A Knight's Temptation (31 page)

Sickles, tools, locks, and other metal objects covered the interior walls of his shop.

Aldwin drew Rom to a halt beside the premises. “I am looking for Stowe.”

The man turned, his ruddy face streaked with grime and sweat. “Ye found ’im.”

“Neale said you could help me.”

The man’s eyes brightened. “That I can, milord.” His appreciative gaze skimmed over Leona before he set down the tongs, still holding the horseshoe. “Come in. I will fetch yer goods.”

“Thank you. We are eager to be on our way.”

Stowe nodded. With a muffled grunt, he hurried off to the back of his shop. Aldwin slid from Rom’s back and then helped Leona down.

Keeping a hand on her arm, he escorted her inside the building. Blended voices drifted in through the open shop window and door, along with the rumble of more arriving carts.

After pulling her arm free, Leona wandered to a bench spread with different-sized iron rings. She glanced out the window.

A frown knit her brow. “Aldwin.”

“Mmm?”

Her hands curled. What had she seen? Or was she going to ask him again about her fate once she reached Branton Keep?

Aldwin crossed to her, his focus shifting to the crowd outside.

“There,” she said. “By the tavern.”

Three men garbed in long, green cloaks confronted an apron-clad man, likely the tavern’s proprietor. Two men stood with their backs to Aldwin. The third, his head bowed and his hands on his hips in a gesture that oozed impatience, looked at the ground.

Clif
.

The tavern owner’s mouth moved before he gave a fierce shake of his head.

“The man who attacked me in the cavern,” Leona said, so quietly Aldwin almost didn’t hear. “He wore a similar cloak.”

“’Ere ye are,” the blacksmith said, his boots rapping on the earthen floor as he strode toward them with a quiver of bolts. “Fine quality, they are, as Neale asked.” He tapped his nose. “Got a friend who makes the best bolts.”

“Aldwin,” Leona said, more urgently.

He nodded to her, trying to ignore the sweat beading on his forehead. They must leave
now
. If the poachers saw Rom, he and Leona would be in danger.

“Thank you, good man.” Reaching into the coin pouch at his belt, Aldwin withdrew some silver and shoved it into Stowe’s hand.

A cry.

A muffled
thud
.

Leona gasped. “The poor man—”

“What is goin’ on out there?” Stowe peered out the window.

“Come on,” Aldwin snapped. He grabbed Leona’s hand and pulled her toward the doorway.

Light shifted in the shop window. A customer? Or a poacher searching for them?

“Oy!” Stowe groused. “Move, ye bastard. Yer blockin’ me view.”

“I ask again”—Clif bellowed in the sudden silence—“and I ask all who ’ear me! I am lookin’ fer a man. ’E’s travelin’ with a woman.”

“Oh, God,” Leona whispered.

Drawing his sword, Aldwin edged toward the doorway. Hellfire. He’d left his crossbow tied to Rom’s saddle. He’d never imagined he’d need it in the brief moments they’d be inside the shop. What a stupid, stupid mistake.

Through the open doorway, he saw frightened villagers jostling in the square. Somewhere in the crowd, a child began to bawl. He hauled Leona over the threshold.

Two men rushed at him—one of them, the oaf from the cavern. Aldwin swung his sword, slicing the first thug’s arm. The man howled.

At the same time, Leona kicked the cavern thug.

“Come on!” Aldwin yelled, racing toward Rom but a few steps away.

A sharp tug on his arm made him stumble. Then an eerie gurgle reached him.

“Leona?”

He spun. Sucked in a painful breath.

Her hands clawing at her throat, Leona stood against the wall. Beside her, his fingers twisted into the pendant’s chain, stood the poacher from the cavern.

“I knew I would find ye,” the man leered, his knife glinting against her breast. “I will ’ave that gold. And all else ye denied me.”

***

Leona choked for breath, her vision blurring as the chain tightened around her neck. The links bit deeper. With a shaking hand, she swatted at Peyton.

He laughed. “Not this time, love.”

Anger seethed inside her while the chain tightened even more. Her face scorched as if she’d leaned into a bonfire. Stretching up on her toes, squeezing back against the wall, she tried to ease the unbearable pressure. She wouldn’t die at Peyton’s hand. She wouldn’t!

“Let her go,” Aldwin said from close by.

“Try ta save ’er, and she dies.”

A moan came from across the square. The tavern owner, she realized, through the pressure threatening to burst inside her head.

Just as blackness swirled into her vision, Peyton’s hand at her neck shifted.

