Knight Secrets

by C. C. Wiley

  He tried yet again to pull her from her fitful dream as she began to weep. “Come, there is nothing to fear.”

  Heartbreaking sobs erupted from her chest. Her body shuddered. Ranulf pulled her closer, cupping her hips against his belly. Rolling to his back, he lifted her from the hard floor. Turning her so that he might cradle her from the cold, he realized his mistake when her soft curves pressed against his thighs. He became well aware of their dangerous position when she became restless and wiggled deeper into the safe haven of his arms.

  He braced for the awakening rush through his body. He was busy willing the offending member back to hibernation when he realized his efforts were for naught. Her sweet breath blew out in a soft puff. It wrapped around the endearment she called out in anticipation.

  Bitter satisfaction swept through him. He pressed his chin on the top of her hair. ’Twas as he feared. He indeed heard correctly. Clarice called out for the peddler.

  * * *

  Birdsong floated through the cracks in the leaning rafters and escorted the sun to a new day. Rays of light peeked behind a dull gray sky, racing to be first to shine through the small window.

  Blinking from the light that wedged its way between her eyelids, Clarice moved to block the bright daggers. She lay on her side, the hard ground digging into her joints. She shifted her weight and winced from the biting pain that raced through her. Her head rested on Ranulf’s lap. Her hand lay tucked between his legs.

  She licked her parched lips. Aware of the heat radiating from his body, she snuggled deeper into the pocket of his lap. If this is a dream, I wish it to continue.

  “A new day is upon us,” Ranulf said quietly.

  Clarice flinched at the sound of his voice. Not a dream after all.

  She did not dare lift her head and increase the pounding. Covering her ears, she made sure the top of her head would not pop off before she spoke. “Please tell me that barrel of wine has vanished.”

  “You care for more?”

  “Lord in heaven, no,” she whispered. “I pray I shall never partake of that poisonous French swill again.”

  “I will be certain to relay the message to the French countrymen when I stop in Calais.”

  Clarice groaned. “How soon until we ride for Sedgewic?”

  He bent forward to see out the little window. She held her breath in anticipation of the brush of his chest against her back. His hand settled on her shoulder.

  She could not stay in this spot indefinitely. One word of discomfort and he would have released her. She knew this and ignored it just as she ignored the race of desire leaping though her veins. With her conscience locked away, she decided to stay where she was to enjoy the warmth of his touch. Just for a while longer.

  Ranulf slid his fingers into her hair, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. If she did not do something to stop them, her arms would wrap around his neck on their own.

  Thinking to forestall her body’s betrayal, Clarice trapped her hands under the weight of his leg. Her fingers itched to stroke a single line along his leggings. Lightly, with the edge of her fingernail, she took purchase of the soft woolen material. The groan she had successfully held at bay purred in the back of her throat.

  She shivered as he slid the neck of her gown off her shoulder. He touched her temple, pushing away the curls that covered her cheek.

  “Others will ride out for us as soon as there is light to guide their mounts,” he said.

  “Others?” she asked. “From Sedgewic?”

  “Are you expecting another? Mayhap a peddler?”

  “Don’t be a goose. I have no one to come for me.”

  He shifted and drew her to his side. “At least tell me of the peddler. Who is he to you?”

  “He is no one,” she said. Her neck arched, offering her nape.

  “No?” He nuzzled perfect flesh. “This nothing you don’t wish to speak of. Does he have a name?”

  “I am sure he does, but I don’t know it.”

  “Yet you dream of him. You call out for him. Why is that?”

  Before answering, Clarice shivered under his expert caress. “Do you not dream of many things?”

  “Not recently.”

  She snorted her rejection of his answer. “’Tis difficult to accept.”

  “’Tis true. Ever since I pulled you off young Hamish, my dreams have become painfully singular.”

  “I didn’t mean to squash him. I fainted.”

  Ranulf stood and kissed her hand as he pulled her up. “I know you meant him no harm. You wouldn’t be alive if I believed otherwise.”

  No matter how hard she tried, she could not tear her attention from his mouth. His lips were so inviting. She swallowed, hesitant to ask her next question. “And what is that singular dream that pains you so?”

