“Ye might try,” said the one called Ran’l. Giles recognized him as the soldier who helped move him the day before, whose brother went with the king’s man. “But milady says ye stay put ’til ye get yer strength back. And she’s got a powerful influence with Cook.”
Giles stopped struggling against the ropes. The wooden frame of his current bed in the tiny storage chamber was stronger than the pallet he’d occupied the day before.
“Untie me,” he ordered in a tone that never failed to move his men to action.
“Well, now, milady says as how ye’ll jest tear open that wound. And from the way ye be tossin’ around before, I’d say she be right.” Ran’l rubbed his jaw where a purple blotch bloomed.
“Milady” had a point. In his recent dream, Giles refought the battle of the woods, only this time Emelin had been the one with the knife in her side. When he awoke drenched with sweat, these two were knotting the ropes. Looked as if he scored a few blows before they’d secured him.
Ran’l settled onto the floor beside him. “The way I sees it is, we swore to serve our lord and his lady,” he said in a companionable voice. “Can’t go a’gin those vows. Ye wouldn’t, would ye? No, not with what we heard about ye. Ye expect yer men to stand loyal. Can’t blame us for doin’ the same, now can ye?”
What could Giles say to reasoning like that? He knew what he’d like to say, but he had to respect their loyalty. Not many common soldiers would tie Silverhawk to a bed and live to tell the tale. Nor would they plop down beside him for a chat afterward.
He blew out a sigh. His pride might rankle, but Ran’l had a point.
“You’re right. I can’t fault your loyalty. I agree to remain a’bed until milady gives the word.”
The two guards exchanged approving glances.
“Which one of you wants to help me relieve myself?”
Giles nearly grinned at the alarmed look the pair exchanged. Ran’l fumbled only once as he untied the knots.
“Oh, my,” a soft but steely voice put in, “is this the way you obey orders?” Guilt covered the guards’ faces when they turned to Lady Clysta in the doorway.
Giles took pity on them.
“They followed your command to the letter. I was impressed by their loyalty.” The two looked to him in relief. “I simply pointed out that I am healed now, and no longer need restraint.”
His voice was firm and clear. It didn’t reveal his restlessness at being confined. This enforced rest chafed at him. Whether it was the salve Davy brought or the foul smelling ointment Sister Ressa used, his wound was healing. But then, he always mended in a flash. Still, Lady Clysta extracted a promise to rest before she left, taking his two “jailers” along.
Peace at last. He settled more comfortably on the fragrant mattress and closed his eyes. Might as well sleep. Who knew when he’d have this chance again?
When he awoke, he had no idea of the time. He only knew he wanted to see Emelin. Was she still here? She’d ignored a perfect opportunity to make good her escape yesterday. Wasn’t that what she’d worked at so often? But she hadn’t visited this chamber, and he refused to ask whether she remained.
He missed her. Her humor, the way she perceived the world, charmed him. She lightened the darkness. Those nights they spent on the road were never far from his mind.
Odd dreams had haunted him in the tower room where he first lay. Had she really held him close, stroked his forehead, trailed kisses on his eyes? Whispered words of love?
Or were those fantasies of a fevered mind?
He struggled up, then swung his feet to the floor and rose. He needed clothes. The braies and shirt he wore were not his. The shirt was slit completely up the front, probably so the healer could better reach the dressing.
To his right a brazier popped. The warmth given off by sluggish coals was welcome. A candle burned on a low table, its shadowy light wavering against the dark walls. Not even an arrow slit lightened the chamber.
He pushed aside the bandage, angled his head for a look. From what he could see, the cut had knit well. His stomach growled. He should have asked Lady Clysta for food.
A sound at the door made him turn. Emelin. Energy streaked through him. She’d stayed.
“You’re awake.” From the sound of her voice, she surely blushed. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bring something.” She turned.
“Wait.” He couldn’t let her disappear without asking. “Why didn’t you go when you had the chance?”
She paused, the long shadow of her flickering against the wall. “How could I leave when you were hurt because of me?” He strained to hear her murmur. “I owed it to you.”
