Chapter Nine

A fter contemplating the prospect of escorting Hawk on a tour of the village, Alyce decided she was wrong to dread the deed as she had initially. The afternoon in the forest with Ffyddlon had cleared her head, and she now believed showing Hawk the village would make him see the people of Hawkspur did not have time in their day to embroil themselves in the conflicts of kings and princes. They wished only to live comfortably in peace, and they were willing to put in the work to make that happen. He would understand then why nobody at Hawkspur would plot to conspire with the Welsh princes and bring down the wrath of the English king upon the castle and the villagers—especially Cynwulf.

Still, the fear Cynwulf hid something important from her would not go away. It had been a full sennight since she overheard her brother and the strange man in the barn, and she was questioning her memory of what truly happened. The incident had played over and over in her head so many times, she was no longer sure what was real and what she had imagined. She wanted to believe her suspicions about Cynwulf were merely a product of the chaos of the last several days, that the conversation she overheard could be explained.

She really must stop overreacting.

She tugged at the sleeves of her gown to calm her nerves and occupy her fidgeting hands as she descended the spiral staircase on her way to the great hall for dinner. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she ran her fingers over the cuffs embroidered with little white moons and yellow stars blazing boldly against the deep blue hue of the gown. It was her favorite, and she wore it to bolster her confidence. Tonight she would not let Hawk unsettle her and she would not let Cynwulf dodge her.

She knocked on the solar door, hoping to find Cynwulf within, but not at all surprised when there was no response. Her brother was proving more slippery than an eel, constantly avoiding her attempts to speak with him. She turned away with a sigh and ducked through the entry to the hall.

Once every fortnight, Cynwulf's hall was filled with prominent townspeople, his highest-ranking soldiers, and any others seeking an audience with Cynwulf. Tomorrow afternoon, her brother would hold an open council to resolve grievances and listen to petitions. The eve before each council was filled with as much feasting and merrymaking as it was political bargaining and scheming to sway Cynwulf to favor one side over another before the official council even began.

In the years Geoffrey had been alive, both she and her husband sat at Cynwulf's side to offer council when requested. After Geoffrey had died, she'd stopped attending; at first, she'd thought it would be for just a while, but then she'd never gone back. Cynwulf was a fair man and he resolved issues with as much compassion and common sense as her uncle had done before them. He did not need her counsel and she felt her time better spent in the planning and managing of the castle resources.

In reality, she preferred the duties that kept her away from the attention that followed Cynwulf as lord of the castle. She did not relish taking part in the gathering before tomorrow's council, but it was her duty as the lady of Hawkspur, and so she forced herself to feign pleasantness and present herself in the hall.

Hawk's imposing form immediately caught her eye from the far end of the hall, and she felt her breath catch unexpectedly. He stood nearly a head taller than everyone else in the room except for his Viking companion at his side. His straight black hair hung loose down to his shoulders, accenting the dark green of his tunic. He crossed his arms over his broad chest as he surveyed his domain with sharp, dark eyes, ready to swoop in at the first sign of trouble. He was an intimidating figure for sure, and it galled her that she found him so appealing.

Surely the tingling that raced through her at the sight of him was due to her nerves being set on end in preparation for the agitation he was bound to ignite in her. Though she had to admit, if only to herself, that she found the bantering exhilarating. He didn't speak to her with pity, condescension, or guarded protectiveness as she had become accustomed to in the year since Geoffrey died, or in the two years since his son had been born to another woman.

He didn't treat her like a heartbroken widow. Or a conquest. Or a woman requiring shelter from the rest of the world. When they were on the castle wall earlier in the day, he conversed with her as though he had no fear that her feelings were too fragile and listened intently to her explanation of the villagers and what mattered in their lives.

More importantly, he did not chastise her nor dismiss her when she mocked him for his arrogance, comparing him to a stallion and then a chicken.

Some women swooned at fancy words and romantic gestures, but Alyce was attracted to a man who recognized her as a woman with thoughts and opinions that mattered. And when that man was built like Hawk, broad and tall enough as to make a woman of her height feel dainty, her mind turned to thoughts that were not very ladylike and urges she had not experienced since her husband had died.

Alyce tried to push that thought from her mind. She could not let herself be distracted by a handsome warrior when that same warrior was hellbent on proving her brother to be a traitor. She tried to divert her attention from his arrogant stance and possessive watch over the hall—Cynwulf's hall—but those piercing eyes settled onto hers before she could look away. Their eyes remained locked together for a long moment.

