A Knight's Temptation (25 page)

His chest rose and fell on a sharp breath.

“I have sewn stitches before,” she said, withdrawing thread from the bag and sitting on the bench beside him. “Ward always came to me when he needed care.”

Aldwin stared at the opposite wall, as if he’d discovered a fascinating distraction.

“I will sew first, and then rub in some ointment.” She fingered her drying hair back over her shoulder, and then pressed together the edges of his wound.

He flinched.

She clucked her tongue. “I have not started yet.”

His hands flexed and unflexed. “Tell me . . . Talk to me . . . about Ward.”

A plea, to have a focus other than her stitching.

She might have gloated over his terror. However, she’d vowed to help him; taunting him would only hinder her efforts. Nodding to acknowledge his request, she said, “Ward was always getting into mischief”—she eased the needle into Aldwin’s flesh—“right until the day he left Pryerston to begin his adventures in the East.”

Aldwin winced.

“I remember him stumbling into the great hall one spring afternoon. I must have been about seven years old.” With a soft rasp, the thread pulled taut. “He clutched his left arm against his chest. My mother was telling me about a lord and his family who’d soon visit the keep. When Ward saw Mother . . .”

Leona pushed in the needle again. Using a cloth, she wiped blood from Aldwin’s skin.

He grimaced. “Aye?”

“Ward croaked like a drunken frog.” She laughed. “His eyes almost popped out of his head. He looked so comical, I chuckled. So did my mother.”

“Then what?”

“He asked me to come outside. Mother, busy with preparations, waved me away. Ward hurried me into the stable, whereupon he pulled up his left sleeve.”

Three stitches done. A few more to go.

Sensing Aldwin’s stare, Leona looked up at him. He appeared less pale now. A promising sign.

“And?” he pressed.

She smiled, glad her story intrigued him. “He had fallen from a tree. His friends had dared him to climb up and snatch a starling’s nest. But before he reached the fourth limb up, his foot slipped. He fell, scraping his arm on a lower branch.” She shook her head. “I could have kicked him.”

Aldwin chuckled. “Why?”

His easy laughter sent a strange giddiness rushing through her. “We had climbed that same tree many times. I taught him the best way up.”

“
You?
”

His shock made her grin.

“My parents never knew. My father would have bellowed until he turned hoarse. Mother would have forbidden me to go outside again. Ward and I swore to keep our tree climbing to ourselves.” After dabbing away more blood, she gently pulled the thread to secure another stitch. “I expect Ward ignored my advice about the tree because his friends were goading him on. Because of his carelessness, he tore one of his best tunics and needed five stitches.”

Another successful stitch. The wound was coming together nicely.

“While I sewed him up, I scolded him,” she went on. “I reminded him that because of his foolishness, I had to look after him.”

“What did he say?”

“He reminded me I had been foolish more than once myself.”

Aldwin laughed. “You, foolish?”

She frowned up at him.

Aldwin raised an apologetic hand. “I could not resist. You realize, of course, Ward did not have to ask you for help. He could have asked the castle healer or a friend.”

“I know. He asked me because I would not give away his secret.”

“That he fell from the tree.”

“Aye.” Leona took another stitch. “Also, that he was terrified of needles.”

Aldwin was silent a long moment. “Ah.”

“Ah,” she repeated, tempted to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. But she didn’t.

Their gazes met. Aldwin’s brow creased. She wondered if he was angry with her for noticing his fear. Before she could venture another word, though, he asked, “What terrifies you?”

Her heart squeezed. “Why do you ask?”

“I am curious.”

She thought of making up an answer. In this rare moment of understanding between them, though, she didn’t want to lie. “Failure,” she said softly.

“To escape me?”

“Aye. And, to save my father’s keep.”

Aldwin’s rib cage expanded on a breath. “As lord, your sire is responsible for his holdings.”

She pulled on the thread and tried to stop her hands from trembling.

When she didn’t say more, Aldwin’s hand edged under her chin. Tilting her head up, he forced her to meet his stare. “Since we will reach Branton Keep tomorrow, ’tis best I
do
understand. Above all, how you came to have de Lanceau’s pendant.”

