Sharon Schulze (22 page)

“Aye.” Her hand trembled beneath his. “More than I thought it possible to want anything.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand how this has happened so swiftly! ’Twas only a few days ago that I was fairly happy to be headed home, grateful that my parents were finally going to allow me join the abbey, that I could devote my life to my writing—”

“A nun?” He sat up and swung round to face her, her hand still clasped tight within his. “You were to be a nun?”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around that notion no matter how he looked at it!

Her face flushed. “Aye, a nun,” she said firmly. She tugged to free her hand, but he refused to release her. “You needn’t look as though you’re about to laugh, damn you. I know I’ve given you reason to think me a willing wench, no doubt, but I’ve never—”

“Alys.” He gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “’Tis my guess that the only man you’ve been
willing
with is me.” He burrowed his fingers into her mass of hair and drew it gently away from her face. “The only reason you make me laugh is the pleasure I take in your company.” He brushed kisses along each
cheekbone, then settled his lips briefly upon hers. “You
did
surprise me. A lifetime spent in an abbey is not what I would have expected for your future.”

“’Twas a place where I could write unhindered,” she said simply. “’Tis what I do, you know. Write down tales of valor, the stories of the people I meet. My years at l’Eau Clair have been a treasure trove. I’d never imagined meeting so many people with such interesting lives!”

There was no mistaking Alys’s excitement about writing, though he believed it didn’t bother her too much to have given up on the notion of joining the Church.

Learning of her writing made clear to him why she so often had been distracted and aloof, or been thought to be. He’d seen her thus himself earlier in their journey, before the world around her became so intense. From what he’d observed, she possessed the ability to focus very deeply upon something only she could see or hear, so that she truly appeared to be lost in her own world.

But…why had she said she was going home to join an abbey?

“Alys, you knew I was not taking you to your father’s keep, didn’t you?” he asked, watching her face carefully. “I heard nothing about an abbey, either.”

“Where were we going, then?” she asked, her voice laced with wariness. “My parents had sent for me. To go home, I would swear.” She eyed him cautiously, suspiciously. “Where were you to deliver me?”

“Into your parents’ hands,” he confirmed. “But not at any of your father’s estates.”

Her face grew pale. “Where?” she demanded, her hands clenched into fists by her sides.

He covered her hands with his and held them tight.
“To Lord Henry Walsingham,” he said simply. “I was never told ’twas the case, but it was my impression you were to be his bride.”

I
f Padrig had drawn his dagger and stabbed her through the heart, he could not have shocked her more.

Indeed, it took a moment for her pulse to resume its measured beat, for the unspeakable notion to wend its way from heart to head and send a wave of disgust slashing though her.

“How fortunate for me that I am now tainted goods.” Alys could not guess where she found the strength to say the words, when inside she felt as though she were crumpling to pieces. ’Twas all she could manage to draw breath into her lungs. “Do you believe that fact might change their plans?”

Her own parents would give her to that ale-swilling, wife-killing swine?

“How much did it take, I wonder, for my parents to agree? How much land did Walsingham offer, how much gold? How many men to fight in my father’s stupid little wars?” she demanded bitterly.

“Alys.” Padrig tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted him.

“Nay, I want no comfort now, not even from you.” She held her hand to his face for a moment, however, and hoped he’d understand. She needed to give her hurt full rein while she sought to come to terms with the fact that her parents had evidently sold her for whatever advantage they could get.

He nodded and lowered his hands, staying close but not touching her. Closing her eyes, she sat back on her heels, her hair streaming wildly around her, and let her growing sense of betrayal transform her pain into rage. “What is my life worth?” she cried.

That was what it amounted to, in her estimation—her parents would gain whatever it was they wanted this time, and Lord Henry would get another wife to abuse and kill, if he chose to do so.

If he’d already done it once, ’twas bound to be easier for him the next time. How long would it have been, before she drove him to take her life, as well?

“I should have known, should have realized ’twas just a matter of time before they got round to me,” she said bitterly. “My brother and sister both—” She looked up and met Padrig’s steady gaze. “When the time came for each of them to marry, they were sold to whomever could give my parents the most power and prestige, the most land to increase their holdings.”

“’Tis the way of the world, love,” he pointed out quietly. “Happens all the time.”

“But in both instances, they chose mates for their children that you’d not give a dog to.” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye; she swiped it away angrily, sniffed, and went on. “Terrible people, Padrig, from terrible families.” She fisted her hands by her sides and gave a bitter laugh. “Of course, you could say my fam
ily, my parents, at any rate, are horrible, as well. ’Tis nothing but the truth.”

She rose to swiftly pace back and forth along the edge of the stream, pausing to stare out at the lively cascade. The sound of water flowing over rocks, the glimmer of sun shimmering on the wet, moss-covered banks soothed her soul. Padrig came to stand behind her, closing his hands gently over her shoulders and lending her his strength.

