Chapter Fifteen
I have been a damned fool, again.
Adam’s satchel was open on his narrow pallet, but he was too agitated to properly gather and fold his belongings. Instead, he gripped the back of an upright wooden chair and tried to regain control of his emotions.
For despite his many years of training and experience on the battlefield; despite all he knew about violence and where it led; there was nothing he wanted more than to swing his fists at the plastered wall.
He should not have allowed Esme into his heart.
Clearly, he had been but a dalliance for her. A flirtation. Something to pass the time.
A plaything.
He could not quell his roar of outrage, which reverberated around the small chamber.
The indignity he could deal with. This was not the first time a beautiful young woman had ensnared a foolish old man with her charms. Nor would it be the last.
What he struggled with, was the pain of rejection. For he had believed the connection between them was real. He had believed they were building something, together. Right until she had pulled away from him, trembling.
Nay wonder she did not want their kisses to go any further.
She was betrothed to a young man. A knight. Adam had known it from the way the man stood. Entitled. Arrogant. He had met many such a man. Had paid them little heed. Fur mantles and fine clothes would not get a man far in battle.
Although Esme’s betrothed had not cut such a fancy figure in his stained tunic and torn breeches. His hair had been combed, hastily perchance, but his face had not seen a washcloth in days. Where had the man been, to appear before a lady in such a state?
Adam turned back to his satchel with a growl.
What does this matter to me? Naught, he told himself, snatching up his good cloak and stuffing it inside. Lady Esme’s affairs were no concern of his now.
Although he could not help but recall the strong emotions swirling in her blue eyes.
Fear, he had thought, the first second he barreled into the great hall.
She is scared of her betrothed.
But this had been replaced by something else. Hope, he fancied, when first she saw him come. At that moment, his heart had been filled with the urgent desire to protect her.
Just as he had foresworn to do.
But she had not denied the man’s words.
And that flicker of hope in her eyes had turned into a desperate resignation.
He paced over to his small closet and flung what was left of his belongings onto the pallet, but his attention was not on the task.
What if I am wrong?
Or rather, what if his first instincts had been correct?
If Esme was afraid of this man, this imposter who had come to Ember Hall unannounced and in the middle of the night, then Adam’s duties, as her personal guard, were to protect her.
And instead, he had walked away.
He sat down on the pallet, thinking hard. Callum had said naught about Esme being betrothed.
She is the youngest child of the Earl of Wolvesley. A prize many men would like to claim.
Mayhap this knight was some chancer, come to stake such a claim?
Adam dragged a hand through his hair, trying to recall what else Callum had said that night. He could not explain why Esme so strongly desired to remain at Ember Hall but had suggested some quarrel with an admirer might be the reason.
Adam snapped his fingers. Mayhap that was it.
He took a deep breath, not wanting to rush in like a fool. But he at least owed her a chance to explain.
Most certainly, I owe that much to Callum, if not to Esme, he told himself sternly.
He rose from the bed and straightened his shirt.
If they were headed to Wolvesley at first light, there was no time to lose.
But still, he baulked at creeping around a house at night.
And to a lady’s chamber, no less. Every time a floorboard creaked, he froze, half expecting to feel Jonah’s sword pointed at his back.
He was sweating by the time he reached the first-floor landing and the family’s bedchambers.
Which door is Esme’s?
He held his candle high, hoping for a clue and finding none. The smooth wooden panels were all neatly closed and the silvery moonlight filtering through the long window afforded no assistance. Would he have to knock at each in turn, risking Jonah’s wrath?
Better a brother’s wrath than a sister’s distress, he reflected. Jonah might even come to his aid. Perchance he knew something of this knight and his background with Esme?
Then he remembered how Jonah had retired to the solar.
Newly emboldened, Callum strode forward, before a sound from the nearest chamber sent frissons of cold through his veins.
A scuffle. A squeal. The voice, undoubtedly, belonged to Esme.
The lady was not alone in her chamber.
Then came the low rumble of a man’s laughter.
Embarrassed and angry, all over again, Adam turned away.