A grisly
thwack
. A pained cry.

The pressure at her throat eased.

Leona gasped for breath. As her head fell forward, the chain whipped up over her face and hair. Peyton had taken the necklace!

Her body sagged. She must stop him, but, Oh, God, she was sliding to the ground.

A strong arm looped around her. “I have you.”

Aldwin.

“Pen . . . dant,” she croaked, trying to point.

Metal chimed. When she blinked and raised her head, she heard a
clink
. Peyton had thrown the jewel to the other poacher.

“Ald—”

“I know. I will get it back. I wanted to be sure you were safe. Now sit,” he said, pushing her forward onto a bench outside the blacksmith’s.

Swords clanged. Squealed. As her surroundings came into focus, she saw Aldwin fighting the other poacher. Peyton stood bent over at the wall, his hand pressed to a bleeding stomach wound. He looked up at her, spittle dripping from his mouth.

He still held his knife.

As he staggered toward her, fury whipped through her veins. She stood on weak legs, glanced about for a weapon, and saw the iron tongs still holding the hot horseshoe.

Peyton smirked. “Give up now, love.”

She snatched up the tongs. “Never.” A feral cry burst from her as she lunged and slammed the tongs into his head.

He fell.

“A good arm ye ’ave there.” Stowe came up behind her, catching her elbow to steady her. “What do these thugs want with ye and Lord Treynarde? What did ye do ta them?”

“Yesterday, Aldwin defended us from attack by these poachers. He killed two of them.”

“And now they want yer ’eads.”

She nodded, then gestured to Rom. “Please help me up.”

After setting aside the tongs, Stowe dragged over the bench and helped her onto it. She pulled herself onto Rom’s back.

From her vantage point, she saw many of the townsfolk were huddled on the church steps; others crowded behind wagons and peered from shop windows, unable to leave the square, because the ways out were blocked by armed poachers.

Clif had grabbed the proprietor around the neck and pulled him away from the tavern door. A knife gleamed at the tavern owner’s throat. Sweat glistened on his face. Clif and his two grinning cohorts, watching Aldwin and the other poacher fight, seemed to be waiting on the outcome.

Clif’s gaze slid to her. He smiled, the look of a man convinced he’d already won the battle—a stark contrast to the petrified expression of the tavern owner.

Resentment boiled inside Leona. None of the townsfolk deserved bullying, especially because of her and Aldwin. “Stowe,” she called down. “Please hand me that poacher’s knife.”

As the blacksmith handed her the weapon, a sharp cry broke behind her. She glanced back to see Aldwin’s opponent stumble. Blood stained the front of the man’s cloak. He groaned and limped toward Clif, his sword listing downward.

Rom’s saddle shifted. A heavy weight landed behind her.

“Down,” Aldwin said by Leona’s ear, before shoving her forward against Rom’s neck. The crossbow appeared in her side vision.

Still holding the tavern owner hostage, Clif spoke to the shorter, blond-haired poacher beside him, who hurried toward their injured colleague.

Leona held very still, acutely aware of Aldwin’s body pressed against hers. A ghastly quiet stretched across the square, amplifying the injured poacher’s uneven footfalls.

Nearing his blond friend, he held out the jewel.

The crossbow trigger clicked. The bolt shot free and plowed into his back.

Blood spattered. He teetered sideways.

As he fell, the blond man snatched the jewel from his dead fingers.

“Hellfire,” Aldwin growled.

“We ’ave the jewel,” Cliff called, taking it from the blond man. “Now we want both of ye.”

Clif yanked the proprietor’s head back to expose more of his neck to the knife blade. The man whimpered. “Surrender and we will spare ’is life. Refuse”—Clif tipped his head toward the shops—“and we will kill townsfolk until ye do.”

Shrieks erupted in the crowd.

“The pendant is not enough?” Aldwin bellowed. Leona heard him reloading the crossbow.

Clif laughed. “There is a reward out for ye.”

Leona’s hand tightened on the knife.

“For ye and that jewel, there’ll be riches enough”—he looked at his men—“for us ta live like lords.”

His men roared their approval.

“What does he mean? What reward?” Leona muttered.

“Veronique’s doing, I vow.”

“But how—”

“Stay down.”

Aldwin shift his weight behind her. She sensed his intense concentration.

Clif frowned. “Will ye surrender? Or—”

The bolt whistled free. Pierced one of the ropes of the tavern sign above Clif. Embedded in the building wall.