  Clarice flinched as he traced the edge of her mouth.

  “I dream of you.” He nipped her jaw and trailed down. “Of doing this.” A shiver ran up her spine. “Touching you here.” Her legs turned to liquid and she leaned in to him. “And here . . .”

  She held her breath, hoping he would turn away from his questions. She wished he would stop touching her. Liar!

  The memory of the peddler may have brought her dream to life, but the dream of the peddler was just that, a dream. He paled in comparison to the man beside her. Ranulf was alive, vibrant. He offered her more compassion than she had ever known, and yet he did not trust her. It pained her heart that she had been unable to sway him from his suspicion.

  Madness. This is madness. Clarice’s awakened passion was ravenous. Her lips hungered for his kiss. She ached to be touched, even with just the tip of his finger.

  His strength gave her hope and caused fear in her heart. He would never believe that she and her family did not plot against the king. He would claim no knowledge of her to the king. He would turn her out. Spurn her. Leave her thirsting for the satisfaction of his touch. Once she tasted this potion, she knew she would die, withered and parched, if he never trusted her.

  Clarice’s reality became clear. ’Twas as if she laid a crystal stone upon her life and it clarified the daunting task her father laid before her. ’Twas no longer just his name to clear; ’twas hers as well. It would do her no good to prove her birth and then have her head chopped off. She glanced up at the man. He not only held her hand, he held her life.

  Ranulf frowned, and trapped her hips to draw her closer. “Your inattention wounds me,” he said.

  Pushing all doubt and fear away, she ran her hands under his leather jerkin. The coarse patch of hair sprinkled on the planes of his stomach tickled her palms. Her fingers stretched and curled before splaying over the taut muscles that protected his chest. Her heart raced to match the tempo of his heartbeat. She ached for him to pull her into his arms. To her mounting frustration, he stood, still and quiet, his heart thundering under her hand. She wrapped one arm around his neck. The rigid chords strained under his control. She edged toward him.

  Ranulf trapped her hands with his. Through the leather, he squeezed her fingers. “You know not what you are about.”

  Clarice touched her lips to his chin. The scrape of whisker stubble surprised her. She leaned back and tested the tender flesh with her tongue. Rising on tiptoe, she repositioned herself and brushed her lips across his mouth.

  Their kiss deepened. His groan of pleasure rippled through her. Her breasts ached for his touch. The core of her being throbbed between her legs. Wanting more, she wriggled against his chest and hoped they would not be found for quite some time.

  Chapter 27

  Clarice tightened her hold on the soft leather covering Ranulf’s hips. Smiling, she arched her back, offering her body, begging to be feasted upon. Need ignited the apex between her legs. Her nipples tingled, aching for the heat that came from contact.

  They came together, pressing, needing, barely holding on to restraint. Another groan escaped. His. Hers. Melded into one. Then he released her, only to regain his hold. This time his magi
cal tongue slid over her collarbone, leaving behind the promise of seduction. Her nipples pebbled. Muscles, nestled in her core, pulsed with need.

  For once in her life Clarice knew the adoration of another. She lost herself in the depth of his heated gaze. Her limbs shook as his fingertip danced above the edge of her bodice. He drew her closer, sighing into the sensitive area of her neck, dipping his fingertip into the crease between her breasts before tugging her bodice and allowing his lips access.

  The cooing pigeons nesting in the rafters broke the spell as they took flight in a rush overhead.

  Ranulf tensed. His tongue paused in the tasting and exploration of her breast. He smoothed her hair away from her face.

  “My lord—”

  Clarice blinked, awakening from the passionate spell.

  Hamish had elbowed his way between the barrier formed by Darrick and Nathan’s knightly legs. He craned his neck, this way and that, trying to see what caught everyone’s eye. After much grunting, the boy said with dismay dripping from his words. “—when you’re done licking her face, mind you watch your step. Takes forever to get the bird muck off them boots—”

  Realizing she still gripped Ranulf’s hips, she snatched her hands away. If not for the fact that he maintained his hold, she would have fallen to the ground. Embarrassment ripped through her, heating her face, taking her breath. She twisted to hide. Her skirt caught between their feet. Ranulf’s breath came in short bursts, as if he had been in a foot race. His gray eyes were dark, heated.

