Besides, there were other raiding bands of Welsh who preyed on anyone who dared to cross Offa’s Dyke, whether coming or going, supporters of Owain Gwynedd in particular. Even if Rhys had received her message in time, Sir Graham and his comrades could yet fall under a different hand. The risk remained high, and Alana was well aware that the days ahead promised to be long ones. If the knights returned safely, the tension inside the fortress would subside. And if they didn’t… what then?
Alana found she was beside some barrels and crates stored near the side gate. Hoisting herself, she sat atop one of the barrels. With feet dangling, she began to ponder the extent of her punishment, wondering what form it might take.
Her imagination took flight, and she saw herself suffering from a myriad of penalties that ranged from the mortifying embarrassment of being made to stand naked in a cold, pelting rain, to—horror of horrors!—being drawn and quartered.
So absorbed was she in the scenarios that popped in and out of her mind—especially the one where Paxton forced her to become his paramour—that she didn’t hear the footsteps drawing nigh. She nearly leapt from her skin when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder.
“Lost in your thoughts?”
Paxton’s familiar voice triggered a quick response. As flames of embarrassment licked up her neck to her face, she couldn’t help wonder if that one vignette, which repeatedly played in her mind, had somehow beckoned him to her side.
The mental pictures of them being locked in an ardent embrace refused to subside. Alana instantly went on the defensive. Her breath rushed from her lungs as she snapped, “Don’t ever scare me that way again!”
“I called out to you, twice,” he stated, edging a hip onto the barrel next to the one where she perched. “I was certain you heard me… until you jumped, that is.” He tilted his head. “You sound agitated. Why?”
Thankful the lighting was such that he couldn’t conceivably see the flush on her face, Alana kept her gaze pointed forward. After what had been spinning around in her head, how could she ever look at him?
She responded to his query with a question of her own. “If someone just took ten years off your life, wouldn’t you sound agitated?”
“Not as agitated as you are. What’s wrong… besides my scaring you?”
Still plagued by her wild imaginings, which she now deemed as distasteful, she felt his scrutiny. Oh, why didn’t he just go away?
“Nothing’s wrong,” she muttered.
There was a prolonged silence, then he said, “Alana, I may not know you as well as I’d like, but—”
“What do you mean by that?”
She shot the words at him, her gaze affixing itself to his face. That he seemed taken aback wasn’t surprising.
“Mean by what?”
The thought occurred that she might be overreacting, her own guilt the cause. Even so, Alana forged ahead. “Not knowing me as well you’d like.”
Again there was silence. Then the light of dawning streamed across Paxton’s face. “I wasn’t referring to knowing you in the biblical sense, if that’s what you’ve assumed… at least not this time. But then, you didn’t allow me to finish my sentence, did you?”
Alana couldn’t say why her power to reason had gone awry. Perhaps it was due to the strain of her worrying over her kinsmen and Paxton’s men. Maybe she could owe it to her fear of what would happen to her if the knights didn’t return safe and sound. Or most probably, she could blame it on Paxton and the strange emotions he always managed to evoke whenever he was near. Whatever the cause, somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood she wasn’t thinking straight. Still, she hopped on his words like a cat on a mouse.
“So!” she exclaimed, bounding down from the barrel to face him. She burrowed her fists into her waist. “You have thought of me in that vein, have you?”
Just as fast Paxton slid to his feet. “Several times,” he growled, standing toe-to-toe with her. “In fact, milady, if you must know, I’ve thought of you in that vein more often than not!”
Righteous anger filled her, and Alana’s eyes narrowed. “You men disgust me. First, it was Gilbert demanding his husbandly due, always wanting to ease his needs. Never mind my needs. No! He cared little about the loving sort of tenderness that should be shown to the woman who was his wife.
“Then, of course, it was Sir Goddard. Because of his hatred of me and my heritage, he tried to punish me by defiling me. Thank God the bastard is gone!
“Now it’s you and your offensive fantasies about us. What makes you think I would welcome your advances, inside your head or out! Men!” she blasted his gender again. “You’re all naught but a bunch of rutting beasts! I scorn the lot of you.”
Though she didn’t realize it, her words were more telling than she knew. She expected a cutting reply in defense of his own sex… waited for it, in fact. To her astonishment, he merely released a long breath.
“What? Have you nothing to say?” she goaded, eager for a fight. Her fist itched, almost painfully so, for Alana wanted to poke him straight in the nose.
“Aye, I have something to say. Considering what you’ve suffered from two of the men you mentioned, I can understand your feelings of disgust.”
Before she could utter a protest, he caught her face in his hands, assuring he had her full attention.
“But I tell you this, Alana of Llangollen: If we were to make love, those feelings of abhorrence would quickly ebb. I’m not selfish like Gilbert was. Nor am I brutal like Sir Goddard whose lone intent was not an act of lust but one of violence. In my arms, you’d find ecstasy, an emotion you’ve obviously never enjoyed.
