Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Five days later

Lockwood Tower

"I am an earl and you will bow to me," Aeron said imperiously. "Down on your knees!"

Six days after their arrival to Lockwood Tower, Aeron was making friends wherever he went. In this case, it was with the stable boy he'd been following around since his arrival, a tall and lanky lad who was twelve years of age and already knew more about horses and hard work than Aeron could comprehend. The first full day of his time at Lockwood had seen Aeron trailing after Emile, inspecting everything the young man did and, eventually, telling him what he was doing wrong.

Emile had simply laughed at him.

Torn between rage and curiosity, Aeron made it his life's work to follow Emile around and learn what he could from him, but, of course, he would not give Emile the satisfaction of knowing it. Aeron had to be the one to tell Emile what to do, in all things, and now it had come to a head. Aeron had revealed himself to be a titled lord and demanded respect, but Emile had laughed at him—again—and gone about his business.

That wasn't sitting well with Aeron.

"Do you hear me?" he said, following Emile into the stable. "I am the Earl of Ashford. If you do not want to feel my wrath, then you will bow down to me."

Emile grinned, picking up a bucket with the intention of filling it with a little water for a poultice he needed to make for one of the horses with a swollen fetlock.

"Is that so?" he said.

"Aye, it is so," Aeron said, scooting after Emile when he took the bucket out of the stable and over to the kitchen yard where the well was. "Where are you going? Don't you believe me?"

Emile was still grinning as he began to draw the water. "Certainly, little man," he said. "You are a great lord and I must bow down."

"Well?"

"I'm too busy to bow down."

Outraged, Aeron went after him, watching him put dirt into the water he'd drawn. "What is so important that you cannot show me proper respect?" he said, eventually helping Emile put dirt into the water. "If you do not show me respect, how am I do know that I will make a good lord and you will make a good subject?"

Emile was mixing the dirt and water with his hand as Aeron put more dirt into it. "You'll make a fine lord," he said. "You are already demanding and rude. I saw it from the first."

Instead of being insulted, Aeron was actually encouraged. "Do you think so?" he said. "You think I will make a good lord?"

Emile nodded. "You'll make a fine knight, like Sir Torran."

Aeron frowned. "But I am an earl."

"Sir Torran will be an earl when his father dies," Emile said. "His father is the Earl of Bexhill. Didn't you know that?"

Aeron hadn't, but he couldn't let Emile know. "Then we shall be peers together," he said. He eyed the young man. "Is… is his father a good lord?"

Emile had the mud to the desired consistency and he stood up, heading back to the stable. "A very good lord," he said. "If you truly want to be a good lord, then you should stop making demands and show more kindness. Nobody likes a nasty, demanding lord. They end up killed in battle because no one will help them."

That brought Aeron pause. "No one would dare kill me!"

"If you are not good to your vassals, they might."

More outrage from Aeron as he pondered that prospect. Lords weren't killed by their own men… were they? That wasn't something his father had ever told him. In fact, his father had always told him to be bold and fearless and make his wants known. That was what he'd been doing, only Emile didn't appreciate it. He was the first servant outside of Kennington that Aeron had ever had any contact with, and at Kennington, of course, everyone did what he said.

But not at Lockwood.

Was it possible his father had been wrong?

"Tell me about Lord Bexhill, then," he said. "Does he not give you orders? Does he not command respect?"

Emile glanced at him. "He commands respect by being a good man," he said. "Did that ever occur to you?"

It hadn't, but again, Aeron wasn't going to let on. "But he must be brave," he said. "His vassals will not respect him if he is not brave."

"Bravery has nothing to do with it," Emile said. "Men would rather serve a man who is strong and kind, not a man who is a cruel bully. Understand that, little man, and you'll have happy vassals."

"And Lord Bexhill has made you happy?"

Emile nodded. "He has," he said. "My mother works in the house, and when I was very young, Lord Bexhill brought me to work in the stable. He gave me a position and something to work hard at. I've been here ever since."

"And you like it?"

Emile reached the horse he wanted to work on. "I like it very much," he said, patting the horse's rump affectionately. "I get to work with these beautiful animals, and they like me. I earn a few shillings every month and my mother and I save our money. Someday we want to buy a home of our own."

