Seducing the Knight

by Gerri Russell

  Alan’s gaze locked with hers. She truly had known how he felt when he’d confessed his childhood pain to her at Petra. Her life was no different. They’d both lived for years with others, but they’d both been seen as outcasts even among their own people.

  Her voice shook when she revealed her position in the Spanish court and her inability to marry without the king’s approval. The king would never agree to a marriage between them. She was slated for some nobleman or prince somewhere.

  Alan released his breath in a slow, painful breath. He knew what a poor choice any king would consider him. And her status as a princess explained so much. Alan’s mind whirled, but he put his questions aside, needing to hear the rest of her tale. “Was the conde the king’s choice for you?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “Never. Conde Salazar Mendoza is an opportunist. He only wants me for the connections I can bring him.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, then slowly brought her eyes back to his.

  The reality of their situation tightened his chest. They couldn’t marry without the king’s consent, something they would never gain. He forced the pain away, deeper inside himself. He couldn’t allow himself to feel just now, or he might shatter. “Do you seek the security of your uncle’s court? Do you wish us to dock and see you safely to him?” He forced the words out.

  She shook her head jerkily, then turned her face away. “I have realized during these three days past that I have no purpose in Spain. I don’t want to carry the burdens of being a princess anymore. With you, I tasted freedom, and I don’t think I can ever go back to the way things were before I left.” She drew a sharp breath. “I cannot live as a princess, I cannot live as a commoner. Truly, there is no place where I belong.”

  Even though he knew he should not, he reached out and crushed her against his chest, his fingers buried in her hair. “You will always have a place with me.”

  His words sounded raw to his own ears. He focused on her pain instead of his own. He’d experienced similar agony himself when his parents had died and left him alone.

  Jessamine shuddered at his touch. She made the mistake of looking up at him. His blue eyes captured her, held her in an entirely different kind of imprisonment. She stared at him with a mixture of fear and excitement. His smoldering gaze dropped to her lips, and Jessamine felt her body ignite at the same instant his mouth swooped down, capturing hers in a kiss of demanding hunger such as she’d never felt before. His hands pressed into her back, molding her pliant body to the rigid contours of his.

  With a slight moan of desperation, she slipped her hands up his chest, her fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape, her body arching against his. A shudder shook his body as she fitted herself to him, and his mouth crushed down on hers, parting her lips, his tongue driving into her mouth with urgency as their denied passion exploded.

  Alan kissed her again and again until her breaths were coming in ragged gasps, mingling with his, and still he couldn’t stop. The same uncontrollable compulsion to have her that had seized him at the temple complex overtook him again, and he kissed her until she was moaning and writhing in his arms and desire was pouring through him in hot, primal waves. Tearing his mouth from hers, he slid his lips across her cheek, her ear, her forehead.

  He forced himself to grow still, to regain control, to gentle his caress, to gentle himself. He wanted her with the very essence of his being, but he’d meant it when he’d said she’d have to come to him. Especially now that he knew she was a princess. The divide between them was huge. A chasm. Was it too big to breach?

  He wanted her in his life, no matter what. Could they find a way to make it work? His desire for her was real. As was hers for him. Desire crossed the divide of rank and responsibility, just as it had for her parents. They’d defied the world—and their love had ended tragically.

  He didn’t want that for Jessamine. She deserved so much more. The choice to proceed or break things off would have to be hers. He turned his face into the wind, allowing it to caress his heated skin.

  She laid her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Is this what my parents felt? This explosion of passion every time they touched?”

  “Probably.”

  “Why?” He heard the pain in her voice and understood what she was truly asking of him. Why did such emotion spring to life between two people who were wrong for each other?

  “I don’t know. It just happens sometimes. It’s what we do with our passion that will matter from this moment on.” He stepped back and let the wind swirl around them, cooling their heat further.

  He glanced back at the coastline of Spain. “I know you’re coming with me to Scotland because of the prophecy.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand, cutting her off.

  “If you want to return home after we settle the ark safely in Scotland, I’ll escort you there myself. In the meanwhile, I set something out on your pallet to wear tonight. I have something special in mind. You’ll meet me back up here on the deck at sunset for dinner.”

  With that, he turned and strode away, giving her no opportunity to refuse.

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the moment he’d met her, Alan had known there was something unique about Jessamine. But he’d never expected this. A princess. In hiding. An angry bridegroom who’d murdered her own mother pursued her. The wrath of an entire country, perhaps even two, could come down on Alan’s head for what he’d done to her.

  He’d ruined her. But he’d offered to marry her. Yet who was he to think himself worthy of her hand?

  Alan headed belowdecks. He needed to think, to sort through his emotions. He reached the interior of the hull and allowed the dank darkness to seep around him.

  Mother of God, a princess? With his hand fisted, he struck the thick planks that made up the hull. Pain reverberated in his hand. Better pain than confusion. He shook out his offended knuckles.

  There had been clues to her identity from the moment they’d met—her fine clothes, her aristocratic manner, her hints about her education, her language skills, the conde’s pursuit. The man had even called her Princess a time or two. And still Alan had failed to put it all together.

