Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Jovial shouts and laughter drew his attention to the well, where squires were tossing buckets of water at each other. As Nanette stole a longing glance at them, an idea flickered into Ryder’s mind. “If you will excuse me, there is a matter I must see to.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You were right about Ryder.” Looking glum, Nanette crossed to Honor’s bed near the hearth. With a dramatic sigh, she flopped down beside it, rested her chin in her hand, and stared into the fire.

  Shutting the chamber door, Amelia frowned. Nanette never sat on the floor or intentionally creased her garments. The situation must be dire.

  “Tell me what happened,” Amelia soothed, ignoring the parchment, quill, and pot of ink that had arrived a short while ago and that waited on the nearby table. Later, she’d write down her recollections of the outlaw attack. She sat on the opposite side of Honor’s bed and, stroking the sleepy hound’s back, waited until the young woman felt ready to share her misery.

  After sighing again, Nanette told of Ryder’s rejection in the bailey.

  “Why do men have to be so unyielding?” the young woman moaned.

  Amelia scratched the dozing hound’s ear. “At least you now know how Ryder feels about you,” she said gently. “Your heart is free to find love with someone else. Someone better suited to you.”

  Nanette shrugged, but she seemed to have found some solace in Amelia’s words. After a brief silence, the young woman asked, “What did you want to tell me earlier?”

  Amelia’s fingers curled into Honor’s warm fur. She couldn’t believe Ryder would hold them captive, and yet, she’d seen resolve in his eyes. “You should know Ryder is—”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Amelia had told the guards in the passageway outside that she didn’t want to be disturbed…but mayhap the captain-of-the guard or one of her wounded men-at-arms needed to speak with her?

  “Aye?” she called.

  “Milady, please open the door.”

  She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. “For what reason?” Amelia called.

  “We ’ave items ta deliver.”

  “From whom?”

  “’Is lordship.”

  “Please thank him, but we would prefer not to be disturbed,” Amelia replied.

  “Milady, Lord Stanbury’s orders—”

  “Whatever his lordship has sent,” Amelia said firmly, “please take it away.”

  Murmurs carried from outside. Then: “We also ’ave a message fer Lady Nanette.”

  “For me?” The young woman pushed to her feet. “What message?”

  “John enjoyed meeting ye by the well earlier.”

  Nanette’s eyes widened. “John is a squire?”

  “Aye. He wonders if ye’d like ta walk with ’im in the garden.”

  Nanette squealed and excitedly stamped her feet. “I want to go. I absolutely must.”

  Chuckling, Amelia rose; ’twas good to see the young woman’s confidence had returned. “I think the walk is a fine idea.” She went to the door, Nanette following close behind. Outside in the passageway, Amelia found a handful of servants, one of them a blond lad she recognized from the bailey. Some of the folk held chairs and linens, others a table, as though readying to set up for a meal.

  Nanette brushed past Amelia to stand with John. His face scarlet, the young lad smiled at her.

  Amelia met John’s shy gaze. “You will take a chaperone.”

  He pointed to a red-haired maidservant. “She will come with us.”

  “All right, then.”

  John offered Nanette his arm, and with the maidservant in tow, they strolled away.

  Amelia faced the rest of the servants. “Thank you, but what you have brought will not be needed. Please tell his lordship I wish to be left alone.” She shut the door.

  More muttering—the voices sounding concerned—reached her through the door. She leaned back against it and listened, until at last, the corridor fell silent.

  Amelia’s shoulders lowered on a sigh. She was a bit hungry, and had to wonder about the table and chairs. Had Ryder sent them because he’d guessed she and Nanette would prefer to eat in the chamber and because he’d wanted them to be comfortable while dining? Or had he some other motive?

  Whatever the reason, after their conversation in the garden, she refused to go along with what he wanted. ’Twas a matter of principle.

  If she proved to be as obstinate as he was, mayhap Ryder would reconsider holding her hostage.

