A Knight's Temptation (33 page)

“Milord,” she said, drawing the full force of de Lanceau’s gaze. “A siege is not necessary. I can get you and your men-at-arms inside Pryerston.”

“Will I not be admitted if I announce myself at the gates?” De Lanceau’s bold stare demanded an explanation why her sire wouldn’t welcome a visit from his liege.

“Of course you would be let in, milord,” she said, hoping ’twas not a lie. “With all we have heard about Pryerston, though, I thought you might want to enter the keep as quickly—and inconspicuously—as possible.”

“Leona.” Aldwin didn’t sound pleased by her recommendation. Why not? Did he believe ’twas not a lady’s place to speak of such matters with her lord? Yet if she could save lives of people she cared about, and spare Pryerston a battering, she must forge on.

“I know the location of the postern gate,” she said. “There is also another way into the main keep, built long before my father took possession of it.”

“Go on,” de Lanceau said.

“A hidden passage in the keep’s wall leads from the bailey up to the lord’s solar. The outside door is close to the kitchens. I was told this way in was built many years ago to allow a previous lord’s lover to visit him in secret, because his lady wife despised her.”

De Lanceau’s lips twitched with a faint smile. “You have traveled this passageway?”

“My brother and I loved to play in it when we were children.” Fighting a sudden pang of loneliness, she said, “’Tis very cramped and the steps are uneven, and my father soon forbade it, because he believed ’twas dangerous. He ordered the doors locked and the key destroyed.” She shrugged. “He kept one key. I know where ’tis.” Pausing a moment, she added, “I hid in this passageway days ago when Veronique and the baron asked to speak in private with my father and he took them to his solar. I listened through the door that opens into his solar. I heard every word of their conversation.”

For a long, agonizing moment, de Lanceau studied her. “I am not a man to skulk around in secret passageways.”

Her hopes plummeted. “But—”

“However, your suggestion has merit, since we do not know how many mercenaries are inside the keep.”

She couldn’t hold back a relieved sigh. “Thank you, milord.”

“’Tis settled, then.” De Lanceau looked toward his men, as though to stride over to them and relay orders.

“Not quite, milord.” Leona trembled inside, even while she forced herself to speak the words that might well be viewed as a direct challenge.

“Leona!” Aldwin muttered, this time in clear warning.

When de Lanceau’s astonished gaze settled on her again, she rushed on. “Milord, along with the rumors about Pryerston, you must have heard of my father’s drinking.”

“I have.”

“All I ask is that you consider what he has endured over the past months. My older brother’s death. My mother’s tragic accident earlier this year. He loved her very much.”

“As I gathered from his letter.”

She cringed inside at the thought of what de Lanceau must have thought of that missive. Keeping her voice strong, she said, “Very soon, I am sure, my father will overcome his despair and once again be serving you as he should. Please, milord. I hope that you remember . . . even the best men make mistakes.”

“Leona,” Aldwin snapped.

A curious glint brightened de Lanceau’s eyes, as if her words meant more to him than a heartfelt plea for her sire.

Glancing at Aldwin, his lordship appeared about to speak, but shouts and tramped footfalls emanated from the forest. Rom sidestepped, no doubt unsettled, and she grabbed his mane to hold herself steady before glancing at the woods.

Dominic headed toward them, surrounded by his armed colleagues. The poachers stumbled along in their midst.

De Lanceau’s expression hardened. “Tend to your wound, Aldwin. I will see what these ruffians can tell us.”

***

Crouched by the side of a large rock, her skirts bunched up in her lap, Leona leaned toward Aldwin, a threaded needle in her fingers. He’d removed his cloak and bloodstained tunic and sat naked from the waist up on the rock partly buried in the riverbank.

As the needle neared his flesh, his already strained expression tautened further. Was he going to faint? She hoped not. While she prided herself on her strength, she doubted she could haul him upright on her own.

When de Lanceau had ordered him to have his wound tended, she’d quickly offered to help. Knowing Aldwin’s fear of needles, she hoped to save him any possible teasing from his friends. Above all, she wanted to know why he’d seemed so annoyed with her when she’d spoken to de Lanceau. She couldn’t explain why understanding Aldwin’s thoughts was so important to her, only that ’twas.

