Chapter Twenty-Eight

B y the time Alyce returned to her chamber, she'd sat through another interminably long supper, met with the king and Aelwin to solidify the plan to protect the castle from rebels after the king's departure—though he gave no indication of when that would be—discussed her expectations and obligations to the king and realm, and given her heartbreaking oath that Cynwulf would never be allowed to return as lord of Hawkspur.

"You are honor bound to detain your brother and turn him over to me as a traitor to the crown," the king had reminded her sternly causing a knot of apprehension to form in her stomach. It still sat solidly in Alyce's stomach as she climbed the stairs to her chamber.

She braced herself as she emerged from the stairwell, teeth gritted and ready for another locking of horns with Hunter in order to wring even the sparest of details of Hawk's state from him. When she saw the big, red-headed Viking sitting in a chair at Hawk's door, his long legs stretched across the corridor and his head tilted back against the wall, the relief that flooded her was almost overwhelming. She truly did not have the stamina for another argument with Hunter.

As she stepped into the passageway, Red was on his feet in the blink of an eye and braced to defend his commander's door. He immediately relaxed when he saw her, a broad, teeth-baring grin covering his face.

"My dear Lady Alyce," he said with a deep bow. "How fare you?"

The jovial behemoth had a way of putting Alyce at ease. In fact, it was taking every bit of her decorum not to lean in and let him wrap her in a huge, protective hug. He was a handsome man, and she expected most women would swoon at the thought of being held in his arms, but when she looked at him, all she saw was a gentle, brotherly giant.

"I am well, Red. But I would really like to know how Hawk fares. Hunter will hardly speak to me and gives me little more than disapproving grunts when I inquire." She looked up at him beseechingly. "And do not spare me the details; I do not deserve such kind consideration."

Red arched a ginger eyebrow at her, shaking his head and clucking his tongue disapprovingly. "If you think him near dead, my lady, you underestimate him."

"I saw—" She gulped and bit the inside of her cheek to push back the hot stinging in the back of her eyes as the images of Hawk's punishment flooded her mind. "I know he will not die, but I saw what he endured."

"Aye, we all saw it," Red said, his smile tightening. "He will heal. His back aches and it's striped enough to make the most devoted flagellant monk envious."

Alyce gasped with shock at the blasphemous comparison, but it was hard to take offense when everything the Viking said was delivered with a mischievous grin. She sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor before steeling herself and facing Red to ask what was truly on her mind.

"Does he hate me?"

Red snorted. "Never."

"Will he see me?" She held her breath as she waited for the answer.

"The sight of you will be the balm he needs." He laughed then. "I don't think he finds my ministrations soothing and he has been growling like a bear every time I go near him."

He reached for the door and pushed it open slightly, then signaled with his outstretched hand for her to enter. "Just be careful with him, my lady. He's been a nightmare to keep still and his back needs time to heal. If he moves too much, it will rip open again."

Alyce blushed at Red's raised eyebrow and the unspoken insinuation that she had intentions of anything more energetic than stroking his head soothingly. She entered the chamber with her heart in her throat, the beats pounding in her head. Red pulled the door closed behind her and she stood in place as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. A single candle burned on a small table situated near the door. She shivered slightly and saw that the window covering was pulled back, letting in the chilly night air.

Finally, as her eyes adjusted to the soft, flickering light, she turned her attention to the man who was her reason for being here. Hawk was sprawled across the bed on his stomach with his arms stretched out to hang over the sides of the bed. A thin linen sheet covered him from his lower back to midway down his legs, his muscular calves and bare feet sticking out at the bottom. She swallowed hard, the sight of his naked limbs stirring her more than she intended as heat coiled low in her belly.

His fingers on the hand closest to her twitched slightly, drawing her attention. His face was turned toward her, his hair tied into a club at the base of his neck. Her gaze wandered slowly over the broad curve of his shoulders, the muscles there firm even in sleep. He was a truly splendid man and in any other circumstance, she would not be able to stop herself from touching him, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his body.

Several days ago, before the turn of events that had changed their lives irrevocably, he would have welcomed her explorations, of that she was certain. But now, she did not dare touch him, even as the memory of his hands and mouth on her, the way her body had come alive under his touch as he pleasured had her breath hitching in her throat. What she would give to go back to that night, to…what? She did not know what she could do over if given the chance, but she wanted it all to end differently than it had.

Slowly, she let her eyes move to the dark pattern of slashes crisscrossing his back. She stepped closer, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, to see the lifted welts, open wounds, and discolored bruises mottling the expanse of his back more clearly.