Her palms moistened. She didn’t want to reveal her sire’s moral weakness. To speak of it was akin to betrayal.

“I vowed to help you, Leona,” Aldwin said. “I sense you are caught up in a situation greater than you anticipated. Yet I cannot speak to de Lanceau for you unless I know the truth.”

“About the pendant,” she murmured.

“To begin. How did you come to have it?”

She rubbed her lips together. “I . . . stole it.”

“From the man paid to deliver the jewel to de Lanceau?”

“From the baron and Veronique. I do not know how they got it.”

Aldwin’s gaze brightened with interest.

She pulled from his hold, relieved he didn’t try to keep her captive. As she knotted the thread, she recalled hurrying up the secret passageway that led to the locked door behind a tapestry in her father’s solar; she’d huddled against the door, her ear pressed to a crack. “Days ago, they arrived at Pryerston’s gates and asked to speak in private with my father. They claimed to have new details of my mother’s death. I reminded him ’twas an accident and that no good could come of revisiting her demise, but my sire welcomed them in.”

“Did he not know they were criminals? That de Lanceau had been searching for them for years?”

Leona shook her head. “I did not realize who they were, either. I sensed, though, when they arrived at Pryerston, that their intentions were not honorable. That is why I listened in on their meeting.”

“Ah.”

“My father took them to his solar. There, they presented the pendant and asked him to keep it for them for a while. He agreed.”

Aldwin whistled. “He was not suspicious?”

“At first, he was.” She blinked away the sting of tears. “He would have refused, I am sure, but Veronique was . . . persuasive. She preyed upon his grief. In return for his help, she promised to see my mother’s death avenged.”

“I thought ’twas an accident.”

His harsh tone made the hair at Leona’s nape prickle. “I am certain ’twas. However, Veronique insisted that de Lanceau had neglected his duty to repair the road my mother traveled the day she died. A terrible storm overtook her and her armed escort on their return from shopping at a nearby market. The road turned into a sheet of mud. When her horse fell, she was crushed beneath it and died.”

Aldwin rubbed Leona’s shoulder. Somehow, that made the anguish inside her worse.

“My sire, at one point, believed de Lanceau responsible, too,” she went on, focusing on cutting the thread. “My father was devastated by Mother’s death. He drank too much and wrote a bitter letter to de Lanceau—”

“I remember it.”

She didn’t doubt de Lanceau had discussed her sire’s fiery words with his trusted men. In his curt reply, de Lanceau had expressed his condolences and promised to have the road inspected and repaired, but hadn’t accepted blame. “I urged Father to burn that letter rather than send it, but he wouldn’t listen. When he agreed to aid Veronique and the baron, I refused to let him become further enmeshed in that mistake. I took the pendant from its safe box without their knowing, arranged the meeting at the tavern, and—”

“Became my captive.”

“Aye.”

“What of the reward for the pendant’s return? You were determined to have it.”

She sighed. “To replenish Pryerston’s coffers. That coin is much needed for food, repairs, and”—
shoes to mend little Adeline’s legs
—“other necessities.”

Aldwin raised his brows. “The revenue from your sire’s estates, wisely spent, should pay for what you mentioned.”

“It should, aye.” She looked away, hating the moisture blurring her vision. “My father is a strong man. He might be unwell now, but he will rise from his despair. Until then, I must do all I can to help him.” Setting aside the scissors, she picked up the ointment pot and pulled off the lid. The strong scent made her eyes water even more.

As she rubbed the greenish cream on his wound, he said, “You have risked your life for your sire.”

“And, the good folk of his keep. Ward would have done so. Since he is dead, the responsibility is mine.”

“A noble—but foolish—sentiment.”

She paused. His expression held no mockery, only determination.

“You and I both have strong loyalties,” she said while applying more ointment.

“On that matter, we agree.” A wry smile touched Aldwin’s mouth.

She managed a smile back. “How do you feel?”

Dread clouded his gaze. Did he worry he’d need more stitches tonight?

“I am finished tending your wound.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Good.”

Shifting back on the bench, she dried her fingers on a clean cloth.

