What am I trying to prove, she wondered, shivering as the disappearing sunlight brought a colder chill to the air. That I'm brave enough to catch pneumonia? She laughed aloud and hugged herself tightly. The tips of her breasts hardened with the cold and suddenly Kendra remembered strong arms holding her tightly in warm, lavender-scented water; golden eyes that seemed to melt the very bones in her body as his hands caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and sank down on the ground. She spread her cloak and lay down on it, ignoring the cold, reveling in the feel of freedom that came from discarding her cumbersome clothing.
I should have asked Robin to come with me, she thought. I should make wild, passionate love to him and pledge myself to help him in his quest to free England from men like John and Garrick and Navarre. And this would be my life, to live safely, in freedom. Without Navarre de Galliard.
Kendra sat up and pulled the cloak up and over her shoulders. Enough braving the elements and proving that she was still a free spirit. Her hair streamed down over her shoulders as she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.
Without Navarre. Life without Navarre should hold no fear for her, should hold no qualms, and yet, the thought of life without him sent a sharp pain through her heart.
"Oh, Navarre," she whispered.
"Missing me, mon cher?"
Kendra looked up and gasped. Navarre de Galliard stood on the opposite side of the pool, his dark hair dancing in the fast approaching dusk, his golden eyes bunting. Before she could scream he had jumped to the other side and pulled her into his arms. Had she thought Robin's arms were strong? They were but reeds in the wind. Navarre's were iron, two steel rods that could hold her forever.
"Navarre." Kendra whispered his name, then without hesitation pulled his head down to hers, covering his mouth with her own. He stiffened, and to her surprise, thrust her away from him so forcefully that she fell backward, hitting the ground hard. She rolled to her back, her heart pounding as she stared up at the knight and saw that the fire burning in his eyes burned not with desire, but with hatred.
"Witch." He spat the word out as he stalked toward her. "Whore. Murdering sorceress." He stopped directly over her prone body, his legs braced on either side of her as he slowly pulled the leather gauntlets from his hands and threw them aside. He reached one hand to his waist and Kendra watched his deliberate movement, swallowing hard as he grasped the hilt of a long, thin dagger and pulled it from its scabbard. With the other he reached inside the folds of the dark gray cloak he wore and took out her Smith and Wesson.
"Navarre," she whispered again, this time because she could not find her voice. "What are you doing?"
"Your evil is over," he said harshly, kneeling and straddling her waist. "Or it will be in a moment. But first you will teach me how to use this sorcerous weapon. Do so, and you will die quickly, refuse and your screams will be heard as far as Nottingham."
Kendra's heart thudded dully in her ears and she was no longer cold. She couldn't feel, couldn't think. Navarre was going to kill her. Navarre didn't love her; he hated her. He was going to kill her.
With a cry, Kendra shoved him sideways and his slight movement in that direction allowed her to slide from beneath him. She scrambled backwards, pushing with both feet against the mossy ground in her mad attempt to escape. Navarre tossed the gun aside, reached out and grabbed her by one ankle, halting her frantic attempt. Slowly, he dragged her back to him, his fingers like steel around her legs as he straddled her once again, pinning her hands to her sides with his knees, holding the thin, razor-sharp blade to her throat.
Kendra stared up at him, lying as still as one already dead. It was no use trying to fight him. She could no more escape Navarre than she could stop loving him. The realization struck her with the force of a blow and she ran her tongue across her dry lips, searching for words that would not come.
"I could not believe it at first," he said, his voice dull and flat, his breath warm against her face, his strong thighs trapping her legs beneath them. "Would not believe. I wanted to think I was wrong, that Garrick was wrong. But when I saw the blood on Marian's gown I knew that all my worst fears had come true."
Kendra felt her heart quicken at the sight of the raw pain on his face.
"It is my fault again that an innocent has died." His eyes were glazed, hollow, and the sight frightened Kendra more than his words. "And I should kill you for that alone. As it is, I shall kill you to put an end to this enchantment, this evil you have spun around me, this fire you have ignited that cannot be quenched."
