Her Dark Knight's Redemption

by Nicole Locke

  Watch his deeds then she’d know the man, but what did this say about him? To end a life was one matter, to end Grace’s mother’s life quite another, and a thousand questions surfaced. None of which he would answer. He didn’t answer this one.

  She should be frightened, appalled, repulsed. He expected it. And yet, Reynold was tortured by the thought of it. The grey of his eyes darkened; the waves of his hair slashed against his forehead. His chin lowered as he kept his gaze with hers, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones, the angles of his jaw.

  She thought he possessed a cruel beauty. It was the truth. Beautiful, lethal...and yet... He had cared about that life he took; he cared about confessing to it. This determined man hadn’t wanted to do it. Why, she didn’t know, but it was important to her to tell him the truth because...he hadn’t rejected her. Because even before Louve told her, she was watching him, seeing the contradictions of him. How he said he wasn’t Grace’s father, yet guarded her as if he was. Because despite everything, deep within her very soul, Aliette trusted him. It was there in the deeds she’d done when she was with him.

  ‘I’d kiss you,’ she said.

  He swayed in surprise. ‘Even knowing what you know.’

  She knew so little of this man, but what she did know was he wouldn’t have done it lightly. With Grace as his daughter, he must have fought against it....and lost.

  ‘What do I know?’ she asked him. A man as dark as he, surrounded by mercenaries and a fortress... She was not so naive as to think he’d only killed once in his life. Reynold was a man who had killed many and something about taking this life agonised him.

  ‘I know you have blood on your hands. Yet I don’t know if it matters. I still slept when you were near.’

  ‘It matters.’ His brow lowered. ‘I’ve killed many, Aliette. I’ve raised my blade to Grace’s mother. I have done deeds I would give no confession to.’

  ‘Raised your blade? You...didn’t kill her.’ The icy relief was short lived.

  ‘Is there a difference? I killed her servant that night. There was blood on my hands, on my clothes. Grace’s mother died anyway.’

  Aliette did not know what she should think. Something haunted him. Was he sorry for the deeds?

  If so, could she reconcile it? She’d never killed, but how many times had she taken food from others to feed her family instead? The first lesson her parents taught her was that life was harsh and unforgiving. That difficult decisions needed to be made to survive. Underneath it all, if she took food from others, didn’t that mean they’d starve?

  She shook her head. ‘The real questions are why you did what you did. How did Grace’s mother die?’

  ‘Too many questions I will not answer.’

  She didn’t expect for him to answer the ones he did. But she was beginning to understand why he wouldn’t. ‘Because there’s something terrible out there waiting for me...for you. You took in my family and you’re not leaving us behind. You’re protecting us. Why?’

  His entire frame vibrated with the gust of storms inside himself. As if he’d barely held himself in check. ‘I’m the one who brought danger. I’m not safe,’ he said, the beckoning of his voice jagged with warning...with longing. ‘You don’t know what you’ve done to me. What I’ve become with you. What we will become.’

  His words were meant to push her away, but they called to all the abandoned pieces inside her. He’d killed, but if he truly didn’t care, he’d tell her. Instead, he’d called himself a coward. And he stood away from her. Waiting again. Waiting for her to reject him. Expecting it because of deeds he wrought. But his deeds...were both good and bad, and she didn’t know why he did either of them. Yet, she knew how he felt about them; and she knew how she felt around him.

  ‘I’ve only ever had one fear in my life. That was Darkness and I know him now.’ Stepping forward, she placed her hand on his jaw and kissed him. His lips gave just a little. Just a hint of softness, but the rest of him was like stone.

  She pulled away. Rubbed her thumb along his lower lip and revelled in his frustrated exhale.

  ‘What are you doing to me?’ He leaned his head into her touch.

  ‘I was kissing you,’ she said, rubbing her hand along his jaw.

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ he said, his eddying grey gaze mesmerising her.

  ‘You made that clear, but you’re not kissing me back,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I...wait,’ he said.

