William stormed out of the room, slamming the front door of the house behind him. A merciless headache had settled in Cyn’s skull, and leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his fingers over his brow and closed his eyes.
What a bloody mess. Did he believe that William was spying for the King, or did he accept that his best friend was a traitor? Anguish lanced through Cyn, for William had always been a steadfast friend. To lose that friendship would be akin to losing part of his soul, and yet, naught was more important than a nobleman’s duty to the crown.
The code of chivalry defined every part of a knight’s existence. His existence. Serving the King had become Cyn’s reason to live when he’d lost all faith not only in others, but in himself. Never would he forsake his duty.
A shrill whine drew Cyn’s gaze to Lancelot, standing by his chair. He patted the dog and then rose to set a few more logs on the fire. Brushing off his hands, he waited until he heard Borden enter the house, a sure sign that William and his men had ridden away.
With Borden’s help, Cyn removed the section of planks.
A frigid draft wafted from the hiding spot. As light spilled in, he found Magdalen still wrapped in her blanket, lying with one arm covering her face. Her shoulders shook, and he heard muffled sniffles.
Concern gripped him. Had she hurt herself while being shut inside the cavity? She might have knocked her bandaged leg.
“Magdalen? Are you in pain?”
She didn’t look at him, but sniffled again.
He hated seeing a woman cry. Remorse tore through him as he knelt beside the opening in the floor. “Magdalen, answer me. Are you in pain?”
“Nay,” she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve.
He exhaled a sigh of relief as he sank back on his heels. Discomfort wasn’t the reason for her tears, but he’d still like to know why she was upset. However, she didn’t need to stay in that unpleasant hiding place a moment longer. “Come, Magdalen. I have just stoked the fire, so you can get warm.”
She slowly lowered her arm. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, and strands of hair stuck to her tear-streaked face. Her lips pressed together, trapping a sob, as he reached out his hand to help her up and out of the cavity. Her fingers were ice cold.
Taking her in his arms, he carried her to the fire and set her down on the hearth tiles beside the dogs. He returned to the cavity, where he and Borden swiftly restored the planks and order to the room.
“I will go and make an herbal infusion,” Borden said, leaving the room. Cyn crossed to the hearth and dropped down beside Magdalen, who wiped her eyes on a corner of her blanket.
“Why are you crying?” he gently asked.
“Because…” She shuddered.
“Because?”
“I…am a-afraid.”
His heart twisted in his chest. He longed to pull her into his embrace, but her rigid posture warned that she wouldn’t accept his comfort easily. “Do not worry,” he soothed. “’Twill be—”
“Nay! William is a traitor. Edwina mi-might be in terrible danger, because of me. I never w-wanted—” Her words trailed off on a moan.
“Shh.” He leaned in to kiss her hair. Even with grime smudging her face and blanket, she smelled of flowers. How he ached to hold her in his arms, to feel her warmth against him, to assure her that she didn’t have to endure her anguish alone.
As she continued to weep, he kissed her hair again, murmured tender words, and then, when he could bear her torment no longer, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his chair. He sat, drawing her onto his lap.
She stiffened and clutched the front edges of her blanket, readying to scramble free. He pulled her against him, so that her head settled against his shoulder, while her legs draped sideways over his own. He waited, patient and silent, while she warmed up and her sobs slowly diminished.
Borden brought mugs of his herbal drink and then left. Chopping sounds carried from the kitchen, along with the occasional clank of metal and the smell of cooking vegetables.
Cyn handed Magdalen a mug of infusion and sipped his own. At last, both hands around her mug, she met his gaze, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “What can we do? We must do something.”
“We?” He shook his head. “I will—”
“I want to help. I must, since I am partly responsible for—”
“You are not responsible,” he muttered. “You were trying to stop a killing: an entirely worthy endeavor. Now, ’tis my job as sheriff to ensure that Redmond is kept safe and that those who arranged the murder are captured.”
Mutiny sparked in her eyes. “I will not sit here and wait for all to be resolved.”
“You might have to, with your injured leg.”