"Where do you live now?"

"Here, at Lockwood," Emile said. Then he glanced at Aeron over his shoulder. "I heard your home was destroyed in a battle."

Aeron leaned against the end of the stall, watching Emile go to work on the horse's rear right leg. "Henry's army destroyed it."

"Why?"

Aeron shrugged. "My father served Simon de Montfort," he said, sounding rather glum. "Henry punished him for it."

Emile paused, looking up at him. "Was it a terrible battle?"

"Aye."

"Were you frightened?"

Aeron nodded. But then he realized that surely made him look weak, so he stiffened up. "But I killed a knight myself," he said, back to his bragging ways. "Henry and his army may have destroyed my castle, but I killed a man. I'd do it again if I had to!"

Emile could see that it was a frightened boy talking. That was never so obvious. He went back to the horse's leg and began applying the mud.

"I've never seen a battle," he said. "Is that what happened to your sister? The battle made her sick?"

"How do you know about my sister?"

Emile shrugged. "My mother told me," he said. "She's been helping your sister get well."

Aeron instinctively looked in the direction of the manse, as if he could see Andia through the walls. "She is much better now," he said. "Her fever is gone and she was up this morning. I saw her walking."

"Are you and your sister going to stay here now that your home is destroyed?"

Aeron shrugged. "Nay," he said. "Sir Torran is taking us to Henry."

"Why?"

"Because he is going to punish us."

"Who is going to punish us?"

The voice came from the stable entry, and Aeron and Emile turned to see Andia entering. She was clad in one of the garments Lady Penden had given her, sent along in a fine satchel that had once belonged to Desiderata. She wore a simple white shift with a deep neckline and long sleeves underneath a bright red surcoat that was fastened snugly around the torso, with sleeves that were long and draping. Sleeves like that were called angel's wings because they were rather dramatic, especially when the wearer moved her arms. Andia's hair, nearly the same golden-brown color as her eyes, was pulled away from her face with a red ribbon that went with the garment. Truthfully, Lady Penden had been most generous with her daughter's things, passing them to a young women who had lost everything, and Andia wore the items with gratitude.

"Well?" she said to her brother. "Who were you talking about? Who is going to punish us?"

Aeron shrugged. "Henry," he said. "We are going to London now that you are well, aren't we?"

Andia's warm expression faded. "Aye," she said honestly. "Torran has not yet said when, however."

"Shouldn't you ask?" Aeron said. "Don't you want to know?"

Andia turned to look at the manse behind her. Such a lovely manse with lovely furnishings, and she felt very much at home here in spite of the circumstances. Green ivy embrace the entire north side of the building and another flowering vine, with purple flowers, ran delicate fingers near the entry. She'd walked the entire length and breadth of the manor, peeking into chambers, catching a glimpse of the views from the upper windows. She'd been fully ambulatory for two days now, ever since the physic had deemed her fever abated and told her that she needed to regain her strength—but regaining strength, in Andia's mind, meant walking in the sunshine while the weather remained good and exploring this place she found herself in. She'd always been very curious about buildings and the way they'd been constructed. But Lockwood had an extra attraction.

Torran.

The man had hardly left her side for six days, but along with him, Stefan also lingered, though he tended to spend more time watching over Aeron than her. Still, the big, quiet knight was a shadow to Torran, who seemed irritated by the man's presence because he always spoke very loudly to him. Stefan didn't seem to mind, but Andia was certain, at some point, that Stefan was going to demonstrate just how much he didn't like being shouted at.

Truth be told, Andia was a little irritated by Stefan's presence, too.

Maybe she, too, wanted just a little alone time with her jailor.

But he wasn't so much a jailor over the past few days as a companion. Andia and Torran had had a few good conversations since her arrival at Lockwood, conversations that had avoided things like politics and Henry and even Kennington. Instead, they spoke of Lockwood itself, and of Torran's family, and of his father—who, Andia discovered, was the Earl of Bexhill. Torran had even spoken of his mother, Genevieve, and the fact that he had a younger brother and sister, Rhys and Aurelia. He hadn't said much about either of them, except for his brother, who was a knight serving their father. Andia got the impression that Torran wasn't close to his family.

