The burst of tears was quick.
‘I didn’t mean... I don’t want you ever to cry.’
She rubbed her face with her hand, pulled back. She’d soaked his tunic. ‘It’s not you.’
‘It sounded like it was. I said some things, and—’
Resting her hand on his chest, she patted him a few times. ‘What you said was thoughtful, that is all.’
He clasped her hand against his chest, hard, and his expression changed. Nothing about him was any different. It shouldn’t have been, and yet something altered. Grey eyes locked on hers, his hair waving down and covering one of his ears, the ease of his posture apparently in a state of relaxation, but he seemed tense, ready to pounce, as if the slightest provocation would alter him from a man who was comforting her to revealing his true nature. Not safe. Something dangerous.
No, something fierce and significant.
She couldn’t blink. There was a tightening her chest, and the hand pressed firmly against his heartbeat grew damp. His eyes tracked her reaction, and he blinked, let out a long exhalation and released her hand.
She wanted to lower it, tried to, but it was almost stuck until it fell back down to her side.
Strange man, strange reaction.
‘Sorry,’ he said, a hint of remorse and too many other emotions he seemed to want to express. ‘I’ve never been told I was kind before, at least not by someone who meant it.’
After her conversations with his mother and father, she knew what he meant. ‘I did mean it.’
His eyes never leaving hers, he shook his head. After a moment when time seemed suspended, he cleared his throat and leaned against the horse blankets on the rail.
His stance was much the same as it had been when she’d entered. It was a bit darker, the horses far more settled, and she could hear no more sounds from outside except for the occasional scurrying of animals or perhaps it was some trees in the cool night wind.
It was odd that they had this time to themselves, without her children or interruptions. Her life hadn’t been quiet for so long. When she allowed it to be so, the danger of her predicament usually encroached. But that had no place here.
Because of this man, no doubt. Whatever she feared from her husband’s family, he was part of it. So the consequences of her actions were already here.
‘I need to tell you something that you won’t like.’
All the heat left her, and she braced her hand on the blankets. ‘What is it? Did Henry send a message and Ian will be here tomorrow?’
‘No.’
‘What have you done?’
‘It’s what’s already done.’
His eyes were serious, though his stance was casual. She didn’t find it endearing, and instead of wanting to slide her hand around his waist she wanted to shove him away and flee.
‘I don’t like it when you do this.’
‘I’m not withholding anything. Nothing new... But it’s a reason I’m here.’
‘I should check on the boys,’ she said, although why she said it she didn’t know. She needed to hear what Balthus had to say. She suspected it had something to do with needing to ensure they were well.
‘They’re safe for now,’ Balthus said, ‘What I have to tell you won’t harm you...at least immediately.’
She blinked. ‘Are you going to harm me?’
‘Never.’
‘Ian?’
A twist of something in his eyes, and he shook his head. ‘Not my parents either, though I can’t guarantee with them. It’s why I’ve stayed.’
‘I thought they’d protect me because of the boys, their grandchildren.’
‘They might have once, but now it’s uncertain.’
‘Because I ran,’ she said.
A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘In part...’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
He straightened. ‘You are trusting me.’
His tone was incredulous, and perhaps at other times she’d feel sympathy for this man who wasn’t used to trust, but not now. ‘I’m trusting you less and less as this conversation continues.’
He pushed off the blankets and leaned his hip against the rack. ‘There’s no easy way to say all this. My parents want something the King of England wants.’
‘The throne?’
He chuckled. ‘True, but something else. You know how King Edward is obsessed with King Arthur and the Holy Grail, Excalibur and everything?’
‘I don’t blame him, I love those stories, too.’
‘There are other tales he’s obsessed with, as well. The Jewell of Kings.’
He looked at her as if she was supposed to say something, but she didn’t know what it could be. ‘It’s an ugly gem.’
‘Yes, but Reynold believes that it, along with the dagger it’s hidden in, plus some pieces of parchment, perhaps even a map, leads to a treasure.’
‘A legend with a treasure...’ she said.
‘Reynold’s been studying it and believes that the legend, that whomever holds the gem holds Scotland, actually has other meanings. That it hides a treasure large enough to control countries.’
‘That’s unbelievable. I’ve never heard of all that.’
‘You wouldn’t have. I don’t think it’s common knowledge, although soon it might be.’
‘Wait, are you telling me you think this legend, like King Arthur, is true?’
Balthus shrugged. ‘We want it in our possession, not our parents’.’
‘We? Your brothers are...going against your parents on this?’
A muscle spasmed in his jaw and he looked away. ‘Against the King, as well. We believe that that neither should have such power or such treasure.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Before you left. Reynold’s been working on the tale for years,’ he said. ‘Are you believing me?’
‘You’re frightening me, and the ramifications are severe. But pardon me if you think I’ll believe it safer in Warstone brothers’ hands than in the King of England’s.’
