A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series (10 page)

She was running through darkness. Long shadows reached for her. An ominous dark hand grabbed her skirt.

Grace jerked awake. Startled, unnerved, she glanced around. The surrounding forest was shaded in grey tones. It was night. She moved her legs, but her skirt caught on something. She pulled her legs away from the object and found the edge of her dress had snagged on the branch of a bush. She sighed and sat back. Something was stabbing her in the back. She brushed at the ground to find a stick had worked its way beneath her. She noticed one blanket was pulled over her waist, but the other lay uselessly aside. She must have thrown it off.

Instinctively, she looked across the camp to where William slept. He was in a sitting position, but she knew he was asleep because his head lulled to one side. She gathered the discarded blanket and rose, moving to him. She spread the blanket out and eased it up over his legs.

There was a sudden flash of movement. In the next second, his eyes were open, his sword tip pressed to her throat.

CHAPTER 12

W
illiam stared into Grace’s wide eyes
. Through his groggy sleep, he had heard movement and reacted instinctively, grabbing his sword. He dropped the blade, horrified. “Grace.” He leaned forward, taking her face in his hands. “Are you hurt? Did I--?” He inspected her neck, running his hand over her smooth skin to ensure there was no blood, no mark.

She shook her head.

He held her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he whispered over and over. If he had hurt her, even by accident... His gaze swept her face, touching every inch of her soft skin, every curve. Lord, he had not meant to raise his weapon to her, to touch her warm skin with the cold blade. Alarm gripped his stomach in a tight knot of horror. All he wanted to do was make sure she was unhurt. All he wanted to do was touch her skin. All he wanted to do was kiss her lips. In a frenzy of concern and desperation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was soft. So soft and pliant. And warm.

She gasped softly beneath his kiss.

The spell was broken and he pulled back quickly as if she had scalded his skin. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was mortified at what he had done. He had no right to touch her, no right to take such loveliness against himself, no right to stroke his cursed lips against innocent ones. Even as he thought the thought, his gaze settled on her lips and desire engulfed him. He shot to his feet and retreated to the tree behind him as if to distance himself from the temptation she offered. “Forgive me, m’lady,” he uttered, horrified at his audacity.

She stood, pressing her fingers to her lips, gazing at him.

He clenched his teeth and looked away. “Grace...” That was when he noticed the blanket on the ground. He looked up at her. She had come to give him the blanket. The simple gesture warmed his heart until he remembered he had greeted her with violence, almost cutting her neck. “You should stay on your side of the camp.”

“You are not a danger to me.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “I put a sword to your neck.”

“You would not have harmed me.” Her tone was confident.

Much more confident than he felt. He had seen so much blood, in the wars, in the death of the archbishop, at the hands of others, by his own hand. It was instinct for him to protect himself with a weapon. But he never wanted to raise a blade to her. “I don’t want to. That’s why you should stay on your side of the camp.”

She dropped her chin as if in confusion.

He stepped toward her. “Grace. I promised to see you safely to your father. I intend to honor that vow.”

She lifted her large eyes to him. They reflected the moon in their depths. And William knew he was in trouble. How could he resist her? Such beauty. Such innocence. But he had to. She did not want to marry him. And he had given his word to help her escape the betrothal. She was right. No woman in her right mind would want to be wife to him.

“You kissed me.”

He gritted his teeth and looked down. What could he tell her? He would have to hurt her so she kept her distance from him. He would have to lie to her to keep them apart. “I thought you were someone else.”

It worked. Her face fell; hurt shone in her vulnerable eyes before she turned away. Without a word, she moved back to her spot beneath the tree opposite of his. She lay down, keeping her back to him.

Guilt assailed William, but he knew this was better for them both. He would not be tempted to kiss her again. And she would not be tempted to be near him. Part of him was very sad at this prospect, but he knew it was the right decision. He turned and lay down, tucking his hands beneath his head to stare at the stars through the leaves of the tree. He reached down and pulled the blanket over his legs. Regret and remorse kept him from sleep. The only thing he managed to think of was a cottage and Grace to come home to.

‘I thought you were someone else.’ The words haunted Grace. Humiliation burned her cheeks. Hurt pierced her heart with a stinging sensation. She could barely look at William. Why? Why should it matter to her? She didn’t want to marry him anyway! And yet, she could not stop thinking about his kiss. The urgent, desperate feel of his lips moving over hers. It was so unexpected, so... warm.

As they packed up the camp and she folded the blanket he had slept beneath, she wondered if he kissed her again would it be tender?