And then, he winked at her.

Flustered and irritated, Alyce broke off the gaze as a shiver rippled through her body and began searching the room for her brother. She did not have time for flirtatious games. Truth be told, she didn't even know how to play at being flirtatious. She might admire his form and height, but she would not allow herself to be distracted from the task at hand, which was to convince Hawk no traitors dwelled at Hawkspur, then send him on his way back to the king before her brother did anything more to raise suspicion.

She spotted Cynwulf leaning against the hearth on the far side of the raised dais, talking with a group of men. She started towards him but stopped when a commotion caught her attention by the entry. Another half dozen men had entered the hall, talking and laughing boisterously, and the most boisterous of the group was a familiar voice that made Alyce cringe.

It was for good reason Alyce had referred to Luc Montworth as a peacock when Cynwulf suggested him as a suitor. The man was loud and constantly preening. He had fallen from the king's graces years ago but was weaseling his way back into the ranks of nobility. He wielded his power as sheriff of the forest as though he were already named lord of a manor—which the king promised to do soon. He was an ambitious man, always greedily eying his next prize.

But Alyce was not a prize, and she had no desire to tie herself to such a self-serving and self-centered man. How her brother could even consider him as a possible suitor for her was beyond reasoning.

Montworth immediately started across the hall in Alyce's direction, eyeing her like a chest of gold. Alyce looked frantically for Cynwulf to save her, then decided escape was her best option as she turned on her heel and headed toward the buttery.

She walked briskly toward the back of the hall and slipped through the entry to the buttery where the servants stored barrels of ale and wine, ready to be decanted and served to the guests in the hall. She instantly regretted her choice to come here for refuge. An all-too-familiar buxom maiden filled jugs with ale while a small boy sat on the floor in the corner playing with a wooden horse.

The woman turned to see who entered, then cocked her head with a puzzled expression on her face. "I did not expect to see you in here, my lady. May I assist you with something?"

Alyce felt flustered for a moment at the sight of the woman with whom her husband had spent one forbidden night, but before she could say anything the little boy pushed himself to his feet and held his toy up to Alyce.

"Horsey," he said proudly of the carved wooden animal in his hand.

Alyce studied his pudgy cheeks and excited eyes, searching for definitive proof of her dead husband's features in this little boy who was the child of another woman. Was the dimple in his chin or the green of his eyes exactly the same as Geoffrey's? Or could those features be inherited from some other green-eyed man with a dimple and light hair?

"Henry," Janet chided softly, "do not bother the lady."

The little boy's face fell, and he looked about to cry, as though he'd done something wrong. Alyce did not want to distress this poor little boy who had no idea how he affected her. "It is a very majestic horse," she said, squatting down to look at him from his level. Her gown billowed around her feet and pooled on the floor, making Henry laugh and plop down on his knees next to her, trying to catch the flowing material with his fat, little fingers.

"Henry!" Janet scolded. "Do not touch. You will ruin her gown."

"It is all right," Alyce said softly, reaching out to touch Henry's hand where he patted at the gown. Did it really matter if this boy was the offspring of her husband or some other man? Even if the child was not Geoffrey's, her husband had shared the woman's bed. The sight of Janet usually caused her an instant feeling of queasiness in her stomach. Images of her naked husband lying with the woman started to fill her head, but she quickly pushed them away. Whether or not this boy was a product of her husband's drunken indiscretion, he was an innocent child. Like Alyce, Henry did not take part in what happened, yet had to suffer the consequences of the choices made by his mother and Alyce's husband.

Alyce put her hands under the little boy's arms and picked him up as she stood to lift him off her gown. Her husband, like every man, had desired a son to carry on his legacy. If this boy was her husband's son, then Geoffrey lived on. And if he was not his son, then there was nothing left of Geoffrey other than her memories. Neither was easy to live with…but perhaps Geoffrey deserved a legacy.

She smiled at the child laughing and wiggling as she held him out and set him back on the floor. She patted his head then smoothed her gown. When she looked up, Janet was staring at her fearfully.

"Carry on, Janet," Alyce said evenly, then turned to leave. To her surprise, she did not feel as sick to her stomach as usual when coming face-to-face with the evidence of Geoffrey's indiscretion.

