Page 21 of One Knight in the Forest

Her leg hurt, but the pain wouldn’t stop her from reaching the chair. She must get there, because already another day was passing.

With luck, her garments would have dried overnight. Since the rope holding her clothes was within reach of the cushioned chair, she’d find a discreet way to check that the missive was still inside her sleeve. If so, she had only to wait for the right opportunity—Cyn would likely be called away on sheriff duties, and Borden was usually busy in the kitchen—and she’d dress and flee out the door. She’d make her way to the forest road, wave down the next passing traveler, and ask for a ride into the town. While she didn’t have a lot of coin in her bag, ’twould hopefully be enough to pay the traveler as well as a messenger to deliver the missive to London.

Taking another step, she pressed her lips together, fighting a grimace. ’Twouldn’t be easy to travel through the forest with her injured leg. Yet, her discomfort was far less important than saving a man’s life.

“Only three more steps to the chair,” Cyn said.

His breath stirred the hair at her temple and sent awareness skittering down her spine. Who knew that a mere breath could elicit such sensations? Being crushed against Cyn—the first time she’d ever been so intimately close to a man—was certainly enlightening; an adventure in its own right. Suppressing a little shiver, she concentrated on finishing the last few steps.

With a sigh of relief, she slumped into the chair.

“Well done.” Cyn grinned. He looked younger when he smiled, and far less intimidating. Heat spiraled through her. As she smiled back, her heart fluttered, like a tiny wren trapped in her breast.

Cyn pulled over a rectangular wooden stool and carefully set her hurt leg upon it.

Perceval bounded over and sniffed her bandages.

“You are always into mischief,” Cyn said, his tone softened with affection as he leaned down to scratch the kitten’s head. The feline nuzzled his fingers.

Cyn’s large, callused hand stroked down the cat’s back. Delighted, Perceval arched into Cyn’s skilled touch again.

A knot lodged in Magdalen’s throat, for such tenderness softened Cyn’s features. He could fire arrows, slay Saracens, and subdue criminals, but with this kitten, he showed great compassion—a respect for the living, even though the life in question wasn’t even human.

Knowing that Cyn respected life, should she confide in him about the letter? If he was loyal to William, though…

Uncertain, she looked at her clothes hanging so near. She reached out and caught hold of her chemise, the closest item of clothing, and found it was still slightly damp, but wearable if necessary.

Perceval leapt at her hand, fell to a crouch, and then raced away through the clothes.

Chuckling, Cyn knelt beside the wooden stool. “Silly kitten.”

“Borden told me how you saved Perceval from a poacher’s trap. He said you rescued all of the animals that live in your home.”

Cyn nodded, his expression somber. “I found Tristan and Isolde, my two other cats, in a sack someone had tossed into the woods near the main road. They were barely a day old. I brought them home, doubting they could be saved, but I was determined to try. As it happened, the next day, Borden and I learned of a mother cat—one belonging to Dyane—that had birthed kittens but had lost her litter to hawks. I paid Dyane to bring her cat here; the mother took to Tristan and Isolde as if they were her own. Once the kittens were old enough to be weaned, Dyane took her cat back home.”

“And your dogs?” Magdalen asked. “How did you come to own them?”

“Galahad was just a pup when I saw him, Lancelot, and Guinevere locked in small, filthy cages and for sale one day at the town market. After arresting and jailing thieves who’d robbed a merchant’s stall, I returned to the cages to see the dogs were covered in sores and so poorly fed, their ribs were showing beneath their fur. I was angry, but the man at the stall insisted he couldn’t afford to feed them. I bought all three dogs; I simply had to.” A wry smile curved Cyn’s mouth. “I likely paid too much for them, but the man had four children. Hopefully my coin went toward buying food for his family.”

Tears pricked Magdalen’s eyes. Cyn was indeed a kind soul. One of the kindest she’d ever met.

“I cannot bear to see animals suffering,” Cyn added, shaking his head. “I do not regret helping any of them.”

“Of course not,” she said.

His gaze, very direct, lifted to hers. “Likewise, I could not bear to see you suffering, especially when I had caused your wound. Never could I have left you unconscious and bleeding in the forest.”

His words, while softly spoken, held an edge.

Warning tingled through Magdalen, raising the fine hairs at her nape. She wanted to run, but ’twas impossible with her injured leg and Cyn positioned so that he blocked any chance of her getting past him.

“Tell me why you were running from William. I want the truth, Magdalen.”

She swallowed hard. Did she dare to tell him?

Cyn braced his arm on the wooden stool, alongside her leg. “I know you are reluctant to confide in me for some reason. Are you afraid of what might happen if you betray a confidence? William’s confidence, mayhap?”

Oh, God. A cool sweat beaded on her brow. “Cyn—”

“If not William’s confidence, then Edwina’s?” Resolve burned in Cyn’s eyes. “I promise, Magdalen, no matter what secrets you hold, no matter how foul they might be, you are safe with me. I will never allow anyone to hurt you.”

Misery wove through her. He sounded so earnest, and the passion in his gaze… It made her stomach swoop. No man had ever looked upon her in that way before, as if she were precious and irreplaceable.

She nervously tapped her fingers against the chair cushion, confusion and fear knotting up inside her. How keenly she wanted to share the burden of what she knew, but once she’d told Cyn, she could never take back the dangerous words.

William was a powerful lord with many allies throughout England. If he wanted to destroy her reputation or, God help her for even thinking such things, kill her, ’twould be easy for him to accomplish. No doubt he could achieve what he wanted without any of the blame being traced back to him.

A tremor shook her. “I want to believe you, Cyn.”

“Good.”

“But—”

The rest of her words vanished as he lifted her stiff, white-knuckled hand from the cushion. He slid his fingers through hers, so their hands became intimately entwined. A raw ache spread through her, while caution warred with the urge to tell him all.

His expression a heart-wrenching blend of frustration and concern, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, reverently, just as she’d read about in the most romantic chansons. Oh, mercy—

“God above, Magdalen, I cannot bear your silence any longer. Tell me what William wants from you. Please.”