One Knight in the Forest: A Medieval Romance Novella Read online

  While Cyn didn’t agree with the way King John ruled England, he was a knight of the realm and a crown-appointed sheriff. He was duty-bound to be loyal to the King, whoever that King might be, just as he was duty-bound to arrest William if he’d just confessed to treason. “You have turned traitor, then,” Cyn said, dreading but needing to hear confirmation of what he suspected.

  William shook his head. “I thought you knew me better than that. I have infiltrated the ranks of traitors not to become one, but to send information on them back to the crown.”

  Cyn sucked in a breath. “Are you saying—?”

  “Aye, I am a spy.”

  ***

  A spy.

  Lying in the dark cavity in the floor, Magdalen smothered a gasp. How she wanted to believe William. Was that the truth, though? Or, knowing Cyn’s strict code of honor, had William just said what he thought Cyn wanted to hear?

  Her eyes burned, and not just from the cold or the dust coating the floor. She wanted William to be innocent of wrongdoing. He was a loving husband, doting father, and had always been kind to her. She’d never forget his expression when he looked upon his newborn son for the first time; William had wept tears of joy and wrapped his arms around Edwina and their babe, then kissed them both, so tenderly.

  If he was a spy, wouldn’t he have told Cyn? It made no sense that William would have withheld such crucial information.

  As though attuned to her thoughts, Cyn said, “You should have told me you were spying for the King.”

  “I took an oath.”

  “When? During your meeting in the forest days ago?”

  “How the hell do you know about that?”

  “I know most things that go on in these woods,” Cyn answered.

  “If you must know, I took the oath months ago. I did not confide in you because I wanted to act alone. I did not want anyone else in danger, especially my wife and child. Now, what has happened to the missive? Does Magdalen still have it, or do you?”

  “I do.”

  “I must have it back, Cyn.”

  “Why? You know when and where the murder is to take place.”

  “I need the missive…” William swore again, a bitter sound of frustration. “’Tis part of the proof I am gathering, which I will forward on to the King’s men.”

  Cyn was silent a long moment. Magdalen heard the scrape of boots on the rug, as though he’d shifted position in his chair. “Tell me, is there a greater reason for what you are doing? I sense there is more to your actions than just demonstrating your loyalty to the crown.”

  “There is. If the information I have gathered pleases the King, he will grant me an estate closer to London. Edwina likes Glemstow well enough, but she has always wanted to live near the great city. If I can achieve dream that for her, I will, especially if I am granted a fine castle that Timothy will one day inherit.”

  Shivering, Magdalen drew the blanket closer about her neck. Edwina had told her how much she loved the excitement and wonderful shopping in London, and that she’d always longed to live within a morning’s journey of the city. If William had spoken the truth, ’twas most romantic and generous of him to try and realize that dream for Edwina.

  “This proof you mentioned a moment ago,” Cyn said. “Will that also include the vial spoken of in the letter?”

  William cleared his throat, a nervous sound.

  “Magdalen could not find the vial,” Cyn pressed, “although she searched for it.”

  “Magdalen.” William groaned. “Why did she have to become involved? ’Twould have been so much simpler if she had never found the missive.”

  A dull ache clenched her innards, and her hands tightened on the blanket. She hadn’t intended to find the missive; it had just happened.

  “Tell me, William. Did the vial accompany the missive, or—”

  “I received it a few days after the letter,” William muttered.

  “’Tis hidden in the castle?”

  “Aye. I will not say where, but I hid the vial separately from the letter. The vial has a cork stopper tied with twine, and I feared the vial might leak. I did not want anyone to be accidentally poisoned.”

  “You will have it, though, when you are to meet Redmond at the tavern on the twenty-first.”

  “I have to take it. I must prove to my watchers that I intend to go through with the killing.”

  “Will you? Go through with the murder?”

