Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (12 page)

He glanced back at the large, carved canopy bed. “But that bed is –”

“That is the bed Lady Cartwright died in,” stated Mary, her throat tight. “I sat there with her, until her ghost left her, and for hours afterward. I kept hoping I could bring her back with sheer strength of will.” Her voice dropped. “It was Michael who finally pried my fingers loose from hers, who took me downstairs and held me while I sobbed.”

Erik knelt by the small bed, carefully settling Mary into it. He stayed there at her side, his face contrite. “I am so sorry, Mary. I should have been here. I should have carried that burden.”

Mary’s voice was tight. “She would have liked that. She never gave up hope.”

He shook his head, tenderly brushing her hair back from her face. “I was too stubborn to see it,” he murmured in a low voice. “I thought she hated me.”

The corners of Mary’s mouth turned up. “She adored you with a passion that was stunning to see.” She raised a hand to gently trace the planes of Erik’s face. “One I understand well.”

Erik groaned, his lips brushing across hers, first tenderly, then with growing heat, and she was lost.

Chapter 9

Mary blinked her eyes open. Her bedroom was in its perpetual gloom, but the thinnest traces of morning light eased around the edges of the curtains. The fire had all but died out, and she wearily rubbed at her eyes. She would have to get another log onto the fire and give it a chance to catch, before she began her morning routine. She groaned, rolling to a sitting position.

There was someone in the room with her.

It was a moment before the panic eased, leaving behind the realization that Erik was standing there, clad only in his leggings, staring up at the remnants of the painting which hung over the fire. Her eyes followed his, coming to rest on the image she knew so well.

The fire had done its damage. Most of the image was blackened and beyond repair, soot and curling ash visible in fragmented layers. Only the face had survived, the blue-grey eyes staring from a mottled, brown surface.

Erik’s voice was hoarse. “My mother had the image hung here?”

Mary nodded, looking down at her gloved hands. “She felt the guilt of her action keenly, and wanted to always be reminded of what she had done.” She let out a breath. “When I was first burned she tended to me herself, here, in this room. Three times a day she spread ointments of ivy and leek on each finger, and fed me wild beet soup. When she saw the scars would not heal, she had these gloves made for me.” She turned her hands before her, looking at the embroidered design tracing along the cuff of each one. “I have worn them ever since.”

Erik turned and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. He looked up into her eyes.

Her cheeks flushed and shame swept through her. But at long last she nodded her head.

Carefully, tenderly, he undid the button at the right cuff, then eased the glove off of her hand. She fought the instinct to curl her fingers, to hide the mangled flesh beneath her other gloved hand. Her throat grew tight as he brought his head down to her hand, gently kissing each finger in turn. The sensation was so raw, so tender against her flesh, and her body flushed with heat.

Then he was turning to her left hand, sliding the leather from her skin, and the softness of his lips against her hands melted her.

He took her hands in his, laying them against his face, and she marveled at the sensation of his skin beneath her touch. She saw the strength of will it took for him to resist the passion, to remain still as she slid her hands down along his throat, across the strength of his shoulders, curling around to slide across the muscles of his back.

His breathing was ragged, his eyes smoky with desire. And yet he remained in place, his body nearly trembling with the effort.

She brought her hands back up to the back of his neck, pulling his head down to hers, kissing him tenderly at first, and then with growing passion. He gave a growl, and at last his reserves broke, and he was pressing down full against her, all else forgotten.

* * *

Mary stood alongside Michael on the wall over the gate, staring out at the forest in the darkening twilight. Erik had gone out on patrol with Lord Paul, and the group was due back soon.

Michael crossed his arms on the stone block before him, leaning upon it, his gaze following the road to where it bent away through the trees. “You care for him.”

Mary’s cheeks flushed, but she knew it was both foolish and impossible to hide it. Undoubtedly the entire keep knew that Erik had spent the night in her room, had noticed the way her eyes trailed after him as he headed out with the patrol group.

Michael’s voice held caution. “What has he said about Lynessa?”

Mary dropped her head, letting her dark hair fall like a curtain before her face. Lady Cartwright had trained her ruthlessly for this very task. Mary knew the danger she found herself in, and yet she found it nearly impossible to resist Erik’s draw. She wanted with all her heart to believe in him.

Lady Cartwright had believed in him, and it had led her to die alone, in misery.

Mary’s throat tightened. “Erik still holds out hope that Lynessa is innocent in all of this. Despite everything she has done.”

Michael’s grizzled face remained steady. “Where does that leave your vow?”

Mary struggled to inhale. It was as if her lungs had turned to stone, refusing to bring in more air for her.

Where did it leave her?

Lady Cartwright had been adamant on the subject. She would rather see the keep torn down, stone by stone, than turn it over to the woman who had caused the family so much pain. Mary had sworn on her life to only present Erik with his birthright if it was absolutely certain he was free of Lynessa’s influence.

Her voice was a whisper. “I do not know.”

Michael glanced at her, hesitance clear in his motions. “I have a suggestion, but I doubt you will like it.”

Tension trickled along her neck, working its way to lace though her shoulders. “You want to lure Lynessa in.”

He gave a nod. “The only way to see how he acts with her is to bring her to him.” His lips drew into a line. “It could also give us the opportunity to draw more information from her, about her relationship with the Caradoc clan.”

A jagged bolt of fear zigged through Mary at the thought of Lynessa riding into her keep, delving into her safe shelter. The vixen could destroy all she held dear, could flay her heart as thoroughly as she had destroyed Lady Cartwright.

