She had just turned the corner and seen the steps at the far end of the passage when she noticed a tall figure walking toward her.
The yellow light of a wall sconce cast illumination over his face and-saints! bare torso!-and Alys recognized him immediately. Nottingham.
He didn’t appear to see her moving swiftly through the shadows, for his head was bowed, as it had been earlier today when she’d found him near the same place. At that time, he’d seemed ill and out of sorts, very troubled . . . and to see such a handsome, powerful man so vulnerable had tugged at her healer’s heart. Not to mention her womanly desires.
Now he merely paused at one of the window slits and looked out into the night.
She drew near, her heart thumping and curiosity dampening her palms. He was so very large and dark, with an aura of annoyance that most often put people off . . . yet there was something about him that caught deeply at her. And she had seen the expression on his face earlier today; he’d looked disgusted, ill, and yet resigned. Now he stood, staring into the dark, an image of tension and frustration.
As she approached, Alys tried to think of what she might say to him, to ease whatever it was that ailed the man . . . but before she could, he looked up and saw her.
“Lady Alys,” he said, turning from the window. “What do you about this time of night?” His voice cut sharply, coldly into the silence, and if she had not had a grandfather with much the same temperament, she might have been frightened by his discourtesy. As it was, she felt a shiver at his unfeeling expression. He was a man one did not wish to anger.
“Good morrow, my lord,” she said, moving closer. “I seek my bed at last, though the sun is nigh ready to rise.”
“ ’ Tis not safe for a lady to be out alone in the night, even in the castle.” He stepped toward her, and for a moment her lungs seemed not to work. He was so large, and dark, and forbidding . . . and even more so with naught to cover his chest and belly. He was broad and haired and scarred . . . very daunting. He made no move to cover himself, nor did he seem to care that she saw him in such a state.
She swallowed and pulled her eyes away from his imposing chest . . . and found her gaze snagged by cold eyes. “I had my maid with me, but I allowed her to stay behind. Her sister lives here in Ludlow-a freewoman, married to Frederick the fishmonger-and she had taken ill. Rose-my maid-knows of my skill with healing, and she begged that I might assist her.” She moistened her lips, aware that her voice trembled a bit.
“And so you came from your soft warm bed to help your maid’s sister.” His words came out more quietly, but only a bit. Frustration and impatience colored their tone much more strongly than empathy.
Alys shrugged. “I have oft been called from my bed at Wentworth for the same purpose. ’Tis nothing new.” She looked boldly up at him. “I am a healer, my lord. Will you not tell me what ails you?”
At this proximity, despite the wavering torchlight, she could see the lines etched on his face, the weariness in his eyes. A brittleness too, which she feared might crack.
“There is naught that ails me, Lady Alys,” he replied flatly.
She reached for him, touching his warm arm. “I would that you trusted me enough. If you are ill, you know where to find me. I . . .” She felt a rising flush warm her face, but she continued. “I would have a care for you if you wish.” She drew in a deep breath. “I should very much . . . like to.”
“A care for me?” Incredulity laced his voice. “Do not be a fool, Lady Alys. There are others for whom you should cast your heart in the stead of my black one. I am fit for no lady.”
She’d expected nothing less from such a man, and would have spoken again, but he drew aside, turning his face away. “Take yourself to bed, Lady Alys.”
Then, as if gaining control of some runaway emotion, a breath later he added, “If you have need of going to the village again at night, send for me and I will find a man to accompany you. ’Tis foolish of you to take such a chance. This is not Wentworth, and you are not the lady of this manor. And now . . . I will escort you to your chamber to ensure your safety.”
She shook her head. “Nay. There is no need. I can see the steps from here, and there is no one about . . . for you have just come from above, is that not so?”
Why that simple question should turn his expression even blacker, she did not know. But she did step back at the look in his eyes, heart thumping.
He said nothing, however, and turned away. “I will escort you to your chamber, Lady Alys.” And with that, their discussion seemed to be at an end.
But just as he gestured for her to accompany him-and she hesitated at touching his bare arm, so close to such a naked chest-there was a loud shout from the direction of the hall. Nottingham stiffened and listened, and when there was a similarly violent response, he cursed under his breath.
“I must investigate,” he said. “Yet I am loath to leave you to make your way alone.”
