A maiden for the mercenary

Mercenary knight Rhain is living on borrowed time. With a vengeful warlord pursuing him, he has accepted his fate—though first he must get his men to safety.

When he rescues mysterious and deeply scarred Helissent from her attackers, Rhain soon wishes he wasn’t marked for death. He can never be the man she deserves—his scandalous lineage alone dictates that—but Rhain can’t resist the temptation to show this innocent maiden how beautiful she truly is...

An unearthly growl resounded as a man leapt out of the darkness.

‘Let her go!’

His cold voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Terror gripped her even harder and the two men tightened their grips. Through her watering eyes she saw a supplicant expression now masked Rudd’s face. She knew that unctuous curve of his lips when he wanted to appease a customer.

‘Here, now, this is none of your concern,’ Rudd said. ‘We only want a bit of privacy.’

‘You harm a woman, you’ll get no privacy except in death.’

The words were menacingly calm.

There was a whoosh of breath and the sharp thump of one captor’s body, as if someone had kicked him down.

She watched Rudd’s smug face draw white with fear as he ran towards the trees and disappeared.

The man crouched near her, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands hanging between them. Empty hands. His scabbard was bare and there was no sword at his feet.

‘You’re safe now. They’re gone.’

NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books that were hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them—but now not so secretly.

Books by Nicole Locke

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Lovers and Legends

The Knight’s Broken Promise

Her Enemy Highlander

The Highland Laird’s Bride

In Debt to the Enemy Lord

The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

Visit the Author Profile page at at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

The Knight’s Scarred Maiden

Nicole Locke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ode to a house right next door. So handy to pop over for nibbles, a chat, copious amounts of champagne.

Ode to a stairwell landing propped with pillows and treats. For my kids, made comforting like a warm hug, adventurous like a magic carpet.

Ode to David and Cydonie. This book wouldn’t have been written but for you and those chats and that champagne.

I treasure our friendship more than the longest of hugs and the grandest of adventures. More than all the bubbles in every raised fluted glass that ever was…or will be.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

He was here.

Helissent let out a breath and rearranged the flagons on the tray. Again. This was the second night he’d come in, which wasn’t the only reason she’d noticed him.

‘Hurry up, girl, customers are thirsty.’

Helissent didn’t glance at Rudd. She never glanced at the innkeeper’s son, now owner. She tried not to notice him at all, but it didn’t help. His eyes grew more calculating every day as if she was in a trap and he was merely fattening her up.

‘If you stand there much longer,’ he said, snapping a towel in the air, ‘I’ll add another flagon to that tray and make you carry it over your head.’

If he put one more flagon on the tray, she’d make sure to dump it on his head.

Then where would she be? Out in the streets.

Pasting a smile that only deepened her scars’ appearance, she gave him her most guileless look. ‘I’m simply ensuring that everything is in its place, so the customers have what they need.’

Rudd didn’t have any reaction to her scarred and distorted smile. And that fact frightened her most of all. The fact she couldn’t frighten him. Her deep scars that spanned the entire right side of her body from her temple to her feet made everyone frightened. It’s how she kept the travelling customers away.

‘If you give me any more grief I’ll ensure you give them what they truly need...’ he answered, twisting the towel around his fist.

She lifted the tray and suppressed the anger and fear she couldn’t afford to expose. Her village didn’t have many streets to live on and there were certainly no others who would take her into their homes.

The only reason her tiny village survived was that it was on the road between London and York. People mostly travelled through and never stayed. If only she didn’t have to stay. But she had nowhere else to go.

Here, at least, they knew why she was disfigured. Any place else, people could think she was cursed. Or worse, they would pity her.

Here, she was just ignored. Except for Rudd, the prodigal son, who had returned a month after his parents’ death. He didn’t ignore her at all.

It was up to her to avoid him and focus on the inn’s patrons. Some travelers, mostly regulars...and now him, who she could feel watching the altercation between Rudd and her.

Sidestepping the narrow counter, she dodged a stumbling patron on her way to the patrons by the large window and set the tray in the center of the table. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes to soak up the bit of warming sun slanting down. Often it was the only sunlight she felt during the daytime.

Then she gave a genuine greeting to the patrons at the table. Regular customers, who met her eyes and exchanged pleasantries. Patrons, who knew her family and the former innkeepers, John and Anne, who’d taken her in after the fire destroyed her home and killed her family.

She’d take any kindness thrown her way. It was probably why she kept skirting her eyes to him. He, who sat at the shadowed table in the rear. Sat in shadows, though he never lowered his cloak’s hood.

He watched her, which usually made her angry, made her tilt her chin so that those gawking could see every grueling angle of her physical and personal pain. She liked it better when they winced or flushed and turned away.

She liked it not because it hurt them, but because it reminded her of her shame, her cowardice, and all the hurt she deserved.

But she didn’t tilt her head with the man in the shadows because he’d told Rudd her honey cakes were exceptional. It was why he’d returned today. He’d ordered more and paid in advance. He was here to collect them.

Unaccountably nervous, she passed him to get to the kitchens out the back. His head was partially bowed and she still did not see his eyes, but she nodded her head in greeting. She woke up early this morning to make twenty-five cakes. She often received compliments on her baking, but was never requested to make this many cakes before. She’d never known a man with such a sweet tooth and she’d dared to ask Rudd about him.

Rudd didn’t know the man’s name, but he did know his business. He’d come in a couple of days ago and was staying in the lodgings at the edge of town, him and almost twenty other men. Travellers, but two had spurs. This man with his hood, and another man, who was immensely tall and ducked his head to avoid the ceiling rafters.

The first day, he and the other men sat at the different tables. There was much talking, sometimes in languages she didn’t know. All of them addressed the man in the hood. She never saw his face nor heard his voice, though the men did.

Whatever he said made them laugh, made them nod in agreement. They deferred to him. Fascinated, she watched when she could. She wondered who these men were, where they were going next. Not for her to know, but it was a small bit of entertainment she made for herself.

On the second day, it was only him and the giant. On that day, she swore he watched her.

She didn’t see spurs when her shadow man came in, but she thought he must have been a knight. His travel clothing wasn’t particularly fine, but it was his bearing that he couldn’t hide beneath his cloak. Tall, with a lean grace not many people possessed, and certainly none in this mostly farming community.

He couldn’t hide the sword he carried, like it was a part of him, either. Natural, predatory...lethal.

He returned alone on the third day. On this day to retrieve his order. Carefully placing the cakes in the travelling sacks, she turned again to the inn. She wondered if this time, he would raise his head so she could see him.

* * *

Rhain peered at the customers in the ramshackle inn. Nothing made this one any different than the hundreds he had occupied over the last five years. For a mercenary like himself and his men, only location and information mattered.

This inn had neither. What it did have was sheep...lots of sheep. Even with a stiff breeze, there was no mistaking the smell or din.

A few days’ ride north of here lay the comfortable Tickhill Castle, a strategic motte and bailey now held by the King himself. He and his men would be welcomed at such a castle, and when he started this journey, it was his intention to oblige himself of their company, sumptuous bedding and fair.

Castles had location...they also had information, but he could no longer indulge himself of such. Not any more.

Instead, now, he opted for obscurity. An obscurity that had nothing to do with his occupation as a mercenary. Hence he’d stopped at this wreck of village meant to accommodate the local farming community and the occasional poor traveler.

The lodgings down the street were adequate protection from the rains, but this inn—

Rhain lowered his head as the woman passed by his table. Even so, he noticed her greeting. It was difficult not to notice her. When he first came to the inn two days ago, he almost lost his protective hood.

She’d been standing at the counter, arranging cups. He’d opened the door and the sunlight had hit her. He only had a profile of her, but it was enough to stun him and his men had slammed into him before they’d stumbled around him. She was absolutely exquisite. The pale perfection of her skin, the thick eyelashes. The room’s light wasn’t bright enough to see the exact color of her hair, but it was close to chestnut and waved luxuriously down her back. Then she lifted the tray and he could see the curves of her body, the graceful way she moved. In this hovel of a tavern was someone who belonged in a king’s bed.

And he should know, having grown with wealth and privilege, knowing the King himself, he knew the quality of the woman. But that wasn’t all that surprised him.

It was the wide berth of patrons around her. The inn was crowded at that time of day and a beautiful woman should have been pressed against, or been fighting, some of the more inebriated customers. If nothing else, if she was some wife, or sister, there would have been some camaraderie, some familiarity with her. Instead, she was ignored...

No, in a crowded inn, she was ostracized, the berth continued though she was done arranging the goblets, had lifted the tray and was turning to serve them. Everyone’s back was to her. As the door behind him closed, she hoisted the tray and then he saw what he had not from the profile of her left side.

As she turned to feed the customers behind her, he saw her right profile. Then he understood why, while in a crowded bar, she was left alone. Scarred beyond any repair. Old and healed burns from what he could tell. She had suffered some time in her past and suffered greatly.

He watched her. It was as if that moment had locked something inside him. She made him...curious. He didn’t know what side of her compelled him more. It wasn’t just her physical differences, it was her personality. Wary with the innkeeper, friendly with regulars. Defiant as if she insisted on showing her scars to travelers like him.

So he watched her while he sat in the back of the inn and drank poor ale, but waited for food that should never have been produced in such a hovel.

The innkeeper was a giant oaf of a man, whose unctuous manner grated on Rhain. Though he’d seen enough cruelty in the world, the innkeeper taunting the woman angered him. More than once he found himself reaching for his dagger to throw. A disquieting impulse, since he’d been able to shrug off such behavior before.

Yet he came back since he and his men enjoyed food he’d never expected to taste here. The cuts of meat in the stew were poor and often the vegetables were not fresh. But instead of grease and gristle, herbs and flavors had been added. Fine, arduous sifting of flour had been done to the rolls, which also had a sprinkling of herbs, making them both light and delicious.

