by Alexa Aston
His fingers relaxed but did not turn her loose. Not wanting to disturb him further, she remained by his side, her cheek resting against his beating heart.
How long had it been since she’d felt the touch of another?
Elinor couldn’t say. When she came to stay with Jasper all those years ago, he never helped her dress or combed her hair. She did it herself and her independent streak had only grown over the years. In all honesty, she hadn’t missed the interaction with others. Seeing them. Hearing them. Speaking with them. The falcons had been sufficient in filling the void within her. Training new birds always proved to be a challenge and all her conversation had been saved for this purpose. Once Jasper taught Elinor what do, they had spoken very little to one another. Her years with him had been ones spent in quiet, save for any noise the birds made and the few times they addressed each other.
One of her favorite things was to stroke her birds. They didn’t allow a caress very often but it had always given her great comfort. Now, Elinor realized that although she’d done without others in her life, she had missed being touched. Having her hair stroked. Being given a hug of reassurance. All those things from her past now came crashing back, bringing about a fierce longing that made her heart ache.
Gradually, she moved her palm up the stranger’s bare chest, craving to touch as much as being touched. The ridges of hardened muscles seemed foreign. Her fingers brushed against his throat and rose higher. She cupped his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. New sensations trickled through her, causing her to be more daring. Elinor pushed herself up and brought her face close to his. She allowed her fingertips to explore his brow, rubbing away the crease in it as he sighed and relaxed. She smoothed his eyebrows. Slid fingers softly down his nose. Then lightly traced the outline of his full, sensual lips and skated back down his throat.
He murmured something in his sleep. She pushed his hair back and studied him carefully. Never having been this close to a man, she wondered at how different he seemed from her. How he seemed different from any other man she’d encountered.
And then the urge to kiss him overwhelmed her.
It came out of nowhere. Elinor barely remembered what a kiss was and had certainly never kissed anything other than her mother’s cheek but, suddenly, her lips twitched and then began to ache in need. She wanted to place her mouth on his.
If she didn’t, she might die.
Raising up, she eased his fingers from her arm and placed his hand back by his side. Before she lost her nerve, she straddled him, hovering above him while she kept her weight off so as not to further injure him. Flattening her palms on both sides of his head, Elinor leaned closer, her lips drawn to his like a magnet as she slowly lowered them to his.
She rested her mouth against his for a moment, then instinct took over as she softly brushed her lips against his. The most delightful tremor ran through her at the contact. She continued and then ran her lips to his cheek. Up to his eyelid. Kissed her way down his nose and arrived back at his mouth. For a moment, she pressed her lips to his in yearning, not understanding what she did or why she had such great need to do this. Then she realized she needed to stop. He had not invited her to kiss him. She took advantage of him while he lay unconscious. If the positions were reversed, she would not wish for someone to assault her while she slept.
Reluctantly, Elinor pulled away. Her mouth hovered just above his, longing to touch it again. She wouldn’t do it. No matter how much she wanted to, she would refuse to act on these mad impulses.
Then the man below her came to life. His massive arms enfolded her, forcing her to collapse against his fever-hot chest. Pinned to him, Elinor could not move. Though his eyes did not open, his lips twitched irresistibly, causing her to lick her own in anticipation. Then one of his hands slid up her back sensually, taking its time to arrive at the nape of her neck. When it got there, strong fingers massaged it—then pushed her head down toward him.
Elinor’s lips met his. Another shiver ran through her at the touch as something sparked between them. Before she could protest, his tongue shot out and languidly traced the outline of her mouth. The sparks erupted into fire, shooting through her like a blaze out of control. She opened her mouth to him, knowing it would lead to something dark and dangerous and wonderful.
It did.
His arm tightened around her. A hand pushed into her hair. And his tongue slipped inside her mouth, tasting her, stroking her, teasing her. Elinor had no idea this happened between a man and a woman. All thought—all reason—left her. She became the stranger’s instrument as he took and gave. Desire shot through her limbs and then puddled low in her belly, even lower, bringing with it need and want. Her hands latched on to his shoulders, digging into the bare, heated flesh, kneading them like a cat.
Still, he kissed her and Elinor returned the kiss, boldly beginning to imitate his movements. Jasper always said she’d been a quick learner when it came to the raptors and this was no different. No, it was different. She innately understood what to do, as if her body held a history of what women did and wanted, all those who came before her now whispering in her ear, telling her exactly what to do.
Elinor kissed the stranger with everything in her heart, willing him to awaken from her kisses, fearing he might and stop this madness. They kissed long and deep, tasting everything the other had to offer. Then his hands melted away from her, falling back to his sides. His tongue stilled, as did his lips. She broke the contact between them and gazed upon him.
He slept again.
She rose unsteadily, unsure of what had just occurred between them, her body humming with vibrations that called out for more. Much more. Yet, his chest rose and fell, as he sank back into oblivion. Elinor’s fingertips grazed her lips in wonder of all that happened.
And she still did not know his name.
