by Anne Stuart
They were still watching. He didn't care. It would horrify Adrian, amuse the knights, worry the monks. And enrage the false monk who was watching them out of flat blue eyes.
He didn't care. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, her breasts soft and voluptuous against his chest, even through the layers of clothing. He put his other hand under her chin, drawing her face up to his, his long fingers cupping her face, his thumb gently brushing her bottom lip.
He heard the gasp of horror, and whether it came from Adrian, or Elizabeth, or his own tortured conscience, it didn't matter. He put his mouth against hers.
* * *
Chapter 10
He was kissing her. This time he was really kissing her, his body pressed up against hers so that she could feel him, the strength, the muscle, the heat of him all along hers. His hand cupped her chin, and she wasn't quite sure how it happened but she opened her mouth for him, letting him taste her, and the strange, clenching need in her stomach blossomed and swelled, and she moved closer to him, wanting to be absorbed into his very skin.
She slid her hands up his chest, to push him away, but instead they moved around his neck, pulling him against her, and she'd closed her eyes long ago, closed her brain just as she'd opened her mouth for him. Just as she'd open her legs for him if he wanted her to.
He lifted his head, looking down into her upturned face, and he appeared to be as dazed as she felt. He put his hands on her shoulders and set her back from him, and she was suddenly cold on such a mild night, and she needed to feel him against her once more.
She didn't move. She swayed slightly in the night air, but she didn't move, didn't dare. Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for Brother Adrian or Brother Matthew to come rescue her, waiting for the dark prince to laugh at her and tell her he didn't really want her, he was just teasing her, waiting for her own common sense to reappear.
He took her hand, connecting them once more, and a pulse of heat went through them, instantly strengthening her. He turned and pulled her after him, away from the light and the heat, into the darkness of the forest beyond. And she went, without question, without thinking.
The towering trees shut out the moonlight, so that ail was shadows, and lie pushed her up against the thick trunk of an old oak tree, his hands braced on either side of her, imprisoning her there. And he kissed her again, and again, and when she reached up her hands to touch him, to push him away this time perhaps, he caught her wrists and drew her hands downward, to press against him through the leather of his clothing.
She tried to yank her hands away, shocked, but he was far stronger than she was. She knew what she was feeling, even through the thick leather. For all that she was still innocent, she'd led a far-from-sheltered life, and she had eyes and brains and curiosity. And she knew the significance of that hard flesh, knew that he lusted after her. And the notion was a shocking delight, that he would want her. Want her enough to make this kind of change in his big, hard body, a body that was warm and strong and enveloping, pushing her up against the tree.
He was pulling her skirt up, and she could feel his rough, warm hand on her leg, on her thigh, her bare skin, and she made a choking sound beneath his mouth at his burning touch. Because she wanted more.
She was mortified with shame, she was terrified, she was so hungry she wanted to touch him, as well. His leather overtunic shielded him too well, and she wanted to reach under it, but he was holding her hand against him, and she couldn't.
He released her mouth, reaching for the fastenings of her cloak, and she took a deep, shaky breath. "Are you going to rape me?"
The words were no more than a whisper, but they stopped him cold, his long fingers still enmeshed in the cloth ties to her warm cloak, his other hand still pressing her hard against his erection. She must have imagined the expression of shock on his face, for a moment later he simply closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, blotting out the light.
She could hear the deep, shuddering breaths he was taking as he brought himself back under control. He released her hand, and she no longer had any reason to touch him. Touch his cock, she thought, using the word she'd heard others use. She withdrew her hands, ignoring her strange reluctance, and placed them up against his shoulders. Not pushing, not holding. Just touching him.
She didn't need to push—he stepped back of his own accord, releasing her, and she was glad she had the tree to support her as her skirts dropped back down around her legs.
She couldn't see his face, to know whether there was guilt or boredom or regret. Or any lingering trace of passion. All she knew was that he'd changed his mind, and she should be thanking God at her narrow escape, instead of shivering in the darkness, still hot with need.
