Sharon Schulze

by To Tame a Warrior's Heart

  He sank to his knees and ignored Idris’s low growl. None of the many cuts scattered over the dog’s rough coat seemed serious. Only the arrow needed attention.

  The dog remained still, though he followed Nicholas’s every move with his gaze. Nicholas could have sworn that the intelligence of a man lay captured within Idris’s dark eyes. He could almost understand why Catrin treated Idris like a person: he found himself talking to him as though the beast knew what he said.

  Perhaps he did, for he remained sprawled on the smooth dirt and permitted Nicholas to care for him. The dog’s acquiescence made it an easier task to cut the arrow free and set stitches in its place.

  Nicholas gave Idris water and turned gratefully away from those disconcerting eyes. As he stretched the kinks from his back, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that another chore remained before him.

  The light that streamed into the cave had dimmed, taking on an odd, purplish tinge. And it sounded as though the wind had picked up, as well.

  He slipped his shirt on. Despite the weather, he planned to hunt The mare needed attention, too. He snatched up the bigger knife and left the cave.

  Dark clouds scudded across the sky, and thunder boomed in the distance. The mare whinnied a greeting, hooves shuffling nervously as she tugged at her tether. He cast another look at the sky and decided to hobble her, lest she become frightened and pull herself free. He couldn’t risk losing her. Moving swiftly, Nicholas led the horse to drink, then tied her beneath the firs again.

  Though he didn’t have any rope, he’d noticed vines hanging from the trees. ’Twas a long climb up to where the vines twined around the branches, but it took no time at all to slash them loose and drop them to the ground. He scrambled down after them.

  He wove several lengths together and wound them about the mare’s dancing hooves, then gathered together a mound of vines.

  Good luck had come his way, for once. His venture up the tree had yielded more than rope, for dried grapes hung in clusters from the vines. Nicholas quickly gathered several handfuls of the fruit, then realized he’d need something to carry them in.

  Thunder rumbled, nearer all the time, and lightning flashed bright against the roiling clouds. The storm was nearly upon him. Hands full, he bent from the waist and wriggled within the loose shirt, but he couldn’t get the neckline to slide over his head. He grabbed the fabric with his teeth and squirmed until he could inch the shirt over his head.

  The rising wind whipped his hair about his face as he stripped the vines and piled the raisins on his shirt. The cold air didn’t feel so wonderful now. Fat, icy droplets pelted him as he gathered up the shirt and raced toward the cave.

  He didn’t make it.

  A bolt of lightning split a massive tree and jolted him flat onto his back before the thunder could echo through the rocky hills.

  Chapter Eight

  Nicholas’s ears rang as he lay upon the wet ground, stunned and blinded by the flash of lightning. A strange sensation tingled along his skin and scalp, then faded away.

  His lungs felt squeezed empty. He gasped and wheezed, trying to suck in air.

  A sharp stench bit at his nostrils—fire and brimstone, perhaps? It wouldn’t have surprised him to see the devil himself standing over him, laughing.

  Nicholas inched back and propped himself against a boulder, blinking until the rocks and trees came into view.

  Moving like an old man, he stood, but his legs would scarcely support him. By Christ, but that had been close! Scattered pieces of a huge oak lay about him, shredded by the lightning’s force. Smoke rose in wisps as the rain fell on the scorched remains.

  He shuddered and crossed himself. A few steps closer to the tree and he’d have been reduced to a smoldering lump, as well.

  Each step toward the cave came easier as he shook off the effects of the lightning, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d led a charmed life till now. He’d rather encounter a rampaging army of infidels than the whirl of hazards he’d faced of late. Even nature herself conspired against him!

  Frenzied barking greeted Nicholas when he entered the cave. Catrin had moved off the pallet and dragged herself across the floor on her stomach, from the look of it. She lay sprawled alongside the fire pit. By some miracle her clothes hadn’t caught fire. The eating dagger clutched in her hand, she stabbed at the floor.

