The Redeeming (10 page)

He read again the words that beseeched her forgiveness. Because Sir Durand had not returned her feelings? Because he had rejected her?

It seemed to fit, especially as she had retained the letter and the parchment was worn as if often handled. Indeed, rather than a psalm, perhaps it was this letter over which she had been poring when he had found her on the roof.

Jealousy gripped him. If Sir Durand was the one who held her heart, might he be the reason she refused Christian’s kiss, rather than fear of betrayal?

The crackle of parchment brought him back from the unfamiliar edge upon which he found himself, and he saw he had crumpled the edges. With a grunt of disgust, he returned the parchment to the psalter, snapped the book closed, and stalked out of the chamber.

Telling himself it was good that he and Lady Gaenor would not meet again until her sister’s wedding and that he did not care how she received him when he was revealed, he shortly found himself tilting at a quintain on the training field.

Time and again, he landed his lance center of the stuffed knight that sought to come about quickly enough to knock him from his mount. But not once did his silent opponent find its mark.

I
t was foolish of her, but as it was three days since last she had seen Sir Matthew on the roof, she had given in to the impulse upon catching sight of him as he struck out across the field. Though only twice before had she stolen from the castle to the wood, she once more risked her brothers’ wrath and slipped out the sally port amid the lengthening shadows of day’s end.

Guessing it was the stream Sir Matthew sought in order to cleanse away the day’s training, she edged around the outer wall, gripped the hood beneath her chin lest it fall, and ran for the trees.

Though she could not be certain, no alarm sounded from the walls as her long legs carried her across the tall grass. Of course, as she knew from her months in the tower, Wulfen’s young men sometimes sought the wood the same as Sir Matthew. Providing it was not done under cover of night, they usually went unchallenged.

Reaching the cover of the trees where Sir Matthew had passed a short while ago, she paused to catch her breath. Though it was darker beneath the canopy of leaves, it was not yet so dark she could not see a good distance ahead. Still, she pulled her meat dagger as she ventured forward.

Minutes later, she heard the softly rippling stream. She searched for movement among the trees that she might alert Sir Matthew to her presence should he prove unfit for her company, but all was still.

At the bank of the stream, she looked in both directions. Had he gone farther downstream? Upstream toward the falls? Unfortunately, the dimming sky told that she would be foolish to continue on.

Resigned to returning to the castle, she bent, scooped up a handful of water, and wet her mouth.

“It seems this time ‘tis
you
who seeks
me
,” a voice sounded from the left.

Nearly choking on the water, she thrust to her feet and swung around to face Sir Matthew where he stood alongside a tree twenty feet downstream. Fair hair clinging to his head, damp tunic evidencing it had been pulled over a wet body, sword in hand telling the fate of any who might attempt to steal upon him with ill intent, he stared at her.

“I neither saw nor heard you.”

He smiled tightly. “Then Sir Everard is to be commended for teaching me well.” He reached down, retrieved his belt, and strapped it on. After returning his sword to its scabbard, he strode forward.

Senses straining toward this man she
had
sought out, Gaenor returned her dagger to her girdle.

Sir Matthew halted before her. “This is most unexpected, Lady Gaenor.”

His tone was different, unlike their previous meetings when he had seemed pleased to see her. Was he angry? These past days, had he awaited her in the chapel she had avoided?

“I thought it best that we not meet again,” she said. “Thus, I stayed away from the chapel.”

“As did I.”

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Then we were of the same mind.”

“I still am, Lady Gaenor. You should not have followed me.”

“This I know, but when I saw you go to the wood, I…” She drew a deep breath. “I wanted to see you one last time ere I depart Wulfen.”

“Why?”

The question was so curt, she snapped, “Truly, I do not know.”

“Do you not?”

Though she longed to salvage any pride that might be left to her, she did not turn away. What harm to tell him the truth? It was not as if she would see him again once she left Wulfen, and it
would
unburden her. Too, if he had similar feelings and declared them, it would be something for her to hold onto in the dark days ahead. “Aye, I know the reason I sought you out.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I feel something for you that I should not, Sir Matthew, and with a foolish heart, I wished to feel it one last time.”

Though she expected her honesty to soften him, his jaw remained hard. “You speak of the same foolish heart given to a man who does not return your feelings?”

Were his words of iron, rather than air, she would have bled. What had she done to incur such wrath from a man who had first offended by listening in on her prayers? Who had first sought her out? And had continued to seek her out? She had but refused his kiss as a lady should, especially one betrothed to another.

She raised her chin. “The same foolish heart that seeks a kiss it refused three days past.”

Christian stared at her. Though he had hoped it was her reason for coming to the wood, he had not expected her to admit it. “What of this other man who claims your heart?”

A smile, bordering on winter, touched her lips. “One does not lay claim to what one does not desire, Sir Matthew.”

“You play with words, Lady Gaenor.”

“So I do.”

Holding his arms at his sides, Christian said, “Thus?”

She sighed. “I have determined to take back my heart, and upon my word, I shall.”

Warring over relief that the specter between him and his future wife might meet its end, and regret that his deception was becoming increasingly difficult to explain away, he said, “What of your betrothed? Might he then claim your heart?”

Her gaze faltered. “I shall wed the baron as is required of me, just as you shall wed your betrothed as is required of you, Sir Matthew.”

“And if I did not—and you did not?” he asked, only to inwardly groan as his deception dug deeper. Now, when he had her to himself and there were no others she could place as a barrier between him and her outrage, he ought to tell her the truth. And he might have had she not dropped her hood to reveal the fall of her hair. Since only a fool would choose her anger over a taste of her mouth, especially as his deception was so dire it surely could get no worse, he drew her near.

