He still wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. “Surely, you must know I am not a bondman or laborer. I am well-born.” His sister would not be in the priory if she were not a noblewoman. At the moment, he would not be afraid for her life nor would he fear for his family’s safety if he were but a simple yeoman, husbandman, or even tradesman.
“And what exactly does a well-born man do all day?”
Did he detect sarcasm in her tone? He bristled. Did she think he was pompous and lazy? “I am a knight, and I serve the king. In the past ten years of war, I have only been home five times.”
She was quiet, as though pondering his words.
His mind flashed with images from his life, the years he’d spent in France on one military campaign after another. The young boy of nineteen had left full of enthusiasm and energy and optimism. He’d wanted to be like his father—brave and strong and dedicated.
After a decade of fighting, he’d proven himself to be just as brave and strong. But dedicated? To what cause? The doubt had surfaced more and more over the past year even though he’d fought against it.
“That must have been difficult to be away from home for so long.” Lady Marian spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
Had it been difficult? Maybe at times, especially when he’d come home to gather the ransom and had to leave Thomas behind in a French dungeon. But he supposed he’d borne his duties the same as any other man—with honor and pride and determination.
“Do you have to go away and fight in France again?”
“Yes.” He didn’t know when the young king, at the beckoning of his ambitious uncle John of Gaunt, would commence another campaign in France. After the failure of the siege of Nantes earlier in the year, King Richard was eager to prove himself and protect Calais in the ongoing battle to retain ancestral land in France.
“How long until you leave?”
“I cannot say for certain, but ’twill not be overlong now.” He’d already been home for two months, the longest reprieve he’d had.
“Your sons must miss you whenever you go.”
He wasn’t sure how she knew about his sons but reasoned Christina must have gossiped about him. “My sons are strong and brave. Erelong, they will be fostered out and trained to be knights. Though I have already provided them with tutors and a swordsmaster.”
For several moments, she said naught more. Had he spoken something offensive? He considered himself to be a decent father. Some fellow knights treated their sons harshly, thought doing so would train them to be tough. But Will had always believed respect and kindness went much further in developing character.
“I can see you are a good man.” She gently pressed his arm.
The words and touch had a strange effect on him, comforting and warming him in the same moment. Just as her touch had affected him in his dream.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder as if that was the most natural thing in the world for her to do, as though she already trusted him.
For a short while, she asked him questions about the bondmen and the growing conflict and what might happen next now that they’d attacked Canterbury. He was surprised at her insights and interest, and did his best to answer her forthrightly, growing more fascinated by her with every passing moment.
Although he’d remained occupied with other matters over the preceding days, unbidden thoughts of her had crept into his conscience, especially at night in his chamber. Now that he was with her again, he had the desire to wrap both arms around her and to envelop her with his body, soul, and strength.
Normally, he had a self-control that was as hard as his metal plate. But he was weak with the swift longing to know her more, to taste of her sweetness, to breathe in her scent. The wanting scared him with its intensity, so unlike anything he’d ever felt for Alice.
He tightened his grip on the reins and held himself back.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without both you and Christina.” She had an unusual way of speaking. She was English, but had she grown up in a foreign country?
“Your accent. You are from the Low Countries, are you not?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“And your kin?”
She didn’t respond for a minute. He could sense her inner struggle with what to reveal to him and how much she could trust him.
He was the one prying now when she’d asked to leave the past behind them. He cleared his throat, needing to reassure her that she was under no obligation to speak about anything too painful. After all, he hadn’t.
But she spoke first, her tone edged with sorrow. “I’m on my own now.”
His arm rested lightly across her middle to keep her from bouncing too needlessly. Thus far, he’d kept his hand balled into a fist to avoid touching her improperly. But now he uncurled his fingers and positioned them at her hip, relishing the curve. He closed his eyes for just a second to ward off the shower of desire that rained through him at the contact.
Saints help him. He’d gone much too long without a wife to desire this woman so powerfully.
He fisted his hand again and chided himself. The matter was settled. He would take a wife before he left for France. He would give his mother leave to make arrangements for him as she wanted.
The short hairs at the base of his neck stood, warning him of danger. Ere he could reach his sword or dirk, several ruffians appeared from out of nowhere. His stallion reared with fright.
Although he fumbled frantically to stay atop his mount, he’d been too preoccupied with Lady Marian and hadn’t maintained a solid grip on the reins. As he fell backward, all he could think was that he’d do anything to keep Lady Marian safe.
~ 15 ~
AMIDST SHOUTS OF MEN and the frightened squeals of the horse, Marian found herself slipping off. Somehow Will managed to hold her, and as they made impact with the ground, he braced her fall. Even so, the hard jolt wrenched the breath from her lungs and sent pain through her already sore body.
What was happening? Were they being attacked?
A boot connected with her ribs. “What do we have here?”
In an instant, Will stabbed his dirk, and her attacker’s agonized scream rent the air. Through the darkness, Marian tried to make sense of exactly what Will had just done. When she righted herself, she glimpsed the handle of his dirk buried deep into the peasant’s boot, pinning his foot to the ground.
Her stomach lurched with queasiness, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Although she’d known Will was a seasoned knight, the reality of who he was hit her. He was a trained warrior accustomed to killing others—who, in fact, made a regular job out of it.
Will sprang to his feet and planted himself in front of her, legs spread, his sword unsheathed. “If anyone touches the lady again, you will die.”
From what she surmised, at least a dozen men surrounded them. Without torches, they were shrouded by the night. But she could still make out their simple garb and rough features, along with crude weapons—hoes, axes, knives, and other sharp objects.
Dread trickled through her at the possibility they might be the same peasants who’d attacked the convent. Even with his sword, how would Will be able to fight them all?
His broad back faced her, his cloak tossed aside revealing chainmail. She wished she had a knife and could stand next to him, but she doubted she’d be able to do anything other than get in his way. Even so, she unraveled her tangled habit and stood, ignoring the new aches that shot through her body.