Callie paused at the top of the stairs and whirled to face him, angered over such a question. People had been burned and hanged for less. No doubt these English would love to see her executed as a witch. “I am God-fearing.”
He stood so close to her, she could smell the warm, clean scent of his skin. Those black eyes seared her with their probing intensity and when he spoke, his tone was low. Lethal. “I am not.”
She trembled at that. For there was no doubt he meant it.
To her dismay, he reached out and touched her cheek. The warmth of his hand surprised her, and it raised chills over her entire body as he traced one finger by her ear. She couldn’t believe the tenderness of his touch, the way his fingers felt feather light against her skin. It did the strangest things to her body. Made her throb and ache with a need she’d never before encountered.
Then, he gently pushed back her veil to run his hand just along her hairline where she felt him crook his finger around one of her curls and pull it free of the linen.
His gaze narrowed on his hand, and one corner of his mouth curled in disgust.
“Red,” he said, his voice scarce more than a growl. “I should have known.”
“I beg your pardon?” Why would something as simple as her hair color elicit such a heated response from him when nothing else had?
A shuttered look came over him as he dropped his hand from her face and took a step back.
“Aelfa,” he said to the maid. “Take her to her room and see to it she stays there.”
“Aye, milord.” The maid dropped to a low curtsey.
Sin didn’t move until after he saw the Scotswoman enter her room.
You should have let her escape.
In truth, it had been his momentary intent. Only his loyalty to Henry had prevented it.
Well, that and the small fact that he knew he’d never have to marry her. Not even Henry possessed that much power or money.
Still...
Sin felt just a tiny stirring of regret as he recalled the way she had disarmed Roger.
The wench had spirit. He’d give her that much. But that kind of spirit before one’s enemies was more curse than virtue.
He should know.
Shaking his head at the dismal memories he refused to think about, he headed down the narrow corridor to his own room, which turned out to be next to hers.
Sin’s jaw ticced at Henry’s audacity. No wonder the man had become king. His tenacity would rival an ancient mule. Still, it was no match for Sin’s.
He opened the door to his room and moved toward the spartan bed by the window. He spent a large amount of his time at Henry’s court and unlike the other courtiers who lived in Henry’s hall, he’d never cared how luxurious his bed was. So long as it had a frame big enough to hold him and came with a blanket, it was enough for him.
As carefully as he could, Sin pulled his surcoat and mail hauberk from his body and draped them over the small trunk at the foot of his bed. Then, he inspected the damage her sword had wrought to his forearms.
Oblivious to the pain, Sin unlaced the sleeves of his padded aketon as he headed toward the washstand. After draping the aketon over a simple wooden chair, he poured water into the bowl and washed the blood from his forearms.
Reaching for a cloth, he heard a commotion outside in the hallway.
His wounds forgotten, Sin grabbed his sword from the bed and threw open the door.
Three of the royal guards were dragging the boy from the Scotswoman’s room while a fourth guard held the woman back. The boy wailed like a dying harpy and the woman fought like a feral cat.
“What goes here?” Sin demanded.
The guard closest to him blanched, then said hastily, “His Majesty wants the boy moved to another location.”
“Nay!” the Scotswoman snarled. “You’ll not take him from me for them to abuse. Haven’t you done enough to the lad?”
