when she sat on the floor beside him.

  Hell.

  Chapter Eight

  “What are ye doin’, lady?”

  “I am going to sleep.”

  “Here?”

  “Would you prefer I stay awake and tell you what I think of you?”

  Aleysia was glad when Father Timothy blew out all the candles. She thought that in the dim light of the hearth fire, she could ignore the raw sensuality the commander exuded and get some sleep.

  But she was wrong.

  He appeared almost magical in the soft, golden light. Like some god of war, fallen from the heavens and landing on the floor in her chambers. She could easily retrieve her other dagger but she realized she didn’t want to kill him.

  He was keeping her safe from his men. He was willing to let Sir Richard go free.

  Why?

  “I would prefer ye to sleep somewhere else.”

  His deep, gruff voice sent little fissures of warmth through her blood. Though she did her best not to think on it, the memory of being held in his strong embrace when she had tried to kill him in the great hall made her a bit breathless. Why had he shown her mercy yet again?

  He had disarmed her five times already in the space it took her to blink. He was quick and strong, and infuriating.

  And quite honestly, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and fell over his broad shoulders. His eyes were closed so she let her gaze rove over the dips and crests along his arms and chest, all dusted with dark hair. His belly looked to be made of beaten iron. A battle-hardened man. She was tempted to run her fingers over his scars and ponder how many times he had come close to death.

  She disgusted herself for finding him so distracting.

  “Why are you protecting me from your men?”

  She almost bit her tongue. She hadn’t realized she was speaking her thoughts out loud until he opened his eyes again.

  “Yer brother was England’s hero.” His frosty gaze settled on her. “King Robert is involved in talks of final peace with the Archbishop of York. I dinna wish to jeopardize everythin’ he’s done by killin’ the sister of Edward’s favored knight.”

  “I see,” she said quietly, relieved that at least he wasn’t planning on killing her in the future. “But taking my home will not jeopardize it?”

  He sighed audibly and folded his arms over his chest. “Go to sleep.”

  “How can I sleep when my home has been taken from me?” she put to him. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. “What would you know about it? You do not understand and, so, there is no further point in speaking to you.”

  She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say but rose from the floor and went to sit at the edge of her bed.

  He left her no other choice but to devise a new plan of action to kill him—him and all his men.

  She didn’t look at him again. It was too dangerous. She set her drowsy gaze on William instead. Would the commander truly have killed her if William died? She hadn’t wanted to risk it. Besides, if the young man was truly innocent, she didn’t want him to die.

  Who was Julianna? His beloved, judging by the way he looked at Aleysia when he called her by the girl’s name.

  She studied him in the soft light. He was quite handsome and free of scars. His hair was dark and curling, now that it was dry, over his brow. His square jaw and dimpled chin were cut almost to perfection beneath a plump, pouty mouth.

  She yawned and, when she finished, she saw that he was awake and looking at her. Looking through her. His eyes were the color of lightning across a summer sky; they pierced her like arrows and made her want to look away, lest he see her most hidden thoughts and desires.

  But there was something in his gaze, as well, that made her smile at him.

  “Who are you?” he asked and pulled himself up. Seeing Father Timothy and his commander asleep on the floor seemed to comfort him. He relaxed and looked at her again.

  “I am Aleysia. Richard’s granddaughter,” she told him softly, careful not to say too much. “You drank poison wine and I knew the cure for it. We helped you drink it.”

  He nodded, and then grasped his head with his hand. “I remember. I think. You saved my life.”

  She maintained her smile, though he did not return it.

  “You are English,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral.

  “French,” she corrected. “And you are…?” She wasn’t certain. The commander had said William was a servant. But to whom?

  He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin. “I am a Scot.”

  A proud one, no doubt.

/>   She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. “You sound English.”

  “I was…was raised in the home of an English family,” he said, giving in to her prodding.

  His tone lost its neutrality and quavered on a wave of emotion.

  He wasn’t raised by them, but in their home. Aleysia saw the image of a child in her mind. A dirty, uncared for servant who was beaten by his master. Her heart softened on him.

  “You called me Julianna,” she gently reminded him.

  He stared at her, but it wasn’t her layers he was peeling away. It was his own, falling away at the mention of her name.

  “Who is she?” Aleysia whispered while his breath stalled. “Your beloved?”

  “Aye.” A quiet declaration.

  Aleysia’s eyes filled with tears. “Where is she now?”

  “With her father, the Governor of Berwick, if she still lives.”

  Martin Feathers, Governor of Berwick. Aleysia knew little about him. Giles had had some dealings with him years ago and mentioned him having servants.

  She closed her eyes and tried to slow her racing, breaking heart. How terribly tragic! William loved his master’s daughter! She opened her eyes to see a tear falling from his. “Forgive me,” she said and wiped her nose. “We do not have to speak of this anymore.” She did her best to smile again and reached out to pat his hand. “You certainly have earned the affections of these two.” She motioned with her chin to the commander and the priest, snoring in his chair.

  “Have they found Lord de Bar?” he asked, looking hopeful for the first time.

  “Lord de Bar?”

  “Aye, your grandfather confessed his name to the commander.”

  Dear Richard, Aleysia thought, he had tried to save her.

  “No,” she lied and looked away. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want William to know it was she who had almost killed him, killed men who were likely his friends. “But you must promise not to eat anything made with the grain.”

  “I promise.”

  She yawned again and closed her eyes. “And stay out of the forest.”