A Knight's Temptation Page 3

  Ilisa stoked the fire a little higher and placed Hilda’s baking stone near the flames to heat. Then she filled a small pot with a bit of water and placed it on the pot hook over the flames to warm.

  Baking was difficult enough but attempting it in someone else’s home made the task even more so as she wasn’t certain where everything was stored. After some searching, she collected a clay bowl, a spoon, along with the barley flour and salt.

  The flat bread didn’t require any rising but would have to rest after she mixed it. The biggest hurdle was estimating the right amount of each ingredient. It would be better with oil or fat of some sort, or butter. But if Hilda had any stashed away, Ilisa had yet to discover it.

  With her back to Braden, she put a good amount of the flour in the bowl, added a pinch of salt, then checked the water in the pot. Finding it warm, she used the ladle to put some in her bowl and mixed the lot of it.

  “Any luck?” Braden asked.

  Her breath caught at his words as she’d been so intent on her task. “Too much water.” The dough stuck to the sides of the bowl. She added a bit more flour and mixed until she could handle it with her hands. After sprinkling flour on the table, she kneaded the dough with the heel of her hands. With no leavening in the bread, she didn’t knead for long, else it would become tough.

  The dough formed into a smooth ball, just as it was supposed to. “What do you think?” She lifted the ball to show Braden, proud of her accomplishment, only to realize her mistake. A knight would have no interest in a ball of dough, nor would he know if she’d done it properly.

  To her surprise, he eyed it carefully. “Looks just as it should.”

  She narrowed her eyes, certain he teased her. “Have you seen dough before?”

  “Of course. Chanse has made it during our travels several times.”

  “Truly?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.” The quiet way he spoke the words had her considering him more closely.

  Though he spoke of bread, he seemed to mean something more. With a mental shake of her head at her wayward thoughts, she returned the dough to the bowl and draped it with a cloth to let it rest. She turned the baking stone in the fire to heat more evenly, hoping the fire was the right intensity for baking bread. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to tell.

  After washing her hands, she moved to Braden’s side. “Shall we look at the wound?”

  He sat up, the bed linens falling to his hips.

  She bit her lip. Hard. Anything to keep her gaze from moving over his body. That was a lie because her gaze moved over him anyway. Lord, but the man was massive, his muscles rippling with each movement. She felt weak just looking at him.

  Her physical reaction was ridiculous, especially considering she intended to take her vows at St. Mary’s in the autumn. If asked, she would’ve said she had no interest in marrying, nor in men. Not after what she’d witnessed them do during the siege. She gave a little shudder at the memories.

  “What is it?” Braden’s gentle question had her lifting her gaze to meet his.

  She blinked to force away the images. “Nothing.” After untying the knot near his side, she reached around him several times to unwind the wrap. The heat of his body seeped into her as she worked, making her all the more aware of him.

  Then the wrap came off to reveal the deep gash. Her stomach clenched at the sight as if she were the one hurt. As bad as the wound looked, it had improved. The skin around it was no longer an angry red but dark pink. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to gently touch the area, feeling for heat as she’d seen Hilda do. Though she was no expert, the skin near the wound didn’t seem any warmer than the rest of him.

  “Looks to be improving,” Braden said.

  “Indeed.” She pressed a bit harder, wanting to be certain no puss emerged.

  “Ow.” Braden frowned but held completely still.

  “My apologies. I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t festering.”

  He nodded. “I believe I’m going to survive.”

  “Good.” She withdrew her hands, but he reached for one and held it tight, surprising her.

  “I thought perhaps you’d prefer me to perish.”

  She dropped her gaze, taken aback that he’d noticed her mixed feelings. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  He placed a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t think you care for knights. Especially English ones.”

  “I...can’t say that I do.” She could at least be honest. He’d helped save her life and deserved that much. She held still, bracing herself for his reaction. A moment passed before she realized she didn’t need to fear how he might react. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. In fact, he’d do anything in his power to avoid doing so.

  The realization had her swallowing hard. Or was it because his warm brown eyes held her gaze so intently, with such concern?

  “I hope that in our brief time together, I can convince you that not all of us are bad.” The low timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

  You already have. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t speak them. What she thought she felt at this moment wasn’t necessarily true. Braden an English knight, and he didn’t fit in with her plans to take her vows.

  He might be in her life for the moment, but he clashed with both her past and her future.

  “Perhaps.” That was as much as she could give him. Admitting anything more would serve no purpose.

  She tugged her hand, and he released it. The rough calluses on his palm only served to remind her of who he was—a knight who wielded a sword.

  “I must see to the bread.” Anything to step away from this man who unsettled her so.

  ~*~

  Braden woke shortly after first light the following morn. Both Ilisa and Alec had already risen and left the cottage. He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the ground, feeling as weak as a kitten.

  He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Though far from ready to pick up his sword, he needed to start somewhere. Lying in bed would gain him little. The sooner he was up and about the better.

  Balancing on unsteady legs, he stood, willing his body to cooperate. He gathered his clothes from where they hung on a peg and returned to sit on the bed once again. Dizziness accompanied the weakness, but he pulled on his tunic and chausses then his boots, moving slowly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, doing as much as he could with one hand.