“Tsk-tsk,” she said while she gently touched the wound she’d cleansed moments ago.

Aldwin hissed. The tension surrounding him escalated.

“Sorry, but—”

“Do it quickly,” he growled.

Aye, my grumpy lord
. Pressing her lips together, she told herself he spoke in that surly manner because he was anxious and in pain, because of a wound he’d got while protecting them from murderers. He’d been very brave and had fought well, despite his injury. He’d saved her life. For that, at the very least, she owed him these stitches.

She worked in silence for several moments, aware of the ducks squawking farther down the river, the breeze stirring her hair, and the voices of de Lanceau and his men questioning the captives. And, God help her, mercilessly aware of Aldwin: the purely male smell rising from his warm skin; the whisper of his breathing; his beautiful physique that coaxed her to touch and feel. Part of her ached to rejoice that they’d escaped the poachers and, for now, were safe.

When she snipped the thread and sat back on her heels to examine her handiwork, he exhaled a sharp breath. “You should not speak to de Lanceau so.”

Leona resisted the urge to glance up. “What do you mean?”

“You must realize how precarious your situation is. You are in no position to tell him what to do in regard to your father’s keep.”

Trying not to give in to anger, she said, “I see no wrong in speaking my thoughts or suggesting a plan he had not envisioned. My way into the castle will save lives.”

“Your manner was overly bold, for the daughter of a man under suspicion from her lord.”

Aldwin’s temper sounded very close to erupting—which made her even more annoyed. Why couldn’t he respect her views on the matter? Was he angry because she’d offered a good suggestion, when he didn’t have positive news for de Lanceau? She looked up into Aldwin’s blue eyes and steeled herself against the unwelcome anguish inside her. “I was not discourteous to Lord de Lanceau.”

“Look—”

“The good people of Pryerston Keep are my family. I feel responsible for them. If you were in my position, would you not want to save lives by preventing a siege?”

Aldwin looked downriver. Avoidance.

“Well?” she pressed.

“I just . . .” He shook his head. “I do not want you to be rash. To speak or do something foolish you will regret days or years from today.”

“Well,” she muttered, “I would not be the first to be rash or foolish, would I?”

As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could take them back and crush them into nothingness.

Before she could utter another sound, his hand plowed into her hair. His fingers seized the back of her skull so she couldn’t turn away. Eyes blazing, he bent his head to hers.

“Careful. Stitches,” she managed to croak, before he paused.

The heat of him, so angry and impassioned, stirred a bittersweet fire within her.

“You deserve better,” he said against her skin, “than to have your life tarnished by dishonor.”

His words—so unexpected—shocked the air from her lungs.

“Some mistakes are difficult, if not impossible, to rectify. They will haunt you for the rest of your living days.” His voice became a rasp on the last words, and she knew he was speaking not only of the bee stinging incident years ago, but his near murder of de Lanceau.

Her attention slid to Aldwin’s mouth, so near and beautiful. How she wanted him to look upon her not with anger or concern, but desire.

“I will do my best to watch over you, but—”

“I can look after myself.” She tried to slip out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Not in this matter,” he said firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because, Lioness, your rash nature is akin to my own. In many ways, we are hewn from the same stone.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “Our impulsiveness is both empowering and a curse.”

True. As impetuous as she might be, though, she’d never abandon her loyalty to her sire.

“Your father’s mistakes are not yours. Do not make them so.”

Aldwin spoke as though he still had a right to command her, even though she wasn’t his captive any longer. With a swift tug, she pulled from his grasp. Shoving against the rock, she stood.

“Promise me, Lioness, you will not do anything foolish.”

“Are you concerned for me? Or are you more worried that my actions might somehow reflect badly upon you?”

He pushed to his feet. “Leona—”

“You do not want any impediments to succeeding in your quest. To being hailed as a hero and knighted.” How she hated sounding bitter. But she could barely contain the confusing and painful emotions burgeoning inside her.

Aldwin drew a rough breath. His body seemed to loom taller. Broader.

“Be honest. Knighthood is all you wanted.” Hurt and anger thinned her voice. “You told me so yourself. And ’tis what you mean to have.”

