Taken and Seduced (17 page)

“Surely there would be a man somewhere who wants you.”

Florrie winced, though she knew her sister meant well. “Not without a dowry, Christina.” She did not need to say that most of the money had gone to her sisters’ marriages. She saw the awareness and guilt in Christina’s eyes. But it wasn’t Christina’s fault, so Florrie hurried to say, “Right now it matters not. Allow me to tell you my tale.”

With excitement, Christina led her to a cushioned bench near the bare hearth. “I’m listening—and I will not breathe a word!”

Florrie hesitated before sitting down. “I do not want to ruin your furniture.”

Christina at last took in Florrie’s wet cloak,
filthy hemline, and shoes. Florrie removed the cloak, and Christina gaped at the rest.

“What has happened to you?”

“I told you—an adventure that I will never regret.” She sat down on the edge of the bench. “I am being escorted by three knights. They carry a missive for Father, which must be delivered with all speed. But yesterday, we were attacked.”

Christina gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, ’tis so dangerous to travel! And the thieves so bold!”

“These weren’t thieves. They wanted that missive, but Father’s men defeated them. One of our soldiers, Sir Edmund, was injured in the battle, and the men fear we are yet being followed. I brought them to you, because I knew not what else to do.” Florrie wrung her hands together as if at a loss. “Sir Edmund needs healing, but we cannot let anyone know we’re here. I would not want to bring notice of you to our enemies. Can you help us?”

Florrie hated to even say so much, but she needed her sister to understand the danger—and see the need for silence. She waited, holding her breath.

Christina didn’t hesitate. “How can you even think you need to ask? Of course I will help you! And though ’tis dangerous, the adventure must still be so exciting for you!”

Florrie was surprised—and touched—that her sister understood even that much of her. She
smiled warmly. “Aye, it is. ’Twill give me wonderful memories for the rest of my life.” She sobered. “But I can delay no longer. I need to bring Sir Edmund inside before his injury worsens. Let me tell you my plan.”

A
dam had never in his life felt so weak. Even riding through the countryside had taxed everything within him, and he was mortified by how much he slept, propped up against the backs of his men. He’d always been the oldest, the strongest, and now watching Robert—and Florrie—make all the decisions was frustrating.

Robert was certainly competent enough, Adam knew, from having been involved in his training. But Robert did not take life seriously, and there was a deep part of Adam that worried about trusting him. It was just…this illness that made Adam feel so strange. His body was hot one minute, dripping with sweat, then cold enough to shiver the next. Though Michael took care of the horses while they waited for Florrie, Robert had little to amuse himself but the wood he was carving. So he watched Adam too much, making Adam feel like an invalid everyone had to tiptoe around.

“She should be back by now,” Adam said, for what had to be the fifth time. Even feeling bleary, he knew he was repeating himself.

Robert sighed. “I understand your concern for her, but this is her sister’s home. Nothing will happen to Florrie. It might happen to us, of course,” he added nonchalantly.

“Florrie will be able to convince her sister,” Adam insisted.

Robert grinned. “See? There is nothing to fear.”

Adam wanted to pace his frustration, but the last time he’d tried that, he’d found himself staggering into a tree trunk. It was humiliating to be so humbled.

He suddenly heard Michael’s birdcall, the sign that all was well. And then Florrie came from between the trees, and Adam remembered how to breathe. She was smiling with such belief in herself that he was jolted. How had she become this magnificent woman, raised as she’d been?

She came right to him, and instead of hugging him or taking his hand, as she would a man she’d shared intimacies with, she felt his forehead.

He ducked away in annoyance. The world seemed to tilt, and then both Florrie and Robert had his arms. Feeling shaky, Adam let them help him sit, then shook off their concern. “How did you fare?” he asked Florrie tersely.

“Christina will help us. She believed my story of the three of you as Father’s men, escorting me
to London. But I was still worried about drawing attention, so I told her I would only bring you in, Adam.”

Robert heaved a good-natured sigh.

“We will not be long,” Adam said.

“You need at least a full day’s rest,” Florrie scoffed. “Robert, we will contact you by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

Michael had approached silently, and now spoke. “Until then, we will keep watch.”

“What excitement,” Robert said dryly. “If I would have known I would miss all the good things, I would have stayed home.”

“And what good things will you miss?” Florrie demanded. “The part where I keep your brother in bed?”

Adam joined the others in staring at her, trying to hide his amusement.

Her face flushed, and she rounded on Adam. “You are too ill to be up and about. You know what I meant.”

Robert chuckled. “I will miss seeing the women of your sister’s home. Perhaps she has beautiful ladies-in-waiting.”

