Chapter Nineteen
Cain sat in the great hall with Father Timothy, William, and the men. He looked around, feeling out of place since he’d been eating alone for the past four nights. The priest wasn’t helping matters, staring at him as if he were growing a second head.
Why had he agreed to meet Aleysia here and sit with her for supper? Where was she? He’d left her soon after they’d returned from taking the buck to the village.
“What in damnation are ye lookin’ fer?” he finally asked the priest.
“Ye look different,” Father Timothy told him, his sherry-brown eyes wide and curious. “Why are ye sittin’ with us again?”
“Where else would I be sittin’?”
“At the head table.”
Cain wanted to sit with her. The men would think it odd if he invited her to sit at the head table with him. But he didn’t tell Father Timothy that. “We are all warriors in the same battle,” he told his friend instead.
The priest nodded, still smiling. “Where were ye all day?”
Cain thought about the glade and kissing Aleysia in the bluebells and orchids. He could still smell her on him. “Aleysia killed a buck and I helped her take it to the village. That is all.
The priest’s eyes lit up. “It has done ye wonders.”
Cain smiled—and then realized what he was doing and lifted his cup to his lips to cover it. He wasn’t sure if it was Father Timothy’s pure delight, or…something else that made him feel a bit different. As if he’d been shaken from his axis and tilted toward another direction. Should he tell his friend? This forgotten thing he was beginning to feel for her was growing stronger. To be honest, it scared him more than anything else currently in his life.
He set down his cup and put his arm around the priest’s shoulders. “Father,” he said drawing him in. “I am…I think I…” He stopped. What? What did he want to say?
“She is makin’ her way to yer heart,” his old friend finished for him.
Cain’s blood ran cold with fear. He hadn’t faced this demon…not for many years. This one was bigger, stronger than all the others.
He rested his forehead against Father Timothy’s and stared into his eyes. “I fear she is already there.”
He caught a glimpse of something purple and turned his gaze to the entrance. His breath went still when he saw her, dressed in a fitted overgown, dyed in deep lavender. His heart thundered in his chest loud enough for him to believe Father Timothy could hear it.
He moved away from his friend and straightened on the bench as she entered the hall. He perused her in the way a dying man might gaze upon his heart’s desire.
She wore her hair free to fall in black, glossy waves to her waist and topped by a circlet of bluebells.
Her intent was to beguile him senseless and she accomplished it well. He couldn’t help but smile at her and stand when she approached him with her friend Matilda close by her side.
“Ladies,” he greeted them, then gave William’s leg a soft kick to get him to move from his place. He held out his hand for Aleysia to take the place beside him.
She smiled, accepting, and lifted her skirts over her bare calves to take her seat at the long bench.
His blood sizzled in his veins, sending sparks to his heart…his groin. He wanted her. He’d wanted her all day, but he’d refrained, certain that whatever part of his heart she sought to conquer would surrender.
“Ye look better than a summer glade,” he told her as he sat beside her.
“That is quite the compliment,” Father Timothy teased on the other side of him.
“’Tis perfect,” she argued, sharing an intimate smile with Cain. She set her vibrant green eyes on the faces in the hall and said loud enough for all at the table to hear, “I hope that if Lady de Bar ever returns, none of you will tell her that I wore her gown.”
“If she ever returns, it will be to collect what is left of her husband,” Rauf promised. The others agreed.
Cain watched her captivate them with her radiant smile.
“The only thing missing is dear Elizabeth,” she said softly.
“Why is she not here?” he asked. He already knew Giles d’Argentan’s betrothed had gone to an abbey rather than stay in the woods, but he didn’t want to let Aleysia know that he had eavesdropped by her door.
“She went back to the St. Peter’s Abbey where she spent much of her time growing up. She does not know ’tis safe to return to Lismoor. She would not consider it safe with any Scots here. I will likely never see her again.”
“Ye were close friends?”
“Aye.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “She was closer to my age than Giles’. We became friends while she waited for him to return from his ridiculous adventures. I miss her.”
Cain’s gaze roved over her. She was loyal to her friends, to Richard—the people she cared about. He liked it. Loyalty was a highly favored trait.
She blushed when she realized how close she was and straightened in her seat.
“Why did she take shelter at this abbey? Was she an orphan?” Cain asked. He thought he might think a little more highly of Giles d’Argentan if he had taken an orphan for his promised bride.
“She is not an orphan. Her father is Lord Hugh FitzSimmons, Baron of Richmond. He hardly ever sees her though. He tried to marry her off and when that didn’t work, he didn’t send for her back but left her with barely a word for five years.” Her eyes grew round and soft, filled with mist. “I guess you can be an orphan even if your parents are alive.”
“We sound like a band of misfits,” William said, hearing the last part of the conversation. “We all lost our families.”
Cain looked away, not wanting to think on such things after so pleasant a day.
“I was thinking,” she said, smiling at everyone, and then at him, “of riding to Newton on the Moor tomorrow.”
He might have nodded but, thank goodness, he almost choked on the whisky he was swallowing instead. “What?” he asked, bringing his hand to his throat. “What is in Newton on the Moor?”
