Page 22 of A Knight for Gwenllian

“Where is the bastard?” he exploded. “He knocked me out cold moments after you had disappeared, would you believe it?”

She did believe it. He had done that so that he could attack her undisturbed. Wisely, though, she kept that fact to herself.

“He’s over there,” Gwenllian said, leading the way to the other side of the bushes. She needed to see that the man was not dead. She hadn’t wanted him to touch her, but now that her anger had deflated, she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with the idea that she might have killed him.

Alexander stared in disbelief at the man lying flat on his stomach, then at her.

“What is he doing on the ground? Wait… Why the fuck is he half naked?” Every muscle on his face tightened as a possible explanation for this state of affairs crossed his mind. Once again, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword. “Christ, Gwenllian, tell me he didn’t⁠—”

“He didn’t. I stopped him. With this branch. He gave me the idea when he said he had knocked you out.”

She nodded at the piece of wood that had been her salvation. The odd idea to take it with her to carve into something beautiful to show her gratitude crossed her mind, before she dismissed it as ludicrous. Not only was it too cumbersome, but she had no talent for such an endeavor. Besides, she’d rather not have anything that reminded her of her fright. She already knew she would not forget it as long as she lived.

“You stopped him,” Alexander repeated, murder in his eyes. “At what point?”

“Before anything happened.” She thought it best not to tell him about pretending to go down on her hands and knees to be mounted. He already seemed on the verge of an outburst; this might push him over the edge.

“Jesus.” He rubbed his hand over his face like a man chasing a nightmare. “I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have been the one to stop him, I’m⁠—”

“It’s all right.”

But Alexander heartily disagreed. None of what had happened that afternoon was all right, not in any way. He had sensed something was wrong from the moment the old man had ran up to them, but, like a fool, he had not done what he should have and acted on his instinct. And here was the result.

Gwenllian had almost been raped.

Compared to that, the fact that he could have died from the blow he’d suffered barely registered.

He drew her into his arms, wanting to assure himself that she was whole and safe. She seemed to be telling the truth about having stopped the man, at least. Her gown was intact, and he could see no signs of violence on her person, thank God.

“You’re a fierce woman, you know that, Buttercup?” he murmured against her temple, grateful beyond belief for her courage. How would he have borne to hear that she’d been raped through his lack of vigilance? He’d saved her from that fate once, but this time, if anything had happened, it would have been his fault.

“I don’t think I am that fierce,” she said against the skin of his neck. “Only I knew I didn’t want to be raped.”

Lord. Of course. He drew away to look at her, wanting to assure himself once more that she was unscathed.

Alexander wasn’t sure who moved first. All he knew was that, before he realized what was happening, his lips met Gwenllian’s and everything within him dissolved.

That kiss, motivated by complex emotions he wasn’t sure he could identify, was like none he had ever shared. It was like an absolution, a promise, a proof of his desire all at once. Her taste was sweet, her touch tentative, but the heat of her tongue and the willingness with which she was pressing herself into his arms overwhelmed his senses in an unprecedented way. Before today, he had liked kissing. Today, it was not a question of liking it. It was a question of being.

Of allowing everything to make sense.

They drew away, panting. He braced himself for the inevitable regret, or word of apology that would follow. It never came. Instead, Gwenllian gave a little smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I needed that.”

“Yes, so did I.”

He’d needed to feel that she still trusted him to protect her, did not resent him for being too stupid to see to her safety, needed to see that she was not afraid of him as a man after what had happened. She wasn’t afraid or resentful, their kiss had made that clear.

He offered his arm and led her back to the river, the horses and the old man who had sat on the ground and was staring in the distance, looking lost. When he saw them, he started mumbling.

“He hit him, Isobel. Our son, he hit this man with a branch for no reason.”

“I know,” Gwenllian told him gently, placing a hand on his arm. She talked to him with as much ease as if they had known each other all their lives. “But he’s all right. Look. He’s fine now.”

Yes, Alexander thought, he was fine, for the most part. There was an egg-sized lump at the base of his skull, but it could have been much worse. Hatred for the man’s son flared anew in his gut. They had to go, before he let it consume him. He looked at Starburst, who was grazing by Buttercup.

“Let’s ride before I change my mind about what to do to the bastard lying over there,” he mumbled to himself.