Page 29 of One Knight in the Forest

Chapter Ten

William stormed out of the room, slamming the front door of the house behind him. A merciless headache had settled in Cyn’s skull, and leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his fingers over his brow and closed his eyes.

What a bloody mess. Did he believe that William was spying for the King, or did he accept that his best friend was a traitor? Anguish lanced through Cyn, for William had always been a steadfast friend. To lose that friendship would be akin to losing part of his soul, and yet, naught was more important than a nobleman’s duty to the crown.

The code of chivalry defined every part of a knight’s existence. His existence. Serving the King had become Cyn’s reason to live when he’d lost all faith not only in others, but in himself. Never would he forsake his duty.

A shrill whine drew Cyn’s gaze to Lancelot, standing by his chair. He patted the dog and then rose to set a few more logs on the fire. Brushing off his hands, he waited until he heard Borden enter the house, a sure sign that William and his men had ridden away.

With Borden’s help, Cyn removed the section of planks.

A frigid draft wafted from the hiding spot. As light spilled in, he found Magdalen still wrapped in her blanket, lying with one arm covering her face. Her shoulders shook, and he heard muffled sniffles.

Concern gripped him. Had she hurt herself while being shut inside the cavity? She might have knocked her bandaged leg.

“Magdalen? Are you in pain?”

She didn’t look at him, but sniffled again.

He hated seeing a woman cry. Remorse tore through him as he knelt beside the opening in the floor. “Magdalen, answer me. Are you in pain?”

“Nay,” she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

He exhaled a sigh of relief as he sank back on his heels. Discomfort wasn’t the reason for her tears, but he’d still like to know why she was upset. However, she didn’t need to stay in that unpleasant hiding place a moment longer. “Come, Magdalen. I have just stoked the fire, so you can get warm.”

She slowly lowered her arm. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, and strands of hair stuck to her tear-streaked face. Her lips pressed together, trapping a sob, as he reached out his hand to help her up and out of the cavity. Her fingers were ice cold.

Taking her in his arms, he carried her to the fire and set her down on the hearth tiles beside the dogs. He returned to the cavity, where he and Borden swiftly restored the planks and order to the room.

“I will go and make an herbal infusion,” Borden said, leaving the room. Cyn crossed to the hearth and dropped down beside Magdalen, who wiped her eyes on a corner of her blanket.

“Why are you crying?” he gently asked.

“Because…” She shuddered.

“Because?”

“I…am a-afraid.”

His heart twisted in his chest. He longed to pull her into his embrace, but her rigid posture warned that she wouldn’t accept his comfort easily. “Do not worry,” he soothed. “’Twill be—”

“Nay! William is a traitor. Edwina mi-might be in terrible danger, because of me. I never w-wanted—” Her words trailed off on a moan.

“Shh.” He leaned in to kiss her hair. Even with grime smudging her face and blanket, she smelled of flowers. How he ached to hold her in his arms, to feel her warmth against him, to assure her that she didn’t have to endure her anguish alone.

As she continued to weep, he kissed her hair again, murmured tender words, and then, when he could bear her torment no longer, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his chair. He sat, drawing her onto his lap.

She stiffened and clutched the front edges of her blanket, readying to scramble free. He pulled her against him, so that her head settled against his shoulder, while her legs draped sideways over his own. He waited, patient and silent, while she warmed up and her sobs slowly diminished.

Borden brought mugs of his herbal drink and then left. Chopping sounds carried from the kitchen, along with the occasional clank of metal and the smell of cooking vegetables.

Cyn handed Magdalen a mug of infusion and sipped his own. At last, both hands around her mug, she met his gaze, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “What can we do? We must do something.”

“We?” He shook his head. “I will—”

“I want to help. I must, since I am partly responsible for—”

“You are not responsible,” he muttered. “You were trying to stop a killing: an entirely worthy endeavor. Now, ’tis my job as sheriff to ensure that Redmond is kept safe and that those who arranged the murder are captured.”