One Snowy Knight (26 page)

“She is not stalking your shadows. You are seeing a man. Who would help her?”

Skena rolled her eyes as if he were a simpleton. “Angus!” Grabbing his arm, she nearly wailed. “My children are in danger, Noel. That bitch will not let them live if I am not here to protect them.”

Doubling over on herself, she clutched her middle and howled in anguish. His heart aching at seeing her in such distress, Noel pulled her close. “Hush, lass, I shan’t permit anyone to hurt you or the children.”

“You will not be there to protect them. They will kill you, too.” She choked out the words through her sobs.

“Skena, Skena…your mind turns inward upon itself. Fadden is dead.”

“You are wrong!” Another moan racked her body.

When he first came, he feared Skena loved Fadden and still grieved for him. Only, he now pondered just how happy she had been in the marriage with the Lowlander Scot, especially with her half sister as Fadden’s leman. One that wanted to be raised to be baroness.

Noel took her by the upper arms, pulling her to stand. “Skena, danger is close at hand. This we both know. Howbeit, I give warrant that Fadden is not the source. He is dead, Skena. I saw his body myself.”

She blinked her tear-filled eyes, confusion filling her face. “Saw him? You never said that before.”

Noel steeled himself. He treaded upon treacherous ground. “Horrors of battle are not things men speak of to a gentle lady. The savagery, the brute ugliness deeply scars the soul. Talking of such matters only keeps them alive in the mind, permits them to haunt you. I find it repugnant what war does to men, how it robs them of honor and caring. It hardens you, Skena, in a fashion I do not like to see in me. ’Tis what I did to survive. Even in the worst of it, I desperately held on to my humanity, to my basic sense of honor. Many men do not.”

“Did you ken Angus?” she asked, trying to focus her thoughts.

He shook his head. “Nay.”

“Then how can you be sure? As you said, men of the same build, coloring, and wearing a beard oft appear similiar. Mayhap you only saw a man who looked like Angus.”

Damn her, Skena refused to accept his half truth. She showed a good grasp of logic. With nothing solid from him to refute her fears, she remained convinced Angus was still alive.

Three words could knock the legs out from under her. And damn his hopes for a life with her in the same breath.

“It was not Fadden, Skena. Please trust me on this. There is no question. Let it go. There is some other answer.”

“Of all the pigheaded men! You, Lord de Servian, rank as King of Fools. By ignoring what I say you condemn me, condemn my children.” She tried to shove away from him.

Noel held firm. “Skena, damn it, listen to me. Fadden is dead.” She kept struggling, fighting him, as much in her mind as with her physical efforts. She would not listen. “By all that is holy, I know he is dead. I killed him.”

“You…killed…him?” She stilled. The words were barely more than a whisper.

She no longer cried, but looked at him in horror. She finally glanced down to see his hands holding her arms. The look she gave him made him remove them. Noel held them up, palms to her, saying he was not trying to hurt her. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to find the words to explain.

Instead, she moved fast, shoving him and running; she only slowed long enough to knock the stool into his path, causing him to trip. “Skena, wait!” He grimaced as his back screamed a plaint from his twisting to keep from falling. “Goddammit! Curse saints and sinners alike. Skena, let me explain. ’Tis not what you think.”

As he rushed into the hall, he paused to look in both directions.

Skena was gone.

Noel ran to the staircase, meeting Guillaume coming up the steps with Stephan Mallory behind him. “Did Skena come this way?”

Guillaume shook his head no. “What happened?”

“I told her about Fadden,” Noel said, calling himself a thousand kinds of fool. “She has it fixed in her mind he is alive and has come back to kill her. Would not listen to anything else.”

Guillaume lifted his eyebrows. “Someone might have that aim in mind, but certainly ’tis not her dead husband. We will go look for her while you get your boots and a shirt on.” As Noel turned to go back to the lord’s chamber, Guillaume cursed. “God’s teeth, man, you are bleeding from the wound.”

