Chapter Twelve

A lyce ran up the spiral stairs with such speed, her head began to spin. The leather of her shoes scuffed softly against the stones of the spiraling staircase as she climbed them with Ffyddlon at her heels. Circling higher, she passed the passageway to the bedchambers and continued upward until she reached the small door leading to the parapet. She craved fresh air and the freedom of the wide view from the wall walk to clear her head.

Cynwulf had come to her rescue in the end, but it still galled her that he'd arranged a betrothal to Montworth without her knowledge or consent to begin with. "How could you, you daft horse's butt?" She bit out the words in frustration as she stomped along the castle wall walk, eliciting a soft whimper of concern from Ffyddlon. She sighed and patted the top of the dog's head. "In truth, I wanted to call him much worse, Ffyddlon." The hound watched her attentively, trotting along at her side as Alyce paced briskly back and forth along the wall trying to sort out the thoughts pounding in her head.

Mayhap Cynwulf wanted her away from Hawkspur. Had he chosen a wife and not told her? He might fear a new wife would not take kindly to the presence of another woman as chatelaine of his castle. Alyce tried to remember if he had mentioned a woman's name lately or hinted in any way that he was finally willing to stop cavorting with tavern and scullery maids and settle down. What would she do if he meant to take a bride? She had not thought until now how his eventual wife might perceive her as a threat or intrusion.

A tugging at her heart told her she was still giving Cynwulf the benefit of the doubt when all the signs were clear that he was playing a much more precarious game than matchmaking, one which she did not understand.

Cynwulf had Welsh blood running through his veins, but could that possibly be stronger than the bond of the only family he'd known all of his life? He'd loved her father as his own, of that she had no doubt. As far as she knew, he'd never learned the identity of his father. And even if he did discover the name of his sire, would he be willing to give up everything—his life at Hawkspur, the loyalty of the people who lived here, his loving sister—for someone who had never been a part of his life?

She couldn't imagine Cynwulf ever betraying his position or the king just because his father was Welsh. But she could believe that he might lose the will to fight the Welsh rebels, never knowing if perhaps he killed a kinsman. That in itself could be construed as defying the English king and a traitorous act.

Her head was beginning to pound and her stomach to churn. She leaned against the cool, damp stones of the parapet. Though the night sky was clear, it must have rained during dinner. Alyce took a deep breath, and the sweet, fresh scent of the trees and the earthy scent of the nearby forest filled her nostrils and soothed her nerves. Even from this distance, she could hear the summertime songs of the frogs in the ponds in the woods just beyond the village walls.

The creak of the door to the spiral staircase opening turned her attention. For a brief heartbeat, she dreaded Montworth had returned and discovered her secret hiding place. Or—hopefully—her brother had come after her and she would finally wring the truth from him. While she waited for the person to come into view, she looked down to confirm Ffyddlon was at her side. The dog had not growled at the intruder or given any warning of another's presence. She was glad Ffyddlon was at her side in case she needed protection, although her wagging tail and wriggling body did not bode well that she had any plans to defend her mistress.

Alyce lifted her head then, her breath catching at the sight of Hawk's large frame walking toward her. She was annoyed with herself that she felt a thrill run through her at his appearance, and even more annoyed with Ffyddlon that she seemed to be just as smitten with the man.

"Traitor," she muttered to Ffyddlon. She meant to sound stern, but the accusation sounded more like sympathetic understanding than a reprimand.

Hawk closed the distance between them in long, smooth strides then stood looking down at her for several long breaths. "I thought I would find you here. Are you all right?"

She remembered how Montworth had paled in comparison while standing near Hawk. Montworth looked like a strutting peacock in his bright colors and padded, puffed-up clothing which did nothing to hide his paunchiness, or the lack of chest and shoulder muscles, the kind that came from hard work or warrior training, or the pitiful weak form of a man used to being pampered and having others do for him. In comparison, Hawk, attired in his simple tunic fitted snugly over the expanse of his broad frame looked every bit a man of unquestionable authority. The bulge of his muscled arms and legs could not be hidden by any amount of clothing, nor could the brawn in his shoulders and chest. He exuded strength, power, and control without even trying, and Alyce found herself inexplicably drawn to his commanding presence—when it was not being wielded over her.

