“I’m helping Claire.”

  He turned to the laundress. It gave Kes another second to look him over. He wore a black léine, belted low on his waist, hose that stretched around the long, lean sinew of his thighs, and boots. His dark hair was pulled into a tight queue. His beard, trimmed.

  “I know I already asked you this, but do you need help?”

  “Aye, she does,” Kes told him. “But not me. Claire, do you want to tell him your idea or should I?”

  “You can,” Claire said meekly in front of him.

  “Very well. We think Claire should be head laundress. She likes things done a certain way. That is why she never asked for help before. Isn’t that correct, Claire?”

  “’Tis,” the laundress admitted.

  “She needs an assistant…an apprentice. Someone to help because honestly, Ni…” Kes caught herself in front of the others from being so familiar with him. She wasn’t. “…my lord, this is backbreaking work, six days a week.”

  Nicholas blinked at her and then turned to Claire.

  Everyone was quiet. Kes thought she heard Claire’s heart pounding…or was it her own?

  “Claire, is there a reason you did not tell me this yourself?” His deep voice fell like a sheet of velvet over Kes’ ears. Poor Claire. The laundress obviously liked him and was terribly shy. Kes wondered if she could help.

  She couldn’t have him for herself since she was going to find a way home. There had to be a reason she was here, and she didn’t think it had to do with her marrying a knight and not seeing him for weeks or months, or even years at a time. And then waiting to be told that he wasn’t returning home because he’d had his head loped off. No, thank you.

  “I did not want you to think me weak,” Claire admitted.

  Nicholas breathed in, stretching his léine across his shoulders. His silver gaze did not soften on Claire. In fact, his expression had relaxed a bit to one of indifference. “What I think of you should be of no importance. I am your lord, nothing more. I will send someone to you this afternoon to help with your tasks.”

  Without waiting for her response, he turned to Elia. “See to it.”

  “Miss Locksley,” he said on his way out. “Come with me. Please.”

  She would have smiled at his courteousness, but she felt too bad for poor Claire.

  She felt the laundress’ eyes on her as she left the wash house.

  “Are you feeling better since the news?” she asked, catching up and walking at his side.

  “No. But ’tis a new day.”

  And what? Did he intend to spend it with her?

  “You were quick and precise with Claire,” She wondered what he wanted with her and if she would be able to get her mind off his foresty scent. “I guess you’re used to it.”

  “Used to what?”

  “Women falling all over you.”

  “No one falls all over me, Miss Locksley. They are mostly silent about what they feel, if anything. ’Tis how I prefer it.”

  So, there were no women in his life, and he wanted to keep it that way? Why?

  “Why do you want to be alone?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and picked a twig off a bush and put it in his mouth. “Less headaches.”

  “So you think women are headaches?”

  “No,” he said. “They just cause them. I do not have time to nurture a relationship,” he quickly added when she scowled at him. “How about you? Did you leave behind a husband, a lover?”

  She shook her head. “My last boyfriend cheated on me.”

  “Cheated?”

  “He was sleeping…having sex with his dog walker while telling me he loved me.”

  When he said nothing, she frowned at him. “Please tell me that you don’t think it’s ok…I mean that you don’t approve.”

  Oddly, he looked at her mouth while she spoke, and not at her eyes. Men always looked into her eyes.

  “I do not think ’tis ok,” he told her, then looked up. She was sure she saw a light spark in his eyes. “I would prefer it if you did not try to hide your quirks from me.”

  “My quirks?” she asked lifting her brows.

  “Aye,” he nodded, and there it was, that elusive, genuine, knee-melting smile. “I like them. I also wonder, when did he have time for two women?”

  “His life is very different than yours.” She thought of Brian, a top IT technician making seven figures and his easy life with the best of everything. “He doesn’t even know how to fight.”

  Nicholas stopped walking and stared at her. “How can he not know how to fight?”

  She was so tempted to smile at him but she didn’t want to make him feel in any way inadequate, as if she smiled out of pity.

  “Battles are fought differently. Men and women only fight if they join the armed forces.”

  “Armed forces,” he echoed softly.

  She understood the appeal of watching one’s lips while they spoke.

  “You probably would be in Special Forces,” she told him, and then told him what she knew about such thigs. “But not Brian. He’d be the one making sure the generals stayed in immediate contact with their superiors online. It’s technology.” She finally laughed at his perplexed expression. “Most men and women don’t join and don’t get called to fight. Brian is one of them. There.” She took in a gasp of air. “That’s who I left behind. Before him, Tom Eddings broke my heart. At first, there’s all this romance and then it fizzled into nothing and he decides he loves someone else.”

  “And these are the men you wish to hurry back to?” he asked, his smile fading into something curt.

  “Are they any different here?”

  He cast her a playful smirk. At least, she thought he was being playful.

  “That depends on the man, I would suspect.”

  “Oh?” she put to him. “What about you?”

  “I am not one for romance. But if I had a woman, I would put her first and not betray her.”