Florrie folded her arms over her chest. “My sister likes to be the most beautiful one, so I doubt it.” Then she glanced at Adam. “Have you removed your spurs? We cannot walk in there looking like we suspiciously left our horses.”

He wanted to rise to his feet, to use his height to intimidate, but his illness didn’t allow it. She was
growing bold, and though he liked it, right now it irritated him.

“Aye, my lady,” he said with sarcasm. “Is there anything else you command, that I might be too foolish to realize?”

He saw the hurt pass over her face, but it was gone quickly. She was too used to hiding her feelings. He felt like a monster. Not caring that his brother and servant watched, Adam caught her arm and pulled until she was sitting on his knee.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “My temper seems uncontrollable, and I say things without thinking.”

“’Tis the fever,” she murmured, her expression once more concerned and tender.

“You have done a wonderful deed, braving an unknown castle for me.”

“’Tis my sister’s home,” she demurred, eyes downcast.

But he’d pleased her, restored her spirits, and that was all that mattered. He let her go, then rose to his feet, putting a hand on her shoulder when the weakness overtook him again.

He glanced at his men. “I will return soon, and we will finish what we started.”

Both men nodded, but Adam noticed that Florrie looked away.

Though he wanted to walk unassisted, Florrie slid beneath his arm and took it across her shoulders.

“Let me help you through the trees,” she said. “Because once we reach the road, it will look too suspicious for you to be seen in such a weakened state. The guards might think we bring the plague to them.”

“You are getting very good at disguises,” Adam said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He had to think about that, rather than the way the entire length of her body was pressed to his. Even ill, he couldn’t stop wanting her.

Before she could answer, Robert called, “I have been teaching her much while you’ve been unconscious.”

Adam rolled his eyes while Florrie giggled. At last they began to walk through the trees. They had to skirt low-growing brush and step over tree roots, and he found himself reluctantly thankful for her sturdy support. He really must be weaker than he thought. Surely time should have assisted his recovery, but it had not. He had accepted Florrie’s suggestion for medicine and healing, because he could not allow himself to fail. He kept telling himself that, but inside he felt growing doubts that he did not want to heed.

When they approached the main road to the castle, Adam stepped away from her and had to pause while weakness made him unsteady. The road to the drawbridge and gatehouse seemed interminable, and with every step he took, he felt ever slower. Florrie kept looking at him with
worry, and finally, he stopped glancing at her. It was like seeing his weakness in her eyes. He wanted to be strong for her, to protect her from danger. But she was the one protecting
him
now, and that confused him.

Or perhaps it was the fever.

As they passed beneath the gatehouse, where darkness briefly descended, he imagined the portcullis concealed in the ceiling above them. With one cry of alarm, the guards would lower it, and the sharp metal points would plummet.

But no one seemed suspicious. Several guards were standing together as he and Florrie passed. With her hood down, she even gave the men a smile, and one guard elbowed the other.

Adam gritted his teeth and kept moving, his legs as heavy as if he walked through water. Surely they were being watched the whole way across the inner ward, for his back felt as hot as a target.

But it was the fever. His strength continued to ebb, and Florrie seemed almost far away at his side. He found himself squinting at her in confusion.

She put her arm around his waist. “Adam, how do you fare?” she whispered. “’Tis not much farther. Christina will have a chamber for us.”

He only shook his head, for words seemed too difficult.

After that, events slid together. He knew by the sudden coolness that they’d entered the great
hall of the keep. Florrie murmured something about finding the garderobe as if she had to relieve herself, and his befuddled brain remembered that that had been part of the plan for them, as two strangers, to leave the great hall. Down a corridor, he saw a woman waiting for them. She gaped up at him, and he wondered if this was Christina, and if she already regretted her agreement.

But she beckoned them onward, and he wanted to groan. He did not think he could walk much farther, and already Florrie labored beneath his weight. But at last they were inside a bedchamber with a bed. He staggered toward it, and it rushed up to meet him.

Florrie gave a soft cry as Adam fell forward. Even though he landed on the bed, she feared for him. “Christina, help me roll him onto his back.”

Her sister nervously came forward. “He is so much…bigger than I imagined.”

“He is a knight,” Florrie said distractedly. She felt absurdly proud of him.

Between the two of them, they helped him onto his back. Adam murmured something unintelligible, and Florrie prayed that he would not reveal anything important. She wanted to brush the hair from his face, see if his fever had worsened—but her sister was here, watching her too closely now, and Florrie knew she had to pretend only friendship and concern, not betray
the absolute fear and worry that consumed her. Adam was unconscious now, his chest rising and falling too swiftly.