  William made a sound of disgust. “Of course not! I was supposed to meet with my contact from London yesterday, to share what I had recently learned. He had promised to send men-at-arms to the tavern on the arranged day, to protect me and to arrest the traitors I recognized there, but with the storm and the hunt for Magdalen…”

  Guilt poked at Magdalen’s conscience, and then anger stirred within her. She blinked to ease her stinging eyes. She wasn’t responsible for William’s decisions. She was only responsible for her own, and she’d done what she’d thought was right.

  “None of this situation is Magdalen’s fault,” Cyn said.

  The firmness of his tone brought a lump to her throat.

  “Well, I see where your loyalties lie,” William muttered.

  “You know I am right.”

  “Nay, Cyn. What I know is that I have told you far too much. You still will not give me the missive, and you are protecting the woman who, if she confided in the wrong person, could jeopardize my holdings, my life, and the lives of those I dearly love. I ask you one last time; give me back the letter.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why?”

  “Every day in these lands, good men—honorable lords, just like you and I—are breaking their vow to the King in order to undermine his authority.”

  “So they may be,” William said. “But—”

  “Forsaking one’s sworn duty is wrong. So is murder.”

  “I told you, I do not intend to commit murder!”

  “I hope not. All that I have seen and heard so far, though, indicates you are one of the lords who has turned traitor.”

  Silence lagged, and then she heard the thump of boots overhead; William had risen from the chair. “God’s bones, Cyn. Do you really believe I have forsaken our King?”

  “As sheriff, I—”

  “Forget your damned duties for one moment! You and I have been friends since we were boys. You know me. Do you not trust me, even after all I have done for you? Especially after what happened on Crusade?”

  In the darkness, Magdalen held her breath. Waited.

  Cyn didn’t answer.

  Chapter Ten

  William stormed out of the room, slamming the front door of the house behind him. A merciless headache had settled in Cyn’s skull, and leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his fingers over his brow and closed his eyes.

  What a bloody mess. Did he believe that William was spying for the King, or did he accept that his best friend was a traitor? Anguish lanced through Cyn, for William had always been a steadfast friend. To lose that friendship would be akin to losing part of his soul, and yet, naught was more important than a nobleman’s duty to the crown.

  The code of chivalry defined every part of a knight’s existence. His existence. Serving the King had become Cyn’s reason to live when he’d lost all faith not only in others, but in himself. Never would he forsake his duty.

  A shrill whine drew Cyn’s gaze to Lancelot, standing by his chair. He patted the dog and then rose to set a few more logs on the fire. Brushing off his hands, he waited until he heard Borden enter the house, a sure sign that William and his men had ridden away.

  With Borden’s help, Cyn removed the section of planks.

  A frigid draft wafted from the hiding spot. As light spilled in, he found Magdalen still wrapped in her blanket, lying with one arm covering her face. Her shoulders shook, and he heard muffled sniffles.

  Concern gripped him. Had she hurt herself while being shut inside the cavity? She might have knocked her bandaged leg.


  “Magdalen? Are you in pain?”

  She didn’t look at him, but sniffled again.

  He hated seeing a woman cry. Remorse tore through him as he knelt beside the opening in the floor. “Magdalen, answer me. Are you in pain?”

  “Nay,” she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

  He exhaled a sigh of relief as he sank back on his heels. Discomfort wasn’t the reason for her tears, but he’d still like to know why she was upset. However, she didn’t need to stay in that unpleasant hiding place a moment longer. “Come, Magdalen. I have just stoked the fire, so you can get warm.”

  She slowly lowered her arm. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, and strands of hair stuck to her tear-streaked face. Her lips pressed together, trapping a sob, as he reached out his hand to help her up and out of the cavity. Her fingers were ice cold.

  Taking her in his arms, he carried her to the fire and set her down on the hearth tiles beside the dogs. He returned to the cavity, where he and Borden swiftly restored the planks and order to the room.

  “I will go and make an herbal infusion,” Borden said, leaving the room. Cyn crossed to the hearth and dropped down beside Magdalen, who wiped her eyes on a corner of her blanket.

  “Why are you crying?” he gently asked.