  She worried there might be hearts coming out of her eyes. Why did hearing him talk about having a woman make her mouth go dry? And why did she believe him?

  Because it was hard to keep a clear head around him. He exuded virility with every move he made. She was especially weak against his accent and the soothing resonance of his voice.

  Where was Elia? Why had Kestrel just gone off with him anyway?

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the castle. Elia doesn’t understand how dangerous ’tis for you to be talking to others—”

  “What? So I can’t talk to anyone?” She stopped and tugged on his sleeve to make him stop, too. “That’s not ok with me. Am I a prisoner here?”

  “No. Why would you be?”

  “But you want to keep me locked up?”

  “Locked away,” he corrected as if that made all the difference. “Kept safe,” he started over. “You do not seem to understand the danger of what you say. Word travels fast, even without your pone.”

  “Phone,” she corrected. “Yes, I know. I’ve already heard about Margaret, the maid. But not to deviate, do you think I’m stupid and will tell everyone the truth about where I’m from? I’m the one who could be burned.”

  “But you do not have to tell them any truths, Kestrel. You have odd ways of thinking. Standing up to me and beating the laundry for Claire. I do not want tongues to start wagging about you.”

  “You don’t think they’ll wag if you lock me away?” she demanded. “You just don’t want to be around me. You want to lock me away so you don’t bump into me around the castle.”

  “That is not true,” he defended.

  “No? Are you planning on avoiding me all day today the way you did yesterday?”

  “Am I avoiding you now?” he countered sharply.

  “Until you get me to the castle where you can lock me away.” She pushed out a feigned laugh. “Do you even get how that sounds? What’s next? You hit me over the head with a bat and drag me to your cave?”

  “Since I left the bat at the wash house, I would say that opportunity has passed.”

  She was quiet after that. He was clever and charming, and she didn’t want to be charmed.

  “I have no intention on hitting you with anything,” he let her know when they reached the castle. “One thing you will find different here is me.”

  “Then don’t lock me away. I’ll be more careful.”

  He stared at her for a moment, thinking it over in his head. “Very well,” he said finally. “But no roaming around alone.”

  “Then you’ll have to stay with me,” she said, knowing it was not what he wanted to do.

  “I usually practice in the lists with the men at this time.”

  “Perfect! I’d love to watch!”

  “You would?” he brooded.

  “Yes. You don’t really expect me to sit in a castle all day without anyone to even speak to, do you? I’ll go nuts. I can’t text and now I can’t talk!”

  He looked at her as if another eye had just appeared on her face. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. “There are many people to speak to inside the castle. You would not be alone.”

  “Like who? Cook doesn’t like anyone in his kitchen. I didn’t tell you, but he clapped my knuckles with his wooden ladle twice yesterday. I warned him that if he did it again, I would knee him in his nuts. He understood me then and let me make my cupcakes.

  “Who else should I speak to?” she asked, ignoring his smile. “The maids and servants who all think you’re wonderful? I’ll make my own judgment on that, if you don’t mind. And hearing it all the time gets boring, you know?” She didn’t wait for him to nod. “I’ve spent more time with Elia in the last couple of days than I have with my closest friend in the last six months!”

  “You are upsetting yourself, Miss Locksley.”

  “You shouldn’t blame me,” she said, sounding terribly sad to her own ears.

  He stopped and set his worried gaze on her. “I do not.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nicholas dodged a blow to his head and leaped to the right, narrowly avoiding his lieutenant’s heavy sword. Charlie had come close. Nicholas couldn’t let that happen again. It was because she was here, standing off to the side, watching him.

  Ridiculous because why would he get his head swiped off for a woman? Also, this was one of his soldiers making him look bad. Nicholas should be driving him back into the ground. There was no mercy on the battlefield, and little on the practice field. Of course, it was practice and no one died. But it could get bloody.

  He should never have sat with her last eve in the great hall. She’d utterly charmed him with her cupcakes and her breathless anticipation to see his library. He wished he’d enjoyed it with her, but news of Richard’s return had taken precedence.

  The king was a month early. It must be all this news about Henry Tudor’s escape to France from his exile in Brittany. Things were moving. A battle was coming.

  It was the perfect time to step away from the king, let him fight this battle without Nicholas. But that meant the end of the York line. Nicholas couldn’t do it. He’d even advised Richard against fighting a losing battle. Hopefully, Richard would have a son. But until then, Richard was all there was.

  Nicholas had to leave in a little over a fortnight. Would Miss Locksley settle in by then? Would she forget her past? Or rather, her future in new York and be safe here?

  He swung his mighty blade. He didn’t want to think of Richard or all the support the Yorkists were losing to Henry Tudor.

  He wanted to show Kestrel Locksley that he could protect her.

  Charlie came at him swinging his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Nicholas parried both strikes, grinding the steel of his blade down his opponent’s, bringing sparks to life. Before Charlie had time to readjust, Nicholas brought his sword over Charlie’ head and whacked the flat of his blade across his lieutenant’s back.