  ‘You watch,’ she added.

  He nodded.

  She thought so. How many times had she seen this look of his when she woke from her rest, when she lifted her eyes from a book? Now she felt she could ask. ‘What is it that you see when you look at me?’

  His eyes roamed her features as if he hadn’t seen them before, hadn’t watched her sleep. He must have memorised her every flaw by now. When his eyes returned to hers, they seemed that much softer and warmer.

  ‘Won’t tell me?’

  He shook his head.

  Never. Never had she met a man more stubborn, more in control, used to command and rule. But control wasn’t all that was there. She felt...he was staying away.

  This man who had taken in her family, offered them everything she had ever dreamed of providing and he took nothing. She wouldn’t stand for it.

  Stepping back, she undid the laces of her surcoat and let it drop. Watched the expansion of his chest as he drew in air, the flutter of his lashes as took in what she revealed.

  Not much. The lines of her neck, her wrists, the tops of her boots. The chemise was the finest of linens, but thick, it being the coldest of winters and necessary. Even with the fire behind her, there was not much for him to see.

  But she felt vulnerable to him. As if the outer layer of clothing was an emotional one she was unaware of until now. Fisting her chemise, she lifted it slowly, stopping at her waist. Watching the colouring in his cheeks flush, his nostrils flare and now the telltale sign that what she did was affecting him: him fisting his burned hand.

  That emotional response was enough for her to forgo her vulnerability and toss the chemise over her head and behind her. To stand before him naked.

  Even in the comfort of his sanctuary, a fire blazing in the hearth, and the coloured linens hanging on the walls to block any draughts, there was a winter chill that showed no signs that spring was mere weeks away.

  She felt that chill, the crackling fire and his eddying gaze. ‘Are you watching now?’

  Another rove of that lushly framed grey gaze brushing against her legs, hips, the slight indent of her waist. A caress to her belly only to encircle her breasts before they stroked up the tender columns of her neck and his eyes met hers again.

  The grey was brighter now, his lips curved. As if he was pleased, or...amused.

  ‘What is it that you see?’ she demanded.

  ‘Your boots,’ he answered.

  Never had she undressed in front of anyone. It wasn’t safe. Not only for her virtue, but the Seine’s water was unclean and anyone could steal her clothes. Even so, she was aware of how her body compared to other women.

  As a child she had wondered what she’d look like as a woman. Hunger kept everyone thin, but she was...miniscule.

  For hours she had heard Reynold convey the stories of Psyche, Sirens and Aphrodite. In comparison, she was nothing like the lush women he revered with his voice. Scrawny wiry body and the brown sturdy boots encasing her feet like clods of mud stuck to her feet. The stockings that flopped over the top because they never fit her properly looked exactly how she felt: useless and ugly.

  She knew it was the truth, too, because she was naked...and Reynold commented on her boots.

  Maybe she had kept her virtue all this time not because of her filth and stealth, but because no man would bother with her. Of course. Just like her parents.

  ‘I’m sorry,’
she said. Who tried to seduce in boots? The thought of removing them was embarrassing. How was she to entice by clumsily bending over to untie leather laces with shaking fingers? Instead, she pivoted around to grab her clothing.

  A sharp inhale from him. ‘What are you doing.’

  ‘Dressing.’ She wanted him to kiss her, not laugh.

  ‘Stop,’ he commanded.

  Like hell—she picked up the chemise.

  He was on her in an instant. Shocked, she straightened and his fingers wrapped around her wrist. ‘Drop it.’

  With him at her back, she ignored him.

  ‘Haven’t I explained how much I desire you?’ he said.

  That was before she’d exposed herself to him. Before she’d showed him her nothing body. How she was like a girl instead of a woman. No hips, no breasts. She barely had legs. The top of her head didn’t reach his shoulders.

  ‘I was asleep under the covers,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t know I looked like nothing.’

  ‘I know exactly what you look like. I watched you bathe, Aliette.’