It was a tiny village with no information. Completely useless to him for his business. No one would expect for him to be here and his men could be dry and fed well. More to the point, none of them protested when he said they would stay a few days.

And that was before he ate the cake which was light, but dense with honey that dripped and glossed over the top. He might be a giant oaf of an innkeeper, but the man’s cooking was unmatched.

Two sacks set on the table in front of him. It was the woman who delivered them, one hand perfect, the other gnarled with scars. Ravaged from fire like the entire right side of her face, neck and no doubt, by the way she moved, her body as well. One side exquisite, the other disfigured.

Slowly, he tilted his head up so as not to dislodge his hood, but enough to meet her eyes, which were a color he could not guess—green, grey or brown. He couldn’t determine their exact color, but they were clear, straightforward with intelligence, wariness and just a bit of pride. The fire had tilted down the corner of her right eye, and marred just a hair of her full lips. Her nose was left perfect, but her cheek and ear were deeply grooved.

This was the first time he had dared look at her fully. He of all people knew what it was like to be stared at. Compelling though she was, he tried not to keep watching this woman. Still...

Her voice was melodious, and cultured, with a hint of French, her teeth white and even. It was just as conflicting as the rest of her and this inn. A hovel of an inn, sumptuous fare, a woman both beautiful and disfigured. A voice that should be filled with laughter instead of sorrow.

It was the sorrow he heard. His hands almost shook as he grabbed silver coins from his pouch and set them on the table. Too many, perhaps, but he didn’t dare check or she’d noticed his momentary weakness. He didn’t let anyone see his weakness.

‘I’ll require fifty by tomorrow morning.’

A slight flutter of those hands like he surprised her. ‘Twenty-five can be done by morning, another twenty-five by afternoon. The ovens are too small for fifty.’

‘I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and I require fifty. I’ll pay you double.’

She darted a glance before she slid the money off the table with her perfect hand. Her movements were graceful, but more importantly, they were silent. She acted like she didn’t want anyone to know she was pocketing such money.

He dared to look at her again, although it gave her an opportunity to see his own features. No one could see him now. It wasn’t for his safety, but for his men’s. For that he wouldn’t appease her curiosity though he recognized it since he felt the same about her.

Her expression was unreadable, almost as silent as the scraping of the coins on the table. On closer inspection, her face wasn’t badly scarred, the scars were softer, white and a light pink. But the deep gnarled grooves on her hand spoke of another story. She hadn’t been subjected to fire for a short time. Only prolonged exposure could cause that kind of damage.

Another coin hit into her hand, then to her pocket, and she left the rest. ‘It’s too much. This is more than double.’

Ah, she’d been counting as she took. Cultured voice and educated. Contrasts, and his curiosity was more than piqued. It was good he would be gone tomorrow. He hadn’t been curious about anything or anyone for many years. He didn’t have time to be curious now.

‘I just want the cakes done on time,’ he said.

She didn’t take the coins on the table. An honest tavern keep, too.

‘Take the rest for you.’ He wouldn’t raise his head, but he saw her shake her head.

‘Double will be enough,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to the innkeeper, but I have no doubt you’ll get your cakes.’

Pleasure coursed through him. Another emotion he didn’t have time for. But if a few coins would give him such delicious pleasure, albeit briefly, he’d take it. He hated coin at the same time he used it to his advantage. He’d use anything to his advantage. It was his nature and even more so now.

‘Thank you,’ he said as she walked away. He untied one of the sacks in front of him and released a cake. It was warm and the smell of butter and honey were extravagant in the musty, almost putrid smells of the tavern. It fit perfectly in his hand and he reveled in the color, and the springy texture of his first bite.

He knew the taste would be better out of the darkness of the tavern. For a man of his wealth and status, a man who made his money on his mercenary skills and diplomacy, he knew the art of patience. He could wait until he reached the lodging and his men, but he didn’t want to.

Cakes. Such a little pleasure to most, but to him all the more precious since a price went on his head.

Chapter Two

‘It’s late. I’ll take first watch.’ Nicholas, Rhain’s second in command and oldest friend, finished his loaf of bread and brushed his hands against his legs.

‘No, it’s mine,’ Rhain said, finishing the last of the cakes. Two of his men didn’t want them. Fools, he thought them, but he already knew they would refuse, which was why he’d bought them. ‘You trained the men hard today, you’ll have no watch tonight.’

‘Any less than you?’

‘I had that break.’

‘Ah, yes, your leisurely trip to the inn.’

‘I had to wait until the cakes were finished.’ None of it was true, but Rhain knew Nicholas understood that. They carried a conversation that would be heard by the other men. His men he paid well for their loyalty for the last five years. A long time for mercenaries to stay together, even longer to keep loyal.

As far as he knew, they were still loyal and he’d trusted them up until two months ago.

Now because of his own actions in London, he could trust Nicholas because they fostered together at Edward’s court.

As for the rest of the men, and as was true with any mercenary, they could be bribed. Consequently, he trusted them up to a point. For now they travelled north to meet with King Edward’s men collected there. Then they would part ways. If he was killed before then, he trusted Nicholas to pay them well for their services. He didn’t expect them to mourn. They were not friends; he wanted no friends.

At first, he had tried to get rid of Nicholas, who joined him a year into his travels, but finally gave up. He allowed him some privilege into this life, but not everything. Trust, loyalty, friendship could only go so far since the life he lived was a lie. That was something he wouldn’t burden Nicholas with.

A lie and a quest. When he set out five years ago from his home in Wales, he burned with hatred and with a vengeance to set the past right. To find his father for answers.

He didn’t know who his father was. The irony was he hadn’t known who his true mother was until five years ago either. It had been a terrible and deadly secret. All his life, Rhain had thought himself the second son of William, Lord of Gwalchdu, and Ellen, his wife, and the younger brother of the current Lord of Gwalchdu, Teague.

It was a gifted life, wealthy, privileged and, as a second son, one without responsibilities. One he had always reveled in. It was his older brother Teague who had to make the difficult choices. When Rhain was born, their mother, Ellen, had died in childbirth and his father, William, had been killed only moments before.

So at the age of five Teague became Lord of Gwalchdu and a Welsh Marcher Lord. When Teague was betrayed by a Welsh prince, he went to the English King Edward and gave him his loyalty.

Rhain was too young to make such decisions, but he worshipped his older brother and never questioned his loyalty, which was always to his family and to Gwalchdu. Therefore, Rhain fostered with King Edward before he returned to Gwalchdu and his brother, who was being threatened by an enemy.

Only after much adversity was it revealed that Sister Ffion, Ellen’s sister, was the one threatening his brother. Sister Ffion, who suffered from episodes of madness, of fervency, of seizures. Such illness she’d been fighting all her life with rumors that the Devil’s blood ran through her.

After being caught, Sister Ffion had died, but not before she revealed the terrible secret. That she was Rhain’s true mother. In her dying words, she did not say who his father was. Only telling him the clue was in a necklace she gave him.

And that was what he had been doing for the last five years: finding clues along the way. That his father, most likely, was the captain of the former Gwalchdu’s soldiers. That from a piece of needlework the necklace was not only links of silver, but that a large inlaid pendant had once belonged to it.

Thinking his father had taken the pendant, Rhain attempted to discover in which direction he’d travelled. When that trail went cold, he followed the jewelers who could make or sell such a necklace and pendant. Spain, France, further along Wales and London.

Along the way, he’d earned money and a reputation by his sword. He’d earned men, who followed him when his reputation increased. All the while, he asked questions. He wanted, needed answers. Why was Sister Ffion his mother; why did his father abandon her? Did his father know the Devil’s blood ran through her veins? And—the one question that plagued him, that drove him on—did his father suffer from seizures, too?

Simple questions. A golden life turned to rusting iron in one moment. A privileged carefree life. Where he had no worries on money, or family. Where because of his looks, because of his wealth, he had friends, he had women.

Now, he had no family. His brother wasn’t his brother, his mother was dead.

He was alone. Because of his Devil’s blood, he would remain alone.

His life had been forfeit since that fateful day when he realized his mother was Sister Ffion, a woman plagued by seizures. Though he’d never suffered a seizure, he was all too aware the blood flowed through his veins as well. That he was tainted.

As a result, there would be no wife for him, no children. No future. But he’d carved a life for himself, such that it was. Until London.

Only Nicholas knew what stupidity he had done in London two months back. Only Nicholas would ever know because he had been there when he denied Guy of Warstone his services and then in one rash act had killed him.

Now, Guy’s brother Reynold was after him. Rhain had a price on his head from one of the most powerful families in Europe. One reckless moment and he forfeited what was left of his life and jeopardized the lives of his men.

So that carefree man he was before was no more and the purposeful life he’d made for himself was also gone. All he could do now was to set things right by getting his men under the protection of Edward’s camp. As for Nicholas, who knew everything and most likely had a price on his head, too, he hoped he lived long enough to protect him as well.

This village was small, but was on the main road and would have travelers. He and his men took all the spare lodging and some of his men were in different accommodations. His priority was to Nicholas, but even now his enemy could be circling the village and setting a trap. He could stay here to protect, but it wouldn’t give them enough time for the advantage he liked to have.

Rhain stood. ‘I’m more restless than I thought. I’m going to walk the outer village first if you watch the men here. I’ll return shortly.’

Nicholas raised one brow, but nodded his head. There was no good reason to search this sleepy village. It would take more than one man to take down their mercenary troop, but it would take only a trained assassin to take down one man. His life might be meaningless, he might be plagued with the Devil’s own blood. But he would get his men to Edward’s camp and do one good deed before he died.

Chapter Three

Helissent wrapped her shawl tightly against the cool breeze. It was spring and warm, but this time of night always brought a chill, which cut through her skin after the fires of the kitchens.