Finally her overwhelming anger and hurt eased, leaving in its wake a steely determination.

This time, her parents would not win. She would refuse to marry Lord Henry, or anyone else her parents might suggest.

Somehow she would make a life for herself, a life of
her
choosing.

She turned and caught hold of Padrig’s hands. “If I choose to defy my parents, refuse to allow them to dictate my fate, would you help me?” She stroked his bewhiskered cheek, watching him, trying to gauge what he felt in his eyes.

Though she couldn’t read his gaze nor his expression, she wouldn’t let that deter her from her goal. His continued silence, however, made her wonder just what it was he might hesitate to say.

Letting her hand slide from his face, she took a step back. “I understand if you don’t wish to be involved,” she said evenly. “’Tis not your battle to fight, and entangling yourself with me against my father might cost you everything you have.”

Padrig shook his head as though waking from a deep sleep and closed the distance between them. “We’ve not known each other long,” he said, his voice low and deep.
“Nor, despite last night, do we know each other well—” he buried his hand in her hair “—yet.”

She smiled at that, her lips trembling despite her efforts to still them, her eyes filling with tears.

His gaze blazing a dark-blue fire, he carefully tipped her head up and kissed her with a gentleness that stole her heart. The tears she hadn’t shed in anger, Padrig’s tenderness sent trailing down her cheeks now.

When he eased his mouth from hers, he angled his head back just enough that their gazes could meet. “But know this, milady.” He combed his fingers through her hair, brought his hand to rest atop hers on his shoulder.
“You are mine.
I know it here, in my heart.” He entwined his fingers with hers and slid her hand to rest upon his chest. “There is nothing I would not do for you, Alys. You have only to ask.”

His declaration was one more shock on top of a veritable mountain of them. Her legs went weak and she crumpled to the grass.

Padrig dropped down beside her and pulled her into his lap when she tried to sit up. Her head swam, and her entire body felt shaky. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently. “What’s wrong?”

She laughed weakly. “You’ve never swept a woman off her feet, milord?”

“Never.” He shifted so her head rested upon his shoulder. “Did I frighten you?” he asked quietly. “’Twas not my intention.”

Feeling stronger now, she met his worried gaze and shook her head. “You surprised me, ’tis all. I hoped for your help, but I wasn’t expecting your heart,” she told him. Her own heart thundering wildly, she added, “You’ve mine as well, you know.”

He kissed her, hard, his arms wrapped tight about her, then set her off his lap. “The good Lord ought to grant me a boon for my strength of will,” he muttered when she sent him a questioning look. “Instead of undressing you and making you mine this instant, I’m going to see you fed and then we’re heading off before I get us into any more trouble.” The intense look accompanying his statement made her knees go weak all over again. “You make it difficult for a man to remember his duty, Alys.”

He picked up the food he’d brought her earlier and set it in her lap, then pressed the mug of water to her lips until she drank it all. “You’ve not really eaten today, nor much yesterday, either,” he reminded her. “Likely that’s why you collapsed just now. Eat something while I get Arian ready to go.”

Alys took some cheese and an apple and set the rest aside. She crumbled a bit of cheese off the wedge and popped it into her mouth as she watched him secure the saddle and adjust the bundles tied to the back of it. Taking the extra food and the mug from her, he tied them up in a cloth.

“You know, I still believe ’twas what you said that made my legs give way, not lack of food,” she said, not quite teasing. “’Twas most romantic.” Lord knew, the mere memory of his words, of the way he’d looked at her, had the power to make her heart race.

He made a face at her. Laughing, she got up and offered him the last bite of cheese. “You’d best be ready to catch me the next time you gift me with such stirring words,” she said as he took the food and began to chew. “Or mayhap if you speak to me in Welsh,” she mused. “Aye, that would likely do it, as well.”

He burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You mean I could say anything to you in Welsh, and you would think it lovely? Or romantic?”

She thought for a moment. “Aye, as long as it sounded beautiful.” She grinned. “Of course, you realize you can only say things that
are
lovely and romantic. How pretty you think I am.” She sent him a teasing glance. “Or mayhap how I make you feel—though that would be better in words I can understand.”

“Give me a moment, sweeting. Once we’re on our way, I’ll speak Welsh to you as much as you like.”

She paused to rinse her hands in the stream, reluctant to leave this beautiful place, but they’d far to go before nightfall and could not linger here.

Padrig boosted her up to sit sideways in the saddle and swung into place behind her. He guided Arian onto the road, looped the reins about his arm and turned his attention to Alys.

He framed her face with his hands and whispered,
“Ach lovely fel ’r morn.”

The way he said the words, the way he looked at her made her breathing quicken and her skin flush.

She’d never forgive him if the words he said didn’t match his intent expression. Suppressing a shiver of reaction, she said, “I’m trusting you didn’t just call me a horse’s backside, or something more disgusting.”