Cynwulf had offered many times to send Janet and the boy away so that she would not have to look at them as Janet served the hall. Some days she regretted her decision of refusing the offer, but if she allowed it then she was as petty and shallow as she imagined Janet to be. Though sending her away would ease Alyce's discomfort, it would not change what happened. Besides, Janet and the boy were a constant reminder that she could never give a man the child he required from a wife. Though her brother chose to deny the importance of that fact, she must never forget it, for any marriage she entered into would sink into disappointment for her unlucky husband and a more shameful heartache for herself.

She squared her shoulders and left the buttery, nearly bumping into Luc Montworth as she stepped out into the hall.

"There you are, Lady Alyce," he said, too loudly, as though acting for the entire hall to witness. He reached for her fingers and planted a hot, moist kiss on the back of her hand.

"Sheriff," Alyce said with a nod, gently tugging her hand from his grasp. Had Sheriff Montworth always been such a small man? She realized now that she had to look down to meet his eyes. She had thought him broad and strong, but now she realized he was just thick and paunchy. She scanned the room, searching for her brother, and sighed with relief to see him walking toward her, though the look on his face did not bode well.

Sheriff Montworth started to say something to her, but he paused, and he stayed silent as something distracted his attention. His eyes widened as though in fear, then he pinched his brows together and his face contorted with anger. Alyce took a step back, unsure what had Montworth so flustered. She stopped mid-step in her retreat when she hit something solid behind her and felt a firm hand settle onto her shoulder. She did not need to look to know Hawk stood at her back. Montworth grabbed her by the arm as though to help her avoid a fall and pulled her forward. Hawk's grip on her shoulder tightened as he held her solidly in place.

"Unhand her," Hawk commanded in a low growl.

"You unhand her, sir. The lady is to be mine," Montworth boasted, tightening his grip on her arm.

Alyce felt as though she were in the middle of two dogs fighting over a juicy bit of meat, each growling and tugging at the coveted prize. But she was not a piece of meat and was about to voice her indignation at their treatment of her when Hawk suddenly placed his hand on Montworth's wrist, clamping down with such force that the sheriff immediately released her.

"I do not appreciate being treated like a bone thrown to the dogs," Alyce said through gritted teeth, glaring first at Montworth, then at Hawk. She tried to shrug Hawk's hand from her shoulder, but he would not budge.

Montworth sputtered in outrage, his face now so flushed his ears burned red, and Alyce leaned closer to Hawk to stop him from trying to grab her again.

"Sheriff," Cynwulf interjected. "I was not expecting you today, but you are welcome at my table."

Montworth appeared as though he was at a loss for words as he looked from Cynwulf to Alyce pressed up against Hawk and back to Cynwulf.

"Introductions are in order," Cynwulf continued. "Sheriff Montworth, this is Sir Grogan, trusted knight of the king and our guest." He turned to face Hawk next, gesturing with his hand toward Montworth. "And this is Luc Montworth, Sheriff of the Forest as appointed by the king."

"Soon to be lord," Montworth muttered.

Cynwulf continued to blather on about the good work Montworth did for the kingdom, hardly stopping for a breath as the other two men glared at each other. Finally, he held out his arm to Alyce, much to her relief. "And now if you will allow me to escort my sister to the dais, our supper will soon be served," Cynwulf said to Hawk, his voice cordial but cold as he looked pointedly to where Hawk's hand still rested on her shoulder.

Hawk gently pushed Alyce in the direction of her brother, and she gratefully took Cynwulf's arm.

"You have saved me," she whispered as they walked away from the other two men. She dared a quick glance over her shoulder in time to see Hawk fold his arms over his chest and brace his legs apart as he stared down at Luc Montworth with a bored expression on his face, making it quite clear he viewed him as nothing more than a nuisance hardly worthy of his time. Montworth huffed but avoided looking at Hawk, then turned to walk away.

"What was all of that about?" Alyce asked in a harsh whisper through a stiff smile lest any of the guests in the hall watched. She did not want others to think there was cause for concern regarding her brother, the sheriff, or the king's knight.

"Montworth may be under the assumption that his negotiation for your hand in marriage has been accepted," Cynwulf admitted with a sheepish grimace.

Alyce came to an abrupt halt, stopping Cynwulf in his tracks. "No!" Her response was louder than intended and she looked around the hall quickly, but only a few heads nearest them turned in their direction. She forced a smile again and said through gritted teeth, "No, Cynwulf. How dare you enter negotiations with Montworth without my consent? You promised you would never do such a thing."

Cynwulf said calmly. "I believed it was for the best at the time, Alyce. I admit now it may have been a mistake. It will not be easy to undo."