She could take Erik away.

Mary’s fingers gripped the stone until her knuckles blanched. “I believe we have no other choice.”

Michael shook his head. “None that I can see,” he agreed. “We do not have the resources for a full-on attack, and the Caradocs will be alert for any infiltration, given the success of your last endeavor. However, if we use Erik as bait, Lynessa will be hard pressed to ignore the lure of what she has wanted all this time.”

Mary’s voice was hoarse. “And what do I tell Erik?”

There was motion from the woods, a group of riders approached at an easy canter, and her heart lifted as Erik’s gaze met hers. She pushed all thoughts of Lynessa away. For tonight, Erik was hers alone.

Dinner seemed interminable, for all she could feel was the warmth of his thigh where it pressed up against hers, the gentle caress of his fingers as he handed her a fresh glass of wine. When they moved to sit by the fire, he leant against the base of the couch, drawing her in against him, and it was all she could do not to turn in his arms, to lay full across him and lose herself in his embrace. Then, as Lord Paul finished one of his stories, Erik turned his head to press a tender kiss against her throat. She could take no more. She turned to gaze up at him, her eyes full of longing and desire. The flare of passion in his own brought a smile to her lips. He made a mumbled apology to Lord Paul before sweeping her up in his arms, crossing the hall and climbing the spiral steps in less time than she thought possible.

He shouldered the door to her room open, and for a minute she blinked in confusion. The room looked completely different. Gone was the massive canopy bed that had dominated the room all of her life. In its place was the low bed from Avoca’s folly, piled with its dense blankets and soft pillows. The room was ringed with candles of all sizes, lining the mantle over the fireplace, the shelves, the low table by the bed.

She turned her head to the fireplace. The mangled painting was gone. In its place was her tambourine, the stained leather replaced with new, fresh material, the oak shell polished and gleaming.

Erik looked down at her, his eyes shining with respect. “You deserve a room that celebrates your strengths,” he murmured. “One you can embrace as wholly yours.” He stepped to the bed, laying her down on it, kneeling at her side.

She put a hand up to his cheek, her body aglow, and then they were one.

* * *

Mary gazed down at Erik’s sleeping form, soft tendrils of morning light just easing around the edges of the curtain. He blinked his eyes open, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

“You’re up early,” he murmured.

Her throat was tight. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His brow creased, and he raised a hand to lay it against her cheek. “What is it?”

She could barely get the words out. She knew once she started down this path there was no turning back, but she saw no other choice. “It is February thirteenth,” she murmured.

His eyes immediately clouded. “I had lost track of – I’m so sorry. It is the anniversary of the burning of Cintersloe.” He drew up to a sitting position. “Mary, if I could do anything to undo that night, I would do it.”

Mary took his hands in hers, and for a moment the still-new sensation of his strong fingers against her bare skin sent a delicious shiver through her body, renewing the longing that could easily overwhelm her.

She pushed it away with effort. She could not give in to that now.

Still, it was a moment before she could speak. “There is one thing you could do for me.”

“Anything.”

She could not hold his gaze and say it. She had to turn her eyes away, to stare into the low embers, to draw strength from the flame.

Had Lynessa been involved even in her town’s destruction?

The thought gave her fortitude to continue, to speak the words she knew she had to.

“I want to invite Lynessa to stay at the keep.”

Erik gave his head a small shake, as if he had not heard her properly. “You want to
what
?”

Her voice grew in strength. “I want you to tell her that the keep is now yours. That you have returned home and reclaimed your rightful place.”

Erik pushed himself up to a sitting position, his jaw tight.

“Whatever for?”

Mary shook her head. If she told him she was testing his loyalty to Lynessa, how could she trust any answer he gave? He would claim he was completely free of her charms - only to succumb when the blonde harlot next made her advances on him.

No. This was the only way to know for sure.

Erik’s voice took on a steely tone. “So you want me to bring Lynessa here under false pretenses, and then continually lie to her? To act a role which is patently false?”

Mary’s cheeks flushed with heat. She could feel the crispness of his motions, the distance spreading between them.

His voice was hollow. “Why, Mary?”

She turned at last, holding him with her gaze. “Because it is all I ask of you, in memory of my slain parents, my murdered friends, and the ashes of the village of Cintersloe.”

He flinched as if she had hit him. Then he rolled to his feet, looking down at her with a shadowed gaze.

“As you wish.”

He moved around the foot of the bed, pulled open the door, and then he was gone.

* * *

Mary ran a hand wearily through her hair, leaning against the wall’s crenellation. Exhaustion seeped into every bone in her body.

Michael’s voice was rich with worry. “You get on to sleep,” he murmured. “I will keep watch for Erik’s return.”

“He should have been back hours ago,” she insisted. “He was only accompanying the messenger to our borders.”

Michael nodded quietly. “He was like this as a youth. When his mother gave him an order which upset him, he would roam the woods for hours. It gave him time to work the anger out of his system.”

Mary pursed her lips into a line. In a way it
was
Lady Cartwright, making demands from beyond the grave, pushing her on a path she did not wish to follow.

Michael’s voice was low. “You could always just tell him that –”

Mary cut him off sharply. “No. Lady Cartwright made her wishes absolutely clear, and I am honor bound to follow them. I must turn over the keep to Erik’s control. I cannot do that until I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lynessa no longer holds sway over him.”