  Idris stood over her, barking and trying to shove her away from the flames.

  “Nay! No more!” She sobbed as she slashed at the space before her. “Not again…I won’t let you!”

  Nicholas tossed the shirt aside and hurried to her. “Let be,” he murmured to the dog, urging him away from his mistress. “Go lie down.” Idris whined pitifully and nudged Catrin once more before slinking off to his place by the back wall.

  Dropping to his knees, Nicholas grasped Catrin about the waist. “Hush, milady.” She squirmed within his hold with surprising strength and whimpered as she continued to strike out with the knife. Ignoring her struggles, he pulled her away from the fire. “That’s enough.”

  Sparks smoldered along the side of her gown. Cursing, he slapped them out, then grabbed her by the wrist and wrenched the dagger from her. “No, damn you!” she screamed. Her fingers clawed at him. “I’ll see you pay.” Her gray eyes wide, she stared at him, but he didn’t think she saw him. “Don’t touch me!” Panting, she attempted to rise to her knees.

  “Catrin.” He touched her cheek with a gentleness at odds with his harsh tone. “’Tis all right—you’re safe here.”

  “Keep away,” she snarled. She seemed aware of his presence now, though he couldn’t be certain she recognized him. Her head jerked to the side, as if to avoid a blow. She crept backward until she bumped into the wall. “Come near me again and I’ll see you in hell!”

  Thunder boomed nearby. The earth shook and fine dirt rained down from the ceiling. As the sound echoed through the cave, Catrin’s body convulsed and she slumped back, eyes closed.

  “Lady Catrin.” Still on his knees, Nicholas lunged forward to catch her.

  Nicholas rolled to protect her as they tumbled to the floor. They lay there for a moment, motionless.

  Her faint groan vibrated against his chest “What are you doing?” She stared down at him, her gaze measuring.

  He squirmed from beneath her and eased her onto the ground. “Not what it looks like, unfortunately,” he muttered.

  “What do you mean?”

  His lips curled in a wry smile. “While I wouldn’t mind having you atop me in other circumstances—” he pushed her disheveled curls back from her face “—now is not the time.”

  “Lustful pig.” Panic darkened her eyes once more, before she closed them and turned her face away.

  Her expression now appeared as it had been during her dream—if her confusion had been a dream. Whatever she’d imagined had not been pleasant, that much was clear. He would never have expected to see her show such fear.

  He never would have expected her to feel it.

  Retrieving his shirt, he settled down, cross-legged, beside her. “I found us something to eat.” He spread the material open with a flourish. “At great personal risk.”

  Catrin’s eyes remained closed, though she propped her head on her folded arms. “Stir up the fire, then.”

  “I doubt you’ll want this cooked.” His stomach growled. Unable to wait any longer, he picked up a handful of raisins and tossed a few into his mouth before holding his hand out to her. “Have some. They’re delicious.”

  A scowl marred her delicate features. Catrin raised one eyelid, then both eyes popped open. “Raisins? You were in grave danger gathering raisins?”

  “Aye.” What did it take to make her laugh? Did she have no sense of fun, of the ridiculous? He’d not bother to explain. It would make no difference. He stuffed more food into his mouth, then leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.

  The injured expression on Talbot’s face made Catrin want to laugh, though her back hurt
like the devil. He looked like a sulking little boy—though she’d never considered him in that light before. His reaction touched her, swept the effects of her dream away. The mighty warrior was no different than any other man, it seemed.

  She could stroke his pride. She’d had plenty of practice at that, with her brother and his men.

  But ’twould be so much more fun, and distracting, to plague him. He deserved it, after his remark about rolling on the floor with her. She didn’t know if he’d meant it. Indeed, ’twould be best if he did not, for both of them. She had nothing to offer him—or any man.

  However, she’d always found badgering Talbot a most enjoyable diversion. And at the moment, anything that might distract her from the shadows in her mind and the pain in her back would be a blessing.

