Page 35 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Needing to put distance between them, he turned toward the hearth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her body shift against the post. She endeavored to untie her bonds. He’d already decided to release her soon, but he’d see if she got free of her own accord. She’d always liked to think she governed her own destiny; he’d rather not shatter that illusion.

As he neared the fire, he rolled his left shoulder to ease a twinge of discomfort. Cold weather always caused the old injury he’d gotten on Crusade to hurt more. Somehow, in tying her to the bed, he’d strained the wound that had never properly healed.

“Are you all right?” She sounded concerned.

“Fine.”

“You seemed to be in pain.”

“Most warriors live with some discomfort.”

“From battle.”

The statement encouraged him to elaborate. How deftly she coaxed. But, she’d known years ago of his desire to earn a living by his sword. She’d cheered him on and made him believe he could succeed in whatever he set his mind to do.

“When did you leave Millenstowe Keep? Is that when you went off to battle?”

He crouched at the edge of the glazed tiles and added more logs to the blaze. “I left the fortress a few sennights after you did. Living here….” He sighed. “’Twas unbearable without you, so I asked Lord Montgomery if I could go elsewhere. He wrote to several of his allies and got me a post at a castle in northern Warwickshire.”

“You worked in the garrison?”

“Aye, as a sentry.” He brushed dirt off his hands. “There, I met a woman, and we married.” He thought of telling Blythe that he’d wed the lady, the youngest of a lord’s five daughters, to save her from an unfavorable betrothal, not because he’d fallen madly in love. But, such words were unlikely to make Blythe look upon the current situation any more favorably.

Blythe remained silent as he rose and faced her. “When the sovereign sought knights to join him on Crusade in distant lands, I wanted to go. She agreed. To keep her away from her father’s influence, she went to live at my sire’s keep. I did not know she was with child. While I was away battling Saracens, she gave birth to our son.”

“You are a father,” Blythe murmured.

He nodded, more proud of Fenton than any of his other accomplishments. “Not long after our son’s birth, she caught a sickness brought to the castle by traveling minstrels. She died.”

“I am sorry.”

“As am I.” His throat tightened. “I only learned of her death upon my return to England. I also discovered my sire had been arrested on suspicion of treason.”

“I heard the rumors. I did not know whether to believe them.”

“To this day, I do not believe my father was a traitor. I will never know the truth, though. He perished in gaol while awaiting trial. Killed by another prisoner.” Pitt rose, his hands forming fists. “The crown stripped him of his lands and titles and ceded his castle to another lord. What I was to inherit…. Gone. All of it.”

“Why? You weren’t disloyal. You fought for the king—”

“The disgrace of my father’s treachery became mine.”

Remorse shone in her eyes.

“Since then, I have taken whatever work I can find. Few men want to hire the spawn of a traitor. ’Tis the way of things for me now.”

“What happened to your son?”

“Fenton was taken in by a friend of my father’s and raised in the household until I went to get him. He is now a page at Wallensford Keep.”

His boy would have a good life, provided Pitt followed through with what Sherborne had ordered.

Pitt’s gut twisted, for he’d never forsake his child. He also couldn’t lead a siege on Millenstowe Keep knowing Blythe was within its walls. What in hell was he going to do?

When he turned back to her, his gaze trailed over her. If his life had turned out differently, she’d have been his wife and the mother of his child. Part of him still wished that could be so, but she deserved far better than an outlaw.

Pitt crossed to her. Her posture stiffening slightly, she tilted her head, causing her hair to shift and shimmer in the firelight. He remembered them together at the stone circle, her tresses gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. How, when he’d pushed her back against the monolith, strands had clung to it like silken threads.

He wanted to feel her hair against his skin again.