  Shocked, she dropped the chemise. ‘You saw me in the bath...’

  ‘That first day, I didn’t hear you and didn’t trust you. I opened the door—your back was to me as you reached for a linen to dry yourself.’

  She remembered that time in the bath, where she had felt safe, secure, cocooned. And all the while he was there. Of course he was, his presence was probably why she felt safe.

  ‘That was the moment for me, Aliette. When I wanted you. I haven’t been able to stop watching you since.’

  He pressed against her back. The whisper of his clothes, the warmth of his body. His breath fluttering her hair as he bowed his head to her. He released his fingers around her wrist and trailed them up her arm across her collarbone until his hand clasped her opposite shoulder.

  Then, anchoring her, he pulled her closer.

  She felt the abrasion of his tunic’s soft wool, the hardness of his chest and stomach, the strength of his legs. The power in his arms that encased her.

  Then...she felt him. Against her lower back, his hips cradling hers, the hard, relentless length of him that was undeniably male.

  He exhaled low, almost a growl, as he pressed tighter. ‘Everything about you calls to me. Everything. The cascade of your dark hair caught beneath my arm. The glimpse of your left shoulder, the softness of your skin under my palm.’

  The enticing scent of him, sage and steel and man. And a heat that felt far, far hotter than the fire that blazed in front of her.

  ‘How can you think I don’t want you?’ he said, releasing his grip and trailing his fingers across her collarbone. ‘You are perfect. Right now your height allows me to see the full length of your body. The exquisiteness of your breasts, your hardened rose-tipped nipples that have peaked at my slight touch. Your mons, covered by the softest of dark curls. Are you as affected by my touch as me? Are you soft, wet, swelling even now? All of this was hidden from me when you bathed. To see more of you now is my undoing and you think I don’t want you. I crave you, Aliette, and loathe those boots for covering any part of you.’

  Trailing fingertips down her arm until he linked his fingers with hers. Lust’s heat flared from her very blood outward until her skin felt as though it would burst with want of his touch to soothe it. The brush of his clothes wasn’t enough, the length of his body pressed against hers wasn’t enough. She wanted him laid bare and surrounding her as night does the day. The boots had to go.

  She shifted. ‘I can take them off.’

  ‘No.’ He turned his hand within hers and gently drew her around until she faced him. ‘No, let me.’

  Then he said nothing, and removed his hand from hers. Keeping his gaze upon her, he, in that elegant way he had, knelt before her. In all her days, she had never imagined Darkness kneeling at her feet, but that was what Reynold did.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Everything in this room, in her life, narrowed to this moment. Reynold’s dark hair at her fingertips. In the firelight, it was blue like a fathomless inkwell. His warm breath fanned against her skin, and she knew just where his gaze fell at the juncture of her thighs.

  Everything about her was shivering and heavy. She felt swollen, wet, and wondered if he could see what he was doing to her. But he said nothing. Only, the next breath he took was deeper, stronger, and the next exhale brushed across her skin like a caress. He did it again.

  It was as if he was taking her in scent and sharing his own with her. The moist heat of it tightened everything about her. Her nipples chafed against the cold air; her skin prickled.

  Her limbs felt weak and heavy, her breasts swelled, the tips almost painful points. Her fingers flexed, wanting to sink into the dark strands of his hair as he lowered his head. She watched his fingers encircle her left ankle exposed at the top of her practical boot.

  She flinched at the startling touch. An upward brush of his calloused fingertips along her calf to stop at her knee sent an arc of heat until her entire body pulsed with it. Then he took his touch away.

  Was this what he would do with her? Torture her with touches until one breath hitched to the other. He held only one ankle. If he moved to the other or captured them both, her knees would buckle.

  Damn the boots. If Darkness wouldn’t surround Day, then Day would throw herself at him.

  ‘My boots,’ she commanded.

  ‘So much haste,’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s my life.’

  He lifted his lashes. ‘Am I Death?’

