A Knight's Temptation (10 page)

But she loved de Lanceau. With a passionate sincerity that ate at Aldwin’s soul every time he saw them exchange a glance or a kiss, or stroll hand in hand to their private solar.

He’d never let his feelings be known, though. As penance for shooting de Lanceau years ago, Aldwin had sworn lifelong allegiance to him, and would never dishonor that vow by betraying his lord in any way—especially by admitting his desire for Lady Elizabeth.

Someday, mayhap, Aldwin would find another lady to equal her. But that woman wasn’t Lady L, no matter how much she fascinated him.

To the left, he spied the tree with the crooked trunk. He guided Rom off the road and onto the path weaving into the forest.

Lady L batted away a grasping branch and muttered under her breath.

Resisting another nudge of his conscience to comfort her, he guided Rom around a broken stump. Light glistened on the river beyond the trees. As they neared the water, the forest thinned, giving way to broken stone walls thrusting up from the ground, the ruins of a long-abandoned Roman fortification. Rocks scattered across the grassy dirt—enough to serve as weapons if by chance they were attacked.

The night breeze whispered the length of the stone walls while he drew Rom to a halt in the shelter of the ruins. ’Twas cool this evening for summer, but the walls would take the brunt of the wind.

Lady L huddled into her cloak. “You cannot mean to stop here.”

“I do.”

Her head swiveled, and he blinked against the stinging whip of her hair. “But—”

“The walls will protect us from the breeze, and there is plenty of firewood about.” Even as he spoke, he mentally scorned his explanation. He didn’t have to defend his actions to her.

The knowledge that he’d done so, as if she were his equal or more, rather than a common wench, roused stinging irritation. “If you still find yourself cold”—he raised his eyebrows—“I am sure we can find ways to stay warm.”

Before she could bite out a retort, he drew his arms from around her and slid from Rom’s back, keeping a firm hold on his crossbow. He raised his hand to help her dismount.

She glared down at him, her hair tangled from their journey. All she needed was an ancient helm, spear, and shield, and she’d look just like the image of Britannia he’d seen on an old Roman coin.

“Come down, Lady L.”

A grim smile touched her lips before she looked straight ahead, no doubt choosing her route before spurring his destrier into motion.

“Rom is no help to you. He is trained to obey my commands.” Aldwin forced a careless shrug. “Of course, I would shoot you before you got five paces.”

“I would not be able to give you much information then, would I?”

Her defiant beauty pulled at him, condemning him for his reckless threat. “As I said before, I do not want to hurt you. But I will stop you escaping. A bolt through your arm would bring you down off my horse. You would also spill a great deal of blood, suffer pain for the rest of our travels, and mayhap lose the use of your arm.”

Her face tautened with revulsion.

“I give you fair warning, for I know much about crossbow wounds.”

“Because of what you did to de Lanceau,” she said.

He nodded and offered his hand again. “I am trying to be chivalrous, Lady L. Come down. I will light a fire. I have food and drink in my saddlebag.”

Her posture stiffened. She clearly interpreted his offer of food and warmth as a bribe. In truth, ’twas. A warm drink would be most welcome.

Her lips parted on a sigh that made her shoulders slump. Turning her face away—and pointedly ignoring his offer of assistance—she gripped the front of the saddle, eased her other leg over, and slid down from Rom. A flash of linen caught his gaze while she descended, and he tried not to recall the tempting curves of her body pressed against him during their ride.

She stood, shaking out the folds of her cloak despite her bound hands. Brushing past her, he untied his rolled blanket and saddlebag and slung the strap over his shoulder. Taking hold of her elbow, he led her toward the ruins.

She stumbled on a partly buried stone and spat an oath fit for a foulmouthed squire.

Aldwin laughed. “You learned that at the tavern?”

“Nay, from my brother.”

Aldwin remembered that earlier, she’d spoken of a sibling. Later tonight, he’d try to learn more about her upbringing and even her family.

Upon reaching the wall’s shadows, Aldwin dropped the blanket on the ground and unrolled it with his boot. With the crossbow, he motioned for her to sit.

She glowered.

Fine. If she refused to sit, she’d stand.

