A Knight's Temptation (19 page)

An excellent reason for the poachers not to leave witnesses.

Aldwin looked down at Leona, concern drumming in his veins. “If the poachers find us, they will murder us.”

Her eyes bright with defiance, she returned his stare.

“I must protect Rom and you. Now, I am going to remove my hand. When I do, you will not try to scream.”

Her throat moved with a swallow.

“If we die here, years may pass before anyone finds our bodies.
If
they find us,” he said quietly. “Be forewarned, Leona. If I have the slightest doubt you will stay silent, I will knock you senseless. I do not want to hit you, but I will. Understand?”

***

Staring up at Aldwin’s determined face, Leona nodded. She didn’t want to be hit about the head, especially if their lives were in jeopardy.

Aldwin’s expression softened with relief before he released her wrists. While she lowered her arms to cover her breasts, he rose to standing with effortless grace, a powerful display of flesh, bone, and muscle. He strode toward his garments.

Her face warmed as she recalled exactly what she’d seen while he stood: bronzed legs dusted with hair; muscled thighs; and . . .

A splendid physique.
Everywhere
. That glimpse of his nakedness had a strength all its own, grabbing her concentration and holding it hostage.

More shouts carried from above, a stark reminder that she hadn’t moved from the water’s edge. Leona pushed herself up on her right elbow, while the rasp of Aldwin pulling on his boots came from near the fire pit. She shouldn’t look his way. But when she rose, water running down her legs, she couldn’t resist a glance.

He’d already donned his hose and boots. With a swift tug, he yanked his tunic over his head, smoothed it over his torso, and then flicked aside his hair. His expression stern, he reached for his crossbow and bolts.

A shiver wove through her. Only moments ago, she’d lain beneath him. Kissed him. Been drawn into a sensual bliss unlike any she’d experienced. And now, he was preparing to battle the men in the forest above, one warrior against how many?

She suddenly realized Aldwin was looking right at her. While he fastened his leather knife belt at his waist, he pointed to her gown and chemise. He obviously wanted her to get dressed.

Leona nodded.

Another whinny, shriller than before, sounded in the forest above. Aldwin frowned and loped toward the dangling rope. He leapt to it, and, while swinging with its arc, swiftly climbed up and disappeared. A moment later, the rope slid up, preventing her from escaping.

Or so he thought.

Once dressed, she’d explore the cavern for another way out.

Leona crossed to where her garments lay. Her hands shaking with cold, she caught hold of the wet tunic covering her. In several tugs, she drew it up over her head. As she moved, the pendant’s weight slid against her bosom.

Water dripped onto her head and ran down her bare shoulder, and she resisted cursing aloud. She didn’t want the poachers finding her, especially while undressed.

More voices reached her. One sounded like Aldwin’s. Was he negotiating with the poachers?

Leona dropped the tunic onto the column and snatched up her still-damp chemise. She struggled to put it on, for it clung to her skin. With stiff fingers, she worked the fabric down below her knees.

A shadow fell across the cavity opening.

Shouts rang out, followed by the
thud
of arrows plowing into wood.

A man screamed.

A keen ache pressed upon her. Fighting alone, Aldwin was likely to be hurt. Or killed.

She shrugged off her unease. With his crossbow skills, he’d be a formidable opponent. Worrying about him was pointless, for he meant naught to her.

Even if he’d helped her after the bee stings years ago.

Even if he’d kissed her, years ago, and but moments ago.

A bubble of protest popped inside her, and, frowning, she brushed aside the awful feeling that she was lying to herself.

More cries and sounds of battle filtered down from above.

Leona picked up her gown and began to pull it on. She mustn’t let Aldwin’s kisses sway her common sense. Once he’d finished with the poachers, he still intended to take her as his prisoner to Branton Keep and hand her over to his lord. While he’d said de Lanceau would help her, Aldwin couldn’t know that for certain, and it could be days before de Lanceau sent men to her father’s keep. She couldn’t wait that long.

Every day that passed, Veronique and the baron mired her sire deeper in their plots. In his dismal state, they’d easily manipulate him—until he wasn’t useful to them anymore. What might happen to him then?

Leona tugged her gown into place and tried not to mull the frightening possibilities. After donning her cloak, she glanced along the cavern wall to where it curved into the river. There, she’d look for a way out.

