Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (19 page)

She had given
him
her kiss, the night before he’d left to take the ransom demand, yet only because of the same desperate, determined urge that drove her to try to escape over and over again.

What urge had driven her to attack Heinrich? Fear for Denis’s safety?

He felt a terrible twinge of jealousy. Denis was merry and charming, and women always liked him. He was not merry, he had no charm, and while women found him attractive, he could not think of a one who would fight for him.

Not even his mother. She had not gone to his father and demanded that he provide for them. She had not railed against the man who had deserted them. Instead, she had waited for him to return and dreamt her hopeless dreams.

Forcing away the memories of his mother, he once again dipped the cloth in the water and cleaned Lady Allis’s forehead, brushing her disheveled hair from her brow. He wiped her eyelids and shapely brows that helped illustrate all the emotions that flashed across her face.

He was as tempted to kiss her forehead as he was her lips.

He wiped her cheeks. Her skin was wonderful, pliant and soft. She had the most lovely complexion, and her skin looked as soft as rose petals. Unable to resist, he put the cloth in the basin and let his finger glide down the curve of her cheek with a long, slow stroke.

Her flesh
was
as soft as rose petals. He brushed his finger across her lips and nearly groaned aloud with the desire to kiss her.

He grabbed the cloth and briskly wrung it out, then began to wash her hands. Because she was a lady, they should be as soft as the skin of her face, the nails smooth and perfect. But her nails were short and broken and filthy, and the skin of her palms rough, as if she had scratched at the door, or tried to dig her way out.

Would she never surrender?

Overcome with admiration, he let the cloth fall into the basin, then raised her right hand and gently pressed his lips upon her palm. Guiding it gently, he let her hand rest a moment against his stubbled cheek.

Marveling at the way even that simple contact made him feel, he pressed another kiss to her cool palm. Closing his eyes, he trailed his mouth up her fingers to their tips, imagining that it was she dragging her hands over his lips, willingly allowing him this intimacy. He kissed the pad of each of her fingers, one by one.

He looked at her slender hand in his—where it did not belong, and never could.

Cursing himself for a besotted fool, he lowered her hand to rest upon her gently rising and falling chest. He must not forget who she was, and what they were—or were not—to one another. Had he not seen all too clearly the folly of a hopeless passion? Had his mother not shown him how that could dominate and destroy a life?

He picked up the cloth once more, twisted it deftly and prepared to wash her neck.

When he turned to his task, he found a pair of soft blue eyes open, and watching him intently.

“W
hen did you return?” she asked, her voice a dry rasp, but a spark of vitality in her bright eyes. Even after all she had been through, it would clearly take more than three days in a dungeon to dim her spirit.

“Today,” Alexander replied quietly. “Don’t talk. Food and water will be here shortly.”

She tried to sit up, shoving her heels against the featherbed for purchase and leaning back on her elbows. “The ransom—?”

“Your husband has agreed to pay. Now you should rest.”

Relief flooding her face, she smiled and sank back. “My … husband.”

Alexander beat back the stab of envy and despair at her tone. He did not need to hear her love for Sir Connor in her voice, especially when he had grave doubts the man deserved it.

“How long was I in that place?”

“Too long. Three days.” Lifting the basin that had been in the crook of his knee, he rose and set it on the table. Facing her, he said, “I shall make certain Osburn does not do such a thing again.”

She didn’t reply, yet her wordless scrutiny was so unnerving that he would rather she berated him.

Then her expression softened in a way that went straight to the lonely core of his heart. “You brought me out of that terrible place. You washed my face, and my hands.”

God’s wounds, how long had she been awake? Perhaps only at the end, for surely she would have made her awareness known had she been awake when he’d kissed her fingertips. “They were filthy.”

“You could have waited for Kiera.”

“I sent her for food and wine.”

Another silence stretched between them. He had no more to say; neither, apparently, did she, yet he did not move from his place as the tension grew. He could feel sweat on his back, and he wiped his hand across his forehead, in case beads of perspiration had formed there, too.

Then he wished he hadn’t as he wondered if he had betrayed too much with his gesture. Things were as they were and could not be changed. Remorse and regret would avail him nothing.

It might make her like you better
, his heart prompted.

He didn’t need her affection. Or her desire. He needed the money from the ransom.

And what will you do with it when you have it?
his heart demanded.
Spend it on drink trying to forget her and what you have done until you are as disgusting a drunkard as Osburn? Buy yourself women to warm your bed and try to imagine they are this one?

Somebody rapped on the door, startling him. He threw it open to find Denis and Kiera on the threshold, each bearing trays. The odor of fresh bread emanated from beneath the linen cloth on Kiera’s. Denis had the wine, and he had brought two goblets.

Kiera looked pale and ill, as if she had been the one imprisoned. Denis was simply, avidly curious.

Alexander held the door wider and motioned for them to enter. Kiera hurried toward the bed. Denis walked slower, and he slid Alexander a speculative glance that he did not appreciate. He was having enough difficulty with his turbulent emotions; he didn’t need Denis wondering about them, too.

“Oh, my lady, I’m sorry!” Kiera murmured, her knuckles white as she gripped the tray.

