Page 19 of One Knight in the Forest

She tsked. “And why not?”

“Because ’tis just a stone. Aye, ’tis an unusual gem, but it cannot have magical or healing properties.” He handed it to her, and she tucked it under the blankets, out of Perceval’s sight.

“My mother used to say…” Magdalen’s voice caught. “Never mind.”

“Please. Go on.”

Sadness swept over Magdalen’s features as she stroked the kitten, who’d sat down beside her and was purring loudly. “Mayhap another time.”

Disappointment sifted through Cyn. He shouldn’t care that she didn’t want to discuss her mother with him, but he did. As he adjusted her pillows and helped her sit up, he asked, “When you grow to trust me a little more, will you tell me about her?”

She shrugged, revealing much in the stiffness of the movement.

Cyn stifled a pang of regret, for he wanted her to trust him. Indeed, if he was to learn more about the silver doe in her bag, if he was to find out what William wanted with her, Cyn needed Magdalen to trust him completely.

“I know you think me foolish to withhold my trust,” she said softly. “You have been very kind to me. I really am grateful.”

He touched her arm, savoring the feel of her. “I also know that trust must be earned.”

A blush spread across her face. “Now I sound even more ungrateful.”

“I assure you, I appreciate the trust I have earned from you thus far.” He grinned. “I shall make it my quest to earn more from you each day.”

She drew in a sharp breath, as though astonished to see him smile. Then amusement glinted in her eyes. “You seek the Holy Grail of Trust, Sir Knight?”

He laughed. “Indeed, I do, Fair Maiden.”

“What do the old tales say about such quests? Are there grand stories about such matters?” Even as she spoke, unease touched her eyes, as if she wondered if she shouldn’t have mentioned the old tales.

“Did Borden tell you how I used to listen to the stories read by my sire?”

“He did. He said your father had a special book…”

As her voice trailed off, Cyn nodded. He hesitated, for only Borden had seen the treasured tome, but Cyn did want to win her trust. Mayhap showing her the book would help?

He strode to a shelf by the hearth, picked up the heavy tome, blew off the faint layer of dust, and brought it to the bedside. He set Perceval on the floor and then put the book in her lap.

Her gaze skimmed over the beautiful leather cover. With careful hands she opened the tome, revealing neat pages of black ink illuminated by drawings done in vibrant red, green, blue, and gold.

“Cyn!” she breathed. “’Tis magnificent.”

“Many years ago, my father found it in a shop in a small northern town. Apparently—so the shop owner told him—’twas scribed by a former monk who had spent his days illuminating manuscripts. He fell in love with a widow whose ill son was treated at the monastery. He left his fellow monks to marry her, and, after hearing the old tales, believed they needed to be written down, so others would remember them.”

Parchment rustled as Magdalen turned another page. “The drawings are exquisite. Look at that dragon! His wings are beautifully rendered. Oh, and what a lovely broadsword.”

That admiring warmth touched Cyn’s heart again.

“One day, you will be able to read these stories to your son,” she murmured. “Your father was a very clever man, to have bought and cherished this book.”

Cyn smiled. “Surely your mother was equally as clever, in her own way?”

“I expect she was.” Reticence again defined Magdalen’s features. Was her hesitation related to discussing her parent or keeping her secret?

Cyn would discover that secret. He was duty-bound to do so, as sheriff and as William’s friend. He owed William his life.

As she turned to another page of the tome, Cyn moved down the bed to lift the blanket covering her leg. He untied the bandages to find her wound was much improved. He swiftly applied more ointment and then retied the strips of linen.

“All is healing well,” he said, tugging the blankets back into place.