Page 5 of The Captive Knight
“I’ve surely seen worse wounds on my father.”
A half-smile cracked the dried blood upon his cheek. “I knew you for a knight’s daughter.”
She pulled her hand from under his. “Your behavior suggested otherwise.”
“Perhaps I’m not at my best.”
She wondered when a thief would be at his best. When stealing unguarded castles? Destroying a woman’s future?
“Since it appears your motives are honest,” he said, in a low voice, “let’s begin again. Tell me your name, mademoiselle.”
“It hardly matters.”
“It matters to me. I would know who I should thank.”
“Very well.” She couldn’t help herself. “My name is Aliénor. Aliénor de Tournan.”
He stilled, his half-smile fading. It felt good to throw her name at him, as foolish as it was. Cursing the man to his face felt better than cursing his name, even if it did thin the air in the room and make his gaze turn to blue flames.
He rasped, “Leave.”
“You reject my hospitality?”
“Tournan and hospitality are two words that don’t belong together.”
“I am chatelaine of this castle,” she said, falling back on her heels, “and I will do as my mother taught me: Care for all who come to our gates. Even thieves.”
He loomed forward, close enough for her to see the bristles of his dark beard beneath the blood and dirt streaking his face, close enough to see his dilated pupils, and the stark pain in his eyes.
“Easy, Hugo,” she said, as the boy’s grunting noises heightened in pitch. “Sir Jehan can do me no harm.”
The thief’s gaze flickered brighter. “You have more courage than your father.”
“You are as weak as a newborn colt.”
“Even a newborn colt can crush a flower.”
“Are you going to parry words with me, thief, or are you going to allow me to bind your wounds?”
“Only a fool would trust a Tournan.”
“I have good reason to see you live.” Her voice hardened. “Castétis is my dowry. Only if you live can we ransom you for my stolen castle.”
She refused to lower her gaze though her heart pounded in her ears. The knight had long, dark lashes and strong, straight brows. His eyes had a lazy tilt at the corners that spoke of a nature far more sensual than the one he radiated right now. On the side where his head wound hadn’t bled all over his face, she saw shallow, pale creases fanning from the corner of his eye, a hint of mirth and good humor her mind balked at imagining.
“I will test your skill first,” he said, sinking against the wall. “Start with my head wound.”
She rose to her feet to fetch what she needed, hating how her knees wobbled. She’d seen knights in this pain-crazed condition before. It was a wonder he could muster any strength at all. But the threat of his unpredictable strength, combined with her anger at him, her shock at his condition, and a growing dread that she might not be able to save his life conspired to unsettle her both in mind and body.
She took her time collecting a pitcher of water and a stack of linens before returning to kneel beside him. She searched through his matted locks for the slash that had bled so profusely. She found it at the edge of his forehead, spreading from just above his brow to the tip of his right ear. As she removed the mask of dirt and blood, it became clear he was a young knight, not many years older than she. She had always imagined this wretched thief as older, gnarled, and war-scarred, with a body as weak as his honor.
“Hugo,” she murmured, “go to the kitchens and fetch more wine.” When she heard no motion behind her, she twisted and raised a brow at the boy, who was shaking his head. “Rudel will watch over me while you are away.”
Hugo shook his head harder, his dark hair swinging around his face.
“Do as she bids, good man,” the thief said. “On my honor, I will not harm your mistress.”
Acid bit the back of her throat at the talk of honor from a thief, but his steady words had a different effect on Hugo. The boy paused for a moment, then took the earthen pitcher at her side and silently left the room.