It was the one pain she welcomed in her day. In the beginning, those fires and her skin’s sensitivities had almost kept her away from the ovens. But she knew how to protect herself now and had got used to the sting because it brought her joy. Like now even though she was exhausted after completing half the cakes requested.

Cakes she’d made almost completely in the dark. She had to make all fifty of them before tomorrow, but Rudd was meticulous when it came to the kitchen supplies and that included the use of candles to see by. She couldn’t risk Rudd’s wrath with the use of too many candles. He only gave her a small allowance to operate the kitchen and the food she fed to the travelers in the inn. It was all she had, but it was a matter of pride that she made the best food around.

She knew these cakes, slathered in honey, were some of her best. She could stay up later, but she risked the ovens overheating. Best to have them cool. They’d be warm enough to heat to the right temperature when she rose.

She stumbled and righted herself. Exhaustion didn’t describe how tired her bones were. A full day’s work. Not to mention she was up early making the original twenty-five cakes this morning. She was exhausted and Rudd wasn’t letting up on her either. Since he arrived a few months ago, he’d worked her twice as hard as his parents had though they had been old and frail. She had done their work, plus hers in the end.

She’d also cared for them when both became bedridden. She’d do it all again for they had done much more for her. She missed them terribly. They’d taken her in and healed her when she had no one left.

Now they were gone and she had no one again. Except Rudd, and she desperately didn’t want him. She prayed it would be late enough when she returned and he’d be asleep. In four hours, she needed to make more cakes and she needed to rest.

Fifty cakes for double the money. It still gave her a thrill. It gave Rudd a thrill, too, if the lascivious gleam in his eyes and spittle in the corner of his mouth was anything to go by when she’d handed it to him after her shadow man had left. She hoped it appeased him at the least.

For one tempting moment, she’d thought to keep the money for herself. She’d do anything for that money. After all, her shadow man made the bargain with her and Rudd hadn’t seen her take the money. She could have given him half and taken the other portion. It wasn’t enough for her to get to another town, but it would have been a start.

But shadow man didn’t know she made the cakes and she couldn’t risk Rudd finding out. He was entirely too frightening now. His manner too familiar. But she knew his greed was great, consequently she’d given him all the money. If she could show him her worth was on her cooking, not on her living with him and being a servant, maybe he would leave her alone.

Her eyes burned now with the need to sleep. She was tired, but only a few steps more and she could rest.

‘Where have you been?’ Rudd said, low, soft as he stepped out of the dark side of her home.

She stopped suddenly and blinked. It was late, the village quiet. There was no need for him to be up.

‘Why are you here?’ she blurted out before thinking.

He scowled and the blunt slash of his lips turned cruel. ‘It isn’t any of your business why I’m here. But your being gone is mine, now isn’t it?’

A strange relief swept through her tired body. She was exhausted, not thinking clearly. Rudd’s parents worried for her when she came home late as she worked on a recipe. ‘Sorry, I was in the kitchens. I should have told—’

‘You think I don’t know where you’ve been or how you earn your money?’ Rudd held up his coin purse, though she knew he’d already hidden the coins given to her. ‘You think I’m a fool. No one makes this kind of coin off cakes.’

Rudd’s tone of voice was as sneering as ever, but what set her heart tripping was the choice of his words, the fact he held up the purse that she knew was mostly empty. Still she argued with him.

‘Of course it was for the cakes. I handed you the coins; I explained how that man requested fifty cakes by tomorrow morning. I had to make some tonight.’

‘Oh, I can smell the fires all over you.’ Rudd sniffed. ‘I know you were in the kitchens. But I don’t see any cakes. I just see you, walking home.’

Home was feet away. They were on the dark and quiet side of her home now. If she had reached the front, she’d be surrounded by the lights of other homes, of the inn.

‘It wasn’t nice of you walking home this late, and making us wait.’ Rudd took a step closer, his legs unsteady, but still upright. He had been drinking, but not enough to make him weak. Why would she care if drink made him weak?

But she did care. It was there in his suspicious words, in the fact he approached her on this side of the house where no one would see them. It was in the fact her heart tripped a bit more and the hairs on her neck prickled in warning.

‘I left the cakes in the kitchens to cool. Check if you don’t believe me. I have to make more in the morning.’ She gathered her shawl closer and moved to step around him. ‘I need to lie down and get some sleep now or else we’ll have to return the money. We’ll talk in the morning.’

A harsh chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Oh, you’ll lie down now...but it won’t be to sleep.’

From the other side of her home, two men emerged under the moon’s light. Two men she saw earlier at the tavern. The ones talking heatedly with Rudd, and giving her looks. Rudd looking smug. Too smug.

She pulled herself straighter, all tiredness gone. Her heart now hammering in her chest. The men blocked her way around to the door of her home; Rudd blocked the other way. The only way to escape was to run the way she’d come, but that only led to the kitchens, to more darkness and further away from any one to help her. If there was to be help.

‘What is this?’

‘You know what it is. You do take me for a fool. I have to admit I had doubts when you handed me those coins for your cakes. But then these two men showed me the error of my ways. Showed me what more could be earned by having one such as you.’

She eyed the men, who held menacingly still. As if they were simply waiting for her to run. And she wanted to, but with her skin tightening up around her leg, she wouldn’t get very far.

The only choice she had was to talk her way out of this. Perhaps appeal to their greed. ‘I received that for the cakes, Rudd. Cakes I won’t make again if you go through with this. I swear upon your parents—’

‘Don’t you mention my parents. Don’t you ever talk about my parents again!’

Anger, fear. The men watching her changed stance like they could feel the trap they’d laid tightening on her. She could feel it, too.

Confusion entered her fear now. This seemed too personal. This was Rudd, the son who never visited, who returned only after their death to claim everything. The son the innkeepers spoke of once, his mother’s voice breaking in the middle of the tale before the father told her the rest. He was an awful man, and hadn’t cared for them. Yet he was angry now.

‘I can get you more.’ She gestured to the purse. ‘Make more cakes, make more money. Just don’t do this.’

‘Don’t do this?’ Rudd jingled the purse a bit. ‘It looks like you were already doing it. I’ll merely profit more than I thought today. These kind gentlemen offered money as well. Not as much as you were being paid by that knight, but a deal is a deal. And you do need to pay your debt to my parents.’

This was personal. ‘Debt?’

‘You don’t know?’ Rudd laughed. ‘All the better that I get to tell the tale. Get to see your ugly pious face as I break your heart.’

Rudd ran his eyes over her and his laugh turned ugly.

‘You think they kept you here with a roof over your head, feeding you because they cared for you? That you worked all hours of the day, slaved until your fingers bled because you loved them back?’

They’d told her they loved her. So much pain she had suffered at the time, so many tears with the guilt of failing her sister, her soul, failing her family. She didn’t love herself, but the innkeepers loved her. Of course, she worked for them until her fingers bled. She’d still do it.

‘Oh! I can see you do believe it. They bought you. Two ageing failing innkeepers needed cheap help. Although I don’t think you came cheap to them. I believe you owe more on your debt.’

‘I don’t owe a debt,’ Helissent said, her eyes on the men who stepped closer. Too close. She took a couple of steps in the opposite direction and saw how their smirks increased. How had they become involved? ‘Whatever these men told you, I owe no debt.’

‘Oh, you do.’ Rudd ran his finger down the right side of his face. ‘My parents fixed you.’ His mouth turned like he tasted something vile. ‘Such as it is, but it was the best money could buy in these parts.’

He spit between his teeth. ‘You think your possessions from the ashes of your home paid for that healer. No, it was my parents, who paid that healer with my inheritance.’

He reached back and pulled out of his breeches a small, heavily written-on parchment scrap. ‘I have the evidence all here. Accounts from the healer and my parents. All about your treatment, and care, and healing.

‘Oh, they were crafty, paying for your care. But I know better. I was born and raised by those people, and everything became clear when this parchment was read to me. My parents were wondering if their slave would be working for them soon.’

For a split moment, she believed his cruel words for truth, felt the pain in them, but it didn’t take away her sudden yearning and keen desperation. For in Rudd’s hands was more treasure than she’d thought she’d ever see. A parchment, a few written words from two people she’d dearly loved and would give anything to hear from again.

She had nothing left of her own family, but Anne and John had become her second family. Now there was something of theirs, something she could read, to hold in her hand, to hear their voices again.

As he noted her fixation on the parchment, Rudd’s eyes gleamed. Let him think he’d hurt her with the words and not with the denying of a scrap of paper. He could never know.

‘The way I see it, you owe me, girl. And there’s only one way a disgusting creature like you could pay me back.’

Two sets of hands clamped on to her arms. She cried out and kicked. Too late. Her eyes focused on the bit of parchment; she forgot the men.

‘Is she ours now?’ The one on her left sneered, his breath heavy with onions.

‘Such a price you paid, how could she not be yours?’ Rudd’s snake expression turned to her. ‘Can you imagine any man would pay a price to be between your legs? But these men paid plenty. They seem to like their women damaged. Your ugliness is lining my pockets.’

‘Never had a burned one before,’ Onion-breath said with glee. ‘Last one was crippled and remember the blind one?’

The man on her left closed his eyes like he savored that memory, and she yanked her arm to hide her revulsion.

‘Our agreement was I had her first.’ Rudd tossed the parchment behind him, his hands immediately at his belt.

‘I get the ugly half,’ Ale man breathed.

‘No, I get the ugly half,’ the other argued.

In her struggle, Helissent yanked the men several feet before they dug their heels into the mud. Terror, like ice shards, struck underneath her skin. It was going to happen. She couldn’t stop it.

Rudd laughed. ‘I don’t want any half except what’s down below. Just shove her face in the mud. I don’t want to see it for a moment before I get the skirts up and over her face.’