She drew in a sharp breath and reached a hand tentatively toward him but stopped herself before her fingers touched his skin. She closed her eyes for a moment to restore her composure, then steeled herself to look at him again, forcing herself to take in every detail of his back. This was her doing, she reminded herself as her eyes roamed slowly over the damage done to his skin and muscles. The king had said it was her punishment to witness Hawk's penance for defying the king; she would imprint this in her mind and remember that her decisions had consequences.

After a long while, she allowed her gaze to climb the length of his thick neck to the line of his jaw, dusted with stubble, looking for signs of fever as the candlelight flicked across his cheeks. Thankfully, his skin was dry and even in tone. His lips were gently parted, and his eyes were…open!

He looked at her with a steady gaze, the orbs black under his thick lashes. "Come here," he said in a low voice, lifting his hand to reach for her.

Alyce dropped to her knees next to the bed and smoothed a hand over his hair, cupping his skull in her hand. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it to look at him, all the remorse and pain of the last days welling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. No words could begin to express her regret.

He touched a calloused thumb to her face, swiping at the wetness on her cheek. "'Tis nothing," he said with a sardonic grin, his voice strong and unwavering. She let out a pitiful laugh and leaned into his palm.

He started to roll to his side, and she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "You mustn't move."

"Then come here." He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him. She kept her eyes open, locked on his, feeling his breath warm her face as she drew near. He touched her lips softly with his, letting out a long sigh against her mouth as she closed her eyes.

She pulled her head back and locked her eyes with his. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He shook his head and stroked a hand over the wimple covering her hair. "I make my own decisions. This is not your doing."

She wanted to ask him why he'd done it, why he'd taken the flogging instead of telling the king it was her fault Cynwulf escaped, but she could not bring herself to say the words. She would be devastated if he said he did it for love, and equally devastated if he denied doing it for love.

Because she loved him. She'd known it the moment she looked into his eyes when she was standing in front of Hawkspur's soldiers in the morning of the day prior. When she'd felt her confidence slipping, he had looked back at her with pride in his eyes. He'd believed in her, and that was what mattered to her more than anything else at that moment, and her heart had swelled.

It was the memory she would hold close to her, to take out and cling to whenever she felt too tired to go on, too lost, or too alone in the world. It would be the warm spark in her heart that she protected and cherished in the days and years ahead when she thought of him and what their lives could have been if things were different. If she was not barren.

She must remember what the queen had told her about Hawk. He and men like him needed heirs to carry on their legacy, and she could never give that to him.

She closed her eyes as his fingers worked under the edge of her wimple, pushing it back.

"Take this off," he whispered.

She reached up to pull at the pins Edna had lodged tightly against her skull that morning, grateful to have them loosened and the irritating covering taken from her head. His eyes darkened as the thin line left by the Welshman's blade was uncovered by the scarf as it fell from her neck. She brought her fingers up to hide it from his sight.

"It is nothing, Hawk, and does not pain me. Compared to what you have endured, this is an inconsequential scratch." In truth, it was a clean, shallow cut and was healing quickly.

His eyes narrowed. "He is lucky to already be dead," he grumbled. His gaze moved from her neck to her hair. "Now the braid," he said, a devastatingly charming grin curving his lips, his anger seemingly gone.

She pulled the ties from the end of the long plait and started to unwind the strands. He combed his fingers through her hair, catching a loose strand and bringing it to his nose to inhale the scent of it.

Pushing slowly to her feet, she sat on the edge of the bed, leaning her back against the headboard and shifting close to him. Gently, she lifted his head to lay it on her lap. His arms closed around her waist as he clutched handfuls of her hair in his fists and laid his cheek against her thigh.

She untied the leather strip holding the club of hair at his nape and combed her fingers through the strands, her fingernails stroking soothingly over his skull.

"It does not seem enough to say thank you," she said softly, keeping her focus on the thick hair, dark as midnight, flowing through her fingers as she massaged his scalp. "I never meant for you to suffer in return for Cynwulf's life."

"It is a short reprieve on his life, I will not lie to you," Hawk said, tightening his hold around her waist. "It will not end well for him. He cannot return to England without suffering the wrath of the king, and when the king defeats Prince Llywelyn and Daffydd, Wales will not be safe for Cynwulf either."

Alyce breathed deeply and released a shaky breath. She knew it to be true, knew there were no good alternatives for Cynwulf. His only hope was to escape Britain altogether. Perhaps Ireland. Or France. Even Spain. It hurt her heart to think of her brother, her only living family, so far abroad and never seeing him again, but at least he would be alive. Mayhap there was still hope for him to live a long life and have a family.

"Let's not speak of my brother now. Tell me what I can do to ease your discomfort. Have you eaten? Can I have Edna make a poultice?" She realized heat was rising in her cheeks as her gaze followed the lines of Hawk's back where it tapered to his waist, then down the rest of his body. The sheet was doing very little to hide the very well-formed muscles of his backside and long legs.