So she remained out of obligation. Disappointment was as sharp as the sudden pain in his side. Fool. Why else would she stay?
“You were eager enough to escape before.”
“I told you, I wanted to be certain of your recovery.” Did he only imagine the catch in her soft voice? If she turned only a half step, he could see her more clearly. She swung toward him, then, and he exhaled at the uncertainty reflected in her face. The knots in his muscles eased.
“Well, you had your chance.” His low voice sounded ragged. “You can’t go back now. Davy tells me Langley has become an armed stronghold. The danger would be too great.”
“What is it you keep talking about?” Hands on hips, she stared him down. “How could I be in danger? If Lord Osbert is so eager for an heir, why would he harm me?”
“I never said your betrothed was the threat.”
She rolled her eyes and raised her palms. “No matter where the danger lay, Lord Osbert would have protected me.”
“He could not have shielded you forever. Nor himself.”
Emelin tilted her head, as if considering his words. “Will you tell me what it is you believe?”
The momentary energy faded and weariness weighted his shoulders. The conversation about her brother’s threat must wait. He eased himself down. “Not now. Were you going to bring me food?”
With a sound of exasperation, she swept out.
Before long, the door eased open once more, too soon for Emelin to have returned. Davy slipped in, but when he espied Giles awake and glaring, he abandoned any attempt at stealth.
“This is quite the place,” he said. “Stables are right nice. I found your devil ’orse and the mare Lord ’enry give you. ’E told Lord Osbert you took it and ’e meant to ’ave it back, and your ’ide with it.”
“He went to Chauvere, then?”
Davy nodded. “Took just one man with ’im. Left the rest to bring Lady Evie back. That one’s a right lady, no denyin’. Said she ought to go with ’im on account as ’ow Lady Emelin might need ’er. Lord ’enry said ’e’d cross the Sticks River afore she went on any dangerous trip. Never ’eard of that river.” The boy picked up the ointment as he wandered past the small table.
“I expect he meant the River Styx. The ancients thought it led into Hell.”
An arrested expression lit Davy’s face. He paused in the act of sniffing the contents of the container, then smiled. The boy had lost a tooth since Giles left Langley. “’E’s all right then, Lord ’enry is. ’E’s got a care for ’is sister, so ’e can be trusted. But I ’spect you know that, milord.”
“I am not a lord. You may call me Sir Giles.”
“I can’t call you Silverhawk?” Davy looked dejected.
“My squire will not call me that.”
“Honest?” The lad eased up to Giles’ side. “I kin be your squire?”
“For as long as I am in England. When I return to Normandy, you must stay. War is no place for a lad. Now. Tell me about your young friend and her cat.”
“You mean Missy? She’s just a baby. ’Er brother, the old one, ’e went with the king’s man. She says they’ll march way up to Scotland. But nobody s’posed to know. She said she ’eard ’em talkin’ about it afore they left.”
Giles frowned. Way up to Scotland to fi
ght for King Richard? Looks like he’d been right, and if so, Lord Henry would have to be warned about the change of plans. Perhaps the girl knew more.
“Is Missy around?” he asked Davy, who prowled around the confines of the narrow chamber.
The boy grunted. “She ’elps Cook in the kitchen. You want ’er for somethin’?”
“Yes. Ask her to come up.”
When Davy had gone, Giles lay back and rubbed his forehead. If what he thought was correct, there was no peace plan from the king, no diplomatic envoy.
The elusive Paxton was gathering an army to attack Scotland. Giles had no choice but try to stop the ambitious bastard. Damnation. His own plans seemed to slip farther away, like a leaf in a river. He clenched his jaw.
It wasn’t long before the two youngsters were back, Davy leading the way, the small blonde girl close behind.
“’ere you be,” the boy said by way of introduction. “Missy, tell Sir Giles what you ’eard.”
Between tousled curls, the girl peered at Giles. Her eyes narrowed as if in contemplation, then she asked, “You won’t hurt Will if’n I tell?”