  Because he hadn’t wanted to.

  He shoved his hand through his hair and leaned back against the cool, damp wood. Very well. So she was a princess. She’d stated on deck that she had nothing to go back to—only a future she didn’t want as the wife of a nobleman. But to marry against the king’s wishes would be an act of treason.

  He would be willing to live a secret life if it meant living with Jessamine. But could he condemn her to that fate?

  What did she want? Would she consider marrying him if they had to live the rest of their lives on the run? He drew a sharp breath of the stale, musty air. What did he have to offer a woman like Jessamine?

  Only himself, and he wasn’t even truly free to offer her that, not until he officially withdrew from the Templar order. He had given up his home and his inheritance to join the Templars. And once he was done with them, he’d have no employment either.

  He could do what he’d done before. He was sure he could find a way for both of them to take on new names and find a new home. They could start all over again. Alan straightened, feeling somewhat lighter at the thought. He didn’t have much to offer Jessamine except his protection and hope.

  Would it be enough? There was only one way to find out.

  With new determination firing his blood, Alan left the shadows of the hull and stepped forward into his future.

  After Alan left her, Jessamine remained on deck for a short while before returning to the captain’s cabin. She entered to find a hip bath had been set in the center of the chamber. Steam rose from the bath in gossamer threads, carrying a sweet, unfamiliar scent into the air. Was this the surprise Alan had said he’d left waiting there for her? If so, it was a welcome gift, indeed.

  Suddenly, the grit of the desert seemed to weigh her down, and s
he peeled her torn and dirty clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. With a sigh, she lowered herself into the scented water. She leaned back and closed her eyes in contented luxury as the hot water covered her. She felt the desert sand slough from her skin and velvet softness take its place.

  She opened her eyes, entirely relaxed now, and noted a cake of soap had been laid out for her beside a length of linen for drying. She grasped the soap and brought it to her nose. The floral scent from the water came to her more strongly now. She’d never smelled the like before.

  After dipping below the surface of the water to wet her hair, she lathered it. Feeling cleaner than she ever had before, she rinsed, then gazed about the small chamber she and Alan had shared every night since they’d left the Holy Land. Alan had not pressed her to make love. He’d said he would keep his distance, and he’d been a man of his word. He slept on the hammock in the corner, while she slept on the soft pallet at the opposite side of the chamber. Her gaze drifted there and caught on a soft green gown that had been laid out for her.

  By Alan? Who else would have done such a thing?

  Was that what he’d brought aboard the ship before they set sail? Should she wear the gown? Her gaze moved back to the butter yellow garment he’d purchased for her before they headed into the desert to find the ark. The garment was torn and dirty.

  Jessamine stepped from the bath and grasped the linen, realizing this was the first time she’d ever bathed herself. Usually her maid, Sarafina, scrubbed her skin, lathered her hair, then dried her, helped her dress, and styled her hair.

  Jessamine shook the loose ends of her wet hair, sending a spray of water onto the floor at her feet, and laughed. There was such freedom in doing these intimate tasks herself. She dried her skin and mopped up the wet floor with her sheet of linen, then brushed her hair until it fell in a cascade around her shoulders. When she was done, she slipped a clean chemise over her head, followed by the green gown, which laced in the front with silken gold ribbons. Finally, she slid her feet into a pair of gold-threaded slippers and felt like an entirely different person.

  The clothing was different from the styles she had worn in Spain, with cleaner lines, less fabric, and no binding corset. Was this the style of dress the women of Alan’s country wore? She was suddenly curious to find out. A whole new adventure awaited her in Scotland.

  With a smile of satisfaction, Jessamine left the chamber. The silken fabric caressed her skin and drifted about her ankles as she ascended the stairs leading to the deck. When she cleared the hatch, lanterns set up about the ship’s deck revealed Alan near the railing.

  He was dressed in black from head to foot except for a snowy white shirt, which was so white it seemed to gleam against his dark tunic. His dark head was slightly bent as he gazed at the water. The muscles of his back flexed as he shoved his right hand through his dark hair. The sheer maleness of his wide, muscular shoulders, his broad back and narrow waist stole her breath. Jessamine must have made a sound, because he looked up sharply. He watched her from across the deck.

  Stilled by the intensity of Alan’s gaze, locked in the magnetism of his blue eyes, she felt as though she could hardly breathe. Suddenly the air seemed too warm, and she pressed a hand against her chest as though forcing the air in and out of her lungs.

  And all the while, Alan’s gaze held her until it seemed that time stood still, that they were the only two people in the world. Then Alan moved toward her and took her arm. Jessamine started, for his touch was warm and alive. Without speaking, he led her to a low table set up on the deck with two pillows placed beside it. Alan took her hand and helped her down to one of the pillows, his touch lingering for a moment on her shoulder before he sat beside her on the other pillow.

