by Byrne, Julia
With an effort that pulled every muscle tight, he turned his back on her and reached into his pack for some dry clothes. God, if she could do this to him just by sleeping naked in his mantle, what would happen—
He snapped off the thought before it turned into the knowledge that his control was balanced on the edge of something he’d never experienced. Something new. More than lust. More than desire.
Need.
Another curse rose to his lips, this time of anger and self-disgust. Anyone would think she’d cast a spell on him. Need? He didn’t need anyone, least of all a woman. In that direction lay weakness and the destruction of a man’s will. Who knew that better than he? The only need he wanted to satisfy was physical. He had never taken more from a woman, never wanted more. And, by God, ’twould be no different with Lady Eleanor fitzWarren.
Rafe tossed his wet garments aside, changed quickly, and stretched out by the fire.
No different at all, he told himself, closing his eyes with grim determination. And in that instant, he decided he would have her. On his terms. The way he’d always taken a woman. Pleasure given and received, but a part of him always distant, always contained.
He would need to plan it. She was angry now, and disliked him, but that didn’t worry him unduly. Like most women, her anger would melt like snow in the spring thaw when the right incentive was dangled in front of her. They all had their price and there was time to find Nell’s. They would be alone for several days. He would have her.
And then—mayhap—he would decide whether her seduction fitted in with his other plans.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nell woke to muted light and the knowledge that she was alone.
She sat up with a startled exclamation. Not only was Beaudene missing, so were the saddles and his packs. The fire had died down to a pile of brightly glowing embers and, apart from her clothes and the trails of footprints crossing each other to and from the corridor, there was no sign that the chamber had ever been occupied.
Heart pounding, she struggled to her feet, hampered by the length of Beaudene’s mantle. She grabbed up as much as she could of the heavy garment and hurried outside, speeding past the dark rectangles that led to the other chambers.
Bright sunlight struck her eyes when she emerged from beneath the uprooted tree, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
The horses were gone.
For several seconds she couldn’t even think, could only stare blankly at the spot where the horses had stood last night, as if their disappearance was a trick of the light and they would reappear at any moment. She couldn’t believe Beaudene would leave her here.
“He just wouldn’t,” she whispered, and wondered why she was so certain. What gallantry had he shown her? What had he done except snap orders at her between bouts of biting sarcasm and unnervingly enigmatic remarks?
All the questions she had shoved aside in the interests of sleep now started clamoring for attention. And the only answer that came to her was that Beaudene had removed her from her family, taking advantage of the situation she’d found herself in last night, for reasons which she suspected had more to do with his own purposes than in protecting her. This morning he could have decided she was too much trouble and left her here for Tom to find.
The sudden rush of tears to her eyes appalled her. What was she doing, crying over a rough, ill-mannered—
“What in the name of God are you doing out here dressed like that?”
Nell jumped, a startled cry escaping her lips. She turned to see Beaudene striding toward her, his sudden appearance sending her heart into her throat. And ’twas her own fault this time. She had forgotten about his habit of creeping up on her.
The combination of shattered nerves and overwhelming relief exercised its inevitable effect on her temper.
“You’re the only danger I need to worry about,” she retorted. “No one else knows I’m na—” She bit her tongue on the rest.
“Naked under that mantle,” he finished, coming up to her.
She met him look for look but she was trembling inside. How could she have forgotten how big he was; how fierce the glittering amber of his eyes; how unyielding the grim set of his mouth. His scar was clearly visible in the daylight—the mark of a warrior. He looked exactly what he was. Big and tough and dangerous.
And she felt an utterly insane impulse to reach up and touch the scar with her fingertips, somehow to heal the hurt.
“I…I thought you’d gone,” she stammered.
The annoyance in his eyes was replaced by a quizzical gleam that was unexpectedly attractive. “That gives me a very poor opinion of the men you seem to admire, princess. Have they always let you down?”
“Those strutting popinjays,” she scoffed. “They probably would have run from that thief last night, let alone abandoned me in this forest. All they care about is whether or not their sleeves should be slashed, and the color of their hose.”
His black brows shot up. “And here I thought my lack of an appreciation of fashion was an annoyance to you.”
She glared at him, silenced.
His mouth relaxed in a smile that echoed the wicked amusement in his eyes. “As much as I would like to continue this interesting comparison of bodyguards and popinjays, lady, ’tis time you dressed.”
When she didn’t move, he added softly, “Because if you let that mantle fall any lower, I might assume you’ve changed your mind about taking a bodyguard for your next lover.”
“What!” Nell looked down and gasped. She had been so enthralled by the notion that Beaudene possessed a sense of humor that she hadn’t noticed her precarious hold on his mantle. Her shoulders were bare and only her fingers clenched around a fold of wool between her breasts kept her decently covered.
She made a grab for the rest of the garment and her wits. Her next lover? Him?
“Every man at court will repent and become a monk before I let you lay a finger on me,” she retorted, finally retrieving her voice. Whirling, she stalked back into the corridor, uncomfortably aware that her outraged departure was somewhat hampered by the unravelling length of mantle trailing behind her, baring more of her back with every step.
