Chapter Eight
“What are ye doin’, lady?”
“I am going to sleep.”
“Here?”
“Would you prefer I stay awake and tell you what I think of you?”
Aleysia was glad when Father Timothy blew out all the candles. She thought that in the dim light of the hearth fire, she could ignore the raw sensuality the commander exuded and get some sleep.
But she was wrong.
He appeared almost magical in the soft, golden light. Like some god of war, fallen from the heavens and landing on the floor in her chambers. She could easily retrieve her other dagger but she realized she didn’t want to kill him.
He was keeping her safe from his men. He was willing to let Sir Richard go free.
Why?
“I would prefer ye to sleep somewhere else.”
His deep, gruff voice sent little fissures of warmth through her blood. Though she did her best not to think on it, the memory of being held in his strong embrace when she had tried to kill him in the great hall made her a bit breathless. Why had he shown her mercy yet again?
He had disarmed her five times already in the space it took her to blink. He was quick and strong, and infuriating.
And quite honestly, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and fell over his broad shoulders. His eyes were closed so she let her gaze rove over the dips and crests along his arms and chest, all dusted with dark hair. His belly looked to be made of beaten iron. A battle-hardened man. She was tempted to run her fingers over his scars and ponder how many times he had come close to death.
She disgusted herself for finding him so distracting.
“Why are you protecting me from your men?”
She almost bit her tongue. She hadn’t realized she was speaking her thoughts out loud until he opened his eyes again.
“Yer brother was England’s hero.” His frosty gaze settled on her. “King Robert is involved in talks of final peace with the Archbishop of York. I dinna wish to jeopardize everythin’ he’s done by killin’ the sister of Edward’s favored knight.”
“I see,” she said quietly, relieved that at least he wasn’t planning on killing her in the future. “But taking my home will not jeopardize it?”
He sighed audibly and folded his arms over his chest. “Go to sleep.”
“How can I sleep when my home has been taken from me?” she put to him. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. “What would you know about it? You do not understand and, so, there is no further point in speaking to you.”
She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say but rose from the floor and went to sit at the edge of her bed.
He left her no other choice but to devise a new plan of action to kill him—him and all his men.
She didn’t look at him again. It was too dangerous. She set her drowsy gaze on William instead. Would the commander truly have killed her if William died? She hadn’t wanted to risk it. Besides, if the young man was truly innocent, she didn’t want him to die.
Who was Julianna? His beloved, judging by the way he looked at Aleysia when he called her by the girl’s name.
She studied him in the soft light. He was quite handsome and free of scars. His hair was dark and curling, now that it was dry, over his brow. His square jaw and dimpled chin were cut almost to perfection beneath a plump, pouty mouth.
She yawned and, when she finished, she saw that he was awake and looking at her. Looking through her. His eyes were the color of lightning across a summer sky; they pierced her like arrows and made her want to look away, lest he see her most hidden thoughts and desires.
But there was something in his gaze, as well, that made her smile at him.
“Who are you?” he asked and pulled himself up. Seeing Father Timothy and his commander asleep on the floor seemed to comfort him. He relaxed and looked at her again.
“I am Aleysia. Richard’s granddaughter,” she told him softly, careful not to say too much. “You drank poison wine and I knew the cure for it. We helped you drink it.”
He nodded, and then grasped his head with his hand. “I remember. I think. You saved my life.”
She maintained her smile, though he did not return it.
“You are English,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral.
“French,” she corrected. “And you are…?” She wasn’t certain. The commander had said William was a servant. But to whom?
He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin. “I am a Scot.”
A proud one, no doubt.
She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. “You sound English.”
“I was…was raised in the home of an English family,” he said, giving in to her prodding.
His tone lost its neutrality and quavered on a wave of emotion.
He wasn’t raised by them, but in their home. Aleysia saw the image of a child in her mind. A dirty, uncared for servant who was beaten by his master. Her heart softened on him.
“You called me Julianna,” she gently reminded him.