Alyce was too angry to speak. She could hardly breathe, and it took all of her will not to pounce on her brother and strangle him. But there was an equal measure of fear to match her anger. Cynwulf would never betray her confidence this way unless he was desperate. She jerked on his arm as she started walking toward the head table again. They stepped up on the dais and Cynwulf led her to the chair next to his. She obligingly sat but then pushed back to her feet when she realized her brother did not intend to sit down beside her yet.

"Where are you going? I must speak with you," she said, grabbing his arm.

Cynwulf looked like he was about to protest, but then he nodded and pulled out his chair.

Alyce angled her chair toward Cynwulf's and looked him in the eye. "Tell me now, brother, what is happening with you? And do not tell me there is nothing to worry about because I know you would never betray my trust this way unless you felt you had no other choice." She paused a moment to sigh heavily then added in a hushed tone, "And I overheard you in the barn the other day. You have secrets you are not sharing with me."

Cynwulf's face remained steady, as did his eyes, but he did not rush to deny Alyce's words and she felt like she'd been doused in icy water as cold fingers of dread slid down her spine. It was a long moment before he parted his lips to speak but then raised voices from a group of men in the center of the hall stopped him from saying anything. Montworth's small contingent of men were forcefully trying to claim the table where Hawk's men sat. Hawk's warriors all stood in unison.

"This will not be good," Cynwulf muttered, shaking his head.

Hawk's men remained in place without lifting a threatening hand, but the imposing size of the band of warriors, as they stared quietly at the pestering men had the desired effect. The sheriff's men, realizing they were outnumbered and outsized, continued to bluster but moved away and found a less formidable group of men to intimidate into giving up their table to them. Seeing the difference in how Hawk's men demonstrated their authority compared to the way Montworth's men, who bullied others into doing what they desired was one more reason the sheriff was not a man Alyce could ever respect, especially as a husband.

"Montworth and his men seem more arrogant and demanding than usual tonight," Alyce said in a near-whisper to reach Cynwulf's ears only.

Her brother sighed, then looked Alyce straight in the eyes, his mouth a grim line. "He believes he is here to propose to you."

"What?" Alyce gasped. "Tonight? You must stop him. You said you made a mistake."

As of late, Alyce realized, she felt on the verge of hysterics after every conversation with her brother. She'd prided herself in her even temperament, but she had been pushed to her limits with all that had happened in the last several days between Hawk arriving on a mission from the king to find a traitor in their midst, her brother secretly communicating with unknown messengers in the barn, and now, she discovered, arranging a betrothal for her without her consent, even if he regretted it. She cherished familiarity, routine, and predictability, yet the last few days had been anything but those things. She put her hands to her pounding temples.

"How could you betray my trust this way? Why continue to pursue such madness when you know I will never agree to marry Montworth?" she asked Cynwulf, wondering if he would tell her the truth of the matter or if he would continue to be evasive.

"I sent him a message that he should not come, and we would discuss this more later but he either did not get the message, or he willfully ignored it." Cynwulf suddenly looked very tired and defeated, and a wave of protectiveness washed through Alyce. She could help him if he would only confide in her.

The full weight of his words finally worked their way through the confusion in her mind. He sent Montworth a message? Her head nearly spun with dizzying relief. Of course! That was what she overheard in the barn and why Cynwulf was being so secretive about it. He did not want to upset Alyce nor did he want Montworth to complicate the situation while Hawk completed his investigation. This new bit of information gave her complete confidence that there was nothing untoward happening at Hawkspur. Her brother was only guilty of trying to fix his mistake and deflect a persistent suitor. She had been wrong in jumping to the conclusions she did after overhearing him in the barn. It was foolish to think he would ever do anything to harm Hawkspur, his position as lord, or the people who looked to him for protection.

She wanted to shout her relief out loud—Cynwulf was only guilty of stubbornness and stupidity, not treason!

But it was still hurtful to her. Her brother had to stop trying to arrange her life for her. Hawk would soon be gone, and she could go back to managing the daily affairs of Hawkspur at her brother's side. If fortune was good, her brother would marry and have an heir to become lord of Hawkspur in his place one day. And when he did have children, she would be sure to spoil them endlessly so they, too, would never want her to leave Hawkspur.

She felt her life righting itself again and squared her shoulders. "Now I understand why you were behaving so strangely. You should not have kept this secret from me, Cynwulf." To stress the importance of what she was saying, she looked squarely into the depth of his brilliant blue eyes, so much like her own, so much like their mother's. In truth, their eyes and their height were the only resemblance each had to the other.