It didn’t matter. He would never kiss her again and she should not want him to. She opened one of the bags to put the blanket inside. The golden cross tumbled out. She gasped, afraid William would be angry with her for going through his items again. She glanced over her shoulder at him across the camp. He was saddling Hellfire, tightening a cinch strap. Grace picked up the cross to put it back in the bag, but then she paused, staring down at the face. The face had been carved with such emotion, such heartbreak. The blank eyes gazed skyward, the mouth open as if crying out. She felt such anguish. She wondered if that was why William kept it. To remind him of his duty. Her thumb swept down the cross...and caught on a chip in its surface. It hadn’t been there before, she was certain. She wondered briefly how it had gotten there, but quickly put the cross back into the bag and closed it, lest William catch her with it again. She picked up the bag and noticed a tear in the side. She put her finger in the hole, confused. It hadn’t been ripped before. She straightened as realization struck her. The arrow! It must have hit the bag...and the cross.

“What is it?” William asked, moving toward her.

She spun and for a moment guilt settled over her. Then, she lifted her chin. She had done nothing wrong. “This tear. Is it where the arrow hit?”

William looked at the hole with a scowl and then back over at Hellfire. He nodded. “I believe so, yes. Why do you ask?”

Her mouth dropped slightly. “It was a miracle that it didn’t hit Hellfire.”

William grinned, taking the bag from her. “Well. I don’t know if it was a miracle, but it certainly was luck.”

The golden cross caught the blow of the arrow. It couldn’t have been coincidence, could it? As William turned away from her, she stared at him. She had prayed for a knight to save her. A knight she could love. Could it be...? No. William was going to help her escape the betrothal. He was not the knight she had prayed for.

They rode toward Bovey. William’s arms were around her, clutching the reins, almost holding her as he steered Hellfire. His arms were strong and secure and safe and comforting and... For a moment she allowed herself to be swept away into a daydream. William holding her tenderly, pressing his warm lips against hers.

Then she snapped herself out of her reverie. She was a silly girl! She was a foolish girl! The men she wanted didn’t want her. William was like Curtis and her father. She could not make him happy, any more than she could make Curtis or her father happy. And she shouldn’t want to! He was a cursed man, his soul damned to the fires of hell! Still... She couldn’t help but wonder if his soul was like that golden statue carved atop the cross. Anguished and crying out.

They came to the top of a small hill. Birds chirped in the blue skies above, men worked some of the land in the fields below. Small cottages dotted the landscape. Further in the distance, Grace could see a wall surrounding a town and manor home beside a river. She could only assume this was his home. This was Bovey Tracey.

He spurred Hellfire into a canter down the hill.

The sun was warm and welcoming and relief surged inside of Grace. They had made it to safety. A warm bed. Food. William’s home.

They came to the bottom of the hill and William urged Hellfire forward with a gentle kick. The horse walked toward the town. The large wooden gates leading inside were open and William steered Hellfire through them. Merchants called out from open shop windows. The baker ran up to them with a basket of fresh bread. “Care to try a piece of bread? Baked fresh here just this morn!”

They continued past him. A child raced across the road before them, chasing a duck. Somewhere behind them, a woman called, “Paul!”

Before they reached the manor home, William stopped Hellfire before a small church. He dismounted and stood staring at the building for a long moment.

Grace looked up at the tall steeple. At the very top was a bell. William said he prayed whenever he could. He glanced back at her. Without a word, she stretched her arms to him. He assisted her dismount. Then, she took Hellfire’s reins.

William grinned, taking the reins from her hand. “I won’t leave you.”

She hooked her hand through his arm. “Then we shall go in together.”

William tethered Hellfire and they walked up the two steps to the church.

At the tall wooden double doors, William hesitated. Even though the doors were open in welcome, he was still excommunicated for his part in the murder of the archbishop. He glanced at Grace. She was looking at him with concern. He placed his hand comfortingly over Grace’s where it lay on his arm, then took a small breath and entered the church.

Grace released his arm and entered one of the pews in the back and sat.

She wasn’t praying. Interesting. He had thought she would. It wasn’t his to say. William moved forward. It had been a long time since he had been here. The ceiling stretched far above his head. The same statue of St. Peter that had stared down at him in disapproval, still stared down at him with the same disapproval. It seemed nothing had changed. Nothing except him. He stopped in the middle of the aisle, before the altar and fell to his knees. It mattered not that the ground was cold and hard. It was not even close to the punishment he deserved. After he had given his devotion, he stood, expecting an explosion of thunder or the walls to bleed.

From deeper in the church, a voice called, “William! Boy, is that you?”

Father John appeared from the rear of the altar, hobbling toward him. He was not the man William remembered. He had aged heavily since the last time William had seen him. He used the pews as support to approach. William moved forward to greet him. He held out his hand.

Father John grabbed his arm and yanked him into a tight embrace. “Boy, it is good to see you.”