“Later we will speak of stealing me away.” Her breath fanned his lips. “Now I would have that kiss.”

Ignoring the voice that urged him not to postpone the inevitable, he bent his head.

Gaenor’s lips were soft and willing, and yet uncertain as if hers was an untried mouth. He was relieved, for though Sir Durand might possess her heart, that was surely all he had gained. Gaenor Wulfrith, soon Gaenor Lavonne, was his. Somewhere in the days remaining before their departure from Wulfen, he would find the right moment to tell her all.

As the kiss deepened, so did the vibration beneath their feet until it was impossible to ignore the riders who rushed across the land toward Wulfen Castle.

Christian lifted his head and glanced at a sky that was fast running toward night. “Riders.”

Lips moist, cheeks flushed, Gaenor said, “You know who comes?”

“Nay, though there is urgency to their ride.” Liking the feel of her, knowing too soon he must release her, he tightened his hold. “We should return.”

“Aye.” Still, she did not draw back.

Christian pulled a hand up her side, over her shoulder, and cupped her chin. “On the morrow, will you come to me again—here, in the wood, this same time?”

“I shall be here.”

He brushed his mouth across hers. “We will speak then of how I plan to steal you away.” And he
would
steal her away if it was required—at least, until she was reconciled to his deception. He released her. “Let us make haste.”

Neither spoke as they negotiated the undergrowth, trees, and shadows. At the edge of the wood, Christian motioned her to go ahead of him.

Dusk upon her face, she said, “On the morrow,” and dragged the hood over her head and set off across the field.

When she slipped through the sally port, Christian exited the wood and began planning how he would tell her the truth.

On the morrow he would do it, or the day after, or the day after that, but he
would
tell her before either of them left Wulfen Castle.

“W
e must depart this eve,” Sir Hector said.

Girding the tidings like the oppressive weight it was meant it to be, Christian considered the older knight who, above all, had proved loyal to him these past years. “Aye, this eve,” he said, the hope he had felt with Gaenor a half hour past strewn in the dirt of his illegitimate brother’s escape from prison and the attack upon Broehne Castle—an attack that had left three men-at-arms dead, a half dozen injured, and his infirm father removed.

Of course, he would be a fool to think Aldous had not gone willingly. Not a day passed that the old baron did not curse Christian for throwing the dagger that had injured Robert and seen him imprisoned for his attempt on Lady Beatrix’s life. Even he blamed Christian for his eldest heir’s death, though he could not know how near the blame truly lay.

“I will have my squire gather your belongings,” Sir Everard said.

Christian looked to where his host stood at the center of the solar in which he had received Sir Hector and two other knights. He nearly accepted Wulfrith’s offer of his squire but realized it was his only opportunity to seek out Gaenor abovestairs and reveal himself. “I shall collect my belongings myself.”

Sir Everard inclined his head. “As you will. I will see that your men are given food and drink while you are about it.”

Christian crossed to the curtains that separated the solar from the great hall. As he neared, Sir Abel, who had stood silent throughout the telling of Broehne’s misfortune, swept the curtain aside to allow Christian to pass into the hall where the supper meal was being served.

Christian met his gaze as he strode past and guessed the darkness in the knight’s eyes was concern for his sister who was to wed into the unrest that had torn through the heart of the barony of Abingdale.

Gaenor will be safe
, Christian silently vowed. He would hunt down Robert and the other disaffected knights and men-at-arms ejected from the barony following the attempt on Lady Beatrix’s life. And he would not be alone in bringing down the brigands, for the king also sought them. Imprisonment would not be his illegitimate brother’s lot this time. Indeed, mortal punishment would more likely be meted out to one who had made a mockery of the king’s prison.

Christian passed through the din of the hall and ascended the stairs. On the landing, he paused to subdue his anger and set his mind on the woman to whom he should have already revealed the truth. This, minutes ere his departure, was the penalty for disregarding his God-given conscience.

“Lord,” he murmured as he strode past his chamber toward the chapel and the corridor beyond, “let me be well received. Give me the words—”

“Always I marvel at how tragedy and pestilent circumstances so quickly return a man to God,” a voice broke upon his back.

Christian halted and stared at the door Sir Abel thought was his destination. Hardly able to believe he had been granted such grace, he turned to the knight who stood on the landing, the darkness in his eyes visible even at a distance.

“Mayhap for this we are made to suffer such tragedy.” Christian was surprised at how easily he formed the words. “Darkness ere light.”

“As well I know.”

He did, as revealed by his brother, Everard. Wondering how far from God Sir Abel had strayed before his unfortunate marriage, and how near his own tragedy had caused him to return to the divine, Christian said, “There is something you wish to discuss?”

Sir Abel strode forward and threw open the door to Christian’s chamber. “I would speak of my sister.”

Realizing the opportunity to meet with Gaenor was slipping away—indeed,
had
slipped away—Christian’s insides churned. There was no time to satisfy Sir Abel’s demand for an audience and also seek out his betrothed who believed he would be at the stream on the morrow.

Reconciled to it, though it was one of the hardest things he had ever had to accept, Christian stepped into his chamber ahead of Sir Abel and turned to face him. “What of Lady Gaenor?”

The knight closed the door behind him. “I would know how you intend to keep her from your brother and father who will surely turn their vengeance upon her once she resides at Broehne Castle.”