Page 8 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Hissing a breath, Pitt drew his blade. “Hold,” he croaked.

Sherborne tsked and kicked the sword out of Pitt’s hand.

“Knife,” his lordship said.

As Pitt lurched backward, bumping the wall, the curly-haired sentry handed Sherborne a dagger.

Pitt tried to yell, but his aching throat refused to form the sound. His innards clenched as the blade glinted in Sherborne’s hand.

I am going to die. Fenton—

His lordship’s arm whipped back…and he spun and slammed the knife into the other guard’s chest.

Blood gushed over the man’s tunic. Wide-eyed, he grabbed for his sword, but Sherborne stabbed again and again.

Pitt tried to grab his fallen blade, but Sherborne kicked him in the chest. As he fell to the ground, his lordship crouched beside him and unbuckled his weapons belt. Metal scraped on dirt; Sherborne had seized Pitt’s sword.

“Bastard,” Pitt wheezed.

Stay conscious. Get up. Fight!

The weight of a dagger hilt settled in his palm.

“You are not just the son of a traitor,” Sherborne said as darkness swarmed in. “You are a murderer as well.”

Damsley Keep

Warwickshire, England

Late-August, 1192

“Only a few moments more, milady. Just need t’adjust the saddle fer one of yer fellow travelers.”

Standing in the crowded bailey of Damsley Keep, Blythe nodded her thanks to the stable hand and gave him her bag of belongings to secure to her waiting mare.

The breeze, tinged with the scents of horses and sun-warmed stone, tugged at Blythe’s cloak. She turned to Rosetta. Wearing a blue silk gown, her blond hair swept back into a single braid tied with blue ribbon, Rosetta looked beautiful and content in the morning sunshine. There could be no doubt that when she’d married Ash—the squire who’d made her swoon years ago—at the church in Clipston two days past, she’d married for true love.

As Rosetta waved to some departing guests, Blythe resisted a stirring of jealousy. She would be naught but happy for best friend. Marrying Ash had been a dream come true for Rosetta; the realization of all of the romantic imaginings she and Blythe had sighed over in Millenstowe Keep’s garden.

Since leaving the fortress to get married, Blythe hadn’t seen or heard from Pitt. Not a single letter or note, apart from the one he’d left with the bit of stone in the carriage. Yet, if he’d gone on Crusade, as Ash had done, he could have been slain in battle in some distant land.

Once, she’d overheard her husband and a few of his allies talking about the late Lord Rutherford’s treachery. Shocked, she’d listened in the shadows until she hadn’t been able to bear any more. Hard to believe the honorable young man she’d known would have been raised by a father who could turn traitor. Her late husband, though, had remained loyal to King Richard until the day he’d drawn his last breath; he’d said his loyalty would protect her even when she was widowed. So far, that had been true.

Rosetta turned back to Blythe. Blythe hugged her tightly and breathed in the familiar essence of her friend’s perfume. “’Twas a lovely few days with you. Thank you.”

Drawing back, Rosetta smiled. “I was the lucky one, having you at my wedding.”

“My poor feet still ache from dancing.”

“As do mine. However, I do not regret a single moment of celebrating or overindulging.” Rosetta squeezed Blythe’s arms. “The festivities wouldn’t have been anywhere near as marvelous without you.”

A warm glow touched Blythe’s heart. “I would never forsake my promise to you.”

“Are you truly all right?” Concern softened Rosetta’s expression. “You said you were, quite convincingly, when I asked before, but with your husband’s passing not so long ago….”

“I am fine,” Blythe said, even as sadness welled up inside her. How grateful she was that her late spouse had been a capable ruler and had taught her many of the responsibilities before his health had worsened. While she hadn’t had any choice in their marriage, he’d been a kind and steadfast husband.

Lately, though, as she’d lain restless and alone in bed in the solar, her thoughts had strayed to what her life would have been like if she’d married Pitt. Memories of her handsome squire stirred, reviving the sinful way her body had responded to his heated gaze and the breathless pleasure of his kisses. She hadn’t experienced such desire since saying goodbye to him many Christmases ago, and she might never know such pleasures again.