“Mannerless brute! Overgrown…bodyguard!”
Muttering furiously, conscious that she was as angry with herself as she was with Beaudene, she sent a fulminating glance over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t followed her before discarding his mantle and yanking her shift over her head. She debated for a moment about whether to wear the crucifix around her neck, then decided against it. Beaudene would notice its sudden appearance and wonder why she hadn’t been wearing it before.
She fastened the cords of the pouch around her waist. Her gown followed. It was still damp around the skirts but the slight discomfort was barely noticeable.
“Next lover! Before that happens fish will walk from the sea and dance on land.” She pulled on her hose, grimacing at the muddy stains that all but obscured the dainty gold stars embroidered on the silk. Her shoes, which had not been fashioned with exposure to inclement weather in mind, were in no better condition. They were scratched beyond repair and the long points had curled up and inward and stiffened in that position, making the shoes difficult to put on.
“This is all his fault,” she ground out, teeth clenched as she balanced on one foot and tugged at the recalcitrant leather. “Next lover! What a jest! If he was the last man on this earth he wouldn’t be my next lover.”
“If I was the last man on this earth, you wouldn’t have a choice.”
A startled squeak echoed through the chamber as Nell lost her shoe and her balance. She teetered for a moment then fell forward against the fireplace. Her out-flung hand ploughed straight into the pile of hot ashes, sending sparks flying.
Beaudene was across the small chamber in seconds, scooping her away from the fire and up into his arms. She barely had time to feel the pain of her burns before they were outside and she was being carried swiftly through the trees.
&nb
sp; Even then pain was only a vague sensation. She had never been carried in a man’s arms in her life. At least, not that she remembered. The sudden feeling of helplessness was unnerving. She wanted to struggle, to fight her way free, but at the same time she wanted to nestle into his strength. The conflicting sensations collided with a dizzying awareness of the heat of his body and the coiled power of his arms.
Dazed, desperately praying that Beaudene couldn’t feel the way she was trembling inside, she scarcely noticed when they reached a small glade dissected by a stream. The horses were grazing nearby, already saddled.
Beaudene lowered her to the ground and grasped her left hand. “Sweet suffering saints,” he bit out, examining her reddened palm before pressing her down on to the grassy bank and kneeling beside her.
She peered over his arm to study her injuries. “’Tis not so bad. A few blisters. I doubt the saints will take much notice.”
He sent her a look that could have raised blisters without the help of any fire, and shoved her hand unceremoniously into the stream.
Nell gasped as her burned flesh reacted painfully to the cold water. She would have snatched her hand back, but Beaudene’s fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her still.
“I know it hurts,” he said, his voice surprisingly gruff. “Try to relax. ’Twill stop stinging in a minute.”
“You must have a lot of success against your enemies with that trick,” she muttered after a moment. She unclenched her teeth as the cool water began to take the sting away from the small wounds.
“What trick?”
“Sneaking up on people.”
He looked at her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “My enemies don’t spend a lot of time talking to themselves, princess. They’re too busy listening for me.”
“I’ll remember that,” she retorted as he turned away again. But she couldn’t wholly suppress an answering smile. He looked so much younger when that wicked gleam replaced the coldness in his eyes and—
He was much younger than she’d first supposed, she realized with a startled little intake of air. And handsome. Why hadn’t she seen that before?
Her smile faded as she studied his broad, high cheekbones, the straight blade of his nose; the firm line of his jaw. Against the backdrop of sunlit trees his profile had a stern masculine beauty that yet was faintly softened by the intriguing lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Lines that did, indeed, hint at humor. While his mouth…
Her gaze lowered and a deep, very feminine frisson of awareness shimmered through her. He was hard and dangerous, aye, but in the passionate curve of his lower lip she saw something that might once have been gentleness. For the first time she found herself wondering how he’d got his scar.
“Nell?”
The husky sound of her name brought her head up.
“Your hand,” he said, clearly repeating the question. “Does it feel better?”
“Oh…aye. ’Tis no longer stinging.” A blush rose to her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She had been in Beaudene’s company for hours now. Why was she suddenly blushing and stuttering like a fool because he smiled at her? Why did she feel as if she was seeing him for the first time? As if she was only just now noticing him.
Noticing him? She must have lost her wits. He hadn’t exactly been invisible before! And what of the questions she’d put aside last night? Never mind about his scar and who had given it to him. Probably some other unfortunate female he had tormented beyond bearing.
Summoning the resolve that had seen her through the last three years unscathed, she forced herself to meet those disturbing eyes with their lurking smile. And in the clear light of morning, she knew exactly where to start.
“What does the King have to do with all this?” she demanded. And watched his face go still.
For a long moment he was silent, then he shrugged. “Naught.”
Nell blinked at him, unable to believe one word was the only answer she was going to get. With an abrupt movement that made her start, Beaudene released her wrist and rose to his feet.
“Keep your hand in the water a while longer,” he said curtly. “I’m going back for your shoes and to cover the entrance to the corridor.”
