The tall, slender lady in a flowing gown stood before Cyn. The surface of the pond behind her was washed in sunlight so intense, she seemed to be surrounded by light.
He squinted against the brightness, as awe raced through him. He hadn’t heard her approach, but likely because he’d been sobbing. Self-reproach gnawed at him as he rubbed his stinging eyes with his grubby hands. What would the other pages say when they learned he’d run away to cry like a little boy? They’d only tease him all the more.
Who was this lady? He didn’t recognize her. Was she a visitor to the keep? Had she emerged from the water, as told in one of the tales his father had read to him, about a long-ago King named Arthur?
In a lady’s presence, Cyn should stand and bow. He didn’t want to offend her by not doing what was expected. He started to scramble to his feet, but she lifted her hand, halting him, and he sat back down on the dirt.
“Milady—”
“Cry no more. ’Twill be all right,” she murmured. “You will see.”
“H-how can you be certain?” He hated the way his voice broke, but he was only eight years old and he missed his home and his parents, especially his sire. How he wished to sit once again on his father’s lap, in the big, carved chair by the hearth, and listen to him read from the special book bound in embossed leather. His father made each story come alive, made each knight’s tale an enthralling adventure Cyn would never forget.
Fresh tears filled his eyes. He didn’t have enough courage to become a knight.
He wanted to go home.
“There, now,” the lady soothed. Leaning down, she offered him a gleaming object: a stag made from silver, its head, crowned with antlers, partly lowered, as if the stag meant to nibble leaves from a branch. The deer was as large as a man’s palm and was beautifully made.
He shook his head. “I cannot take this, milady.”
“Of course you can. ’Tis a gift. Whenever you feel sad, look upon this stag and know that one day, you will be as strong, fast, and as wise as this magnificent animal that rules the forest.”
“But, milady—”
She smiled. “I promise, ’twill be all right.” With the rustle of silk, she walked away, leaving him staring in wonder at the stag…
Cyn opened his eyes to sunlight. It streamed in through cracks in the wall and washed the room in slants of gold; the brilliant light reminded him of the sunshine that had shimmered behind the lady.
He hadn’t dreamed of her in years. Even more curious, his dream had been more like a memory of that day by the pond.
As he rubbed the back of his neck, cramped from him sleeping upright in the chair, Tristan and Isolde, curled in his lap, opened their eyes, purred, and stretched.
He ran his right hand down the felines’ backs, while a sense of incredulity wove through him. He’d dreamed, not endured another nightmare. He’d woken to sunlight, not darkness.
A miracle.
Opening his left hand, he tilted the ruby in his palm, the white streaks inside more distinct in the sunlight. If he were a far less cynical man, he might be inclined to believe Magdalen’s ruby had quelled his night terrors. Such fanciful notions, though, had no place in his life any more. When he’d realized Francine had betrayed him, and not with just any man, but his own brother, his faith in the intangible—in love—had dissolved like honey in hot water.
Nay, he hadn’t slept well because of the ruby. More likely, he’d been very tired after days of broken sleep. ’Twas why he’d slumbered until daylight.
He glanced at the cot, to find Magdalen was still asleep. Sunshine played over her features, her eyes closed, her lashes feathering against the silken curve of her cheek. So incredibly beautiful—and worthy of a far better man than he was. Still, a warm tingle of admiration trailed through him as he eased the cats from his lap and stood, and then stretched his arms up over his head.
The thunder of tiny paws sounded, and Perceval galloped into the room.
If Perceval was awake, Borden must be too. Cyn glanced at the hearth and saw that all three dogs were gone; as usual, they’d accompanied Borden into the forest for his morning jaunt, when he gathered fresh mushrooms, roots, and plants.
Cyn moved to intercept the kitten, but Perceval raced past and leapt onto the cot’s blanket hanging toward the floor. Using his little claws, he hauled himself up onto the bed.
Magdalen’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw the kitten walking alongside her arm to reach her face, she smiled and scratched his furry head. “Good morning, Perceval.” Her gaze shifted to Cyn, approaching the bedside. “Good day to you, too.”
“Good day. You slept well?”
“I did. And you?”
“Astonishingly well.” He held up the ruby. “I am not convinced that I have this stone to thank—”
She tsked. “And why not?”
“Because ’tis just a stone. Aye, ’tis an unusual gem, but it cannot have magical or healing properties.” He handed it to her, and she tucked it under the blankets, out of Perceval’s sight.
“My mother used to say…” Magdalen’s voice caught. “Never mind.”
“Please. Go on.”
