Kim Iverson Headlee Read online

  Thank God Alain couldn’t hear her galloping heart.

  She concentrated on examining the sites of the burn and sword cut. His flesh felt cold, and the tingling sensation returned at once. Certain that she must be burning him again, she withdrew her hand and rocked back.

  “What’s wrong, my lady?”

  “The heat in my hand—doesn’t it hurt you?”

  He reached out and pressed her hand between his. They felt even colder than his torso had. “No. This doesn’t hurt.” His smile seared her heart. “I do not believe you could ever hurt me.” He pulled her closer.

  His lips were so very tempting…but she had to resist them. She freed her hand. “You forget that I wield a fierce poker.”

  He laughed. “Ah, yes. The poker. Quite understandable, my lady, under the circumstances.” His expression sobered. “Those men did not hurt you, did they?”

  Other than making lewd threats, forcing me to chafe my legs raw, frightening me half to death on several occasions, and touching…

  “Nay.” The strong breeze was raising gooseflesh on his arms, and she handed him the tunic. “Although the one they called Dragon I should like to see roasted on a spit.”

  Alarm creased Alain’s face. “What did he do to you?”

  Just what I wish you would do to me, Alain, and so much more…she banished the wanton thought with a toss of her head. “He took certain—liberties—in the name of making sure his men had not harmed me.”

  He crumpled the tunic in both fists. His chest muscles flexed, and she ached to trace them with her fingertips. “I shall kill him. What was he called? Dragon?” His face brightened. “Perhaps Ruaud or I killed him last night. What does this Dragon look like?”

  “He’d have been far better dressed than the rabble he leads.” She tapped her chin to summon the unwelcome memories. “Not as tall as you, but just as well muscled. He had blond hair plaited into a thick braid, and his lower lip looked as if it had been sliced in twain long ago and had never healed right.”

  Alain gazed off into the misty distance as if reviewing his own memories. After a few moments, he shook his head and looked at her. “I do not recall any brigands of that description.”

  She touched his arm, drawing as close to him as she dared. “There should be plenty of time to track him down later.” Reluctantly, she let go. “What of yourself? How did you find me so quickly?”

  He shrugged the tunic over his shoulders. “Sir Ruaud surrendered us to the men who had come to demand ransom from your father. When we realized this was their lair, we freed ourselves, though I admit we were fortunate to find you here, since our captors had never mentioned where you were being held.” He tugged the tunic into place and looked away. “The rest is not fit for my lady’s ears.”

  She knew enough, anyway. “And Sir Ruaud? Is he—”

  “I do not know…”

  And not for want of searching, she surmised, which would explain his shortness of breath when she first saw him. She laid a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers tingled again, but this time she did not let go. “I am sorry, Alain.”

  Though he kept gazing out over the marsh, his fingers closed over hers and tightened.

  His friendship with the knight, his polished manners and speech, fighting skills, and scars—it made less sense than ever that he could be a squire. “Who are you, really?” she whispered.

  His back stiffened, and he released her hand to give her a curious look. Finally, he smiled. “A complete fool.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Hardly that, if you possessed the wit to locate me. I mean, you must be a knight. Don’t bother to deny it. There can be no other reasonable explanation.”

  He regarded her for a long moment. “Yes. I am a knight.”

  “But why the disguise?” She recoiled as an unpleasant thought returned. “Sir Robert didn’t send you to test my virtue, did he?”

  “Mon Dieu, no! Never once did that cross his mind.”

  She felt her brow wrinkle. “How can you be so certain?”

  “I have known Sir Robert my entire life.” His smile turned enigmatic. “He would never resort to such a ploy.”

  “But he would send you and Sir Ruaud ahead to look me over, is that it?” Her ire rose on the wings of indignation. “To determine whether I am a worthy match for his lordship?” His smile inverted to dread. “Hah. I am right.”