  “—and that dress—” Hamish prattled on.

  Four pairs of eyes settled on her. Hearing their collective intake of breath, she looked and saw the damage.

  “—will never come clean. She’s ruined it for certain.”

  “Steady,” Ranulf whispered. He closed his eyes. His long lashes, dusted with gold, shadowed his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he set her behind his back.

  A chill filled the space that had been afire seconds before. She shook her head. As if that would ever clear the need that had consumed her from head to toe. She swallowed, fighting the urge to run.

  “—been up all night, searching for you and—”

  “Enough, Hamish,” Ranulf ordered. He turned to look at his two friends. “I advise everyone to shut their gaping mouths before the damned birds he keeps yammering about deposit their droppings.”

  Ever the gallant knight, Sir Darrick turned his gaze from their faces. Unfortunately, his efforts were to no avail as his eyes darted between Ranulf and herself.

  Sir Nathan, however, snapped his mouth shut, and a slow grin spread from ear to ear.

  Fighting back tears, Clarice began the task of putting her shattered self back together. Keeping a safe distance from the men, she swept Ranulf’s cloak from the wooden beams. The birds overhead scattered in a mad flutter of wings and Hamish yelled for everyone to duck their heads.

  * * *

  Clarice hunched her shoulders, scanning the group of men who rode before her. Her time with Ranulf was done. Upon the appearance of his allies, the lord of Sedgewic had returned to being his dictatorial self, ordering everyone to mount up and keep silent.

  Flanked by a packhorse on one side and Hamish on the other, she sat astride Buttercup and suffered in silence. Abandoned. Had it not been for the occasional dark imperious look he cast toward her, she would believe he had forgotten she was there at all.

  She shifted on Buttercup’s wide back. The small matter of being ignored would have been a blessing had it occurred earlier. Instead, the three of them had come upon them with her stroking the lord of Sedgewic’s backside.

  Cringing, she sank her shoulders deeper into her cloak. Heaven help her, how would she ever look into Ranulf’s eyes without remembering how he had pulled away from her even as she pressed against him. Good lord! I nearly threw the man to the ground.

  Warmth rushed over her face. Her heart raced at the memory of him touching her breasts with his mouth. The heat of his hands sweeping over her waist, surrounding her hips as he drew her close. His need pressed against her, their joining barred by his chausses and the folds of her gown.

  Clarice winced as she recalled the feel of Hamish’s nut-brown gaze boring into her. It was as if he searched for horns sprouting from her head. Lord, save me from eternal mortification. The familiar sense of loneliness crept in, taking her breath with it. Oh, how she ached to be held again.

  She had tried to ignore the way the knights’ eyes had widened and narrowed when they came upon her, wrapped in his lordship’s arms. As they rode toward Castle Sedgewic, the men expressed their concerns. Their voices carried over the creaking leather and dusty sounds of horses’ hooves striking earth. She strained to hear, catching snippets of their muffled phrases floating past. ’Twas not long until she realized their anger was pointed in her direction.

  She glanced over as Hamish brought his pony close to Buttercup. “Not today, imp. I am weary and must concentrate on the reins.”

  “Quiet. I’m guarding you,” Hamish said.

  “What?” Clarice snapped.

  The three knights, caught in deep discussion, halted their mounts and swiveled to look at them.

  Hamish waved at the three knights. “’Twas a bee,” he called out. “Intent on stinging the lady.”

  “Clarice.” Ranulf wheeled his destrier around and rode back to where they had stopped. “Are you harmed?”

  “As the boy said, a bothersome bee. Nothing more.”

  “’Twas trying to sting her arse,” Hamish added.

  “You have said enough,” Clarice warned.

  Ranulf’s gaze slid over her flushed face and dropped to below her waist. “Try to stay out of trouble.” He turned to Hamish. “That warning is meant for you, too, young sprout.”

