To Love an English Knight Read online

  When Freya stepped close, he motioned for her to do the same. Uncertainty consumed her. If he examined her too closely, she would be found out.

  She stole a glance in Charles’s direction and observed his puzzled look. Gulping, she tossed her satchel near a log before placing her blanket on the opposite side of the fire. ’Twould not be the first time she slept on the ground. She was certainly tougher than some pampered lady stuck in a solar.

  “Are you sure we have not met before, boy?” Charles asked while laying his sword next to him.

  “Nay, milord,” she replied, keeping her tone low.

  “You are in need of a bath, Fergus. Mayhap then you will look more familiar to me, and I will determine where we have met. I never forget a face.”

  “Tae much washin’ ne’er did me any good. I am fine the way I am.”

  Charles laughed. “That may have been the case before, but I will not have a squire of mine reeking while he attends to his duties.”

  He laid down on his blanket, and Freya panicked wondering what Charles would have in store for Fergus come the morn.

  Leaning up on one elbow, he continued his assessment of her. “Squires do not wear helmets. You need to get rid of it,” he said.

  Freya must find a way to keep it as long as possible. “’Twas my brother’s. ’Tis all I have left of him.”

  “Died in war?” Charles asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Then keep it with you amongst your things, but you cannot wear it no matter how much it means to you.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Best get your rest, lad. The morrow will see you busy with duties for those you serve.”

  Charles closed his eyes and appeared to quickly dose off. Freya stole another look at the man she had come to care for before she gave a weary sigh. Laying down, she turned her back to the fire and the temptation Sir Charles presented. God help her when the sun finally rose.

  Chapter Five

  Charles pulled soap and a couple of drying cloths from his bag. He had scouted out a nearby river, and the water would provide a much-needed bath to remove the dirt from the road. Fergus continued to sleep. It was still early, and he had allowed the boy the luxury of resting longer, knowing he had tossed and turned much of the night. Aye, the boy had been restless, and Charles had urged him to settle down many times. ’Twas not until the early morning before the lad had finally fallen asleep allowing Charles to at last do the same. He could only wonder what troubled Fergus.

  Now it was time for the boy to get up, and Charles would see to it Fergus had a proper bath whether he wished it or not. What he had told the boy last night was true. He would not have the lad offending the ladies by smelling as if he had slept in a stable.

  He gave Fergus a nudge with the toe of his boot, and the boy stirred. The blanket fell from over his head and Charles frowned. How in the blazes did the boy think he could slumber with his brother’s helmet on? A helmet that appeared far too big for his head. The boy groaned.

  “Up you go, Fergus. ’Tis time to start our day. Follow me,” Charles ordered. He watched the boy sit up, clutching the blanket to his chest.

  Charles began making his way through the forest. Fergus followed behind, still shaking the slumber from his eyes. They did not go too far before the river came into view.

  Charles dropped the drying cloths he had been carrying on top of a rock. Unbuckling his belt, he placed his sword close enough in case he had need of it, followed by a dirk he removed from his boot. Then he sat on a large boulder and removed his tunic. As he proceeded with his boots, he noticed Fergus standing at the edge of the trees looking as though he was ready to bolt like a spooked horse.

  “What are you waiting for?” Charles asked. “We do not have a lot of time to dally this morn before the rest of the camp is awake.”

  “I-I d-dinnae want—”

  “’Tis not subject to what you do or do not want. I will not have you offend the women in our party with your stench.” Charles dropped the second boot to the ground and stood, removing his hose. Fergus’s face turned scarlet, and Charles could only once more wonder what had scared the boy that he could not look at a near naked man. ’Twas not as though they did not have the same parts.

  Charles took the soap in hand and plunged into the river. He began scrubbing himself clean, but Fergus still remained where he was.

  “Come now, Fergus. ’Tis no reason to be modest. I have only your best interest at heart and, of course, the ladies.”

  “I will refrain, milord.”

