A Knight's Temptation by Catherine Kean

was gulping breaths.
    Veronique scowled at the panel. She knew that sound well.
    Her bare feet thumping on the planks, she crossed to the door.
    “Should you not cover yourself?” the baron called after her. “There is a blanket—”
    “I will not be long.”
    Veronique flipped the bolt and wrenched the door open, bringing in a fresh draft of cold air.
    A pretty, blond maidservant stood outside in the torch-lit passage, holding a little boy clad in a grubby tunic and hose. Her eyes flew wide, before she lowered her gaze and stumbled back a step. The child immediately silenced, startled by his sudden jostling, then started crying again. Squeezing his hand into a fist, he pounded it against the woman’s neck.
    Blushing, the young woman said, “I . . . am sorry to disturb ye—”
    Veronique set her hand on her hip. “Really.” Her gaze slid to the sobbing boy looking at her with huge, watery eyes. A tiny part of her heart softened.
    “I cannot seem ta make ’im ’appy.” The woman trembled. “’E asked for ye.”
    The child shuddered a breath. “Ma.”
    The loving little sound poked at the tender part of Veronique. The part reminding her that he’d grown inside her for long months, before he’d burst forth from her womb.
    A tentative smile touched the child’s pudgy mouth. “Ma?”
    Veronique sighed, but the sound had far less fury than she’d hoped. “Tye.” She reached out and took him from the woman’s arms. He curled his arms around her neck.
    “I will bring him back to you shortly,” Veronique said.
    “Aye, milady.” The woman curtsied, spun on her heel, and hurried away.
    Shifting Tye to her right hip, Veronique pushed the door closed with one hand.
    “Not happy,” Tye grumbled, his mouth pinched into a scowl.
    Lying on his side in bed, the baron scowled. “Neither am I.”
    “Wanted Ma.”
    “Of course you did,” Veronique cooed, nuzzling her son’s flushed cheek. She inhaled the sweetish scent of her child and struggled against another bloom of maternal instinct.
    She smiled down into her little boy’s face. He grinned back, his golden-brown hair an uncombed mess, his eyes as bright as berries.
    A handsome child, just like his father.
    Veronique’s smile hardened. Aye, indeed.
    Just like his father.
    ***
    Aldwin chuckled as the tavern wench cried out in dismay. Got you, Lady L .
    “Sir Reginald,” she cried.
    Holding tight to her arm, ignoring her desperate struggling, Aldwin pushed himself up to sitting, wincing at the ache at the back of his head. He blinked to clear dizziness from his vision. How long he’d been awake he couldn’t say. Discomfort had roused him from unconsciousness, along with the mutterings of two men and a husky-voiced woman: the temptress, Lady L.
    He blinked again, while the blur of darkness and faint light around him gradually sharpened. Upon waking moments earlier, he’d wanted to lunge to his feet and pummel the louts who’d hit him. Aldwin had sensed them standing close, looking down at him lying on the floor that reeked of God knows what.
    His wits had sharpened enough for him to realize he was at a disadvantage rising groggily from the ground. He could easily defeat the two old men. But he’d be wiser to wait for a better opportunity to fight them. So he’d pretended to still be unconscious.
    What sweet reward that he’d opted for restraint. He’d only had to subdue one of her guards, who now lay sprawled on his back, motionless, his sword only partway drawn.
    “Sir Reginald,” Lady L said hoarsely. “Can you hear me?”
    Sitting upright now, Aldwin settled his gaze upon her. While his vision hadn’t completely cleared, he realized she was on her knees before him and furious at being captured.
    She twisted. Squirmed. Arched her body back, as far away from him as she could go—like a cat with its paw trapped.
    Surprising, how strong she was, for a woman. He tightened his grip, aware of her wrist bones jumping against his palm. A memory