Navarre lifted the dagger with both hands high above her chest and Kendra felt the suffocation of fear choke her even as his words echoed in her mind. What had he said? There was blood on Marian's gown? An innocent had died? Oh my God! She willed herself to speak.
"Navarre, I did not kill Marian! I don't know what you're talking about. She's right here in the camp."
"I have watched the camp for days and I have not seen her," he said, the blade frozen above her breast. "You lie."
"No!" Kendra arched against his weight, tears burning in her eyes as she fought to keep her voice calm. "I swear to you that Marian is fine. I would never harm her, or anyone else!"
Navarre stared down at the woman, wanting to believe her words. It would be an easy matter to let her prove she spoke the truth but it mattered not. Whether Marian lived or no, the enchantment was stronger than ever. As his body pressed against hers, he had felt the fire engulfing him once again. The thin chemise she wore lay almost transparent against her skin, her peach-colored nipples hard beneath the cloth. He could feel his flesh responding even through the cloth of his leggings, the warmth spreading through his legs even as he held the dagger poised to end her life. A groan of despair escaped him. This was madness, insanity—witchery.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath pressing her creamy white skin against the chemise. Navarre closed his eyes to the sight and let the anguish rush over him. He lowered the dagger. How could he kill a woman? Even if she were a witch—how could he take her life in cold blood? He opened his eyes and saw the fear in her azure gaze, yet there was courage there as well. He had known from the first moment he saw Kendra O' Brien that not only was she trouble, she was different. She had strength, character, a sense of her own identity, intelligence, unlike any other woman he had ever known. Was it because she was a witch that she possessed these qualities? Was there any way around her death?
Navarre shivered with the cold realization that there was not. There was no other way. This enchantment would torture him as long as Kendra lived.
Kendra saw the glazed look return to his eyes, even as she saw the tears on his cheeks. Her knight had fought the battle within himself, and won. Navarre lifted the dagger. The blade in his hand began to tremble and Kendra braced herself to die, keeping her eyes open from the sheer force of her will, determined she would not make it easy for Navarre to take her life.
"Before I die," she said, her voice shaking only the slightest bit, "I want to tell you for the last time that I am not a witch. I have never even met King Richard, and while I believe in what Robin Hood is doing, I am not helping him."
"So you have said," Navarre's own voice was laced with weariness. "It changes naught."
"And the last thing I have to say before you murder me is this—I love you, Navarre."
She expected the dagger to come plunging down at her words and steeled herself for the pain. Instead, he stared down at her, the expression on his face stunned, as though that was the last thing he had expected her to say. The weapon fell from his hand. His golden eyes were round, frozen like a predator's sighting his prey. Then, suddenly he was lying beside her and she was in his arms, his body hard and warm against her.
"God, forgive me," he whispered into her hair, then with a suddenness that startled her, covered her lips with his and thrust the hot warmth of his tongue into the depths of her mouth, claiming her, searing his passion into her, demanding hers in return. The in
tensity of his need frightened her and Kendra pulled away, struggling to be released. Navarre jerked away and sat back on his heels, one hand encircling her wrist as with the other he stripped himself of his dark leggings.
"No," she said, twisting her arm in his grasp. "Navarre—wait."
Kendra cried out as he flung her back to the forest floor, his half-naked body pressing hers to the ground, his mouth burning against hers once again. The shift had ridden to her waist and he pushed the material higher, slipping his hands beneath to touch the warmth of her skin. Kendra felt the shock of Navarre's hot flesh against hers as she twisted beneath him, inadvertently pressing herself more tightly against him.
Navarre's mouth touched her ear as he whispered fervently, his breath hot, his voice tense. "We want each other. This is what we have both dreamed of," he said. "You have won, Kendra—let the sorcery be complete. I can no longer fight it, I can no longer fight the way I feel."