She scowled. She looked so endearing, he fought a tender smile.
Magdalen huffed. “Do not laugh at me.”
“Of course not.”
She squinted at him. “Why is the corner of your mouth twitching?”
He could fight it no longer. Chuckling, he smoothed his right hand down her cheek. “You are quite lovely when you are determined.”
Her gaze sharpened further, but he’d glimpsed a hint of mirth in her eyes. “Is that your way of saying that I can help you?”
“Nay.” Shifting in the chair, while maintaining his hold on her, he put his empty mug on the side table. When she offered him her mug, he set it aside as well.
“Cyn,” Magdalen said, reclaiming his attention, “regardless of what you say, I am going to—”
“Kiss me?” As soon as the words left his lips, he froze. He’d thought about kissing her more than once that morning, but had never intended to tell her of his desire.
She went very still. “W-what did you say?”
A denial of his reckless words burned on his tongue. Yet, he really did want to kiss her, to share the ache of William’s betrayal with her and find solace in the brief pleasure of a kiss. How he wanted, too, to show her just how much he’d come to cherish her.
He swallowed hard, trying not to imagine how soft her mouth would feel against his. “I…ah…said…”
A tiny smile curved her lips. Leaning forward, she caught his face in her hands. Ah, God, the wondrous contact of her skin on his…
A shudder trailed through him, but before he could say a word, she pressed her mouth to his, a light, tentative kiss. Astonishment rippled through him, even as her lips moved, hesitant and seeking and clearly hoping for a response from him.
A helpless growl tickled his throat, while strands of her hair feathered against his cheek. He shouldn’t kiss her back. He shouldn’t even begin to yield to the powerful temptation…but he couldn’t resist. He hadn’t loved another woman since Francine—hadn’t been willing to love—until he’d encountered Magdalen.
He kissed her carefully, reverently, as a knight should kiss an innocent maiden; he didn’t want to frighten her by being too eager. She sighed, her breath warm upon his mouth, and then, with one last, deeper kiss, she leaned away, her smile shy.
“Well,” he murmured. “That was quite unexpected.”
Doubt swept her lovely features. “Was I too bold?
“Not at all.”
“I really should have asked first if ’twas all right to kiss you.” Her face reddened, and she averted her gaze. “Aislinn used to scold me, and rightfully so, for not being more cautious. I am sorry—”
“No need to apologize.”
“I just…suddenly wanted to know…how a kiss would feel between us… Oh, goodness. I have made an utter fool of himself.” She turned her face away.
“Magdalen,” he said gently. When she didn’t answer, he caught hold of her chin and coaxed her to face him again. “Truth be told, I very much wanted to kiss you, too.”
Joy brightened her expression. “Is that so?”
“Mmm.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “For a first kiss between us, I would say ’twas pretty remarkable.”
She smiled. “To be honest, I have not kissed very often. I did kiss my fiancé once on the mouth—”
Cyn’s hand dropped away from her chin. “You are betrothed?” A brutal knot of disappointment plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He should have known that when he found a woman he wanted, she’d already be taken.
“I was betrothed. My fiancé died years ago.”
What excellent news. “I am sorry,” he said, trying his best to sound somber.
“I did grieve for him, but I did not regret that our marriage didn’t come to be. I did not love him, you see. I promised myself I would never marry, unless I found…”
“A man who was good at kissing?”
She giggled, and shyness again crept into her expression. His heart ached, this time with the incredible realization that she was attracted to him.
Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Indeed, I would like very much to find a gallant knight who is a good kisser.”
Ah. That was a challenge if he ever heard one. Grinning, Cyn said, “I must kiss you again, then, Fair Maiden, and prove that I am indeed such a man.”
***
Lying under the blankets on the cot, Magdalen stared at Cyn stretched out in front of the hearth, his head pillowed on his bent right arm. Lancelot, Guinevere, and Galahad lay beside him. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but she knew he wasn’t asleep.
