by Byrne, Julia
Nell almost lifted straight off the ground in shock. Hot tingles raced up the inside of her leg to the very center of her being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. And even as she told herself to move, to kick free of his hold, the feeling of being held captive swept over her as it had last night.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
Torturing myself, Rafe thought, clenching his teeth against a wave of desire. Nell’s immediate, unfeigned response to his touch set his blood pulsing so fiercely he was grateful for the warnings of danger his instincts were sending him. Otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep from stripping them both right now, laying Nell back on the grass and covering her with his body. Taking her, claiming her, mating like creatures of the forest with the sun beating down on their naked flesh until its heat was lost in the hotter fires of passion. And pursuit be damned.
But even as he forced the tormenting images from his mind, he could no more stop his fingers stroking upward than he could stop his next breath. Under the silk of her hose her flesh was warm; he wanted to know if it would feel as soft.
“My lord?” Her voice, trembling and confused, pierced the fog of desire threatening to swamp his sanity. He dragged his gaze from her slender limbs, exposed as her gown gave way before the slow advance of his hand, and went still when he saw her eyes.
Surrender was there, soft and helpless, but overtaking it was confusion and the beginnings of fear.
He frowned. Was she playing some deep game? Did she think to hold him at arm’s length by feigning maidenly nervousness? It wouldn’t work when he could see the rapid pulse beating in her throat, and hear the way her breath caught on each tiny gasp of air.
Desire raked across his senses and he cursed silently as he remembered that this wasn’t the time or the place to seduce her. But that time would come. Of that he was sure.
“Do you know something, princess? I think I just found a price you’ve never thought to demand of a man. And I’m more than willing to pay it.”
Nell couldn’t make sense of his words. His fingers still encircled her leg, lightly stroking the back of her knee, but ’twas only a touch. Barely felt. Why, then, did she feel chained, unable to move? The sensation was frightening, but underlying it was a shivery excitement that rippled through every nerve in her body until she wasn’t sure which feeling was dominant.
Then, with one last lingering caress, Beaudene removed his hand and she could breathe again.
“You forgot your garters,” he said, as calmly as if touching her hadn’t affected him at all.
Hot color stung her cheeks as she realized that was probably true. He didn’t like her and there was no reason to think his unsettling behavior this morning meant any change in that regard.
She stared blindly at the hand that reached into his surcoat to draw out two lengths of gold ribbon. Breathing was one thing. Rational thought still seemed beyond her. But when Beaudene lifted his hand to her knee again and pushed her skirts higher, desperation jolted her into speech.
“Nay! They tie below the knee.”
His eyes, glittering and intent, gazed straight into hers, and their expression was anything but calm. “I don’t think so.”
“Then let me. I can…”
But she couldn’t. If she tried to take over the small task of fastening her garters, he would see how badly she was trembling. All she could do was watch as he smoothed her hose up her legs and tied the garters in place. His long fingers brushed over the delicate flesh of her inner thighs and she had to bite her lip to stop the tiny whimper that almost escaped from her throat. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt jolted by each beat, and she felt the strangest urge to lie down, to feel his hands—
“There.”
The deep note of satisfaction in his voice cut through her whirling senses. What had gone so disastrously wrong with her plan to keep Beaudene at a distance? What had happened to his distaste for being one of a crowd? What had happened to her distaste at a man’s touch?
Before any answers presented themselves he stood, reached down for her hand, and pulled her upright. She stiffened her knees just in time to stop herself sinking right back down again.
“Time to go, princess.”
“Aye,” she whispered, and closed her mind to the unmistakable note of panic in her voice.
CHAPTER NINE
“Tell me about those accidents that befell you.”
As he spoke, Beaudene slowed the horses from a gallop to a gentler gait. Their initial pace had been dangerous given the density of the trees still in full leaf, but Nell hadn’t questioned it. She’d been grateful for the concentration needed to follow him along a path that seemed visible only to him, because she didn’t want to think about the meaning of the burning look he’d given her before tying her garters. Even less did she want to think about the way she had all but melted at his touch.
They left the shelter of the trees and rejoined the road—more a wide path cut through the forest than a proper thoroughfare—and she cast a quick, sidelong glance at him. He didn’t seem in any hurry for her answer. His keen gaze scanned the woods on both sides of the road, and though he sat his horse with the ease of a man used to long hours in the saddle, she sensed a waiting tension in him, as if he was ready to meet an attack head-on.
What would he say if she told him she knew how it felt to live like that? Always watching, always waiting, constantly aware of danger. The sudden feeling of affinity with him made her uneasy, and yet curiosity stirred.
Who was he, this man who could flay her with scorn last night and tease her this morning? Who could tend her hurts one moment, and become as remote as the moon the next? Who could kill with cold, silent efficiency but who touched her with a gentleness that made her forget everything she’d learned in the past.
“You said something startled your horse a few days after your father’s letter arrived summoning you home,” he prompted. “Was anyone near you at the time?”
Nell started, her cheeks warming when she realized that Beaudene’s hawk-like gaze had shifted to her face. “No one was near me,” she answered quickly. “I wasn’t hurt. And, despite what you think, ’twas an accident. Now, tell me about the King.”