Stowe whistled. “A shot worthy of legend.”

Clif looked up. “What—”

The board dangled. Swayed.

Cursing, Clif lunged sideways. Taking advantage of the distraction, the tavern owner dropped to the ground.

“Oy!” the blond poacher cried, as the proprietor dashed for the tavern.

At the same instant, the sign plummeted. With a weighty
thud
, it hit Clif’s left shoulder.

His body jerked like a puppet yanked by an angry master. Roaring, Clif twisted toward Aldwin, and then collapsed on his knees on the cobblestones. He clutched at his arm slanting at a grisly angle.

Now safe in the tavern doorway, the proprietor waved to Aldwin in thanks.

“Get them,” Clif roared. “Now!”

Drawing their swords, the blond poacher and his friend started toward Rom.

“We will get ye, Treynarde,” the blond man sneered.

“Ye will suffer fer killin’ our friends,” the other poacher growled.

Rom tossed his head and back stepped, his bridle clinking. Leona grabbed hold of his mane to steady her balance, while Aldwin thrust the crossbow into her lap. “Keep it safe. Hold on.”

Before she could say another word, he kicked Rom’s sides. The destrier surged forward. His hooves clattered on the cobblestones as Aldwin swung his sword down in a swift arc; it met the blond man’s weapon, whipping toward Rom, with a shrill
clang
. The man stumbled from the blow’s force.

The second poacher lunged, his sword aimed at Aldwin’s leg, but Aldwin deflected the blow. A second strike, and the man’s sword hit the ground, light flashing down the blade.

Cheers rose from the townsfolk.

Aldwin glanced about the square. “Clif?”

“There.” Leona pointed. His face contorted with pain, Clif was speaking to several men, while pulling himself up with his good arm onto a horse.

Fury poured from Aldwin. She sensed it as keenly as she heard the blond poacher running in another strike. “Look out!” she shrieked. Aldwin spun Rom around, but the man was approaching too fast.

She forced herself to focus.
Remember what Ward taught you years ago
, a little voice inside her said.
You can defeat this thug
.

She swung back her arm and hurled the knife. It plowed into the man’s chest. He gaped, first at the dagger hilt jutting from his body, then at her. His eyes shifted out of focus before he collapsed, lifeless.

“I . . .” she whispered. “I did it.”

“Nay!” the other poacher screamed, dropping to his friend’s side.

“Hellfire!” Aldwin wheeled Rom around again.

Leona frowned back at him. “What do you mean? I saved us from attack.”

His arm at her waist squeezed her tight. “You did. Well done. But Clif is riding out of the square. He cannot get away with the pendant.”

***

His sword raised, Aldwin urged Rom into the crowd. The townsfolk moved away, providing an opening to the main road leading out of the square.

Even as he nodded his thanks, Aldwin clamped his jaw. Clif was already a good distance ahead.

“Do not let them get away!” shouted an angry voice behind them. “We’ll lose the reward.”

“To the ’orses,” another man yelled.

A scruffy-haired poacher standing watch near the church raised his sword; he ran at Rom. Aldwin tightened his grip on his blade, trying to ignore the pain stabbing down his side and the trickling warmth against his skin. Baring his teeth, he brought the sword swinging down.

He met the poacher’s strike and grunted as the clash shuddered through his torso. The man cursed. Stumbled. Before the poacher could raise his weapon to attack again, Aldwin spurred the destrier into the dirt street.

The clatter of hooves echoed off the stone buildings rising skyward. Ahead, peasants turned, wide-eyed, as Clif approached them without caring to slow his mount. They dashed aside to let him through. They gaped when, moments later, Rom raced past.

More hoofbeats—horses at a pounding gallop—came from the direction of the square.

Leona’s head whipped around. “The poachers are following.”

Aldwin swept strands of her hair from his eyes and tried not to growl. “Aye.”

As they raced on, he dared not part his cloak to look at where his tunic stuck to his skin. Without doubt, he’d ripped open his wound. Later, he must see how many stitches he’d torn.

God’s blood, he had to recover the pendant. He couldn’t fail his lord. He wouldn’t return to Branton Keep without the jewel.

Aldwin squinted against the dust hazing the street. Some yards away, Clif galloped by an old man leading a donkey cart piled with firewood. The man ambled into the middle of the street, clearly deaf to Rom’s approach. Past him, children were shrieking and running in a game, while their fathers stood by an alley, talking. When Clif neared, the youngsters screamed and scrambled to get out of harm’s way.