She stepped to the rail, too close for his liking. Her fragrance called to him. She’d managed to insinuate herself beneath his skin, making him aware of everything about her.
“You know someone in this part of the country?” Evie sounded surprised.
“Old friend of my father’s.” Stephen hadn’t seen Sir Hugh in two years, but his father maintained regular contact with the men who once served with Richard’s and John’s father, the old King Henry. So few of the old soldiers remained, after all.
They stood in silence and watched the shore draw closer. At last Evie straightened. “I’ll get ready.” She lifted her hems as she turned, but an upsurge of wave nudged the ship, tipping her off-balance.
Stephen’s arms shot out. The intent had been to steady her, but she fell against him. Her hands grasped his waist, and she tilted her head. He froze when her eyes, wide and shocked, met his. Those damned sea-blue eyes sparked like brands to his heart.
The ship did its part again, bucking just enough to send them closer. His arms slid around her, and their mouths met in a frantic kiss. Forbidden now. Hell, it had always been forbidden. Warm, soft, fragrant, alive, Evie represented everything he could never have.
Not that he wanted it.
She jerked back with a gasp, tore herself away, and dashed for the hold. That’s what he should be doing, racing the other way. The thought brought him out of his immobility. With a curse, he headed for the deck cabin to gather the men.
****
Fulk d’Ambrosie glowered at Jacque Courtoise, the one man he trusted to complete a job efficiently.
“Explain your failure.” He heard his own teeth grind when he snapped his mouth shut.
“The boy appeared before I could finish searching. Did you wish me to kill him, as well?”
Courtoise knew he did not. Death of the ship captain’s son solved nothing, unless blame could be placed elsewhere. And since his betrothed’s party were the only others aboard, such an accusation served him not at all.
Fulk stalked across the small room. Two strides. Damned tiny hole. He deserved better. He deserved the best. And after this assignment, he’d have it. Once crowned king, John could at last reward him for the years of dirty jobs, just as promised. Recognized as a baron. Lord of his own extensive holding, wed to a beautiful lady of an influential family.
Not a day too soon, either. He was tired of doing John’s bidding, one secret assignment piled on the next. Occasionally, Fulk wondered if John might consider eliminating him as he’d eliminated so many others. But the thought always died quickly. John rewarded loyalty. Usually. And Fulk never gave cause to doubt the lengths to which he’d go for his liege lord.
If Fulk carried out his own projects now and then, well, so what? Only his own troop knew it, and Fulk trusted each of them as John trusted him. Those who didn’t live up to the trust, didn’t live.
“Are you certain the man died?”
Courtoise canted one shoulder in a shrug. “As certain as my dagger to his back. The fool believed my tale of mistaking their packs for ours. Long enough to turn away to check.”
Fulk paced again—two strides across, two back. He stopped. “Did the boy see you?”
The other man shook his head. “I hid in the stalls. He wouldn’t go there. The horses put on quite the show, reacting to the smell of blood. But the packs I saw contained only mail. The trunks, only ladies’ garments.”
“You said you did not finish?”
“One only. A pack, like the others with the armor. I saw no need to return.”
Grunting, Fulk pursed his lips. Courtoise served him well as sergeant. As good a man as could be bought. If he had found no hidden evidence, then the other travelers were who they said. Fulk allowed a smile to curl one side of his mouth. It seemed his lovely betrothed’s escort might be allowed to continue their journey.
Still, something about Sir Stephen pulled at him, like a dream that eluded recall after waking. Later it might come clear. For now, he’d allow the knight to live.
His mouth drew into a line again. Too damned bad the rest of the men hadn’t arrived before he sailed.
As if hearing the thought, Courtoise said, “The others will follow on the next crossing. I left word at the inn.”
“Good. When they arrive, you’ll start on a special project. Our ‘friend’ reports the Phoenix plans to head for England soon. It’s time to end this game he and I have played these last years. You will see to it. Now”—Fulk reached down to grab his pack—“let’s discover what awaits us ashore.”