Noel reached back to the bandage, his fingers coming away with blood. “Small matter. We can deal with the wound once we find her and she is safe—”

The sound of the children talking drew Guillaume to their chamber door. Slowly pushing it open, he looked in. Swinging the door wider, he showed Noel that Skena was with Andrew and Annis. “Stand easy, friend. Your lady is with her children. I was just fetching young Stephan here to set him as guard for the night.”

Noel moved to the door and looked inside the room. Skena sat in the middle of the bed with Annis cuddled in her lap. Andrew hung playfully from the crosspiece of the footboard, jabbering about giants, warriors, and how he would grow up to be a fine knight one day…
just like Noel
. At the boy’s declaration, Noel felt his heart tighten.

Guillaume’s deep voice broke the soft family sounds. “Lady Skena. Noel is bleeding. He needs you to tend him.”

“Jenna can—” she began.

Only Guillaume swiped his hand across Noel’s back and held up his bloody fingers. “Jenna will care for the wee ones. Squire Mallory has come to stay with them as well.”

Skena nodded resignation. Slowly, she slid off the bed and came forward, quickly wiping her tears with the backs of her hands. Without looking at Noel, she swept past him.

Noel watched Skena flitting around the room, preparing worts, cutting the length of material for a bandage—and avoiding looking at him. Her movements were jerky. To be expected, he supposed. She was still grappling with the enormity of what he had told her.

Damn him, why could he not have hid the truth from her? There were too many changes in her life to deal with, plus the threat of someone menacing her and mayhap the children. She little needed to reconcile herself with news that the man she would plight her troth with was also the killer of her husband. He sighed. There was something about how Skena made him feel that saw it hard to keep matters from her. He wanted no shadows between them. Starting off a marriage with truths unspoken would be an ill omen to the path their lives would take.

The damage was done. He could give her time to come to an understanding and want to speak of the circumstances of Fadden’s death. She was a smart woman, and wisely realized the gravity of her situation, grasped that in battle men killed. He hoped she was coming to know him well enough to sense he was honorable and would only have taken a life with just cause.

The key was, he knew she desired him. Her own body would be traitor against any stubbornness. She was falling in love with him. Skena was a kind woman, a caring woman. Her heart would listen to him in time. Howbeit, a deep sense of honor was woven into Skena’s character. She took vows and bonds seriously. She had owed allegiance to Fadden for many years. That left her in a bad position.

She picked up the knife to cut the length of material. Her hand fisted around the hilt and something dark passed behind her eyes. She glanced over at him, watching him in a way that saddened him.

He held up his arms so she could cut the old bandage away from his waist. Almost daring her, he stood there, knowing if she wanted to plant that dirk in his heart he was giving her the opening. Oh, his warrior’s instincts would stop her if it came to that. This was her trial. Would she embrace the future he offered, or cling to the past and a man who did not deserve her? Skena’s grip tightened about the bone handle.

“Do you wish to hear the whole truth, or would you prefer just to kill me now?” he asked in resignation. “You tread a dangerous road, Skena. Ugly thoughts flow through your mind. You are a fierce warrior, stronger than even you ever believe, but this is a conflict you should back away from. Do not make this a struggle between us. You will lose. I will lose.”

She said nothing, her head lifting to meet his stare. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

He gave a sigh, wanting to grab her and shake some sense into her, wanting to kiss her until she forgot past loyalties to a man who had failed to earn such allegiance. “Very well, if you desire to use the knife on me, your grip is all wrong unless you plan to gut me.” His left hand took hold of her wrist tightly. She could not break free, yet he was not hurting her. “The upward thrust is good for slitting the belly. ’Tis a slow, ugly death. A man stands there holding his innards, knowing his death is coming. Pain unendurable. Perchance that is what you wish? Methinks you likely would rather plant it in my heart. In that case, you need to grip it thusly.”

