She gasped as he kissed her and she moved closer so that it seemed as if their bodies were a single form, so closely were they moving. He could smell the sweet perfume of her skin, a smell that was part floral, part rich spice. He held her in his arms and wished he could take her into his bed.
She was pressing herself against him and he could feel the soft firmness of her body against him. He ached to touch her breasts, to suck them. However, he knew if he did that he would not stop until...
“I should stop,” he murmured. He stroked her hair and she gave a small gasp.
“I should stop also.”
He chuckled. “Well, then.”
Neither of them moved. He had sat a way back, but he was still in close enough proximity to feel the warmth of her hand by his, to feel the warmth of her body on the side of his arm. He wanted her so badly. He closed his eyes, groaning as he imagined how sweet it would be to draw her into his bed and hold her close. How amazing it would be to explore that soft body under that shift, feeling the skin that he imagined would be like satin under his hands as he stroked the curve of that sweet waist and drew her nearer still.
Stop it, Henry!
He stood and very firmly made himself shake out his cloak. He wrapped it around himself and sat on the clothes box. “Now, my dear,” he said firmly. “I am going to shut the door and put this against it.” He motioned to the chest on which he sat. “And then you are going to sleep.”
“In your bed?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with big eyes.
He sighed. How he wanted her. “I will sleep here,” he said, in answer to the question her eyes asked.
“It's cold over there.”
“Very well,” he said as he tried to pull the chest to the door. He managed, grunting and waving her away when she slipped over to help him. “I can...manage.” The action of bending over to grip the chest made the skin of his wound pull taut and left him hissing in pain.
She watched him with big eyes. He shook his head.
“I'm...fine.”
She gave him a skeptical look with those big eyes, but agreed.
“If you say so.”
“I do,” he said. “Now. You go and go to sleep. I will curl up on this chair by the fire under my cloaks. See?” He went to the chair and wore one cloak, while the other he pulled around his knees.
“If you say so,” she said skeptically.
“Yes, indeed.”
She made a face at him. He chuckled.
She slipped in lightly under the covers and he watched her, fascinated. When he first laid eyes on her he would never have imagined that he would share so intimate a scene with her. They had slept next to each other in the hut, but this...here in the bedchamber, in her nightgown, it was much more arousing somehow, much more close.
He tensed, feeling the longing grow unbearable as he watched the firelight shimmer down her hair, the slow sway of it as she bent and slid into the four-poster bed. He sighed.
“Goodnight,” she said. She looked so sweet his heart ached.
“Goodnight.”A moment later something hit him. He blinked.
“Pillow,” she explained. “For your head. Or you'll slouch.”
He put it under his head, chuckling, and soon enough fell, exhausted, absolutely sound asleep.
FINDING THE WAY FORWARD
The next morning Amice stirred. She felt completely, deliciously peaceful and she couldn't have said why, exactly. She snuggled down into her bed, eyes still closed. Her feet felt deliciously warm, her head pillowed on a soft, downy cushion. She sighed. She had such lovely dreams, the memory of them still lingering behind her eyelids.
Opening her eyes, she felt alarmed. She was looking at a strange ceiling, her bed opposite a wall. She was sure there was supposed to be a window there.
Then her eyes alighted on the figure at the end of the bed. She remembered and blushed. She was in Henry's bedchamber! She sat up quickly.
There was Henry, asleep at the end of the bed. He was wrapped in two cloaks – one of raw wool and one dyed a soft green. He had his eyes shut and the morning sun washed pure white over his pale hair. He was unlined in sleep, vulnerable in a new way. When those striking blue eyes were open, he was always on guard. She stared, letting herself drink in his beauty.
He shifted, sighing. She caught her breath as she saw the soft glow of his chest, bare under the loose-buttoned shirt. She could see the firm ripple of muscle there and she wished, suddenly, that she could touch him. The thought was so shocking that she gave a little laugh.
His eyes fluttered open. Closed again. He sighed. Then he opened his eyes.
Amice, trying to move along the bed before he woke and found her there, found herself staring into those sapphire depths. He was the bed's length away, but still he had seen her immediately. He smiled. Stretched, and sat up.
“My dear lady,” he said in a voice that sent warmth flooding from her toes to her brain.
She smiled, feeling a sweet shiver start within her. “Good morning,” she said.
He chuckled. “Good morning, milady.”
He stood and opened the curtains. Beyond the arched window, the sky was bleak and white, a cold dawn.
She shifted and drew the covers to her chin. In darkness it was one thing to be here alone with him. However, in the daylight, when he could see her...
When she could see him, she thought wryly. She watched as he shifted position, the shirt shifting with it to let her see a little more of that hard body. She blushed deliciously.
“What?”
She grinned. When he smiled at her she simply couldn't not. “Nothing.”
He chuckled. Reached for his cloak and drew it off. She stared at him, seeing the broad shoulders, narrow hips, long, muscled torso. She realized it was obvious she was looking at him and turned away.
He was looking at her when she looked up. Her face was red with shyness.
