by Jill Barnett
He pulled out of her and shifted, unfolded his legs and lay atop her, rubbing against her belly and her woman’s bone, faster and faster, gripping her hips in his hands as he moved, closer and closer to completion, his release growing and climbing higher and higher.
A shudder ran through him and he came hard, his hands moved to her hair and his mouth was buried in her shoulder and neck. His life flowed in pulses, warm and wet between them, onto their bellies and over their skin.
They lay there for a long time, until his breathing slowed and had joined hers. He brushed a lock of her hair from his nose, then took another deep breath and lifted his head.
She was looking at him from those eyes and he was lost already. Gone. He never had a chance.
She raised her finger to his mouth. “You did not hurt me.” She sounded puzzled.
“I did not breach you. Had I done so, you would have felt the pain, but only then. Only once.”
She frowned, then said, “Why?”
“Why the pain?”
“Nay, why did you not take me completely?”
“We are not wed. Betrothed, but not wed. I will save that act for our wedding bed. Not for this night. This was for us. For now.”
“It was wonderful.”
“Aye,” he smiled, then shifted from between her, and lay alongside of her, looking at her, watching her expression. She looked down at the moisture on her belly and she touched it with her fingertips, then looked at him.
“That is my life. After we are wed, it will go into you. It will mix with your seed and from us, together, will come our children.”
She nodded, then just stared at her belly. After a moment, she shifted and looked down at him, ran her gaze from his head to his chest, his hips and lower. She stared at him for the longest time.
He began to laugh. “Don’t fret. It will grow again.”
She punched him in the arm and said, “I know that.”
“Oh? And how do you know that?”
“Women talk.”
“What do women talk about?”
“Things.”
“Such as?”
“Men.”
“What about men?”
“Their hard heads.”
“Only their hard heads?”
“And their privy members. What do men talk about?”
“War and weapons and women, not necessarily in that order.”
They grinned at each other.
She moved a little closer and smiled at him, the first truly real smile she had ever given him.
He felt something inside of him stop, like his heart.
There was no malice there, no honeyed sweetness that was feigned. No play-acting.
Just a smile.
He slid his arm under her and pulled her close, tucking her head with its crown of black, saucy curls under his chin.
He rubbed his chin over her head, over the soft hair, and she flinched.
He pulled back and looked at her head, frowning. He raised his hand and ran it over the top of her head. “You have a knot.”
“Aye.” She was quiet for a long time, then she sighed and said. “I was juggling some wooden balls and missed.”
“I heard.”
“What?” She sat up and looked down at him. “You wretched thing, you. You knew?”
“Aye. That was how I found you, following the trail of your accidents.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I thought the wild pig tossing you into the gutters was particularly vivid, at least according to the tavern owner on the corner where you were performing this great and entertaining feat.”
She began to laugh then. “I must have looked so stupid and silly.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “You? Never.”
She sniffed at him and raised that damn chin up. “At least I can juggle.”
“Aye, just remind me to be out of the country when you try it again, or at least a good furlong away.” He smiled at her indignant expression.
She punched him with her bony little knuckles.
He grabbed her and pulled her back into his arms. “Go to sleep.”
She laid there with her head on his chest and was quiet. After a while she said in a sleepy voice, “I hate you.”
“I know.” He looked down at her and brushed a lock of hair from her brow, then planted a kiss there. He breathed in the scent of her. He stared down at her features, the nose, the full lips, and the face that could drive him mad with anger or desire.
He did not move, but was thinking about what she had just said as he stared up at nothing. He moved his mouth closer to her and said, “We need strong emotion between us, you and I. Hate or love, we both have to feel something.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the soft sound of her even breathing.
Chapter 18
She awoke to a sharp slap on her bare bottom. She rubbed it and scowled up through sleepy and blurred eyes.
Tobin was standing over her, dressed in mail and looking as if he had single-handedly won a war—a tower of manhood and obnoxiousness.
She buried her head in the pillow. “Go away.”
“Get up.”
“I can’t. I died.”
“Get up or I’ll take that cold bath water and dump it on you.”
“God in heaven above . . . You would do it, too.”
“Aye, that I would.” He started to turn away.
“Don’t move!” She sat up and blinked, then groaned and grabbed her aching head.
He tossed her clothes onto the bed. “We have to leave soon. The men are waiting below. We must go to meet the others.”
She was wrapping the linen binding around her chest and looked up and asked, “What others?”
“The rest of my men.”
She tied a knot in the linen, then another to be sure it would hold her. She put on her tunic and braies, secretly wishing they were clean.
Tobin strapped on his sword and looked down as he secured the buckle. “My man Parcin took half the troop and went to search to the northeast. He glanced at her then. “I could not be certain which way you went. We are to meet them at the crossroad to the Marches this morn.”
It took only a few long strides for him to cross the room. He stood next to the bed as she sat there and pulled on her boots. After watching her for a moment, he reached out his hand and used his knuckle to tilt her chin up.
