Page 27 of My Warrior
“Your father betrayedmytrust,” he insisted.
“All my father ever cared about were his people and his land. He didn’t care who sat upon the throne.” She stabbed him with an icy glare. “He was going to sign your damned documents!”
“He never signed them. He attacked my men.”
“He couldn’t have!”
“Were you there?” he demanded, his eyes challenging her.
The space of silence grew as her agony of doubt filled the room. She’d cursed herself a thousand times for having slept through the horrible slaughter of her father.
“Nay,” she finally admitted, defeat thickening her voice.
His point made, he turned his back on her and slipped his heavy hauberk on. He shrugged the mail over his shoulders and adjusted the length from front to back.
Then he let out a loud sigh and turned to her. “I’ve no reason to trust you,” he murmured.
Nonetheless, he retrieved the ring of keys from the leather pouch lying atop his tabard and jangled it against his palm.
“Your clan is important to you, is it not?”
She lifted her chin, once again as proud as any queen. “It’s everything.”
“Then will you swear, upon your honor to your clansmen, that you’ll not attempt to escape from this keep while I’m away?”
She gave his words careful consideration. She didn’t like making such a promise, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t remain chained to his bed like some concubine. She slowly nodded her assent. “I swear.”
He bent over her to work the lock, one knee pressing into the pallet beside her. He slipped a finger beneath the shackle band, brushing the delicate skin of the inside of her wrist. She swallowed hard. His hands, though battle-nicked, were long-fingered and nimble, not at all the brutal paws she’d expected. The masculine scent of him—the iron tang of his armor, the musk of leather, some elusive spice, woodruff or cinnamon—seemed to engulf her. His hair curled rebelliously down his neck, and his lips tensed slightly as he tried the various keys. His breath was even and gentle upon her face, and he was close enough for her to see the stubble on his cheek. His lashes were as thick and dark as the trees in a wood, and though they were lowered, she remembered his eyes were the color of Highland pines, deep and wise and mysterious. Odd, she thought, she’d not noticed the gray flecks in them before, but then…
Shite, he was staring at her. Flustered, she dropped her gaze. Then she noticed that the shackles were already unlocked. She cleared her throat and rubbed hard at her wrist.
He moved away, but the air still felt charged around her. She closed her eyes against the sensation. Curse him, this was the man who was responsible for her father’s death.
“Thank you,” she said frostily.
He winced almost imperceptibly. Then, with a brusque nod, he went to open the door, calling for the squire outside to help him with his armor plate.
“You may wander the castle,” he informed her, “but don’t go beyond the castle wall. I’ll issue orders that you’re not to be harmed. But if I were you, I wouldn’t attract the attention of knights who have cause to despise you.”
He didn’t have to warn her. She vividly remembered Sir Guy’s dark threat.
When the squire finished, his master looked formidable indeed. The chain mail fit over his muscular arms and legs like the scaly plate of a dragon. The rich forest green tabard, emblazoned with the fierce black Wolf de Ware, hugged his hips where it was secured with a black leather belt. The gleaming armor plate made his already broad shoulders that much more imposing.
The squire handed the lord his great helm, and then took his leave. Lord Holden faced her, pulling on his gauntlets.
“I’ll return in a few days. If you’re not here, laird of Gavin,” he said ominously, “pray that I never find you.”
When he’d left and closed the door behind him, Cambria let out the breath she’d been holding. She stood and flexed her arms like a falcon loosed from its jesses. She was free now.
So why did she still feel imprisoned by the man?
She shivered and looked about her. This chamber was indisputably his domain, or rather he’dmadeit his, from the dark red damask bed curtains and deep blue feather bolsters to the intricate Oriental carpet and the well-ordered quill and parchment set upon the table. Even his scent lingered in the room. He may have gone, but she still belonged to him, just as much as the carpet or the table or the candlesticks. And no matter how magnanimous he’d seemed in granting her her freedom, she was sure he’d left orders for her to be watched closely, just like his other property.
Eventually she drifted over to the arched window. Below, Holden and nine of his men were mounting up to ride off across the flower-studded hills. She prayed they’d not meet Gavin men. Robbie and Graham were so young, like children next to these invaders. The knights made a formidable company, even if they were English, particularly with Lord Holden at their fore.
Holden must have felt her eyes upon him, for he turned before they rode into the forest and gave her a salute. She stepped back from the window and clapped the shutters close before he could see the pink flush of her cheeks.
A moment later, Gwen timidly crept in with bread and watered wine. She wouldn’t meet Cambria’s eyes. Cambria imagined she was probably still stung by the near attack of the day before. Her kicked dog expression made Cambria regret her earlier actions, so she broke the loaf of bread and handed the maid a chunk of it in an overture of peace.
