Her Dark Knight's Redemption. Nicole Locke

the resonating fragrance of lavender and lemon, the warmed silk from the tapestries and the musty familiar perfume of his books.

      But she was perfect. Everything about this was perfect. Hair that almost matched Grace’s and both appearing filthy from the streets. No parents to care for her. No one to suspect or question the child she held so carefully and sang to so beautifully was his.

      Even more so now that her mothering instincts resurrected themselves. Against him, which both grated on and amused him.

      The thief was the solution to keep Grace close to him. A woman of childbearing age in a desperate situation. She would be a servant to him and raise the child. He could then see Grace, keep her close through the years. And because the thief and Grace would be perceived as servants, his arrogant family wouldn’t perceive Grace as his greatest vulnerability.

      He turned to the mercenaries taking the stairs behind him and instructed them to place the food for the babe, the woman and himself on an empty table. He’d propose to the thief what needed to be done and she would thank him profusely for saving her from gaol and poverty. It was all too easy.

      Although...there was that one moment of lapse in his control which was concerning. Her request to take Grace catching him off guard. The blade was out of its sheath before he thought to draw it. An indication of how much he cared though he hadn’t had his daughter for a day.

      Such action would be an anomaly from now on. People did not catch him unawares and now that he knew his feelings existed, he’d hold them in check so he didn’t reveal anything more. Until he dismantled his family, not even his daughter or the thief could know him.

       Chapter Seven

      Aliette was startled when the door swung open and the two mercenaries who had carted her here carried in large trays with mouthwatering food and freshly poured ale.

      They set them down, one of them glancing at her from head to toe before they walked out the opened doors. A moment later, her captor entered. Silently, steadily, he closed the doors behind him and stood with no direction of what he intended for her.

      But the food was here for the child, and she wouldn’t wait another moment. Whatever this man had told the kitchens, it was correct. A bowl, a mortar and pestle, cooked oats, and copious warmed milk all ready to be prepared.

      Glancing at the man who hadn’t moved from the doors, she set the child down on the bench and propped her with cushions. Another glance, as she prepared the bowl and dipped the tiny spoon in the mixture.

      The near silence made her heart and her breath unnaturally loud. For a clarion moment she wanted to fill that silence, but the way he held still made her think he was expecting her to question and accuse.

      She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Silence had done her well in the past when she needed to hide or surprise. So she sat with the child on her lap, covered her finger in milk and honey and dabbed it on the sweet lips until she took sustenance.

      The man at the door shifted, she didn’t raise her eyes. Her entire world now was this room and this child.

      Another dollop and the child suckled, its incoming teeth gently scraping across her finger. Another, and another, until she sat her up and filled the small spoon.

      Her dark, telling, grey-coloured eyes were distinct and explained much. Dark hair, dark grey eyes. Her captor said he wasn’t the father, but the way he watched them, and the way he’d pulled the blade, told a different story...but maybe she was wrong. She trusted her instincts, but she didn’t trust this man or anyone. Lies were too easily told.

      Another shift and he strode to the chair nearest them, his dark presence and intent cloaking him. He reminded her of a raven, perched, watching, waiting.

      She watched right back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the way his thick lashes fanned his cheeks, the sardonic bowing of his top lip. The way his fine, almost beautiful hands folded in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees. One hand perfect, the other marred by a large circular burn scar.

      A growing tension threaded its way between them, but she ignored it. The child’s eyes were wide and anxious, its body curving and contorting in her arms. A franticness to reach the food she was slowly and carefully feeding her.

      She knew this feeling. When she was young, and days went by between any scraps, the hunger was a living, breathing animal that clawed and scraped. If she was fortunate enough to snatch something edible, she’d consumed it between blinks. But the feeling would make her nauseous. Her body rejected what it most needed.

      She didn’t want this child rejecting nourishment so she kept to the slow steady feeding, but not the entire bowl.

      Standing, she adjusted the child over her shoulder. She was around a year old, but so thin and fragile. Walking, talking, comforting, she traversed the room until the child calmed in her arms and fell asleep.

      The man in the chair didn’t move, didn’t speak.

      She didn’t care. She’d feed this child. Feed her again in another hour, then be on her way. She wouldn’t risk more time here.

      He hadn’t taken the blade to her or made any threats. He had no reason to keep her here, so, logically, he must let her go. If that didn’t work, the room was filled with enough precious items. Surely a threat to damage such beauty would warrant her release.

      The child she wouldn’t threaten. She could never go through with it and the man, who watched her care, wouldn’t believe she could harm an innocent.

      ‘She sleeps,’ her captor said.

      Aliette nodded.

      ‘Yet you do not ask to go.’

      It was a question that didn’t need an answer. He’d let her go or he wouldn’t, either way she intended to stay a bit longer for a second feeding. She shrugged.

      ‘You also fed the child without feeding yourself. Two trays and you chose to feed her first.’ With a huff, he pushed himself back in the chair. His relaxed position did not make him seem less threatening.

      ‘This is all so...uncomplicated,’ he said.

      That warranted her looking at him. She heard the mercenaries outside the door shift their positions. Trained killers positioned to threaten her or protect him. Which begged the question—what did she have that he wanted?

      For what was easy for this man would never be easy for her. Over the years she’d been caught, which always revealed three options for her: fight, pretend stupidity, or plead for mercy.

      None of those would work in this situation; talking of the child was her only safe choice until he exposed his purpose for kidnapping her.

      ‘She is a child and needs shelter, food, and gentle words. There is nothing difficult about it. It would do her well to be bathed, to have a change of clothing. She is soiled and, with the food, she will soil her clothing far worse.’

      ‘I have ordered her clothing and a bath. They will be available in another room.’

      Aliette was surprised at his forethought and yearned to go there now. But if her stay went beyond this room she feared it would change his expectations of her. She had no intention to stay here.

      ‘In her condition and over the next sennight,’ Aliette continued, ‘she’ll need to be fed and cared for as I have done. Anything less and her condition will worsen. It may seem simple, but there are concerns here.’

      ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘The child is a concern, but not what I meant.’

      ‘Then what is uncomplicated?’ she said without thought, without thinking, her mind on the supplies the child needed and Gabriel’s worry.

      ‘You.’

      She stopped moving and looked directly at him. No, nothing of his