She had to look at him.
His eyes were clear and awake and serious. “You caused no little trouble running away like that.”
She did not respond. She had nothing to say, a rare moment. So instead of defending herself, she stood and went to the water and splashed some on her face. Then she dried it and turned, facing him, her hands on her hips and her chin high. “Quit dawdling, then, and let’s be off. I am ready.”
He gave a wry look and a bit of a smile played around his mouth. He took a step, reached around her and opened the door, then gave her a gentle shove into the upstairs hallway.
They walked down together. She saw the women whispering among themselves near the bar and caught the odd and disappointed look the blonde barmaid cast in Tobin’s direction.
Sofia had to fight back a grin and a giggle.
He grabbed some bread and cheese that was wrapped for the road and tossed some coins onto the bar.
“Thank ye, sir,” she said without looking up. “A safe trip to ye and yer . . . boy.”
Tobin gave them a casual wave and followed Sofia out the door. She looked around her at the sunny sky and the fresh air. “Ah! What a wonderful morn!”
He frowned at her, then shook his head and crossed to his mount, where his men were waiting.
She walked behind him, a jaunt to her step. She cast one quick glance back over her shoulder, then ran to catch up to him. “Tobin?”
He was adjusting the saddle strap and looked up.
She slid her arms around him and said, “Kiss me.”
He did not protest when her mouth covered his. He straightened, his hands went to he
r bottom and he pulled her close, burying his tongue in her mouth.
She was laughing when they broke apart.
He studied her for a moment. “What was that about?”
She grinned. “Not much, sir.”
He picked her up and set her on the saddle. “Why do I have the feeling that I should be worried?”
“I do not know. Perhaps ’tis your ego responding. Look there.” She pointed to the small window where all the barmaids were gathered, their expressions odd.
He looked back at her.
“’Tis disappointment you see in their faces.”
He was still frowning.
She began to laugh. “You do not understand? I shall explain. You just kissed me in front of them. All now certainly believe that Sir Tobin de Clare prefers lads over ladies.”
Tobin swore, then groaned when his men began to laugh.
He swung up in the saddle and clamped his arm around her. “You are in trouble.”
“Not as much as you are if the Church hears of this. I unlocked the door last night.”
“You did what?”
“I unlocked the door, after you were asleep. ’Twas a while before that maid came in but what she saw convinced her to tiptoe out and shut the door.” Sofia began to laugh.
Tobin just put his spurs to his horse and rode like hell.
The morn was bright and sunny. The air was crisp, the sky above them blue, the trees and grasses a fresh green from the recent rain. His woman was alive and safe and sitting in front of him, her arms resting casually on his, the one that held her so close to his chest that he could feel each breath she took as they rode.
It seemed as if all was right with the world. Blue skies. Sunshine. Ease in his saddle. His woman’s soft breathing. It was one of those of moments that made you think nothing could ever go wrong.
Tobin rode at the head of his troop of men-at-arms. They cantered up the road, over low, green hills and across a small stream, where some trees had fallen and their mounts had to pick their way across. They rode onward, ’round a sharp bend in the road not too far from the turn to the Marches.
Over another hill he spotted a thread of black smoke in the air, just ahead of them. Tobin raised his hand to halt his men.
A rider approached, moving so hard over the road that a cloud of dirt spit up behind him.
Tobin waited, then the rider was close enough that he recognized his own man.
Walter of Banning reined his horse to a stop in front of Tobin. “Sir.” His eyes flashed quickly to Sofia.
“As you can see, our trouble is over. I found her.”
“There’s more trouble ahead. Parcin sent me to warn you.”
Tobin caught Walter once again glance uneasily at Sofia, who had perked up and was listening.
“We’ll talk in private.” Tobin dismounted, as did his man. From the corner of his eye he saw that Sofia watched them. Her eyes were narrowed and curious, and he knew her ears were sharpened. He left her in the saddle and gestured for Walter to follow him. They moved quite a distance. He did not want her to hear until he heard exactly what was ahead.
“Those performers your lady was traveling with. They were attacked.” Walter shook his head. “’Tis not good there, sir.”
Tobin turned and looked at Sofia. She was watching him and must have caught something in his look. An instant later she kicked his horse hard and took off toward the smoke.
“Stop her, dammit!” Tobin shouted and his men rode after her, the thunder of their horses drowning out his curses. He ran and swung onto Walter’s mount, then spurred it forward. He made it past his men, only a few lengths behind her. The closer they got, the more you could see, even with his men scattered over the area.
He shouted to his other men, “Stop her! Parcin!”
He saw his man turn.
“Stop her!”
Parcin ran and mounted, then rode toward her.
Tobin kicked the horse harder and harder. But Sofia was light for his powerful mount and could ride like the very Devil.
She drew closer; he rode harder.
Tobin could see Parcin closing in on her. She turned and shot his captain a sidelong look, then suddenly cut his horse sharply to the left.
Before Parcin could see what happened she had dismounted and run right past him.