His words were ugly, brutal. He wanted to shock her. Curling her fingers slowly from the ornate dagger, he then forced them around it again, until she held the knife for striking at a downward angle.

Clearly Skena was unsure what to make of his present mood. Likely he did not fully understand what was driving him either. He was not giving up Skena’s love without a fight, and by damn, he was not going to have her look at him in loathing for the rest of their lives. If she could not let go of the past, let go of a misguided fidelity to a man who did naught to deserve her trust, her devotion, then mayhap it was better she plant the knife in his chest and have done with it. He was leaving it up to Skena which road their lives would travel. She could embrace vengeance or put aside imagined duty and open her heart to him. He hoped for both their sakes she would put her faith in him and their growing love.

“You come at your enemy with a downward arc, like this—” He pulled her arm toward him until the blade touched his chest above his heart. “Your choice, Skena. I am making it quite easy for you. I shan’t fight you.”

She grew a shade taller as her spine stiffened. “I was going to cut away the bloody bandage instead of unwrapping it, naught more. The linen might be stuck to the wound. If I pull it away it might bleed more.”

“You are valiant and willing to fight for what you feel is right.” He reached out and lifted the knife between their faces. “This is not the way. This is not right. You saved my life. Twice. Would you prick my heart with this long blade because I was forced to take a life in war?”

Her lower lip trembled faintly. “You speak a fool’s blethering.”

“Do I? Then tell me you did not consider planting this pig-sticker in my chest? Or was it your intent to strike a blow when I turn my back? ’Tis much easier to do than face a man and look him in the eye. If Fadden were alive he could tell you all about cowardice. Tell me that thought does not linger in your mind even now.”

Her head dropped forward, eyes unable to meet his stare.

“Your lack of denial tells the story, Skena. Is that what you really want? Or is it what you believe you should do? Why? Out of misguided loyalty to a husband, a man who took your own sister as his leman and little cared your pride was dragged through the muck in doing it? A man who lies dead and in the ground, food for worms.” His words were harsh. He meant them to be.

Her head snapped up. “You are ugly, de Servian.”

“My words are ugly. I am beautiful, according to you.” He lifted his brows in challenge, daring her to deny she had said those words to him.

“Bastard,” she hissed between her teeth.

He gave his head a small shake. “Nay, my parents were the Baron and Lady Darkmoor. I told you a little about them. Both were beautiful people, and they were very much in love. Rare for the nobility. A true love match. Can you say the same of your marriage? Were you and Fadden a love match? Or did he allow you to sleep in your cold bed each night, while he lay with another?”

Again, no response came. Her mouth pursed, then trembled, as if holding back thoughts that could cause more damage than a knife. He knew Skena well enough already to comprehend that Fadden’s taking her half sister as his mistress had deeply wounded her pride. It was why he had used that detail against her. Reminded her how the man little honored her and their vows.

Noel released her hand, leaving her the knife, still testing. Part of him hoped she would drop the blade and seek pax between them. The warrior side of his nature anticipated—feared—she might foolishly push the impasse into a confrontation. He knew Skena had not faced an easy time here at Craigendan since Fadden’s death. She worried too much, these past months taking their toll upon her. Even so, war had never touched this glen. Out of the way, Skena and her people had been spared the revolting brutality of war, never forced to bend their will to that of another.

He was sorry such a lesson would come at his hand, should she choose the more treacherous path. But then, mayhap it was better to taste this hard reality so they could move past it.

“I assume your silence means your marriage was not a match born of love.” He sounded just a bit smug. Could not suppress it. Secretly, though he felt for the bruised pride she had endured, he was pleased Fadden had not been such a paragon in her eyes. It would be one less obstacle to overcome. He prodded to see her reaction. “He was much older than you. You were—what—ten and six when he took you to wife? Nearly a child bride?”

Skena vibrated with emotion. “I suppose being close enough to kill a man allowed you to judge his age.”