He stared at her, but it wasn’t her layers he was peeling away. It was his own, falling away at the mention of her name.
“Who is she?” Aleysia whispered while his breath stalled. “Your beloved?”
“Aye.” A quiet declaration.
Aleysia’s eyes filled with tears. “Where is she now?”
“With her father, the Governor of Berwick, if she still lives.”
Martin Feathers, Governor of Berwick. Aleysia knew little about him. Giles had had some dealings with him years ago and mentioned him having servants.
She closed her eyes and tried to slow her racing, breaking heart. How terribly tragic! William loved his master’s daughter! She opened her eyes to see a tear falling from his. “Forgive me,” she said and wiped her nose. “We do not have to speak of this anymore.” She did her best to smile again and reached out to pat his hand. “You certainly have earned the affections of these two.” She motioned with her chin to the commander and the priest, snoring in his chair.
“Have they found Lord de Bar?” he asked, looking hopeful for the first time.
“Lord de Bar?”
“Aye, your grandfather confessed his name to the commander.”
Dear Richard, Aleysia thought, he had tried to save her.
“No,” she lied and looked away. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want William to know it was she who had almost killed him, killed men who were likely his friends. “But you must promise not to eat anything made with the grain.”
“I promise.”
She yawned again and closed her eyes. “And stay out of the forest.”
She didn’t remember saying or hearing anything after that.
She was awakened several hours later by a gentle shove. She opened her eyes to find herself sprawled out across her empty bed and the commander standing over her. They were alone.
He held up a small loaf of bread.
“We found grain in one of the villager’s homes. Is it safe to eat, lady?” He brought it to his mouth and stared down at her with a hint of warmth softening his hard features. And then it was gone again.
Aleysia rose from the bed and said nothing to stop him while he took a bite. She hadn’t thought about poisoning the villagers’ grain! She’d remedy that the first chance she got. “You risk your life on the hope that I will save it? You are a fool.”
“Not entirely,” he corrected and held the bread out to her. “Richard ate the first loaf.”
She pushed him out of her way and then whirled on him. “How did you know I had not poisoned all the grain?”
“I didna know. I know now. Richard will be tastin’ all our food first until the Bruce answers my missive aboot what to do with ye both.”
Oh, she wished she had stabbed him. Every moment she spent with him made the thought of it easier. She would not hesitate again when she had the chance.
Her belly rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since before the attack. She swiped the bread from his hand and bit into it.
“Where did ye send the villagers?” he asked while she chewed.
“Away.”
He looked mildly annoyed by her defiance, but his voice remained steady. “This grain willna last. We need the farmers back.”
“They are not coming back until you are dead. I promised them safety from you.”
“I willna harm them.”
She laughed. “Why should a rabbit trust a snake?”
His gaze on her sharpened, making her skin feel warm. “Ye are no rabbit, lady.”
“No, Commander, I am not,” she told him, doing her best to ignore the effect his full attention was having on her. “And I will not send for my people until Lismoor is rid of you.”
“Verra well, then,” he said with a shrug that stretched his léine across his chest. “I shall offer their homes to others.”
Her eyes opened wide with surprise and anger at his audacity. “You most certainly will not offer their homes to others! You took my home from me! Do you think I will let you take theirs, too?”
Oh, she shook with fury. She’d failed. She’d failed her friends. Now they were going to lose their homes because of her. She felt tears filling her eyes and hated him all the more for it.
“I will…” She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes to gather control of herself. “I will send for them, but I want you to swear upon the Holy Book that none of them will be harmed.”
She thought she saw him smile. It faded before she could define it, but it seemed laced with regret.
“Verra well.”
He gave in easier than she thought he would. She wasn’t prepared for it and didn’t know what to say.
“Let us go find Father Timothy now,” he continued, and turned for the door.
She’d failed. She was bringing them back to a castle filled with wild Scots. She wanted to weep, watching him leave the room.
She bent quickly to the feather mattress and lifted the corner. She retrieved the knife she had hidden there and slipped it into her boot.