****
Evie eyed her betrothed as he prepared to take leave. She saw not one thing amiss in his manner nor his dress. Nor in his words. He bid her a correct farewell, commending her safety to her guards, and vowing to see her as soon as his duties would allow and after he investigated his newly awarded land north of Lincoln. Finally he bowed over her hand, declaring himself fortunate to have won so fair a prize.
Courtly. Distinguished. Considerate.
She ought to be pleased with this arranged connection. Some of the ladies she knew were not so lucky. Bella’s lord numbered three times her years. And Aveline’s husband displayed the personal habits of a pig.
Lord Fulk held a position of esteem with the king-to-be, who showered him with honors, including the title of baron and an extensive holding. At last, she would have her own household to direct, and the land set close enough to Nottinghamshire that she could visit her family occasionally. Soon she might welcome children of her own, something she longed for.
Then why did she not feel happier? Her stomach churned as it had when the ship tossed in the storm. Her wrists itched, and her palms tingled. Clasping her hands, she surreptitiously rubbed them.
“I must admit,” Lord Fulk said as he accepted his horse’s reins, “I’ve yet to visit my new holding, and I have no idea the state of the hall. My seneschal is excellent, and I know the land prospers. As soon as my duties for John are complete, I’ll see what must be done to make it ready for you.”
“Must we rush? I haven’t seen my family in many months.”
“Did your brother not inform you? Our wedding will take place the day after King John is crowned. Think what honor for us, with the king present for our vows.”
Evie stared, his words at last sinking in. “That’s too soon,” she replied on a gasp. “I need more time to prepare.”
Lord Fulk mounted, settled himself, and finally signaled to his sergeant. Only then did he look down, his dark eyes slits, like a forest adder’s she’d once seen. “You will be ready,” he decreed.
His head gave a brief twitch, as if a fly buzzed at his ear, then he focused on her again. This time his mouth curved into a charming smile, and Evie wondered if she’d imagined the other expression.
When he leaned from the saddle to press a cloth-covered object into her hands, murmuring, “For my bride,” she thought she must, indeed, have mistaken it. Opening the cloth, she found an oval cloak pin, studded with green stones. His thoughtfulness sent a pang of guilt through her chest.
Before she could think to thank him, he put spurs to his mount and cantered away. A troop of a half-dozen fell in, the royal standard waving.
“What the hell? Where did they all come from?” Macsen’s guttural curse rumbled from her left. A leather pack slung over one shoulder and one of her small chests balanced on the other, he glowered at the retreating figures.
“They were waiting when we landed,” came Stephen’s reply, from her right.
Evie had not been aware the two flanked her. Turning, she spied the others, arranged in a tight block. They’d stood so quietly, again, she’d not known of the solid phalanx at her back. Protecting her.
An unexpected burn centered behind her eyes. She blinked rapidly. It wouldn’t do to reveal just how much their protectiveness touched her. Not until the men had completed strapping the luggage to a horse did she wonder at their previous show of force. Lord Fulk was her betrothed, after all. Of all people, she should be safe with him.
But then she knew how jealously Henry and Roark, her brother-in-law, shielded anyone under their protection. Especially when they disliked the one they considered a threat. She recalled some of the young pages and squires at home who postured at any perceived challenge to their prowess, any challenge to the territory they claimed as their own.
Evie smiled.
Boys. They never grow up
.
Macsen helped her into the saddle, while Stephen spoke with the ship’s captain, then handed off a small bag. Warmth flashed up her neck, into her cheeks. Never once had she considered the cost of this journey. She’d be sure Stephen had his coin returned in full measure when she arrived home.
He spared no glance for her as he met with Macsen and the others. A litter had been attached behind William’s horse, and Matthew had been placed there as soon as Lord Fulk’s party rode out. Stephen knelt beside the injured knight and spoke. After a moment, he nodded, clasped Matthew on his uninjured shoulder, and rose.
She admired the play of muscles that flashed from the folds of his drab tunic as he strode to his mount and effortlessly swung up. All his men dressed in ordinary clothing, nothing like the embroidered surcoat Lord Fulk favored today, nor even the rich garb worn by the guards who had arrived to accompany him. Stephen and his band blended with the countryside in their browns and rusts. How had she not noticed before?
