Chapter 8 #2
Damien had won the tournament that day, the final and most important pas d’armes of the season.
In a startling display of prowess, he had been the sole victor of more than twoscore competitors in half a dozen events, and he had thundered across the field to claim the first part of his prize—a favor from the lady he would choose to accompany him to the tournament feasting that night.
The roars of the crowd had grown deafening as he’d reined his steed to a halt in front of the stands, dismounted, and approached.
He had been young, powerful, and incredibly handsome; the sun had cloaked him in golden light, as if affirming him the Archangel of court lore, and many of the ladies around her had been calling out his name.
They had murmured in adoration, sighing as they’d offered him their fluttering tokens.
They had been his for the taking. But he had had eyes only for her.
He had come closer, reaching out to her alone…
And it was then that she had done it.
It had been the most agonizing deed she had committed in all of her life, but she had felt as if she’d had no other choice.
Even though they had planned this moment for weeks, even though they had decided together that he must win this tournament so that they might use this aspect of the prize to let the world know of their desire to be wed, she had turned away from him, acting as if she thought herself too far above him ever to consider his attentions.
The silence in the stands had been deafening. For a moment, everyone had seemed stunned. And then the whispers had begun, and she’d scrambled down from her seat, fleeing the field with the buzz of it ringing in her ears, and with the image of Damien’s devastated expression etched into her mind.
To the members of the court, the incident had been scandalously exciting. Delicious fodder for the kind of talk that could go on for years.
Her action had not been altogether frowned upon, however.
For all his breathtaking skill on the field, Sir Damien de Ashby was naught but a simple knight, the second son from an impoverished family, while she was the only child of a blooded earl.
None at court had known the full truth of their hidden love—nay, not even her own mother—though it had been clear to everyone that she and Damien had engaged in a dalliance, developed over the course of the season.
Still, few had blamed her for rebuffing him outright at the tournament.
Many had even approved, noting that her intelligent response had saved her sire from a potentially thorny scandal, as had happened only a few weeks before when the knight’s elder brother, Sir Alexander de Ashby, had been caught trifling with Lady Margaret Newcomb, the daughter of another high-ranking nobleman.
But Alissende had suffered untold agony.
She had spoken with Damien only once after that public rejection, in her father’s arms tent an hour later, where he had found her hiding, shaking, sick to her stomach in the aftermath.
He had been anguished, too, his voice cracking and his face pale and disbelieving.
It had been the only time she could ever recall him showing any sign of weakness or vulnerability, other than those private times, in the moments of wild abandon that had come with the powerful force of their lovemaking.
But she had brought him to his knees that day. She had watched his heart break and felt her own tearing along with it, telling herself that she was doing the right thing. The only thing she could do, for both their sakes.
Oh, God…
She had been so foolish. So naive about life and about love.
So afraid, and so very young.
And so she had told him more awful lies to get him to leave, and when he did, she had known that she would never see him again.
It had remained thus for five long years.
It would have stayed so forever had Hugh not intervened, with his greed and his grasping.
But now Damien was here. He had returned, for a short time, at least, a compelling, irate, and awesome force of nature.
Still so much the man she had once known, and yet a stranger to her in so many ways.
His nearness tempted her and tested her resolve, at the same time that it reminded her of the danger to be had in allowing herself to love again.
Opening her eyes once more, Alissende pushed herself up from her chair and strode over to one of the solar’s leaded windows.
Looking out, she tried to lock the memories back into the depths of her mind, troubled by them anew.
It was done; the past could not be changed.
She knew it, and yet it didn’t seem to help her in managing the disarray of her emotions.
She had suffered for her youthful folly many times over, trying to make peace with herself the best that she could. But with Damien’s return she was helpless to stop the flood of feelings that constantly barraged her. They confused her, tormented her, angered her. They gave her no rest.
She still wanted him, still felt deeply for him.
But she was no longer the innocent, carefree maiden she had been when she had first loved him, any more than he was the same golden, noble knight of their youth.
The intervening years had brought much that made her wish for nothing more than to be away from Damien and every man for the rest of her days, and she did not know how to reconcile her conflicting emotions. Perhaps she never would.
“See anything interesting?”
Alissende twisted at the sound of Damien’s oice, her heart seeming to skip a beat, so flustered did his presence make her, especially now, after allowing herself such intimate memories involving him.
When she did not respond right away, he gestured to the window as he reached her, adding, “You seemed so intent when I entered the chamber that I wondered if something in particular had caught your attention.”
Only you.
The answer bloomed in her mind, sending a rush of warmth to her cheeks, though thank heavens she was vigilant enough not to have spoken the words aloud. To cover her agitation, she shook her head and tried to smile.
“Nay, there is nothing to see. I was simply lost in thought.”
He nodded, and though his expression was pleasant, he appeared slightly ill at ease, as he always did whenever they were constrained to be alone together.
“Seamus has awakened,” he said at last, coming closer and leaning back against the wall, next to the window where she stood. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “The physician says he will recover, given time.”
“I am relieved,” Alissende responded quietly. And she was. Seamus was a good man, loyal and true, and he, his wife, and four children were much loved in the village for their willingness to share what was theirs with those in need.
Damien nodded, falling silent again. Now it was he who seemed lost in thought, and she was just readying to ask him what it was that he’d wanted to discuss with her when he looked up, meeting her gaze with the warmth of his own; the gentle look of concern in his eyes sent a shock straight through her.
“How is your arm?”
“It is fine,” she murmured. Another flush spread up her neck to warm her ears. Now he was staring at the bruise along the bottom edge of her cheek—the one Hugh had made when he’d gripped her chin so cruelly in the glade.
Embarrassed, she touched her fingers briefly to the spot and looked away. “It is nothing, truly. The tenderness will pass in a day or two, and all will be as before.”
“I regret that I did not find you sooner, Alissende,” he said quietly. “I would have prevented his touch upon you altogether, if I could have.”
He sounded so serious, so filled with self-reproach that her gaze was drawn to him again.
“There was no way you could have known Hugh would come to Glenheim on this day of all,” she said. “None of us did, else I would have never chanced a journey beyond the castle walls.”
“Why did you leave, then?” He held her captive with the intensity of his gaze, and it was clear that his question referred to far more than the meaning of the simple words comprising it.
He caught her by surprise with it, and she stammered the half-truth, “I—we went to find strawberries, to make a pudding.”
“Ah…”
The heat in her face deepened. In an effort to distract him from a discussion of her motivations or her feelings, she said, “I, too, am sorry that your initial meeting with Hugh was made so much more difficult because of me.”
“In what way?”
“The woodland could not have been the most favorable setting for coming face-to-face with my cousin for the first time, and I regret the added danger it caused you.”
“It is of no matter.” His handsome face tightened, the expression reminiscent of that feral look he’d worn when he’d confronted Hugh. “What is important now is that he knows of me—and I something of him. The gathering at Odiham in a sennight promises to be interesting at the least.”
Aye, interesting and likely uncomfortable as well.
Damien must have read something in her expression, for he frowned. “What—you have other concerns about it?”
“Perhaps,” she answered, not wanting to hurt him but needing to remind him of the ugly truth that he would surely find in returning to court for the first time since their last painful appearance together.
“It is just that going to Odiham is bound to be difficult in a number of ways, is it not? For you especially.”
She braced herself as raw awareness swept across his face; his formerly relaxed posture faded, and he took his time before he responded.
“When I accepted the charge of your protection, Alissende, I knew that it would include the need to return to court…with all that entails for me.”