“’Tis difficult to imagine you alone with him,” Christina said.

Florrie wanted to demand the herbs and the peace with which to work, but she could not risk offending her sister. “Is that because you seldom saw men pursue me?”

Christina blinked at her in surprise. “I…had not thought of it that way, but I imagine you are correct.”

“Well, Sir Edmund is a knight,” she said, using Adam’s false name. “He was hired for this assignment. But he is a good man, and to see him like this…” Her voice failed her, and it took every bit of her restraint to keep from crying over his condition.

“Then we must make him well,” Christina said firmly. “You need him to take you to London, so you can see all the wonders therein. I brought you my supply of herbs.”

Florrie gave her a grateful smile. Over the next hour, the sisters worked side by side. Florrie stripped Adam of his tunic and shirt, and though she caught her sister’s surprised glance, Christina said nothing. How could Christina be surprised at her efficiency with the sick? Florrie had often been the one they came to for help, but perhaps Christina simply hadn’t noticed.

She was noticing more than that now, and Flo
rrie couldn’t blame her. Adam’s chest was wide and firm with muscle, his body well suited for combat.

But the sight of his stained bandage made Florrie forget everything else. While Christina was steeping willow bark in hot water for his fever, Florrie crushed the herbs yarrow and comfrey to make a poultice. After struggling to prop Adam on his side, she laid the paste over the long wound, then covered it with strips of cloth dipped in hot water. She repeated this over many hours, hoping to draw away the infection. Christina came and went, bringing food for Florrie and broth for Adam, which Florrie spooned to his mouth occasionally.

Once, he opened his eyes and seemed to really see her. He searched her face, his expression confused and even yearning. He lifted a trembling hand and touched her cheek. She wanted to cup it against her, hold him close. But his hand dropped back to the bed as he fell asleep again. She found herself wiping away tears of confusion and pain.

As the hours dragged by, Florrie lost focus of everything but Adam, and as she touched his cheek too tenderly, murmuring, “Get well, Adam, please,” she forgot that her sister had come back into the bedchamber.

“Adam?” Christina echoed in surprise. “I thought you said his name is Edmund.”

Florrie kept her gaze on Adam, knowing her sister would read the truth in her eyes. “Forgive me. I am so tired I do not know what I say.”

“Nay, you knew what you said,” Christina replied, taking her arm and pulling her to the far side of the chamber.

Florrie found herself trembling more than when she’d been physically attacked. Adam was defenseless, and she only had her own wits to see them through.

“I cannot talk about this, Christina,” she said forcefully. “Father gave him specific instructions for our journey to London that have nothing to do with me. He has a special mission to fulfill.”

“But he has two names.”

Florrie only shrugged.

“And I saw the way he looked at you.”

Florrie narrowed her eyes. “I cannot help what he does in this state. But I can only take your meaning as one thing. A man shouldn’t look at me at all. Do even
you
think I belong in the convent?” She held her breath, praying that she was handling this the right way.

Christina’s face crumpled into concern, and she gripped Florrie’s upper arms. “Nay, do not think that! I am hoping this journey to London leads to a better life for you. Though I’ve spent my life feeling the pressure of father’s expectations, I think in many ways it was so much worse for you, because he had no expectations at all.”

All the stiffness went out of Florrie in a rush of amazement.

“And yet…I always envied your ability to let nothing bother you,” Christina admitted, looking guilty. “And sometimes I was angry at you for that.”

Could it really be true that Florrie had never understood her sisters at all? Or at least Christina. Or was it maturity that made them both look at their childhood in a different way?

She hugged her sister hard. “Trust me, my dear,” she whispered into Christina’s ear. “I cannot tell you everything, but I promise to someday.”

“Then I will accept that,” Christina said as they separated.

They looked at each other, smiling, and then Florrie heard Adam groan.

“Tend to him,” Christina said. “I will see you on the morrow.”

When Adam awoke, dawn had already passed, by the light piercing through the window shutters. Though he felt exhausted, for the first time in a while his mind seemed to be functioning. With his head propped on a cushion, he was able to see the small chamber—and Florrie, standing in the center of the room, wearing only a cloth wrapped around her. He froze, not quite certain what was going on. She looked more exhausted than he felt, with smudged shadows beneath her eyes. Taking care of
him
had put them there. He told himself
that she would take care of any ill person, but that did not stop the feeling of tenderness that tightened his chest.

But now she was taking care of herself. There was a basin of water on the table, and he realized that she was standing on a towel. She rinsed a facecloth in water, dabbed it in a crock of soap, then began to wash first one arm, and then the other. She did not look at him, so he was able to stare at her from beneath lowered eyelids.