The men chortled, their manacled hands loosening. ‘No!’ She pulled her arms free and ran. Her heart pumped; she tasted the iron of blood in her mouth. As she feared, her right leg immediately dragged behind her. Pounding of feet on the cold dirt behind her, pain in her arms as the men grabbed and shoved her to the ground. The wet mud momentarily masking the taste of blood in her mouth.

More pain as a knee jammed into the small of her back. She threw her body to the left, kicked out, made some connection. Another hand on her ankle, yanking it to the side. Too far out, her legs were now widespread.

She screamed and tried to kick again. Grunts and harsh breath from the two men pinning her to the ground. She fought harder, a foot pounded into her ribs, a fist on to her cheek.

None of her struggles drowned out Rudd’s laughter as he strolled up to them. His hands were at his waist, loosening his belt knot.

Waves of sickness crashed over her. Her lip was split open, but she wouldn’t give in. Gathering what was left of her breath, she screamed again before a muddy hand slammed against her mouth.

An unearthly growl resounded as a man leapt out of the darkness. His cape swirled like a vortex of black; the arc of his sword glinted like shards in the moonlight before he went out of her line of sight.

‘Let her go,’ he snarled.

His cold voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Terror gripped her harder. Let her go, let her go for what? The two men tightened their grips and laid heavily on top, suffocating what was left of her air. Through her watering eyes, she saw Rudd securing his belt. A supplicant expression now masked his face. She knew that curve of his lips when he wanted to appease a customer.

‘Here now, this is none of your concern,’ Rudd said. ‘It’s late and there’s nothing to see. We only want a bit of privacy.’

‘You harm a woman. You’ll get no privacy except in death.’

The words were menacingly calm. He had a sword. Why weren’t they getting off her? She yanked her mouth to get some air and a sharp prick bit into her side.

She was going to die. The men held her down with a knife. She prayed it would be a quick death.

‘She’s willing,’ Rudd said, pointing towards her. ‘See how she lays still?’

There was a harsh staccato of heavy breath from the men holding her down and one started nervously smacking his lips. She could feel they wanted to run, but the knife against her side held firm and they didn’t move.

‘I’ll say this only once more. Call. Off. Your. Men.’

‘See here...’

A whoosh of breath and a sharp thump of one captor’s body like someone kicked him down. Then utter stillness as the knife released against her side. Onion Breath let go of her arm, scrambled before he slumped heavily on to her with a sharp cry.

Her eyesight dimming, she watched Rudd’s smug face draw white with fear as he ran towards the trees and disappeared.

A yank of one body above her released her legs, another released the rest of her. She tried to push herself away, but her arms wouldn’t work. Her legs jerking, she clawed the mud to flee from the man she hadn’t seen, but who she was certain just killed two men.

A hand upon her back. ‘Careful.’

She lashed out. Too slow to strike him. Too vulnerable on her back to run away. She froze, expecting a knife in her stomach.

Instead, the man crouched near her, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands hanging between them. Empty hands, his scabbard bare and no sword at his feet.

‘You’re safe now. They’re gone.’ The voice was no longer cold, but laden with an awkwardness in the cadence as if he was unused to giving comfort.

The full moon’s light revealed his tall and angular shape coiled with predatory strength even in his relaxed stance. Shadows and a hood covered his face, but she recognized the distinct masculine chin, and full bottom lip.

‘It’s you,’ she gasped.

Chapter Four

Holding her breath, she tried to sit up. Agony in her ribs.

‘Stay still,’ he said, a sharper tone to his words like he cut them against a blade, or wanted to cut another with it. ‘Is anything broken?’

Pounding beginning in her head, her cheek throbbed, and she tasted blood on her lips. She kept her eyes closed and eased down in the mud again. Her thundering heart hurt her chest almost more than where they’d kicked her. But she could move her arms and legs, and the stabbing pain in her chest lessened when she didn’t breathe deeply. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t stop shaking.’

‘I need to take you somewhere.’ He glanced beyond her and cursed.

It was then she heard the hurried footsteps and the sudden stopping of them. ‘Taking care of strays again?’ said a dry, but friendly voice. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, but she didn’t dare move her head yet. The giant, perhaps?

‘They’re not dead; I hit them with rocks. But if they wake, and I’m like this, I’ll use my sword.’

‘Well, for your sake then I’ll drag them into the forest—’

‘There’s another in the trees.’

‘How unfortunate for him.’

‘Make sure they’re divested of wealth and weapons.’

The man gave an exaggerated huff. ‘I’m a mercenary, remember? Is she hurt?’

They talked over her like she was dead. Parts of her were throbbing already, but she was alive and had suffered much worse. ‘I’m fine.’

‘She’s hurt,’ her shadow man said. ‘Her cheek...perhaps her ribs.’

‘Left cheek?’

‘Does it matter?’ her shadow man asked.

Helissent did risk moving her head as she heard the other man heave up the lax weight of one of her attackers. ‘I wanted to be sure I left them in the same condition they left her. Except I think I’ll take their...shoes...too.’

For one blazing moment, she wished he’d leave them worse off. But one look at her rescuers faces, and she knew they would be. Despite their easy banter, their faces were dark, their eyes speaking of a violence she had never committed, but had almost been victim to. Whatever happened to the men, they would be worse off than her.

‘Is there somewhere you can get help?’ he asked.

She turned her attention to the man still crouched beside her.

Nowhere. Her home was with Rudd, who’d just sold and tried to rape her. Her last view of him was him fleeing. Would he stay away for a night? ‘My home is behind you.’

‘Anywhere else?’ he pressed.

‘No, there’s no one else.’ His expression darkened. He didn’t like her answer, but what choice did she have? She pushed herself up, took heart that she stayed up this time. ‘I can get there myself.’

He adjusted his crouch. ‘I’m going to lift you now.’ He reached out and suddenly stopped. ‘This is no time for propriety.’

At his unforgiving tone, she realized she’d inadvertently stiffened as he leaned over her.

It wasn’t propriety that caused her to stiffen. No one had touched her since John and Anne, and before that, the healer, Agnes. No one. Not even when money or drinks were exchanged had she felt the brush of fingers. Travelers gave her a wide berth because she horrified them, regulars because they remembered her healing and didn’t want to hurt her.

But this man, this stranger, hadn’t hesitated. It startled her.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just—’

‘That man’s going to wake and we’re not going to be here.’ Without warning, he simply lifted her.

Held. She was being held as if her entire body was of little consequence.

No, he held her securely in a way she’d never been held before. She was acutely aware of the heat of his body, the smell of leather and evergreen, the way his chest rose and fell with his breath. Knew exactly where his arms touched her underneath and his hands. His hands—how they cradled her arm, the outside of her thigh.

All of it intimate suddenly as if they weren’t outside with a vast forest at her back and clear night skies above. Her and only...him.

His hood partially fluttered when he lifted her. This close, she could see him if it wasn’t dark. As if he could sense her scrutiny, he shifted his head away from her gaze.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’ she said, before she stopped herself.

Almost imperceptibly, he tightened around her. ‘Does it matter?’

Did it matter that the one man who gave her a compliment on her baking, who rescued her from rape and maybe death, was the same? To her, very much. To him, probably not.

His long strides quickly covered the distance to her home, to her only sanctuary that wasn’t any more. Stopping at the door, he asked, ‘Are there any others here?’

She shook her head, and he opened the door. His only hesitation was as he took in the main living area, and the one closed door that indicated Rudd’s room.

Thankfully, her pitiful home was dark and covered in shadows. ‘You can put me down.’

‘You need to lie down. I want to see the extent of your injuries, and if I can do anything. I have salves I can bring for you.’

There were hardly any candles. And she didn’t want this man seeing her home, or her bed shoved under the crooked eaves in the back corner.

The only indication of privacy was from the coarse torn sacks she had sewn together and hung from the eaves. They were far too short, and hung only on one side, but they blocked her view of Rudd’s door. She had once had a more proper room made by the innkeepers. Nailed-up boards and heavy quilts. When Rudd moved in, he claimed he was cold and took the quilts and yanked down the boards. He had been displeased when she made herself a cruder bit of privacy, but thankfully, he’d remained quiet about it.

‘I have salves here.’ Many of them. Her skin was sensitive to heat, to cold, and she often injured herself in the kitchens. Her skin could hardly take a scratch. ‘I can care for myself.’

She hadn’t had to take care of herself like this in a long time. Tonight reminded her how it felt to be helpless. She hated it more than the pain. She knew what it took to heal a body and straining it when it was already damaged wasn’t wise. However, right now she just wanted him gone and she held her ground, though it was starting to cost her.

‘I’m not harmed,’ she said. ‘Set me down.’

‘It’s the shock. You’re trembling—when it eases, you’ll feel the pain. We need to care for you quickly.’ He looked around the room like he was trying to find an answer. It was too dark for him to see her bed and he slowly lowered her to the ground, but he did not let her go. One hand around her waist, the other at her elbow.

So easy to lean against him, and for an odd suspended moment that was exactly what she wanted to do. Instead, she stepped away from him. Only to stumble as her legs gave and his hold tightened.

‘Your bed,’ he said firmly.

She was trembling so much she couldn’t hold herself up. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘We waste time arguing this. My man is out there.’

How could she have forgotten? One man against three. She nodded her head towards the corner and he half-carried her there, batted away the thin hanging sacks and set her down on the bed. Instant relief for her throbbing leg, but a sharp pain in her ribs. Swiping her tongue against the blood flowing from her lip, she tried to control her shaking body.

It was overwhelming to have this man in the same room with her. Rudd was large, broader, but somehow he didn’t take up as much space. She hurt, felt sick, the last thing she wanted was to humiliate herself in front of him, and yet she simply sat as he stood over her.