Tobin leapt off of his mount and chased after her.
She was screaming, “Alan! Alan! Miranda! Bernard! Oh God! Nooooo!”
He lunged forward and caught her, his arm slid around her waist. He jerked her back against him and turned her away from sight.
She was kicking the air, battering his arm and face with her fists. “Let me go! Let me go to them!”
“Sofia! Don’t. Stop!”
She shook her head, screaming, “God no . . . No! Nooooo! Let me go . . . Please . . . Let me go!”
A large male body lay twisted in the grass. The face was unrecognizable from where he stood for all the blood.
Parcin came to his side and Tobin shoved Sofia into his arms. “Hold her.”
Tobin walked over to the site. It was bloody and morbid and smelled of smoke and blood and death.
Another man, younger, tall and slim, lay facedown with a foot-long blade wound in his back. It looked as if he had been running for the wagon, which was overturned and burning.
His men stood by a lump in the grass, near where the woods to the west began. He crossed the grass and his men parted as he looked down.
He had seen the horrors of war, seen victors put the heads of their vanquished on pikes and parade them through the streets, had seen men drawn and quartered. But what was done to this woman was the worst thing he had ever seen.
“Bury her first, then the others.”
The men nodded. Their faces were grim and taut and looked as he felt. Sick and disgusted and angry.
Sofia was screaming his name and cursing. Screaming and kicking and fighting Parcin. She was yelling, “Miranda! Dammit, Tobin! Maude and Tildie!”
He frowned. There were only three bodies, the two men and a woman. He turned to his men. “Is there anyone else?”
“Not that we could find, sir.”
He moved toward Sofia. Took her from Parcin and clutched her to his chest. “Sweet, be still, be still.”
He pressed her head to his shoulder and she sobbed and sobbed. “They are dead. They are all dead . . . ”
“Listen to me, sweetheart. Please listen. There are three dead. Two men and a woman.”
“The twins. Girls. Matilda and Maude. Oh God, Tobin, find them, please . . . We have to find them.”
He turned to Parcin. “Did you see anything else?”
“There is another wagon with a cage. ’Tis empty.”
“Satan,” Sofia whispered. “The bear.”
Tobin began to shout orders to his men to scour the woods, everywhere.
“I want to go, Tobin. I have to go, too. Please. Please.”
He was afraid of what he would find. “I cannot take you. You must stay here.”
“No! I will not!”
“She stays,” he said, then spun around and walked away.
They drew their swords and combed the woods, each man taking a section. The trees were thick and the brush high. Moss hung from the branches and the crowns of the tall trees blocked out the sun.
As sudden as thunder came a loud, deep roar.
His men called from the east. Tobin and the others ran through a dark trail and over some rocks. Two of his men stood nearby, where lay a body—a man’s badly mauled body.
“The bear. He is down there.” His man nodded down into a slight ravine with rocks and trees on either side.
Four more bodies were along the bank. These had to be the outlaws; they had been torn apart, limb by limb, by the bear.
The bear roared again and stood on his hind legs and pawed the air. The animal wore a collar and rope hung from it.
Tobin heard something and turned. “God’s eyes! What was that?”
The bear shifted and Tobin saw a small, blonde head, then another. There were two children cowering behind the fierce animal.
“That bear will rip us apart if we go near there.”
“I know. We might have to kill him. But first, move those bodies someplace. Don’t bother burying the bastards. Then bring Sofia, tell her we found the twins and they are alive.”
Parcin asked, “What are you thinking?”
“The bear might recognize her. She might be able to help. If she cannot control the bear, we will kill it. Bring six of the archers, have their bows out, the arrows notched and ready.”
Tobin watched the bear pace in front of the children, protecting them. He did not want to kill the animal. If it weren’t for the bear, those children would be dead and the outlaws alive.
He stood there waiting. Soon his man brought Sofia through the woods and to his side.
“Where are they?”
He pointed toward the rocks.
She looked down and saw the bear. “Satan,” she whispered.
“The twins are behind him. There on the rocks.” Tobin grasped her shoulders. “Now listen to me carefully. Do not disobey me, or I swear to God I will have the archers kill him now. Do you understand?”
She looked into his eyes and nodded. “I swear. I just want the children safe.”
“We all do. Now I am going to walk with you. Slowly. I want you to call to the bear. We’ll stay on this side of the ravine and see how he reacts. Do you understand? I will be at your side. You will not pull away. You will not leave me.”
“I understand. I swear.”
Tobin grasped her arm tightly in one hand. His other was on the hilt of his sword. “Come then, slowly.”
They moved cautiously out from the trees.
The bear paced on the rocks, back and forth, back and forth.
A child called out, “Ned!”
“I’m here, Tildie! I am here, Maude! Ned is here for you. I swear. You are safe.”
The bear stopped, then drew up on his back haunches and pawed the air. But he did not roar or bare his teeth like before.
“Call him,” Tobin said quietly.
“Satan!” she said, then louder, “Satan!”
