Page 31 of One Knight in the Forest

What excellent news. “I am sorry,” he said, trying his best to sound somber.

“I did grieve for him, but I did not regret that our marriage didn’t come to be. I did not love him, you see. I promised myself I would never marry, unless I found…”

“A man who was good at kissing?”

She giggled, and shyness again crept into her expression. His heart ached, this time with the incredible realization that she was attracted to him.

Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Indeed, I would like very much to find a gallant knight who is a good kisser.”

Ah. That was a challenge if he ever heard one. Grinning, Cyn said, “I must kiss you again, then, Fair Maiden, and prove that I am indeed such a man.”

***

Lying under the blankets on the cot, Magdalen stared at Cyn stretched out in front of the hearth, his head pillowed on his bent right arm. Lancelot, Guinevere, and Galahad lay beside him. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but she knew he wasn’t asleep.

She sighed against her pillow. Mayhap, like she did, he had too much on his mind. Borden had left more of his drugging infusion within her reach. She’d be wise to drink it and fall asleep, for she needed the rest, but her thoughts refused to settle. Moreover, every part of her body tingled with excitement, and had done so since she’d kissed Cyn.

Not long after he’d thoroughly kissed her a second time, Cyn had carried her to the cushioned chair and then had spoken in hushed tones with Borden. After donning his cloak and gathering his weapons, Cyn had left, telling her only that he had important matters to attend in the town. Matters, no doubt, that concerned William and Lord Redmond.

While Cyn was away, she’d eaten a bowl of pottage and had accepted Borden’s offer of a bath in Cyn’s round wooden tub. The steward had kept busy in the kitchen while, keeping her hurt leg out of the water, she’d scrubbed her skin and hair. As the scent of Cyn’s herbal soap had enveloped her, she’d wondered what he could be doing in the town. Mayhap he was looking for the black-haired man she’d described to him in as much detail as she could remember?

After drying off, she’d donned another of Cyn’s long shirts and bundled up inside a clean blanket. To pass the afternoon, she’d mended garments for Borden. With each stitch, she’d hoped for Cyn’s swift and safe return.

Night fell, and he still hadn’t arrived. Borden had urged her to get some rest and had helped her to the cot. She’d lain in the fire-lit shadows for a long while before she’d heard Cyn walk through the door. He’d gone to the kitchen, likely to eat, and then he’d quietly entered the main room, shed his weapons, and then stretched out on a blanket by the hearth.

His face twitched. Was he sleeping? He might be having another bad dream. She hadn’t given him the ruby to protect him from night terrors. The stone was still tucked under her blankets.

He startled, and his head thrashed from side to side. Drawing aside the bedding, she carefully stepped down from the cot, the ruby in her hand.

“Nay!” Cyn groaned. A sob wrenched from him.

“Cyn,” she called, limping toward him as fast as she could.

Groaning again, he dragged his hand over his face. His elbow bumped Galahad’s side, and the dog flinched, and then shifted to a spot closer to the fire. Cyn woke, just as Magdalen dropped awkwardly onto the blanket beside him.

Tears glistened in Cyn’s eyes as he pushed up to sitting. “Magdalen, what are you—?”

She offered him the ruby. “You were having another nightmare.”

The stone gleamed: blood red and bone white in the fire’s glow. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, his mouth flattened, and, unyielding, he turned his head and stared at the fire.

“Cyn,” she whispered. “Please. I want to help you.”

His damp gaze, stark with misery, met hers. “I know you do, but—”

“The ruby eased your torment before,” she said. “It can help heal you.”

“Nay, Magdalen. I do not believe it can. Not when…” His throat moved with a hard swallow, and he stared down at the hearth tiles. “Not after what I did.”

A shiver of fear ran through her, heightened by an awful sense that she was losing him. She couldn’t. Not when they’d kissed. Not when she cared this much about him. Not when she knew, without doubt, that she…loved him.

“Whatever did you do that haunts you so?” she asked, curling her hand around his, clenched into a white-knuckled fist on his thigh. “What could possibly be so awful that it plagues you in your dreams?”

He shuddered. A dull pain gripped her innards, for she knew he was retreating emotionally from her, barricading himself behind an invisible wall.

She couldn’t let him fight this battle on his own; not when this secret was destroying him. “You must tell me, Cyn.”

“Must I?” he growled, his eyes flashing. “If I do, you will hate me.”

The despair in his voice made her want to weep. Forcing a brave smile, she said, “I could never hate you.”

“You will.”

“Surely I should have the chance to decide that for myself?” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He shut his eyes on a ragged moan, and she kissed his clenched jaw. A muscle in his face jumped beneath her lips.

Tears slid from beneath his lashes. “I…care about you, Magdalen,” he whispered, pulling his hand free from hers. “I could not bear…”

“Please tell me. I beg you.”

He sighed, a desolate sound. His eyes opened, and he stared at her as though he’d drown in his next words. “In the East…I killed a fellow Crusader.”