  Charles’s patience was at an end. He began making his way from the water. If Fergus would not get into the river on his own, then Charles would toss the lad in. At the very least, the main layer of dirt would be removed from the boy.

  Hearing Charles leaving the river finally got a reaction from Fergus who turned to look over his shoulder. The boy’s eyes widened before he began to make a hasty retreat. But Charles easily caught up with the lad and grabbed ahold of his arm.

  “Nay, milord!” Fergus cried out as he began struggling to be released.

  “Enough of this nonsense, Fergus,” Charles demanded, tossing the lad over his shoulder. “’Tis but a little water!”

  “Put me down, ye bloody cur!”

  Fergus was beating Charles’s back with his fists.

  “Enough!” Charles warned, swatting Fergus’s bottom.

  It silenced the boy for an instant. Fergus squirmed in his arms. The lad’s helmet fell to the ground with a heavy thump, but Charles continued forward until he was knee deep in the river. He pulled Fergus from his shoulder and dunked him under the water.

  Fergus came up sputtering and cursing in Gaelic, or so Charles assumed since he did not understand a word the boy said. Now where did he leave the soap? He saw the bar floating near the water’s edge and went to retrieve it. As he returned to the lad, who continued to keep his back to him, Charles took hold of the lad’s soaked tunic. Before Fergus could protest, Charles pulled the fabric from the boy and tossed it toward shore.

  “Nay, Charles, nay!”

  Charles scowled but ’twas not from noticing the shivering boy. Nor was he angry about seeing a cloth wrapped several times around Fergus’s chest. Nay… What infuriated Charles and left him speechless was the sound of an all too familiar, feminine voice. He took hold of her arm and twirled the boy around, coming face to face with Freya who did nothing to disguise her mortification that she was standing half naked before him. She even dared to lift her chin as if she could somehow justify her presence here.

  “Bloody hell, Freya!” Charles swore before giving her a shake. “What the devil are you doing here instead of where you belong?”

  “I belong wherever ye are, Charles. I wouldnae be left behind,” she said with a defiant flip of her wet hair.

  “I told you to wait for me at Berwyck. Your brother ordered you to do the same.”

  “I couldnae stay there. Not when ye were traveling so far.”

  “You promised me,” he began before remembering he was completely naked. “Turn around so I can get dressed.”

  “But, Charles—”

  He gave her another shake before he let go of her. “If you know what is best for you, then you had better listen carefully to my words. Turn around now, Freya, before someone comes upon us and your reputation is ruined.”

  “I dinnae care about my reputation. Let me explain,” she said, holding out her hands to him.

  “Suit yourself then,” he growled. “But you best make quick use of the soap since you are already in the water.” He did not trust himself to remain standing next to her, certain he would have turned her over his knee for a well-deserved spanking.

  He let out another curse, disgusted she had disobeyed him. If she wanted an eyeful of his backside, so be it. He was tired of being a fool where Freya was concerned. Making his way to shore, he quickly donned his clothing. Once his sword was belted at his side, he chanced a glance while she was rinsing her hair.


  Damn her! Even now when she angered him the most, his groin tightened at the sight of her in all her glory. She obviously knew she was safe as long as he was near, and she took her time while she refreshed herself in the water. She could not have been comfortable in the company of all the men.

  He knew Freya well enough to know she must have been desperate to disguise herself as a boy. In the past, she had made no efforts to hide the fact she was attracted to him. Even he admitted the truth to her but a few days past—he cared for her, too. Why could she have not stayed at Berwyck as he had asked her to do?

  He watched in fascination when she began unwinding the linen wrapped around her chest. God help him, but he wished to perform the task himself and watch her breasts spill forth in abundance. But there was too much chivalry ingrained upon his soul to take advantage of her.