His brows shot up.
“Did you think I would be satisfied with ‘naught’ for an answer?” she asked, restored to composure at the knowledge that, for once, she’d taken her formidable bodyguard by surprise. Even the flint-eyed stare that accompanied his next question didn’t shake her.
“Do you know Edward?”
She met his look coolly. “We’ve met.”
“It must have been a memorable meeting for the King to concern himself with your safety.”
“Edward of York concerns himself rarely with the safety or honor of women, my lord. I doubt his memories of me are pleasant ones.”
“What did you do? Demand favors that were beyond his power to bestow?”
His suddenly biting tone flicked her like a whip but she kept her face expressionless. “Something like that.”
Something like that?
Rage tore through Rafe with a force that shocked him. So what if Edward had been before him? He’d known he wouldn’t be the first. Hell’s teeth, Nell could have lain with all condition of men from the King to the humblest spit-boy and it wouldn’t change the only use he had for her. Why did he feel this anger, this fury; this insane urge to seek out the King and throttle the truth out of him?
Like every other man in the kingdom he regarded Edward’s incessant wenching with amused indulgence. Men made jest of the fact that no woman was sacred. Wives or daughters, married or virgin, all were meat to his insatiable palate. But Nell—
Had the King been her first lover? Had his friend of ten years used his legendary looks and charm to seduce the niece of a potential supporter, leaving her wanton? For once a maidenhead was lost, it mattered not how many others came after.
Rafe looked at her, riding proud and silent by his side, and the q
uestion gnawed at him like a cankerous growth. Had she gone to Edward’s bed? By the fiend, had she known the King as well?
With an effort he pushed the question aside. Anger would not serve him now. Anger, unleashed, destroyed rather than served. He’d learnt that lesson well.
“Something like that,” he repeated. “By your tone ’twas not a happy occasion. Do your sympathies lie with Lancaster, lady, as did your father’s? Dangerous politics in these times.”
“My sympathies lie with neither,” Nell stated. “Unless it be with their unfortunate wives.”
“Don’t waste your pity. One is a termagant, and the other so cold ’tis a wonder Edward doesn’t freeze every time he climbs into bed with her.”
Nell glared at him. “What else would he expect when he threatened to take Mistress Woodville at knifepoint because she withstood his blandishments rather than compromise her virtue?”
“Aye.” A short, humorless laugh escaped him. “Elizabeth knew what she was about, that is for certain. From a penniless widow with two sons to Queen of England in a matter of months. And never mind that an important French alliance founders in the process.”
“Just like a man to blame the woman in the case,” Nell retorted hotly. “The truth is that your king thinks every woman was put on this earth for his pleasure, and he couldn’t bear to be bested by one. He could have left Mistress Woodville alone. He could have helped—”
She stopped dead, only to hurry into speech again when Beaudene turned a piercing stare on her. “Henry of Lancaster might be weak— Very well, simple-minded,” she amended when his brows went up. “But at least he’s not a whoremonger.”
“Mayhap we have something in common then, lady. You have little time for the King, and I have none at all for the Queen. On the other hand, cold ambition is preferable to Margaret of Anjou’s viciousness. While Henry sank into the witless state he seems to prefer, she and her commanders damn near ruined the country. As for the atrocities of her army—”
“It sounds to me as though you have little time for any woman,” she interrupted. “Margaret is a mother. Mayhap she fights for Henry’s son.”
He snorted with derision. “Henry’s son? Aye, and I’m the son of the Pope! If Henry himself can wonder at the boy’s begetting, what are the rest of us to think?”
“A truly fascinating question,” she observed. “But it doesn’t tell me what the King has to do with this journey, and why you would need to make a promise to him regarding my safety.”
He threw her an exasperated glance. “If it sets your mind at rest, madam persistence, your father is wooing the King, hoping to be confirmed in his lands by renouncing his allegiance to Lancaster. Edward asked me to ensure your safe journey as a sign of good faith while he considers the matter.”
“But the court is presently at Reading, and Hadleigh Castle and your own lands in Somerset.” She frowned, remembering that Beaudene had evaded a similar question last night. “Do you ask me to believe that the King and my father expected you to travel all the way to Langley when I already had escort aplenty?”
He shrugged. “Believe what you like. As it happens, I, too, have a petition awaiting Edward’s attention. To travel a day or so out of my way seemed a small price to pay on account toward a favorable outcome.”
“And has your gallant escort been so rewarded, my lord?”
“Time will tell,” he said enigmatically. “Can we move on to more pressing matters? You said something about the standards in the hall falling on you.”
“Holy saints! And you call me persistent!”
When he narrowed his eyes at her, Nell capitulated. She wasn’t entirely satisfied with Beaudene’s explanation, but without knowing why she felt she had missed something important, ’twas difficult to know what questions to ask.
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “’Twas merely one of those unchancy things. I was standing in the hall and one of the lances jutting out from the minstrels’ gallery must have come loose, or mayhap ’twas never securely fastened. In any event, it fell and struck my shoulder—not with the point fortunately.”
