Authors: Julia Latham
“I do not believe that. Are you saying this to somehow make me change my mind?”
“I would be happy if you would, but only because I do not wish to see you harmed in any way.”
“Me. Not your father,” he said doubtfully. “What point are you making?”
“Oh, nothing.” She wanted to tell him about her father’s recent illness, but it would affect every plan Adam had spent years formulating. Would he do something worse in desperation?
“If you do not wish to talk to me about such things, I understand,” she said. “You can talk to me about something else.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “I can think of other things to do rather than talk.”
“We’ll sleep in a moment. I have a military question. I heard Master Ascham say we are near Bosworth. Is that not the field where King Richard was killed in battle last year?”
“Aye, it was, but be careful. There are many who
believe he wasn’t even the true king, and that his death was just.”
“My father quietly supported King Henry, but did not do so openly until the battle was over.”
“He was not the only one,” Adam said dryly.
“What about you? Which side did you support?”
“I was not allowed to choose sides.”
“Not allowed?” She wished she could see his face. “Who did not allow you?”
“My conscience,” he said.
She didn’t believe him. She wondered how strong Sir Timothy’s hold still was on Adam. Could he have coerced Adam to seek his vengeance on her father?
“The political differences made the situation too murky,” he continued. “I am more interested in helping innocent people, rather than assisting those corrupted by power. Unless it is necessary.”
“So you do not serve the king?”
“Of course I do,” he said with exasperation. “If he called on my service, he would have it. But last year, Henry was not the king; Richard was. And his supporters betrayed him in the end. I was in Scotland at the time.”
“Oh, what were you doing in Scotland?” she asked with interest.
“Traveling.”
His tone of voice made it clear he would not elaborate, and she knew she’d pressed far enough.
But she could not help saying, “The Ascham boys appreciated those horses you carved. ’Tis an impressive skill.”
“The time limited what I could do.”
“I can tell you possess even greater skill than that. I surmise you had little else to do, since there were no women about when you were young.”
She heard the hay rustle beneath him, as if he’d turned to look at her, but he made no response. She hadn’t thought he would, for he was a man who’d rather withhold a truth than lie about it.
Thinking of him made her far too wakeful, and curious, and—
“Adam?”
It was a moment before he said, “Aye?”
“If Master Ascham returns before we’re awake, will he not wonder why we sleep separately?”
“’Tis summer.”
“I do not think that a good enough reason.”
Without waiting for his permission, she got to her feet, bringing her blanket with her as she shuffled through the hay. She lay her bedding down beside him, feeling bold and uncertain—but adventurous. She didn’t want to think too deeply about what she was doing. She lay down, her arm and shoulder brushing against his.
He said nothing, although she thought he might have sighed. She remembered his kisses, and the way his hands had touched her body, bringing on
such feelings of pleasure. She shouldn’t dwell on such things, but they seemed to sweep through her body uncontrollably, and she wondered what she was supposed to do about it. She knew she wanted to distract him from his mission, save him from himself, but was this the way to do it?
When he didn’t turn onto his side, she did, curling her hips back against him.
“I cannot get comfortable,” she murmured, rolling back to face him.
“Perhaps, ’tis because you’re sleeping in a hay loft.” He spoke impassively, staring at the roof.
He seemed tense, and she knew she was affecting him. She felt guilty—and exhilarated—all at the same time. What an adventure!
She found herself stealing glances down his body, looking for the clues of passion he’d explained to her. But sometime during their conversation, he had pulled the blanket up loosely about his waist, and she could see no telltale…bulge. Not knowing what to do next, she found herself fingering the sleeve of his tunic.
Suddenly Adam took hold of her, and in one smooth move, pulled her on top of him. She gasped at the impression of heat and hardness beneath her, his body seeming so big against hers. She didn’t know what to do with her legs, only knowing that the more she moved them, the more she wanted to spread them wide, feel him deep against her, as she had when she’d thrown herself naked at him.
“Is this the other thing you wanted to do, besides sleep?” he said, his voice almost a low growl.
She was embarrassed by her earlier naïveté. Of course there were many more things people could do in the dark of the night besides sleep. To her mortification, she wanted to experience them.
“I did not mean to tease you,” she whispered.
“What did you mean to do?”
His face was so close; moonlight etched its severity in dark relief. His lips were a thin line, as if he pressed them together to keep from…kissing her, she thought with longing. Aye, she wanted to experience his kisses again.
“Are you waiting for an apology?” he demanded.
“An apology?” she echoed, feeling dazed. Her hair had loosened from her braid in their struggles, and the strands fell against his cheeks like a curtain.