  The porcelain skin on her back was revealed, and Charles’s fingers itched to take the soap from her hands and lather her clean. He gulped when she ducked under the water and rose like a sea nymph tempting him to sin. Her graceful hands slicked back her hair before she turned to face him. If she only knew what she was doing to him. He was unsure if he wanted to kiss her senseless or reprimand her all the way back to Berwyck. Without a doubt, Freya knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Would ye please turn, Charles?” she purred seductively. “I am near chilled tae the bone.”

  A curse escaped him as he whirled around to afford her a semblance of privacy. Taking one of the drying cloths from the boulder, he held it over his shoulder for her to take.

  “Hurry and make use of this,” he said. Hearing her leave the water, she came up behind him and took hold of the linen.

  “I am not certain what good this will do if my clothes are all wet,” she complained.

  “And whose fault is that?”

  A laugh echoed in the air. “Did ye honestly think I was going tae strip in front of ye?”

  “Aye! Considering you were hiding yourself as a boy,” Charles muttered.

  “Which I am plainly not.”

  “Nay,” he said.

  “’Tis hardly my fault. No one would listen tae me, so I took matters into my own hands.”

  He waited several minutes for her to finish drying herself and to get her tunic back on.

  “Are you done?” he snarled.

  “Aye. Ye can turn around now.”

  He faced her again, and he swore his breath left him. She was closer than he thought, her head barely reaching to his chest. How the hell had he ever mistaken her for a boy? He must have been blind. He folded his arms across his chest with his feet braced apart and scowled. Surely such a stance and harsh look would frighten the girl into submission.

  Freya stepped forward, placing her hands on his forearms. “Will ye forgive me, Charles?” Her lips parted as though she awaited his kiss. She would be mistaken if she thought she would twist Charles around her finger so easily.

  “Nay.” He picked up his dirk from the rock and returned it to his boot.

  “Nay? Why?”

  “Because you broke your word to me. The vow meant little to you. Now, let us return to camp. You will have much explaining to do to your brother.”

  “Ye mean tae tell Douglas I am here?” she gasped.

  “Of course. Do you honestly think I would keep such information from him? I value my life and do not relish the idea of my head on a pike outside his gates were he to find out I did not reveal all to him.”

  She cursed. “Could ye not wait until we leave again for home?”

  He could barely believe her audacity. He took hold of her arm and moved her closer. The heat of her body was once more almost his undoing. He gave her a gentle push away and turned, making his way through the trees. Freya followed close behind.

  “You will tell your brother of your deceit and deal with the consequences.”

  “But Charles—”

  He whirled around so quickly she bumped into him. He grabbed hold of her waist to steady her before releasing her again. “There are no exceptions, Freya. You made your decision when you left. Now you can live with whatever judgement your brother deals out. And if you think we will take up where we left off on the battlement walls, think again.”

  He swore he heard a sob behind him when he began walking again. He refused to offer any comfort to her, for she had broken his heart. He was done trying to find love. It was not worth the trouble, and he swore a mountain of ice would form inside his chest before he would ever be foolish enough to love again.

  Chapter Six

  Freya looked up at the towering keep of Wolverhampton Castle. She had thought Berwyck was magnificent, but the home where Catherine had grown up was just as impressive if not more so. If only her return was for a happier occasion. Mayhap then this journey would have had a brighter outcome.

  Freya thought of the last few days and wished she had listened to the inner voice telling her to stay home. Douglas had been furious, and she had expected as much. Catherine was not only disappointed in Freya but berated her just as fiercely as her brother.

  Charles, on the other hand, had barely said another word to her, which only made her more miserable with every passing mile. There were no stolen glances, no tender looks. ’Twas as if their relationship, such as it had been, had returned back to when they first arrived at Berwyck months ago. Freya had ruined everything again, and she had no idea how to make the situation right with the man she had come to care for.

  ’Twas also clear everyone was judging her, including her unladylike behavior. She may be the laird’s sister, but she had fallen from grace as the lady they thought she should be.