She had to concentrate to keep her rapidly increasing breath under control as images of the last time she was in this room filled her mind. Her fingers tingled at the memory of touching his finely sculpted chest and stomach, but she'd had not time to look at the rest of them before he had pushed her back on the bed and…

"Come down here so I can look at you," he said lifting his cheek from where it rested on her thigh and loosening his hold around her middle.

"Hawk," she said, warning in her voice, "that is not a good idea." He was already pulling at her waist to slide her down next to him. "It is improper, and you should not be moving if you are to heal."

He chuckled deep in his chest, then winced slightly. "We dispensed with propriety some time ago, my lady." He lifted his face to look at her. "You can either lie down beside me and let me rest against you, or I will drag you down here and damn the healing."

Alyce huffed in mock disapproval as she resituated herself to lie next to his big, warm body, her face even with his. The chill night air coming in through the open window did nothing to diminish the heat radiating from him, yet he did not seem to suffer from fever. He draped an arm over her middle and a heavy thigh over her legs, pinning her to the mattress. She turned her head to bring their noses a mere hand's width apart and looked into his eyes while trying not to think about his fully naked body pressed up against her.

"You are Lady of Hawkspur, now." A slow smile curved his lips as he said the words, the warmth in his eyes breaking her heart. "Tomorrow, when I am on my feet, I will pay deference to you as you deserve."

"No, Hawk," she said sternly with a small shake of her head on their shared pillow. "I never want you to bow to me. You have given me so much more than you can even know; I can never repay you." She turned her body just enough under the weight of his limbs to lay her hand against the side of his face. She inhaled deeply, smelling the healing herbs of the poultice on his back, but it was not enough to cover the earthy scent of his skin that was just him.

They stayed lying together, looking into each other's eyes for a long while, both silent, so many words unspoken. Alyce did not know what to say to him because there was nothing to say that wouldn't break her heart. She loved Hawk, there was no denying that now, despite her efforts to stop it from happening. And because she loved him, she would let him go, let him find someone who could give him the sons he deserved.

She remembered the gentle way he'd had with Henry, the way the child laughed at his antics, how Hawk had looked with the boy in his arms. He would be a wonderful father, just like her father. And like her uncle would have been, had he his own children.

"Do you recall the day we went to the village together?" she said, her voice whisper-soft and her eyes locked with his.

"Aye." The lines on his face relaxed, giving Alyce encouragement to continue.

She would not hide the truth any longer. "The child you showed such kindness to is my husband's son."

*

Hawk had heard the rumor.

Red was worse than a gossiping old crone, gathering tantalizing tidbits of information to use against others later. But he would not use this against Lady Alyce. He would let her tell him what she needed to say. So now, as she revealed the truth of the boy's identity, he did nothing more than wait for her to say more.

"His mother is Janet, the serving maid from the hall," she continued, her voice steady and her gaze unwavering as she confided in him. "He died just over a year past, after five years of marriage, and the boy is no more than two summers." She sighed, as though steeling her nerve, but she did not look away from him. "In those five years, not once did I become with child. But Geoffrey was with her for one night, and she had Henry."

Hawk wanted to soothe her, to hold her tighter and tell her it did not matter, but he sensed that despite the hurt he could see in her eyes she was trying to hide, she wanted him to do nothing more than listen.

"Cynwulf told me time and again that there was no proof he was Geoffrey's son, that there was hope I could have children with another man." A small, sad smile curved her lips. "But I knew Geoffrey better than anyone. I knew the shape of his face, the exact color of his eyes, the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, how he tilted his head when he was intrigued by something, the way certain expressions shaped his face."

She slowly let her hand slide down Hawk's face to curl it in a ball under her chin. He could feel her withdrawing from him, protecting herself, and he didn't like it. She was skittish under his touch, like a mare ready to bolt, so he stayed quiet, only curving his hand a bit tighter around her side in reassurance.

"I did not know a child could be so much like his sire in mannerisms as well as looks," she said with a tight laugh, her voice still barely a whisper. "But there is no doubt. With each passing season, the resemblance becomes stronger. And as my doubt of Henry's paternity decreases, my certainty that I will never have a child of my own increases."

Hawk pressed his forehead closer to hers when she stopped speaking. "I did not mean to add to your pain when we went to the village." He had not known until after they returned what the connection was between Alyce, the child, and the child's mother. He sensed then that there was more to the situation because Alyce was never brusque toward anyone, but she was stiff and guarded with Janet.

