Chapter Fifteen
Aleysia sat up in her bed, startled by his entrance, even more terrified by his murderous glare. He appeared larger, more daunting than before. His dark hair fell around his shoulders, adding shadows to his rigid jaw. He didn’t move, save to slam the door in Father Timothy’s face.
He said nothing for an eternal moment but stared at her with an expression as hard as sleet.
“I—” she began, not sure of what was going to come out next.
“Ye poisoned us,” he accused. Beneath the silken words was an unmistakable threat.
“No,” she corrected carefully, not really trusting her voice. “You slept. If I had poisoned you, you would be dead.”
“Get up.”
She blinked. The little boy on the battlefield disappeared and in his place stood a dangerous man with eyes as cold as steel.
She looked away rather than mourn the loss of something she never wanted. His trust. Why did it make her eyes burn and her heart break? “Where are you taking me?”
“Ye dinna get to ask any questions,” he said woodenly. “Now get up or I will get ye oot of bed myself.”
“Ah,” she said, casting him a smirk and getting out of the bed, “so now I get to meet the merciless commander.”
“Ye deserve no mercy.”
Her legs felt weak. Her mouth felt dry. She didn’t want to be afraid of him. He wasn’t the ruthless beast she’d feared for four years. “For giving you a sleep enhancer?”
“Fer tryin’ to make me suspect the mead when ’twas the wine ye tainted. Ye’re clever, and dangerous,” he said, taking hold of her arm.
She tried to pull away but he held fast. “You do not have to manhandle me. I’ve already proven that I will not run.”
He ignored her protests and pulled her toward the door without a word.
They entered the empty hall. Father Timothy was nowhere to be found. When he pulled her past the great hall and then toward the outside stairs, she feared he might fling her down them. He believed she’d poisoned them. His patience with her had ended.
“Where are you taking me?” Her heart drummed in her ears when they stepped outside. The crisp morning air felt like a cold slap. There were ravens flying about the gloomy charcoal sky. Was this her last day?
“Cainnech!” she shouted at him, refusing to go quietly. “Where?”
He stopped and turned his storm-filled eyes on her. “Why did ye stay?”
What should she tell him? Her throat felt as if it were closing while she stared up at him. She was afraid he might see the truth in her eyes, so she lowered her gaze and shielded it beneath her lashes. “I was going to run away to Normandy. I only needed a few hours to keep you and the men asleep while I reached the port and boarded a ship for my homeland.”
“What stopped ye?” he asked, though it sounded more like a low growl.
“My cousin, Geoffrey d’Argentan. I remembered that he will marry me off a sennight after I arrive. I do not want to leave my home and my friends and live in Normandy with a husband I do not love.” It was the truth. Part of it. “So I remained, ready to give you an account of what I did and why. I also remembered that I am a d’Argentan and I will not run.”
The commander roamed his eyes over her, peeling away her defenses and seeing her deepest secrets. He curled one corner of his mouth up. “And did ye also remember me tellin’ ye that I would speak to the king aboot lettin’ ye stay on yer own?”
She had the feeling she shouldn’t answer.
He didn’t give her the chance to do so. “Ye had no reason to run away…to poison us.”
“I did not poison you, Commander. I—”
“Ye are correct. I no longer believe ’twas ye who tried to kill us last eve.”
Her heart faltered. What? Had her ears just deceived her? If not her, then the only other person he had any reason to suspect was Richard! “’Twas I, Commander,” she insisted. “’Twas I who tainted the wine.”
His piercing gaze broke through her defenses. He was furious and…something else. Disappointed? “Ye poisoned William and ye would have poisoned Father Timothy if he had drunk the wine.”
“No,” she told him shaking her head. He made it sound so malicious. “They were not harmed. Nor were you. ’Twas a simple sleeping draught.”
Should she have run when she had the chance? Even if it was just to save Richard? No! “I had simply wanted to ensure that you would not give chase to me. I was rash and foolish and I ask your forgiveness.”
He stared at her. Did she see a flash of emotion in his gaze? She watched him while she waited for him to say something.
Finally, he made a deep, short sound from the back of his throat, and then continued walking.
What was that supposed to mean? Was Richard safe or not? She dug her heels into the ground. What more could she say? “I also wanted to prove to you that I could kill you if I chose to,” she bit out. There. Perhaps that sounded more believable to his warrior ears!
“When have I ever told ye that I didna think ye could?”
She said the only thing she could remember in this moment. “When you drank the mead.”
His jaw relaxed and softened, along with his gaze. He moved closer, hovering over her until she could count each lush, black lash surrounding his guarded, sapphire eyes. “That was to show ye that I didna think ye would.” He stepped back and turned away. “They are two verra different things.”