An interesting situation, indeed.

"He will tell us when we are to go," she said, breaking from her train of thought. "Do you want to go walking with me? I was thinking about going down by the river."

Aeron nodded eagerly, jumping up and rushing out of the stable as Andia followed along behind him. She wasn't moving very swiftly these days but managed to follow him through the kitchen yard and to a big, heavily fortified postern gate that opened up onto a small bank with a wide moat beyond that had a small canal straight into the Thames.

Aeron came to a halt, and Andia right behind him.

"A moat?" she said, surprised at what she was seeing. "I did not realize there was a moat around Lockwood."

Aeron hadn't either, mostly because he hadn't ventured out of the manor grounds since his arrival. With Andia ill, he had wanted to stay close. Neither one of them had noticed it when they arrived in the driving rain, at night, and Andia's chamber faced the yard of the manse with no view of the river.

"What do we do?" he asked. "I don't want to swim!"

Andia put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him back in through the gate. "You do not have to swim," she said. "Let us go to the front gate. Surely no one will have any objection to our walking out over the bridge if we stay in sight of the manse."

Aeron shrugged and ran on ahead, but as he did so, he nearly clipped Stefan, who was entering the yard. Stefan had to step aside so the boy could run past him, watching him tear off across the ward as Andia came up behind him.

"Greetings, Sir Stefan," she said. "It is a lovely morning."

Stefan didn't move. He continued to watch Aeron before finally turning to see Andia standing next to him. He dipped his head politely.

"My lady," he said. "You are looking well today."

Andia smiled, but she was puzzled by his delayed response to her greeting. "I feel better, thank you," she said.

Stefan tilted his head slightly. "My lady?"

He acted as if he hadn't heard her correctly, so she said it again. "I said that I feel better, thank you for asking."

Stefan forced a smile before clearing his throat in a somewhat nervous gesture. "My apologies," he said. "I do not hear very well, so if I ask you to repeat yourself—or if I do not hear you at all—it is not because I am not interested. I simply cannot hear you."

That honest but surely humiliating sentence told Andia everything. No wonder Torran yelled at the man. And no wonder he hadn't heard her greeting. But more things about his seemingly uncaring behavior came back to her, like the night of the end of the battle at Kennington and how Stefan was guarding the landing but never heard her leave her chamber.

Aye… everything came clear at that moment.

"I did not know," Andia said, a little louder. "To be quite honest, I have seen Sir Torran practically shouting at you and thought he was being rude."

Stefan's smile turned genuine. "Nay, he was not being rude," he said. "He was speaking so I could hear him."

"Then I will, too," Andia said. "I will try not to shout."

He chuckled. "Actually, it is easier for me to hear women's voices for some reason," he said. "It is the lower voices I have trouble with."

"I see," Andia said loudly. "Have you always had this issue with your ears?"

He shook his head. "Nay," he said. "I was born with good hearing, but right after I was knighted, I noticed difficulty in hearing my father's commands. Even speaking in a normal tone was difficult to hear. The physics say I will eventually lose my hearing altogether. A condition I have evidently been born with."

Andia was greatly sympathetic. "I am so sorry," she said. "That must be difficult."

He shrugged. "It was, at first," he said. "I still think the physics might be wrong, but I suppose time will tell."

"I suppose," Andia said. "Is there nothing to be done?"

"I wish there was."

Andia smiled sadly. "I am sorry for you, truly," she said. Before she could continue, Aeron was running back in her direction, shouting about guards not allowing him through the main gate and the fact that he was going to punish them. She rolled her eyes. "I suppose if there is a bright moment in your situation, it is that you cannot hear my brother's idiocy. You can just ignore him."

Stefan laughed softly. "I have a younger brother just like him," he said. "But he grew up well enough. Your brother will outgrow his willfulness."

Andia cocked an eyebrow at him. "You think so, do you?" she said doubtfully. "If he does not, I shall make sure to find you wherever you may be and tell you that you were wrong. I will further curse you for giving me false hope."