“Is Will your brother?” Giles’ voice was calm and reassuring.
She nodded. “The one that went to save the king.” She seemed to be satisfied with his appearance, because she went on. “I was lookin’ for Dammit ’cause of all the horses. I was afeard she’d be stomped if she runned outside. She was in the stables, as usual, an’ there was some of the new soldiers sittin’ around. They said they was goin’ to ride up to Scotland and take care of the enemies of England, and that the king would be real happy and reward ’em all.”
Head cocked to the side, Missy considered what she’d just said. “I’d like it if Will was rewarded. He might take me back home, then, if he afforded me.”
“Do you know if many others from Granville went with Will?” Giles asked.
“Some.” She held up a hand. “I saw this many.”
Five. But there could have been more. He’d have to ask his hosts. He had yet to meet the lord of the castle. And he’d have to request a message be sent to Chauvere.
Unless, “Did the lord of Granville go with them?”
Missy giggled and shook her head. “He’d probably forget where they was goin’ and get lost.”
“Davy, tell Sir Thomas I need to talk with him.”
The youth looked uncomfortable. “Well, sir. The Lady Emelin said as ’ow I weren’t to bother you. If’n I deliver your message, she’ll know I was up ’ere. And she can get a right fierce look to ’er. Makes a man’s belly wad all up.”
Giles was familiar with that expression. Nevertheless, Davy had to learn. “When I give an order, you carry it out no matter what. Whose anger do you prefer to face, the lady’s or mine?”
Presented with those options, Davy shot from the chamber. Missy watched wide-eyed, then turned her gaze on Giles. With wonder in her voice she asked, “Is it true you turn into a giant silver hawk an’ carry off your enemies?”
Devil take that boy! What kind of tales was he spreading? He lowered his brows at her. “And I eat them.”
She snorted a laugh. “You’re funny. I like you. If you wasn’t so old, I’d marry you when I grow up. Maybe I will anyway, ’cause you’re a pretty one all right. ’Cept I don’t think the new lady would like that.” With a wise nod, she scampered after Davy.
He was unmanned. Bested by two children. His reputation would never be the same. Stretching out, he chuckled, then winced. The wound pulled. He’d just rest until Emelin arrived.
He was dreaming of her naked in his arms when a cool touch on his cheek awakened him. Her beautiful gold-flecked green eyes looked into his. Their expression seemed an extension of the dream. Longing, tenderness, desire. Without conscious thought he reached up and brought her head down. If the movement caused him pain, he didn’t notice. She resisted for a moment, then allowed the light contact to guide her.
This is what he had dreamed of, awake and asleep. Her in his arms, sweet body pressed to his. Illness had not dimmed his desire, and it flared now, hot as the brazier in the corner. One kiss, one caress. That’s all he’d ask.
Their lips met, clung, parted, met again. The pressure deepened, and the tip of his tongue slowly, lightly, traced the seam of her closed mouth. Answering his request, she opened slightly, just enough to allow him to ease inside. Not too far. Not too fast. He didn’t want to frighten her away again.
He urged her closer with a gentle tug on her wrist. His hand moved to her waist, curled around the top of her hip, pressed down. She moved in a graceful arc, perching on the edge of the wooden frame. Her right hand hovered as if she were afraid to touch a spot that would cause him discomfort. At last it smoothed onto his left shoulder.
A rough groan rose from deep in his throat. All thoughts of gentle persuasion evaporated, and his right arm curled hard around her. Her body flowed against him. His hand slid up, cupped her nape. His fingers slipped into her glorious hair—soft, as he imagined it—to massage her neck, her head.
She lifted her lips, pulled back to gaze into his eyes as his hand trailed down, around her shoulder, under her arm, to stroke her breast. The green eyes darkened, the centers widened. Breath stopped as he brushed her nipple. Light strokes, gentle strokes. Back and forth.
This was not a dream. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
Her lips eased against his, then her head angled and her mouth sank into him, tongue stroking the tender underside of his upper lip. He shuddered. Bumps popped up on his skin, sent his nipples into tiny towers.
