The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (20 page)

Normally, a lord would simply send his army to take care of the problem, but Haldane was healthier in those days and very lordly; twas not uncommon that his mere presence would settle a dispute.

"The Welsh though..." He shook his head, remembering. "We were a small garrison of men.

Haldane was safely surrounded by a handful of knights. The villains..." He chuckled without humor.

"They were farmers, really, armed with nothing but their harvesting tools. But still I thought myself a fine soldier when they were on the run. We followed them between the bundles of hay they had stacked together, running, yelling our battle cries, blood lust pumping through our veins. The mounted knights followed, too. They had just passed me when, from behind each stack of hay, a host of Welshmen sprung from hiding. The farmers turned to fight. Our men were well mounted and well armed, but the Welshmen had rage on their side and now our knights fell like ripe apples in a storm. I saw them go down. God's mercy!" he whispered. "Blood was everywhere. The screams of the dying!

I could barely breathe for the smell of death. Never had I seen ought like that. My stomach curdled. I couldn't think. Fear turned my muscles to pudding and my mind to straw. I wanted nothing but to be gone from the killing or to die trying. I think for a time

I was insane. I didn't realize the duke had been thrown from his horse and cut his head, nor that his retinue of guards was gone. Neither did I care. In my haste I stumbled over Haldane. By the time I'd righted myself, the Welsh had surrounded me. Twas nothing to do but kill or be killed." He drew a deep breath. "Tis a strange thing what muscles of pudding and a mind of straw can do when one is cornered." He shrugged. "When the haze cleared from my eyes we were surrounded by dead Welshmen and Lord Haldane was dubbing me a knight."

"Bravery comes sometimes when one least expects it," she said quietly.

"Aye, bravery," he scoffed. "I lost my breakfast moments later."

She took a single step forward. "Ye were but a lad," she said. "Surely ye dunna blame yourself for your fear."

She watched him tighten one hand into a fist. "Nay. Certainly not. I am a knight now. We are without fear, you know. Tis not allowed to hurl before a battle."

This was a side of him she had not seen—had not been allowed to see. Was this the real Boden? she wondered, the man who abhorred killing and feared death. Or was the invincible knight the true man?

"Would a tanner's life have been so bad?" she asked, trying to place him.

"Tis a strange thing about me," Boden said. "I like to eat, and Father and I did not see eye to eye. Twas not me who was his apprentice."

Again she saw the boy with the dark moppet of unruly hair. How could a father disregard such a gentle, lovable lad, leaving him with no options but to kill for a living? "Not every gentle man is gently borne," she murmured.

He laughed at her implication. ' 'And not every gentle woman wishes to see the truth," he said.

"And what is the truth, Sir Knight?"

For a moment, she thought he might speak, might tell

her who he truly was, might open up like an eagle on the wind.

But suddenly the curtain to his thoughts closed. "I have been sent by Lord Haldane to bring you safely to his side," he said. "I cannot do that if I do not know what I am up against. Who is after you?"

"Evil!" She breathed the word.

"What does that mean?"

"I dunna know," she said, frustration and fear spurring her emotions, fatigue weighing her mind.

"I am not a knight, trained to battle. I but know what I felt. And I felt evil. Tis sorry I am if that seems strange."

"This juggler of yours, who is he?"

She raised her brows at his choice of words. ' 'A friend. From Ireland, he is."

"A witch?"

"Nay! Hardly that! Why would ye slander him?"

"And why would you defend him?" he shot back. "Why did he take you? How did he take you?"

"He is clever and he is quick," she said, then lowered her gaze and steadied her breathing.

Boden's closeness did dangerous things to her equilibrium. "And he thought I needed saving."

"Why? From what?"

"I canna say what was in Liam's mind," she said.

"If you did not know what was in his mind, why did you go with him?"

"I told ye, he is a friend."

"And what am I?"

What indeed? "He must have thought you meant to harm me. Perhaps, seeing Thomas in my arms, Liam reasoned that Caroline was dead and that I was, therefore, in danger."