“For how I behaved last night, when I…kissed and touched you inappropriately.”
She heard his words, but they seemed so distant compared to the almost painful press of her breasts against his chest. But the pain crossed the line into pleasure, confusing her.
“I…had wished for you to do it,” she answered truthfully. “No man has ever…wanted me, before you.”
“More fools they.”
And for those sweet words, she leaned down and kissed him, feeling uncertain, but growing bolder. She parted her lips, exploring the curves of his, daring to taste the undercurve with her tongue. It rasped almost painfully against his whiskers, but that only reminded her more that he was a man.
As if his erection pressing into her stomach weren’t proof enough.
He slanted his head, diving deeper into her mouth, coaxing her tongue into playing with his. The taste of him made her shudder, made her thighs part even more, but her skirt was hampering her. His hands slid smoothly up and down her back, then along her sides, to the outer curve of her breasts. She moaned.
Against her mouth, he said hoarsely, “We need to stop.”
She made a mindless “Mmm” sound, as her hands cupped his face, then slid down beneath his jaw. Even the tendons of his neck seemed erotic to her. She’d lost any sense of restraint, responsibility—or propriety. His groin pressed into just the right spot, low on her belly. It set off an ache she only thought of as…hunger.
Suddenly, he rolled until she was on her side, bewildered, lost.
“Adam?”
“Go to sleep,” he commanded, turning his back.
She stared at its broad width, hugging herself, feeling bereft and lonely and needy. It was a long time before her body quieted.
But as she fell asleep, her thoughts kept dwelling on his not being allowed to choose sides in a war. Not allowed by whom?
A
ll the next day, they remained far west of the normal roads to London, hoping to mislead anyone who might have picked up their trail. Florrie felt that her three companions—she was starting to forget to think of them as her kidnappers—seemed preoccupied, as if their close call with the farmer had made them even more wary.
But since she had them to care for her, she tried to keep relaxed and positive about what she could accomplish helping Adam in the time remaining to her. Every time she pointed out a flowering bush or how the green of grain fields dotted the rolling hills in multicolored squares, he looked at her in confusion so complete that it was comical. Had he never before noticed the glory of the countryside? It was so very different from the barren moors of her home. She was determined to enjoy every moment that she could.
But that night, everything changed. They were not able to find an adequate barn or shed before
nightfall, and they were forced to camp in a small copse of trees. Adam was obviously uneasy with this, and he forbid the use of a large fire. They ate cold meat left over from the midday hunting, and cheese that had been crushed into a damp lump at the bottom of a saddlebag. After dark, Michael took the first shift of scout duty and disappeared from the encampment.
With all the tension, Florrie had a hard time falling asleep, and couldn’t have been asleep for long when she heard a muffled oath. Adam was no longer behind her. She saw shadows and movement, but nothing made sense. She gasped as someone leapt the fire.
Adam.
The sudden clash of steel on steel at last told her what she was seeing. They were being attacked, and she was a liability, she knew. She scuttled backward until she was at the base of a tree, needing to stay out of the way. Her heart pounded with fear, but not just for herself. If these were her father’s men, they would kill Adam and Robert. And what about Michael, who had been on guard? Was he already dead? Her throat tightened with tears, and she dashed at her eyes angrily. There was no point crying over the unknown.
Both Robert and Adam were defending themselves from two masked men dressed all in black. By the cut of their clothing and their skill with a blade, these men were not thieves. Robert and his opponent were fighting on the far side of the
clearing, but Adam was nearby, as if defending her. His sword moved with incredible speed, flashing in the firelight. His expression, though strained with concentration, betrayed no doubt, no fear. He had been well trained to fight, to conquer. He jumped a slashing sword aimed at his legs, then boldly attacked, driving his opponent farther away from Florrie.
She not only felt frightened for him, but also mesmerized by his skill. She knew he fought a man of equal talent, yet Adam was winning. His size and his speed made him one of the best swordsmen she’d ever seen. And besides simple admiration, she felt deep inside her a frisson of dangerous excitement, that a man like him desired her.
His sword at last connected with the man’s arm, and she heard a grunt of pain. The man dropped to his knees, one arm cradled in the other. Chivalrous to a fault, Adam backed several steps away, his sword at the ready, even as he glanced in Robert’s direction.
As Robert backed up several steps, meeting each slash of his opponent’s sword with a strong parry, he stumbled over wood stacked near the fire. Adam rushed to his aid, and in that moment, Robert’s opponent gave him a sudden push, sending Robert colliding into Adam.