"Why did you do that?" She could barely recognize her own voice. Or the next words. "Why did you stop?"
"Because you're an innocent. And I don't hurt innocents." His own voice was a mere thread of sound.
"Since when?"
He took another step back away from her, and a shaft of moonlight came through the trees, bringing light to his dark face. To the unfathomable eyes and shadowed mouth. And then he seemed to collect himself, as if remembering who and what he really was.
"Since I went on pilgrimage," he said in a cooler voice. "I'm trading a few weeks of penance for a lifetime of sin, both in the past and in the future. I've decided it was a good trade. If I need relief I'll avail myself of Dame Joanna. She wouldn't like it much, but at least she's used to it. Whereas you would be far more trouble than you're worth."
"So I've always been told," she said, still watching him. He was breathing deeply, as if he was having trouble, and it was probably only her own racing heart that suggested he was similarly afflicted.
She felt… distraught. There was no other word for it. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her thigh, his tongue in her mouth, and if the rough bark of the tree beneath her hands couldn't bring her back to reality then nothing could.
They heard the crashing through the bushes at the same time, and when Brother Adrian stumbled into the clearing she'd managed to school her features into calm curiosity. One didn't look different after being kissed like that, did one? It felt as if anyone who looked at her could tell what she'd just been on the verge of doing, feeling, but the night was dark, and there would be no physical trace. Just to be certain she touched her mouth, and the prince's eyes immediately followed her fingers, lingering for a brief, pained moment.
"My lord!" Adrian said breathlessly as he came to an abrupt halt. "You cannot…" And then he stopped, clearly confused.
"Cannot what, Brother Adrian?" the prince said in his cool voice. "Neither Lady Elizabeth nor I could sleep, and we thought a walk in the moonlight would help tire us. There is nothing to worry about."
Brother Adrian looked far guiltier than he should have, given the prince's reputation. "I crave pardon, my… lord. I was afraid…"
"Afraid I would betray my vows? When so much depends on what I do? Have faith, Brother. I would not break my pledge no matter how tempted."
Elizabeth looked between the two men. She had the oddest feeling that they were talking about something else entirely. It was not to be wondered at. She could hardly be at the center of such a confrontation. Prince William must have had a fit of momentary insanity, but it had passed, and with Brother Adrian to look out for her she would be safe.
"Accompany Lady Elizabeth back to Dame Joanna," the prince said, not looking at her. "I'll stay in the woods a bit longer."
Adrian looked doubtful. "Aye, my lord. I'll keep Lady Elizabeth out of harm's way. No one will touch her." Again that hidden undertone.
But there was no mistaking the relief in the prince's voice. "I am counting on you for that, Brother. No one." He turned away from them without another word, moving deeper into the woods, heading back toward the free-flowing river.
Would he bathe again, wash the heat from his body? And what would happen if she escaped
Brother Adrian and followed him? Stripped off her clothes and…?
Sweet Jesu, she was mad! She looked into Brother Adrian's face and summoned a shaky smile. "You are very kind to be so concerned, Brother," she said. "Perhaps you should go with the prince and I'll find my way back on my own. There can be no danger when there are so many of us."
"I think the prince is best left alone to contemplate his sins," Adrian said in a grim voice at odds with his youthful face. "My lady?" He held out an arm, waiting for her.
She took it, moving forward. And only at the last minute did she glance back into the dark, impenetrable woods, where the prince had disappeared.
The clearing was still and quiet when she and Brother Adrian reached it. Surely it hadn't been that long since the prince had taken her hand and pulled her into the woods? Not nearly long enough.
She wrapped herself in her cloak and lay on the ground near Dame Joanna's sleeping figure. The ground was hard beneath her, but in truth she was too tired to care, and so deeply troubled that all she wanted to do was blot out everything. The memory of him. The feel of his hands on her, the taste of his mouth. The insistent push of his hard flesh against her hands.