"And you think him better able to protect you than I?"

Certainly. For how could Boden protect her heart when he was the very man who threatened to steal it. When he was the man who made her heart run wild and her mind turn to oatmeal. When his smile made her melt and the touch of his hand made her giddy. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her?

Twas not like her to swoon at the sight of a brawny muscle, not at the best of times, and certainly not now, when her very life demanded that she keep her wits.

"I had best get some sleep," she said, and though she took a step backward, she found she could not wrest her gaze from his face.

He stepped forward with her. "The evil you felt, mayhap it was from the Irishman?"

"Liam? Nay. Twas from the old man." She shuddered, though she wasn't cold. "Warwick."

"Warwick?" Sir Boden shook his head. "Who is he? You've not mentioned him before."

"I dunna know." Confusion set her mind atremble. "I must have heard Liam say his name. Tis all l ean remember."

"Why would the old man wish you harm if you don't even know him? You thought he followed you, but all the tracks followed the juggler."

"Ye think I am insane," she murmured.

"I but need the answers if I am to keep you safe."

"Well, I have no answers." She turned away, but he caught her arm.

"The juggler," he said, his tone low. "Did he take you by force?"

"Take me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and canting her head at the possible double meaning.

She watched his face darken. A muscle tightened in his jaw, flexing the scar that lifted his hps into the parody of a smile.

"Did you go with him of your own will?" he asked finally.

Is that what he had meant or was he implying something more base? "I went willingly," she said, lifting her chin slightly.

"Why?" he snapped.

"Have I not told you already?"

"Oh, aye!" He laughed. "I am so alluring you could no longer hold yourself from me."

The night fell silent.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Aye. It is."

"Not for me," she whispered.

"Why did you go with him?" he repeated, his tone level now.

"I have no reason to trust ye," she murmured.

"What has happened to the good old days when saving a damsel's life meant something?"

She snorted. "Aye. Ye saved me life. But why?

"Beside Caroline's dying body I found a piece of a black, metal snake. A snake identical to the one on your sword."

"Nay!" he said.

"Aye. Explain that, Sir Knight. Explain anything. I am being followed. Why? My life is threatened. I dunna know why. Ye think that makes me trusting?"

He opened Ms mouth to speak, but she raised her hand and hurried on.

"I have watched my friends die. I have fought the brigands myself, and still I know not why.

What are they after?" She felt desperation rising. "I have not riches for them to gain at my expense. I have not power. Why do they follow me?"

A moment of silence stood between them, and then he reached out, seemingly against his will to touch her face. "What man would not die to possess you?" he asked softly.

She closed her eyes to his touch. "I am no great beauty, neither refined nor regal."

"You are like sunshine," he said. "Like balm to an open wound."

"Sir—" she said, trying to catch her wits.

"What man would not give his life to have you for his own, if only for a minute?"

His fingertips grazed her cheek. She shivered at the touch. Against her will, her eyes fell closed.

"Your skin is like velvet," he whispered. "Rich and soft. Your hair..." His fingers slipped into her loose tresses, skimming beneath it to smooth across her scalp with splayed fingers. "Tis like moonlight spun in strands of gold. Who would not gladly die to touch you? Who would not give his soul to kiss you?" he asked, and suddenly his lips met hers.

Desire seared through her body. Sweetness flooded her soul. Her arms wrapped around him of their own accord. She tilted her face up to his and now he was kissing her cheek, her brow, her eyelids. Feelings as bright as rainbows arched through her. She knew she should pull away, retreat.

She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly he was kissing her again and she could do naught but kiss him back.

Time ceased. Their heartbeats melded. He slid his fingers down her throat, shooting sparks from the contact until they lay against Dragonheart. Suddenly their thoughts entwined, and for one wild moment truth arced between them like lightning.

"Lady." He breathed the word against her face. "You lie. You don't love Haldane. Do you?"

Reality snapped her back with the force of impending death. She jerked away, breathing hard.

"I am sorry." She touched her lips, feeling the bruise, the fire. "I did not mean to do that. There is something wrong with me. I shouldn't have."