Stefan continued chuckling. "Then let us hope I am right," he said. "But where was your brother going? What did he say about the gate?"

Andia pointed to the enormous fortified entry gate. "Aeron and I were going to go for a walk by the river," she said. "Would you like to accompany us?"

Stefan's eyebrows lifted. "I think I'd better," he said. "You never know what you might find outside these walls."

"Is it dangerous?"

He shrugged. "It could be," he said. "But more than that, I do not think Torran would like you outside of the walls without a guard."

Andia understood his meaning. "So we will not run away," she said, trying not to be offended. "Truly, my lord, where would we go? We do not know anyone in London. More than that, I could probably run just a few feet before I collapsed. I am not entirely strong yet."

"Then mayhap we should not walk," he said. "Mayhap it would be better if you were to rest for now. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because Torran is taking you to London."

Andia's heart sank. There was the answer for Aeron's question—they would be going to London tomorrow.

Tomorrow…

A day that would change her life forever. Tomorrow, she would become the prisoner of a king. A man who hated her father and who, most assuredly, had no love for her or her brother. They were to be at the mercy of a man who had no consideration for either of them. All she could see ahead of her was a future of mystery and misery. A future where there was to be no happiness, no hope.

No dreams.

Her dreams were gone.

"Indeed," she managed to say. "Sir Stefan, would you please do me a favor?"

He nodded. "If I can, my lady."

Andia pointed to the gate where Aeron was shouting at the guards. "Would you please take Aeron down to the river, if it is not too much trouble?" she said. "I find that I must lie down. I'm feeling rather tired."

Stefan was watching her closely. "Do you feel ill?" he asked. "Should I send for the physic again?"

Andia was already turning for the manse. "Nay," she said. "That is not necessary. All I need is some rest. But I would very much appreciate it if you would let Aeron run himself out. It may be his last chance before… before we reach London."

With that, she began to walk quickly toward the manse, struggling not to tear up. She felt like sobbing. As she came up the wide stone steps into the manse, the tears were already starting to come and she couldn't stop them. She began to wipe at her face, not wanting to be seen crying, but the moment she stepped inside the manse, she plowed into a very big, warm body. She hit it with such force that she heard a grunt.

Torran grabbed her to steady her.

"Lady Andia?" he said, concerned. "My deepest apologies. I should have been more careful. Did you hurt yourself?"

Andia couldn't look at him, though the truth was that she'd stubbed her toe ramming her slipper into his booted foot and it hurt a great deal. "Nay," she said. "But I am sorry for being so clumsy. I was not looking where I was going."

Torran still had hold of her, seeing that she was crying. "What is wrong?" he asked, straight to the point. "Why do you weep?"

Andia tried to brush him off. She was prepared to give him an answer and walk away, but she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. They were so full of concern that her composure left her.

If he was truly so concerned, why was he taking her to the king?

"Nothing is wrong," she said as she burst into tears. "I am quite well."

Torran's sense of concern grew. "I can see that," he said sarcastically. "Who has made you weep? Was it Aeron? Do I need to spank him again?"

She shook her head. "Nay," she squeaked.

Torran's brow furrowed. "Then who?" he demanded lightly. "Stefan? Must I beat down that big dolt? I'll make it hurt, too. Just tell me what he said."

He was being slightly comical, enough that Andia noticed. She'd had no idea the man even had a sense of humor.

"Nay, he's done nothing." She sniffled, wiping her cheeks. "No one has done anything except… you."

Torran's eyes widened. "Me?" he said. "What did I do? Do I need to thrash myself?"

She burst into a fresh around of tears and pulled away from him. "Leave me alone," she said. "You are taking us to London tomorrow and I want to be alone. Let me spend my last few hours of freedom in peace."

He was following her as she headed toward the stairs. "Lady Andia, wait," he said. "Come with me. Let us speak on this."

"Nay," she said firmly. "There is nothing left to say. Just… leave me in peace for now. I will be ready on the morrow when you want to leave."

"You are not going."

She had taken three stairs by the time she realized what he said. When his words registered, she came to a halt and turned to him.

"What did you say?" she asked, incredulous.

