Chapter Thirteen
“Ye should have told her, Cainnech.”
Cain moved away from where he stood with Father Timothy in a corner of the now well-lit great hall. His eyes found the reason for his unruly thoughts.
Miss d’Argentan sat at a table with Richard and William, and a few of the other men. He didn’t worry about her running. What could she do? More men would come. He’d given her hope of staying at Lismoor without marriage. He knew he should have told her the condition, but he had taken everything else from her.
Most of the time, he was able to remind himself that taking land for the king was his duty. He had done it before without thought of consequence. But no one else had fought so hard for their home, taking on an army alone.
He told himself he didn’t care, because caring scared the hell out of him. But when he saw her smile or heard her laugh at something William said, he knew something of cataclysmic importance was about to happen in his life.
He watched her now, leaning in to hear something her knight was saying. He liked looking at her, and he wasn’t the only one who did. He raked his gaze over anyone leering at her. Three men dipped their gazes to their trenchers.
Supper was venison from the deer he’d killed earlier. The wine, thanks to the cask they’d found, flowed freely, and the men, for the most part, behaved themselves.
It was almost…peaceful. He was unaccustomed to it but he couldn’t say he hated it.
He found himself moving toward her as if his mind had a will of its own.
He had thought her bonny the first time he saw her face by the light of a single candle in the dungeon, her green eyes sparked with fury. But seeing her tilt her head just enough for the firelight from the hearth to dance across her features while she laughed, made him forget everything else—every dark day of his past.
“When will ye tell her?”
Cain looked Heavenward with a sigh, then at the priest who had trotted up to his side. “D’ye not have a confession to hear, Father?”
The priest shrugged his robed shoulders. “Not unless ye have somethin’ ye want to tell me.”
Cain flashed him an impatient look and then veered away from her table. Should he tell his oldest friend the things that plagued him? How his enemy haunted his thoughts?
“Ye are particularly sour this evenin’,” the priest pointed out. “Is it because ye havena told her the condition to her stayin’?”
“She will never swear fealty to him,” Cain said. He sounded defeated to his own ears. It disgusted him. He rubbed his belly.
“Are ye unwell, Son?” the priest asked, concern filling his eyes.
Aye, he was unwell. The one who had attacked and killed his men was sitting with them, drinking, eating fresh venison, and laughing! And worse—so much worse—he found himself attracted to her as if she were a light in the pale gray gloom of death and destruction.
He didn’t want to get close to the light. He did everything he could to stay away from it. He was comfortable in the familiar. He knew things here in the gray, like how to remain unseen and untouched.
“I am sorry we came here,” he admitted in a quiet, gruff voice.
“Commander,” a silken, female voice called out, sending heat through his blood. “Come and try this mead.” Aleysia held up a cup and offered him a radiant smile. “I made it myself.”
Was she playing with him? Had she poisoned the mead? She tempted him to deliver her over for the punishment she deserved. Or march over to her, pull her up by her arms, and kiss that furtive smile from her lips.
He moved forward, reaching her in three long strides. He took the cup from her hand and kept his gaze on her while he lifted it to his mouth.
From the corner of his eye he saw Father Timothy reach out his hand, as if to stop him. But Cain didn’t believe she would poison him. She’d had plenty of opportunities to kill him.
She stared at him while he put the rim to his lips, the challenge unmistakable in her eyes.
He drank, tilting his head to take the entire contents in one long guzzle. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the cup back to her. “Needs more cloves.”
He threw his leg over the bench she was sitting on. He guessed he should be sitting at the higher table in the front of the hall, meant for the lord. But he wasn’t one for indoor etiquette. Besides, he wanted to be near her—and she was sitting with the men. He faced her and looked into her fiery eyes. “Ye dinna want to do it, lady.”
“Do what, Commander?” she challenged with a quirk of her full, honey-dipped lips.
He couldn’t answer with the truth, not with the men listening. They would suspect something if they thought she wanted to kill him.
“Ye dinna want to slap me,” he supplied.
She raised a questionable eyebrow.