"You shouldn't be here." She had not meant to sound so abrupt, but every nerve was on end and her stomach fluttered uncontrollably. It was an affliction she really must get under control.

"Do you mean up here with you? Or do you mean at Hawkspur?" The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she cringed at the immediate heated response of her body. Had she ever felt this consumed by attraction when she was Geoffrey? In truth, she prided herself in being beyond such silliness, and it seemed like girlish foolishness the way Hawk made her feel each time he came near. She'd enjoyed their flirtation in the hall, but it was folly to let a little seductive banter consume her imagination.

"Both," she answered honestly. His presence at Hawkspur made it difficult for her to get Cynwulf alone to get a straight answer from him. But the bigger threat was the fact that she spent far too much of her time thinking about this dangerous knight.

He was standing very near to her now, so near that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He stared down at her, and though she could not see his eyes clearly in the darkness, she was sure she felt the smoldering intensity of them.

Good Lord, he was going to kiss her!

If she let that happen, it would be a disaster. She turned quickly from him to look out over the castle wall. "If you are expecting to catch me plotting against the king, you will be disappointed." She did not attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice and immediately felt a little guilty for the petty response, but she could think of no other way to stop herself from doing something she would only regret.

"You know that is not why I am here."

Hawk leaned on his forearms against the castle wall next to her, following her gaze over the muted horizon lit by a sliver of a moon. Ffyddlon wriggled between the two of them and sat on her back haunches. Alyce was not fooled for a moment; Ffyddlon's actions had nothing to do with being a protective barrier for Alyce and everything to do with her wanting to be next to Hawk.

She closed her eyes for a moment, cursing herself for wanting to be close to Hawk as much as her dog.

"Hawk," she said with a sigh. "You are making things difficult."

Hawk dropped one hand to his side to scratch the top of the hound's head as he spoke. "If you desire me to leave, say the word, my lady."

She had come to the parapet seeking solitude, but in truth, she did not want Hawk to leave. Of late, she found herself alone too often, even if by choice. She enjoyed visiting the merchants in the village or the occasional gossip with the maids who assisted her in the castle, but she had withdrawn more and more into herself since becoming a widow. She was afraid to let anyone else get close to her because they, too, might die and rip her heart to shreds. Just as her parents had done. Just as Uncle Ranolf had done. Just as Geoffrey had done. She had been contented with Cynwulf and Ffyddlon as her only close confidants and had not felt the need for more.

Until now.

Of late, when she closed her eyes images of one man seducing her consumed her. He had chiseled features, long, dark hair, and a devilish grin. She did not try to think about Hawk kissing her, but he filled her with thoughts unbidden of him, doing wonderfully erotic things to her. An affair with Hawk would only lead to more heartbreak when it was over, and she'd had enough pain to last a lifetime. She did not want more.

But as much as she tried to deny it, she did not want to be alone anymore.

Still, she reminded herself, Hawk was here on a mission from the king, a mission that could change all their lives if he judged Cynwulf's behavior questionable enough to report to the king. It would be foolish to let an impulsive attraction that could never amount to anything more than heartache cloud her judgment and possibly condemn her brother. She stiffened and pushed the thoughts from her mind.

"I desire to be alone."

Hawk preferred the melodic lilt of Alyce's voice when she was relaxed—smooth, rich, and intoxicating. But her guard was up again, and he was not oblivious to her dismissive tone. She'd straightened to her full height when she spoke. He pushed away from the wall, hiding his amusement, and watched her head slowly tilt back as he rose to his own full, towering height. Alyce may be taller than any woman he'd known and many men, but she still had to look up at him to meet his eyes.

"I do not believe you truly want to be alone right now."