He came to the bottom of the stairs. "I said that you are not going to London," he said quietly. "I am, but you are not. Neither is your brother. You are going to remain here for now."

Tears forgotten, Andia looked at him in shock. "But… why ?" she said. "Stefan said we were leaving for London tomorrow."

Torran didn't answer her right away. He simply looked at her. Then he sighed sharply and held out his hand to her, silently asking her to take it. She did, without hesitation, and he pulled her off the stairs, holding her hand as he took her over to the solar. Once they got to the solar, he continued to hold her hand even as he shut the door quietly.

Then he faced her.

"Because I think it is better if you remain here for now," he said softly. "You have been very ill. You do not need to go to London, to the dank halls of Westminster—or worse, to the Tower—and have your health threatened again. I am going tomorrow to explain it all to Henry."

Andia was still wiping tears off her cheek, but she couldn't help but notice he hadn't let her hand go. In fact, she looked at her hand, enveloped within his, and was starting to think that there was something more to Torran's decision.

Now she was curious.

"It is kind of you to be concerned for me," she said. "But won't Henry be angry?"

Torran shrugged. "Possibly," he said. "But a healthy hostage is better than a dead one."

He wouldn't look at her. He, too, was looking at her hand as he held it. When Andia realized that, she gave his a squeeze.

"Is that the truth?" she asked quietly. "That you want me to remain here because of my health? Or are you truly afraid that Henry is going to make an example out of me?"

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked at their hands, one in the other. Then, very slowly, he lifted her hand. Andia thought he was going to kiss it, and her heart began to thump madly. From the sheer expression on his face, her heart began to thump madly. But he didn't kiss her hand—he simply lifted it to his face, putting her palm on his left cheek as his big hand held it there. Then he closed his eyes as if to experience something he hadn't experienced before.

Or, at the very least, had been dreaming of experiencing again.

The soft, gentle touch of a woman's hand.

"My lady, may I ask you a question?" he said, eyes still closed.

Andia could hardly breathe. Everything in her body was quivering from his bold, yet very sweet, gesture.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

He didn't say anything. He continued to hold her hand against his face, eyes closed, for what seemed like a small eternity. Andia was actually feeling lightheaded. But, suddenly, he lowered her hand and stepped away from her, heading for the solar door.

"Nothing," he said hoarsely. "Forgive me. I should not have done that, so please… forgive me. Forget it happened."

He had released her hand so swiftly that she'd nearly fallen over. She'd been anticipating what he would do next, so the sudden release was enough to throw her off balance. But that brief moment told her something—it told her that he felt the same attraction for her that she felt with him. They'd shared some pleasant moments of conversation, and in every one of them, she could feel a pull toward the man. A man who was essentially her jailor. But now, his actions told her that he'd been feeling the same pull toward a woman who was his prisoner.

Perhaps her dreams weren't so broken after all.

This one being most unexpected.

"Wait," she said, scurrying around him and blocking the door as he tried to exit. "You are not going anywhere. What were you going to ask me?"

He wouldn't look her in the eye. "My lady, please…"

"Andia," she said softly. "My name is Andia. My family calls me Andie, and I give you permission to use the name too. Call me whatever you wish, Torran. I will answer."

His eyes came up, and for a moment, they stared at one another. He started to say something, but she shook her head, not wanting to hear denials or lies from his mouth. Denials of what he was feeling, lies for why he'd put her hand against his face. She wanted truth and wasn't going to move away from the door unless he gave them to her.

The next thing she realized, his hands were on her face and his lips were slanted over hers.

It was a kiss of the greatest magnitude.

Andia had been kissed before, by the knights at Okehampton who wanted to court her. The older knight's kisses had been a little sloppy but always passionate, while the younger knight's kisses had been wildly inflaming. Truthfully, she'd only been kissed a handful of times, but she had never in her wildest dreams been kissed like this.

Scorching…

Powerful…

Lustful.

So much lust.

Andia's arms went around Torran's neck and she squeezed, holding the man so tightly that she was very nearly strangling him. He responded by wrapping those enormous arms around her, pulling her close as his lips feasted on hers. But that wasn't good enough for him. He had to taste her, so his tongue gently snaked inside her mouth, experiencing her honeyed orifice with the greatest of pleasure.