He took a slow step forward, his eyes alight. "There is naught wrong with you. But that you lied."

"Nay. I did not." Panic was rising. She could not love this man. He was Lord Haldane's knight, pledged to protect and serve. What would happen to him if he reneged? "I am loyal to my lord."

"Aye, you are loyal. But do you love him? You must not," he said, answering his own query.

"You must not or you would not have kissed me as you did," he said and stepped closer still.

Her back bumped up against a tree. She lifted a hand as if she might fend him off, but he pressed his chest up against it, daring her to touch him.

"I dunna deny that ye move me," she whispered. "For ye are bold and ye are beautiful, but that doesna mean—''

"What? That you cannot love another and still desire me?"

Beneath her hand, she could feel the heat of his flesh, but she managed to nod.

"So again you try to convince me that you are the kind of woman to cherish one man and desire another?'' he asked, his eyes aflame with emotion.

"Aye."

"You must think me a terrible fool," he said and leaning forward, he kissed her again.

Lightning seared her lips. Desire flashed like flame across her mind. Dear lord, she could not resist. But she must.

"Nay!" She squirmed out of his arms, breathing hard and backing away. "Nay. I canna do this."

Boden watched her. He was a man fully gown, a score and six years of age, and never in all that time had he felt what he was feeling now. Oh yes, women had always drawn him. Everything about them intrigued him, every small difference between him and them fascinated him, the softness of their skin, the silky length of their hair, how their hips flared and their lips pouted. Their clothing, their voices, their scents. And the more noble the woman, the further above him they seemed, the more he was impressed. But Sara was not regal and elegant like the women of court. Nay. She was like the earth, giving and wholesome. Like the sun, bright and warm. Like no one but herself, and never had he been willing to give up everything for another's touch. "You don't love him, lady. Say it."

"Nay!"

Frustration consumed him. "Say it!" he demanded, stepping forward.

"Nay!" she cried and pivoting on her heel, raced into the woods.

He lunged after her, but in a moment he stopped. Jesus! What had he done? He had no right to take her as his own. He had no wish to incur Lord Haldane's wrath.

He must think. Running his hand through his hair, he tried to do just that, to forget the bright color of her eyes, the velvet softness of her skin. She was not a panacea that would cure all his ills.

She was but a woman, tender, soft, pleasurable, true. But just a woman, once touched and soon forgotten. But in his mind he knew twas not true. He would not forget her. She was not the kind of woman a man used and abandoned. She was the kind of woman to save a man's soul. The kind a man married. But surely Haldane was not planning marriage, for he had already taken a wife.

Then why could Boden not have her for himself? Because he was naught but Haldane's servant, with nothing to show for his service. Nothing, unless he returned Sara and the babe to the duke's household. But she did not belong there, like a whore to spread herself beneath him. She did not love him. That he knew—felt it in his heart. He was certain...

Suddenly, her scream shattered the night.

Boden ripped Adder from its sheath and spun about. Dear God, what had he done?

"You have not changed your mind about returning the babe to his father?'' Liam asked. He had propped one foot casually upon a rock as he absently sharpened two knives, one against the other.

Their razor sharp blades gleamed in the light of the nearby fire as Sara watched him.

The day had come and gone, passed in a fog of emotion and fatigue. How the Irishman had found her, Sara couldn't say. But he had, and with his usual aplomb he had taken her again. The scream she'd heard had been his, and yet, somehow, he'd made it sound more like hers than her own.

It had scared the wits from her, but in a moment she had heard Boden crashing off in that direction. A heartbeat later, Liam had whisked her away.

The babe! She had to get the babe! she had cried, but Liam shushed her protests and in a moment she saw that Thomas was already sound asleep in Liam's narrow wagon. Tilly was tied in a corner munching on God-knew-what, and though Sara protested, Liam tethered Mettle to the tailgate, saying twould surely slow down the warlord to make him go afoot.

Sara couldn't argue with that logic, and after Liam promised to make certain the charger was eventually returned to his owner, Sara fell silent.