by Lisa Hendrix
God’s knees. She should never have mentioned Robin or even the possibility of him taking her back. Now it was in his mind, and if she didn’t do something quickly, it would stay there and all would be lost. ’Twas her misfortune that she knew of only one thing she could do, one thing he truly wanted.
Whenever he wanted. How often would that be?
She scrambled around to kneel beside him. “I meant what I said earlier, my lord. I do not hold you to the oath that was forced on you. You and I made our bargain first, and it takes precedence. I will keep that bargain, on my honor.”
“What does a woman know of honor? ”
“More than most men.” She leaned over and kissed him, quick and hard, and sat back.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that all you offer as proof?”
Devil. He wanted proof? She would give him proof. She gathered herself and leaned in again. This time, she poured everything she knew into her kiss, beginning softly, with the merest brush across his mouth. Another brush, slower, then a lingering hesitation in which she ran the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip. As she did, his lips, which had begun stiff and unyielding, slowly softened and parted. Excitement rippled through her, warming her to the task at hand. She deepened the kiss, plunging her tongue into his mouth as he had done to her, then nearly laughed as his tongue lifted to meet and counter her attack. There.
Victorious, she sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “Perhaps that is proof enough.”
“ ’Tis proof of something. Of what, we shall see.” His hands found her waist and slowly tugged her forward until her face was just inches from his. “You must love this sister of Robin’s very much, to risk so much for her sake.”
“I do,” she assured him.
His gaze drifted down over her breasts, then came back up to meet her eyes with a look of such hunger, she forgot to breathe. That already familiar surge of lust pushed past her defenses, spinning her sense of victory into something else entirely, something that sent heat rushing through her until it found that place at her center where it turned to liquid fire. Now …
His jaw tightened and the fire turned to ice. With a slight shove, he dumped her on her backside and rose. “It grows late. Use the bushes and get back here.”
She sat there in an untidy heap, her heart thumping with anger and confusion as he stalked off toward the horses. Devil. Pautonnier. Ass. Biting her tongue to keep from spitting the words after him, she pushed to her feet and stumbled off into the bushes. What had just happened? They had been on the brink; her body still throbbed with it, and she knew he was in an even worse state. She could not conceive why or how he had stopped, and no amount of contemplation or swearing made the sudden shift any clearer.
She returned just in time to see Steinarr swing up onto the stallion bareback, a thin bundle slung over his shoulder with his bow. Alarmed, she flew across the clearing to block him. “Where are you going? You cannot leave me here. Please, my lord, I swear, I will do whatever you—”
“Calm yourself, Marian. A friend of mine will be here shortly after sunset.”
“A friend? But—”
“He will stand guard outside for the night, and you will sleep within the hermit’s cell.” His voice was even but clipped, and he didn’t look at her. “Your things are already in there. You will be safe until I return come morning.”
“But—”
“My friend is called Torvald.” The horse danced away, and Steinarr reined the animal on around, so he could face her again. This time he did meet her eyes, and once again she sensed the passions boiling behind his controlled expression. “I would suggest you not try to practice your sort of ‘honor’ with him. I trust him with my life and yours, but even the most disciplined man would find it difficult to resist such a kiss.”
Yet he resisted, when everything about him, every touch, every snap of anger, every lusty desire that hammered against the walls of her mind, said he didn’t want to. He wanted her, despite the vow he’d made Robert, and if he did, she still had some hope, some power to bind him to her and make this work.
“Then you will take me the rest of the way as you promised? ”
“I have not yet decided.” He put his spurs to the horse and galloped away, leaving her alone in a forest full of wolves.
CHAPTER 8
“DEVIL’S SPAWN,” MUTTERED Matilda as he vanished down the trail. Foul scoundrel. She stormed back to the fire and plunked down on a stone, so disgusted with herself and with him that she shook.
What was she doing here? Here, in the middle of nowhere, offering her body to this strange, wild man? She didn’t want him. She didn’t even like him. This ache … this wasn’t her. It was all him, him and his untamed passions, stirring her body to this fever and her mind to who knew what. Curse him, she wasn’t even certain her anger was her own. How would she survive a score of days in his company, much less in his bed?
Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared into the fire, searching for some distraction that would get her thoughts and her body back under her own control. But there was no distraction. There was only Steinarr, his strange blue and gold eyes taunting her from among the dancing flames.
It was a long time later when a distant sound made her glance up. The light had faded, and the high clouds overhead glowed with the pink and gold of sunset. A moment later, the sound wafted through the trees again.
The almost-human agony in the cry sent a chill racing down Matilda’s spine. She retreated to the safety of the doorway and stood scanning the darkening forest for any sign of the friend Sir Steinarr had promised would protect her. What if it was him, injured and crying out in pain? A breeze stirred the air, bringing an edge of cold and the scent of coming rain, and Matilda pulled her cloak around CHAPTER 8 her. More time passed, and the sky grew blacker and clouds slowly hid the stars, and he still did not come.
The sudden, nearby crack of a twig made her jump. She darted forward to snatch a burning stick from the fire and then retreated quickly back to the doorway, holding her makeshift weapon before her like a sword.
