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Chapter Seventeen

W hen they finally rode through the gate of Audley a short while later, dusk was descending and Sian still had not said a word even though Christopher could feel she had regained some strength. But, of course, her throat would be frightfully painful.

Lifting her from the saddle, he carried her straight to old Joan, the castle steward’s mother. The woman was a skilled healer, so he could only hope she knew of a remedy capable of easing Sian’s pain and helping her to get over the shock of having almost been killed.

“Leave it to me. We’ll have her ready to see you in no time.”

After nodding his thanks to the old woman, Christopher went to the great hall and helped himself to a cup of mead, which he drained in a few gulps.

Alexander stayed with him but was wise enough not to offer empty encouragement or ask inane questions.

His friend would have guessed Sian was the mysterious woman he had almost married, but he mercifully kept his comments to himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, old Joan came to announce that Sian had asked to speak to them.

Christopher was out of the door and up the stairs before Alexander could move.

He needed to see her to be fully reassured.

She had been far too quiet during the ride here, nothing like her usual vibrant self. Was she truly all right?

He found her sitting in a large bed, looking pale but calm.

The low-cut bodice of her gown allowed him to see the bruises that had started to form on her throat.

Flames of hatred licked at Christopher’s heart.

Damn Thomas to hell and back. How dare he touch a woman thus? How dare he hurt her , his woman?

Except she was not his woman, was she? She belonged to her husband.

“I thank you for coming to my rescue,” Sian said, looking at both him and Alexander. Her voice was slightly hoarse, and no wonder. She had barely avoided being strangled to death. “Your intervention was most timely.”

“Please, my lady. What else would you have us do?”

Christopher was grateful to his friend for answering because his tongue was refusing to move.

It seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth.

All he could do was stare at her—at her clear large eyes, at her hands nervously kneading the bed coverlet, at her neck and the bruises on her flawless skin.

Bile rose in his throat. Why, oh why, had he allowed Thomas to get away with what he’d done?

He was of a mind to ride straight back to Throckmorton and put an end to the bastard’s life.

“I shouldn’t have gone to him alone perhaps,” Sian started, “but I never thought he would?—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Christopher cut in, doing his best not to snarl. He was not angry at her , and she had gone through enough for one day, but he could not let her think that what had happened was in any way her fault. “How could you have supposed the man was deranged?”

Deranged, yes. That was what the man was.

He suddenly saw it with clarity. Why else would Thomas not have relished finding out he had a brother?

Why else would he have told strangers his brother was a usurper?

Why else would he have attacked an innocent woman?

Those were not the actions of a man of sound mind; they made sense only if his mind was unhinged. He should have guessed it before.

“It’s all right. I’m fine now.”

Yes, she really was his brave little lamb.

Christopher could not stop looking at her.

She was so … bloody beautiful. Utterly perfect.

After leaving Clearfield Hall two weeks ago, he’d not gone back to Audley Castle straight away.

He’d wandered aimlessly from village to village for a while, unsure what to do, wondering how he would bear Sian’s absence.

He’d prayed for an excuse to see her again.

Which went to show you should be careful what you wished for because, against all odds, he had been given a chance to see her again but only because she had almost died.

“I have sent my squire, George, to Sheridan Manor to explain you would spend the night at Audley,” Sir Alexander told her, taking a step toward the bed. “We don’t want your family to worry about you.”

“No. Of course. Thank you.”

Sian was grateful because in the aftermath of the attack, she hadn’t thought that they would wonder about her disappearance. But he was right. No one might have noticed she’d gone at first, but with night setting in, it would not be long before they saw that she was not within the castle walls.

She looked at Christopher, who still seemed on the verge of an outburst. That he was doing his best to control himself so as not to worry her was obvious.

The notion warmed her insides, but after her ordeal, she didn’t want him to resist the urge to come to her.

She desperately wanted to feel his arms around her.

Dare she ask Sir Alexander to give them a moment’s privacy? Did he know who they were to one another? Would he disapprove?