  Honor yawned, stretching his legs toward the fire before his eyes closed again. She crossed to the table, opened the ink pot, and began to write down what she remembered of the ambush.

  Some moments later, the quill scratching on the parchment as she started a new paragraph halfway down, a draft blew across her ankles. How odd that she’d only noticed it now, but castles were drafty places even in the middle of summer.

  She set the quill to the parchment again…and the hairs at the back of her neck prickled.

  She was no longer alone.

  Amelia dropped the quill and spun around. Ryder stood leaning against the opposite wall.

  Glancing at the door, she saw ’twas still closed. That meant he’d come in from a secret passage. Years ago, they’d played hide-and-seek in such passageways at Callingston.

  “Not fair, Ryder.”

  “Mayhap not, but I did not think you would let me in if I knocked.”

  The wall behind him bore a tapestry that covered a portion of the stonework. He caught her gaze, and clearly guessing her thoughts, nodded.

  How silly she was not to have searched the room earlier, but she’d had other matters on her mind, and she’d never expected him to enter without asking her first. “’Tis not very chivalrous to surprise a lady in her chamber,” she said.

  “Agreed. Deception would not have been necessary, though, if you had let the servants fulfill my orders.”

  “What if I had been undressing?”

  A subtle tension crept into his features. Was he reacting to her accusatory tone, or the scandalous notion of seeing her without all of her garments?

  “I did not even hear the door open,” she quickly added.

  “The locks and hinges of my keep’s hidden doors are well oiled. ’Tis important in case of a siege.”

  Even as she acknowledged the wisdom of such a decision, Ryder strode past her and opened the chamber door. “You can bring the things in now,” he said.

  Men brought in the furniture and set it near Honor’s bed. A maidservant draped a linen cloth on the table, and others set out a vase of roses, candles, goblets, a wine jug, silverware, and a lidded pot, along with a wooden board laden with bread and cheese. They left, shutting the door behind them.

  Now she was all alone with the man who could unsettle her with a mere glance.

  “Please.” Ryder gestured to the table.

  Her heartbeat quickened, for her instincts told her to refuse. “’Tis not proper for us to be alone together. Not in this manner.”

  He pressed his lips together, as though amused by her qualms. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I might do?”

  Nay, she feared she’d somehow reveal her foolish, sinful imaginings of him. “I am not afraid of you.”

  “Good. I assure you, the servants who brought this meal can be trusted to be discreet. So, all is well.”

  All was far from well. “If you went to all of this effort in order to get hold of my ring—”

  “Well, if you are going to be my honored guest forever….”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Chuckling, he raised his hands, palm up. “I merely wish to enjoy your company. To properly catch up on the past.”

  Truth be told, she would like that, too.

  Ryder was clearly waiting for her to reach a decision. She nodded and went to the table. He drew out her chair and she sat, aware of his fingers brushing her shoulder as he moved away to take the seat opposite her.

  “Did you arrange John�
�s walk with Nanette?” she asked.

  Ryder grinned. “I did, so that we could be alone. John is a good lad; a skilled swordsman. His father, a wealthy earl, has a large estate in Gloucestershire.”

  “You believe John and Nanette are well paired,” Amelia said.

  “I do, actually. ’Tis not up to me, though. They must decide if they are right for one another.”

  Amelia murmured her agreement, even as she marveled at Ryder’s thoughtfulness. Fire glow gleamed on the silver on the table, and when he picked up the wine jug, she said, “This all looks very nice.”

  “I am glad you like it.” He poured red wine into the goblets. “To be honest, I fibbed a bit about my intentions. As well as giving us a chance to catch up, I am hoping to convince you I am not such a vile man.”

  She dropped her gaze to the tablecloth, where a crimson rose petal had fallen from the bouquet. He couldn’t expect her to accept that she was a hostage; as far as she was concerned, they were once again enemies. But, the meal did provide her a chance to learn more about him. The more she knew, the better chance she had of outwitting him.

  When he handed her a goblet, she asked, “Will you allow me to ask you whatever I like?”

