Free The Redeeming by Tamara Leigh Page B

am promised to another, as are you. Pray, do not ask me to betray him.” Any more than already I have done.
    “Lady Gaenor”—his fingers curled around her lower arm—“I would—”
    She jerked her arm free and sprang to her feet. “Do not ask it of me.”
    He rose. “My lady, I—”
    “Gaenor?” a voice called up the stairs.
    She clamped her lips closed against the cry that would have brought Everard bounding to the roof with sword in hand. Desperate to avert disaster, which might have proved mortal had she allowed Sir Matthew to kiss her, she shook her head at the knight, then tucked her psalter against her side and hastened to the hatch. “I am here,” she called and stepped onto the first stair.
    From half a dozen steps below, her brother peered up at her. “Seeking sun again, eh?” he chided, unaware of the heart that knocked hard upon her breast. “If you are not more mindful, you will turn brown as a nut.” He frowned. “You have left your slippers on the roof?”
    She had. “Nay,” she lied, only then remembering the psalter she held, “my slippers are in my chamber.” She took a step down and, as she reached to pull the door closed, glanced over her shoulder at Sir Matthew.
    He stood where she had left him, hand on his sword, gaze steady.
    Knowing it was likely the last time she would see him, for it was too dangerous to continue to meet, she closed her lids to impress the image of him upon her mind. It was all she would ever have of him.
    She looked back around. “You wish to speak to me?”
    “I thought you might enjoy a ride.”
    Though, normally, she would have been flushed with excitement, she felt little more than a dull jolt. Easing the door closed overhead as she began her descent of the stairs, she said, “Most assuredly. Shall we depart anon?” Pray, let it be now that Sir Matthew might sooner come down.
    “If you are ready.” Everard turned and led the way.
    Grateful for his back, which allowed her to ease the false smile from her face, she said, “I have but to don my mantle and slippers.” As for the latter, it was fortunate she had another pair.
    Everard threw open her chamber door and she stepped in ahead of him. Within a quarter hour, they guided their horses toward the wood, and it took all of her will not to look around and search out the tower to see if Sir Matthew watched.
     
    H e could have made it right—revealed his identity this day. But Sir Everard had stolen the opportunity, and from Gaenor’s response to Christian’s desire to kiss her, there would be no more opportunities.
    Driven by impulse to do something he should not have attempted, he had frightened her away. But some good had come of it. She had shown herself to be true. Admit it or not, she had wanted to kiss him and denied herself so she would not betray her betrothed. That she would not betray him.
    Hearing the pound of hooves, he stepped into the notch between two embattlements and picked out the riders who headed for the wood—the one on the left undoubtedly Sir Everard, the one on the right, Gaenor, whose hooded mantle hid her woman’s figure and hair.
    As they entered the wood, Christian looked to the slippers she had left behind and determined he would deliver them to her chamber.
    When he stepped into the room where she had spent these past months, he saw it was simply furnished but of good size. Still, it was far from large enough to contain him for as long as it had done her. She likely spent a good deal of time on the roof.
    He strode across the rush-covered floor and set her slippers on the chest at the foot of the bed. Though it was all he had come to do, he paused and looked closer at the furnishings that might reveal something about Gaenor. However, the only evidence of her occupancy was a side table set with quill, ink pot, parchment, basin, and towel, and a bedside table on which lay a comb, a piece of embroidery, and the psalter she had earlier gripped as if it were life