She sighed against her pillow. Mayhap, like she did, he had too much on his mind. Borden had left more of his drugging infusion within her reach. She’d be wise to drink it and fall asleep, for she needed the rest, but her thoughts refused to settle. Moreover, every part of her body tingled with excitement, and had done so since she’d kissed Cyn.
Not long after he’d thoroughly kissed her a second time, Cyn had carried her to the cushioned chair and then had spoken in hushed tones with Borden. After donning his cloak and gathering his weapons, Cyn had left, telling her only that he had important matters to attend in the town. Matters, no doubt, that concerned William and Lord Redmond.
While Cyn was away, she’d eaten a bowl of pottage and had accepted Borden’s offer of a bath in Cyn’s round wooden tub. The steward had kept busy in the kitchen while, keeping her hurt leg out of the water, she’d scrubbed her skin and hair. As the scent of Cyn’s herbal soap had enveloped her, she’d wondered what he could be doing in the town. Mayhap he was looking for the black-haired man she’d described to him in as much detail as she could remember?
After drying off, she’d donned another of Cyn’s long shirts and bundled up inside a clean blanket. To pass the afternoon, she’d mended garments for Borden. With each stitch, she’d hoped for Cyn’s swift and safe return.
Night fell, and he still hadn’t arrived. Borden had urged her to get some rest and had helped her to the cot. She’d lain in the fire-lit shadows for a long while before she’d heard Cyn walk through the door. He’d gone to the kitchen, likely to eat, and then he’d quietly entered the main room, shed his weapons, and then stretched out on a blanket by the hearth.
His face twitched. Was he sleeping? He might be having another bad dream. She hadn’t given him the ruby to protect him from night terrors. The stone was still tucked under her blankets.
He startled, and his head thrashed from side to side. Drawing aside the bedding, she carefully stepped down from the cot, the ruby in her hand.
“Nay!” Cyn groaned. A sob wrenched from him.
“Cyn,” she called, limping toward him as fast as she could.
Groaning again, he dragged his hand over his face. His elbow bumped Galahad’s side, and the dog flinched, and then shifted to a spot closer to the fire. Cyn woke, just as Magdalen dropped awkwardly onto the blanket beside him.
Tears glistened in Cyn’s eyes as he pushed up to sitting. “Magdalen, what are you—?”
She offered him the ruby. “You were having another nightmare.”
The stone gleamed: blood red and bone white in the fire’s glow. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, his mouth flattened, and, unyielding, he turned his head and stared at the fire.
“Cyn,” she whispered. “Please. I want to help you.”
His damp gaze, stark with misery, met hers. “I know you do, but—”
“The ruby eased your torment before,” she said. “It can help heal you.”
“Nay, Magdalen. I do not believe it can. Not when…” His throat moved with a hard swallow, and he stared down at the hearth tiles. “Not after what I did.”
A shiver of fear ran through her, heightened by an awful sense that she was losing him. She couldn’t. Not when they’d kissed. Not when she cared this much about him. Not when she knew, without doubt, that she…loved him.
“Whatever did you do that haunts you so?” she asked, curling her hand around his, clenched into a white-knuckled fist on his thigh. “What could possibly be so awful that it plagues you in your dreams?”
He shuddered. A dull pain gripped her innards, for she knew he was retreating emotionally from her, barricading himself behind an invisible wall.
She couldn’t let him fight this battle on his own; not when this secret was destroying him. “You must tell me, Cyn.”
“Must I?” he growled, his eyes flashing. “If I do, you will hate me.”
The despair in his voice made her want to weep. Forcing a brave smile, she said, “I could never hate you.”
“You will.”
“Surely I should have the chance to decide that for myself?” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He shut his eyes on a ragged moan, and she kissed his clenched jaw. A muscle in his face jumped beneath her lips.
Tears slid from beneath his lashes. “I…care about you, Magdalen,” he whispered, pulling his hand free from hers. “I could not bear…”
“Please tell me. I beg you.”
He sighed, a desolate sound. His eyes opened, and he stared at her as though he’d drown in his next words. “In the East…I killed a fellow Crusader.”