Page 86 of The Knight’s Reward

Angry at Lyndwood, at himself, and the king, Neill slammed his goblet on the table, splatters of red wine flying out. “That he would risk so much for a woman . . .” He cut himself off, shaken. He’d been thinking of the king’s commitment to Lady Alina, although his words could just as easily be applied to himself.

“You’ve more to consider than just the borderlands,” Lyndwood said, his expression dark. But Neill already knew what the man was going to say.

“If you spurn the Lady Alina, you risk not only Edward’s wrath but that of her father, who will not take kindly to a broken promise. Though how he would retaliate, I cannot say.” Lyndwood drank deeply of his wine.

DeBeers would see it as an affront both from and to Edward. But would he really use his connection to the French crown to retaliate?

Could Neill’s decision cause not one but two wars?

Clearly Lyndwood thought so.

“You cannot do it,” the man repeated.

His chest tight, Neill stood. He’d heard enough.

“Thank you for your counsel, my lord.”

With that, he turned and left. And for the first time in a long while, Neill felt utterly and completely defeated.

He cared not for the feeling at all.

* * *

Kathryn rubbed the cloth across her face, down to her neck and over her arms. She should not have spent her precious gold on such a trifle as dried rose, but had indulged herself. The men, of course, had questioned her about their visit to the floristry and tailor, but she’d remained sufficiently elusive. They’d accepted her explanation, or lack thereof, and followed her about the city, making sure to leave for the inn before the most dangerous part of the day.

Vespers, otherwise known as the murdering hour here in London.

Her mind kept straying to Neill. Wondering what he was doing. She knew it didn’t matter—she couldn’t allow him to sway her from her purpose. And though she should be terrified, Kathryn felt at peace with her decision.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings. Opening it, she let out a breath of relief, realizing she’d not inquired to the identity of her visitor.

“You should be more careful,” Neill said, not unexpectedly, as he walked in past her.

She said nothing. The awkwardness between them from earlier lingered. Dressed only in her shift, Kathryn noticed that Neill had recently bathed. His hair, still wet, curled at the ends, and she had the overwhelming desire to touch it. To feel the tendrils beneath her fingers.

Which, of course, made her think of the only time she had allowed herself to explore him with her touch, his stomach as hard and unyielding as an iron sword. Without a word, he drew her to him, and this time she did not protest. Kissing him felt as natural now as breathing.

His tongue delved inside her mouth, and she met it with her own. Desperation, knowing what was to come, made her cling to him more tightly than usual. When he pulled away, Kathryn felt . . . lost.

“I would make you mine this night if I could.”

She knew and wished it too.

“Come.”

Kathryn tugged on his hand and led him to her bed. Though he seemed surprised, Neill did not argue. Instead, he lay down as she silently suggested he do. And then she climbed up against him, burrowing her head into his chest.

He put his arms around her, one under her head, the other holding her hand, and they lay like that for some time.

“You smell like roses,” he finally said. She repositioned her head to look at him.

“Aye.”

Unwilling to tell him where she’d gotten the fragrance, worried he may make further inquiries, she tried to guide the conversation away from what was to come.

What tomorrow would bring.

“Tell me another story about your childhood,” she said instead. “Something I do not yet know.”