  Kestrel covered her mouth with her hand as Charlie landed close to her feet.

  She offered his lieutenant a kind smile. “I don’t think anyone would have seen that coming,” she consoled. “He was hard on you. You did well against him.”

  Charlie grinned at her. Nicholas looked heavenward.

  “Miss Locksley!” he called out. “My lieutenant is not a child. He is a soldier. He does not need coddling.”

  Her lips tightened. She was about to open her mouth. He stopped her.

  “Perhaps I was wrong to have you watch us. If ’tis too difficult—”

  “Commander,” she said through her teeth, “you are the only thing difficult here. You sound like a petulant child—”

  She stopped speaking and took a step back when he shoved his sword into its sheath and came toward her.

  He didn’t stop to say a word but bent forward and hoisted her over his shoulder.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted. “Put me down! You can’t do this!”

  “But I can,” he corrected her. “You will not speak to me so in front of my men again.”

  “Oh, won’t I?”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” She pounded on his back.

  “You seem to have trouble believing things that are real and make perfect sense.”

  “Don’t you dare take me inside like this! Nicholas! Don’t you—” She pinched his side to get his attention.

  He smacked her on her behind.

  She fought him the entire way upstairs. Good thing his body was well honed, or she would have worn him out. He brought her to her room, dumped her on her bed, and left her alone, locking the door behind him.

  He thought he’d have to listen to her wailing and crying all night, but she didn’t utter a sound when he left her room and said very little to Elia when he sent her to Kestrel an hour later.

  “She asked me to tell you that she has nothing more to say to anyone. She wishes to be alone.”

  “What?” he asked Elia, pacing in his solar. “Alone? What was she doing?”

  This woman, more like a mother to him than a maid, gave him a hard look. “I heard about what you did, Nicholas. Why would you treat her that way? I’m sure you humiliated her and now you want to know why she lies in her bed with her head in the pillow. Here is the key to her room. I will not take part in locking her inside.”

  He took the key from her hand and started for the room without a word to Elia. He wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t allow her to fight and argue with him in front of his men.

  When he reached the door, he drove the key inside the hole and turned. The door didn’t budge. He pushed harder. Something was blocking it.

  “Miss Locksley.” He didn’t shout. He wanted to wring her neck. “Kestrel! Open the door.” He looked around. No one was in the hall. Yet. “I wish to speak with you.”

  Something smashed against the wood directly opposite his face. He moved back, then scowled hard at the door. “Fine then. Be alone.” He strode away, glaring at Elia as he passed her.

  His supper was served in his solar. But he couldn’t eat. She plagued his thoughts. She’d turned things around like a brilliant tactician. He’d locked her in her room, and she’d locked him out. Somehow, he was the one being punished. He missed her company. Surely, she missed him, too. She’d told him she missed texting and talking—whatever the hell the first thing was. She believed she came from a place with millions of other people. She had to be lonely in her room all day. Why had he locked her away in the first place? She was no fool to tell anyone her story.

  And why did his blood rush hot through his veins when she’d told him the name on the brooch. Pendragon. It was a name shrouded in magic and legend. Of King Arthur and his…knights.

  He pushed his bowl away. Why did he have to be the one to see her on the field? Why had he taken her off the field and brought her to his home?

  He thought of her in her bed, weeping. Was she weeping? He moved toward his door. He should try to talk to her, just to make sure she was well.

  He found himself walking to the western end of the hall, where her room was. Did she still have the door barred?

  When he came to it, he knocked and then tried the key. Still barred. “Have you eaten?”

  “Go away.”

  She spoke. That was a promising sign.

  “Kestrel, open the door. I wish to speak with you.”

  “And if I don’t? Will you hang me from the window?”

  He closed his eyes, gathering all his patience.

  “I acted too harshly. How long will you be angry with me?”

  Silence. Then she asked, “How can I be angry with an ogre for being an ogre?”

  “Then will you open the door and have supper with me?”

  He heard her moving about inside and moving something by the door. She opened the door and stepped out.

  Her hair was loose and luxuriously thick, falling over her shoulders. Her eyes were bloodshot and round looking up at him with caution.

  He felt ill because of it. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him or to not trust him.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked softly, not moving when she stepped closer, closing the door behind her.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Her breath fell against his chin. He had the urge to put his arms around her and draw her in closer. “Some pheasant with roasted mushrooms in some kind of honeyed sauce.”

  “That actually sounds very good.”

  He nodded and smiled at her. He hated to step away, but he didn’t want her to think he was going to jump on her at any moment.

  He walked with her and called to a passing servant. “Have our supper brought to my library.”

  “The library?” she asked, looking up at him while they walked. “You really know how to charm a girl.”

  “I hope to prove to you that I am not an ogre.”

  “Beast, from Beauty and the Beast had a library.”

  “Who?”

  She smiled. “It’s a story from the eighteenth century written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.” She told him about the story, and he laughed to think of himself as the beast. She was most certainly the beauty though.