Cyn’s chest burned. ’Twas hard to breathe past the punishing pressure. Each passing moment an agony of waiting, he watched Magdalen’s expression shift from tender encouragement to a gut-wrenching blend of shock and horror.
Ah, God, he’d lost her. He’d lost her.
As he’d known he would.
She sat very still, as though turned to stone. Then, folding her hands together in her lap, she asked quietly, “How did it happen?”
He should spare her the details; they weren’t fit for a gently-raised maiden’s ears. Yet, even as he acknowledged his own gallantry, he realized he had naught to lose by telling her all. The damning words refused to stop flowing anyway.
“We were in the midst of a battle.” How clearly Cyn remembered the scalding heat of Eastern lands, the endless sweat streaming down beneath his helm and into his eyes, and the metallic taint of blood. “William, Andrew—a lord from London who had joined the Crusade—and I pursued two Saracens who had become separated from the enemy ranks—”
“William knows what happened, then?”
“Aye. He and I chased one of the Saracens, Andrew the other. The man William and I fought was a deft fighter. He’d slain many Crusaders and was determined to kill us. William clashed swords with him while I primed my crossbow. I aimed, fired, and…and…” His hands were shaking. His whole body trembled, as if the effort of recounting his sin was sapping his last reserves of strength.
“Go on,” Magdalen said softly.
“Suddenly, Andrew was in my line of fire. I saw him, shouted a warning, but ’twas too late. The bolt…pierced his left eye and…came out the back of his skull.”
“Oh Cyn—”
“He was dead before he hit the ground. Horrified by what I’d done, I ran to Andrew’s side, but at that moment the Saracen launched a relentless attack upon William, almost knocking him to the ground. I had no choice but to reload my crossbow. I fired, and my bolt pierced the Saracen’s neck. Together, William and I killed him. When I showed William what I had done to Andrew…he told me ’twas an accident.”
“It does indeed sound that way.” The faintest hope softened Magdalen’s features.
“Nay, Magdalen. I should have been more careful. I should have made certain—”
“You were in the midst of a battle!”
“Andrew did not deserve to die. He was a good friend, with a wry sense of humor and great skill with a lute, who had bolstered our spirits on nights when we longed for home.” Cyn jammed his hand into his hair, pulling the strands tight. “William told me not to speak of what had happened. He said that as my best friend, he would keep my secret. If our fellow warriors figured out that Andrew had been slain by one of our own bolts, we would say that a Saracen had taken a crossbow from a dead Crusader and used it. I…I did not want to lie, but I was terrified.” Cyn heaved a breath. “I feared I would be imprisoned and left behind in the East. Francine was waiting here in England for me…”
“Francine?” Magdalen asked.
“The lady I was going to wed when I returned home.”
Magdalen bit down on her lip and drew the blanket tighter about her. “I did not realize you had been married before.”
“I have not. When I returned home, I discovered she was already wed: to my brother.”
“Mercy!”
“I also learned that my brother had thrown Borden out of the castle, claiming he was too old and useless to continue as steward. My brother had never liked Borden, and with my parents dead, my brother saw an opportunity to appoint his own man to the position. I searched for Borden for more than a sennight, and when I finally found him working for a healer, despondent and barely earning enough to feed himself, I asked if he would move to London with me and manage my residence there, while William and I worked for the King’s men. He agreed.”
“’Twas kind of you,” Magdalen murmured.
“Borden had served my father well, and my sire would never have treated him in such a loathsome manner.” Cyn looked back at the fire. He was shaking less intensely now, but felt drained right down to his soul. “Every day since killing Andrew, I have suffered guilt. Whether killing him was an accident or not, I should have told my superiors right away what I had done. I did not; I chose to keep my silence, and have kept it for more than nine years. For such a grave dishonor, I deserve my nightmares.”
Silence stretched. He didn’t glance at Magdalen, couldn’t bear to see the revulsion on her face. He wouldn’t blame her if she never wished to see him again.
“William, too, honored his promise not to speak of what happened,” Magdalen finally said.
“He did. He has been the most loyal of friends through the years. ’Tis why these circumstances concerning the missive are so…unsettling.”
He dragged his hand over his face. A curious sense of peace settled within him. A fleeting contentment, for any moment now, Magdalen would reject him.
Cloth whispered. He tensed, waiting for her to rise, waiting to hear her hobble away. I am sorry, Magdalen. I wanted so much to love you, to make you mine.
The softest touch swept his cheek.
Flinching, he turned his head to find her barely a hand’s span away. Gently, so very gently, she brushed her thumb over his cheek again. “You did not get all of your tears.”
He yearned to hold her, but after what he’d divulged, he no longer had any right. “Magdalen,” he said hoarsely, but before her name had left his lips, she eased forward and kissed him. Her mouth molded to his, offering comfort and forgiveness.
He didn’t deserve either. He mustn’t kiss her back.
Ah, God, he should push her away, never touch her again—
She was trembling, and just as he meant to break the kiss, to draw away, he tasted the hot saltiness of her tears.
“Kiss me,” she pleaded against his mouth.
“I should not—”
“You honored me by telling me your secret,” she said softly. “Now, trust that I will not abandon you.”
He stilled, for he couldn’t have heard her correctly. His pulse lurching, he gazed into her tear-filled eyes, searching for the hatred he knew must be there…but wasn’t.
Her fingers swept his face again, and a shiver raked through him. How fiercely he craved her touch, longed for the sweetness of her lips, and with a ragged groan, he reached up to bury his fingers into her hair and draw her in for a kiss. A little cry broke from her, and then her mouth was moving on his, suckling, seeking, an urgency to her kisses that hadn’t been there before.
He kissed her again and again, sliding his tongue into her mouth, cherishing her passionate responses and her awed sighs. With each kiss, he told her he loved her, that he was so very grateful that she was still willing to accept him, despite what she now knew. As his anguish dimmed, a gnawing heat grew, pooling in his groin and making him tremble anew, this time with desire.
Breathing hard, he drew back. In the golden fire glow, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling and bright. Tonight, though, was not the time to pursue their passions further.
He pushed wayward hair away from her face. “Mayhap you should return to your cot. In the morning—”
Smiling, she kissed him again, thoroughly enough to make him groan, before she shrugged off her blanket. “Tonight, I want to stay with you.”
He forced his hungry gaze from her gaping shirt. “Magdalen, you are a lady. ’Tis not proper—”
“No one will know. Even if Borden saw us, he would not tell anyone.”
She had already shifted so that her back faced him. Drawing his right arm over her waist, she coaxed him to lie down behind her, so she could use his left arm as a pillow. For the briefest moment he resisted, but God above, lying close to her was what he wanted, too.
Magdalen reached back to spread her blanket over their legs. After settling with a sigh, she found his right hand under the blanket, slipped the ruby into it, and then closed her fingers around his, trapping the stone between them both.
Savoring the silk of her hair beneath his cheek, Cyn shut his eyes. He might only be able to lie beside her for this one night, but he’d cherish it forever.