Their mother was carrying Cynwulf in her womb when she married Alyce's father, but she never revealed to Cynwulf the identity of his sire. Her father treated and loved Cynwulf as his own. Cynwulf and Alyce had still been children when their parents were killed during a storm by a runaway horse that pulled their wagon over the edge of a cliff. Mayhap their mother planned to reveal the truth and tell him who his father was when he was older, but she did not live to see her son grow into a man. It had been Uncle Ranolf who told Cynwulf the truth about his heritage shortly before he died.

She wondered if Cynwulf was curious about his sire, or if he ever searched for him. Did having a loving man who called him "son" make up for not knowing the man responsible for bringing him into the world? To her, he would always be her brother and nothing less. Never her "half" brother.

She grabbed his hands in hers. "Let us forget about Montworth and put our minds to showing the king's knight that there is no threat of treason at Hawkspur. He is to accompany me into the village tomorrow," she continued excitedly, warming to the plan. "Once he realizes the people of Hawkspur care only about the rigors of daily life and will gain nothing from war or fighting, he will understand there is no cause for concern and will return to the service of the king. Everything will be set to right, and we can return to our lives as they have always been."

"Do not be so sure," Cynwulf replied quietly. Before Alyce could question him about his puzzling answer, he pushed himself to his feet and turned his attention to the king's knight and the sheriff as they approached the dais.

She couldn't help comparing the sheriff to Hawk, who strode toward the platform with the nonchalance mastered only by men with absolute confidence in their own place in the world. Montworth nearly ran to keep up with him, darting from side to side as though trying to pass him in a race to the table. The sight of him bobbing and skipping behind the tall knight was comical, and Alyce turned her attention back to Hawk to stop herself from laughing aloud at the puny man's futile attempts to assert himself over the king's most revered knight.

Looking at Hawk, an unexpected warmth came over her as she recalled the way he had stood behind her when Montworth first approached earlier. It was a protective gesture she was unused to from anyone save her brother, a gesture she liked much more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. He had an alluring confidence, a presence that drew her to him.

Since she was being honest, even if only with herself, she also liked looking at him more than was decent for a lady. His breeches were snugly around his thighs, accentuating the ripple of his thigh muscles with each step, and she was having a difficult time tearing her eyes from the sight. The man certainly looked every bit the fierce warrior that she knew him to be, but he could also be a charmer when he wanted, flashing his boyish grin with a mischievous glint in his eyes. She'd learned that fact on the parapet during their early morning encounter.

Reminding herself that this man was here to disrupt their life at Hawkspur, she forced her gaze away from Hawk's muscular legs and was immediately mortified. Hawk was watching her with a small but knowing smile on his lips and an arrogant arch to one eyebrow.

Hardly charming! The man was arrogant, imposing, assuming, overbearing, and far too masculine. She should dislike him terribly. The way he'd situated himself behind her to intimidate Montworth earlier and force him to release her should have irritated her. She knew how to handle Montworth and would have been just fine without his interference; it was insulting for Hawk to think her incapable.

But his hand on her shoulder and the way he stood behind her didn't feel like a statement of her capabilities as much as to show that he stood with her and was there to support her if she needed him.

No! That way of thinking would only lead to trouble.

She tried to ignite her anger and force herself to dislike the knight, but what she was feeling was something altogether unexpected. God help her, but she liked having Hawk at her back, intent on protecting her. She was loath to admit it—she bristled any time anyone tried to coddle her—but she felt stronger having Hawk as a protector.

Cynwulf met the men as they stepped onto the dais. Montworth found his chance to finally get past Hawk and quickly edged his way around the table to get to Alyce's side before anyone else. As fortune would have it, Cynwulf interceded, calling out to Montworth and motioning him to the chair on the opposite side of his own, away from Alyce. She gave her brother a small smile of gratitude, not wanting Montworth to see her relief.

Montworth's face hardened and he openly scowled at her brother, then he quickly took up Alyce's hand again and bowed over it. "Until later, my lady. I insist after we sup that you take a stroll with me in the bailey—with your brother's permission, of course."

Montworth kissed the back of her hand again while caressing her palm with a clammy finger. Alyce forced her face to remain serene but inwardly, she cringed. She muttered something noncommittal, then turned away from him, only to freeze as she reached for her chair.

Hawk was watching the scene and his face looked as though he wanted to kill Montworth. The expression was gone before Alyce could even blink her eyes, but she had seen it clearly.

Could the mighty Hawk possibly be jealous?