Though Florrie feared for the brothers, her gaze followed their attackers. The injured one lurched to his feet, the second man caught his uninjured
arm to help, and they disappeared between the trees.
Adam steadied Robert. “Stay with Katherine.”
Even under stress, he did not use Florrie’s name where it might be overheard, she thought in amazement.
“I am fine,” she said to Robert when Adam was gone. “Go to help him.”
He looked at her as if she’d spoken another language. “Disobey him where you are concerned? I may be his brother, but his wrath would fall even on me. Do not fear for him. He can take care of himself.”
She rolled her eyes in frustration and came to her feet, feeling shaky. When she took a limping step toward the fire, Robert tried to help her.
“Did they touch you?” he asked, searching her face. “Are you injured?”
She shook him off. “Just the same old injury from childhood. I am well. Can we rebuild the fire? After all, my father’s men have already found us.”
“There were only two men,” Robert mused, gazing out into the darkness.
“And they’ll be reporting back to whatever small troop has fanned out over the countryside.”
Robert didn’t answer, only stoked the fire with more branches.
In a shared tense silence, the two of them waited. Florrie kept wondering about Michael’s
fate. The man was not as easy to converse with as the two brothers, but he had treated her kindly, and now he’d defended her. Was it just for the money, or did he feel a loyalty to Adam for some greater reason?
And was he even now lying dead? The fact that the two men had gotten by him did not bode well for his condition.
She shivered, rubbing her arms, suddenly feeling the cold. Robert put a blanket about her shoulders, and she gave him a distracted smile of gratitude.
At last, they heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Florrie rose to her feet, then found herself pulled behind Robert, whose sword was now held threateningly in his hand. She peered around his broad back, yet could still see nothing.
After an unusual call of a bird at night, Robert’s shoulders relaxed, and he lowered his sword. Ah, they were signaling to each other again, she thought. Adam came out of the trees, with Michael’s arm across his shoulder. Florrie felt a rush of giddy relief that Michael was doing his own walking, uneven though it was. And Adam looked unharmed.
“They escaped.” Adam bit off the words in obvious frustration.
He helped Michael to sit beside the fire, and she rushed to them, seeing the blood on Michael’s face.
Michael tried to stop her hands from tilting his head. “The bastards only hit me. I did not even have a chance to draw my blade.”
“Let me see to it,” she commanded.
To her surprise, he stopped fighting her, though he gave Adam a sullen look.
“Wet a cloth in some wine,” she said. When Robert had done her bidding, she parted Michael’s red hair and wiped gently at the wound. “The bleeding seems to have slowed.” She pressed down on the cloth. “Hold this to your scalp firmly.” When he followed her orders, she stepped back and looked at Adam. “Forgive me if you’ve already figured this out, but if these attackers had been my father’s men, wouldn’t Michael be dead?”
Adam and Robert exchanged a look, even as Michael stiffened as if he were affronted.
“They were not your father’s men,” Adam said at last.
“And they were not thieves,” Robert added.
Adam scowled at him.
Robert spread his hands wide. “She had certainly figured that out already.”
“I had,” she interjected. “What do you think is going on? Who else would be after us?”
“This is not your concern,” Adam said calmly.
“Not my concern?” she cried in disbelief. “It would very well have been my concern if you’d all died and left me here alone, at God’s mercy. I could not even have found my way back to the As
chams. You are using me against my father, and I am not fighting you. You owe me not just the truth, but even what you suspect.”
The brothers once again exchanged a look as if they could read minds.
And then suddenly, a memory returned to Florrie. “When those men found our camp after we had already gone, you were worried that they were from the League of the Blade. Has tonight confirmed your suspicions?”
Adam opened his mouth—then closed it again, rubbing a hand down his bearded face.
“You cannot keep waiting for me to fall asleep before you discuss such things,” she pressed. “I’ll only pretend to sleep so I can listen.”
Adam sighed. “Aye, I believe the League of the Blade has become involved on your behalf.”
She gasped in surprise that he’d actually told her the truth. “How would the League—?”
“We cannot discuss this now. We have to leave, and we will remain silent while we travel.”
Even Michael moved quickly, and they were on the road again in the dark of night. The moon was just beginning to wax from half toward full, and although it occasionally was hidden behind clouds, it lit their way well enough. To her surprise, they retraced their journey, heading north, away from London, which would not be expected by anyone attempting to follow them. They even rode several hundred yards in the center of a stream, to make tracking them even more difficult.