  Ryder’s gaze sharpened.

  “’Tis only fair. Also, you will not deny me answers to my questions.”

  “All right,” he said, “provided I am entitled to the same.”

  Misgiving skittered through Amelia. Nodding her consent, though, she touched her goblet to his.

  ***

  Amelia sipped her wine, and Ryder once again yearned to slide his fingers into her loosened tresses and kiss her. He wouldn’t stop there. He’d break the kiss to slowly, gently push her gown off her shoulders. The shimmering cloth would slip even lower to reveal the enticing valley of her cleavage and the upper swell of her breasts.

  He’d lean in and kiss her neck, wresting a little gasp from her. Then his mouth would travel lower, and as her eyelids fluttered closed, as she trembled under his touch, he’d learn more about her, explore every luscious nuance of shine, curve, and shadow.

  She set down her goblet. A droplet shimmered on her lower lip, and his imaginings turned to how the wine would taste on her mouth.

  “So,” she said.

  He gulped a large mouthful of his drink. “So?”

  Amelia toyed with a petal she’d plucked from the tablecloth. “To start, mayhap you can answer some questions for me about Tilden.”

  “I will do my best.”

  She brushed her thumb over the petal; it seemed what she wanted to discuss was hard for her. She and Tilden had been very close, and since he’d died only weeks ago, she no doubt still keenly felt his loss. “When my brother came home from the East,” she finally said, “he was different.”

  “Most men are.” Those three words came nowhere near to encompassing the impact of warfare on one’s conscience and soul. Stephen, or so Ryder had been told, still suffered from nightly terrors and even Gladwin avoided his brother when he was in a temper. “There are things that once seen or heard…live in a man’s mind forever,” Ryder added, hoping those vague words would be enough.

  “The change in Tilden….was more, I believe, than the impact of battle. He seemed burdened by great responsibility.”

  He had been indeed: with safekeeping a piece of the Templar treasure.

  “’Twas almost as though he kept an important secret.”

  The need for caution burgeoned inside Ryder. He’d be wise to draw her away from such musings, before—

  “Do you know what that secret might be?”

  Hellfire.

  Mulling how best to respond, Ryder set aside his wine and took the lid off the covered pot, releasing the scent of herb-laden vegetable pottage. “Tilden returned home to be ceded an estate to govern,” Ryder said as he ladled pottage into a bowl. “There are always repairs to complete, disputes to resolve, letters and reports to write, and taxes owed to the crown. Believe me, the responsibilities never end.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And then there was you.”

  “Me?”

  “His beloved sister, still unwed.”

  She curled her fingers around the petal.

  “No doubt he hoped to see you married and settled with a husband and children. With your parents dead, that duty fell to Tilden.” Ryder handed her the steaming bowl. Putting aside the petal, she took the fare.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, putting the bowl on the table in front of her. As he served himself a portion, she said quietly, “He did want to see me wed.”

  “There is your answer.” Ryder put the lid back on the pot and spooned up a mouthful of his food.

  A frown knit her brow. “I am not so sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “He understood I wanted to marry for love. He wanted that for me, too.”

  Ryder thoughtfully chewed his pottage. “I am guessing, then, that you have not yet been wooed and won over by the right suitor?”

  Her gaze fell to her bowl. Dismay flickered across her face.

  “I apologize. What I just said was insensitive.”

  A rueful smile curved her lips.“’Tis all right. You spoke the truth.”

  “You have had suitors in recent years, though?” With her beauty and excellent lineage, she simply had to have done.

  Amelia nodded and swallowed some pottage. “I have had quite a few, including some Tilden arranged for me. Among them, though, I never found the man with whom I yearned to spend the rest of my life.”

  Ryder thought back to Gladwin’s visit. “Gladwin obviously cares for you, since he came to my keep and asked after you.”

  “He is but a friend. He is, after all, a Templar. Like you, he can never fall in love or…indulge in carnal pleasures.”