His lips moved to the side of her neck and Kendra knew she was lost. His hands slid down both of her arms, sensation dancing in their wake as they skimmed over her skin and across the cloth clinging to her chest. Kendra gasped as Navarre's hands touched her breasts, caressing, kneading, bringing her nipples to aching pulsation. Then his lips closed around one burning bud, suckling it through the cloth with a roughness she should have feared, but suddenly did not.
Instead she threw back her head, arching her back as his mouth seared the flesh of first her right breast and then her left. He tried to lift the cloth but it was too tight. Impatiently he grabbed the lacy neck of her chemise and pulled, ripping it down the middle. Kendra felt his chest meet hers, the roughness of his hair colliding with the smoothness of her skin. He bent to caress her breasts again but she lifted his face, her lips suddenly against his lips, then the hollow of his throat. He smelled of faint lavender and sweat and something intangibly male and Kendra abandoned herself to the passion and threw caution to the wind,
Navarre groaned as the woman yielded to him. Nay, she did not yield—she gave, passion for passion, fire for fire. He shuddered with desire as her hands moved down his back in slow, sensuous circles, then again as she opened herself beneath him. Her warmth called to him, surrounded him even as she took his face between both hands and darted her small, wet tongue inside his mouth, the movement taunting him with its symbolic mating. Navarre squeezed his eyes shut as the insanity wrapped around his mind, and suddenly there was nothing left but Kendra's body against his. The universe had slowed to a single thought, a single focus: to ease the fire searing his blood, to partake of the sweet heat she so willingly offered.
Navarre sheathed himself in her warmth like a sword finding its scabbard, and suddenly he knew why he burned so relentlessly, why the enchantment was so strong. Because he belonged with her. Whether she be witch or no, he belonged with her, fit with her like a glove and a hand. Whatever powers had thrown them together must have known what he knew now—this was meant to be.
Kendra wept silently with joy as Navarre kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair, caressing the side of her jaw with the tip of his tongue before plundering her mouth even as he continued to plunder the secrets below. This was not sex. This was not some carnal fulfillment of the flesh, she thought in some distant part of her mind. This was a joining, a union, a bonding as strong as the marriage vows she had taken with James so long ago. And she was giving herself to Navarre, emotionally, physically, in a way she never had with James.
Navarre possessed her mouth again. She tasted of honey and light and when she began to move beneath him, he no longer cared if he was enchanted or not; no longer cared whether his immortal soul was in danger, or if he survived the night, or if England survived at all. God help him, he cared not if Marian was alive or dead, for his soul was lost, as was his heart.
Kendra arched her back as Navarre filled her, matching her movements to his, stroke for stroke, feeling the ecstasy flood her veins as he joined his body to hers. Like a white-hot iron he burned his passion into her, his weight pressing her down against the forest floor. Tiny twigs scratched her bare skin, but she didn't notice. Gone were the birds, the trees, the spring, the forest. She and Navarre dwelt within a magic circle of their own creation; a circle wherein nothing else existed, save the fire between them.
White-hot he burned inside of her. White-hot she received him. They flamed in one accord, higher and higher, dancing the pagan, wordless litany of man and woman beneath the boughs of Sherwood. The world shifted into mindlessness and Kendra cried out in thankful wonder to the fates that had brought her to this time, this place, even as Navarre echoed his joy against her lips, as the inferno rose, and utterly consumed them.
Chapter Ten
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Kendra awoke shivering in the strong, safe circle of Navarre's arms. He lay against her back, one arm around her waist, the other beneath her head, cushioning her from the roughness of the forest floor. They were both turned toward the small fire he had built sometime during the night, and she had never felt so safe, so protected, so completely content in her life.
I never knew it could be like this, she thought. Never. Not when I sowed my wild oats in college, not when I married James. No man has ever moved me like this. No man has ever touched my soul, until now.
She felt the guilt and disloyalty to her dead husband begin to sweep over her and she pushed the emotion firmly away. In this time and place James had not yet even existed. It was pointless to feel guilty in such an unreal situation.