She opened her hand enough to touch her fingers to his chin, and Hawk took that as a good sign. "You helped me that day, even if it was a painful lesson. I had only looked at the situation from my perspective. I was hurt and I blamed Janet as much as I blamed my husband for what happened. I thought her cruel for taking another woman's husband to her bed, and I resented her for lack of respect toward me."

He slid his hand up her side and over her shoulder to cup it around the back of her head when she sighed and dropped her eyes for the first time, focused on something far away. He would not let her retreat from him now.

"She likely did not think of me at all when it happened, and I do not mean that in a critical way. I mean that she had other things to think about. I put more of the blame on Geoffrey now because you made me see that women like Janet often do not have a choice. I am no longer certain she set out to seduce my husband, but rather that she feared saying no would make her life more difficult." She took a deep breath before continuing. "And in the end, Geoffrey got what every man wants: a child to carry on his legacy. Even if he is not here to raise him as his heir, a part of him will live on. That is something I could not give him." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "That I cannot give to any man."

Hawk could see the effort it took her to say the words, to be brave enough to admit that she could not have what she seemed to desperately want, and he felt a spike lodge in his heart, hurting him far more than any lashing. "Geoffrey was a fool," he said, startled by the hoarseness in his own voice. He wanted to kill the man for making her feel she was a failure for not giving him a child or that she was not enough of a woman.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Her whisper was barely there and hollow. "Some say I did not bear a child for my husband because I did not pray hard enough. Others say God will bless me with a family when the time is right. I do not know what to believe anymore, but I have decided my family now are the people here at Hawkspur…and Cynwulf. He will always be my family even if he cannot be here with me. And as for the family that is here with me, I will devote myself wholeheartedly to them and no one else."

Hawk could see the determination in her eyes as she spoke and felt the stiffening of her body under his leg and arm. It was as though she were fortifying herself, steeling herself against that which was lost to her. He knew she would put her entire heart, her entire being, into caring for the people she had chosen as her family.

As for her claim that she would devote herself to the people of Hawkspur and no one else, he did not care for that idea at all because that meant she did not consider him to be her family. She would never feel for him what he felt for her, which was…. He didn't know exactly, but because he cared for her, he would bury those feelings and help her in any way he could.

"I've lived my life being damned by men, by the church, by nobles, by those who think I have no value because I am bastard born," Hawk said, sliding his hand from the back of her head to curl his fingers around her fisted hand under her chin. "One thing I've learned is to put no merit in how others would define my value, but rather how I define it. If others already think you lacking, then you have nothing to lose by being bold, and demanding that which is due to you."

She closed her eyes and laughed softly. "Like a stallion claiming a pasture of mares."

"Exactly," he conceded, smiling at the memory of her chastising him for his arrogance weeks earlier on the parapets, claiming he strutted like a stallion in the company of mares. He wouldn't make the mistake of comparing her to a mare again, but the truth was she was the only one worth strutting for, the only one he needed.

His forehead was still pressed to hers, her hand clasped in his, and her body pinned by the weight of his leg. He could smell the flowery scent of her soap, reminding him of how sweet she tasted on his tongue when he'd had her sprawled across this same bed only two nights before. He wanted to taste her again, but more than that, he wanted to worship every part of her body until she believed that she was cherished, that she was more woman than most.

She pressed her warm lips to his fingers and looked at him through her lashes. "Stallion or no, you need your rest, so I will take my leave."

She started to wriggle out from under his leg and he clamped it down harder against her, tightening his grip on her hand. "Stay with me tonight."

He could see the flush of color rising in her cheeks. "I cannot. I have duties to attend to in the morning. Besides, Red has already given me his command that you are not to do anything that will jeopardize your healing. If I don't leave soon, he will come in here and haul me out, and I would prefer to avoid that humiliation."

"Forget Red. He will do as I say." He groaned in dismay as she slipped out from under his leg to stand next to the bed, her hand still folded in his. He kissed the back of her palm and inhaled the scent of her. "Enough for now," he murmured, loosening his grip on her hand.

She leaned down to kiss him softly on his forehead and it took everything in him not to lift his face to hers and claim her lips in a searing kiss, but he knew if he did that, he wouldn't stop until he had her naked and underneath him.

He watched her back away from the bed to the door, opening it and quietly disappearing as a throbbing started in his chest. He felt like his war horse was standing there, crushing his heart and taking away his breath.

He knew Alyce felt an obligation to Hawkspur, to the people here, and she rightfully felt that she was the best person to take on the role of liege. No one else would care for these people and fight for them as she would because she loved them above all others. She'd said it herself—she didn't have room for anyone else in her life. And she would never choose a man over Hawkspur if it meant relinquishing her authority to him.

"I'm a selfish bastard," he muttered to the empty room, "because I want her anyway."