Page 23 of A Knight for Gwenllian

He made for the horses, and Gwenllian hurried after him. But instead of reaching for the mare, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, we cannot leave the poor man here to be used by his son again when another woman who looks like his dead wife crosses their path,” she whispered, turning her back to the old man, who had not moved from his place by the river and was still staring off into the distance. “It’s not his fault that he’s confused and miserable.”

No, it wasn’t. Or was it? Had she considered the possibility that the two men worked together? One pretended to recognize his wife, tugged at the woman’s heartstrings with a story of woe, and the other reaped his reward. Alexander could see how it would work on unsuspecting women and the people accompanying them. It had almost worked, in fact.

“What tells you Old John is not complicit in the scheme?” he asked, more brusquely than he intended.

He wasn’t angry at her, but after everything that had happened, Alexander was ill-disposed to generosity. He’d been hurt and humiliated. Worse, much worse, Gwenllian had almost been raped. Thankfully, she had managed to fight off her attacker, but it had been too close for comfort. He wasn’t sure anyone deserved a second chance.

“Alexander. Please. Look at him. Do you really believe he knows what his son meant to do?”

He sighed. There would be no gainsaying her. And in truth, no, the man didn’t look like he was out to trick anyone. He likely had no idea how his son exploited his grief and confusion. But what could they do? He could not drag the man all the way to Scotland with them. And riding back all the way to Audley now, only to lose a week and see Colin and his accursed mistress again, was unthinkable.

“Very well,” he said when he landed on the perfect solution. “We’ll take him to the nearest town, just on the other side of the hill. I know the tavern owner, having stopped there a few times on my travels. For a modest sum, he will send his son to Audley with a message for my steward. Master Simon will know what to do. I have no doubt he will find Old John a place to stay somewhere in the village.”

“Oh, thank you, that is perfect.”

She looked relieved, and even close to tears. This reaction confounded him. The man was nothing to her, and his son had just attacked her. Why was she so determined to help him? Because she was a much better person than he was, that was why. He would have ridden away without a backward glance and left the old man to his own devices, but now that Gwenllian had made him do something to help, Alexander felt chastised. As a man of honor and a knight, sworn to protect those weaker than him, he should have thought of providing the man with a better situation than his current one. She was right. John was powerless, and it was not his fault that his son was a bastard taking advantage of the unfortunate situation.

With a nod, he walked back to the river, determined to set things right.

“You’re coming with us,” he told the man, lifting him by the elbow. “Can you ride?”

The man scoffed, and his eyes suddenly cleared, as if he’d been recalled back to the present. In just a few heartbeats, he seemed like a different person.

“I was riding before you took your first step, young man.”

Young man. This told Alexander with certainty that the man was not playing any games. He really had lost his grip on reality. No man in his right mind would have dared address him thus when he was so obviously his superior.

“Well, then,” he said, leading him back to the horses. “You will ride Buttercup, and I will take Lady Gwenllian on Starburst with me.”

Would Old John ask who this “Lady Gwenllian” was, since he took her for Isobel? No, to Alexander’s relief, his attention seemed now wholly focused on the destrier. This was an animal the likes of which a villager would not have seen often. And indeed, from the way he vaulted on top of the animal, it was clear that the man knew his way around horses. He would be able to follow without mishap.

That was something less to worry about, at least, Alexander mused. Because as soon as Gwenllian sat in front of him, he understood that this ride would try his control to the limit.

“Let’s go,” he said, doing his best to hide his turmoil. “I’d like to reach the tavern before nightfall.”

Chapter Eight

By the time Gwenllian dismounted from Starburst, her whole body was on fire. Being in Alexander’s arms had created havoc with her senses. The movement of the horse under her, mimicking the lewd thrusts of a lover, had heated her blood to an unbearable point. This ride had been the best, most deliciously erotic moment of her life.

She remembered feeling some of that tension the day he had brought her home to Audley, of course, after rescuing her, but today it had been different, a hundred times more potent. They knew one another now. He knew her as his friend’s sister-in-law, and she knew him as the wonderful man he was.

And they had kissed, of course.

That kiss

Go drapia! She was still not quite sure what had motivated it—relief, gratitude or desire—and she still didn’t know who had initiated it, but one thing was certain: she would never forget it. It had been hot. It had been sweet. It had been devastating and, strange as this description may be, both unexpected and natural. It had not been her first kiss, if you considered that kissing was the act of placing one’s lips against someone else’s, but what she had done with Alun and Tomos could not even compare. The sensations provoked by the young Welshmen had warmed her chest, the ones Alexander had roused in her had scorched her entire body. Had it been the same for him? She doubted the feeling would have been as strong. He was older, no doubt more experienced, he would have kissed more than two women in his life. And he would have done a lot more than kiss them, of course.

What type of lover was he? Attentive yet demanding, she suspected, tender yet assertive. Insatiable probably. He would make his conquest⁠—

“Sir Alexander!” a voice boomed, bringing her back to the present.

A stout man was walking up to them, his face wreathed in smiles. It was obvious he was pleased to see Alexander, who slid down from the saddle and greeted him with a nod. “Henry.”

“What brings you here, my lord? Except the best ale in the county, that is?”

The jest was acknowledged with a snort. “In truth, I have a favor to ask of you.”