Sadness swept over Magdalen’s features as she stroked the kitten, who’d sat down beside her and was purring loudly. “Mayhap another time.”
Disappointment sifted through Cyn. He shouldn’t care that she didn’t want to discuss her mother with him, but he did. As he adjusted her pillows and helped her sit up, he asked, “When you grow to trust me a little more, will you tell me about her?”
She shrugged, revealing much in the stiffness of the movement.
Cyn stifled a pang of regret, for he wanted her to trust him. Indeed, if he was to learn more about the silver doe in her bag, if he was to find out what William wanted with her, Cyn needed Magdalen to trust him completely.
“I know you think me foolish to withhold my trust,” she said softly. “You have been very kind to me. I really am grateful.”
He touched her arm, savoring the feel of her. “I also know that trust must be earned.”
A blush spread across her face. “Now I sound even more ungrateful.”
“I assure you, I appreciate the trust I have earned from you thus far.” He grinned. “I shall make it my quest to earn more from you each day.”
She drew in a sharp breath, as though astonished to see him smile. Then amusement glinted in her eyes. “You seek the Holy Grail of Trust, Sir Knight?”
He laughed. “Indeed, I do, Fair Maiden.”
“What do the old tales say about such quests? Are there grand stories about such matters?” Even as she spoke, unease touched her eyes, as if she wondered if she shouldn’t have mentioned the old tales.
“Did Borden tell you how I used to listen to the stories read by my sire?”
“He did. He said your father had a special book…”
As her voice trailed off, Cyn nodded. He hesitated, for only Borden had seen the treasured tome, but Cyn did want to win her trust. Mayhap showing her the book would help?
He strode to a shelf by the hearth, picked up the heavy tome, blew off the faint layer of dust, and brought it to the bedside. He set Perceval on the floor and then put the book in her lap.
Her gaze skimmed over the beautiful leather cover. With careful hands she opened the tome, revealing neat pages of black ink illuminated by drawings done in vibrant red, green, blue, and gold.
“Cyn!” she breathed. “’Tis magnificent.”
“Many years ago, my father found it in a shop in a small northern town. Apparently—so the shop owner told him—’twas scribed by a former monk who had spent his days illuminating manuscripts. He fell in love with a widow whose ill son was treated at the monastery. He left his fellow monks to marry her, and, after hearing the old tales, believed they needed to be written down, so others would remember them.”
Parchment rustled as Magdalen turned another page. “The drawings are exquisite. Look at that dragon! His wings are beautifully rendered. Oh, and what a lovely broadsword.”
That admiring warmth touched Cyn’s heart again.
“One day, you will be able to read these stories to your son,” she murmured. “Your father was a very clever man, to have bought and cherished this book.”
Cyn smiled. “Surely your mother was equally as clever, in her own way?”
“I expect she was.” Reticence again defined Magdalen’s features. Was her hesitation related to discussing her parent or keeping her secret?
Cyn would discover that secret. He was duty-bound to do so, as sheriff and as William’s friend. He owed William his life.
As she turned to another page of the tome, Cyn moved down the bed to lift the blanket covering her leg. He untied the bandages to find her wound was much improved. He swiftly applied more ointment and then retied the strips of linen.
“All is healing well,” he said, tugging the blankets back into place.
“Good. I was wondering… Would it be all right to get out of this bed for a short while?”
“Well—”
“To stretch my legs? Please?” She closed the tome and set it down. “I am not usually lying still for so long. At the keep, I am always busy, looking after Timothy or helping Edwina with tasks.”
’Twould be better for Magdalen to stay off her hurt limb. Yet, Cyn understood the restlessness she was experiencing; he’d been confined to bed due to an illness two winters past and had nearly gone mad with boredom.
Moreover, if he wanted to win her trust, he should concede to her now and again.
“All right,” he said, “as long as you let me help you.”
She nodded.
He returned the tome to its special shelf by the fire while she pushed aside the blankets. As he walked back to the cot, he tried not to watch her, but he simply couldn’t resist. As she moved, the linen shirt shifted across her upper body, enhancing the tantalizing shape of her full, round breasts underneath. Folds of the cloth gathered at the tops of her thighs, drawing his attention down to her smooth, bared skin. And then there were her legs, long and elegant, like a doe’s.
Heat burned in his gut, along with a wicked craving he didn’t dare acknowledge. He averted his gaze and busied himself with grouping the candles on the table. He must have made a small sound, because she asked, “Did you say something?”
