Though he hadn’t expected an answer, Lord Thornhurst gave him one. “Aye. I grew up here.” He lowered his voice once more. “With Sara, there’s everything to love and nothing to hate. When Lord Kenshire realized as much, he told me in no uncertain terms that had I been born with a more substantial inheritance, he would have happily given me permission to court her.” William smiled. “Those were his exact words. Court. Do you know any earl who cared to give his daughter a choice?”
Geoffrey couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to. He wasn’t acquainted with many earls’ daughters.
William continued, “I’m a minor baron’s son. I was lucky to even foster with Lord Kenshire. When my father died, I inherited a small manor with little land, so it was an honor to be named seneschal of Camburg Castle. But the appointment came with a price.”
Geoffrey finished for him, “Leaving Kenshire and Lady Sara.”
“Aye. I knew it was for the best. I never had a chance with her.” Thornhurst straightened his slightly slumped shoulders. What a wasteful, debilitating emotion. Love made a man weak.
“You didn’t consider fighting for her?” He wasn’t serious and didn’t expect to be taken so.
Lord Thornhurst gave him a sharp glance, his nearly black eyes piercing. “As you will do?”
Thornhurst was reading too deeply into his desire for Lady Sara. “I’m a border reiver who wants nothing more than revenge.” He abruptly dropped the subject, unwilling to go into further detail. Before continuing, he took a swig of ale. “Despite what you think, I’ve just met Lady Sara. Even if I wished to marry, which I don’t, I know my place well. If a minor baron’s son had no chance with her, how do you think a reiver would fare?”
For the first time that evening, his dining companion didn’t look like he wanted to run him through.
Lord Thornhurst nodded. “In that case, I wish you well in the days to come. Word has it the Earl of Covington has thrown in his support with Sir Randolf, making his threat to claim Kenshire very real.”
“We’ve heard the same. Which is why, I believe, we’re here.”
Lord Thornhurst looked at him curiously. “You believe?”
“I understand the late earl’s urgency to see his daughter protected, but it would seem there are more qualified candidates.”
Thornhurst didn’t disagree. “I’ve asked your uncle about the circumstances that led to your presence here.” He thought aloud, “No one knows if Lyonsford has reached the shores of England yet. So I can understand the need for increased protection. But I agree. It surprises me that you and your uncle were Lord Kenshire’s first choice.” Amending quickly, he added, “I mean no disrespect.”
“None taken. My uncle was apparently a childhood friend of the earl, and no one could argue his prowess in battle—”
“Or yours.” Thornhurst frowned.
Geoffrey didn’t need the knight’s approval. “But two men against a potential army … the odds are against us unless Kenshire itself is well prepared, which, luckily, it seems to be.”
Thornhurst agreed, his voice full of pride. “There’s no finer place in the world than this remote corner of England. Its men are well-trained and the castle’s fortifications are strong.”
“Then why not trust in his own men, or even send for you?” Geoffrey asked.
“When I last visited, Lord Kenshire’s instructions to me were clear. In the event that he passed away before Sara was wed, I was to remain at Camburg to protect it against potential unrest. But circumstances brought me too close not to call on her.”
Geoffrey grimaced at his use of Lady Sara’s given name.
“I respect the late earl’s decisions and will return first thing in the morning.”
His quiet voice told Geoffrey he didn’t want to return. Geoffrey would have gladly changed positions with him, but stopped short of saying so. He didn’t think the other man would take kindly to his reluctance to be Lady Sara’s protector.
Both men, lost in thought, were startled when an older man rushed into the hall, causing a commotion near the entrance. He was visibly upset.
“Lady Sara, my apologies for interruptin’ your meal,” called the man, who Geoffrey recognized as Kenshire’s blacksmith.
Without a second thought, the lady in question bounded up from her seat. Peter did the same.
“I’m coming, Harold.”
“Not without me.” Geoffrey stood, intending to follow whether or not she agreed.
“If you insist.” And then to Harold she asked, “Is the midwife with your daughter?”
“Aye, milady,” the blacksmith answered. “Adele’s been there all evening, she says there’s a problem with the babe. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Why was Lady Sara summoned with the midwife already in attendance? This he had to see.
The blacksmith’s shop, a mill, and a chapel all lined the narrow road that ran from west to east toward the castle. Geoffrey, who’d been waiting for Sara for hours, watched as the village wound down, settling into sleep. All was quiet by the time Sara emerged from the small, thatch-roofed cuck house where she’d gone to assist the birthing. He held out his hand, which she immediately took.