  “Because…” She shuddered.

  “Because?”

  “I…am a-afraid.”

  His heart twisted in his chest. He longed to pull her into his embrace, but her rigid posture warned that she wouldn’t accept his comfort easily. “Do not worry,” he soothed. “’Twill be—”

  “Nay! William is a traitor. Edwina mi-might be in terrible danger, because of me. I never w-wanted—” Her words trailed off on a moan.

  “Shh.” He leaned in to kiss her hair. Even with grime smudging her face and blanket, she smelled of flowers. How he ached to hold her in his arms, to feel her warmth against him, to assure her that she didn’t have to endure her anguish alone.

  As she continued to weep, he kissed her hair again, murmured tender words, and then, when he could bear her torment no longer, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his chair. He sat, drawing her onto his lap.

  She stiffened and clutched the front edges of her blanket, readying to scramble free. He pulled her against him, so that her head settled against his shoulder, while her legs draped sideways over his own. He waited, patient and silent, while she warmed up and her sobs slowly diminished.

  Borden brought mugs of his herbal drink and then left. Chopping sounds carried from the kitchen, along with the occasional clank of metal and the smell of cooking vegetables.

  Cyn handed Magdalen a mug of infusion and sipped his own. At last, both hands around her mug, she met his gaze, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “What can we do? We must do something.”

  “We?” He shook his head. “I will—”

  “I want to help. I must, since I am partly responsible for—”

  “You are not responsible,” he muttered. “You were trying to stop a killing: an entirely worthy endeavor. Now, ’tis my job as sheriff to ensure that Redmond is kept safe and that those who arranged the murder are captured.”

  Mutiny sparked in her eyes. “I will not sit here and wait for all to be resolved.”

  “You might have to, with your injured leg.”

  She scowled. She looked so endearing, he fought a tender smile.

  Magdalen huffed. “Do not laugh at me.”

  “Of course not.”

  She squinted at him. “Why is the corner of your mouth twitching?”

  He could fight it no longer. Chuckling, he smoothed his right hand down her cheek. “You are quite lovely when you are determined.”

  Her gaze sharpened further, but he’d glimpsed a hint of mirth in her eyes. “Is that your way of saying that I can help you?”

  “Nay.” Shifting in the chair, while maintaining his hold on her, he put his empty mug on the side table. When she offered him her mug, he set it aside as well.

  “Cyn,” Magdalen said, reclaiming his attention, “regardless of what you say, I am going to—”

  “Kiss me?” As soon as the words left his lips, he froze. He’d thought about kissing her more than once that morning, but had never intended to tell her of his desire.

  She went very still. “W-what did you say?”

  A denial of his reckless words burned on his tongue. Yet, he really did want to kiss her, to share the ache of William’s betrayal with her and find solace in the brief pleasure of a kiss. How he wanted, too, to show her just how much he’d come to cherish her.

  He swallowed hard, trying not to imagine how soft her mouth would feel against his. “I…ah…said…”

  A tiny smile curved her lips. Leaning forward, she caught his face in her hands. Ah, God, the wondrous contact of her skin on his…

  A shudder trailed through him, but before he could say a word, she pressed her mouth to his, a light, tentative kiss. Astonishment rippled through him, even as her lips moved, hesitant and seeking and clearly hoping for a response from him.

  A helpless growl tickled his throat, while strands of her hair feathered against his cheek. He shouldn’t kiss her back. He shouldn’t even begin to yield to the powerful temptation…but he couldn’t resist. He hadn’t loved another woman since Francine—hadn’t been willing to love—until he’d encountered Magdalen.

  He kissed her carefully, reverently, as a knight should kiss an innocent maiden; he didn’t want to frighten her by being too eager. She sighed, her breath warm upon his mouth, and then, with one last, deeper kiss, she leaned away, her smile shy.

  “Well,” he murmured. “That was quite unexpected.”

  Doubt swept her lovely features. “Was I too bold?

  “Not at all.”