  She propped her hands beneath her chin and raised herself enough to meet his gaze. “So tell me, milord—did you use a dirk on the beasts, or did you wrestle them into submission with your bare hands?”

  A hint of surprise crossed his face before his lips firmed into a thin line and his eyes darkened to a deep purple. A giggle escaped her before she composed herself. “Henceforth you shall be known as Lord Nicholas the Raisin Slayer.”

  “You honor me, lady,” he said, his grave tone at odds with the sparkle in his eyes. He held out a sticky mass of the fruit. “Please accept this token of my regard.”

  How should she take that remark? she wondered as he held the raisins to her lips. His fingers brushed against her mouth, their hard warmth discernible despite the heat radiating from her skin. The warmth his touch generated ’twas different from any she’d felt before, a glow from within the depth of her being.

  She pushed away that disturbing thought and turned her attention to the food. Idris provided a blessed distraction, creeping forward and nudging her with his nose. Praise God, he appeared on the mend; he flopped in a heap beside her and allowed her to scratch his head. He eyed the food spread out on Talbot’s shirt, but he made no move to touch it.

  “I doubt he’ll want them,” Talbot said, then surprised her by pushing a few raisins toward the dog. Idris sniffed at them and, after her nod of approval, lapped them off Talbot’s palm.

  They ate in companionable silence, the rain and thunder a soothing backdrop now that the storm had moved away. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started to eat, but now she felt ravenous. She savored every bite Talbot gave her and watched with regret when he wrapped the shirt around the remainder.

  “I’ll find us some real food tomorrow,” he said. “But ’twould be foolish to eat all we have now.”

  He gave a muffled shout of laughter. She looked up, then joined in, wincing at the pain but unable to resist.

  Idris chewed at the wad of raisins in his mouth—and chewed. “They must be stuck in his teeth,” she said, chuckling at the sight. “Idiot,” she murmured as Idris swallowed and gave her a tooth-filled grin.

  Talbot left the cave, returning almost immediately with a cup of water. “I thought dogs only ate meat,” he said as he handed it to her.

  She held the cold cup to her face for a moment, then drank. The water felt so good pouring down her aching throat! All too soon, she handed the empty cup to Talbot. “That falsehood exists only because no other hunter has ever had the courage to seek out and subdue the frightful raisin.”

  “I see.” His lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh.

  When he left to refill the cup, she thought she heard him chuckle, though she could not be sure. However, his face showed no emotion when he brought her more water. After handing it to her, he returned to the doorway and stared out at the forest.

  Her back had begun to throb. “Would you mix in some of the powder?” she asked. Let him think whatever he would of her request; she felt too tired—too drained, suddenly—to care. And she knew that, despite her exhaustion, the pain would not let her sleep.

  Not without sending her back in time on a journey she did not wish to take.

  She held the cup to her temple and closed her eyes. What would she do the next time the past claimed her? Would she stab Talbot when he sought to help her? Set herself ablaze?

  She had no idea what she was capable of during the confusion of her dreams.

  Mayhap she should ask Talbot to tie her up or clout her aside the head. She watched as he crossed the chamber. He’d enjoy that, no doubt.

  He took the cup from her hand and gave her a wet cloth in its stead. “I gave you the potion already.” Sighing, she swabbed it slowly over her face and throat “I put it in the water you drank before I left the cave.”

  “How much did you give me?” She should be sleeping like an innocent babe, if it was the proper dose.

  “The same as last night.” He knelt beside her and, placing his fingers beneath her chin, tilted her face toward him. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she closed her eyes. “Nay, open them,” he demanded.

  Bracing herself, she watched him as closely as he did her. It didn’t seem to bother him, to her dismay; would that she had the same reaction to him!

  “The drug should be working.” He tightened his fingers on her chin, then released her. Perhaps her gaze disturbed him after all, she thought with satisfaction.