"That wasn't very wise of you, Lady Elizabeth." Dame Joanna's voice was no more than a whisper, and she didn't open her eyes. "If you play with fire you're likely to get burned."
For half a moment she considered pretending to be asleep. But Dame Joanna wouldn't believe it, and she had always had a fierce hatred of liars and lying. "I wanted his knife."
"To stab him?"
"To cut my hair."
"You could have asked me."
"Would you?"
"No." Joanna opened her eyes. "We have a number of days before we reach the convent, a number of days for things to change. I'm not certain you're destined to be a holy sister, Lady Elizabeth."
"What other choice do I have?"
Joanna smiled, closing her eyes again. "I am no seer, my lady. But if you wish to arrive at the convent in the same chaste state you set out in, you'd best keep away from Prince William. Or are you still trying to convince me that he doesn't want you?"
She would have liked to try. But not with the feel of his mouth on hers, his long fingers touching her. "I suspect he probably wants every woman," she said lightly.
"He doesn't appear to want me, thank God."
"'Thank God'?" Elizabeth echoed, confused. "But why? Wouldn't he be a far better protector than Owen of Wakebryght?"
"Right now I don't want anyone to want me," Joanna whispered. "I just want to reach Saint Anne's and cleanse myself of my sins. There'll be time enough to decide where I'll go next. Back to Owen. On to someone else. Or stay at the convent. In any case, Prince William is not for the likes of me."
"I still don't understand. He's strong, he's wealthy, powerful, and he's quite…" Words failed her.
"Beautiful, in his own way. Yes, he is. But he appears to like innocents, and I'll never be innocent again." She rolled over, turning her back on Elizabeth, wrapping her cloak more firmly about her. "And glad I am of it. Innocence only gets your heart broken. Beware, my lady. Once broken, a heart never mends."
"What man broke your heart?"
For a moment she thought Joanna wouldn't answer. And then the words came, soft and tired. "No man. Life, my lady. I would hate to see the same thing happen to you."
The silence of the forest settled around them. Eliz-abeth closed her eyes, and she could hear the faint call of the night birds, the sound of the leaves as the wind danced through them, even the distant sound of the nearby stream.
It must have been hours later when she heard him return to the clearing. She had no doubt it was the prince—during the intervening hours several of the men had risen, stumbled into the woods to relieve themselves, and she never made the mistake of thinking they were Prince William. She knew his step, his presence, his shadow with an almost unholy awareness.
She almost thought she could feel his eyes on her in the darkness. But that was foolish—she was wrapped up tight in her cloak, and it would be impossible to tell one sleeping form from another in the inky darkness. The moon had set, the fires had died down, and after a moment she heard his footsteps move farther away, the sound of his leather garments as he stretched out on the hard ground. The soft leather she had put her hands on. And wanted to slide her hands under.
At least half the men were snoring now, but the sound was oddly reassuring as the long night stretched toward dawn. The growling noise of slumber was like a wall protecting her from the forest, and she closed her eyes and slept. Dreaming of sweet, black sin.
The attack came at dawn.
The sky was barely light, all was peaceful and still as Elizabeth opened her eyes, wondering what had roused her. All was silent. Even the morning larks were quieted. And then hell descended.
It was all noise and terror—the crash of steel blade against steel, the shriek of the horses as they thundered through the clearing, the screams of pain. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, but all was chaos, as horses charged among the struggling knights and monks, and blood was everywhere. She cried out for Dame Joanna, but she was nowhere to be seen, and it seemed as if the marauders were everywhere, slashing, stabbing, intent on destruction.
Elizabeth picked up her skirts and ran, blindly, away from the battle. She had just enough presence of mind to know these were no bandits—they were too well mounted, well armed, to be anything but professional soldiers. Not looking for spoils or wealth, looking for vengeance.