“You’re not a complete innocent, who has no understanding of what a man and a woman do when secreted behind the curtains of their bed. Imagine how it could be between us. Long, slow passionate kisses, our tongues mating, sending a burst of heat deep into our bellies; urgent but gentle caresses, our skin tingling, eager to experience each new magical touch. Envision us together, along with the pleasure our closeness could bring. Once our desire for each other can no longer be contained, I’ll join with you. And you will welcome me, Alana. This I promise you.” His fingers threaded into her hair, urging her to him. “When you’re inclined to share this sort of intimacy with a man who knows how to make a woman’s body tremble with longing, when you’re ready to savor the rapture only I can give you, come to me. Until then, remember this.”
His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was at first soft and teasing. Then his lips became demanding, devouring, and his tongue plunged to search and to probe.
He was a master at this, Alana thought as sparks showered inside her igniting a fire in her loins. She moaned as she remembered what he’d said about the burst of heat. She thought to respond, but was denied the chance.
“Remember,” he whispered on drawing back. With that he abandoned her.
Frozen in place, Alana stared after Paxton as he disappeared into the shadows. Her mind raced as her fingers rose to her lips. They were wet, bruised. And, yes, still hungry for his.
Undeniably his suggestive words and tantalizing kiss had stirred her blood. Both had left her breathless and wanting.
She was tempted to go after him, shout that she was willing to accept his invitation. Yet she held back.
He’d promised her joy, pleasure, ecstasy, rapture—all delights of the flesh.
But Alana sought far more than those things that were carnal in nature.
Before she gave herself to any man again, she required something that came from his very soul, something she doubted Paxton could ever offer, something she was unsure she’d accept.
That something was a pledge of love.
CHAPTER
7
Paxton was not in the best of moods.
The past two nights had taken their toll. With his worry over Graham’s safety, and the safety of the two men who had accompanied his friend, along with his fretting about whether or not he’d have to punish Alana, which in itself m
ight provoke an uprising among the Welsh inside the fortress, he’d had little sleep.
Then there were the recurring visions that came to him during those short periods of intermittent slumber.
God’s wounds! He never knew his dreams to be so real, so vivid. He could have sworn he was actually living them.
They were always of Alana.
She lay naked on a soft bed of wildflowers in a glade within the deep wood, slender arms beckoning for him to come to her. Stripping from his clothing, he’d lie beside her. Soon they were fully joined, limbs entwined, she welcoming each of his unerring strokes. But before he could reach his climax, she attaining her own, he’d come fully awake.
His heart would be pounding, his breath coming in hard pants. Likewise his sweat soaked his pallet while his manhood ached with a merciless throb.
After five such episodes of this for two nights on end, he was worn and tired. If the occurrences continued to haunt him as they had, he was certain he’d soon go mad.
A long sigh rushed through his lips as he pushed the half-empty trencher of bread, cheese, and chopped meat across the table. He and his men were gathered in the hall to break the fast, while the Welsh were already hard at their chores. He had no appetite. At least not for food. His eyes sought and found Alana. She was what he wanted.
Her ethereal likeness flashed through his mind, and Paxton felt his loins stir.
Damnation!
He shoved himself up off the bench and stalked toward the entry in want of some fresh air… and, he hoped, some peace of mind.
Remember.
The command rolled through Alana’s thoughts while she watched Paxton stride from the hall.
How could she forget?
Every time she so much as glimpsed him she recalled his kiss. Without a doubt, she’d always believed he was exceptionally handsome, his face and form a work of perfection. Until the other night, his startling blue eyes were what had held her captivated. Now her fascination lay with his lips. The memory of their mastery hadn’t left her. Even now she could feel their tantalizing play.
The ghostly sensation caused Alana to groan. This had to stop!
There was only one way to end the wild fantasies that were constantly flitting about in her head. She had to openly tell him she’d never seek his attentions, never propose that he make love to her.
Certain this was the answer, she set the empty trencher she held on the table and skipped along toward the door, determined to put this whole outlandish incident to rest.
By the time Alana reached the courtyard, Paxton had vanished from sight. She glanced at the garrison, then scanned the wall walk to see if he were there. Her shoulders slumped when she didn’t see him, for her courage was fast waning.
Then she heard his called command to open the side gate. Gathering up her skirt, she was at once after him.
Paxton leaned a shoulder against the thick trunk of an oak. Plucking several acorns from the dozen or so he’d scooped into his hand, he idly tossed them in the vicinity of a ground squirrel. The small creature scurried from one golden brown nugget to another, feasting on one, storing the other in its cheek.
A twig snapped behind them. The squirrel hastened into the cover of the leaves, and Paxton turned to see who’d come upon him.
Alana.
Paxton cast the remainder of the acorns into the wind, then straightened from the tree. “Milady,” he greeted, wishing it had been anyone but her. “What are you doing out here?”
“I want to speak to you… if I may?”
“You don’t have to ask my permission to talk to me, Alana.” He noted how her small teeth worried her lower lip. “I presume you wish to discuss what happened the night before last, correct?”
“Yes.”
She stayed at a safe distance. Considering what had thus far occurred between them, Paxton guessed she was unwilling to venture any closer. “Do you expect me to apologize?”
“An apology is not necessary.”
Paxton was surprised. “No?”
“No.”