First . . .

She crouched beside Aldwin’s saddlebag, left behind in his rush to reach the surface. Stifling a twinge of guilt, she looked inside for a weapon.

The light coming in through the hole shifted again. Dirt crumbled down into the water, followed by the
splash
of clumped earth.

Someone was standing by the opening. A poacher? Any sound might betray her.

She stayed very still.

More earth fell, followed by a startled curse.

A sickly chill crawled across her scalp. Glancing up, she met the wide-eyed stare of a bearded man who’d stuck his head down into the hole. His gaze ran over her, then riveted to where the gold chain trailed along her neck.

He grinned. “Wot ’ave we got ’ere?”

Chapter Twelve

Aldwin gathered up the rope as he crept across the dew-laden ground, the bolts in his quiver making a faint rattle. If the poachers discovered the rope disappearing into the ground—he hoped they hadn’t already—Leona could be in grave danger.

He’d do all he could to protect her.

Judging by their voices, the poachers were on the other side of the nearby fallen tree. Aldwin forced his mind to concentrate on the challenge ahead, and not upon Leona as he’d seen her before he’d turned away. Her unruly hair, kiss-reddened lips, and glazed eyes had coaxed him to continue seducing her.

He might have done so, if the poachers hadn’t distracted him. A pinch of his conscience made him scowl, for where had his gallantry gone? How could his knightly morals vanish when tempted by Leona’s kisses and scented skin?

He tightened his grip on his crossbow and vowed to work harder to keep his impulsive nature tightly reined.

Thudded footfalls came from the tree’s opposite side. He reached the moss-covered trunk, where the rope’s other end was secured. Untying the knot would take time. Hoping the rope wasn’t noticeable, he shoved the coiled section under the tree and then slowly rose.

“They’re ’ere somewhere. I can sense ’em,” said a man with graying brown hair that swept the shoulders of his cloak. He stood with his back to Aldwin, his hands on his hips and a pair of slain rabbits slung over his right shoulder. A young, dead stag lay on the ground. When the poacher limped several paces, studying the earth, the rabbits’ heads bounced.

Warning chilled Aldwin’s skin, for the poacher had found the footprints from last evening. Aldwin glanced back at the cavity, only to see more prints. Not just his and Leona’s.

“Clif, those tracks could ’ave been from days ago,” said a younger man also garbed in a green wool cloak. “Romans, even.”

“Romans.” Cliff snorted. “Sometimes, Emmet, I cannot believe ye are a grown man.”

Emmet flushed. “I searched the woods around ’ere, as ye told me. I did not find anyone. If the others ’ad, they would ’ave brought ’em ta ye.”

“They’re ’ere,” Clif repeated. “No knight would leave ’is fine ’orse. And, as I told ye, there are two people.” His shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “Where are the others? Must I go catch that ’orse meself?”

As Clif spoke, he turned to scan the woods. Sunlight grazed his face, as brown as a hazelnut and hardened by years spent outdoors. A scar cut across his jaw to the edge of his mouth. An injury from poaching or a fight? A face Aldwin would remember, for when he reported these poachers to de Lanceau.

“At least we got one deer. We will get the baron’s payment.”

Aldwin’s gaze sharpened. Baron? Did he mean Sedgewick?

Hoofbeats carried from the forest.

“Get it!” a male voice shouted. Running men became visible in the woods. Reins dangling, Rom cantered through the forest, moving at an angle to the fallen tree.

Clif growled. “If we cannot catch it, we will kill it.”

Not likely
.

Aldwin aimed his crossbow.

Drawing a knife, Clif started toward Rom.

With a
click
, Aldwin’s crossbow trigger released. The deadly bolt whistled past Clif’s head to slam into a tree.

Emmet spun. Clif stumbled back a step and turned to look at Aldwin.

“Stay away from my horse.” Aldwin stepped onto the fallen tree and quickly fitted another bolt into his weapon.

Grabbing hold of the rabbits sliding toward the ground, Clif scowled. Eyes wide, Emmet gaped. His fingers twitched. He clearly couldn’t decide whether to reach for the sheathed knife strapped to his waist, or remain still.

Raising his hand, Clif signaled his other men. They slowed their pursuit of Rom and came toward the nearby trees.

“Who are ye?” Cliff demanded.