“Och, dinna slap him, lass,” cried Rauf from the other side of the table, clearly concerned for her well-being.
Cain gave him a stern look, though he was not surprised she’d won the poor fool over so easily. Had she won the rest of them, as well?
“’Twould not be the first time I’ve slapped him, or tried to,” she offered boldly.
Everyone at the table, including Sir Richard, grew wide-eyed. The men murmured among themselves about her bravery. They had seen their commander slaughter men for lifting their swords to him. It shocked them to think of her striking him—and him letting her live to smile about it.
Cain saw the admiration for her in their eyes. He let her have her victory. He felt her eyes on him but didn’t turn back to her. He took the cup of wine set before him and drank.
Sir Richard’s laughter seemed to pull the rest of the men out of their wonderment, for they joined in and then slowly went back to their cups and bowls.
Cain took some bread and meat from the large bowl in the center of the table and began to eat with the rest in silence.
“How long has Lismoor been your home?” William finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
“I came here with my…grandfather twelve years ago,” she told him, softening her tone. “I was eight.”
Cain knew she was speaking of her brother, not Richard. “What aboot yer father?” he asked, tearing into his bread.
She offered him a curious look, as if she knew joining in on the informal conversation was unusual and uncomfortable for him and was surprised he did it anyway. “Before we came here,” she replied more gently, “my parents suffered a fever and died.”
“What is Lord de Bar like?” Rauf asked.
“It doesna matter,” Amish said, raising his cup. “We’ll soon find him and scatter his parts over Rothbury, aye, Commander?”
Cain held up his cup, “Aye, from the trees.”
He flicked his gaze to the lass while the men agreed with loud cheers and clanking cups. He hoped she understood the danger of them finding out the truth. Presently, the danger came from her friends.
“How many more people d’ye expect to return?” he asked her.
“Twenty-seven,” she said without thinking about it. “And I would like to hunt a nice stag for them since they have been away and will not have much food left.”
Cain liked that she knew exactly how many among her people were missing and that she was concerned with their bellies. It was a sign of leadership. If she weren’t fighting for the other side, she would make a good commander.
“Then there is the staff, which lives here,” she continued, popping a small piece of bread into her mouth and smiling as she thought of the people she named. “There is Matilda my hand—” She stopped and corrected herself. She was the granddaughter of the steward, not the lady of the castle. “And the other maids, Agnes and Sarah, Harry the carpenter, Philip the cook, the seamstress, the laundress, the spinner, the other knights, and Elizabeth.” She moved closer to him until he could smell the honey on her breath when she tilted her lips to his ear, “Elizabeth is my brother’s betrothed.”
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to carry her to her grand bed and delight in her viperous tongue and her lithe body until the sun rose.
He turned his head just a bit and almost brushed his lips over hers. “Will they keep yer secret?”
A dreamy languor stole over her face. “Who?”
He had the urge to smile at her like a pitiful fool. She hadn’t recoiled. In fact, she seemed under the same spell as he. Hell, he found her irresistible when she fought with him, but he grew completely captivated by her when she was being herself and not a warrior with a mission.
Hunger gleamed in his eyes but he did not touch her. He moved back, breaking the hold she had on him. He was afraid of letting himself grow fond of her. Was it already too late? He would not have believed it was even possible.
He turned away and found Father Timothy watching him with a gentle, knowing smile on his face.
What did he know that Cain didn’t? Aye, he was attracted to her. Every man here was, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.
He lowered his gaze and ate his supper in silence, aware of her every move, the slightest touch of her leg against his. Her warm voice seeped through his skin when she answered the men’s questions. Her rich, sensual laughter reverberated in his blood.
His head felt light—too light. He tried to stand but stumbled against the table. Was that Father Timothy’s voice he heard saying his name, sounding alarmed, afraid. The priest never sounded afraid. Cain looked around at William and Amish, both of them falling into their bowls. He turned to look at Aleysia and glared at the two of her that appeared before him. “Ye did—”
Then he crumpled to the rushes.