*
Esme had cursed her stupidity when she opened her door to find Crispin on the threshold. Even more so when, instead, of flinging it shut, she somehow held it open whilst he shouldered his way inside.
“You should not be here,” she had said.
Crispin had regarded her coolly. “I am here to make certain of your affections.”
Esme felt her spine stiffen. “You must know by now that my affection for you is sorely diminished. ’Tis obligation that forces me to return to Wolvesley. No more.”
“Obligation.” Crispin walked further into her chamber, his greedy eyes roving over the polished furnishings. “What would the pampered daughter of the Earl of Wolvesley know about obligation?”
“I know plenty.” She folded her arms, determined not to betray her growing anxiety. “I know to treat people with respect. I know ’tis wrong to ride away from someone without giving word of your likely return. Especially after—” She stopped abruptly, heat rising in her cheeks.
“After what?” Crispin leaned against the window ledge, a mocking smile playing about his thin lips. “Can you not bring yourself to say the words, Esme? ’Tis odd to display such reticence when you were keen enough to lay with me.”
Her hands clenched into fists. She had not been so keen to lay with him. She had scarce known what she was about, nor where her actions would lead. But there was naught to be gained in arguing this point now.
“Are you come to shame me, Crispin?” she demanded instead. “Have you not already had your fill?”
“Not nearly,” he retorted, his eyebrows raising beneath his hair.
Hair that was much in need of a wash, she noticed.
“You need to leave.” She wrenched open the door and pointed into the hallway. “Now.”
“Why should I?” Crispin regarded her steadily. “How are you going to make me?”
“I shall scream.” She met his provocative gaze.
“And who shall hear you?” Crispin strolled across the chamber, making her stumble over to the dresser.
He calmly refastened the door and turned toward her.
“Your family are not here. I was told as much by the groom who took my horse. There is only your brother, Jonah. Do you really think him a match for me?”
There is Adam, she thought. But she knew it was unlikely he would hear her screams from his chamber on the top floor.
Nor would Jonah, as he was sleeping in the solar.
She must find some other way out of this.
“You surprise me, Crispin.” She made her voice mild. “I once thought you a man of honor. At the very least, you were a man most certain of his success with the ladies. And here you are, occupying a lady’s chamber against her will.”
She hoped her acid words would bite but saw immediately that she had failed.
“Forsooth, there is much you do not yet know about me, sweet Esme.” He reached out and touched her cheek, forcing her to flinch away. “But fear not, we have the rest of our lives to better our acquaintance.”
While he was talking, Esme had reached behind her on the dresser, for the wooden sword which she’d discarded there after her last training session with Adam. She relished the look of surprise in Crispin’s eyes as she brandished it before him.
“Get away from me!” she ordered.
The sword was not sharp, but it was sturdy and strong. It formed an effective enough deterrent to make him take a step backwards.
“Further,” she said, jabbing at his belly with the tip.
“There is no need for violence, Esme.” With one smooth movement, he grasped her wrist and twisted until she had no choice but to drop the sword.
As she scuffled away from him, he chuckled.
“But I have to confess, it provided an unanticipated pleasure.” He picked up the sword and examined it with apparent interest. “Is this how you have been entertaining yourself whilst I’ve been gone? With kitchen chores and toy swords?”
His baiting fell on deaf ears. She could only think of how to escape, but Crispin stood between her and the door.
“Now that I am back you can know other pleasures.” He pushed her forcibly toward the bed. “Starting now.”
Esme railed against him, raining her fists on his chest and kicking with her feet, but Crispin was tall and strong and insistent. He half dragged, half carried her over to the bed and threw her, unceremoniously, on top of it.
“No!” she screamed, biting at the hand that held her down.
“Do not do that.” In the midst of unfastening his breeches, Crispin stilled. “Unless you wish to return to Wolvesley with a black eye?”
“You would not dare.” She scrambled up the bed, her eyes frantically scouring the chamber for something else she might use as a weapon. “My father would see you in chains if you ever raised a hand to me.”
“But you will no longer belong to your father, sweet Esme.” Crispin’s breeches dropped to the floor. “You will belong to me.”