  She felt as though she was dying. Especially when the teasing light drew away and his eyes and mouth twisted as if he was in pain and his gaze sunk helplessly to her breasts. Upon a low moan, he gripped her hips and slid his hands up her belly to cup them underneath, trapping the points in the juncture of his thumb and finger.

  The tips peaked painfully and her gasp was swallowed by his own sound of need.

  ‘I want those boots off you, Aliette. Need them off you,’ he said, flexing his fingers as if trying to gather the entire globe into the heat of his palm. They were so small they’d fit, but need had made them unmalleable. All he could do was repeat the scrape of his fingertips over the top of them. ‘Bend over and take them off for me now.’

  Bend over... Oh. If he put his mouth against her breasts now, she truly would faint. ‘You’re closer.’

  His head fell against her belly. ‘Now you wait?’

  Her hands captured the blue strands of his hair which were coarse yet silky through her trembling fingers. ‘You could do it faster.’

  He gave a jagged laugh and released his grip, but not his touch which was a weighty caress along her sides to the back of her thighs. With rough haste, he tore the boots and stockings from her feet.

  She expected him to stand, to carry her away to his bedroom. To undress himself and take her as man does a woman.

  She’d seen men slamming women against buildings, or drunk and slipping in hay bales in the back of wagons. Nothing could prepare her for this: Reynold kneeling, staring at her feet.

  She wiggled her toes at him.

  He huffed. ‘You’ll wait.’

  Encircling her ankle, he caressed the top of her feet, pressed his thumb on her inner sole until she shifted to widen her legs. A low hum of approval, he cupped her foot and lifted her leg.

  ‘Reynold!’

  ‘Hold my shoulders.’ He held the delicate bone of her ankle, brushed his cheek against her calf. The coarse bristles scraping pleasure along the limb that was no longer her own.

  ‘What is it that you’re doing?’ she said.

  ‘What I want.’

  Another brush, a kiss. He lovingly caressed her leg until she visibly trembled. ‘My boots are off.’

  Silence while she was achingly aware of his touch, his lips, the widening of her stan
ce so her swollen folds felt the chill of the room.

  Gripping his shoulders, she stated, ‘Your clothes are still on.’

  He lowered her limb, but didn’t release it, and looked up.

  ‘I wanted you to kiss me,’ she said, releasing his shoulders.

  ‘I am.’

  He gazed at her and waited. She waited with him.

  ‘Are we...done?’ she said so softly and he could hear the soft questions in her voice. The ones that undid him.

  How to tell her he was savouring her now that he could? Her deeds felled him. Her words...a redemption on his stained soul. He had confessed to his worst crime and she accepted him. He was unworthy to touch her, yet she demanded it.

  Tell me or kiss me.

  The slenderness of her legs, the narrow arch of her hips. A waist he could span with his hands. Her breasts... Delicate buds with nipples the colour of the deepest centre of a rose. His hands ached; his mouth watered to taste.

  Were they stopping? He couldn’t.

  ‘Never,’ he said. Continuing to kneel, he unbuckled his belt and with one hand ripped his tunic off his back.

  Her widening blue eyes were all the confirmation he needed. She was untouched. How was that possible? And yet, she trembled and looked at him as if he was a bounty before her. Her eyes darting from his bared straight shoulders, the smattering of dark hair on his chest that arrowed to breeches he didn’t dare unlace now. Not until...

  ‘Hold on to me.’

  Her hands hovered above his shoulders. ‘I don’t think I can.’

  He knew what she meant. It undid him to touch her bared body. His breeches and braies pained him. Keeping his gaze on her, he kissed her foot and caressed with all the tenderness he could manage before he rested her ankle on his shoulder, shifted and felt it slip down his back.

  Bringing everything his body ached for before him.

  ‘Reynold.’

  It was his name. He didn’t recognise it now.

  The colour of her. As red as her nipples, swollen, wet. Her scent flaring his lust. She was exposed to his every prayer and depravity, and he breathed her in.