When he tugged her forward, she tugged back. She didn’t know why she did it. She had no idea what to say to him. She believed gaining his trust was a difficult, if not almost impossible endeavor. She’d had it, perhaps to the slightest extent, but she’d had it. “I know that,” she said faintly and drew closer. “I regret losing your trust that I would not kill you.”
He watched her while she spoke, sending a thread of heat through her when his gaze dipped to her lips. Did he want to kiss her? Would she let him if he did?
“I regret it as well,” he answered, and then pulled her toward the rear tower without another word.
He was taking her to where his men were. “You will no longer protect me?” she asked him, trying to calm her anxious heart. Was he finally delivering her to her fate?
He stopped before they crossed the short walkway and turned to her. “I protect ye fer the king.”
Her expression grew dark. “Of course.”
“Just agree with what I say.”
“I can speak for myself.”
“Not today.”
She wanted to say more but he continued walking.
Anchored to him by the wrist, she had no choice but to follow him across the walkway and up the stone stairs to the narrow door to the tower.
Father Timothy greeted them on the other side and asked how she fared.
“I am alive—for now,” she told him, a bit out of breath from keeping up with the commander’s long strides.
The priest stopped them and drew his friend down so that he could whisper something into his ear.
The commander turned to her and watched her breathe, then kept his pace slow as he walked her through the short corridor to the massive doors that led inside.
Her heart pounded when she saw Amish and William, Rauf and Richard, standing with the rest of his men. What had Richard and the priest told them? Was her friend safe?
They all grew quiet when they saw her, or perhaps it was when they saw their commander lift his hand for silence.
“Aleysia was just found by me on the floor of her solar.”
“I felt sleepy and tried to make it to my bed,” she added, pressing her palm to her forehead for good measure. She ignored him when his slipped his gaze to her, but let him continue.
“It seems Lord de Bar tainted all the wine, includin’ what ye found in the cellar. And though Aleysia served as his bottler—” he flicked his gaze to Rauf, “—she knew nothin’ aboot it.”
Relief flooded through her and made her feel lightheaded. She was thankful he was protecting her, but was that it? These men were dangerous. She knew what they wanted to do to the one who’d killed their friends. If doubt was allowed to creep in, they would start drawing their own conclusions.
She had more to say to them, to William and Rauf mostly. Her life and the lives of her friends could depend on it.
“I am sincerely dismayed that you all drank something that was meant for your harm—even if it only made you sleep. I consider some of you my friends.” She smiled at William and then at Rauf. “I would not put my friends in jeopardy.”
“We didna blame ye, lass,” Rauf promised, returning her warm smile. “We knew ’twas de Bar’s doin’.”
The others agreed and welcomed her back into the fold.
“Ye are convincin’, lass,” the commander leaned in to whisper close to her ear. “Even I believe ye.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back.
He offered her a practiced smile and ushered her out of the large gathering hall before she had a chance to speak to anyone else. They left the tower and headed for the main stairs outside.
“Now where are we going?” She looked over her shoulder for Richard or Father Timothy but no one was following. Why was she following him? She should have insisted on staying with Richard. How could she betray her friends and her brother by liking this man, by wanting to fall into his arms and kiss him?
“I am takin’ ye away from the men.”
“You do not trust me with them.”
“Or them with ye,” he added and picked up his pace.
They reached the long, narrow stairway and began the descent. She paused for a moment to watch him. She told herself she was mad, and then hurried after him.
“You have my gratitude for helping me get out of that,” she said, a few steps above him. “Even if ’twas for the king.”
“I dinna know how much longer I will be able to keep ye safe if ye continue.”
She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t done it. He’d been correct. She wouldn’t try to kill him. She hadn’t wanted to kill him from the moment she set eyes on him. She could have let him move forward into the meadow of arrows. He’d been first in line, but she’d stopped him with her ill-aimed arrow. She could have stabbed him to death in the dungeon after rendering him almost helpless with a kick to the groin. And when they had fallen from a tree, she tried to wake him up instead of swiftly cutting his throat.
She could have, but she hadn’t. She hated her weak resolve, but she hated even more the thought of his new misgivings about her.
She could tell him the truth about the wine and regain his trust, but she wouldn’t put Richard in danger.
“You do not have to concern yourself with me any longer,” she told him. “I may still try to strike or pinch you when you are overly infuriating.” She stopped speaking when he turned to look at her with a wind-tossed strand of hair and amusement dancing across the cool surface of his eyes. “But I…no longer…want to kill you.”
“That is comfortin’ to know,” he said with a teasing smile and then returned his attention to the steps.
Aleysia watched him reach the last one and walk toward the grass. She wondered what it would be like to surrender to her desires and set her mind on breaking through his heavy armor. Could she do it? Could she drag him out of his past and into the present? Why should she try? He was still her enemy. But he didn’t treat her like he hated her. Even when he believed she’d managed to put what was left of his company to sleep, he still protected her. He hadn’t laid his hands on her, and had even begun to trust her.