  “I really should have asked first if ’twas all right to kiss you.” Her face reddened, and she averted her gaze. “Aislinn used to scold me, and rightfully so, for not being more cautious. I am sorry—”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “I just…suddenly wanted to know…how a kiss would feel between us… Oh, goodness. I have made an utter fool of himself.” She turned her face away.

  “Magdalen,” he said gently. When she didn’t answer, he caught hold of her chin and coaxed her to face him again. “Truth be told, I very much wanted to kiss you, too.”

  Joy brightened her expression. “Is that so?”

  “Mmm.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “For a first kiss between us, I would say ’twas pretty remarkable.”

  She smiled. “To be honest, I have not kissed very often. I did kiss my fiancé once on the mouth—”

  Cyn’s hand dropped away from her chin. “You are betrothed?” A brutal knot of disappointment plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He should have known that when he found a woman he wanted, she’d already be taken.

  “I was betrothed. My fiancé died years ago.”

  What excellent news. “I am sorry,” he said, trying his best to sound somber.

  “I did grieve for him, but I did not regret that our marriage didn’t come to be. I did not love him, you see. I promised myself I would never marry, unless I found…”

  “A man who was good at kissing?”

  She giggled, and shyness again crept into her expression. His heart ached, this time with the incredible realization that she was attracted to him.

  Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Indeed, I would like very much to find a gallant knight who is a good kisser.”

  Ah. That was a challenge if he ever heard one. Grinning, Cyn said, “I must kiss you again, then, Fair Maiden, and prove that I am indeed such a man.”

  ***

  Lying under the blankets on the cot, Magdalen stared at Cyn stretched out in front of the hearth, his head pillowed on his bent right arm. Lancelot, Guinevere, and Galahad lay beside him. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but she knew he wasn’t asleep.

  She sighed against her pillow. Mayhap, like she did, he had too much on his mi
nd. Borden had left more of his drugging infusion within her reach. She’d be wise to drink it and fall asleep, for she needed the rest, but her thoughts refused to settle. Moreover, every part of her body tingled with excitement, and had done so since she’d kissed Cyn.

  Not long after he’d thoroughly kissed her a second time, Cyn had carried her to the cushioned chair and then had spoken in hushed tones with Borden. After donning his cloak and gathering his weapons, Cyn had left, telling her only that he had important matters to attend in the town. Matters, no doubt, that concerned William and Lord Redmond.

  While Cyn was away, she’d eaten a bowl of pottage and had accepted Borden’s offer of a bath in Cyn’s round wooden tub. The steward had kept busy in the kitchen while, keeping her hurt leg out of the water, she’d scrubbed her skin and hair. As the scent of Cyn’s herbal soap had enveloped her, she’d wondered what he could be doing in the town. Mayhap he was looking for the black-haired man she’d described to him in as much detail as she could remember?

  After drying off, she’d donned another of Cyn’s long shirts and bundled up inside a clean blanket. To pass the afternoon, she’d mended garments for Borden. With each stitch, she’d hoped for Cyn’s swift and safe return.

  Night fell, and he still hadn’t arrived. Borden had urged her to get some rest and had helped her to the cot. She’d lain in the fire-lit shadows for a long while before she’d heard Cyn walk through the door. He’d gone to the kitchen, likely to eat, and then he’d quietly entered the main room, shed his weapons, and then stretched out on a blanket by the hearth.

  His face twitched. Was he sleeping? He might be having another bad dream. She hadn’t given him the ruby to protect him from night terrors. The stone was still tucked under her blankets.

  He startled, and his head thrashed from side to side. Drawing aside the bedding, she carefully stepped down from the cot, the ruby in her hand.

  “Nay!” Cyn groaned. A sob wrenched from him.

  “Cyn,” she called, limping toward him as fast as she could.

  Groaning again, he dragged his hand over his face. His elbow bumped Galahad’s side, and the dog flinched, and then shifted to a spot closer to the fire. Cyn woke, just as Magdalen dropped awkwardly onto the blanket beside him.