“In part,” he said, “yet—”

She blinked away the damning sting of tears. “’Tis of little consequence what happens to my sire or—”

“You?” The word ground between his teeth. Before she could move away, his arm snaked around her to yank her against his body’s muscled heat. “There you are wrong.” His breath rasped over her cheek, sparking a rush of fiery tingles inside her. “That is why I will not let you ruin the rest of your life.”

“And how will you do that?”

Aldwin’s arm tightened, impressing the scent and feel of him upon her. Then he stepped away and snatched up his cloak and tunic. Without a backward glance, he strode toward the other men-at-arms.

***

Aldwin stood with his friends and listened to de Lanceau interrogate the poachers. Or, rather, ask questions that the cutthroats refused to answer with more than sullen glares.

Aldwin shrugged against his tunic chafing his back, his stitched side, and his ribs. Every part of him chafed, while fine, emotional grit seemed to scratch his heart.

He massaged his shoulder and tried to ease the tension that had gathered there while he spoke with Leona. Stubborn woman. Had she listened to one word he’d said—advice intended to help her—or ignored them all, because they’d come from him?

He’d been sorely tempted to—

“Here.” Dominic slapped a rolled garment against Aldwin’s stomach. “My spare tunic. Far cleaner than the one you are wearing now, and”—he wrinkled his nose—“sweeter smelling.”

Aldwin scowled. “Why, thank you.”

Dominic grinned.

Bending at the waist, Aldwin shed his dirty tunic and pulled on the clean one. As he straightened with a groan, Dominic’s smile faded.

“’Tis quite a gash on your side.”

“A gift from the poachers,” Aldwin said.

Dominic’s gaze slid to the riverbank, where Leona no doubt still stood. “Protecting your fair damsel?”

“Leona is not
mine
.”

“Leona,” Dominic repeated while tapping his jaw. “A fierce name for such a beautiful woman. Who is she?”

Dominic found her beautiful? Aldwin fought an irrational surge of jealousy. Dominic was happily married with a wife and son; he had no interest in wooing Leona. “She is the daughter of Lord Ransley, from Pryerston Keep.”

“Ah. Does she know what is happening at her father’s castle, then?”

“She does, although she refuses to accept her father may be a traitor.”

Aldwin risked a glance at the water. Leona stood with her back to him, her hands on the fetching curve of her hips, peering down the river. Was she determining the quickest way to flee?

His scowl deepened before he swiveled in her direction.

Dominic’s hand on his arm halted him. “Leave her. She cannot slip away.”

“You do not know Leona.”

“Nay, but Geoffrey posted men down the river. They will stop her if she wanders too far. In the meantime, you should speak with Geoffrey. There are, shall we say, developments.”

“Do they concern the pendant?”

Dominic blew a sigh. “Not exactly. Geoffrey must tell you the rest. Ah, here he is now.”

Footfalls sounded behind Aldwin, and his lord came alongside him. Anger and strain lined de Lanceau’s face.

“Well?” Dominic asked.

“We will get naught from those bastards. Not unless we torture them, and I have no wish to do such.” Glancing at Aldwin, he said, “Your wound is stitched?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Good. Then walk with me. Dominic, you too. Both of you are to listen well.”

“Of course, milord.” Dominic chuckled. “I always listen well, although my lovely wife might say otherwise.”

De Lanceau groaned and rubbed his forehead.

When they’d walked a fair distance away from the other men, Aldwin said, “Dominic mentioned there are new developments.”

His lord’s strides slowed. “A diplomatic way of putting the matter.”

Diplomatic? Aldwin frowned. “Milord?”

Halting near the bank, where long grasses blended into a wind-stirred patch of reeds, de Lanceau turned, his expression grave. “I learned today that Veronique has a son. He is close in age to my Edouard.”

“Aye?” Was the boy somehow connected to Veronique’s plans for the pendant?

“She claims I fathered her child.”

Shock slammed through Aldwin. “
You?
” He blinked and then mentally reviewed the necessary timeline. “Milord, you did . . . ah . . . lie with her, before you fell in love with Lady Elizabeth.” Aldwin, too, had resorted to diplomacy. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering back to de Lanceau’s quest for vengeance years ago—that unsettled time when Aldwin had been persuaded to shoot him.