Although Florrie soon slumped in exhaustion in the saddle, her mind continued to whirl. The League of the Blade wanted to help her? She’d always heard that they appeared in a desperate person’s life to right wrongs and bring about justice. And now they considered
her
a worthy recipient of their services? She could have giggled over it in disbelief, since she’d spent her childhood fantasizing about their exploits. But the League’s appearance meant danger now, and she did not want Adam and the others killed.
Yet the League hadn’t tried to kill them, as Michael’s survival attested. If they thought she was being held against her will, perhaps for a ransom, wouldn’t they consider Adam and his men expendable?
Unless…there was even more going on than she already knew. Several things began to come clear in her mind: when Adam said he hadn’t been “allowed” to choose sides in a war, as if he had to be impartial; the way he and the League attackers had seemed so perfectly matched in skill—as if they’d been trained the same way; and their attackers trying not to kill them.
Was Adam a Bladesman?
She shivered in growing wonder. That would explain so many things.
But by kidnapping her and intending to challenge her father, he was going against the League of the Blade. How could he possibly succeed?
As Adam rode at Florrie’s side, he could practi
cally see the gears turning in her mind. He knew he would have to answer her questions later, but right now his own brain was churning all on its own.
The League was after him.
How had they discovered his plans? On his twenty-first birthday, they’d granted him the knowledge of his vast inheritance, though he’d known since childhood that he was an earl. But they would not speak the name of the man they suspected as his parents’ murderer. He’d been furious that they would withhold something so important. That night, he’d seen sympathy and guilt on his foster father’s face, and Adam was able to coerce him to reveal the identity of the killer. Sir Timothy had understood that power and wealth mattered little to Adam next to justice for his parents. Adam had promised his foster father that he would do nothing while the enmity of civil war still surged across the countryside. And of course, although he’d spent his life planning for justice, he could not leave his brothers, nineteen and eighteen, too young to defend themselves, not yet ready to face the world as Bladesmen. Adam had four more years to train them and expand his own experience.
But he had kept all his plans against Martindale secret even from Sir Timothy, knowing how the League would feel about him challenging a marquess. And then he’d left, as if setting out on his own. But he hadn’t gone to his ancestral
lands, as the League expected, and they hadn’t known his plans—unless they’d coerced Sir Timothy into revealing that Adam knew Martindale’s name.
And then, of course, Lady Florence Becket had gone missing. That had given the League all the proof they needed.
Still, Adam had a right to challenge a man who’d harmed his family, and he was furious that the League would not trust him in this. Aye, he’d kidnapped a woman, but they’d raised him, so they damn well knew he was honorable enough not to hurt her.
Weren’t they supposed to dispense justice? Then why not for
his
family? For the first time, he felt that their pure purpose seemed…tarnished, especially after this attempt to capture him. His brother Paul had never trusted the League, had angrily told Adam he was foolish to believe in them. Had Paul been right all along? Adam felt like his world was beginning to shift.
Several hours later, they slept in an abandoned shed. If it had been raining, they’d have been drenched due to the holes in the roof. But Adam felt more secure being out of sight. He did not know how seriously wounded the one Bladesman had been, and he knew the second man would attend to the first, even see him to safety while waiting for reinforcements. The League had always trained their men to work in pairs when
they could, rather than alone. Adam and his men had some room to breathe, to choose ways to London that no one would suspect.
He knew the League and its methods better than most other Bladesmen. No one was going to stop him.
They headed due east first thing in the morning, still not in the direction of London, and Florrie recognized that once again, they were trying to do something no one expected.
Adam seemed in a grim mood, his gaze scanning the road that was barely more than a farm path. Robert and Michael were taking turns riding far in front and far behind, scouting for anything suspicious.
Florrie needed answers, and now she had some privacy. She glanced at Adam. “So how long have you been a Bladesman?”
His expression didn’t even change. He was trying to intimidate her, but she was not so easily fooled anymore. He
was
a Bladesman, a man deemed worthy to be one of the best, a defender of innocents, a bringer of justice.
No one had brought justice for him—he had to do it on his own. Inside her she felt an ever-in-creasing softness for him that was getting harder and harder to ignore.
But ignore it, she had to. Though he was honorable, loyal, honest where he could be—he was not
a man for her. She was not foolish enough to think so. That dependency would only get her hurt, something she’d fought against her whole life.
“You can ignore me all you want,” she mused, “but it does not change the truth. You and your opponent both fought with much of the same skills and techniques last night. And they were trying not to harm you—otherwise Michael would be dead, as you said yourself. Why would the League care about men who’ve kidnapped the daughter of a marquess, unless they care about you personally?”