Her response was curt, and Paxton braced himself, waiting for the tirade he felt certain was to follow. Not a word came forth. He might have left it at that, except he wasn’t in any humor to play games. “Lost your nerve, have you?”
“My nerve?”
“Aye. You tracked after me in order to air your feelings. Now you are suddenly hesitant to approach the topic. Either have at it or take yourself back up the hill. Which do you say?”
Her eyes flashed as she squared her shoulders. “I say you are insufferably rude. You’re Norman, therefore such coarseness is to be expected. But that is neither here nor there. The other night was partially my fault, and I shall accept my portion of the blame. However, if you are under the assumption that I shall one day come to you, begging for your favors, you are mistaken, for it will not happen. So, if you’re harboring any such fantasies about us, I suggest you forever put them to rest.” Her chin rose, and she stared down her nose at him. “There. ’Tis said.”
Her posture was moralistic, her tone petulant, and at her final word, Paxton expected she might stamp her foot for emphasis. His eyes narrowed as he emitted a loud snort. Who exactly was she attempting to gull?
He offered her a deliberate grin. “And a fine speech it is, milady,” he stated. “’Twould be believable, save for one thing.”
Her bravado faded, and she grew very still. “What thing?”
“My kiss. Remember?”
Alana sputtered in protest, but he waved her off.
“Don’t try to deny it. The very fact that you followed me into the wood tells me you haven’t forgotten it.” As galling as it was, neither had Paxton. He became more surly. “What occurred between us was a mistake. That much I’ll admit. But let it be known that the incident would never have happened had you not cut me off in midsentence. Instead of allowing me to finish, you twisted my words and concluded something that was totally unjustified, all in the space of one breath.”
“Twisted your words?” she asked incredulously. “What illogical sort of logic are you trying to foist on me now?”
It was obvious she had not a clue as to what he meant. “Knowing you—does that sound familiar?” He didn’t give her an opportunity to answer. “You call me rude, a fault that comes with my being Norman. In reply, I say you are equally as rude, if not more so. And the failure, milady, has nothing to do with the fact that you are Welsh. In the courtyard, had you the courtesy to hear me out, you would have discovered that I was concerned about you, for your worry was evident. But no! You came up with this ridiculous idea that my only interest in you stemmed from some sordid desire to bed you.”
“You admitted as much,” Alana interjected in haste.
“I don’t deny that. But my craving for you is no greater in measure than what I’ve felt for a hundred other women who are all now part of my past.”
A lie, Paxton thought, but the flames of Hell would be doused and cooled by the waters of the entire North Sea before he’d admit differently.
“’Twas your own purple little mind which came up with this nonsense that I wanted to know you intimately,” he snarled. “To play along, I allowed you to believe it was true.”
Another falsehood, he conceded in silence. He couldn’t explain why, but the longing he felt for Alana was far superior to any yearning he’d ever experienced. And that vexed him. Especially when she may have murdered his friend.
“So, milady, you may blame yourself for all that transpired the other night. You may also be assured it will never happen again—not unless by word or by deed you should invite it. Therefore, I suggest you proceed back up the hill, for if you tarry, you can wager I’ll take that as an open invitation to alleviate my carnal urges.”
With a gasp, she lifted her skirts and turned away, when in afterthought, he called out to her. She circled around.
“In response to your concerns, I don’t want to punish you, nor do I want to make you an example of wh
at will happen to anyone who disobeys my commands. Hope, Alana, that Aldwyn got to your kin across the river in time to prevent another slaughter, for if Graham and his comrades don’t return safely, I will have no choice but to fulfill my promise. Now go.”
Paxton watched as Alana whirled around, whereupon she scrambled up the hill and through the gate. Once the portal closed, he leaned against the same tree where he’d been resting his shoulder before she’d come upon him. He looked off into the distance, beyond the river, thoughts of her punishment uppermost in his mind.
He noted how her dark eyes had widened in surprise when he’d mentioned Aldwyn and her kin. No doubt she took him for a fool, believing he’d not catch on to the little hoax that she and Aldwyn had perpetrated.
Skipping stones, indeed.
He’d almost fallen for the ruse, but Aldwyn’s sudden disappearance had given him away. He didn’t go after the lad for one simple reason: The message from Alana to her uncle was meant to help protect Graham and the two knights on their journey to and from Offa’s Dyke. Likewise, it was meant to help protect her.
Which of the two was more important to her, her own safety or the knights’, he didn’t know. But for her sake, and certainly for the sake of his men, he prayed this Rhys fellow restrained his lust for Norman blood and opted instead to safeguard his niece.
Paxton sighed heavily, his thoughts growing more ponderous by the moment.
This being the third day—the day that Paxton had ordered Graham and the others back to the castle—the group should be showing outside the gates sometime before nightfall.
As a precaution, though, for Paxton understood there could be mishaps—a horse going lame, a rider injured in a fall, the band of men and mounts drawing off course and getting lost—he decided he would wait until the evening of the fourth day before he took any action against Alana. If by then Graham and the others had not returned, there would be nothing left for him to do.
Regrettably, she would be flogged. And though the thought pained him, he would be the one who plied the whip.
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