The answer to that question was all too obvious. He rode toward her now.
For the past days, all she’d been able to think about was Stephen. How he appeared.
What he said. The way her heart raced when he neared.
Sweet Mary, she was such a fool.
Her betrothed yet rode within sight, and here she sat, hoping for a smile—a glance—from another. Another who clearly wanted to be elsewhere. If not for that one night when he’d held her so tenderly, kissed her so passionately, he might be a stranger.
He reined his gelding next to her but trained his eyes on the men, who were mounting. “We ride slowly, but our destination is well within a day’s journey. Matthew will remain there until he recovers.”
At last his eyes met hers, and she felt the same sinking sensation as when she looked to the ground from high atop the castle roof.
No words sprung readily to her lips, so she nodded as he rode on. After he left, all the questions she should have asked popped into her mind. Where were they going? Where would they spend the night? How long before she saw home? Why had he pulled away from her these last days?
Disgust hummed in her throat. Why could she not remove Stephen of Rively from her mind? Her heart? Those two questions must become the source of prayers over the next days.
Because Evie dreaded what might come of her marriage if she couldn’t do so.
She clutched the reins and urged her mare forward. “Sir Stephen,” she called.
He turned to watch her approach. His brows lifted.
“Where will we stay this night?” she asked.
“Sir Hugh at Connelly Manor. He’s a friend of my father’s and can be trusted.”
“Will we be long on the road after today?”
Stephen narrowed his lips. “If we keep to the route laid out, we should see home in a sennight.”
“That long? I hoped we might make better time.”
“We may,” Stephen allowed. “It depends on weather and”—he glanced away—“weather.”
What had he intended to say? Dread seeped through Evie, making her previous worry over the betrothal shrivel into insignificance. Perhaps Stephen thought trouble followed from the ship. Her fingers trailed a brief pass across her forehead, pressing out a frown. She refused to let him see any trace of concern.
If only the chill of uncertainty hadn’t lingered. The image of Matthew, lying bloodied on her bunk, formed in her mind. Who wished them ill?
Her apprehension must have shown, for Stephen drew his horse closer and placed a hand on her arm. “Any danger is behind us. The men discovered the culprit. A thief among the sailors, and the captain has taken care of it.”
Evie nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing. There. She worried over nothing. Sucking in a breath, she forced a smile.
“Make ready now,” Stephen said. “We must ride.”
****
By midday, clouds had blotted the weak sun, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Just what he needed. Stephen rode back to the litter where Matthew lay.
“How goes it with you?” Not well, he could see plainly.
Matthew nodded, his skin white around clenched mouth. “I can ride,” he insisted.
“No need yet. We’ll reach Connelly before the rain.” Stephen managed a light tone and a nod, despite his concern. Matthew’s lethargy troubled him. The dagger must have done more damage than he’d been able to see, or the rangy little knight would be foraging ahead as usual. Hell, three years earlier, the man recovered from a lance to the side faster than this.
Stephen sent a look over his shoulder. Evie rode with easy grace still, although he’d not called a halt since before midday. Even if she felt like tumbling from the saddle, she’d not show it. Stubborn. Determined to prove she could perform the same as his men. Except she had no idea what such a thing involved. He nearly missed the flicker of exhaustion, the curved back, before she straightened and composed her face once more.
Damn, he had to stop. Driving her like this was unconscionable. However, the clouds scudded closer, dropping lower, ominous now in their murky, wood-smoke gray. Even a brief pause might mean a drenching for Matthew. Stephen had no doubt in Evie’s resilience. He feared the outcome of a fever for Matthew.
He had no choice but to continue. Connelly must be near.
Overhead, thunder rumbled, like wooden catapults lumbering toward a besieged castle.
God knew Stephen had heard enough of that sound in the past years. He stretched his head back, then forward, to relieve tension. Soon, soon this constant fighting must end. He was weary of it. And weary of the lies.
Fat, cold raindrops harried the party toward Sir Hugh’s manor, but the expected storm failed to materialize. Still, everyone was damp and in danger of a chill by the time the fortified manor appeared in the distance.