  Clarice wondered if Ranulf noted the hunch of the boy’s shoulders. In an effort to forestall Hamish’s lower lip from trembling, she made a show of shoving the hair off her face. “How soon until we reach Sedgewic? Do you suppose a peddler might have stopped by with a new assortment of ribbons? The last one who stopped at Margrave carried a supply. How wonderful it will be when I can tie my hair back.”

  “A peddler?” Ranulf asked.

  “Last one was as skinny as a chicken bone,” Hamish chimed in. “Never brought any ribbons I know of.”

  She glanced up at Ranulf, and was taken aback by his response to her question. ’Twas not the change in the way he held his body that caught her attention. He looked as relaxed in the saddle as always. However, his snapping gray eyes had become dark and stormy as the previous night. That and the slight tick in the muscle at his jaw gave away his irritation.

  A chill ran between her shoulder blades. “Then mayhap Fat Thomas might peddle his wares at Sedgewic.”

  “No,” Hamish said. “Nary a fat peddler around here.”

  Crestfallen, Clarice had to squint to see past the sun shining over Ranulf’s head. “’Tis true?”

  Ranulf smoothed the ends of the reins and gave a tight smile. “I’m sure the lad would know more about that than I.”

  “Oh,” she said. Christ’s blood. That one-syllable word sounded like a goose honking at its gander. Her face flushing hot, she cleared her throat to try again.

  Ranulf traced her cheek before tucking a curl behind her ear. “These ribbons; do they mean so much to you? Or is it the peddler for whom you pine?” He held up a hand to silence the denial that was on her lips. “If I find him, I’ll send him to you.”

  Clarice caught his hand. “Would you? Would you do that for me?”

  “Though I cannot imagine how a scrap of material will enhance beauty when ’tis already apparent.”

  Confused by his flattery, she brushed off his compliment as if she received one every day of her life. Her spirit swelled. Refusing to respond to Hamish’s ill-concealed snort of disgust, she pinched her leg to keep the chuckle inside.

  “Hamish,” Ranulf asked wickedly, “how long has it been since the garderobe has been scraped clean
?”

  Hamish’s reply came as a loud gulp. Clarice thought he might have swallowed his tongue when his little round face turned red.

  “Mayhap the peddler’s travels have taken him far away from Sedgewic and Margrave. ’Tis certain,” she nodded, “the poor man is still locating a brace of swans for Father.”

  “Swans,” Ranulf ground out. He jerked his hand away and jammed it on top of the saddle’s pommel. His fingers whitened as he gripped the smooth padded leather. “Enough of this chatter. I trust the swarm of one bee has passed. ’Tis time we quicken our pace and reach the safety of Sedgewic’s walls.”

  Without waiting for their response, he wheeled Aldwyn around.

  Hamish kicked his pony with his heels and swatted Buttercup on the rump as he rode by. “Come on, Clarice. I don’t know what you did, but his lordship is determined to make our return quicker than usual. We’ll see the top of Sedgewic’s parapet before we know it.”

  * * *

  The trestle table in Sedgewic’s hall bowed from the meal Erwina and her household had prepared. Soldiers filled the great room. Their voices rang out in ribald good cheer. They ate heartily from their trenchers piled high with wild boar and freshly felled pheasant. Steam rose from a pot of thick, hearty stew. Pitchers of ale sat on a side table. The servants stood in the corners, awaiting the signal to serve the next course.

  Clarice touched the crumpled parchment hidden in her pocket. A note, delivered by Hamish, led her to believe Erwina had something of great import to tell her. Anxious to hear what the woman had to say, she gobbled the thick venison stew and brown bread. She put the last chunk of meat into her mouth and pretended to choke on the bite.

  Ranulf glanced her way before giving her a curt nod. Assuming he gave her his leave, she moved quietly toward the tapestry hanging behind the diners and slipped behind it.

  Clarice stepped inside the solar and sagged against the doorframe. A triumphant smile formed. It appeared the men would continue their discussion on into the night. She could not imagine why she was to be left unwatched. Never had she been allowed to wander the castle without someone nearby before. No one watched her rise from the table. No one took her by the wrist and led her away. But how long would it be until someone noticed her absence?