She couldn’t quite see him. Yet some odd pressure built between them and reverberated around the room. He was a stranger and yet familiar in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

Silence held suspended between them as his hand went to the dagger at his waist, then his scabbard.

He glanced at his hand, then lowered it as if remembering what he’d left behind. The sword he pointed at the men. But he had knocked them unconscious with rocks when he could have easily killed them. It was another indication of the caliber of man he was. That he was well trained and honorable. But she didn’t know the other man, who was a giant and sounded like he relished battering those men.

‘Will he be all right?’

The room was dark, but not absolute. She could almost see the lifting of his arms, the untying of his cloak. Hear the heavy fabric pool to the floor.

‘Your man, out there,’ she explained. ‘Rudd’s unharmed. He could return and then—’

He made some sound, amusement and disbelief like her question surprised him. ‘Nicholas can hold his own.’

There was something dangerous about his amusement and she was brutally reminded they were mercenaries. Hired swords. Men who made their living on violence and killing. Yet, she wasn’t afraid of him. He had been kind to her and liked her cakes.

‘Do you want them?’

He suddenly stilled.

‘The cakes,’ she explained around the split in her lip. ‘There’s twenty-five of them cooling in the kitchen.’

He jerked as if the words she gave were a blow he wasn’t expecting—was he disappointed there weren’t fifty?

Her stomach dipped. He’d saved her tonight and gave her enough money for fifty cakes. This was how she repaid him, by being a thief. ‘I don’t have the money to return it to you.’

‘No money. No...cakes.’ He stepped back, another, turned as he found the table in the middle of the room and lit the lone candle there.

For one brief moment the entirety of his face was lit, then he moved away. It was enough for her to blink. To wonder if tricks played with the shadows or if the pain affected her eyesight. No one could be that beautiful.

She moved to stand. ‘I’ll get the salves.’

‘Stay. Direct me,’ he said from the shadows.

The lone candle flickered in the small dark room. It illuminated enough so when she pointed behind him, he could find on a smaller table against the wall a pitcher, basin, and linens she kept there for her skin. When he stepped forward to pick up the small clay pot, the candlelight flickered against his half-turned body.

She’d only seen him in the dim light of the inn and while there she was too busy to linger, to watch. Now he was standing and all she could do was see him.

His face was still in shadows, but the rest... The rest of his body spoke of wealth and a masculine symmetry of strength that could only come from years of training. She’d never seen a man built like him. Elegant. Lethal.

He removed the lid, sniffed it and jerked back.

Her smile stung her split lip. ‘It takes some getting used to.’

‘Is this it?’ He covered the top with his hand.

She nodded and couldn’t hide her wince.

‘Where does it hurt?’

She wasn’t trembling at all now. In the quiet cocoon of darkness, her heart had stopped racing. She hurt everywhere. Her cheek had swollen, her cut lip throbbed. Her legs and wrists where they’d restrained her burned. Mostly she was having difficulty breathing. ‘Here.’ She pointed to her ribs.

Another hesitation on his part. ‘Is there anyone else to care for you?’

‘I care for myself. I can do this.’

‘Not this.’ She felt his frown. ‘I’ll need to feel if you have any broken ribs. I won’t be able to feel it over that dress. You’ll need to remove it.’

His words were suddenly firm, like he expected her to protest. He was probably used to women with modesty. He couldn’t know she’d lost that as a child when the healer kept her naked for months, when the innkeepers applied the honey salve over the areas of her body she couldn’t reach.

She wasn’t modest, it had been burned away from her, but she was very much aware of how she looked to others, who hadn’t seen the worst of her scars. Along her torso, her scars were deep slashing grooves where the flaming rafters had pinned her before she could free herself.

A pounding on the door made her jump.

‘It’s Nicholas,’ a male, muffled voice called out.

Her stranger opened the door. ‘They’re taken care of,’ Nicholas reported holding out a sword. ‘But the third returned and...’

‘What did he do to you?’ she gasped. Both men glanced her way.

‘He...er...showed to the party.’ Nicholas’s grim expression looked almost amused as he returned his attention to her stranger. ‘He’ll be waking with a headache. When he wakes. It’ll also take him a while to return.’

‘How far?’ Her shadow man sheathed his sword.

‘To that thick of trees we passed to the South. I would have taken him further, but didn’t know if there’d be any more guests.’

‘There aren’t any more,’ she said.

Both men inspected her briefly. ‘Give me a moment,’ her stranger said, as he stepped outside.

She heard the men talk, but not the words. It was enough for her to know they’d spent many years together. Nicholas’s voice was laced with amusement like he relished hurting his guests. Guests. Words she never would use with those men. But the word was significant because these men, these mercenaries, knew she was listening and used gentler words around her.

Kindness again. She was unused to it since the innkeepers passed away. Agnes, the healer, had cared for her, but hadn’t shown her the same gentleness for her feelings.

She hadn’t thought of the healer this much in years. But instantly knew why she was reminded. It was the men now talking behind the half-opened door.

Their words were efficient. Practical. The healer had cared for her in much the same determined manner. When the pain was bad, it was the healer’s firm voice that broke through it and made her carry on. Like here. Scars or not, her ribs demanded she carry on and so she made a decision.

Her stranger stepped back into the room and closed the door. ‘You won’t have to worry about those men. They’re gone.’ He turned to her and stopped. ‘Your dress.’

‘I took it off. I’m having trouble breathing and I know nothing about broken bones. But it’s sharp and stabbing me worse than their knife point. Will you be able to feel through my chemise?’

With the door closed, he was all in darkness. ‘Yes. Sit, but do not lie down.’ He grabbed the candlestick in one hand and the small table with the linens and water in the other.

The echoing scrape of the table as it was brought closer was unnaturally loud in the small room. Nervous, she ran her hands down her chemise and sat. It immediately constricted her breathing, but eased the shaking in her legs.

She wasn’t prepared at all when he stopped pulling the table. Wasn’t prepared as he lowered the candle so he could inspect her face...and revealed all of his. The lone candle flickered and dimmed with his movements, but she could see him and she was stunned.

Perfection. His hair was cut short on the sides and long on top. Blond, but with a gold tinge like honey in the sunlight, his brows were darker. His lowered lashes were darker yet and absurdly long and thick as he regarded the injuries to her lip and cheek.

His cheekbones elegantly framed the square jaw and slight cleft in his chin. And lips, light pink, almost full if not for the sardonic masculine curve to them. A man who knew humor...or at least once had.

His brow furrowed and there was a twitch to his lips before his eyes flashed to hers as if to determine something. She didn’t know what because it took all she had not to react to the further reveal.

There was no way not to react. Her eyes widened and watered from not blinking. Her lips parted, her breath hitched and she experienced every surprise reaction anybody would under the circumstances.

Beautiful? He wasn’t real. His eyes...they were amber colored. If his hair was light like the tips of a flame, his eyes were dark like honey heated by that fire.

As she watched, they darkened more, his chin tilting almost defiantly.

It was the defiance that broke whatever spell he cast. Defiance. As if he dared her to stare more. It was a look she had given many times when someone had gaped at her marred face. His made no sense to her. She forced people to look so they’d leave her alone.

Why defiance from him when he was perfection? He shouldn’t need to be left alone. She didn’t know the answer to that, but he had showed her only kindness and she was being rude. ‘I’m Helissent.’

He quickly set the candle on the table and was again cast in shadows. But he hadn’t set the candlestick aside fast enough. The defiance in his eyes had eased; however, his look remained guarded or trapped as if he didn’t trust her introduction. It was an odd look coming from a mercenary, who just took down two men and made another run for his life.

* * *

Rhain almost groaned. Nicholas was right, he shouldn’t be here. Neither in this part of the country, nor this tiny village and certainly not in this woman’s home.

Restless, he kept his shift patrolling the town, which had no gates or walls for protection. Any of Reynold’s men would have access to the buildings here. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

He should be proud he stopped an actual ambush even though it wasn’t for him or his men, but this lone woman, who made cakes in the middle of the night when she shouldn’t.

But he wasn’t proud; he was a fool. He hadn’t thought before he attacked. He reacted as he had in London. This time though he should have known better.

At first he did. The men’s menacing voices meant nothing...until he heard hers.

Then he’d stopped. Her voice carrying on the wind. He shouldn’t have recognized it because he’d never heard it above a soft whisper. But he did, and it wasn’t just the tone of it, but the stridency. She was afraid.

Still, he intended to walk away. Nothing in this village was his concern. Especially not Rudd’s more easily understood words about the innkeepers’ debts.

When she screamed, when the piercing cry was cut short, nothing else mattered except getting to her.

But that led him to here. Alone in her home, telling her he would tend to her like he was some caretaker. Worse, she sat on the bed garnering full view of his face and all but asking for his name. He had enemies and his enemies had spies.

He was giving this poverty-stricken woman information that could make her rich, and for Reynold to find him that much faster.

He could rationalize his actions only so far. That she had no one else. That he had some skill with this and it wouldn’t take long. Except he’d already been here in her room longer than logic or reason dictated.

Now she was introducing herself, and somewhere inside him insisted he answer. Maybe it was his breeding, certainly it was his manners; none of it was his instinct for survival.

‘Rhain,’ he replied.

Her wariness eased and her eyes lit. ‘You’re from Wales.’

More than foolish. He had not told her where he hailed from. Had purposefully kept the information, but she lived in an inn, and recognized his accent.

She probably expected him to talk of his homeland as he tended her injuries. As if all of this was some common occurrence.

Reynold on the manhunt to kill him aside, he felt no part of Welsh soil any more. He’d been gone only five years, but when he left, he severed that part of him. That home was dead to him. Should have been dead to him, except he carried a Welsh name, and carried the country in the cadence of his words.