  But then he cupped her chin in his hand and brushed his thumb beneath her eye. “Your eyes look strange, wide and dark. ’Tis from the potion, I imagine. Do you still have pain?”

  A shiver shot down the back of her neck and along her spine as he continued to draw his rough, callused thumb over her skin. How could she be so susceptible to so little provocation?

  She doubted he intended to provoke her.

  “A little,” she lied. Though if he continued to touch her, her body’s response would likely drown out any pain.

  “Should I give you more?”

  More? Her reaction to him was already more than she could endure. “Nay. ’Tis too dangerous.” She squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position—and evade his torment. “It matters not. I’ve suffered worse than this.”

  “But if it will ease your—”

  “Let be! I’m no puling demoiselle, to whine over some trifle.”

  “Your injuries are far more than a trifle. By Christ’s blood, woman…” His gaze focused on her bosom, half-exposed by her unlaced tunic. “Your actions aside, I cannot deny you are a woman. But I’ve seen fierce soldiers howl over lesser wounds than yours.”

  Catrin lowered herself further onto the cloak and tried to tug her gown closed. Damn him—and herself—for this insidious warmth stealing through her veins.

  “No doubt they were Norman soldiers.” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them. How had she come to this—to stoop so low?

  Whatever else she might think of Nicholas Talbot, she had never questioned his valor.

  If not for him, she’d likely be dead now…

  Or wish she were.

  Apologies were a sign of weakness she promised herself long ago never to reveal.

  She forced herself to meet Talbot’s steady gaze, to hold it with her own and reveal not a whit of the turmoil in her mind—to hide how tempted she was to break her vow.

  “I can withstand this,” she said. “At least if I feel the pain, I know I’m alive. ’Tis something to rejoice in.”

  “Do you never give in?” He took the tattered cloak he’d used as a blanket and wadded it up. “You’re more stubborn than an ass.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at his look of confusion. To her his comment was high praise, though she doubted he meant it that way.

  He slid close to her. “Come here.” Resignation colored his voice, but it could not mask the weariness. He couldn’t have rested much himself, the night past. Though why he wanted her to…

  He scooped her into his arms. Ignoring her protests, he wrapped the cloak about her and settled her on his lap. “There. Is that better?”

  “Aye,” she whispered against his chest She was too tired to fight, for the moment Talbot made a much mor
e comfortable bed than the floor, and something about his nearness made her feel safe.

  He could protect her from her dreams, she thought as he enfolded her in his arms.

  Shielded within this warm cocoon, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her cheek, she nestled closer.

  But how could she protect her heart from him?

  The light had brightened and the rain stopped completely by the time Nicholas awoke. Catrin slept on in his arms, snuggled against him. It appeared that no dreams had marred her rest, for she had not stirred.

  He couldn’t say the same for himself. Even in slumber, his body recognized hers and reacted to it. Three times he’d awakened, disturbed by the scent and feel of the woman draped over him like a blanket

  Somehow her breasts had come to rest upon his bare forearms. Her gown might as well not exist, for all the protection it gave. She shifted in his grasp, the sweet weight of her bosom driving a shaft of desire straight to his vitals.

  If God were merciful, there would be a warm and willing woman lurking just outside this cave. He reluctantly eased his arms away from Catrin. But ’twas his misfortune that the woman he wanted lay within his reach already, her head cushioned against the pulse throbbing in his neck.

  Even the whisper of her breath across his throat stirred him!

  It wouldn’t have surprised him if he’d found himself already buried to the hilt in her feverish body. He’d done that—and more—in his dreams.

  And his desire was stronger still, now that he was awake.

  Was he going mad?

  She was injured, perhaps unto death.

  But even were she well, Catrin was not for him. No matter what his errant body demanded, he had no place in his life for a pure and innocent noblewoman.

  Not that she’d want him, if she knew the truth of his past

  The sooner he got her away from here—and away from him—the better it would be for both of them.