He chuckled, skating his mouth over her brow and cheekbones.
“Cei ’m asgre, ’m anwylyd.”

She slipped her hand up into his hair and drew his mouth closer to hers. “Tell me what you said, milord,” she whispered against his lips. She caught his lower lip in her teeth, nipping gently. “Unless you want me to get rough with you.”

“Is that supposed to discourage me?” His body shook with suppressed laughter. “I’m more likely to misbehave,” he warned her, his smile teasing. “To discover what you have in mind.”

Trying not to laugh herself, she sent him a stern look. “And if I promise to make good on my threat whether you tell me or not?”

“Well, then,
’m asgre,
I shall tell you whatever you wish to know.”

He gathered her hair in his hands, burying his fingers in the tousled curls. “You are as lovely as the morn.” Alys drew her breath in sharply, for she could not mistake the sincerity in his eyes, his voice, his touch.

He kissed her cheeks. “You have my heart, my darling.” He nuzzled her throat. “You see, love, not an insult among them.”

Alys watched Padrig’s face, gazed deep into his eyes, and knew herself for a coward. He had opened his heart to her, much more openly than she had to him. He knew the words to melt her heart, words she’d never heard used save for in tales of love and valor.

And at l’Eau Clair, she realized. Lord Rannulf and Lady Gillian shared their love and respect for each other openly, there for anyone to see.

Be bold, Alys,
she reminded herself yet again.
If Padrig is as pleased to hear you express your feelings as you are to hear of his, ’tis worth the risk.

She pulled him closer, bumped her nose lightly against his, and asked, “How do I say ‘I love you’ in Welsh, milord?” She drew back and stared into his eyes. “Because I do.”

Suddenly breathless, Padrig returned Alys’s intent gaze.
“Cara ’ch,”
he whispered.

She repeated the words, which had just as much effect upon him in one language as the other.

He gathered her close in his arms and kissed her, pouring every bit of what he felt into the caress.

The mare, evidently aware of their complete inattention, chose that moment to stray to the side of the road and walk beneath a low tree. Padrig barely noticed in time to prevent them from being slapped by the branches; as it was, they ended up with leaves in their faces and hair before Padrig dismounted and led the wanderer back to the middle of the road.

“Think she’s trying to tell us something?” Alys asked, plucking more leaves from her hair.

He laughed. “Probably reminding us there’s a time and place for our behavior—and this isn’t it.”

Padrig led Arian at a brisk walk until the road widened and he’d given his unruly body something to do besides trying to get beneath Alys’s skirts. If he could get them to l’Eau Clair without touching Alys again ’twould be best, but since they needed to get there quickly, he’d simply have to learn to master his impulses where she was concerned.

They covered an amazing distance considering their limitations. By the time it had become too dark to travel safely—nigh too dark to see at all—he estimated that, barring any additional complications, they’d make it to l’Eau Clair before sunset the next day.

Alys slumped against him in the saddle, sound asleep. The mare had borne her burden well, though he’d noticed her pace had slowed till she was barely moving unless he urged her to it.

As soon as they got to a likely place to stop, he lifted
Alys from the saddle, settled her on a blanket and made camp for the night.

Both man and horse were too tired to eat. Arian nodded off as soon as he unsaddled her. As for himself, he greatly feared if he made himself comfortable, he’d sleep like the dead for the next two or three days. If he stayed a little cold, a bit hungry, and didn’t allow himself to sit anywhere near Alys, he ought to be able to stay awake and guard his lady.

’Twas the longest night of his life, or so it seemed. Once the sliver of moon had set and the sky begun to glow a ghostly gray on the horizon, Padrig forced his aching body into motion. He’d had plenty of time to think, and had decided to try to enlist Lord Rannulf to help Alys. He was a powerful man with many valuable connections of both blood and friendship. If he were willing to bestir himself on Alys’s behalf, perhaps she could avoid her father selling her off to the highest bidder.

Whether the life she’d lead after that would include Padrig, ’twas difficult to guess. That, too, was within Lord Rannulf’s power to change. If he chose to help Padrig—help
them
—they could possibly be together.

However, if Lord Rannulf chose to punish him for the disaster this situation had become, Padrig might count himself fortunate to hire himself out as a mercenary in some backwater conflict in the wilds of France.

All he could do was try to make things right for Alys, he reminded himself as he woke her and settled her into the saddle for another grueling day of travel.

As he led the mare down the road at a fast walk, he tried not to hope too much that the life he sought for Alys would also include him.

Alys shifted to sit sideways in the saddle. ’Twas late afternoon, and she’d lost feeling in her legs around midday. They’d been traveling since before dawn, and she’d been uncomfortable as soon as Padrig helped her up onto Arian. She ached from head to toe, in some places more than in others, but considering the battering she’d endured from the storm, especially her right shoulder, ’twas a wonder she didn’t feel worse.