“But… Wait!” she cried, slewing around, still on her knees, as she realized he was already walking away.
When he reached the trees he paused and glanced back, his gaze so hard, so cold, that a primitive awareness of a force more powerful than any she’d ever encountered swept over her. So might the hawk look upon the earth from its unassailable eyrie, she thought. Proud and aloof. Invincible.
“What…what about breakfast?” she asked faintly.
“You’re soaking your hand in it,” he said, and turned away.
Nell stared after him then turned to glare at the cheerfully bubbling stream washing over her hand. She didn’t know whether to curse Beaudene or herself for the ease with which he’d just intimidated her. She couldn’t allow that to happen again. She would have the truth.
“I will,” she whispered, determination firming the set of her mouth. After all, she was no stranger to men who used charm—and when that didn’t work, intimidation or force—to have their way. Surely she was strong enough to stop Beaudene deciding her fate without a whimper of protest? There had been secrets in that cool, distant gaze, and by the saints, she would have them out.
And what of your own secrets, demanded an intrusive little voice inside her head.
She frowned and withdrew her hand from the water, examining her palm before gingerly patting it dry on her gown. The movement shifted the hidden crucifix.
If Beaudene possessed secrets, so did she. Even more. If he expected her uncle to follow them, he would take the most direct route to her home, for their only hope of reaching it safely lay in outrunning their pursuers. How was she to persuade him to make a detour to the cathedral at Wells without revealing a truth he might not believe? Especially when a wall of suspicion already stood between them.
A wall that would not be removed by blunt demands for information, she mused, as Beaudene reappeared.
He moved through the trees with the purposeful stride of a hunter who knows his prey is within easy reach. ’Twas better not to watch that swift, almost silent approach, she decided. The urge to run was too imperative.
And the most frightening part was that, this time, she wasn’t sure she would run from him.
That unnerving thought had her quickly bending down to the stream. If water was the only sustenance available she might as well use it as an excuse to avoid looking at him. In truth, ’twould be a good idea to take a drink, if only she could stop her hand from shaking.
“Here.”
Beaudene’s voice brought her head around, water dripping forgotten from her fingers. His long legs, clad in black hose and knee-length boots, filled her vision. Her shoes dangled from his hand, held by one finger hooked under the misshapen points. Nell reached for them.
“Not so fast,” he said, hunkering down beside her. “How do you expect to get your feet into the stirrups wearing these?” He swung the shoes back and forth in front of her wary gaze. “More to the point, how do you expect to get them out again?”
“I wouldn’t have to wear them at all if you hadn’t kidnapped me last night,” she pointed out. “Those shoes are fashioned for indoor use, not for riding in pouring rain.”
“Ah.” His lips twitched. “My ignorance of fashion again. I cry pardon, lady. But we still have a problem, unless…”
“Unless what?” She frowned intently at her maligned footwear and tried to think of a solution. It was difficult when her wretched mind kept thinking instead that Beaudene’s eyes held that hint of a smile again. Why couldn’t he remain arrogant and sarcastic and cold? Then she could remain angry.
Her thoughts shattered on a gasp when he drew his dagger.
He placed her shoes on the grass, held them steady with his free hand, and brought his dagger slashing through the air in a swift downward a
rc that was so fast she would swear the very air between them had been rent asunder.
The curled-up points of her shoes lay on the ground, sliced through as cleanly as if he’d wielded an executioner’s sword.
In the ensuing silence the gurgling stream sounded unnaturally loud. Nell picked up her shoes and examined them. “You’re very quick with that knife,” she observed faintly.
A predatory smile flashed across his face. “In this world, princess, ’tis the quick or the dead. And no one has succeeded in killing me yet.”
Only by a fierce effort of will did she stop her gaze going to his scar.
“Well,” she managed to say. “My toes will probably freeze, but at least I won’t be dragged behind my horse should I lose my seat.” She bent to put on her shoes. “Thank you.”
“Nay.” He glanced quickly around the glade. “I’ll do it. The leather is stiff and you only have the use of one hand. We need to be on our way again without delay.”
Something in the way he scanned their surroundings made her extend one small silk-clad foot, then the other, without argument. As her shoes were slipped on, she looked around the glade herself. She couldn’t see far into the trees, but all seemed quiet.
“Would I be missed already?” she asked. “So early?”
“’Tis not of your family I’m thinking.” He looked up, one hand still resting on her foot. “After last night they’re likely to be still abed, nursing sore heads. Even if they find that body, we should have another hour or two start on them.”
“What is it, then?”
He shrugged, as though not greatly concerned, but the look he sent her brought all her senses to quivering alertness. “There are other dangers to be encountered on the roads, lady. But I wouldn’t expect you to know of them.”
“I haven’t been locked away in a convent for the past ten years,” she retorted. “I do know something of the world.”
“Aye. The desire of men and how to use it.”
He bit off the words as if he was angry, but a second later his voice lowered and went soft. The hand resting on her foot slid upward until his long fingers closed in a warm, gentle vise around her ankle. “But what of your own desires, princess?”