Balthus exhaled. ‘Reynold wants to gather all the information, treasure, gem, dagger, and then...bury them.’
She almost laughed. ‘That’s convenient as it’s already buried. I haven’t heard of any such... You’re saying that it’s true, that the gem is out there.’
‘Oddly, none of it is in our hands, but we know mostly who has the items. Reynold’s been writing letters trying persuade a certain Scottish clan...the Colquhouns...to our side.’
She took a step back. ‘I see why you believe I’d be harmed, but you said you wouldn’t do so. Even having this information puts myself, my boys, in harm’s way.’
‘I know, but you’re part of the solution.’
‘For whom? You, the King or the Warstones?’
He grinned. That rakish smile, the fanning of lines from his eyes and the grooves in his cheekbones went straight to her centre. ‘Clever.’
‘Compliments will get you nothing. Tell me.’
‘When you fled Forgotten Keep, you took several items.’
‘Anything that wasn’t pinned down.’
‘Were any of those items books or pieces of paper...perhaps a map?’
She stepped away then, clasped her arms around herself and began to pace.
Balthus knew not to lay a hand on her or say another word. He’d pushed her enough, but he silently willed her to understand the importance of what he’d told her, and that no matter how he felt about her, this part of the mission couldn’t be compromised. His heart, his life...those were forfeit anyway, but he needed to do a good deed for Reynold, and he wouldn’t fail.
‘You told me that you had other villages along the way that you paid in coin and in certain items. To make traps.’
‘You told me that was dangerous because I
was subverting your parents’ control. All the while you’re doing it.’
She paced again, obviously frustrated at his comment. She had a right. It wasn’t fair, but it was also the truth.
‘You’re cold?’ he said.
‘We’ve been here a while.’
They had, he found it odd that they’d had this opportunity, but he begged all the heavens to make it last. Looking around, he found a smaller blanket and handed it to her.
Sweeping it over her shoulders, she glared, and paced again. ‘I’ve told you enough.’
‘We’re supposed to believe each other again.’
‘But to tell you where these villagers, coins, traps and items are puts me and them in jeopardy.’
‘They’re already in jeopardy.’
She adjusted the blanket. ‘Enough! Do you honestly believe I have it?’
‘Ian had it.’
‘All those artefacts he oversaw packing himself. If it was in Forgotten Keep, then he purposely put it...’ She paled.
‘My brother wasn’t unintelligent...except for underestimating you.’
‘I don’t have anything here...a few coins...but it’s not safe to travel with items anymore. Not without protection and...’ Her eyes were wide and incredulous. Annoyed. ‘Is that what your chasing me about the country has been about? Some foolish legend?’
‘At least you know of it.’
‘Your parents weren’t quiet about it,’ she blurted.
‘My parents.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Your brother.’
That was worse. ‘Which was it, my parents or my brother? Neither is safe. What are you not telling me? If any of them told you about it, then you are in danger. They’ll do anything to stop you.’
‘It’s nothing that you need to worry about.’
He stepped closer to her. ‘It is.’
‘Why?’
There was only one answer to this. The wrong one, but one he couldn’t seem to help. He took another step closer. ‘I think you know why.’
‘Because I healed your arm?’
He shouldn’t push it. He shouldn’t, but he would, because he always wanted to. ‘Think a little after that.’
When there was a slight flush to her neck. He wanted to bury his nose there, scrape his teeth, and taste the heat.
‘You mentioned it,’ she blurted.
That pulled him up from his actions and his thoughts. ‘What?’
‘When you were feverish. You mentioned many matters actually. I did say you might regret it.’
He felt the blood drain from his face. ‘What else did I say?’
‘Words. You weren’t coherent. I...kept everyone away when you were like that.’
He’d thank her, but her voice, the way she held herself was so careful. Her worry told him what he should have guessed. ‘Ian told you, didn’t he? In his sleep.’
She pressed her lips.
‘He used to sleep talk. We all knew this weakness of his.’
‘I don’t want to tell you...that’s...’
‘Did he say anything more personal than what I confessed to you when I was recovering?’
‘No.’
‘What I said was personal, wasn’t it? Not about a legend at all.’
She fully blushed. It was he who should have. He’d been obsessed with this woman all his life. Judging from her trapped expression, she was begging him to change the subject, but there was only one conversation he wanted to have. He took a step away from the blankets and towards her.
Her eyes widened.
‘I’ll help you,’ she said.
No. She wasn’t escaping from him that easily. He took another step.
‘I think I know where it is. I put all the books and scrolls in one place.’
‘That’s good. When do we go?’
‘A few days. I think the others understand why you want them to tear down the wall but support the trenches. It may take more instruction, however, and...’
She shifted as if wanting to take another step back. It only heightened his need to possess, to chase her. They were closer, but not close enough. She clutched the blanket around her shoulders; all he wanted to do was rip it from her.