  Denying him a chance to reply, she shot to her feet. Her instinct suggested escaping into the maze, but fear of becoming lost in the mist pushed her toward the tower’s door. The bolt’s heaviness prevented her from locking him out, so she concentrated on making best speed. Pounding footsteps warned her of Alain’s pursuit.

  He caught her wrist while she was still on the stairs, but she yanked it free and continued up. On the landing outside the upper chamber, she had to pause for air. He joined her before she could escape.

  “Please, my lady,” he said between breaths. “Let me explain.”

  “What’s to explain? Sir Robert sent you to scout me out, and you agreed. You Normans are a despicable lot. Every last, stinking one of you! I thought I had met one who wasn’t.” She blinked hard to fight off the welling tears. “I was wrong.”

  She pulled open the door, fled inside, shut it with a heavy bang, and collapsed, the dam of her emotions bursting.

  HER MUFFLED sobs lanced his heart. He worked the handle and gave the door a tentative push. It yielded. Unsure of his reception, he poked his head through and was grieved to see her huddled on the floor amid a scattering of cushions, sobbing as if she had lost her dearest love.

  “My lady, I am so sorry.” No response. “I never intended to cause you distress.” Still no response. “Neither did Sir Robert.”

  “Sir Robert can go straight to—” The last word suffocated in a pillow, but he knew what she meant.

  He winced. But she hadn’t told Alain where to go, and it gave him a thread of hope. For there could be no mistaking the signals she’d been sending him scant minutes before.

  Signals all too easily deflected by “Sir Robert.”

  Alain hated himself for the emotional mess his foolish deception had caused. Since she had reacted this badly to the story she’d concocted to fit her view of the facts—a story that struck too close to the mark for his comfort—he shuddered to imagine how she would react to the truth.

  Perhaps she didn’t have to find out.

  Emboldened by his resolve, he shouldered into the room and closed the door.

  “I truly am sorry, my lady.”

  She wiped her face on a pillow, sat up, and looked at him frankly. “Sorry—for Sir Robert?”

  “No.” He crossed the distance and, when she made no protest, sat beside her. “For myself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she murmured, her eyes glistening like twin pools, cool and inviting.

  Wanting nothing more than to lose himself in their depths, he stroked her dove-soft cheek. “It means that”—he drew a breath—“I love you.”

  She jerked her head aside as if he’d struck her. “How dare you say such a thing?” Her voice trembled, threatening to break. “I am promised to your friend.” She squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t contain the escaping tears. “By royal decree, no less.”

  He caught one with his finger and smoothed it away. “We can change that.”

  “We?” She regarded him with pure scorn. “King William defeated my people and commanded Sir Robert to marry me. We are powerless to change either fact.”

  “Au contraire, ma chere.” In response to her puzzled look, he said, “William cares not who marries whom as long as your people and mine learn to live together in peace. When I explain the situation to him, he will grant his consent, I am certain.” An odd expression on her face prompted him to add, half fearing her response, “That is, if you grant your consent first.”

  With a sigh she rose, walked to the nearest window, and threw open the shutters with such force that it seemed as if she were trying to open
a prison door. “Would God it could be that simple, Alain.” As he stood to follow her, she said, “I live under a vow that prevents me from marrying you—or any other Norman.”

  Surprise forced him back a pace. “What? Even Sir Robert?”

  She gripped the window casing and leaned her head against her hand. “I shan’t disobey the king. I cannot bear to imagine what he would do to my father or to the people living under our protection.” Her chin quivered. “Marrying Sir Robert will cause me to break my vow, but I am willing to endure that for the sake of my people.”

  “What—” He swallowed hard, despising the question but craving the answer. “What sort of vow? Is it to someone you love but cannot marry?”

  She uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “Aye.” Her free hand crept up to the side of her neck, convulsed a few times in a motion resembling a halfhearted scratch, and fell away. She drew a shuddering breath. “A Norman ambushed my brother and dealt him a mortal wound. On his deathbed, I-I swore—” Her words dissolved into a flood of tears.