“Sir,” she said as politely as she could manage. “I understand that I have...committed somewhat of an impropriety by staying here,” she said uncomfortably. “But I hope that you can manage to overlook that. It was a result of, um, demanding circumstances.”
He let out a big laugh. “My lady, there is nothing to overlook. Though I suppose I look too much.” He grinned. She blushed.
“Sir, you are absolutely shocking, I hope you know,” she said primly. She drew the bed covers up primly around herself. “Now, if you will oblige, I want to get out of this bed and I'm not doing it without a cloak on.”
Henry's eyes danced. “You forget. I have already seen you in your night attire.”
“I forget nothing,” Amice said, cheeks burning. “In both circumstances, I was not without a cloak, however. And it was dark. This is different.”
He grinned. “If I refuse, what then?”
Amice rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure whether she was outraged or amused, though if she were honest about it, she enjoyed his teasing. “If you refuse, sir, you will have to explain to the maid or the physician why there is a strange woman in your bed. I will not move without a cloak. That is final.”
Henry roared with laughter. “Well, my lady! I declare! You have a strong will and I surrender.” he handed her the fine wool cloak.
“Thank you.” Amice said, and drew it around her shoulders and slipped quickly out of the bed.
Henry watched her, one brow raised. She glared at him.
“What?”
He made an innocent face. “Nothing.”
She grinned and felt one more flush creep over her body as she tiptoed to the door with his gaze still on her. “Good day.”
He smiled. “Good day. And, thank you.” He cleared his throat, looking shy. “You saved my life.”
Amice shook her head. “You saved mine too, sir.”
He smiled. “Well, then. We are equal.”
Amice stared into his blue eyes. She had never had such an acknowledgment before and it floored her. She stammered somethin
g and hurried to her room. She fled across the corridor and slammed the door, terrified someone would see her leaving his chamber. She bolted the door and sat down on the bed. She needed to think.
What just happened?
That night had been remarkable. She had to put it in perspective: there were so many feelings flooding her mind. Happiness, wonder, shyness, surprise. Fear and worry.
The last ones were straightforward. Someone tried to kill Henry. That meant someone knew who he was. It's the duke. It had to be. The only way she could think of for a murderer to be in here was if the duke sanctioned it.
She swallowed hard. They had to leave. She dressed quickly, not wanting to wait for the maid to come in. She pulled back the bedclothes and rearranged things a little to make it look like she'd slept there. Then she paused before going down to breakfast.
Memories of the night flooded into her mind. The kisses, the touch of Henry's body on hers. The closeness. No, Amice, she told herself firmly. Don't think about that. Not now. When he's safe, then you can think about it.
She brushed her hair and went down to breakfast.
In the solar, she found the duke and his son already there, though fortunately the other guests had come down as well, meaning she could slip unnoticed into a seat near the foot of the table. She looked at her plate of porridge nervously, not wanting to risk eye-contact with either the duke or his son.
She heard someone step across the floor and looked up. Henry. He was dressed in a tunic of un-dyed linen, as he had worn for their journey, and, like on the journey, he looked coiled and tense, ready to spring into action.
“Is this place occupied?” he asked, indicating the seat opposite her. She shook her head.
“No. Please, sit.” Her voice was strained and she glanced sideways at the duke, who had looked across as Henry came in. He did not look surprised to see him, but his eyes narrowed.
He heard the attempt failed. He is angry.
She shivered. Henry was smiling at her, and the sight of him calmed her.
“Pass me the milk, please?” he asked. She nodded. They could have been at a dinner together at any time, not directly after an attempt on his life. She smiled, taking her cue from him.
“Of course.”
They ate breakfast. Amice felt wary, as if things crawled on her. She kept on looking at the duke and Adair, half-expecting an order to seize her and Henry. Opposite her, Henry was affable and relaxed. He was chatting to the couple next to him in French, telling them about his trip into the city.
I don't know how he does it.
She felt sick by the end of it, but he seemed unaffected by it all. She coughed, wanting to get his attention. He looked at her with a lazy smile. She caught his eye and suddenly her worries were secondary, superseded by her memories of the previous night. She could see from the way he looked at her that he was thinking of it too. The room shrank down to the space between them and she blushed.
“Henri,” she said softly.
“Mm?”
“Will you come down to the courtyard? I want to take in some fresh air.”
“Indeed, my lady.” He nodded and turned to their fellow diners. “Excuse me,” he said. “I will take a walk.”
Amice excused herself and they went out together. In the hallway, she looked up at him worriedly. “Henry...”
“Ssh,” he cautioned, a finger to his lips. He jerked his head in the direction of the solar. She nodded. They could so easily be overheard here.
In the courtyard, they both started talking urgently at once.
“After you,” Henry said politely.
Amice swallowed. “Henry, we have to leave. We must go. Now.”
Henry nodded. “I've been watching the duke. He suspects who I am. I think he doesn't know for sure yet, but I saw him, yesterday, receiving a man in plain clothes. I think now it was our would-be killer. He ordered my death.”
Amice closed her eyes, feeling the urgent need to get away from here, now. “Henry! We have to ride.”
“Yes,” Henry agreed. “We should wait. We don't want to just disappear. It will confirm his suspicions.”