Her smile remained. “Elizabeth. Would you care to escort me? ’Tis but a short distance away. You would not be leaving your post for very long.”
Cain held his cup to his lips and drank to keep from nodding again and giving in to her request. What else would he do for her? Escort her to Newton on the Moor? He had better things to see to than ride to an abbey to bring back a lass who likely hated the Scots for killing her betrothed.
“If you would prefer not to come,” she continued when he said nothing, “Rauf can escort me. Mayhap William, as well.” She turned to offer William her most radiant smile.
“Of course we will escort ye,” Rauf hastened to assure her then almost withered in his seat when Cain glared at him.
“No one is goin’ anywhere,” Cain ground out. “I dinna know how many men they have guardin’ the place. I dinna—”
“There are no guards there, Commander,” she informed him with a little smile he wanted to stare at for the rest of his life. “’Tis an abbey.” She looked past him at Father Timothy for a moment, as if he might know why Cain would say such a ridiculous thing.
“Still, I—”
“’Tis perfectly safe,” she continued quickly. “I could go myself, but I would rather have your company on the road, or the company of friends.”
From the corner of his eye, Cain could see William and Rauf squirming in their places on the bench. They wanted to grant her request. Hell, so did he.
He glanced up at her bluebell circlet and remembered her face in the sun, her soft, yielding body beneath his.
He nodded then blinked out of his reverie. He realized quickly what he’d done by the smile widening on her face and the fire burning from his hand when she laid hers atop it. He wanted to take her and lay claim to the fire, be consumed by it.
“Thank you, Commander.”
She made him want to cast his fears to hell and smile back. He wanted to kick away everything in his life and run toward her. But his heart clanged too loudly in his ears, like an alarm trying to wake him up before it was too late.
He moved his hand away and was horrified to find it shaking. Had she felt it? What was she doing to him?
“William and Rauf will accompany ye.”
“I will go as well,” Father Timothy offered.
“No, Father,” Aleysia told him. “The abbess would not take kindly to a Scottish priest. If she sees Will and Rauf, she will not speak to them. But she will speak to you, and when she hears your speech, she will have you dealt with.”
“Dealt with?” Father Timothy echoed in a hollow tone. “A nun?”
“A reverend mother,” Aleysia corrected him then turned to Will and Rauf. “If you meet her, she is not to be touched.”
“Ye sound as if ye know her well,” Cainnech noted.
“I spent some time at St. Peter’s. She’s a mean-spirited woman who fears nothing. She possesses some sort of power many speculate is given to her by God, but I believe ’twas the devil.”
“What is this power?” Father Timothy asked, engrossed in the tale.
Aleysia met the priest’s troubled gaze with wide eyes of her own. “She can fell a man with a single touch. Just a touch and he goes into a deep slumber.”
“Fer how long?” Rauf asked, looking worried.
“Not long.”
Cainnech’s short burst of laughter restored everyone’s good mood.
“And you?” Aleysia asked him, crushing the stones of his thick walls with her soft voice. “Will you not join us?”
“Nae, I willna.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more, but did not. When she turned to William again, Cain breathed in her hair, and then turned to find Father Timothy was back to staring at him.
She made him regret his decision while they ate and pretended there was nothing between them, no spark when they reached for the bread and their fingers touched, no racing heartbeat when she caught him staring at her and a blush stole across her cheeks.
He ate until he could no longer stand sitting with her and not taking her in his arms. Finally, he pushed away his cup and rose from the bench. “Ye will leave fer Newton on the Moor at sunrise.” He settled his attention on Will and Rauf. “I want ye both back before sunset.”
He told himself to just walk away. He didn’t need to say anything else to her. But he bent to her and said against her ear, “Thank ye fer today.”
He left the hall without looking back. He needed to be away from her to clear his head. It seemed when he was near her he had little control over his tongue. Why had he thanked her? He didn’t know whether to laugh at himself or groan. She must think him a fool. He was a fool.
He didn’t go to his room or to the battlements. He wasn’t used to living inside, sleeping in a bed, or pissing in a bucket. He preferred it outside, and with the platforms in the trees…he smiled. He liked it here at Lismoor.
He left the keep beneath the soft glow of moonlight. He had to think about what he was doing. He wasn’t staying at Lismoor. Soon, Aleysia d’Argentan would no longer be his responsibility. He told himself that he couldn’t wait. He’d had a good day with her at the glade. So what? Would he abandon everything he’d learned throughout his life for one good day? For a lass who would very likely bring love into his life? He closed his eyes and breathed a deep breath. He didn’t want to pursue anything with her, but when she was near, his mouth and his body didn’t give a damn what his head told them to do.
When he made it to the trees, he looked around to make certain he was still alone, and then began climbing an old, sturdy oak.
Now, he was sending her off the Newton on the Moor with William, who was no warrior, and Rauf. What if they were attacked?
He carefully made his way over thick branches to a wider plank and sat on it. He dangled his legs over either side and leaned his back against the trunk with a sigh of contentment. Here was what he knew, sleeping under the stars—not high in the trees—but under the stars nonetheless.