“Fortuitous, indeed. Was anyone up there?”
“Saints above, how would I know? The stupid thing was so heavy it knocked me to my knees and I was buried under the banner for a full minute.”
“You couldn’t have been alone in the hall. Didn’t anyone see anything?”
“No one was looking up,” she said dryly. “They were too busy exclaiming and wringing their hands, or trying to free me.”
He smiled in rueful acknowledgement. “So you weren’t hurt?”
“Well—” She paused and an irrepressible gurgle of laughter escaped her. “I sneezed a lot. That accursed banner was full of dust. Hadn’t been washed in years.”
Beaudene’s answering shout of laughter took her completely by surprise. Glancing at him, she saw that his tawny eyes were alight with amusement.
A little bubble of warmth burst inside her. She felt happy all at once, as though in making him laugh she had accomplished something special. That sense of recognition, tentative and fleeting, rippled through her again. Suddenly tongue-tied, she smiled shyly back at him.
“You thought ’twas your cousin Margaret indulging her spite, didn’t you,” he said gently.
Nell hesitated, then nodded. “I still do. I know she slashed my gown, and as for the other things, ’twould be just like her to slip a physic in my broth, or lock me in with the dogs, or claim she misfired at the butts. She never liked me. Nor did my aunt. Not that I was broken-hearted about it,” she added hastily. Memories flitted through her mind and she pushed them away with a little shiver. “The younger girls were all right, but Thomas and Edmund… Well, you saw them.”
“Aye.” He studied her thoughtfully. “If Tom wants to marry you, your uncle must expect to gain a papal dispensation without any trouble.”
“Oh, Tom is not really my cousin.” She grimaced. “Thank the Lord. My uncle was a widower with Tom a babe when he married Aunt Maud. ’Tis Margaret, Edmund, and the rest who are true kin.”
“Don’t be so hasty in thanking your Maker,” Beaudene advised. “If there’s no need for a dispensation, any plans they have to marry you to Tom may proceed apace.”
“Not any longer,” she pointed out.
“As you say.” He smiled slightly, then stared ahead between his horse’s ears. “If something happens to you, lady, who inherits your father’s lands?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. There is no one on my father’s side. I suppose Uncle Edward could claim them by right of my aunt.”
“Your mother’s sister?”
She nodded.
“Then since your aunt is currently hand in glove with the Queen, their way would be clear. Your lands would pass straight to Tom, or even the younger boy.”
“Nothing,” stated Nell with loathing, “would induce me to marry Edmund! Or Thomas, for that matter.”
“You forget. We’re talking about what would happen in the event of your death.”
“What a cheerful subject,” she muttered. “Do you think we could change it?”
“Blinding yourself to the facts won’t change anything. I agree that marriage is the easiest way of obtaining your inheritance, but if you’ve been holding firm in refusing I wouldn’t give a groat for your life. And your father may have suspected as much.”
“My father!” Her bubble of happiness promptly burst. “I have not seen nor heard from my father in more than ten years. When it became clear that my mother would bear no more children, he set up a separate household for us in Wells so he could continue a way of life that did not take account of a wife and child. He never visited, never sent to know how we fared.
“I grew up listening to my mother’s tears. She died when I was six and even then he had no time for me, but hired servants to escort me to my aunt’s house. ’Tis only now when I may be useful in gaining him more wealth, or a powerful alliance, that he remembers me. Well, I am not my mother! I
will not meekly obey and then spend my days weeping. I will be mistress of my fate!”
A taut silence followed her outburst. Somewhat uneasily, she wondered what Beaudene was thinking, but he still seemed intent on her inheritance. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or incensed that he was ignoring her diatribe.
“Whatever your father’s motives, lady, he apparently does not wish to see his lands fall into Langley hands. If he made that plain in his letter to your aunt, those accidents you dismiss as spite could have been aimed at delaying your departure with a view to forcing your hand. ’Tis not easy to resist when you’re injured or sick.”
“No one forces me to anything,” she said grimly.
Beaudene turned to look at her, brows raised.
“If you are thinking of last night,” she said, flushing, “’twas because you confused me that I let you kidnap me. If it hadn’t been for that thief—”
With a muttered imprecation, he reached over and pulled both horses to an abrupt halt.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Stripping the blindfold from your eyes, damn it.”
He reached back, extracted a length of rope from one of his packs and thrust it at her. “Look at that, lady. Look at it well, and tell me your assailant was merely a thief. This rope came from the neck of your uncle’s stallion. It has been cut through but for a few threads. Cut, Nell. Not frayed. If that damned horse had charged the rope would have snapped, you would have been trampled, and your fond relatives would be throwing up their hands in horror this morning and blaming some hapless stable lad for using a frayed tether. Look at it!”
She had no choice but to look at it, and to see the truth. Denial was impossible. The rope clenched in Beaudene’s fist was neatly sliced through so that only a few strands remained. One good tug would have been enough for the stallion to break free. Even a horse of Chevette’s size and placid temperament could do it. She could do it herself.