They walked in silence to his horse, and he then lifted her onto his mount and swung up in front of her. Without commenting on the unusual transportation arrangements—they’d ridden here on separate horses—Sara remained quiet, taking slow, steadying deep breaths as they rode toward the castle.
Glancing behind them, Geoffrey saw a woman exit the home, a midwife perhaps, accompanied by the blacksmith himself. Though he was reluctant to upset Sara, Geoffrey’s curiosity got the better of him. “She lost the babe?”
He stiffened when Sara’s arms tightened around his back. This was as close as they’d been since he’d vowed to keep his distance between them. A good decision based on his involuntary response to her closeness.
“Nay, the babe is fine.” She stopped short of explaining what had happened.
“You didn’t have to wait.”
“I toured the village but never took my eye off your location.” Geoffrey’s voice sounded unrecognizable to his own ears. It sounded … protective.
As if suddenly aware of her position behind him, Sara shifted in the makeshift pillion he’d added for her comfort. “Where’s Guinevere?”
He’d figured she would get around to asking about her horse. “I sent her back with Peter, who left hours ago. I assumed you’d be tired by the time you finished back there.”
“For a lawless knight, that’s quite chivalrous of you. I’m surprised Peter thought it respectable for me to ride back with you.”
“I’d call it more practical than chivalrous. And he didn’t think it was respectable, but he returned with your horse anyway.”
He felt her shiver through the layers of their clothing. From cold? From something else?
“So why were you sent for when the midwife was already in attendance?”
“Adele is quite capable and rarely asks for assistance.” Her voice lowered. The long night was taking its toll. “But when she does, I offer it gladly. I’ve been assisting Eddard in the stables since I was a girl. With birthings, that is.”
She spoke as if it were normal for a countess to help a horse give birth to its foal or assist the midwife during a particularly difficult birthing. But given how she lost her mother, Geoffrey wasn’t surprised she’d taken an interest in seeing babes brought safely into the world. The woman riding behind him was a beauty who loved her people enough to wish to help them however she could, and was competent enough to do so. Proud, yet most definitely passionate. Not a typical noble.
“My sister once happened upon a foal being born and nearly gagged.” He smiled at the memory. “Her constitution for the sight of blood is not overly strong.”
“Tell me of your siblings.”
He sensed a wistfulness to her tone and wondered, for the first time, what it would have been like to be the sole child in his family
.
“Emma is as kind a girl as any you’d ever meet. Some mistake her kindness for weakness. And that, she is not.”
Although she’d be a handful to raise, Geoffrey rather liked Emma’s strong spirit.
“I suppose stubbornness is a family trait, but none are more so than Bryce.”
Sara sighed. Was she thinking of William? He was as close to a brother as anyone in her life.
“He is sometime so serious that even I wonder what the man is thinking. And he is completely unlike Neill.”
Geoffrey shook his head. How to describe Neill?
“Impetuous, carefree, but unfortunately quick to temper, the youngest Waryn seems to have every one of our traits combined. With the exception of patience.”
He stopped talking as Sara’s breathing became slower … more even. They fell into an easy silence as they continued to ride past the small, tidy buildings of Kenshire, all blanketed by darkness. The only sound was a sole dog’s bark.
Sara’s arms wrapped tighter around his waist again, and he turned to see her head nodding in a light sleep.
She trusted him.
The thought struck him like a punch in the gut as he realized how easily she had taken his hand and allowed him to escort her back to the castle. He would have to speak to her. To trust so easily could be deadly, a lesson he had learned while living outside the constraints of polite society. Strangely, it also pleased him.
Sara awoke from her doze when they reached the stables, and Geoffrey helped her dismount. The stable boy looked at them strangely, but he took the reins from Geoffrey’s outstretched hand. He escorted her toward the great hall with its slumbering guests strewn about. Having spent plenty of time sleeping on floors, or worse, he was thankful for the luxury of a bed. Even if it was temporary.
It occurred to him that Sara wasn’t the only person at Kenshire given to trust. Her steward had allowed him, a reiver, to escort her home to the castle. He’d come to Kenshire expecting to be treated here the same way he had been while living on the run. But the inhabitants of Kenshire were mostly accepting, if wary. Some were even welcoming.
As they reached the door to the lady’s bedchamber, Geoffrey felt compelled to say something to her. He admired what she’d done this eve, the way she was with her people.