He relaxed and tried to think with a clear head. How had he allowed someone to penetrate his armor? Father Timothy was no help. He was delighted that Cain was losing his damned mind. He didn’t understand that caring for her scared the hell out of Cain.
He had to deny it, defy it, resist it. Not because she was his enemy. He didn’t believe she was his enemy any longer, but she was still just as deadly. She could do more damage to him than any army. She’d made him think about his family today for the first time in many years. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d fought it, not ready to look that demon in the face yet. The truth was he couldn’t remember anything about his parents or his brothers before that day. Nothing. Not a smile, a habit, or even a word. When they left, they took love and the memory of being loved with them. He grew up in the madness of his anger. But he could not be sad for something he did not miss.
Mayhap it had been the serenity of the glade, or her voice beside him, like a soothing stream against his ears, that compelled him to speak of things he preferred to leave unsaid. Strangely enough, he found that the telling wasn’t so terrible. She seemed to understand him.
Kissing her afterward had been even better. He could have continued all day, but he knew it was dangerous. He knew it would lead to more affection for her—possibly love. He wanted to pray for strength to resist her but, according to Father Timothy, God was in on this.
He sat alone for a few hours, nodding off for a bit and dreaming of crying faces, pleading, unrecognizable voices, his mother screaming, Torin running, and Nicholas being lifted up by his trews. It was always the same, and it left him wide awake and ready to fight.
It was the best time to practice.
He’d done it often over the years while the men, including Father Timothy, slept. He swung his legs to the plank now and pushed up to his feet. He couldn’t practice in the trees, though, he thought, it would be quite a skill to master.
First, he had to master moving through them in the filtered moonlight. There was one good thing about the dark though. It didn’t make him lightheaded when he looked down.
A rush of admiration washed over him for how Aleysia had used the forest to her advantage, for learning to walk up here—to run. He remembered the tunnel in the dungeon and how she’d come through it, ready to fight.
She was vivacious, fearless, and well trained. She stirred his blood like no lass before her. He doubted he would meet anyone like her again.
He left the last tree, dangling first from its lowest branch to let his muscles stretch. Once done, he went quickly to his room and retrieved his sword. It didn’t matter if he didn’t practice with a flesh and blood opponent. Practicing alone let him devise new combinations.
He walked to the grassy field, rolling his wrist and making the long blade dance in the night air. He pulled his axe free from its place in his belted plaid, and gave it a good swing.
And almost cut Aleysia in half.
She stepped back on lightning quick reflexes and swung a sword of her own at him.
Before he had time to take in what was going on, he sent his blade chopping down on hers, imbedding hers in the ground.
He gave her a moment and stepped back while she pulled her weapon free. She’d changed into her hose and léine, with a dark bodice laced up the front. She’d also cast off her bluebell circlet and wore her long hair braided down her back.
“What d’ye think ye’re doin’, Aleysia?” he demanded, tossing away his axe and walking back and forth before her.
“I want to practice with you,” she told him, stepping back with her freed sword. “Is that so terrible?”
“It could be dangerous,” he answered. “Our sight is poor.”
“William says you are the Scottish king’s finest soldier.” She raised her sword, ready to spar again. “I want to practice with the best.”
Moonlight caught her smile as it flashed off her blade. It held him captive long enough to slow his reflexes and he barely dodged a swipe intended for his throat.
“Are we fightin’ fer blood then?” he asked, eyes gleaming.
She shrugged her dainty shoulder. “That depends on how well you block me.”
He gave out a short, surprised laugh at her boldness, and then readied his sword and braced his feet in case she thought to knock him on his arse again.
He thought he heard her laughter in the midst of swiping and plunging at him. Her blade kept him on his toes, but he soon adjusted to her movements and found himself looking at her while he blocked.
Tendrils of her hair had escaped her braid and blew across her face like war paint in the pale moonlight. She met his hungry gaze through the streaks and faltered in her defense. He used the opening to grab hold of her sword wrist, hold it up, and move in close for the kill.
“I would hate to cut such a bonny throat,” he whispered with a warm breath as he held the edge of his blade to her neck.
Her chest rose and fell hard against him. When she spoke, her breath fell upon the flat of his blade. “You beguiled me.”
Moonlight glinted in her eyes, promising delights in which his soul could bask. He dipped his gaze to her mouth, dropped his sword, and dragged her closer.
“And here I thought I was the one bein’ beguiled.”
She let go of her sword and clung to him as his mouth descended on hers. She wanted this, he thought as his lips molded and teased. His blood seared through his veins, making him burn for her. He felt her heart thumping in unison with his and, though he rejoiced in their equal measure of delight, he feared she would be his undoing.
He was losing fast with every stroke of her tongue against his, every touch of her fingers in his hair, down his back. Falling with every inhalation of breath, filled with sweet orchids and bluebells. She had managed to knock him off his feet yet again. Off his axis. Spiraling downward into the darkness. He held her closer as they kissed, not wanting to let her go.
But too afraid to hold on.
He broke their kiss and stepped back. “Lass, I—”
“Do not say it, Cainnech.” She held out her fingers to his lips. “I will not be such a fool for you again!”
She ran off, back toward the keep.
Cain did not follow.