  A seaman came forward then and set down a wooden platter filled with perfectly cooked vegetables, white fish, and the dates and berries she’d seen in the marketplace. They ate in relative silence, although all through supper, Jessamine was breathlessly aware of Alan next to her, of the soft slap of the water against the hull, and of the rhythmic sway of the boat.

  “Have you seen the—?” She stopped and cast a glance about the deck, uncertain if anyone was listening to their conversation.

  “Aye,” Alan continued, understanding her unspoken question. “It’s safe. Will insisted on sitting belowdecks with it until we reach the end of our journey.”

  “You said we were headed for Scotland. Where in Scotland exactly?”

  “Dundee, near the North Sea.”

  She frowned. “I’m not familiar with your country.”

  Alan excused himself from the table. He strode to the forecastle, then returned a few moments later with a lantern and a large sheet of linen. He set it before her. A map.

  She’d been educated with her uncle’s children. And after having lived through times of war and hardship, King Alfonso had deemed it important that both his daughters and sons learn the politics not just of Spain, but of the world. She’d benefited from his beliefs and recognized the outline of Spain’s coastline, but she’d never seen much beyond the Mediterranean Sea. “Is this where we are now?” she asked, pointing to a huge body of water.

  “Aye.” He smiled at her gently. “We will sail into the Atlantic Ocean, then up through the English Channel to Scotland.”

  She looked over the stern, seeing nothing but darkness. “Do you think the conde will follow us?”

  “Someone is. We spotted a ship two days ago,” he said. “I must admit Will was quite wise in his choice of vessel. The Arab dhow can outsail most ships. Whoever follows is at least a day behind us at present.”

  The knowledge didn’t ease the sudden tightening in her chest. “We won’t stop until we reach Scotland?”

  “Nay, we’ll sail straight for the next fortnight at least.”

  Her tension eased. They were safe for that long then. Her gaze returned to the starlit night around them. The sea’s surface rippled with the wind, and a line of brilliant phosphorescence kicked up by the tiller trailed behind them for as far as the eye could see. “It seems as if we are the only people in the world tonight,” she said softly.

  “That’s the way I want you to feel.” He stood. “Dance with me, Jessamine.”

  His words brought her gaze back to him. “We have no music.”

  In the next moment she found herself in his arms. “We have the music of our hearts.” She offered no resistance as he danced her away from the table and the lanterns, toward the bow of the ship.

  Moonlight cloaked them in silver. His arms slipped about her waist. The warmth and strength of him felt like a caress against the lightweight fabric of her gown.

  “You are a constant puzzle to me,” she murmured. “Are you a warrior or a romantic?”

  “Can’t a man be both?” His breath was warm as he laughed softly against her ear.

  “Irresistible, that’s what you are.” Her words were only a thread above a whisper.

  He lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulders, drawing her closer as he did. He drew a deep breath. “You are beautiful tonight.” He lifted her hair to his lips and rubbed the silken strands against them, whispering her name.

  The hair slipped from his fingers, and his mouth found hers in a kiss that shattered the calm of the night and made her tremble with fevered longing. Once again it seemed as though time stood still. She could lose herself in his arms, in their passion.

  Her heart thundering in her chest, she stepped away. She wanted Alan with an urgency so powerful it nearly consumed her. But if she gave herself to him one more time, she doubted she’d be able to resist him ever again. She wanted to marry him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in his arms. But how was such a miracle possible, given their circumstances?

  With a smothered cry, she turned away and ran back to the safety of her chamber.

  The next morning Jessamine came on deck early.

  “I’m glad you decided to come up for some air.” Alan signaled for a seaman to take the
wheel of the ship as he moved to join her at the railing.

  She avoided Alan’s gaze, searching behind them for the speck of black in the distance that might be the conde’s ship. “Morning air is good for one’s health.”

  “Aye.” He came to stand beside her, leaning back against the railing so that he could stare into her face.

  She couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting toward him. The wind lifted the edges of his dark hair and molded his white shirt to his muscular body. For one brief moment she saw utter contentment cross his features before his usual mask fell into place. Yet that one glimpse told her more than he’d intended. He liked it here on deck.

  “I thought you were only a warrior, not a sailor.”

  His gaze snapped to hers. “There’s no ‘only’ in being a warrior. It requires not only discipline and skill but intelligence, if you don’t want to find yourself buried six feet under.”

  “I meant no insult. I was simply pointing out you seem just as comfortable here on the deck with the wheel in your hands as you do with a sword.”

  His face softened. “In truth, I love the sea.”

  Jessamine’s breath stilled at the sudden look of vulnerability in his face, his eyes. “Why did you not pursue a life at sea?”

  “My father had other plans for me. I do believe it was because he loved me. He knew the life of a seaman would be a rough and uncertain one.”

  “Any more rough and uncertain than being a warrior?”

  He laughed. “My father understood the land. Not the sea.”

  She frowned. “So how did you learn to sail?”

  The vulnerable expression was gone. “After my parents died in the sea, I ran away from the clan and signed on as a cabin boy. For years, I worked my way up through the ranks until I had something that was mine—status, money, and skill. But it was never enough.”