He tried to tell himself his attraction to Alyce was strategic, that she was a means of getting closer to Cynwulf and learning the secrets of Hawkspur, but he knew it was a lie. Alyce was a refreshing change from the women he knew at court. She was honest to a fault, and she couldn't be calculating or manipulative if she tried. Her face revealed her every emotion, every thought. She was kind-hearted and caring, and it would kill him to ever hurt her.

His chest tightened with guilt. If Cynwulf was the traitor the king suspected him of being, then what he had to do would hurt Alyce terribly. And if Cynwulf was innocent, it would save him from tearing her world apart, but he would still be unworthy of a woman like her.

He was a bastard, a man who made his way in the world as a hired sword, a trained killer for the king. Men like him did not marry ladies and become lords, despite the king's promises. He'd been rewarded generously for his duty to the king, but it was not enough to build a fortress-like Hawkspur. Even if it was, the lords of England would never accept him as one of their own, no matter how much they may respect him. He was a threat to their way of life, to the sanctity of the almighty heir, of a first-born son bred on a pure wife of high standing.

If a bastard born from a dalliance with a maid, willing or unwilling, could garner the same riches and rewards as those with noble blood, it would tilt the distribution of power and throw the hierarchy of society and the church into disarray. Hawk knew his place in this world, and he'd come to accept it, which meant he also had to accept that Lady Alyce was not for him.

So why could he not stop thinking about pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless every time she was near? Society and a traitorous brother be damned, he wanted Alyce. She wasn't an innocent maiden oblivious to the ways of men or the mutual satisfaction of intimate encounters.

He reached for her hand, then hesitated to give her time to withdraw from his advance. When she didn't move, he lifted her hand in his and gently caressed the long curl of hair entwined in her fingers. She'd tugged the tail of her plait around her body and wrapped it in her fingers when she'd said she desired to be alone. She was completely oblivious of her action, or how telling it was about her distress.

She looked down at their intertwined hands and the lock of hair trapped between their fingers.

"Nothing good can come from this," Alyce said hoarsely.

"Tell me why?" Hawk knew it to be true, but he wanted to hear her reasons. He also wanted to unwind the braid, let her hair fall loose, and sink his hands into the silky strands.

"Because you believe everyone's heart to be wrong until proven right, and I believe everyone's heart right until proven wrong. You are convinced Cynwulf's actions and words are part of a greater plot, and me to be his accomplice."

Hawk shook his head. "I think you incapable of plotting against anyone, or of having anything but the best of intentions. You, I hold above suspicion of being wrong."

"Why?" she asked sincerely, then shook her head. "I want to believe—however naively—your attentiveness to me is sincere and not just a means to an end for your mission."

Hawk inwardly cringed, an unfamiliar pang of guilt stabbing his chest, because she was right in her judgment of him. Her eyes were full of trust, as though she could never suspect him of lying to her, believing that he would have no reason but to give her a truthful answer.

He wanted her in his bed, naked with her hair splayed across his blankets. But he also realized the best way to get to Cynwulf was through Alyce.

"There is too much good in you, and you trust others to be good," Hawk said flatly, wishing Alyce were anyone but Cynwulf's sister. "But it is always the good people who get hurt the worst because of men like me, like your brother."

Hawk continued to hold her hand in his, unwilling to let it go for fear that it would be the last time he would touch her. Knowing it should be the last time he touched her.

She placed her other hand on his forearm and pleaded, "You must believe me when I say Cynwulf is not plotting against anyone. He has nothing but the best of intentions for Hawkspur."

He wished he could believe her, but his instincts were rarely wrong. Hunter had not yet returned from following the messenger dispatched by Cynwulf, but his gut told him the messenger was dispatched out of fear. However right Cynwulf thought his intentions to be, they did not bode well for Hawkspur.

Hawk may understand the ways of men when it came to self-preservation, greed, and power, but Alyce's brother still baffled him. He did not doubt Cynwulf's devotion to his sister, so why would he put her in danger?