His arm muscles rippled as he slowly rolled his shoulders. The planes of his torso shifted, and she smothered an appreciative sigh. What would it feel like to run her hands over his chest? Would that skin feel as smooth as what was at his ribs?

Shaking her head, she pushed the lid back on the ointment pot. The scissors and needle would need proper cleaning, and—

Strong fingers swept into her hair.

Leona started.

With gentle pressure, Aldwin tipped her head back, his fingers sliding against her nape. He stared down into her face. If he bent at the waist, he could kiss her.
Not
that she wanted such, for he might strain his stitches.

Her breath fluttered. The bench squeaked as she pushed up to standing.

Aldwin didn’t let go of her. Neither did he step away, even though their bodies were shamefully close.

Of all wickedness, she yearned for the brush of his mouth. She remembered the delicious, demanding taste of him, and her insides seemed to melt.

He studied her lips. Was he about to say she tempted him? That he was taking the kiss he’d threatened earlier?

Oh, God, aye. Aye!

Her breath floated. It hovered, like a bird waiting to soar.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “for tending me.”

“Aye,” she whispered back.

“I thank you, also, for telling me the truth.”

She should say more—something,
anything
—but her mind seemed hazy. Mayhap the strong-smelling ointment had muddled her senses. Or
he
was confusing her thoughts, with his near nakedness and smile that seemed so genuine.

He is your captor, Leona. Let him into your heart, and you’ll never escape
.

Turning her head away, she said, “I will tidy the—”

His hand at her nape drew her back.

“Aldw—”

His lips covered hers. Not a hard, possessive kiss. Not a crushing of her will. But an honest, tender kiss that made her heart plummet to her toes.

As quickly as it began, it ended. Her breath whooshed between her lips and she blinked while the cottage gradually came into focus.

Confusion and desire rushed through her while she stared at Aldwin. She squeezed her eyes shut. She did not desire him. Nor did she wish he’d offered more than that fleeting kiss.

“I will tidy up.” His footfalls echoed. “Why not eat some of the fare Neale brought, before it grows cold?”

She opened her eyes. Aldwin was pouring water into the pot she’d used to clean the needle. He glanced at her, but she saw none of the longing she’d spied when he’d drawn away, rubbing his lips together.

“That kiss?” she asked.

He shrugged as though she’d mentioned the best way to sweep the floor.

A peculiar ache weighed upon her. “Why did you kiss me? Because, somehow, I tempted you? Because I shared memories of Ward? Because I confided in you about the pendant?”

“Because you are you, Leona. ’Tis reason enough.”

***

While Aldwin dealt with the items used to tend his wound, he discreetly watched Leona. She marched to the bathing tub and washed her hands so thoroughly, he vowed she was soaping away all memory of touching him. Then she stomped to the kitchen, fetched bowls, mugs, and spoons, and served herself some vegetable stew and wine. She sat with a huff and began to eat.

Not once did she look at him. Her face remained flushed, though, suggesting she was fully aware of him and that kiss he’d bestowed upon her.

Aldwin shook his head and tucked the needle, thread, and scissors back into the bag. He couldn’t fault her anger. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. That brush of his lips had been a whim. An impulsive need to taste her, right then.

Would he do the same again?

Aye.

Aldwin headed to the kitchen and dropped the items back in their place, groaning as he straightened and shoved the drawer shut. Every movement hurt. No doubt he’d feel better after a good meal and a sound night’s sleep, as would Leona.

His gaze slid to the fireside where he’d make his bed, perfectly situated between the pallets—where Leona would sleep—and the door. He
must
sleep tonight. If he didn’t rest, he’d be ill prepared to protect Leona and the pendant on the last part of their journey to Branton Keep. So close to completing his mission for de Lanceau, he wouldn’t fail.

Protect Leona
. The thought stirred a heady warmth within him, close to what he’d felt when he kissed her. Each kiss seemed sweeter than the last. The one moments ago, although quick, had evoked such an astounding pleasure, he’d had to walk away before he decided he wanted more.

A
lot
more.

A
clank
drew his gaze to the table. Leona was serving herself more stew. Her lashes lifted a fraction and she glanced at him, and he smiled. She set her bowl before her with a
thud
and resumed eating.