She paused for a moment, searching in vain for the prince. He would have been the first they slaughtered—he'd already be lying on the blood-red ground. They shouldn't be wanting anyone else, but she watched in horror as one of the monks' throat was slashed, and she realized they wanted no witnesses to their savagery. And she scooped up her skirts and ran again, toward the woods, as she heard horses bearing down on her.
If she made it into the forest they might not be able to follow her, at least not mounted, and it might give her just enough time to find cover. She was past thinking, but her legs were long, and she covered the ground fast, her red hair flaming out behind her.
"Get the witch!" she heard someone order, and she had little doubt they were talking about her. Were the others all dead, and she the only one left? And were they planning on cutting her throat as they had the poor, elderly monk and probably everyone else, or did they have even worse in mind for her?
It didn't matter, all that mattered was escape. She stumbled, going down hard on the rough ground, and when she looked up she saw Prince William, still alive, slashing and hacking with his sword as he worked his way toward the struggling monks that still remained.
She could see Brother Matthew, in the distance, untouched, oddly calm in the midst of the turmoil. The prince was moving toward him, and Elizabeth froze, shocked. William and Matthew hated each other, and yet the prince was risking his life to come to Matthew's aid.
She didn't even hear the horse approach in the chaos, didn't feel the presence of the marauder until he grabbed her long hair in his fist and pulled her toward him.
She screamed in pain, thrashing at him, but the grizzled, bloody knight paid no mind, hauling her over the front of his saddle and holding her there.
She could smell the blood, the horse, the stench of the man who had grabbed her. She struggled, and the horse panicked. The man hit her, hard, but it wasn't enough to stop her thrashing and kicking. She looked up, but Brother Matthew had disappeared, and there was no sign of the prince, who had tried to rescue him.
The sound was first—a gurgling sound, followed by a wash of hot liquid splashing over her. Blood. She knew by the smell and the feel of it, and the man holding her went slack as strong hands hauled her from the horse.
She had just long enough to look into William's bloody, fierce face. "Run!" he said.
For a moment she didn't move, too numb with shock and honor. The carnage was everywhere. "Jo anna…" she said, but he simply c
aught her shoulder and shoved her, hard. "It's too late. Run, damn you!" he said again, and she stumbled forward, into the forest, running as fast as she could.
She didn't dare stop when she reached the river, but it was too rough and wide to cross, so she simply followed it, deeper and deeper into the woods, until she could run no more, and she sank down beside the water, gasping for breath.
By the time her heart slowed and her breath returned to normal, the silence of the forest was complete. She had no idea whether she'd run far enough from the battle to outdistance the noise, or whether it was over. Had they killed everyone, Prince William and Joanna and the others? Brother Matthew had disappeared, presumably fallen, and there'd been no sign of Brother Adrian. The prince had been in the thick of things, fighting like a madman. He would have gone down fighting, she thought, numb.
She managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She shouldn't stay here long—they might be looking for her. The marauders seemed intent on killing everyone, leaving no witness behind, and they may or may not have known of her escape. As soon as she gathered her strength she would need to move, deeper into the forest, until she could go for help.
She had seen death before, countless times. Death was a part of life, and she was well versed in it, both in childbed and with old age, with disease or accident. But she'd never seen violent death. Joanna had been light—she was truly an innocent, more sheltered than she had ever realized. And in a few short minutes all that had changed.
She could smell the stench of blood coming from her clothes. It must have been a killing blow—otherwise Joanna's green wool dress would not be streaked with deep red. And she could no more travel with the smell of it than she could curl up and hide.
The river was there, and she didn't hesitate. She took off her leather slippers and jumped in.
The shock of the cold water almost knocked the wind from her. It was deeper than she realized, and the current was strong, catching her water-soaked skirts and pulling her along. She struggled, but it was too powerful for her, and she felt herself be borne away, the icy stream splashing over her. Maybe it would be better this way, she thought, going under. Drowning was an easy death, they said. Better than at the hands of men.