  “And you swore never to marry a Norman because one of us killed him.” He tried to leech the bitterness from his tone but wasn’t sure how well he’d succeeded.

  Nodding, she turned and sobbed against his chest. He circled his arms around her, sorry for her loss and wishing he could do more to comfort her.

  “Alain, I am sorry,” she rasped between breaths. “I wish it could be different for us.” After her tears had run their course, she dried her face and regarded him earnestly. “But you understand that I cannot dishonor my brother’s memory?”

  All too well.

  Between his mother and his brother, Alain had done enough dishonoring of loved ones’ memories to fill a lifetime.

  He curled his fingers beneath her chin. “I will speak to the king when he returns to England. He shall not force you to marry Sir Robert or any other Norman. As God is my witness, I promise you that.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would do that for me? But surely you don’t stand that highly in King William’s favor?”

  “My lady might be surprised to learn how highly.” He released her chin, suppressing the sigh born of the certainty that he could never touch her again. “I would count it a privilege and an honor to perform this service for you.”

  “I do know of a way that would ease your conversation with the king, though I doubt it would make either of us happy.” She averted her gaze. “I could wed another man.”

  Astonishment prompted him to ask, “Who?”

  “My cousin, Thane Ulfric.” She looked at Alain, chafing her arms as if the mere mention of the man’s name had given her a chill. “Second cousin, actually. You met him when you and Ruaud arrived at Edgarburh.”

  “I recall the meeting.” And the emotions it had evoked, which he tried to submerge. “But even second cousins cannot marry without possessing the necessary dispensation.”

  “He arranged that when he tried to press suit with me a few years ago.” Her laugh cut with a bitter edge. “I’m sure that forging a document to present evidence of our preexisting marriage would give him no trouble.”

  No doubt. “But, Kendra, I—” He ran a hand through his hair. How could he tell her he mistrusted her kinsman more than the devil himself? How could he admonish her for wanting to lie about her marital status while he perpetuated his own massive lie? “I just think that marrying Ulfric—or anyone else—is a bad idea.”

  HIS STRICKEN look shattered her resolve to remain stoic. “I may not have much choice about that,” she said, stepping closer. “But would my lord knight grant me a boon that would enable me to fulfill an altogether different vow?” She slid her hands up his chest, reveling in the feel of his taut muscles beneath the tunic’s thin linen.

  “Name it, my lady,” he said in a husky whisper.

  “Please…” She stood on tiptoe to reach around his neck and pull his face to hers, drawing a deep breath. “Please kiss me.”

  He lost no time in honoring her request. Their mouths met, tentatively at first, then harder and more ravenously as their mutual hunger found freedom. Their tongues entwined, locked in a dance far more sublime than any pale dream. She felt the void left by her brother’s death beginning, at last, to fill.

  So this was why Del had been so insistent that she seek happiness. He knew it would help her heal, God rest his dear soul. She increased the pressure on Alain’s lips, and he answered in kind.

  Faint shouts forced them to step apart. Alain looked out the nearest window and hurried to each of the others in turn, muttering in French.

  “Is it the outlaws? What do you see?”

  “Nothing.” He spat the word as if blaming it for the interruption. “The surviving outlaws must have returned. Does this tower have someplace to hide where they might not think to look?”

  “I believe so.”

  She snatched the wineskin and food sack and grabbed as many cushions as she could carry. Alain, sword and seax secure at his waist, and similarly burdened at her request, followed her from the chamber.

  Chapter 10

  EVEN THROUGH THE tower’s stout walls, the attackers’ commotion sounded louder and more urgent. Kendra all but flew down the stairs; a wonder she didn’t trip on her skirts. Alain wished he’d taken the lead but didn’t have the faintest idea where she planned to hide.

  When they reached the lower chamber, she dropped the pillows and provisions in a corner and began shoving aside a chest. He added his supplies to the pile, secured the door’s bolt, and joined her to finish moving the chest. Their actions revealed a small door with a rope handle, which she bade him lift.