  At night, Freya was at least given the luxury of sleeping in a tent with Catherine’s maid Winifred, and ’twas a welcome relief from sleeping near the men. But even the maid limited her time with Freya. The silent treatment was going to drive her mad. Mayhap she could find an ally during their stay at Wolverhampton. She could use a friend.

  She moved her horse near her brother’s and waited for him to acknowledge her. But Douglas continued to stare straight ahead, watching his wife meet her cousin Robert who stood on the steps to the keep.

  “Ye willnae speak tae me, brother?” she asked quietly.

  Douglas did not even glance her way. “Do I appear as though I have forgiven ye, Freya?”

  “Nay, but that does not mean I willnae keep trying tae earn yer favor.” She at last got a reaction from him, but ’twas not what she wanted.

  His frown told her much. “If ye wished tae earn my favor, then ye would have done what I asked and remained at Berwyck.”

  “I wanted tae be here for Catherine.”

  A half snort, half laugh escaped her brother’s lips. “What kind of a fool do ye take me for, Freya? Ye and I both know ye are not here for my wife. Yer only desire is tae be near Sir Charles.”

  Looking back over her shoulder, she briefly caught Charles’s stare before he looked elsewhere. A sliver of hope sprang into her heart knowing he gazed upon her when she was not looking. “I am no more in his favor than I am yers.”

  “Do ye blame the man? Ye defied us both!” Douglas snarled before he lowered his voice.

  “’Twas not my intent,” she said, lowering her head.

  “What did ye expect when ye traipse around the countryside dressed as a boy?”

  “I dinnae think—”

  “Nay! Ye dinnae think which is half yer problem and the reason for most of yer troubles, sister.”

  “I am sorry, Douglas,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes. She honestly did not like when she and her brother quarreled.

  “Save yer apologies, Freya.” He jumped down from his horse, handing the reins to a lad who led his steed toward the stables. He took hold of the bridle of Freya’s horse to stare at her. “Ye will confine yerself tae whichever chamber ye are assigned, unless my wife calls for ye.”

  She gasped. Swinging her leg over the saddle, she hopped down to confront her brother. “Do ye mean tae
keep me a prisoner while we are at Wolverhampton?”

  “Aye!” Douglas fumed. “Defy me again and I shall see if a dungeon will hold ye until we are ready tae leave for home.”

  “Ye cannae throw me in some dungeon!”

  “Aye, I can, and if ye keep quarreling with me, I shall see if they have a pit instead,” her brother warned.

  Certainly her brother would not do something so drastic as to throw her into a pit. Berwyck had one and ’twas filthy, or so she had been told. Douglas took a firm grip to her elbow and ushered her forward as introductions were made to the newly appointed Earl of Wolverhampton.

  “And Nicola?” Catherine asked with tear-filled eyes.

  The earl shook his head. “She will live but has lost the babe. I know you will be a great comfort to her, Catherine. I am glad you are here. She has asked if she could return with you to Berwyck…if you will take her in.”

  “Of course she can stay with us.” Catherine threw herself into her cousin’s arms as they both mourned the loss of Padraig and his son Patrick.

  The earl quickly composed himself. “Mayhap ’twould be best to take these matters inside where we can discuss them in the privacy of my solar.”

  Freya watched the cousins cling to one another, and for a moment, she had no doubt she had erred by going against Douglas’s wishes. He only meant to keep her safe. She could not imagine life without her brother.

  She was about to follow the group heading up the stairs to the keep when a stunning woman with flowing black hair came running out the door.

  “Charles! Charles!” she called, flinging herself into his arms. “I am so happy you are at last home.”

  “Was that Livinia?” Catherine asked with a small laugh.

  “Aye, she and Roland arrived from France just yester morn,” Robert answered before taking his cousin’s arm and leading her inside.

  Freya’s heart stood still as she observed the woman clinging to the very knight who still owned her heart. But when Charles wrapped his arms around Livinia, Freya knew she had lost him. She would never be the same.