*
Hal sensed the warm woman lying against him and drew her closer. One arm tightened possessively around her. The other reached out and found the sweet curve of her hip. He caressed it, his hand sliding up and down several times, causing his loins to tighten. He moved it up to her waist and beyond, to where his fingers brushed the swell of her breast. He sighed contentedly.
Then his eyes flew open.
He had no idea where he was. Nothing looked familiar to him. Hal’s eyes dropped to the woman cuddled next to him. Rich, brown hair fell in waves, draping over him. Her heart-shaped face betrayed a rare beauty. Pink lips, begging to be kissed, were slightly parted. Something told him he knew those lips. Knew them well.
Yet how?
He did not recognize the fully-clothed woman lying next to him. Moreover, he didn’t have a stitch on, while she was not only completely dressed—but dressed as a young boy. Yet no one would be able to mistake her curves for that of a male. Hal closed his eyes, willing some memory of this lovely creature to return to him.
The itch in his side reminded him of everything all at once. As did his left leg, stiff and unmoving, straight out before him.
Everything flooded back, images quickly appearing and disappearing. Walking in the cold. Watching the falcons fly. Seeing the man in the road. Then the highwaymen attacking. Hal frowned and remembered being stabbed by one. That was what the damnable itch was about. His side had been pierced.
And the woman beside him had helped to seal the wound.
He recalled killing the thief who slammed something into him. Whether that broke the bone in his leg or if he injured it falling, he might never remember. Hal only knew he had gained his revenge and killed the man before the robber could slay him.
This woman had come to his aid, just as he had the traveler on the road. Wait, she had called the man her father. Said he was a falconer. That she was a falconer. Hal had never heard of a woman holding that position in a castle but he supposed it was possible. Mayhap the man had no son and decided to pass along his knowledge to this daughter.
He looked at her again, her lips slightly parted, her breath slow and steady in sle
ep. Why did he feel he knew her? He had no name for this woman yet Hal believed something intimate had passed between them. A deep hunger for her filled him, like none he had ever known. It baffled him. Hal de Montfort did not yearn for any female. He charmed them. Kissed them. Coupled with them.
But he never needed them—or any one of them, in particular.
He did this one, though. Whoever she was, something about her called out to him. Stirred his blood. Had they coupled? Surely, he would remember if they had. He hadn’t been in any shape to perform those kinds of duties. Not with his leg broken and what he assumed was a raging fever, caused by the infection in the wound that he’d told her wasn’t serious, when he knew it was. He’d had a fever before and when it broke, it felt as he did now. Weak. Tired. Ravenous.
The woman stirred in his arms. She would awaken at any moment. More than anything, he wanted to take his fill of her. He hungered not only for food—but for the taste of her.
Hal brushed his lips against the top of her head, drawing in her scent. She smelled of the wood fire and outside. As if she’d come in from the cold, the wind still in her hair, and nestled against him for warmth. He longed to kiss more of her but two things stopped him. The first was he would have to move a good ways to reach her luscious mouth. With his leg and her position, it was all but impossible.
The second?
She seemed so innocent as she slept. Not only had he never taken advantage of a virgin but he had never tried to make love to a woman while she slept.
Especially when he didn’t know her name.
The haze of the fever and the long sleep dissipated as Hal became more and more aware of her—and how much he wanted to touch her. His manhood threatened to rise to the occasion. He refused to let her awaken to his member pressing urgently against her. Reluctantly, he began moving around in order to make sure she came to before he lost the little self-control he held on to by a thread. He sighed loudly and stretched his free arm above his head.
She burrowed further into his chest.
Would the maid ever awaken?
Hal had two choices—either give in and kiss her senseless—or cough.
He chose the latter. Grudgingly.
Forcing a loud cough to erupt, he hacked away until she stiffened and pushed away from him. By that time, his act had turned into a true cough and he kept on, not able to catch his breath.
She scrambled to her feet and dashed to retrieve something for him to drink. Helping him to sit up, she pounded him on the back as hard as any fellow soldier would before holding the cup to his lips and tilting it. Hal drank in the ale, realizing as it went down his throat how parched he was. Draining the cup, he handed it to her.
“More,” he got out, regretting that her warm hand left his back to do so.
The woman refilled it and brought it to him. This time, Hal drank more slowly, savoring the ale as it went down. He lowered the cup.
“How long . . . have I slept?” His voice sounded rusty from disuse.
“The fever took you and held you in its grip for eight days,” she replied. “Your wound was more serious than you revealed to me.” Then a blush rose on her cheeks.
Hal realized she must be embarrassed that he found her lying next to him.
“I must thank you for caring for me.”
“You are most welcome. I owed it to you.”
“Because I came to your father’s aid?” He shrugged. “I am only sorry that I could not save him from those criminals.”
Sadness blanketed her, making him want to cradle her in his arms. “Jasper would have appreciated what you did for him. It was the least I could do to try and help you recover from your injuries.”
He wondered why she called her father by his Christian name but did not press her.
“Did I speak nonsense during the fever?”