‘Séverine,’ he warned.
She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
A half step more and he caught her gently at her nape. He was aware of the way her eyes had darkened, the slight panting of her breath through her lips that had parted a bit more. The way he could feel, under his thumb, the fluttering of her heart.
The way she smelled of thyme and sunshine.
His own body reacted, the flush of heat, the palm touching her nape suddenly damp, the thundering of his heart. And his breath that wasn’t anything as light as hers.
She didn’t move. She didn’t move when everything inside him wanted her not to. She quivered under his palm as if his just standing here...breathing with her...was something affecting her as much as he was affected.
Could she be as affected?
‘Can’t I say now what I didn’t intend to then?’ he asked. ‘What I said when I was feverish, when all I felt and heard was you. When you called to me and pulled me from the dark?’
‘No,’ she whispered, immediate and sure. But there was a tremor behind her rushed voice, a flutter of her lashes, the tug inward of her lower lip. Minute changes in her wide green eyes, a pleading, but he knew they were not because she wanted him to heed her blurted denial of what was between them but because...because she felt the affinity between them, too. Because as much as he wanted to say the words to her, so there was no doubt how he felt, there was a part of her that wanted to hear it.
Her gaze roved his expression from his eyes to his lips, lingered there before stuttering back up, and he knew with certainty that Séverine wanted him, too.
‘Very well.’ He cupped his hand to the back of her nape, tilted her chin just so...just right, and kissed her. When she leaned into him, darted her tongue against his, he tightened his hand, stepped between her legs. And he kissed her more. A long-awaited kiss of years of want and wonder, of weeks of acute need. He drowned in the sensations, the length of her against him, lean, long limbs stiff with surprise, then pliant, wrapping around him, one hand gripping his arm, the other biting her nails into his shoulder. The sensation of kissing her, his tongue stroking hers, deepening the kiss before tearing free and pressing hot kisses on her lips, nips from his teeth, tongue. Just needing a taste of her, to saturate the emptiness inside with the thyme in her hair, the sunshine clinging to her skin. The scent of her, the one he’d never realised had haunted him, that he craved.
‘Say no,’ he growled. ‘Tell me to stop.’
In the periphery was the shifting of horses, the smell of hay, of old wood damp with rain, but his world had narrowed to her. Stealing his arm around the small of her back, he pressed close, frustration at the distance forced by his bound arm, by the clothing they wore.
Her arm wrapped more tightly around his shoulders, and with a low primitive growl he splayed his fingers lower yet to feel the curve, the sway, to gain more purchase to press her tighter yet.
A sound of want from her that poured lust hotly through his blood until he was a man consumed, and he noticed too late the shift away of her hips, the tips of her fingers rasping a release of his collar. Alerting his body that she was pulling away.
Desperate hunger compelled him to duck his head, to grasp the last moment between them. A flick of his tongue against the delicate spot beneath her chin, a nip to her ear. One slow meaningful kiss to the corner of her mouth. She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed, the scrape of his stubble marking her delicate complexion, her lips swollen from the pressure of pulling her tighter.
Balthus stepped back, just when Séverine did. His hip hit aga
inst the blanket rack and he leaned against it for something to steady himself. Waiting for her to strike him across the jaw, to hurl the words they needed to hear, to watch in agony as she turned away to leave him behind.
Her breath was shallow, as quick as his own that sawed through his lungs. As he tried to cool his need for her, his eyes greedily soaked her in. Slowly, never taking her eyes away from his, she unlaced the ties at her side. He shuddered, her lips curved, and her gown dropped. He swiped a blanket off the rack and threw it to their feet to add to the one that must have fallen from her shoulders when he first clutched her close.
Grabbing her wrist that clenched her chemise, he raised the limb to his lips and nipped along the curve to her elbow, pulling her closer with each taste, ducking his head and inhaling along the delicate cords in her neck. She took advantage of their proximity, and her feather-light fingertips played with the linen tied at his neck, then danced along his collar bone, his shoulder, palming flesh that mere weeks ago had been in agony.
Her movements were slight, nothing more than brushes of one finger, then another that dipped into the hollow of his throat and then behind his ear. Touches that he felt everywhere until they spiralled, heat heavier and heavier until his desire pooled lower and slowed down. While he secured her arms around him, thrust his knee between her legs, and lowered them both to the floor, his balance secure, perfect, because she was in his arms.
Still, he relished the widening of her eyes, the slight whimper of her worry that the movement would hurt him somehow. The only way it would was if she stepped away again, and he would ensure that wouldn’t happen. Not until she was his in some permanent way.
Shuffling her chemise up and over her legs, his weight over her, his mouth once again capturing her lips, the sounds she made as his hand travelled from her thigh, over her hip and to her belly. To circle a finger around her navel and then trail it between her breasts.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 60
