Page 18 of Promise of a Knight
Chapter Seven
She was running from him.
Alaric stared after the billowing white fabric, eerie against the night gloom, as she raced away, weaving her way through the garden paths. For a moment he watched, stunned by the orange glowing sky, and the woman who could have been an apparition.
Why would she run? Why wouldn’t she answer his questions? He only wanted to help her.
Alaric could still taste her on his lips, feel her in his arms.
What in bloody hell?
As she reached the back door to the keep, his feet finally moved and he raced after her, every one of his strides worth three of hers. Inside the castle, he heard her footsteps racing up the stairs. He followed, in the dim light, seeing the ends of her robe flicking against the wall like white shadows as she passed just out of reach. Taking two stairs at a time, he finally caught up. He gripped both of her arms and pinned her to the wall, just below an arrow slit. Flattening her hands with his palms, he pressed them firmly against the stone, holding her prisoner, though if she tried to escape, he’d let her go.
“Why did you run?” Would he get an answer this time? Felt like all he did was ask questions that went unanswered.
Tears in her eyes, Alexandra bit her lip, shook her head, refusing to speak. But she didn’t try to wriggle free. Did that mean she wanted him to hold her hostage? To pry the truth from her? Breaths coming fast, her chest rose and fell. Their heartbeats melded with the sound of their heavy breathing.
Hell, all Alaric wanted to do was kiss away her tears. But they’d played this game before. Kisses were a distraction from the truth. And he had to know the truth.
“You’re hiding something from me,” he accused. “Tell me what it is.”
“None of yer business.” Her voice did not hold firm conviction and her eyes pleaded. But for what? She wasn’t trying to get free. Did she simply wish him to continue beseeching her for the truth?
Alaric started to lean close, instinctively needing to touch her but caught himself. “Everything in this castle is my business.”
Alexandra shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “Not everything.”
“Do not play games with me, my lady, I will win.” He laced his fingers through hers.
She shifted subtly but didn’t try to get away, in fact, she tightened her grip. “I am not good at games.”
“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong. You’ve done nothing but play games with me since the day we met. Falling so prettily on the field by Lamberton, teasing me with your lilting laugh, the twinkle in your eye, distracting me with your sweet and naughty kisses.” She couldn’t help but nibble on that pouty lower lip. “I’d say you have playing games down very well, indeed.”
“Rogue,” she murmured, tilting her face up for more of a kiss.
He resisted, enjoying the game. “Wench. Answer me.”
She shook her head.
Alaric locked his gaze on hers. “I will be forced to arrest you on suspicion of treason if you refuse to speak.”
A flash of fear crossed her face, but was quickly replaced with anger. “Arrest me then, for I will not say a word.”
All the sensuality of their game evaporated as his frustration mounted. “Why the bloody hell not?” Alaric let go of her hands, running his fingers roughly through his hair. “You’re driving me mad.”
Alexandra looked away, her gaze toward the wall behind him. “That is not my intention.”
“Then what is your intention?” He gripped her chin, gently turning her back to face him. “Look at me. Tell me. Tell me everything.”
She glanced up at him, begrudgingly, he could tell. “I did not do it.”
“You made that clear outside. Running away makes no sense.”
“I am not running because of the fire, or that ye believe I started it, which I did not.” Her tone was exasperated and her shoulders slumped. “I am running for an entirely different reason, and one which I do not care to share with ye.”
“You would share your lips, your touch, but not your thoughts, your fears? I do not go around kissing maidens for the hell of it, Alexandra. Do not play coy with me. I’ll have your truth now or I’ll lock you in your chamber without a second thought.”
Why did she burn him up more than any other? Anger and something else, an emotion he refused to name—for it made him feel like less of a man, weakened, at her mercy—ate at his insides. Alaric loved a good courtly flirtation, and he’d had several mistresses, but he wasn’t the type of man to go around kissing virgins, or flipping the skirts of the closest servant. He had standards and Alexandra was making him forget them all. ’Twas like she’d put him under a spell. All he wanted to do was kiss her, touch her, take away the pains of her heart that were so clearly written on her face.