“Nay. I…was mulling how best to get you down from the cot. Here. ’Tis a bit cool this morning.” He grabbed the top blanket from the bed and helped wrap it around her shoulders, which thankfully removed her partial nakedness from his view.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, her head bowed, she heaved in a breath. Her hands clenched the bed frame.
“Are you dizzy?” Cyn managed to keep the worry from his tone. If only her long hair hadn’t slipped forward to hide her face.
“A little. I will be fine, though,” she quickly added. Her head lifted, and he was relieved to see color in her cheeks.
“If you are not fine, I will put you straight back in bed.”
“Of that, Sir Knight, I have no doubt.”
She was teasing him; of that he had no doubt. Before he could gather his thoughts to reply, though, she’d stepped down from the bed and was grabbing onto him to steady herself.
On instinct, his arms went around her waist, drawing her in close. She fitted perfectly against him, molding to him as if they’d been made for one another. This near, he caught a sweet floral smell clinging to her skin. The scent reminded him of his childhood, of his days climbing the cherry trees in the orchard of his sire’s castle. Cyn inhaled more of her tantalizing fragrance, while fighting the ache spreading through him; he’d been happiest when he’d been a child—and when he’d been in love with Francine.
Magdalen curled her hands into the front of his tunic, and her right palm pressed over his heart. Slowly, she lifted her chin, her dark lashes flicking up, her focus shifting from the neckline of his garment to his throat, then up to his jaw, then higher, until their eyes met.
The moment their gazes locked, she startled, as if she’d experienced an intense physical jolt. He’d certainly felt the fiery spark; it had lanced straight through him to heighten the sensual fire within him.
He clamped his jaw, for he resented his desire. Never again would he be enslaved by it and rendered a lovesick fool. ’Twas a vow made to himself that he intended to keep. He drew back slightly.
A question formed in Magdalen’s eyes.
Ignoring the answering tug on his soul, he said, “Come. I will help you to that cushioned chair by hearth.”
***
The hearth. Aye. ’Twas exactly where she wanted to go.
Magdalen fixed her gaze on the chair a short distance away. She must stay focused, even though she’d seen anger and dismay harden Cyn’s eyes a moment ago. She longed to know why. He wasn’t upset with her; she sensed that with certainty. Yet, somehow, being in each other’s arms had stirred up difficult emotions for him.
This torment was different than what he battled in his nightmares. She could only guess that someone—a woman?—had hurt him very badly in his past.
She respected that Cyn was a proud warrior who valued his privacy, but she wished he would let her in just a little. She was a good listener. If he could trust her enough to confide in her, mayhap she could help resolve whatever haunted him by day and by night. She’d certainly be willing to try.
“Are you ready to take a step?” Cyn asked.
She tightened her right arm around his waist, while holding the blanket closed with her left hand. “Aye.”
She hobbled a short distance forward, relieved to be able to lean against him. He was deliciously warm, and the way he smelled…like crisp forest air and rich loam, blended with herbs and mingled with wood smoke and soap. An intriguing, thoroughly masculine scent.
Her leg hurt, but the pain wouldn’t stop her from reaching the chair. She must get there, because already another day was passing.
With luck, her garments would have dried overnight. Since the rope holding her clothes was within reach of the cushioned chair, she’d find a discreet way to check that the missive was still inside her sleeve. If so, she had only to wait for the right opportunity—Cyn would likely be called away on sheriff duties, and Borden was usually busy in the kitchen—and she’d dress and flee out the door. She’d make her way to the forest road, wave down the next passing traveler, and ask for a ride into the town. While she didn’t have a lot of coin in her bag, ’twould hopefully be enough to pay the traveler as well as a messenger to deliver the missive to London.
Taking another step, she pressed her lips together, fighting a grimace. ’Twouldn’t be easy to travel through the forest with her injured leg. Yet, her discomfort was far less important than saving a man’s life.
“Only three more steps to the chair,” Cyn said.
His breath stirred the hair at her temple and sent awareness skittering down her spine. Who knew that a mere breath could elicit such sensations? Being crushed against Cyn—the first time she’d ever been so intimately close to a man—was certainly enlightening; an adventure in its own right. Suppressing a little shiver, she concentrated on finishing the last few steps.
With a sigh of relief, she slumped into the chair.
“Well done.” Cyn grinned. He looked younger when he smiled, and far less intimidating. Heat spiraled through her. As she smiled back, her heart fluttered, like a tiny wren trapped in her breast.
Cyn pulled over a rectangular wooden stool and carefully set her hurt leg upon it.
Perceval bounded over and sniffed her bandages.