“Aye, I killed him, Skena. Do you now want to hear how and why, or have you decided to stick that dirk in me without a proper trial by ordeal?”

She shivered. She was not cold, but scared. Too bad. He was not giving her an out. She had forced his hand. Now she would deal with the repercussions.

“What can I expect from any man but lies?” she finally managed to get out.

“Do not paint me with the same hues as Fadden. He was unworthy of you, Skena. I speak words you already heed within yourself.”

When she stood resolute in her fury, anger spurred his temper. He took a step closer, letting her feel the heat off his flesh. Most women would have backed up in fear. He was an intimidating man, tall, powerfully built. Smart women learned at an early age not to provoke any man, especially a knight. And his dear little Skena was smart, so bloody smart. Only she did not flinch. Whether she comprehended, it spoke so much about her. About her fearless nature, about how she trusted him not to hurt her.

The corner of his mouth twitched up. Mayhap he should give her space, and let her see the difference between Fadden and himself, allow her to understand the choices made in war could still be done in an honorable fashion. Fadden had not been respectful of Skena in taking Dorcas as his leman. He had shown only viciousness in killing a lad, not even ten and six summers old, just to get his sword. When the man attacked Noel while he dismounted, Fadden had not been a soldier fighting in war. He tried to do murder. There had been no scrap of honor within Angus Fadden on the moor of Dunbar that ugly April morn. Skena was too smart not to come to this understanding.

Nevertheless, Noel perversely wanted Skena’s unconditional acceptance. Wanted her to trust him because her heart did. “You speak of the kenning, these powers in women of Ogilvie blood. Can you not touch me, walk in my mind, and know who I am? What I am?”

Her lower lip trembled. “The kenning was never strong in me. I oft feared because I forsook the Ogilvie name that mayhap I paid price by the power’s failing to rise within me. Yet Tamlyn took her father’s name, and she is one of the strongest in the clan, so I finally assumed it was just me, that I was lacking. Until…”

Her eyes lowered as she turned the knife to carefully slice away the blood soaked bandage. She swallowed hard as she stared at the wound with a dawning realization. The deep gash had been inflicted by Fadden. How close it came to the man’s robbing Noel of his life.

“Until?” he pressed.

Her shaking fingers cleansed the wound and then dabbed the soothing salve across it. He heard her breathing hitch. She was too close to him. His scent, his heat was affecting her physically. Their making love would only see this reaction heighten. Poor Skena, she now faced a clash between the logic of her mind and the desires of her body.

He understood the problem only too well. Each brush of those fingers caused his body to buck. So many emotions pumped through him—anger, resentment, hurt—yet he could not sort them out and act according to what would heal this breach between them, simply because his body ruled. He needed her. As he needed his blood or air to survive. Skena was a craving that clawed at his skin, destroyed all reason, thus he struggled against the mating drive pushing him to act. But then, he recalled Guillaume’s saying how he committed a mistake in giving Rowanne the room to adjust to their coming marriage, that he should have pushed for matters to be settled between them.

Mayhap it was simply the excuse he offered himself to take what he wanted. He little cared. There was no other choice.

As she tied off the bandaging, he lowered his arms and trapped her against his body. She gave a squeak of surprise. He took advantage to kiss her, thoroughly, and with no mercy. His mouth moved roughly on hers, opening her to his tongue delving deeply, provoking the responses she fought hard not to give. His valiant warrior. Her lips tasted of the wine they had for supper, but it was no more intoxicating than the taste that was all Skena.

She whimpered, pushed against his chest, but with only the faintest of efforts. She tried to lean back, but his hand fisted in her long hair holding her firmly against him, allowing him to kiss her with all the passion driving him. Just as her resistance relaxed, he lifted her and threw her down on the huge bed. She did not resist, did not try to scamper away, just watched with her huge brown eyes while he skimmed off the hose and then climbed onto the bed.