As Alexander watched the lady sit up, he thought she was more interested in the bread than the condolences, and he couldn’t blame her. He went around the bed to put one of the pillows behind her back. He tried not to notice her swift, grateful look.

Meanwhile, Denis poured wine into a goblet and offered it to her.

“Slowly, and not too much,” Alexander cautioned.

“But I’m thirsty,” she protested as she reached for it.

“You’ll just throw it all back up if you take too much at first. Trust me, I know. Not too much bread, either. A little now, and a little more after a while. Slowly and steadily, to build up your strength.”

She nodded, and he was relieved to think that for once, she was going to do as he suggested.

Hielda appeared at the entrance, a steaming bucket in her hand. “Somebody wants hot water?” she demanded, her cavalier tone setting Alexander’s teeth on edge. As he took the handle of the bucket, his expression full of disdain, he wondered how cheerful Hielda would be after some time in that dungeon.

Hielda apparently didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “Osburn says you’re to report to him at once.”

“I’ll report to him when I’m ready,” Alexander said, closing the door in her face.

“He says now!” she shouted.

“Perhaps you should go, Alexander,” Denis said nervously. “He is ugly when he’s drunk.”

“Which would be all the time,” Alexander muttered.

Kiera looked about to burst into tears. How much she was like his mother, slavishly devoted to a man who did not deserve it.

“My sister—did you see her?” the lady asked, taking his attention from Kiera. “How was she?”

“She is well. Worried about you, of course, but I assured both her and your husband that you will be returned unharmed once I have the money.”

Closing her eyes as in prayer, she fervently murmured, “Thank God.”

“Your husband is also well,” he said, watching her reaction carefully.

“He is a strong man.”

She smiled, but there was something—or rather, there was
not
something—in her eyes that he expected to see when she spoke of the man she supposedly loved. Before he had seen Sir Connor with the lady’s sister, he might not have noticed, but now…

“Your sister did not strike me as weak, either.”

“No, she isn’t.” He neither saw nor heard any rancor as she responded.

Maybe he was wrong, seeing trouble where there was none. Or maybe she herself was ignorant.

Again he reminded himself that the state of the lady’s marriage was none of his concern. “Stay in bed and rest, lest you swoon again.”

“I won’t now that you … now that you have given me the news.”

“Good. Denis, I am going to our quarters.”

Before I betray my feelings or my suspicions about your husband and your sister
.

Frowning, his friend hurried to him and, taking his arm, steered him out of the chamber. “Listen to me, Alexander. You must go to Osburn before he orders the Brabancons to do something else—against all three of us. He’s been drunk ever since Heinrich was killed and muttering more and more about how he was not born to be a jailer. He’s been saying terrible things to Kiera about women. I think he’s been hitting her, too, although she never complains. A message came for him yesterday, and he’s been even worse since.”

“What message?”

“He has not said, to anyone, not even Kiera. Whatever it is, I tell you, you must do something to rein him in, even appease him if you must, or who can say what he will do?”

“He’s a useless sot.”

“Who the Brabancon will obey.” Denis looked at his friend with grave and pleading eyes. “Is it not in his favor that he did not kill the lady when Heinrich died? And you say her husband will pay, so we will not have to endure him long. Nor will she. Although it goes against your nature, Alexander, you must do this. In the meantime, we will take care of her.”

There was nothing more he could do here anyway, and Denis was no fool. If he thought it wise to mollify Osburn, he would—a little. “Very well.”

Leaving his friend, Alexander marched down the steps and entered the hall.

Ignoring the Brabancons and slovenly serving wenches, Alexander walked up to Osburn and planted his feet, his arms akimbo. He glared into the man’s bleary, bloodshot eyes. “What the devil did you think you were doing?”

The Brabancons took a collective step forward, but Alexander paid no heed.

“Punishing her,” Osburn replied, whining like a child. “She killed Heinrich.”

“He deserved it.”

As the Brabancons began to mutter, Alexander whirled around. He would give them a reason for Heinrich’s death that they would understand. “He was touching
my
property that
I
stole, so he deserved to die, whether at my hand or my friend’s. Is there a man among you who would not do otherwise? Or do you all share what each of you plunder?”

Alexander’s point hit home, and he pressed on. “If Heinrich could be killed by a mere woman, however it came about, he was not fit to lead you. Who has taken his place?”

A man dressed in a patched gambeson and leather breeches stepped forward. “I, Rawdon.”

“Well, then, Rawdon, if any Brabancon touches the lady for any reason other than at my express command, I’ll kill him. Do you understand?”

“Aye,” Rawdon muttered.

“I command here!” Osburn protested, staggering to his feet. “A fact you seem to be forgetting, you arrogant bastard. I say what happens to her, until my father comes. And he won’t be pleased to learn that Heinrich’s dead at her hand. He didn’t come cheap—a thousand marks, in addition to what he charged us for his men. All for nothing now, because of her.”

Alexander didn’t have to be looking at the Brabancons to feel their shock and their ire. No doubt they were each earning considerably less for this guard duty. The news of Heinrich’s fee would spread to the rest of them, too, and when Lord Oswald arrived, he might well discover that his mercenaries, a band of men never known for their loyalty, were even less loyal to him than before.