“You are always into mischief,” Cyn said, his tone softened with affection as he leaned down to scratch the kitten’s head. The feline nuzzled his fingers.
Cyn’s large, callused hand stroked down the cat’s back. Delighted, Perceval arched into Cyn’s skilled touch again.
A knot lodged in Magdalen’s throat, for such tenderness softened Cyn’s features. He could fire arrows, slay Saracens, and subdue criminals, but with this kitten, he showed great compassion—a respect for the living, even though the life in question wasn’t even human.
Knowing that Cyn respected life, should she confide in him about the letter? If he was loyal to William, though…
Uncertain, she looked at her clothes hanging so near. She reached out and caught hold of her chemise, the closest item of clothing, and found it was still slightly damp, but wearable if necessary.
Perceval leapt at her hand, fell to a crouch, and then raced away through the clothes.
Chuckling, Cyn knelt beside the wooden stool. “Silly kitten.”
“Borden told me how you saved Perceval from a poacher’s trap. He said you rescued all of the animals that live in your home.”
Cyn nodded, his expression somber. “I found Tristan and Isolde, my two other cats, in a sack someone had tossed into the woods near the main road. They were barely a day old. I brought them home, doubting they could be saved, but I was determined to try. As it happened, the next day, Borden and I learned of a mother cat—one belonging to Dyane—that had birthed kittens but had lost her litter to hawks. I paid Dyane to bring her cat here; the mother took to Tristan and Isolde as if they were her own. Once the kittens were old enough to be weaned, Dyane took her cat back home.”
“And your dogs?” Magdalen asked. “How did you come to own them?”
“Galahad was just a pup when I saw him, Lancelot, and Guinevere locked in small, filthy cages and for sale one day at the town market. After arresting and jailing thieves who’d robbed a merchant’s stall, I returned to the cages to see the dogs were covered in sores and so poorly fed, their ribs were showing beneath their fur. I was angry, but the man at the stall insisted he couldn’t afford to feed them. I bought all three dogs; I simply had to.” A wry smile curved Cyn’s mouth. “I likely paid too much for them, but the man had four children. Hopefully my coin went toward buying food for his family.”
Tears pricked Magdalen’s eyes. Cyn was indeed a kind soul. One of the kindest she’d ever met.
“I cannot bear to see animals suffering,” Cyn added, shaking his head. “I do not regret helping any of them.”
“Of course not,” she said.
His gaze, very direct, lifted to hers. “Likewise, I could not bear to see you suffering, especially when I had caused your wound. Never could I have left you unconscious and bleeding in the forest.”
His words, while softly spoken, held an edge.
Warning tingled through Magdalen, raising the fine hairs at her nape. She wanted to run, but ’twas impossible with her injured leg and Cyn positioned so that he blocked any chance of her getting past him.
“Tell me why you were running from William. I want the truth, Magdalen.”
She swallowed hard. Did she dare to tell him?
Cyn braced his arm on the wooden stool, alongside her leg. “I know you are reluctant to confide in me for some reason. Are you afraid of what might happen if you betray a confidence? William’s confidence, mayhap?”
Oh, God. A cool sweat beaded on her brow. “Cyn—”
“If not William’s confidence, then Edwina’s?” Resolve burned in Cyn’s eyes. “I promise, Magdalen, no matter what secrets you hold, no matter how foul they might be, you are safe with me. I will never allow anyone to hurt you.”
Misery wove through her. He sounded so earnest, and the passion in his gaze… It made her stomach swoop. No man had ever looked upon her in that way before, as if she were precious and irreplaceable.
She nervously tapped her fingers against the chair cushion, confusion and fear knotting up inside her. How keenly she wanted to share the burden of what she knew, but once she’d told Cyn, she could never take back the dangerous words.
William was a powerful lord with many allies throughout England. If he wanted to destroy her reputation or, God help her for even thinking such things, kill her, ’twould be easy for him to accomplish. No doubt he could achieve what he wanted without any of the blame being traced back to him.
A tremor shook her. “I want to believe you, Cyn.”
“Good.”
“But—”
The rest of her words vanished as he lifted her stiff, white-knuckled hand from the cushion. He slid his fingers through hers, so their hands became intimately entwined. A raw ache spread through her, while caution warred with the urge to tell him all.
His expression a heart-wrenching blend of frustration and concern, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, reverently, just as she’d read about in the most romantic chansons. Oh, mercy—
“God above, Magdalen, I cannot bear your silence any longer. Tell me what William wants from you. Please.”