He should have hidden it from her. His name was enough to harm him if he was caught. Hurt her if Reynold so decided. The irony was not lost on him. He’d saved her, only to get her killed. ‘Have you no pillow?’

Not waiting for her response, Rhain abruptly strode to the other room before he emerged again with Rudd’s pillow.

* * *

Helissent knew when to keep her mouth shut. She’d had years of biting her tongue against rude or cruel taunts, but she wasn’t prepared for any of this.

She’d gone from elated exhaustion to abject terror. Then he’d swooped in like some avenging angel, who now insisted on caring for her. Her body felt like it was all real, but her mind felt that this must be some dream. Yet, his accent made him at least human, and she reached out for the little familiarity between them. To make sense of everything.

Now she feared she had made him angry. Her violent trembles had ceased but her entire body could not stay still. ‘I’m sorry, I only meant... I do not know you and tonight has been...’

He cursed low and fast and threw the pillow on her bed. He did not finish her sentence or add words of his own to ease her tumultuous thoughts.

Pain stung her, and her breaths hurt more since she sat down. The silence between them stretched out as if he was coming to some decision. She felt the flickering of the candle on her and his studying eyes. The air between them thickened. She didn’t even know what it was. Anger. Wariness. Danger...it felt dangerous. As though she was in the dark and her feet were walking a cliff side.

He let out a gust of breath. ‘Your cheek is swelling. I may need to nick it to ease the pressure. Your lip will heal with salve. There are burns around your wrists. Any other injuries besides your ribs?’

He had not answered her questions, but talking of injuries was something familiar. She shook her head. Nothing serious. There were parts of her body that she could not feel. But when she took off her gown, she felt her body through her chemise and nothing bled.

‘If you place your hands to your sides, I can check your ribs. I may hurt you.’

Did he think she’d balk at pain? She’d lived through fire. She placed her hands to her sides so her elbows stood out from her and he’d have more access.

He shifted his sword and sat next to her.

She’d only ever been this close to the innkeepers and healer. This man was neither of them. When he placed his hands flat on her back she felt every bit of that difference. Warm palms, elegant widespread fingers. All held flat, and steady. Maybe he was getting her used to his hands as if she’d claimed some modesty she had never felt. Then he slid his hands down her back, his fingers doing a fluttering walking movement, and she gasped. He immediately stopped.

‘Did it hurt? Is it your ribs?’

No, it was his hands on her. Terror from Rudd, pain from the men, and now this suspended moment with this stranger. A moment that held even longer until she shook her head.

‘Is it from the other injuries?’

Injuries, she had no other injuries, and then she remembered. He talked of her skin. Her skin. She had never forgotten it in the past. Every movement, every stray glance in the inn, every night when she used a salve she was reminded of it.

How could she forget even for a moment? Was it him? No, it couldn’t be. Maybe she forgot because she was in shock or pain. It couldn’t be because for a few moments in the dark, with him and his touch, her scars didn’t matter. Right now her skin was fine, her ribs were hurting.

‘No, it’s not the other injuries.’

He moved his hands again, but watched more carefully for her response. Consequently, she tried to hold them in. Then his finger prodded and she couldn’t.

‘There,’ she gasped.

He prodded again, maybe more gently, but it didn’t feel like it. ‘And there.’

He made some sound like distress or agreement. Then he fluttered his hands low around her front and the burning continued until she was panting to get air into lungs that refused to expand.

He yanked his hands away. ‘Does the pain go further up?’

The pain was everywhere, she nodded her head.

‘Feel them as I did.’

She hesitated, her body didn’t want to move.

‘I can’t touch you there. Surely you know I can’t touch you there?’

He looked more confused than she felt. Then she remembered, he worried for her modesty again. It wasn’t something she had to practice, let alone realize she was supposed to feign.

‘Of course.’ She felt along her ribs, both her hands and fingers doing the spider-walking movement he had done.

‘Nothing’s moved?’ he said. ‘Your ribs, do any feel loose?’

‘The pain radiates on my right. Am I to press harder?’

‘No, don’t. You’d know immediately if anything was broken.’ He let out a breath. ‘You’re bruised, maybe fractured. We won’t know that unless you are further harmed or the healing takes longer than a few weeks.’ He stood and grabbed the pot. ‘This salve is for your skin. Does it have other healing properties?’

‘It helps with pain.’

He nodded his head. ‘You can apply it to your front, but you’re in no condition to apply it to your back.’ He stopped, looked over her shoulder briefly. ‘Will you permit me?’

His hands had seared through her chemise. Warm, large, unfamiliar and yet like everything about him, something that calmed and reassured her. A mercenary. A knight. So far from her realm of familiarity, she should be as terrified of him as she was of the men he chased away.

She felt no such fear, but she knew what her skin felt like. Did she dare let this man touch her?

‘My mother...’ He turned the pot in his hand. ‘My mother was a healer. This smells familiar.’

Helissent licked her swollen lip. ‘Did she work with burns?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like mine?’

He looked over at her then, his eyes locked with hers. ‘No, but I watched her.’

What was he telling her? Nothing. He neither knew how to care for burns such as hers, nor had he ever done it himself. But there was something in the way he said it that put a sentiment she understood. Pain. He understood pain and that was enough.

She untied the lacing that bound her breasts within her chemise. When it was loose, she moved to shrug it off her, but his hand suddenly pressed upon her shoulder.

‘Stop.’

She’d been avoiding looking at him when he had sat so close. When he touched and inspected her. She had completely averted her head as she felt along her breasts though she was sure he had not averted his eyes. She had been tended before, this should have been nothing but a normal everyday occurrence.

This wasn’t like those times. He wasn’t like those times. He was like no one she had ever met before and everything in her knew it.

Looking at him confirmed that now. The candle was behind him, but she caught glimpses of his perfect symmetry within the flickering flame.

He was stunning, he was standing close and his hand was on her shoulder. She was terrified, hurting, but whatever her body was feeling was none of those emotions.

‘Your chemise is loose enough.’ He poured some of the pungent mixture in one hand, as he peeled the chemise away from her back. ‘Hold the front as I apply this.’

It was dark, the chemise would further shade her skin. He couldn’t see her scars, but in a moment he’d feel them. Her torso was much worse than her face. Terribly worse and he seemed to sense it when he leaned a knee on her bed, laid his hands on her back and stopped.

He held his breath. She knew she held hers until she cleared her thoughts at being touched again like this.

She’d never been touched like this. But she needed to let him know he wasn’t harming her.

‘It’s all right... You can’t hurt me further. My skin. I hardly feel anything on that side,’ she whispered frantically. She wanted this suspended moment over. It had gone on too long. His man was outside guarding the door. Rudd could appear and she shouldn’t have a man in her home. All of that didn’t matter, because her shock was wearing off, but not the pain.

He made a sound as though he was stopping himself from saying something, then he slid his hands along her back, slowly, gently, efficiently. Practical.

It didn’t feel practical. She lied when she said she couldn’t feel anything. On her left, she felt everything. The roughness of his callouses, the heat from his hands. The gentle, gentle pressure that radiated something deep within her.

When he reached the lower part of her back, he let out a breath, but she couldn’t seem to release hers.

Then she felt his studying gaze again and realized his hands had reached the deepest grooves of her skin. She was used to them, but she should have prepared him more. He confessed his mother hadn’t treated anyone as bad as she.

‘They don’t hurt; it merely feels as though it does.’ Her voice remained steady. Efficient, as his hands.

He huffed out another breath, but he widened his fingers and smeared the mixture until it started to stick, then abruptly he removed his hands.

Just as abruptly he stepped away and out of the candle’s light only to loosen his belt and yank his fine linen tunic off. ‘You need to apply the salve to your front,’ he said as he began to rip his tunic into jagged strips. ‘I need to bind your ribs. It’ll help secure them if they’re fractured; remind you that you’re hurt before you move too fast. Tie your chemise’s laces and stand.’

His request was kind, but his words were rough, like orders. Dipping her fingers into the pot, she wondered about his past that made him like this. She knew he wasn’t always so rough or direct. She’d watched him for days. He had made jokes with the other men, drank ale from the goblet like it was wine.

Then there was an innate sense of elegance in every movement he made. Pulling her chemise away from her body and gently rubbing the familiar salve over her sore ribs. Refinement even in something as simple as tying his tunic scraps together.

He came back into the lone flickering light. The linen tied around his right fist, a strip in his left. A look of gentle determination about his face as he looked everywhere but at her eyes. Her eyes which took him in. It was as if the candlelight wanted her to see him for it flared brighter when she stood. The fit of his breeches, the low-slung angle of his belt and scabbard, the bareness of his torso. He was golden all over like heated honey. Like shadows, like light.

Eyes lowered, he kept his silence, though it seemed troubled now. She remembered his wary defiant look from before and raised her arms so he could press the end below her collarbone. Then he took her hand to hold it there before weaving the fabric tightly around her.

He circled her while she kept her eyes straight, trying not to see, at the same time he kept his lowered as if he was trying to hide from her. But always, always his methodical movements flared the candle so that each swing around, his body was revealed to her more.

Utter perfection. Utter beauty. If a man could be called that. If a mercenary dared. Not even the few scars she glimpsed or one bruise that darkened his side marred the contours of his splayed back, the ridges of his abdomen.

She dropped her arms after the second turning. Saw him drop his shoulders as the linen bound tightly around her breasts, around her middle.

Collarbones that jutted. Shoulders curving with sinuosity even in the refrained movements of his hands.

All of it golden, all of it in shadows in the flared light. All of it too much as he finished the task and tied the knot.

‘Your cheek is swollen, but not overly so,’ he said. ‘I will leave it.’

Then there was nothing else. He was done. They were done.

‘It was you this entire time.’ He stepped back, and grabbed his cloak. ‘With the food, with the cakes. You’re the one who made it all?’