She looked surprised. “Aye, you did. The first day, you went from chills to burning up. You thrashed about so much I had to hold you down to keep you from hurting yourself. The only thing that kept you still was if I lay beside you and talked to you. But you did chatter away after that first day. Mostly nonsense. Nothing that I could understand.”
He nodded. “Then that is why your voice seems so familiar to me, I suppose.” It was low and melodic. “I have had an infection before.”
“Like the one from the arrow that pierced your thigh?” she asked.
“You know about that?” He supposed she had seen the marred flesh while bathing him to cool the fever.
“You showed it to me. Just before you . . . we . . . cauterized your stab wound.”
“I did?” He remembered nothing about that. Hal touched his side and saw the burnt flesh now recovering. “Do you have any honey?” he asked.
“Nay. I am afraid you are being cared for in a very poor household. Why?”
“My mother and sister are healers. They have used honey in the past, smearing it on a burn to help it heal.”
She bit her lip. “I am sorry that I cannot obtain any for you.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. It looks as if I’ll live,” he teased.
“I hope so,” she said earnestly. “I have done my best to care for you, day and night.”
“I do appreciate how you have cared for me.” He paused. “But to thank you properly, I need to know something.”
He stared deep into her eyes. “What is your name?”
Chapter 8
“Elinor.”
She fought to keep her eyes focused on his face when all she wanted to do was drop them to his torso. He was naked from the waist up and Elinor longed to brush her palms against the fine matting of hair and feel the muscles bunch under her hands. She swallowed and stared into his eyes. He looked at her as if he knew her.
As she knew him.
Oh, she had been wicked this past week. Every day and night she had lain next to this stranger, talking to him, telling him stories, placating him when he grew restless. She washed his scorching body often, trying to rinse away any sign of fever. Or that was her excuse. True, the fever did plague him and she would have needed to bathe him with cool water to bring it down.
But did she have to enjoy it so much?
She certainly had. At this point, Elinor knew every line of this man’s body because she had touched it. Lovingly. Reverently. It didn’t take her long to realize just how magnificent he was.
And she had kissed him as he slept. She tried not to but any restraint she attempted to exercise had failed miserably. Elinor had kissed his fingers. His forearms. His shoulders. Her lips had brushed against every part of his face and chest. She’d even found his knees wildly attractive and nibbled on them.
He never responded as he had that first time when he’d kissed her with passion. She understood that had been the fever speaking for him. A man such as this would have nothing to do with her. She didn’t even dress as other females did. She dressed as a falconer would.
But Elinor believed her kisses had been just as much a part of the healing process as anything else. She had bathed him to bring the fever down. Fed him bits of broth, which he’d thirstily sucked down. She made sure movement was kept to a minimum so that his side and leg could mend properly.
“That’s a lovely name.”
His gaze warmed her as his eyes wandered over her. He searched as if he looked for some answer that she could provide.
“Might I also ask your name?” she asked in return.
He startled, as if being drawn from a reverie. “Hal,” he said absently. Then, “My name is Hal,” came more firmly from him.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Hal.” Elinor paused. “Where were you headed on your journey? Will you be missed?”
His lips tightened. Instinctively, she knew something unpleasant had happened to him. She doubted he would divulge it to her. After all, they were mere strangers.
Though she knew every contour of his body well.
“No one will miss me,” he said quietly. “I have been abs
ent from home for a long while. I was returning there but no one knew to expect me.”
“Then I suppose you will have to stay here as you heal.”
“Aye. If you’ll have me.”
Cleo shifted in her cage, drawing his attention.
“You keep birds inside? I know some farmers keep their animals in their cottages during the coldest of winter but I have never witnessed someone who lived with birds.”
Elinor went to the mews to open the wire door. “Oh, these aren’t just any birds, Hal. You may not remember but I told you that I am a falconer. Jasper always insisted that once Cleo and Horus had mated, her eggs should be laid indoors. He wanted the pair’s offspring protected from any type of danger, at least until they hatched. I will return them to the outside mews after they are a few weeks old so they won’t become too tame. They will need to learn to fend for themselves.”
“I think I observed your falcons as I journeyed in this direction. Seeing them in flight was mesmerizing, like a dance without music.”
“They are quite beautiful when in the air. Hopefully, I’ll have little eyases soon and introduce you to them.”
“Eyases? Are those their chicks?”
Elinor nodded as she opened the cage’s door. “Cleo has laid two eggs. I had hoped for more but she’s getting up in age.” She looked at the raptor, whose eyes were alert. “Are you ready to hunt?”
Walking to the door, she unbolted it and made a motion with her hand. Cleo flew from her mews, only to be replaced by Horus entering the cottage. The bird glided into the cage and settled atop the eggs his mate had left behind.
Astonishment filled Hal’s face. “Is he sitting on her eggs?”
Elinor laughed. “He is. A falcon who is to become a father will do his part and warm the eggs for short periods of time each day although it is the mother who spends a majority of her time nesting with them. One parent always stays with the eggs while the other hunts. Since females are the better hunters where falcons are concerned, ’tis usually Cleo who provides for both of them.”