  It came up after a yank; what he wasn’t prepared for was the whine of a hound and the blast of fetid air. Kendra reached inside her food sack and pulled out several dried beef strips. Rather than dropping them straight down, she lowered herself to her belly and flung the offering into the chamber at an angle. The scrabbling of paws told him the dog had found the food.

  “Are you sure this is wise? What if this is the animal reputed to be terrorizing the folk of this shire?”

  She twisted her neck to regard him. “Would you rather face whoever is outside?”

  He conceded her point. “How much of a drop is it?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I brought those.” She spared a nod for the cushions. “Please throw them down there, along with yon pallet.” She pointed toward the stained, straw-prickled woolen lump in the corner.

  Despite his better judgment, he complied. The items vanished into the shaft’s darkness and landed with soft plops.

  “I wish we had a torch.” He gazed about the chamber. Given time, he could have fashioned one out of the materials at hand, but a fresh spate of shouts, sounding closer than before, convinced him to abandon the notion. “Sit up, dangle your legs over the edge, and raise your arms. I will lower you down as far as I can.”

  She obeyed but gave him an inquisitive look. “You are coming with me, aren’t you?”

  “I must defend your escape.”

  “I nearly lost you once, and it could have killed me. I’d prefer not to go through that again.” She folded her arms, her expression unyielding. “If you want me down there, you shall have to push me.”

  Someone tried the door. Moments later, a rhythmic banging began. Without any way to assess their attackers’ numbers, Alain could not even begin to judge his odds of success or Kendra’s odds of survival, should he be overcome.

  The latter thought prompted him to sit beside her, grasping her hand tightly. As one they jumped into the stinking blackness.

  SOMETHING WAS jabbing Kendra’s ribs, and something else was panting onto her face.

  Alain rolled aside with a grunt, and the poking quit. The hot breath gave way to a wet tongue. She put up a hand to fondle the dog’s ears.

  The pounding above continued, and she sat up, assessing her condition. Alain helped her stand.

  “If you are all right, we must be away. As soon as they break into the tower�
�—he glanced toward the hole—“they will know where we’ve gone. Do you know anything about this cavern?”

  Kendra shook her head, pressing the back of her hand to her nose to ward off the pervasive smell. She had considered these matters when she had formed her plan, but in spite of the drawbacks, it had seemed to be the best option. Now, with the enemy battering the door, she wasn’t so sure.

  She began kicking cushions into the shadows. Alain grabbed the pallet and helped to make short work of the task.

  Holding hands, they stretched out their free hands to grope down the corridor, ever mindful of outcroppings and puddles of liquid. After a couple dozen steps, the path branched, with the stench of dog offal and urine much worse to the left. Her heart broke anew for the poor animal, forced to live in its own filth without adequate food, water, light, or exercise. Small wonder it howled so balefully each night.

  When she tried to bypass the juncture, Alain stayed put.

  “You believe we need to go down there?” The renewed stink obliged her to block her nose again. “I think the fresher air is coming from yon direction.” She waved down the main corridor. “And fresh air may lead to a way out of here.”

  “I agree. But I—”

  A crash sounded overhead that could mean only one thing.

  Alain handed her their wineskin and food, scooped her off her feet, turned, and strode into the offending corridor. His boots squelched in the muck, and she grimaced.

  “What—”

  Furious barks and growls, mixed with the intruders’ cries of alarm, drowned her protest. Alain bade her to feel for obstructions while he kept to his course, swerving, at her whispered advice, to avoid low-hanging formations. Within a handful of strides, the squelching yielded to the slap of leather on stone. He set her on her feet and nudged her forward.

  The human and canine noises in the main corridor, echoing in frightening confusion off the walls of their bolt-hole, convinced her to remain silent. Then it occurred to her why he had chosen this route: no lady would have crossed that filth when the other path seemed to be the better option. She prayed that the outlaws, if they got past the hound, would reach the same conclusion.