“You will not need that brand … Marian, is it?” He came striding into the firelight, a pale, lean man with long legs and silver-white hair that hung past his shoulders in tangled streamers. “I am Torvald, a friend to Steinarr.”
Feeling sheepish, she lowered her stick. “ ’Twas not for you, my lord. I heard some beast cry out.”
“I heard nothing. But I do smell something. Pork?”
“Bacon.” She tossed her stick back on the fire and motioned toward the rock where the last of the evening meal lay. “And good bread. And not-so-good ale.”
“Better than no ale.” Instead of attacking the food like his friend would, Torvald merely nodded his thanks and walked the few paces to where the rouncey stood hobbled. He scratched the animal’s nose. “Hello, my friend.”
“You know the horse?”
“I have ridden him a few times.”
The animal snuffled happily into his hand, and Matilda’s opinion of this Torvald swung toward the good. Horses seldom liked evil men—tolerated, but not liked. Then again, she’d had a good opinion of Sir Steinarr at first, too, so perhaps she was mistaken about this friend as well. Perhaps the horse didn’t actually like him at all. There was only one way to know, and thankfully, with Steinarr long gone, she could relax her guard for the night and use it. She let the walls fall away and immediately felt the rouncey’s pleasure as the man ran his hand over his withers. Yes. A good man.
Then Torvald turned to look at her, and for just an instant …
“You seem somehow familiar to me, my lord. Do I know you?”
“I doubt it.”
But the strange sensation of familiarity remained. “Have you ever been to Huntingdon? Or perhaps to Loxley? ”
“No.” Torvald pulled out his knife and bent to lift the horse’s front hoof and hold it between his knees. “I spend most of my time in …” He paused as a strange, low roar rose up over the
forest. “I spend my time in these woods.”
“What was that?” Matilda edged as close to the fire as she could without setting her skirts alight. “That was not the same as before.”
“Uh, boars fighting, I think.” Torvald continued picking at the rouncey’s hoof as though nothing were wrong. “You should get some sleep.”
“It is yet early, my lord. A little longer.” In truth, it was not the hour, but the uneasy feeling that both the sound and Torvald’s unlikely explanation had stirred. Why were men like that, so convinced they must protect women from the truth that they made things far worse with a lie? She watched him duck under the rouncey’s neck to check the other hooves. “My lord? ”
“Yes.”
“I have heard boars fighting. That was not a boar fight.”
“Perhaps not. But whatever it was, it was far away and will not harm you while I am here.” He pried a stone from the forefoot and flicked it away, then set the hoof down and moved on.
“My lord.”
“What?”
“Does Sir Steinarr intend to keep to his word and take me on the rest of my journey?”
He straightened and, for the space of a long breath, assessed her over the animal’s back, and again there was that strange tickle at the edge of her awareness. Then he smiled and it faded away. “He did not say. You should sleep, Marian. You have had a long day.”
He looked as wild and fearsome as Sir Steinarr, standing there with his unkempt hair and his threadbare clothes and his deeply carved face, but there was a steadiness to this one that soothed her where his friend did not. She took a deep breath and nodded, then retreated into the hermit’s cell.
She found her bundle and a thick sheepskin that Sir Steinarr had thrown down beside it, and she was soon in her simple bed. The stone beneath the skin was hard, but the fatigue that had been dogging her soon had her yawning.
She was about to drift off when another sound lifted over the trees, not a roar but a snarl, fierce and far, far closer. She sat bolt upright. “Monsire?”
“Here. Sleep, Marian. It is nothing to concern you.”
She leaned forward so she could see him. He sat by the fire, apparently at ease, a piece of bread in his hand and the ale skin in his lap. He certainly didn’t seem concerned, and his calm transferred to her.
Wrapping herself more snugly in both cloak and blanket, she settled back down. Slowly, her heart fell back to its rhythm and the exhaustion caught her and she drifted away. It was only as her eyes fluttered open and shut in those final moments before sleep that Torvald rose. The last thing she saw, he was standing just beyond the fire, sword in hand, guarding her from whatever monsters prowled the night.
THE FEMALE.
The lion could sense her, smell her, feel her, distant but present. He tilted his head back and curled his lip, tasting the night air. Yes. That was her. He swung his great head, sampling the air until he knew in which direction she lay, and began moving toward her, seeking.
He could smell food, too, mixed together with the scent of her. They were in the same place. Good. He would need food after.
But food was not what drew him. Food could be had anywhere. It was the female that was rare. She was what was important. He didn’t have a female of his own, and he wanted one, needed one, beyond any other need. Beyond food or water or sleep or fighting or the hunt.
A female. A mate.
He followed the mingled odors past creatures who would have been his prey any other night, but they only stood and watched him pass. Even the skittering deer only chewed their cuds, understanding they were safe this night.
Her scent grew stronger, clearer, and he began to huff, in preparation for calling to her. The roar built in his throat. Near. She was near. Then light flickered through the trees and the roar died. Fire. Human. Him.