She nodded.

‘It was good. Very good.’ He continued towards the door. When he reached it he said in a tone that was firm, but apologetic, ‘I won’t be here tomorrow. We’re leaving early.’

She couldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t be here when Rudd returned, but she wasn’t surprised.

As if reading her thoughts, he added, ‘There’s nowhere else you could go, no one else you could stay with?’

‘My family died a long time ago.’

Though he’d never gazed overtly at her before, he did so now as his eyes roamed from her face down to her scarred and battered hand. His lips thinned as if stopping words from escaping before he said, ‘You should rest now.’

She was tired and intended to rest. She needed it. She could no more stop Rudd than she could the fire, but she would survive both. She was only realizing how it could be done.

‘Rhain,’ she said through the tightening in her throat.

He stopped, looked over his shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

She’d surprised him; his eyes lit and she saw something restless beneath his steady gaze, then he opened the door. She heard Nicholas’s words, a sound of amusement and Rhain’s low rebuke before he shut the door behind him and all was silent.

But it wouldn’t be for long. Before she released the breath she’d been holding, she knew what she had to do.

Chapter Five

Rhain heard the tethered horses and the jingle of tackle through the morning’s drizzling air. His men’s voices were low and unusually somber. There would be a storm today. He hated riding in the rain and it would be worse if the wind kicked up.

When he rounded the corner he saw his men who were no doubt wondering why they rode today. Before London, he never would have travelled on days like this. In inclement weather, many a wealthy and powerful family was forced to wait for their arrival. He wasn’t soft, but wise. He valued his men, their safety and health, they were in turn valued by their patrons. It was a simple game of appearance.

Now, he couldn’t take such a luxury as waiting out the weather. It was early, but already the village was wakening and many were loitering in the streets, watching them in curiosity. They had garnered enough attention in this tiny village.

He tried not to look over his shoulder at the inn behind him; he tried not to think of the woman he was leaving behind, and as his stomach growled he tried not to think of the best cakes he had ever tasted in his life wasting in the kitchens.

‘You readied my horse?’ he said, as he patted the horse’s neck.

‘You slept in late.’ Nicholas shrugged.

‘You were there; you know why.’

He and Nicholas hadn’t slept but an hour or two. He left Helissent’s home with a purse full of coin. It was considerably lighter after he and Nicholas knocked from door to door. Waking families, telling them what had occurred, paying them to protect Helissent should it come to it.

A troubled night and one where he had little faith in people. They should have already helped her before some stranger paid them to.

‘Yes, but I didn’t sleep late and miss all the excitement,’ Nicholas said.

His thoughts plagued by a certain woman, who smelled of cakes, he couldn’t fall asleep as Nicholas had. ‘Excitement?’

‘He means me,’ a voice behind him said. A female voice.

Rhain spun around. Standing next to his men, wearing most likely all the clothing she had, plus the tattered blanket he’d spread over her, stood Helissent.

‘What is she doing here?’ he said.

Nicholas arched his brow. ‘You gave her your tunic. I know how you like to care for stray dogs. This wasn’t also part of your plan?’

‘You know the plan and adding another isn’t part of it.’ Rhain waved his hand in her direction. ‘Especially not a woman.’ He didn’t care what Helissent heard, but he kept his voice low. His men didn’t need to hear his argument. ‘What did you tell the men?’

Nicholas unclenched his fingers around the bridle. ‘I didn’t tell the men anything. They came to their own conclusions.’

Rhain looked to his men, who were no longer talking, but avidly looking at the proceedings. There was no amusement on his behalf or annoyance that a woman was in their midst. They were simply openly glaring at him. What conclusions had they come to?

Nicholas gave a saluting smirk before he walked the horse to the men and said a few words. Rhain swore he heard laughter, but his focus was on the woman staring levelly at him.

He still couldn’t comprehend the color of her eyes, even in daylight, but he understood the emotion behind them.

If she was stubborn, he would break her. If she was afraid, he’d keep it that way. He had precious little time left. He’d spent too much in the inn eating her food and too much time in her home, kneeling on her bed last night.

Last night... He’d slept in because he hadn’t been able to sleep until exhaustion took him. Until he’d been able to stop his wandering thoughts of a scarred barmaid who’d stared with wide eyes at him in the flickering candlelight. Who’d sat stoically as he tended her. As his body shook with rage at what those men had done. Then he’d felt her back and he’d wanted to gather her to him, weep and rage some more.

His lack of sleep would deter him enough for the day if he didn’t have distractions, which the woman who stood in front of him most definitely was. If for no other reason she extracted emotions from him he had no intention of feeling.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I brought you the cakes.’ She pointed to a sack at her feet. A large sack that matched the one next to it.

‘I was going to leave them in the kitchen,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she said.

He knew she knew. He could see in her eyes, and the tight bracketing around her mouth, she wasn’t happy that he’d left the cakes.

‘I only thought—’

‘I told you to keep the cakes.’

She opened her clutched hand, revealing the coins he gave her. ‘Then I’ll have to give you back the money.’

‘I told you to keep the money.’

‘But I won’t.’

An honest barmaid. A stubborn one, but a battle on the cakes wasn’t one he wanted to win. He shrugged. ‘So I’ll take your cakes. You keep the money. You’ll need it.’

‘It’s not mine either. It’ll return to Rudd’s hiding place as soon as we’re done here.’

A moment of displeasure and frustration. He didn’t want that vermin anywhere near his money. She made the cakes, she deserved the money. Especially since he fully intended to leave her in this village.

But his feeling of guilt wasn’t what alerted him to something else she said. Guilt he could live with.

No, what caused him to look over her shoulder at his men and narrow his eyes, was that she acted as though they were bartering. As far as he was concerned, the transaction was over. He reached down and took one of the sacks at her feet.

‘I want you to take me with you,’ she said.

Rhain could feel his men’s eyes on him. He most definitely could feel Nicholas’s smirk even from this distance. How long had she been here before he arrived? Long enough for his horse to be saddled and prepared. Long enough for her to approach the men and ask to leave with them. And Nicholas, who knew what happened last night, knew he’d spent most of the time tending to her injuries, giving her his tunic for binding. Nicholas, who’d obviously come to the wrong conclusion.

Take her with them? Not on his life. ‘No.’

‘I won’t be any burden; I can hold my own.’

Hold her own? He could barely look at her this morning, though it was the first time he saw her fully in the light.

The heavy shrouding mist made her look more bedraggled than ever before. Bedraggled? She looked like she was in pain. It pained him to look at her. It wasn’t only the bruises on her face or the way she held herself protectively.

It was what was in her eyes. She didn’t expect him to say no to her request and she took his refusal personally.

He couldn’t have anyone on this journey, let alone a lone woman. No matter what she said next he would not take her. His men were openly glaring at him now and some of the Flanders men had stepped closer to her. He didn’t care if they didn’t like his judgement. His men would be better off without him as well, and if he made it to Edward’s camp, he fully intended to leave them there.

‘You aren’t in any condition to travel.’

She winced as if he slapped her across the cheek. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

He knew she was stronger than she looked; her standing before him was testament to that. Her determination to be part of a band of mercenaries showed her bravery, but he could see the trembles beneath. Despite himself, he admired her standing firm.

If he didn’t have someone after him, would he take her? Given his anger at just the thought of last night, he knew the answer. Unfortunately for them both, he didn’t have the luxury of such questions. Though he had been taught a lesson, Rudd might try to harm her, but he was too much of a coward to kill her. Reynold would.

‘Do you know what we are?’

‘Mercenaries,’ she said evenly.

‘Then you know we murder and thieve for a living. Can you kill and steal?’ He stared pointedly until her eyes turned mutinous. ‘I didn’t think so. You are of no use to us. You will only be a burden.’

* * *

Helissent forced herself to look directly into Rhain’s gaze, clear as anything despite the hood he wore. Forced herself not to turn when his eyes roved all over her features taking in every old and new injury. Out of a lifetime of habit, she turned her head to display her scarred side. Felt his eyes there, but they didn’t stay and he didn’t wince or show pity.

It was probably because he already took his fill of her scars last night.

The moment Rhain left last night, she’d planned her escape. It didn’t matter how much Rhain or his man Nicholas threatened Rudd. They would be gone and Rudd would seek his vengeance. She couldn’t remain.

There was no home for her any more. She had to find a home of her own and the only way to do that was to get out of the village. But a woman travelling alone wouldn’t get very far. She had to travel with this man. This man who told her he wouldn’t take her.

‘I was told you intend to travel north. I merely want passage to York. I can cook. I know you have no one doing that for you now.’

A certain light entered his eyes. A calculating disapproval. She wasn’t sure as he eyed the men behind her. ‘You were told our destination and told we had no one to cook for us.’ Then he raised one sardonic brow and she felt all the mockery of all the ages bearing down on her. ‘These men are not pampered and do not need fine fare.’

She wasn’t prepared for him to say no, let alone a rebuttal, but she wouldn’t give up. ‘I can help with horses, or generally. I hardly eat anything at all.’

He slowly shook his head through her suggestions and his lips turned almost cruel. ‘If there’s a woman in the camp, there would be only one reason she was there.’

At first, she didn’t understand. There was nothing in her history to allow her to understand. It was only how the men behind him suddenly stiffened and shifted. It was merely the cutting cruelty of his voice that reminded her about last night. Last night when he rescued her from those men, who’d almost raped her.

Did he believe she’d burst into womanly tears and run away? Never. He was telling her if she went with them she’d be a camp whore. She didn’t blush because she wasn’t capable. Even so, she wanted to laugh. Broken, brittle, but genuine all the same. Did he think his men would actually want her? Nobody would want her. She didn’t even want herself. She hadn’t saved her sister from the fire as she promised—like a coward she wanted the flames to consume her, too. Now she wore the deep scars of that shame.