"You are like warm silk," Navarre whispered into her ear.
"You are like hot iron," she whispered back, smiling as she remembered the first time she'd made the mental comparison. His chest shook with a deep chuckle and the curly hair there tickled her back. She laughed aloud.
"Hot iron, is it?" he said. "And I only tickle you? We shall see about that."
Much, much later, Kendra snuggled against Navarre and closed her eyes. The moon in the dark night sky was beginning to set, and she knew dawn was not far behind. She should be thinking of what this day would hold for her—for both of them—but she could not. She could not shatter the bubble of happiness surrounding them with anything as mundane as reality.
"Tell me you are not a witch,"' Navarre said suddenly, his deep voice soft, almost trembling.
Kendra sighed. Reality had a way of making itself heard, it seemed, no matter how hard you fought against it.
"Why would you believe me now?" she asked, unable to lift her gaze to his. "Actually, I expected to wake up and find you gone—or else—not to wake up at all." Kendra pressed her lips together, ashamed of the lie. The thought had never crossed her mind.
"I am sorry," he whispered, tightening his arms around her. "I never wanted to kill you, indeed, I have wanted nothing more than to join with you since that first moment at Abury. It was the fire you created inside of me that I took to be enchantment. I thought only of you day and night. I could not sleep, could not eat. Garrick said the only way to be free of you was to take your life with my own hands."
"How long have you known the sheriff?" Kendra asked, glancing up at him hesitantly.
"Many years. We knew one another in Normandy when we were both just boys. We were both the bastards of English noblemen and were brought to our father's houses at a young age. Their estates joined at one side and we grew up together. When we were grown we became mercenaries and traveled around the world. We returned to England after hearing of Richard's plan to auction off titles and estates to fund his next journey to Outremer."
"I don't trust him and I don't think you should either," Kendra said impetuously. Navarre looked down at her, one dark brow arched in question. "You forget how he treated me." Navarre laughed and with a sharp cry, Kendra pulled away and struck his chest with one tight fist. "He almost raped me and you can laugh?"
"I laugh not at his violence, for I know Garrick's ruthlessness quite well."
"Then why do you laugh?" Kendra fumed, struggling as he pulled her more tight
ly against him once again.
"Because you think it odd that any man could resist your charms for long, especially a man of Garrick's station who is used to taking what he wants."
Kendra was silent for a moment. "I know the ways here are different from the ways back… back where I come from, but Navarre, it is still wrong for a man to force a woman."
"Aye," he said softly, running one hand lightly down the side of her bare thigh, "I agree. But what if he can convince her instead?"
"Oh, no you don't." Kendra said with a laugh, her anger dissipating as the now familiar heat ran between them once again. "We are talking, Sir Galliard, for the first time, and I for one am learning a great deal." She leaned against him and felt his sharp intake of breath as her bare breasts grazed his chest.
"Do that again and you will find this lesson at an end." He bent his head to her throat and bit her skin delicately. "But I may teach you something else."
"Why do you believe me now?" Kendra whispered, her eyes closed as Navarre's teeth traced a sensuous path down the side of her neck. "All this time…"
Navarre lips stilled against her skin. He lifted his face to hers and Kendra was startled by the deep pain she saw mirrored in his eyes. "All of this time," he said, "I thought this fire between us some kind of magic—sorcery. I could not bear to face the truth."
"What is the truth?" She said, reaching up and brushing a long strand of dark hair back from his jaw. His eyes, now dark as amber, flamelike, with golden flecks in the center, bored into hers.
He lifted his hand to her face and smoothed her lower lip with his thumb. Kendra felt the electricity shoot down her throat, across her breasts, to pool at the apex of her thighs. She gasped and Navarre covered her lips with his own almost savagely as he pulled her to him. Kendra met his passion and was disappointed when he broke the embrace, his breathing heavy, his hand still caressing her face.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 17