  Even the small task of dressing exhausted him and had his shoulder aching like a bad tooth. But he was determined. He drew a deep breath, stood, and made his way across the cottage, annoyed when he had to reach out a hand to steady himself. Then he opened the door and stepped outside, surprised at how light-headed he felt.

  “Braden!” Ilisa rushed toward him from where she’d been tending the garden. “What are you doing?” She took his arm as if to force him to return to bed.

  “Regaining my strength.” He patted her hand but didn’t budge.

  “Sir Braden,” Alec called as he entered the clearing. “You’re up and about.” His grin lightened Braden’s heart.

  “More or less,” Braden responded. He ruffled the boy’s hair when he stopped before him. “I considered remaining in bed so you and Lady Ilisa might keep doing all the chores.”

  “We don’t mind, do we, Ilisa?” Alec asked as he looked at his sister.

  “Nay, we do not. Which is why you should go back inside.” She tugged on his arm again.

  He liked that she continued to hold him. If only she did so out of affection rather than to nag him. “I’m going to walk around the meadow. Nothing overly strenuous, I promise. Mayhap you should escort me just to be certain I don’t stumble.” He raised a brow suggestively, wondering if she realized he teased her.

  “Of cour—” She paused mid-word when she glanced at him, his meaning at last sinking in. The consternation on her face was so adorable he had to chuckle. She dropped his arm with a scowl, but the curve a
t the corner of her mouth ruined it. “Alec would be pleased to walk with you.”

  Alec laughed. “Aye, I’d be pleased to, Sir Braden. Though I doubt you’ll have need of my help.”

  Braden smiled at Ilisa as he made to follow Alec. The corner of her mouth twitched again. One of these days, he hoped to coax frequent smiles from her. She was far too somber.

  “If we stay out of her way, she might bake more bread,” Alec said as he turned to watch Ilisa enter the cottage.

  “She did well with her first attempt.”

  “A bit bland by itself but eaten with a piece of cheese...” A contented smile took over Alec’s lips. “Tasty.”

  “Very.”

  Alec eyed his slow progress. “Are you certain this isn’t too much? We don’t want you to have a setback.”

  “I won’t be able to go much farther.” As he spoke, a wave of weariness swept over him, catching him by surprise. How he detested the feeling of weakness. He halted, trying to focus on the glorious view rather than the way he felt. Anything but the way he felt.

  “You need something to break your fast before you try again,” Alec said with a note of understanding in his tone.

  Braden smiled. “No doubt you’re right. How did you come to be so wise?”

  “I often listen to my sisters, but please don’t tell them I said as much. They’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “I don’t think that changes even when you grow older.” With reluctance, he turned toward the cottage. Frustration poured through him as he realized he hadn’t made it more than twenty steps.

  “Do you have sisters?”

  “Nay. Only Chanse. But my mother is very wise, and I try to follow her advice.” He was like her in many ways. He had her brown eyes, her temperament, and one other amazing gift he’d inherited from her. A gift he had to keep hidden from the world. “I have a female cousin though, Garrick’s younger sister. She might as well have been our sister too.”

  “Women.” Alec shook his head.

  “Let me tell you a secret.” Braden leaned close and spoke in a whisper. “We need them far more than they need us.” He winked then slowly walked toward the cottage, wondering if he could make it that far.

  After the mid-day meal, Braden slept, a deep dreamless sleep that had him waking feeling better than he had since Garrick, Sophia, and Chanse had left. He had the cottage to himself and decided to try to walk in the clearing again.

  This attempt progressed better than the first, giving him hope he might be on the path to recovery. Clouds hung in the distance, and he had no doubt they’d soon cover the entire sky. Alec was most likely fishing again, something Braden appreciated as hunger gnawed at him once more. He didn’t know where Ilisa might be. Somewhere safe, he hoped. He needed to remind them both to take care. If they didn’t at least tell him where they ventured, how could he guard them? Both were too independent for their own good.

  Without anyone to witness his movements, he raised the arm with the shoulder wound, cursing when he couldn’t lift it past his hip. That would never do. He was supposed to be protecting Ilisa and Alec. The way he felt, they’d have to save him instead, should anyone invade Hilda’s home.

  Would someone come?

  That was the burning question. Braden reviewed the events of the past fortnight. Sir Gilbert de Umfraville, the man who’d replaced Ilisa’s eldest brother as governor of Berwick, had been willing to take drastic measures to force Sophia to marry him. Braden had the feeling that he’d be almost equally pleased to take Ilisa in her place. Sir Gilbert bore a grudge against William and wouldn’t hesitate to use William’s family for revenge.

  Yet Sir Gilbert had let all of them go when Braden, Chanse, and Garrick had come to free Sophia and Ilisa. Granted, he would’ve had a hell of a fight on his hands if he’d tried to hold them, and the odds hadn’t been in his favor.

  The most alarming news they’d uncovered when they’d confronted Sir Gilbert was that he hadn’t been behind the attempt on Sophia’s life. If they believed him, Lord James Graham, a man intent on seeing a true Scot on Scotland’s throne, had ordered the death of the entire Douglas family, supposedly because he believed they favored England over Scotland.

