Page 13 of One Knight in the Forest

“You were having a nightmare.”

Reluctance etched his features. He seemed ashamed of her knowing he suffered bad dreams; ’twas his stubborn male pride, no doubt, pricking his conscience. “Can Borden not make you a potion to help you sleep?”

Cyn’s gaze, firm and uncompromising, met hers. “I am the local sheriff. I cannot take potions that will dull my senses. I must be able to ride in an instant, fight with speed and skill, if there is danger. Now, how are you feeling?”

“My head is spinning a bit, and I feel groggy,” she admitted, still tugging on the bedding that only partially covered her lap.

“’Tis likely from the drink.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. Was he irritated by their discussion, or the fact she was still baring so much flesh? How curious, that she longed to press her finger to his cheek, to soothe the tic with a tender touch.

He set his hand over hers still fumbling with the bedding. She immediately stilled, startled by the feel of his skin against hers. Her mind acknowledged warmth, roughness…

His movements swift and efficient, he lifted the bedding, scooped up her legs, and slid them under. Then he gently pressed her shoulders, urging her to lie back down.

Defiance stirred, but truth be told, she suddenly felt as though she’d been knocked down by a battering ram. As she finally gave in and collapsed against the pillows, she said, “My leg hurts.”

“I am not surprised. You should not be moving it about.” He tucked the blankets around her. “Would you like another herbal drink? I can wake Borden.”

“Please do not trouble him. I am sure he needs his sleep.”

A wry smile curved Cyn’s mouth. “He would not mind being woken if you needed his healing brew. He is quite taken with you.”

“I like him very much, too. He is a kind soul.”

“He is indeed.” Gesturing to her leg, Cyn added, “In a day or two, the pain should diminish. I expect your wound will heal quickly.”

She nodded and fingered a loose thread trailing from the topmost blanket. “Thank you for tending to my injury. I am grateful for your and Borden’s care.”

Cyn sighed, a harsh sound. “Believe me, I never meant for you to be hurt.”

His words sounded heavy with guilt, but memories of his pursuit in the forest filled her thoughts. “Why did you chase me? Did William order you to catch me?”

“He did. I happened to be in the forest, hunting for poachers who had been laying traps, when William’s men found me. They relayed his orders. William wanted me involved because I know these woods better than anyone.”

“You helped William because you are the sheriff of these lands?”

“In part.” An emotion she couldn’t quite define flickered in Cyn’s eyes. “I owe him a great deal. He and I have been friends since we were boys.”

Friends. Oh, God. Was Cyn also involved in the ghastly plot detailed in the letter?

She wanted to ask—needed to ask—but Cyn left the bedside to collect some unlit beeswax candles, which he set on the nearby side table. He crossed to the fire, ignited one of the tapers, and then used it to light the rest, enveloping the cot in a circle of golden light.

“I need to check your wound,” Cyn said, returning the taper he held to its pewter holder. He spoke gently but firmly, his words not seeking permission but telling her what was about to take place. He rinsed his hands in the bowl of water on the table then drew back the blankets to bare her bandaged calf. A draft chilled her toes.

As he untied the bandages, reviving memories of his hand pressing upon hers moments ago, she asked quickly, “You said you have known William since you were boys.”

“We were squires at the same keep, and we trained together to earn our knight’s spurs. Together, we joined King Richard’s Third Crusade to the Holy Land.”

“You fought Saracens?” She’d always been curious about far-away lands and peoples. The journey by sea and land must have been arduous, but also exciting and full of adventure; the battles truly horrifying.

“We did battle Saracens.” Cyn’s expression hardened as he pulled back the last of the bandages to inspect her stitches. “We were both knighted by King Richard at Acre—”

She gasped. “The King himself knighted you?”

“He did indeed.”

“What a tremendous honor.”

Cyn’s features, etched by candlelight, didn’t soften with even the slightest hint of pride. “When we returned to London many months later, we were hired as personal guards for several of the King’s ministers. As you no doubt know, since you have been part of William’s household, he was eventually awarded a fortress—Glemstow Keep—for his service to the crown.”