Before she could summon the courage to speak, he excused himself, mumbling he had to thank his steward’s mother for taking care of her. It was just an excuse for leaving her and Christopher alone, she knew, and she was grateful.

As soon as the door closed, Sian sagged on the bed.

“How do you feel, really?” Christopher sounded racked with guilt.

“I’m all right,” she repeated.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You went there for— I should have been the one to— It—” He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than she had ever seen it. “Dear God, Sian. You could have been killed.”

Yes. She could have. In fact, she would have been had the two friends not arrived when they had. But it would do no good to dwell on that thought.

“What were you doing at Throckmorton Castle?” she asked instead.

“I told Alexander what you told me when I came back from the tourney yesterday, how wilfully Thomas had led you to believe I had usurped his title. He was incensed and insisted we confront him without further ado. Never have I been gladder to have followed someone’s advice.”

“Indeed.” She would have to thank Sir Alexander in the morning.

Suddenly jerked out of his immobility, Christopher sat on the edge of the bed and took both her hands in his. “Sian, I beg your forgiveness for what happened. I’m so ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” Whatever for? He had done nothing wrong. “But you didn’t?—”

“Yes, ashamed. Ashamed to be a Harrison, to be related to a man like Thomas, who tried to kill you. Forget fish; the men in my family are nothing but filthy, dangerous, selfish rats. My father treated his children appallingly, my uncle tried to have me killed so he could take my place, my brother?—”

“Wait,” Sian cut in. Had he just said that his uncle had tried to have him killed? She stared at him. “What was that?”

Christopher sighed. “I will never be able to prove anything now, but I suspect the accidents I put down to clumsiness or bad luck these last few years were not, in fact, accidents. I think he might have wanted to kill me and become Lord Ashton.”

Of course. The man from Kent pushing him down the stairs while exploring the castle, the saddle billets being damaged, the squire disappearing … He was right. It was all too convenient. How had she not seen it?

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. An association with my family has brought you nothing but hurt and disillusion.”

Yes. The men in his family had made his life miserable and ruined hers. Tears sprang to her eyes at the unfairness of it all. Without those despicable people, she and Christopher would have been married by now.

“Hold me. Please. I need?—”

She was in his arms before she could finish the sentence, bathing in his wonderful scent. Closing her eyes, she let him hold her against his masculine heat and stop her from falling apart.

“Sian. Little Lamb. I thought never to see you again.”

“I know.”

For a long moment, she stayed huddled in his lap, her face hidden in the crook of his neck, her arms around his waist. Then, slowly, sleep started to steal over her, making her body slacken and her breathing deepen.

The potion, of course … Old Joan had given her a draught to drink earlier.

How had she forgotten it? There was no use fighting the torpor numbing her body.

A moment later, she felt Christopher draw away and deposit her on the bed.

A fur cover was draped over her, a kiss grazed her temple, and a voice murmured in her ear.

“I’ll leave you to rest now.”

Sian woke up in the middle of the night to an odd sensation.

Jane was holding her tight. Her sister’s arms were wrapped around her middle, her chin was resting against the top of her head, her lower body was molded against hers.

It was unusual, to say the least. They had often shared a bed, but they’d never ended up so entwined.

At least not since they had been children.

She stilled. The arms were too strong, the embrace too possessive, the feeling it stirred in her own body too unsettling, the scent wrapping around her too reminiscent of … Was it nutmeg?

This could not be her sister. But it could all too easily be?—

“Awake, Little Lamb?”

Before she could answer, Christopher turned her to face him.

Bare-chested in the moonlight, with his hair all in disarray, he looked like a pagan god, and his eyes, for once, appeared almost the same color.

It made her see that she’d been right to claim she would not change them for the world.

Without the distinctive feature, he was not quite her Christopher.

“Are you in bed with me?” she croaked. Her throat still felt somewhat sore from the terrifying attack.

An eyebrow arched at the admittedly silly question. “What does it seem to you?”

“It seems that you are. Did you remove my gown?” She could feel only the weight of her shift on her skin.