For a beginner, this lady was a deadly lover.
Her body trembled as his hand flicked from one breast to the other. He found the tie at the neck of her chemise and pulled it open, then drew back the side and slipped his fingers into the warm, fragrant depth. Not daring to pause, he curled fingers around one breast, its softness firming as he stroked.
Her mouth jerked away, and for an instant he feared she’d taken fright. But she turned to rest her forehead against his chin. The hot moist breath of her gasps against his neck was almost his undoing.
Merciful God. How he wanted to rip off her clothes, bury himself in her. She’d be tight and wet. And hot. His cock jumped against the light fabric of his braies.
The musk of her arousal drifted to him. What a fragrance, more temping, more arousing than expensive perfumes used by restless wives of ancient, wealthy lords.
He felt himself harden even more. The blood throbbed along his length that strained upward. Damn. He had to stop before he disgraced himself as he’d never done before.
But his body ignored his mind. He lifted her right wrist from his shoulder and pulled. She looked into his eyes as he drew her hand downward. Did she recall, too, the day he was injured, that slow, tortuous journey across his body until her fingers tangled in the curls at his groin?
She fisted her left hand on his chest and propped her chin on it. He could tell from her glazed expression she was caught in the spell of passion. As he brought her hand to his cock, her eyes widened, sparked. Her fingers eased open, tentatively moved down, then up. Through his braises, she touched the ridge around the head.
He groaned. Never had he reached such a level of arousal without completion. He must halt now, before it was too late. With supreme effort, he stilled her hand.
“Stop. Unless you are willing to finish what we’ve started?” His whisper was hopeful, although he feared he knew the answer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emelin gasped as her mind struggled for control. Her body was on fire. Her core ached with a longing to be filled. And she touched what she instinctively knew would satisfy the longing.
That part of Giles prodded her as if it had a will of its own. She moved her hand back to his shoulder but couldn’t meet his eyes. Still she fought the nearly overwhelming urge to rub against that hard, pulsing ridge. She gasped as her hips jerked. She must regain control.
Cool air against her legs alerted her first.
Then the glide of strong fingers along her leg. Captive to the light stroke, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
His hand slipped behind her knee, around and up her inner thigh. Her heart thudded in her throat. Although her eyes were closed, a deeper blackness enveloped her vision.
The caress moved higher, and her legs eased open. Inviting that promised touch. But he must not touch her there. She was wet. How humiliating. She tightened her legs against his hand.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“I’m…uh…damp.” She would die from embarrassment.
“No, my love. It’s natural. That’s your body telling me it’s ready.” He stroked higher. “For this.” Her legs loosened, and with his wrist he urged them open. His fingers probed deeper. Aligned, they wriggled into her cleft. One nudged a spot that shot streaks of pleasure through her.
Seeking more of the sensation she turned outward, opened further. His magic fingers moved over her and into her, and then she felt the incursion of one into her core. Breath came in quick, shallow puffs as he thrust slowly in and out. All thought, all consciousness, flew to that spot.
Giles’ moan mingled with her own as the heel of his hand pressed in circles low on her mound. Light pressure at first, then firmer, as he inserted a second finger.
“Kiss me again,” he murmured.
Emelin opened her lips as his thumb found an incendiary spot. Sparks shot across the deep night of her vision, bursting into silver stars. Shudders shook her. Her cry was caught in his mouth as she writhed in his arms.
She lay gasping against him while her body floated like a feather back to earth. After what had just happened, shouldn’t she feel ashamed, mortified, repentant? She didn’t. In fact, she still ached.
He was so quiet. Had he been repelled by her eager response?
Beneath her fingers, his chest lurched with ragged breaths. Perhaps the effort of pleasuring her had pained him. She rose on an elbow. “Are you well?”
An amused grunt was the answer. “Not now, but I will be after you leave.”
Heat burned her cheeks; she jerked upright. He was revolted. Of course. How could someone as ignorant and untried as she begin to satisfy him? He must pity her.
Silverhawk Page 20