After flipping open his saddlebag, Aldwin pulled out another length of rope. Her eyes flew wide. “What—”

“I am making certain you cannot run off.”

Her face blanched. Then an angry flush stained her face. “You are
not
going to tether me like a horse.”

The way she spoke to him . . . As though she commanded this land and all who lived in it. He barely resisted the urge to bellow at her.

“You tied my hands. ’Tis enough.”

He bit back a growl. “Lady L—”

“Exactly.
Lady
.” She cut him a blistering stare. “You are foul, indeed, to treat me in such a manner.”

Jerking her wrists forward, he loomed over her. Her luscious scent teased, as aggravating as her words. “We have discussed this before. You are not a noble lady, but a
courtesan
.”

“
You
told me I was a courtesan. I never made such a ridiculous claim.”

He raised his brows. “Aye, well—”

Her eyes blazed. “I am, indeed, of noble blood. If you believe you will go unpunished for kidnapping, mistreating, and binding me, you are mad. I will have your wretched arse.”

She spoke with such dignified fury, he almost believed her. Shaking his head, he began to tie the rope around the knots at her wrists.

Pulling her hands away, she screeched, “Did you not hear one word?”

He drew her hands back. “I did.”

“Still, you treat me like an animal?” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. Soon, she’d be weeping to try to sway him. He’d be immune to that ploy.

“You are no lady.”

She twisted her wrists, complicating his task. “What, pray tell, convinces you of that?”

With a firm tug, he secured the second rope. “Ladies strive for a pale and flawless complexion. You have more freckles than any lady I know.”

“Because I spend some of my days in the sun.”

He thrust her hands in her face. “Your hands are not soft and smooth; they are chapped from days of work.”

“Because—”

“And you have dirt under your nails.”

“From tending my dead mother’s rose garden,” she shot back, anguish now in her expression. “Are you so thick-skulled you cannot believe ladies put their hands in the earth now and again?”

All right. So she made a fair point. Lady Elizabeth enjoyed spending time outdoors, and on occasion, she picked flowers from the garden.

“Your clothes—”

“Old garments for traveling!” She choked out a furious sigh. “Would you wear fine silk into that tavern? I did not want to draw attention to myself.”

Another good point. This wench was determined to befuddle him.

Turning his back on her, Aldwin fed the rope through two holes in the wall behind her where the mortar between the stones had crumbled. One hole was a hand’s span higher than the other, but that didn’t matter, as long as the rope held.

Aldwin knotted the rope, tugged on the length trailing from the wall to be sure it was secure, and then stepped away to face her again. He’d given her just enough lead to sit or lie down on the blanket when she got tired.

If Lady L could reach him, she’d gouge his eyes out. Without doubt.

“How kind of you, sir,” she muttered, “for tying me to the wall.”

“Now I know you will still be here when I return from watering Rom. Once I come back, I will start the fire.” He spun on his heel, then glanced back at her. “No
lady
would have set one foot within that tavern. She would have sent someone else.”

***

Blinking against the breeze, Leona watched Aldwin lead Rom toward the river. They disappeared behind a screen of brush, and the footsteps and the
clop
of hooves faded into the hissing wind.

She was alone.

For now.

She would
not
stand idle and wait for Aldwin to come sauntering back, his expression one of conceited triumph when he saw her tied as he’d left her. He’d trusted his bonds to keep her captive; she’d break free and show
him
who’d been the fool.

Turning to the stone wall, she raised her hands and inspected the ropes. Shivering, she dug her fingernails into the uppermost knot and tried to loosen it.

Aldwin’s words rang in her mind, as if he stood at her back watching her.
You have more freckles than any lady I know. Your hands aren’t soft and smooth; they’re chapped from days of work. No lady would have set one foot within that tavern
.

He’d spoken true. Every word—almost. She had good reason, though, for the flaws he’d pointed out. In her opinion, they didn’t make her any less of a noblewoman. Nobility stemmed from one’s bloodlines, and someday, she hoped she had the chance to shove her family’s documented lineage, tracing back to an earl in King William the Conqueror’s royal court, in Aldwin’s face.

She frowned down at the wretched knot. It wasn’t yielding.