He knew that scent, too. He should have smelled him earlier. He would have, except that the female was so rich in his throat. The scent of her rose up all around, drawing him forward. He crouched down and crept forward toward the light, and when he was close enough, he saw the man who so often stood between him and easy game now stood between him and her.
The man had her trapped, there in the den beyond the fire. She shouldn’t be by the fire. She shouldn’t be with him. He must kill the man, then he could have her. The lion crept closer, but the fire burned bright, and the man watched, and even the promise of her couldn’t chase away the memory of the pain this human could deliver. This one wielded fire and sharp sticks with a courage other men seldom had. This man hurt.
He backed away until the dark was thick enough to hide him, then he circled, looking for the weakness, the way to her, but the man knew and added wood to the fire, and the flames licked up. He could sense her there, beyond the burning flame, and he snarled. The man lifted his sharp stick and a branch of flame and stepped forward, speaking.
He didn’t understand the words, but the intent was clear enough: he couldn’t have her.
But the other could. Deep inside, there was the other, the one who walked by day, who also wanted her. He didn’t fear fire or men. He could have her, if he would just take her.
So he settled down, just beyond where the man could see, and watched and waited. And the one who could walk by day watched and waited with him through the night, until the sky lightened and the need to hide became greater even than the drive to reach the female.
It didn’t matter. He knew where to find her, and the man would not always be there. He would come back, night after night, until the man grew careless. Then she would be his.
The lion rose and silently padded away.
A MISTING RAIN fell as Steinarr heaved his aching body up off the ground the next morning. Clapping his arms around himself to stay warm, he peered around in the gloom, trying to spot the lightning-struck tree he had picked as a marker.
There.
He stumbled off toward the tree and quickly found the hollow beneath its roots where he’d hidden his clothing. By the time he pulled his cloak around his shoulders, the clouds had lightened to the shade of old pewter and some of the gnawing chill had faded. He again took his bearings, this time by the rise of land to the south, and set off toward the place he would meet Torvald.
It was hard going. The rain made the ground slick, and his head was still thick with the lion’s temper. He wasn’t sure why, but over the last few days, the beast had clung to him with sharper claws than usual. He could feel it, prowling out of sight, full of killing rage and somehow aware of Marian. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure. He simply knew, just as he knew how much more dangerous that awareness made the beast. He would have to travel farther from camp each night to keep her and Torvald safe—another problem to add to the mix.
But his real problem was that he carried the weight of one too many vows to Englishmen.
It wasn’t in him to simply pick one to ignore. A man’s word was his honor, and he always kept to the letter of what he promised, even to Englishmen—though he sometimes sliced the wording of those promises so finely that the other party might believe he had sworn to something other than what he truly had. He had very carefully balanced what he’d told Marian with what he’d promised Guy; she only assumed that her journey would end with her back in the company of Robin. Robert. Whatever his name was.
And then Robin had thrown that balance all askew. It irked Steinarr to admit the puppy had defeated him on two fronts, demanding precisely the ending Marian expected, plus forcing him to swear off her body. That last was especially galling. He had no interest in spending the next weeks with a hard cock, hauling around a woman he couldn’t touch.
But neither had he any interest in choosing between the vow made to a puffed-up coxcomb of an English nobleman and that made to a bastard thief—even if the coxcomb did offer ten pounds of much-needed silver. He was starting to think the best solution to this muddle would be to take Marian back to the colliers’ camp and send the gold florin back to Gisburne along with word that his cousi
n could not be found. That, at least, would put everything back to how it stood before he’d stepped into it.
Unfortunately, it would also put Marian back into the hands of her seducer, and whatever Ari said about his own similar intentions, the idea of Robert le Chape leading Marian off into ruin did not sit well.
Aye, he’d much rather do that himself.
And at least when he was done with her, he would see her safely back home to be wed. But if he did that, it would mean keeping his word to Guy while breaking his vow to—
Bah.
A large animal crashed through the brush ahead. Steinarr whistled. The stallion came trotting out of the mist, looking like a damp ghost, and moments later, Steinarr had collected the bundle of Torvald’s clothing and they were headed toward the hermit’s cell.
When he rode into the clearing, Marian was standing beneath the overhang, out of the rain. He dismounted and went to join her. “I see you made it through the night without being devoured by wolves.”
“Thanks to your friend, though he came so late and left so early, he might well have not come at all. Why did he not stay to greet you this morning? ”
“He has other ways to spend his days.” He indicated the two pieces of bread and cheese she was holding. “Is one of those for me? ”
“Both. I have already broken my fast.”
“So are you ready?” He plucked both pieces out of her fingers and took a huge bite from each.
“I am, m’lord.” By the way her eyes narrowed, she had caught on to his little jest. “The question is, are you?”
By the gods, was he. Astride his lap. The image pounded through his skull and set his body throbbing. He could have her that way right now, if not for that cursed puppy. He could have had her already.
“Put out the fire,” he said, turning away before his arousal grew too obvious. “I will tend to the gear.”
She grabbed the pail and headed off for water, and he gobbled down his meal and reached for the rouncey’s bridle.