  Braden had to assume that order hadn’t changed in the few days since they’d last been in Berwick. Who Graham might send next to kill Ilisa or Alec was a mystery. He’d hired a stranger, then the butcher who worked in Berwick, to kill Sophia and Garrick as well. Braden might not be pleased to have been left behind, but he was glad Sophia and Garrick had returned home to England.

  Protecting against a faceless foe was difficult. With a sigh, Braden paused, unwilling to go too far. The idea of collapsing and Ilisa finding him had him turning to walk back across the clearing.

  Waiting for the lord to decide who and when to attack put them on the defense, which was not a position he preferred. Added to that was the realization that they couldn’t remain at Hilda’s much longer. But how could he take the offense when there was no one to fight?

  Mayhap the answer was to seek information on Graham. That might mean traveling deeper into Scotland. Though he would’ve welcomed the idea with Garrick and Chanse at his side, doing so on his own seemed foolhardy. The fact that he was English was enough to rouse suspicions. He’d find himself in trouble all too quickly, of that he had no doubt. Nor did he want to leave Ilisa and Alec unless he knew they were well protected.

  What choices did that leave?

  He’d have to consider the matter further over the next few days. His priority was to regain his strength and keep Ilisa and Alec safe.

  “You’re up and about again?” Ilisa’s voice called to him from the trees.

  He pasted a smile on his face and greeted her, hoping she didn’t see how much this brief walk had exhausted him. “I am.”

  She drew closer, a basket hanging over her arm, studying him closely until he felt as if he had no more secrets. If only that were true. When she learned his biggest one, she’d run screaming from him.

  He could only hope she never discovered it.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked, glancing into the basket. “Cherries?”

  “Only a few. ’Tis a little early, but I wanted to pick what looked ripe before the birds took them all.” She selected one and held it to his mouth. “Would you like one? They’re very good.”

  His gaze swung to her mouth, wishing she offered him a taste of her instead. The cherries would taste much better on her. He reprimanded himself. He was here to protect her, not to kiss her. He took the fruit she offered, enjoying the tart flavor. “You’re right. Delicious.”

  “Alec mentioned he saw some on his way to fish. We’ll have some with our supper this evening.”

  “I look forward to it.” He turned to open the cottage door for her, more than ready to seek his bed again.

  She preceded him inside, set the basket on the table, and moved to the fire to stir it and add wood. “Are you feeling brave enough to try one of Hilda’s remedies?”

  He sat on his bed to rest, wondering if he could keep his eyes open long enough for it to be prepared. Then again, if it would quicken his recovery, he’d try nearly anything. “Why not?”

  “The seaweed is supposed to be boiled in milk, but we have none. We’ll have to make do with wine.” She moved quickly about the cottage, pouring a bit of wine into a pot with dried seaweed then placing its handle on the pot hook over the fire. She retrieved a cup and added a good measure of honey into it.

  He must’ve dozed off as she finished preparing it but woke when she sat on the side of his bed.

  “Try this.” She held out a steaming cup.

  He smelled it first, not finding it too terrible, so tried a sip. “Not bad.”

  “Good.” She rose to tidy the area as he sipped.

  The more of the potion he drank, the less he cared for the stuff. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Not for the first time, he wished he could aid himself as he aided oth
ers. A quick glance at Ilisa showed her occupied. Though he knew nothing would come of it, he tried placing his hand over the top of his bandage. He closed his eyes and focused, pushing his thoughts internally. But to his disappointment, nothing happened.

  “What are you doing?”

  His eyes popped open as he realized she stood directly beside him, staring down at him with a frown.

  Chapter Three

  Lord James Graham slammed his tankard on the table, spilling ale as he did so. “What did you say?” His deep voice thundered through the great hall.

  The messenger trembled in response. “It seems—” His words came out in a squeak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “It seems the attempt to kill Lady Sophia Douglas failed. She disappeared, along with the knight who aided her.”

  “What of the sister and brother?” James asked.

  “Gone as well. Their cottage in Berwick stands empty. No one has been seen coming or going from it since the...er, meeting at Sir Gilbert’s keep.”

  “How can it be so difficult to kill one woman?” James couldn’t believe it. When he’d ordered the eldest daughter to be killed in the market square over a month ago, he expected confirmation of her death before the sun set. But nay. She’d miraculously escaped harm. The fool hired to do the job had gotten himself caught. James had no choice but to have him killed to make certain he kept his silence.

  He’d plotted more carefully for the second attempt from the safety of his holding near Edinburgh, some distance from Berwick. It should’ve been the perfect scheme to have the two women and Sir Gilbert all eliminated in one move by the butcher from Berwick. But apparently, that had gone awry as well.

  “They can’t have gone far,” James insisted. In his five and fifty winters, he’d never had such trouble having someone killed.

  The man swallowed hard. “The knight who saved Lady Sophia is said to have come back from the dead to do so. He was English—is English.” The man frowned, confused as to how to properly word his report. “Some say he took her with him to the other side.”