Lifting it to her mouth, she gnawed at it.

Aldwin had found fault with her freckles? As long as she could remember, she’d had them. In her childhood, they’d come from time spent outdoors with Ward, each day filled with exciting adventures.

After the bee stinging accident, she’d been taken by cart to the castle of one of her uncles, who knew a healer—“a witch who works miracles,” he’d called her—with experience in treating severe stings. The poultices, herbal infusions, and leechings had saved Leona’s life, and, once recovered, she’d stayed in her uncle’s household to begin her formal tutoring to become a lady. She’d spent most of her days indoors, learning but also helping her aunt care for their young daughter, crippled at birth, who later died. Leona had cared deeply for the girl, and had wept for her as if she were her own child.

When Leona had received a missive from her father telling of Ward’s death in an Eastern battle with the Turks, she’d returned to Pryerston. In the spring, her mother had perished in the fall from her horse, and Leona’s sire, still grieving over the death of his only son and heir, had plunged into drunken despair. Leona had quickly realized that she must step in to manage the castle. Ward would’ve assumed the responsibility, if he were alive. But he was gone, and the duty had fallen to her.

As money for maintaining the keep had dwindled, she’d had to let some of the paid guards go. Some of the servants, uncertain about the keep’s future, had disappeared in the night, taking their families with them. Putting aside her silk gowns, she’d donned commoners’ clothes and toiled alongside the other castle folk, airing tapestries, scrubbing linens, tending the gardens, and whatever else needed to be done. All the while, she’d tried to rouse her father from his despondency and make him want to live again.

Her eyes stung as she studied the rope, slightly frayed from her teeth. Still, it didn’t give.

Aldwin would return soon.

Hurry, Leona
.

The wind gusted, rising to a wail when it scoured the ancient stone. The sound could be a human cry, the shriek of a tormented Roman soul. She shuddered.

Hurry!

Leona felt along the wall, hoping to find a protruding edge of stone to help wear down the rope. Her gaze traveled to the ground. By the edge of the blanket, she made out the shapes of semi-buried stones. If she found a rough bit . . .

She dropped to her knees on the blanket and scraped her palms across the earth. There. A jagged edge. Her breath rushed from her lips as she tilted her wrists to the stone and sawed back and forth.

Sweat beaded on Leona’s brow. She pressed harder into the stroke and flinched as stone scraped her flesh.

Back. Forth.

Oh, God. Hurry!

Over the rasp of the rope, she strained to hear sounds of Aldwin returning. If he saw what she was doing, he’d be furious. However, she might not get another chance to escape.

She could only imagine what Veronique was asking her father to do now. A memory flashed through Leona’s mind, of Veronique strolling across Pryerston’s bailey when she and the baron first arrived. She’d glanced over the looming keep and its outbuildings with an almost greedy interest. When Leona’s father had greeted her, Veronique had fluttered her lashes in a coy smile and dipped into a curtsy that had displayed a scandalous amount of her cleavage.

Leona’s father hadn’t even appeared shocked.

An angry sob burned Leona’s throat. She rammed her wrists against the stone.

The rope gave.

***

His crossbow at the ready, Aldwin waited for Rom to finish drinking. The river lay like black stone chiseled in small waves by the wind. Reeds stirred close by along the bank, the rustling sound akin to a hidden assailant creeping nearer.

Adjusting his hold on his weapon, Aldwin assessed the patch of reeds. No reason for concern. The noise was caused by the wind, not a human opponent—or a Roman ghost. Those sightings of warrior spirits were mere stories, to keep children from venturing into the dangerous forest.

Shoving a hand through his mussed hair, he thought of Lady L standing alone in the eerie ruins, awaiting the fire and the fare he’d promised. He’d see to those the moment he returned. Caring for Rom had taken priority, for the horse had borne the weight of two riders over a fair distance. Rom deserved a drink and a rest, especially when they’d be traveling on the morrow.

Aldwin trailed his hand down his horse’s silky neck. The destrier had cost him almost his entire savings, but he and Rom would be together for many years. Every knight had a good steed; soon, hopefully, Aldwin would also have those coveted spurs of knighthood.