Page 64 of An Outlaw’s Desire

A muscle leapt in his jaw. He almost seemed annoyed. Did he not agree that he’d been heroic?

Wisps of his dark hair, sweaty and tangled from the fighting, skimmed his cheekbone and jawline. He looked exhausted. Yet, she’d never been more proud of him.

“I will do what is asked of me.” His gaze held hers; searched it, as though she held a vital secret. “No longer will I live the way I have been. I want to be…a better man.”

She squeezed their joined hands. “’Tis going to be all right.”

“Is it?”

“Aye,” she said firmly.

Sadness touched his gaze. “I wish I could be as certain. Fenton—”

“I promise, all will be well. With your boy. With you.”

Indeed, she’d do all she possibly could to ensure the best possible outcome. She could only hope that the men-at-arms who had gone to search the town would find most of the mercenaries who had been hired to take part in the siege. If not, castle guards would be waiting in the forest at dawn.

At a grating noise, she glanced over her shoulder. Two of the four guards who’d remained on duty were finishing restoring order to the dungeon.

“You have had a trying night,” Pitt said, his voice gentle. “You should retire to your chamber.”

“I do not want to leave you.”

“I shall still be here in the morning.”

Blythe pressed his fingers again, because she understood what he hadn’t conveyed in words: he was sending her away; putting physical and emotional distance between them.

“If…if things do not go as either of us expect,” he added softly, “will you grant me a boon?”

Oh, but her heart hurt. “What favor?” she managed to say.

“Send a missive to be read to Fenton. Tell him…that I love him. I will think of him every day, even if ’tis no longer possible for me to see him.”

“Pitt—”

“Will you do that for me? Please?”

Blythe nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could only hope and pray that her wishes for this Christmas would come true.

Morning sunlight streamed through the great hall’s windows. Pitt stood by one of the trestle tables, still not entirely certain how Blythe had won him a reprieve from the dungeon. But, ever resourceful, she had.

Before releasing him from the cell, Harlow had asked Pitt to give his word he wouldn’t try to escape. Pitt had done so without hesitation. He’d rather be helping Blythe and the young lady, Clarine, decorate the hall to be ready for Lord Montgomery’s return later that day, than sitting idle in the prison.

Harlow and several other men-at-arms stood watch nearby, but Pitt would honor the promise he’d made. Pondering his fate last night while in the dungeon cell had only reaffirmed his vow to do what was right; to be a man his son could admire.

Soon, he’d face Lord Montgomery. Pitt had hardly slept last eve, knowing he’d stand face to face with his former lord again and expecting to see disappointment and disapproval in his eyes.

Blythe handed Pitt several pinecones and a length of green ribbon. “Tie these, will you?”

“How, exactly?” His gaze wandered over her, for she looked especially lovely in her gown the same vivid red as holly berries.

Mischief touched her gaze. “You have forgotten how to tie things?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Never.”

She turned away, as though to hide the color in her cheeks, and waved to the garland of interwoven pine boughs lying on the nearby trestle table. “There’s an empty place near the right end. Tie the pinecones there. Once you’ve done that, you can help me secure the garland to the hearth.”

Sounded simple enough. The brisk scent of pine rose from his fingers as he worked.