“Henry, he already knows,” Amice said urgently. “He tried to kill you! We have to go.”
Henry blinked. “You don't understand. We should wait until they ride out. The duke mentioned a hunt. He invited us. We should join it, and slip away. Then our absence will be concealed until later.”
“No!” Amice laughed. “Henry, are you mad? He wants to shoot you during the hunt. It's obvious! Think about it. You're French – or he thinks you are. He's Scots. He uses a longbow, you don't. Why would he invite you to go hunting with him unless he meant to shoot you? You wouldn't be any use in a Scottish hunt.”
Henry looked at her frostily. Said nothing.
“Henry!” Amice said. “Trust me! Making a death look like a hunting accident is the oldest trick imaginable. If you came from here, you'd see it coming!” she was impatient with him, wanting him to see how stupid he was being. She spoke with the intent to sting his pride and he reacted.
“I think, my lady, I know more than you do of these matters. Whether I understand some backward and barbarous customs or not is of no matter. It's not the point.”
“On the contrary, it is the point!” Amice hissed back. “And how dare you call my people backward! No. I've had enough.” She turned away. “You think you're so clever, don't you. That's all that matters.”
Amice felt her cheeks flush with heat. He had insulted her, looked down on her. He had refused to listen to good sense. Why was she bothering? She turned and went inside, walking briskly to the entrance to the great hall.
As she went up the hallway to her chambers, she felt hot tears start to fall. How dare he say those things about her, about her people? They weren't backward, or barbarous! It was a land with different ways. Just because he didn't understand!
She slammed the door, lay down on her bed and sobbed. He didn't care about her. He thought she was some bog-dwelling primitive and he clearly didn't think much of her mind or her ability to deduce things. If he did, he would have listened to her. How dare he?
She sobbed. She was so stupid. She felt so stupid. Now she had walked away when he needed her. Just because she had been insulted. She curled into a ball, shoulders lifting with her cries.
“Stupid, arrogant foreigner!” she said. As the words left her lips, she heard her aunt speak. It was a memory from a dozen years ago, as good as another lifetime. There is something different about your husband. There will be journeys and trials when you meet.
She closed her eyes. She felt as if a heavy stone, like the one that sealed a tomb, had been placed in her heart. It was him. He was the man her aunt foresaw. Now, she had abandoned him.
She sobbed and sobbed.
“Milady?”
“Go away!” Amice called. Then she felt guilty and sat, sniffing. “No, Greere. Wait.” She went to the door.
“Oh, milady. Sorry,” Greere demurred. “I was just passing to tidy and noticed the door was locked. Oh, I am sorry. You're not unwell, milady?”
“No,” Amice said, shaking her head. “No, I'm well.”
The maid gave her a disbelieving look, but didn't contradict it. “May I come in now, or should I wait? Will you be going on the hunt?”
Amice blinked. “I don't know, Greere. Come in and tidy now. I think I need to walk.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Amice went up the corridor, sniffing. She reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief. Found one. As she unfolded it, she remembered something. It was his handkerchief. She looked at the initials sewn in the corner and burst into fresh tears. Covering her face, she walked up the hallway to his chamber.
“Henry?” she called. No answer.
She waited, wondering whether she should go in. Just then she heard footsteps in the hallway and froze. There were two people, speaking to each other.
“And I think we can agree that our method was inadequate.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Well, then, all we can do is hope that this one will prove fruitful.”
“Agreed.”
Amice fled into the shelter of an alcove, waiting for the feet to pass. As they did, she looked out around the stone wall to see who it was who was speaking. It was the duke. He was talking to a shorter man, compactly built. There was something about him that made her think she'd seen him before.
As she ran back down the hallway the way she'd come, she realized she had. He was the assassin. The man in Henry's bedchamber. He was rather short, with broad shoulders and a lithe walk, as if his muscles were freshly wound and tensed for action. It was him.
She fled back down to the courtyard, shivering suddenly in the cool air. “Henry?” She prayed he would be there. He had to be. They couldn't go on the hunt! She had to find him. She was right.
She looked wildly about for him. The practice-ground was empty, but for two or three men taking desultory strikes at each other with blunted swords. The forecourt was bare, only sparrows chasing each other about the stone paving. The yard was occupied by a kitchen maid, rinsing the saucepans. It was as if Henry had vanished.
“Henry?”
Come on, Amice. He could be anywhere. He could be in the great hall. In the solar. In the turret. He could be taking a walk on the ramparts, even. She stepped back, heading to the gate where she could have a better view. She passed the stables, heart thumping. There, she found him.
He was leaning on the wall, head back, eyes closed. For a moment she thought he was dead, pinned there by some fell arrow – he stood so still, so unmoving that he barely breathed. Then he looked up. His blue eyes were damp, full of complex emotions. When he saw her, his face lit and then went grave.
“Amice,” he said gently. “I was stupid. Can you forgive me?”
Amice smiled at him. She felt her heart melt immediately. He was so handsome and so sincere. Of course, she could forgive him! “Of course,” she said.
Adventures of a Highlander Page 13