And all of that, though true, wasn’t at the heart of the matter. Because last night she was almost raped or worse and he had saved her. She did know one truth. He wasn’t Rudd. ‘Are you telling me I’ll be treated worse than I was last night?’

The brackets around his tight jaw and mouth didn’t soften with remorse or pity. Instead, a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Then he flipped his cape to the side and reached in a pouch around his waist. She heard the unmistakable sound of coins as he opened his hand and offered them to her without looking at the amount.

When she didn’t step forward, he threw them on to the bag at her feet and addressed the youngest one in the group who had walked closer to her. In fact, all the men almost circled her. Their frowns were fierce and she felt a shiver of nervousness.

She didn’t know these men despite approaching them this morning. Despite speaking to the man called Nicholas, who suffered from a sword scar across one eye and was larger than any man had the right to be.

The rest had stayed quiet as she’d talked to Nicholas. Some had eyes as cold and unforgiving as any mercenary’s eyes, while others appeared merely curious. It was Nicholas who was friendly, though he seemed to have some agenda when he said she could wait for Rhain to arrive. So that’s all she did. Wait, while shivering from the mist and trembling from the pain and exhaustion. She waited.

Now these men looked as though they meant to haul her away, so she widened her stance. She waited because there was no other place for her to go. She’d fought those men last night and she would do it again.

Rhain faced them all and pointed to the boy. ‘Take those bags and help her return home.’

When he turned to her, she felt his stare, felt the animosity from him. She had meant to insult him with her comment and succeeded. He’d saved her and she’d lumped him in with her would-be rapists. But he still refused to take her.

After his generous coin for her cakes, after he complimented them and her, after he saved her, she thought he was kind. But in the light of morning, she reflected on the other sides to him. The fact he was a mercenary and he kept his hood up, as if hiding his face, like a wanted man. The fact he knocked those men unconscious with deadly accuracy and today she heard the cold hardness in his voice. Then there were his shadows. Always his shadows.

She didn’t know this man at all. He fully intended to leave her here even knowing Rudd awaited her. She had no other compensation to offer for her passage, nothing to barter with except his sweet tooth.

‘I made the rest of the cakes,’ she said in a rush.

Stillness. Unnatural. As if she’d shocked him. No sharp breath, no blinking of his amber eyes. His face, his body as unmoving as stone now covered with heavy mist that was turning to rain falling harder and soaking them.

It darkened his clothes, his countenance. His implacable eyes swirled with more emotions than she could name. More emotions than he’d shown last night when he stopped those men. When he tended her wounds.

‘You made twenty-five cakes last night,’ he said, enunciating each word until they held a bite.

‘And I made twenty-five more this morning,’ she added.

He leaned forward as if to strangle her and just held back. Even so, she felt his anger, surprise and displeasure as his eyes raked down her now-drenched form.

She knew she was lacking, knew she was disfigured. But she could cook and bake; she was resourceful. When he left last night, she’d gathered her strength as she thought through her plan of leaving the only home she had. When she’d made up her mind, she left for the kitchens.

It made sense for Rhain to take her. He had to know her situation. There was no way she could get his money back and consequently she made the rest of the cakes. Even though the kitchen’s heat had pained her more than ever and her ribs protested her every move. But it was worth it because she wanted to thank him for last night and for the expected ride today.

She didn’t think it would come to this. That she would be bargaining a life for herself over some flour and honey. That she would be using a cake to prove she was worthy of him taking her.

‘We have no horse for you,’ he said.

The village didn’t have any spares. ‘I didn’t expect a horse.’

Her heart flipped and churned until she was sure he would notice. Something had changed, but she tried not to get her hopes up. He wasn’t saying no any more, though nothing he said yet proved otherwise. He merely talked of horses and convenience, but those were obstacles, not refusal. This couldn’t truly be about his sweet tooth, but exactly what it was about, she didn’t know.

His tightly locked countenance told her nothing. Especially since even though his hood was up, he was almost too precisely beautiful to be real. The only indications that he was real were the slight exasperation of his breath and the fleeting emotions in his amber eyes.

‘I’m not a savior,’ he said.

She, of all people, knew no one was and that she didn’t deserve one. ‘I’m not asking you to be.’

He nodded once, scanned his eyes around the men before he said, ‘She rides with me.’

Chapter Six

Rhain regretted his action immediately. It wasn’t the delay of departing the village, though by the time they strapped Helissent’s few possessions to the horses, and sat her atop his own, the rain had begun to fall in earnest.

The sky was darkening in every direction. The storm was coming and soon even a modicum of comfort, of carrying on a conversation, would be denied them.

Even that he could ignore. He couldn’t ignore the woman bundled until he shouldn’t feel her and yet her trembles became his. He didn’t know why she trembled, it could be the cold. It could be fear. Over Rudd and leaving her home? Or did she fear them? If she did fear his band of mercenaries, it wasn’t enough to make her stay away.

It didn’t matter he and Nicholas came from nobility. Their lineage was in the past. They were no more or less than what they made of themselves now, which were killers for a price.

Yet this woman had begged to travel with them. He didn’t need to guess why and anyone who had suffered as she had would have to be stubborn and brave.

But his admiration for her or her stubbornness wasn’t why she rode with him, why he felt her trembles. Why he hadn’t kept his hood up for her last night.

For he hadn’t.

And she hadn’t done what every other woman had ever done. He’d expected it, had taken advantage of it at one point of his life. His face had simply been his reality.

She’d stared and then averted her eyes. It had been almost amusing, if not for the disconcerting fact he actually wanted her eyes on him.

He didn’t recognize what it was about her, but he had felt it the moment he entered the inn and it raged like an inferno through him when he realized those men meant to harm her.

Then in the quiet of her home, she’d allowed his touch. She had braced herself, hid her gasps, but she still let him close enough to feel her.

He hadn’t thought to brace himself as he touched her. He’d been intent only to see if she’d fractured a rib, only wanted to relieve her pain with the ointment. So he hadn’t been ready for how his own body reacted.

The soft heat of her skin, the way she smelled. The feel and textures of her underneath his fingertips. All of it should have made him only think of her injuries, but that wasn’t what he had felt at first.

First he felt her as a man would a woman and desire recklessly arced through him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak because he had to choke the sounds of need clamoring suddenly inside him.

Unexpected, and all because of her. Only her. His reaction had nothing to do with his lack of female companionship. Over the years more women than he could count had bent over him or abruptly sat in his lap. Trailed their hands and fingers along any part of him they could reach and he’d felt nothing.

All of that dead to him because he had to make it so. Because when he’d learned the truth of his lineage, he could never take matters further with a woman.

So he hadn’t been prepared he’d feel anything when he touched her. He shouldn’t have felt anything when she was hurting.

All of it was made worse when she took his frozen state as revulsion because she spoke those broken words about her scars. Only then did he realize too late what else he felt.

The roughness warring with the softness of her skin underneath his fingers. That was enough to jar him, to remind him she was injured, and he needed to check for broken bones and apply the ointment.

But it didn’t stop his desire for her, not when she inspected herself and he’d wished it could be his fingers trailing along the front of her ribcage and the gentle swells hinted there.

Desire, which was all the more torturous when he yanked off his tunic and watched her eyes widen, her lips part.

Felt the echoing of his desire from the air on his bared skin and the tightening of his body. As he stood half-naked in the dark intimate quiet of the room, she was suddenly someone he needed. His mind and body in complete conflict with each other, he’d viciously stripped his tunic and tied the ends.

All to bind her and unerringly tighten his need as he walked slowly around and watched what the tight binding revealed, what the thin chemise did not.

Her slender shape, the curves of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the breadth of her collarbones, the curve of her jaw. Her long, long legs. Another circle and he knew exactly the height of those legs, the width and shape of her hips, the location of each jutting bone and all her womanly softness.

All of her, every inch of her in proportion to him. Just a few inches shorter, just enough so when he pressed and lifted her against him, she’d fit. They’d fit.

He couldn’t leave her home quick enough. To get out into the cool night air. To Nicholas’s sharp wit and even sharper watchful eyes.

But not fast enough. He’d heard her thank him and felt the visceral regret, the frustrating anger that his life wasn’t different and could never be. Then he’d closed the door and left her behind.

Except she didn’t stay behind. He did what he could to separate from her on this journey. Kept his own conflicted counsel, allowed her to find her own way when they stopped to rest. The men, at least, fed her and shared their water.

It did no good, he still felt her trembles and he bundled her as much as he could against the cold. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain.

* * *

The day was ending and Helissent could barely acknowledge her surroundings. Hours like this in the downpour. They didn’t even try to stay dry. There was no point. The wind would merely sweep away capes and blankets and hoods.

Maybe it was the rain, but there was no rest. Allowing everyone to relieve themselves only once, Rhain kept the slow but unrelenting pace.

And the almost brutal silence. It was as if he said what he needed to and then refused to say any more. She thought at first it was the rain, but the others talked though they sputtered and shouted to be heard.

No, it was only for her he kept the quiet. Kept his anger. He had not wanted her on this trip and let her know his displeasure. Which made his reason for making her ride with him all the more confusing.

As did him swiftly pulling his cloak over him and her, and yanking her blanket to cover her. All of it seemed to cushion them from the driving rain, but didn’t soften his utter silence. Subsequently, she was left with only her thoughts, only what she could observe. Both were like a downpour on her senses.

She’d left her home. Her village. A place where people knew who she was, who knew what happened to her and allowed her still in their presence.

She hadn’t thought of that when she decided to leave. She had only been thinking it wasn’t safe any more. But was she any safer outside her village, and from the villagers, who knew her home had burned to the ground with her family in it? Who knew she survived when she shouldn’t have, when she tried not to because she failed to save her sister as she had promised?

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