  Her words had unsettled her. Understandable, considering she’d spoken of fornication. Ryder reached across the table and squeezed her hand, even as he resisted telling her that he wasn’t, in fact, bound to Templar vows any longer.

  She studied their joined hands. “I am well aware, though, that my circumstances have changed since Tilden’s death. I may be wisest to forget notions of romance, for if I do not wed soon, the crown will likely arrange a union for me.”

  “’Tis possible,” he agreed.

  “I would rather marry a man I know, a friend with whom I can have some measure of happiness, than a stranger.”

  God’s blood, but her words bothered him. “You are willing to betray your own heart?”

  “Ryder—”

  “You said you wanted to marry for love, but you will settle for friendship.”

  She was silent a long moment. “As I said, my situation has changed. Mayhap I will seek instead a lord who is loyal and honorable, just as Tilden was.”

  ***

  Ryder’s eyes narrowed before he picked up his goblet and drank. He’d seemed upset by her musings, and then, at mention of her brother’s honor, his jaw had clenched.

  Did he disagree with her opinion of Tilden? Surely Ryder didn’t believe that her sibling had taken the ring from him before giving it to her?

  “Why do you look angry?” she asked.

  Ryder wiped his lips with his linen napkin. “Your brother was one of my best friends. I am loath to believe he betrayed me, but until I know exactly what happened the night the ring was stolen—”

  “Tilden would never steal from anyone.”

  “Only a few people had the opportunity. He was one of them.”

  “Tilden was always pious, and even more so after returning from the East. He donated a lot of coin to the church in Lynborn. Making sure the renovations were completed became his greatest priority.”

  “All very admirable, but—”

  “What I am trying to point out is, like other Templars, he would never resort to theft, for ’twould be a sin.” She held Ryder’s gaze, hoping that at last, he would agree with her.

  He remained silent.

  Honor, still in
his dog bed, shifted to cover part of his muzzle with a front paw.

  “If you will not accept that my brother is guiltless,” she finally said, “I will prove it to you.”

  “How?”

  Oh, God, I do not yet know. “Tilden’s belongings fill several linen chests. I have not had the courage to sort through them yet, but there may be a note, letter, or receipt inside that will tell us how and where he acquired the ring. ’Twould be a place to start.”

  Ryder’s head dipped in a slight nod.

  Memories of the day her brother had died crowded into her thoughts. Anguish welled up, threatening to choke her….

  The solar reeked of potent herbs, sweat, and sickness. Amelia swallowed hard as, seeing Tilden lying pale and listless in his bed, she pushed the door closed behind her.

  Her brother had always been so strong and capable, but the illness was swiftly destroying him. More than once, she’d dropped to her knees in the keep’s chapel and wept at the unfairness of his situation, but she mustn’t fall apart now. She must be brave for what lay ahead.

  Gladwin and Stephen would have received her urgent summons by now; they’d be arriving soon for a final visit with Tilden. In honor of her sibling’s friendship with Ryder, she’d also sent a missive to Brindston Keep—the first communication between her and Ryder in years—but she’d received a reply that regrettably, his lordship was away on matters of estate.

  At the bedside, the healer, her expression grim, ran a cloth over Tilden’s bearded face. His shallow breaths rattled in his throat. No more could be done for him now, but to keep him as comfortable as possible.

  Amelia crossed to the bed and sat, taking her brother’s clammy left hand in hers. His eyes opened slowly, as if his lids were weighed down by rocks.

  “Amelia,” he croaked.

  “Hush,” she whispered, managing a shaky smile. “Do not try to talk.”

  “Must.” A high fever had racked his body earlier, but his gaze, at the moment, looked clear.

  “Leave us. Please,” he said to the healer.

  The woman glanced at Amelia, but she nodded, promising without saying a word that she’d call the healer back in if Tilden was dying. Once the door had clicked shut, and Amelia and her sibling were alone, he pointed weakly to the pewter candleholder on the bedside table. “Pick…up….”