“Though I must tell ye,” he called out, his deep voice wrapping around her like a glove, “the threat of a pinch is not enough to keep me from irritatin’ ye.”
His error was slowing his pace and waiting for her to catch up.
“Is that so?” She quirked her brow and gave his upper arm a hard pinch.
“Hell, lass!” he erupted, springing away from her. He rubbed his arm and glared at her. “I think I would prefer yer blade.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She walked toward the stairs to return to the keep but he caught her by the wrist, and pulled her back, gentler this time.
“Why wait?” he asked, giving her a slow half-smile. “With everythin’ else that kept ye busy over the last four years, did ye find time to practice?”
“Every day,” she told him, a bit breathless when he tugged her toward the grassy inner bailey. “I took my duty to kill the Scots who came here very seriously.”
“We shall see.” He came to a small area off to the side of the keep, where his men had left their extra weapons, swords and axes, shields and even maces propped against the wall.
He picked up a shield and a sword and tossed both to her. She let the shield fall into the grass but caught the sword by the hilt.
“Ye will be needin’ that,” he said, smirking at her discarded shield.
She shook her head. “’Tis too cumbersome.”
“Verra well. Prepare,” he said, pulling his sword free from its sheath and making it dance in the air.
Was this truly happening? Was she going to spar with him? How real was this going to get? What if she hurt him? She watched him swing his blade over his arm and rest it flat over his elbow. He stared at her down the length of it, his eyes harder than the steel. She doubted she would hurt him at all.
“Ready.” He was thoughtful enough to warn before he swung.
She threw up her sword and blocked a blow to her neck that shook her arms all the way to her chest. He was holding back and, still, just blocking him nearly brought her to her knees. She blocked another strike to her waist, her shoulder, her knees. Over and over his assault continued, until after only a few moments, she leaped away and held up her hands, too exhausted to continue. Nothing she had trained for had prepared her for the strength and ferocity of his arm. She didn’t have the power to hold him off. If she was going to gain a point, she had to make a move swiftly. There was no time for defense.
She straightened her shoulders and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Ready,” she said and sprang forward. She caught sight of his smile before she jabbed, stabbed, and thrust. He blocked every strike with effortless ease. She couldn’t land a single blow.
A memory of practicing with Giles flashed across her thoughts. He was thirteen years older than she and more like a father than a brother. He made her practice archery every day and commissioned Sir Richard and the other knights to help her learn swordplay when he was away, which was often. She knew she possessed skill. She had even bested Giles once after he’d returned from the Holy Land.
The commander lifted his sword for a swipe to her ribs. Instead of trying to block it, she crouched as low as she could go and swept her leg across his ankles. He went down on his back with a resounding thump. She wondered if his head hit the ground.
She didn’t waste time thinking about it now, but leaped atop him and held the edge of her blade against his throat.
Now was the time to win back his trust.
She leaned down, until she could feel his breath on her face and stared into his eyes. “Will I kill you, Commander?”
She had no idea what his reaction would be to her besting him. She could hardly believe it herself. She didn’t think it happened often. But he wasn’t angry.
His eyes sparked with warmth and humor as they drank her in. His smile washed over her like a gentle caress in the midst of all the ice.
“Nae, lass,” he said, his voice, low and rough. “Ye willna kill me.”
She felt lost in his smile, swept away on foolish, fanciful thoughts of leaning down just a bit further and kissing him.
“What the hell is this?” someone shouted.
“Has she killed him?” another male voice called out.
Aleysia realized immediately what his men were seeing and tossed her blade in the grass.
Unconcerned with what might be about to happen, the commander continued to smile at her, but the sensual slant of his mouth and the challenging quirk of his brow proved that she was on her own.
“He lives!” she shouted, pushing off him. She looked down one last time and lifted her chin. “We were sparring good-naturedly,” she added with a smile.
“And ye bested him?” Father Timothy asked, stunned, and stepped forward from the small crowd of men.
“Aye, she bested me,” the commander confirmed, finally rising to his feet. “She swept me off my feet.”
The men stared at him, slack-jawed and struck dumb.
And then Rauf winked at the others and they all began to smile as if they understood some secret meaning to his words.
Aleysia was about to correct them but she caught the commander’s eyes as he began to look away from her. Their gazes locked for an instant, the residue of amusement…and something else she couldn’t define, still shone in his eyes.
She wanted to smile at him, but Richard was watching her and she would not—she could not—let him see her betrayal.
Commander Cainnech MacPherson was a Scot, worse, a Highlander, the most savage of them all and she was supposed to hate him.
But she didn’t.