“Aldwin Treynarde. Loyal servant of Geoffrey de Lanceau.”

The poacher’s brows raised. “
The
Aldwin Treynarde? From the
chanson?
”

“The same.”

“A pleasure ta meet ye.” His gaze slid behind Aldwin. “Where is yer friend?”

“I am alone.”

“Really?” Clif glanced at Emmet and grinned.

Aldwin managed a noncommittal smile. He’d never give away Leona’s hiding place. At least she was staying silent. Thank God.

The other poachers slunk closer, using trees to shield them. They’d let Rom go—the horse had vanished into the forest—but were well armed with bows and arrows. Aldwin would have to work fast to keep them from overpowering him.

As though guessing his thoughts, Clif laughed. “Ye’re outnumbered, Aldwin Treynarde. Some of us are mercenaries who know ’ow ta fight men like ye.”

There were five louts ahead of him, Aldwin noted, and at least one creeping up on his back. He didn’t mistake the
crunch
of a rotten branch close behind him.

The thrill of impending battle tightened his body as he offered one last, chivalrous appeal. “You and your men will put down your weapons. Set them on the ground, and step away.”

Clif shook his head. “Put down yer crossbow. We might be merciful and let ye die quickly.”

“I meant to say the same to you.”

Clif guffawed.

Emmet chuckled. So did the other poachers.

Footsteps rushed up behind Aldwin, as Cliff muttered, “Fool.”

***

A scream scratched Leona’s mouth as the man’s grin broadened.

Her eyes smarting, she forced the cry into submission. If she screamed, she might distract Aldwin at a critical moment. Then, there’d be no hope for either of them.

The man disappeared. A moment later, the rope rippled down into the cavern. Scuffed boots came into view.

He was coming down the rope.

Leona refused to acknowledge her dread. If he thought to steal the necklace and kill her, he’d be in for one spectacular fight.

Glancing away for a moment, she raked through Aldwin’s bag. He hadn’t left her one item that could be used to defend herself. Grabbing a handful of stones, she rose and faced the man swinging over the water.

His boots hit the large stone. Beneath his cloak, he had shoulders as large across as a blacksmith’s. The oaf’s greedy gaze slid over her before he released the rope and jumped to shore.

Leona stepped backward, putting distance between them.

“’Allo, love.” The man smiled, revealing gaps in his teeth.

“Stay away.”

He chuckled and crooked a finger. “C’mere, love. Come ta Peyton.”

“I said, stay away.”

Peyton’s smile faded. “Ye’re not listenin’.” He pushed aside the opening of his cloak to reveal the hunting dagger in his belt.

Oh, God.

She retreated again, wondering how many more steps she had left before reaching the river’s edge.

The knife made a metallic
hiss
as he drew it from its scabbard. His hungry stare flicked to her breasts outlined by her damp cloak. “’Tis yer lover up there?”

Her face warmed. “Nay.”

“Good. Then ye will not miss ’im.”

“Miss—”

“’E’s dead.”

Her breath became a brutal pain in her chest. Aldwin had been killed? The cavern spun before her.

“’E was tryin’ ta protect ye, but ’e cannot save ye now.” Peyton motioned to her again. “Come ta me, love. Or I will ’ave ta come get ye.”

Blinking hard, she shifted the stones in her fingers.
Aldwin was dead
. A confusing rush of anguish crashed through her. Nay. She wouldn’t believe it. Not until she saw his body. This thug would tell her anything to get her to cooperate.

Impatience, now, defined Peyton’s mouth. “Come show me what ye ’ave under yer cloak. That necklace”—his attention slid down to her thighs—“ta start.”

She took another step backward.

He rushed at her.

Drawing back her arm, she flung a stone. It whacked into the side of Peyton’s bearded jaw, and then clattered on the ground. He jerked back, scowling, and touched the bleeding cut.

“Ye shouldn’t ’ave done that.”

She glanced at the rope. Could she run to it? She had to try.

Peyton’s lips twisted. When he started toward her, she raced to the water, but he caught her left arm in a bone-crushing grip.

She gasped

“Aye,” he said, wrenching her to him. The stench of unwashed skin and dirty clothes assaulted her senses, almost causing her to choke. “If ye’d come as I told ye, I wouldn’t ’ave ta hurt ye.” He looked down at her neckline. “Ta think I ’ave not even begun.”