But it was more than that.

To Torran, there was much, much more.

There was the feel of her body against his, her soft and pliable body with those magnificent breasts against his chest. He remembered her naked body through the wet shift on the night her fever raged, the full breasts with nipples that had been shockingly taunting. He had to admit that he'd dreamed about those beautiful breasts, imagining his mouth upon them, his tongue on those nipples, savoring them like the finest fruits.

He was consumed.

Lifting Andia up, he carried her over to his father's table, sitting her down on the edge as his mouth ravaged her lips and face. She gasped in delight as he began to feast on her chin and neck, one big arm still around her as the other hand began to roam. She was wearing a garment that was laced up the front, a beautiful red surcoat, and his hand moved to those ties. He had to get to those breasts before they drove him out of his mind.

Andia was so overwhelmed with his kisses that she failed to realize when he'd loosened the ties. She only realized that when he began to pull the neckline of her shift off her shoulder, kissing every bit of flesh that it revealed, inch by inch. The left side was down to her elbow in a short amount of time, but Torran's mouth was everywhere—arm, shoulder, collarbone, cleavage, and then back to her neck. Andia had never been touched like this, not even by the knights at Okehampton, so this was all new territory for her, but she knew very quickly that she liked it. It was igniting a fire deep in her belly that made her entire body twitch. Her arms and legs tingled and the place between her legs, her woman's center, seemed to be twitching and tinging also. Then Torran loosened her surcoat enough to pull it, and the shift, off her left breast.

Andia was taken to a new level of passion when his mouth clamped down on a nipple.

She gasped loudly, shocked and overwhelmed as he suckled her fiercely. It was also the single most pleasurable thing she'd ever known. Her head tilted back and she found herself looking at the ceiling as her entire body went limp, surrendering to Torran's heated mouth. Even her arms went limp, and it was only by his great strength, supporting her as he devoured her breast, that she was even sitting upright. She'd turned to liquid fire long ago. Facing no resistance, Torran pulled down the shift on the right side. With both breasts exposed, he'd found his paradise.

Andia ended up lying back on the table, her chest naked, as Torran nursed on her, fondling both breasts with the greatest of pleasure. He was suckling her so hard, so forcefully, that the junction between her legs was twitching and contracting wildly. Something was happening down there, something she'd never experienced before, and it was only a few more minutes of Torran's attention before Andia experienced her first climax. She didn't even know what it was, but Torran did. When the throbbing started and she began to cry out in pleasure, he slanted his mouth over hers again to quiet her, toying with her nipples as the release washed over her, again and again.

It was a magical, and deeply intimate, moment between them.

And now, the situation had changed.

After that, his kisses became deep and passionate, and Andia's hands found their way into his hair, holding his mouth against hers. They couldn't seem to get enough of one another, and Andia's legs were instinctively parting for him, wrapping around his hips as he practically lay on top of her on his father's table. He moved away from her mouth, kissing a trail down to her breasts again, where he began to suckle her tenderly.

Until they heard the entry door to the manse slam back on its iron hinges.

"Torran?"

It was Stefan. Torran's head shot up and he practically yanked Andia off the table, quickly helping her pull up her shift. She was frantically trying to put herself together as Stefan called again and Torran knew he had to answer him. Silently, he gestured to a small alcove in the solar, one that contained his father's financial books and records, and she rushed into the alcove even as she was fixing her bodice and tightening up the lacings. When she was out of sight from anyone who might be standing in the solar doorway, Torran called to Stefan.

"In here," he said, moving for the door but immediately realizing he had a full-blown erection that he needed to deal with. He was wearing leather breeches and a tunic, which draped over it for the most part, but he adjusted himself quickly before opening the door. "Here, Stefan. What is it?"

Stefan was already at the door. "You'd better come," he said grimly. "A royal escort has been spotted down the road, coming this direction."

Torran's brow furrowed. "Royal es…?" He didn't even need to finish that statement. He already knew. "Henry is here."

Stefan nodded ominously.

Oh, God, Torran thought.

He braced himself.