“You did well, my lady,” he offered, prepared to turn her loose into her chamber.
More alert now, Sara looked down. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought she was embarrassed. Shyness was one trait his lady lacked in abundance.
“‘Tis a simple compliment.”
“I…”
He held his breath, waiting.
Finally she looked up, her brown eyes peering straight into his own. Were her lashes always so pronounced?
“I know you’re reluctant to be near me, but Faye is fast asleep.”
He failed to see what her lady’s maid had to do with anything.
“My gown,” she explained.
He understood, and hardened, in an instant. The laces of the pale blue gown she wore, now wrinkled and stained from the evening’s ordeal, were at her back. Taking a deep breath, he said a silent prayer for strength.
“Turn around.”
She gasped, “Here?” They both knew there was a guard just out of sight, positioned at the top of the stairs around the corner.
God help me.
“Come then.” He didn’t intend the request to sound like a command, but he needed to end this quickly. He had made a damned vow and would honor it if it killed him.
Her chamber was warmed by a fire, which had evidently been tended by the maid before she retired. He couldn’t help but glance around the large room decorated with a fair number of tapestries. Everything he’d heard of Lord Kenshire pointed to a well-educated, indulgent man of taste.
Breaking his reverie, Sara cleared her throat, presenting her back to him. He stared at the waves of flowing hair and ached to feel them beneath his hands.
Like his father before him, Geoffrey had fought countless raids and battles with steadfastness, but when he lifted his hand to untie Sara’s laces, his courage faltered. Lady Sara was exhausted. Off-limits.
And then his hand touched the laces of her gown.
8
Sara’s nerves were at the breaking point. The moment she wrapped her arms around Geoffrey on the way back from the village, awareness had replaced weariness, even though it had been an overly long evening. The difficult birth, combined with her elation at the outcome, had been enough to leave her in tears as she left the blacksmith’s family and its new babe behind. She had even forgotten about that much-anticipated meeting with Sir Hugh. But when she wrapped her arms around him, all other emotions faded away, and her attention was focused on the feel of his body beneath her hands.
And then she’d realized she needed his help with her blasted gown.
Though she’d briefly considered waking Faye, Sara knew her well-meaning maid would have a thing or two to say about how Geoffrey had escorted her home alone in the middle of the night. It was something she was too exhausted to face, though as soon as Geoffrey followed her into her chamber, she started to wonder if she’d made a mistake.
What could be taking him so long?
She’d shown him her back several moments ago—yet he had not started. Realizing her hair was in the way, she moved it to the side, giving Geoffrey access to the entire backside of her gown.
And then his hands were at her back, slowly undoing the laces. After what seemed like an eternity, they were finally undone. Sara started to turn around to thank Geoffrey and bid him a good night.
His hand on her shoulder stopped her. His touch was as light as a feather, his warm fingers tracing the exposed curve of her neck. Not for the first time that evening, she shivered. Not from the cold. She could hear the fire crackling intently, as if she were inside the hearth. She could hear his breathing, her own heart pounding.
Though she knew she should stop him, she didn’t even consider it. After all, she would be married soon. She wasn’t naive enough to think she’d feel this kind of desire for her husband.
What harm could come from another kiss?
Resigned and excited, Sara closed her eyes as Geoffrey’s fingers dusted the tender flesh behind her ear. Surely he would kiss her again.
Unable to resist a brief touch, Geoffrey reached out to caress her before actually making the decision to do so. He saw her shoulders relax and couldn’t decide if he was relieved or worried that she had not stopped him. Her shiver confirmed what he already knew.
This is wrong.
Despite that thought, he pulled her toward him and replaced his fingers with his mouth. Tilting her head to the side, he kissed the spots recently touched by his gentle perusal. Starting at her neck, he made his way toward the sensitive flesh behind her ear, showing her how much his actions at the lake were at odds with the desire he felt. He kept one hand on her waist, and the other moved silently to lower the soft fabric of her gown as his mouth moved its way back down to her shoulder.
“Geoffrey?”
“I’m the scoundrel you think I am, Sara.”
She turned toward him, her look far from experienced but not quite naive either. “If you had no honor, you would have taken advantage of me at the lake.”
They were mere inches apart.
“If I were any kind of man, I would have already walked out, leaving you in peace.”
“Peace? Somehow I find it hard to be at peace with you near.”
He knew how she felt. The attraction he felt for her—had felt since that first moment in the great hall—was so fierce he doubted it would ever be replicated.
He wasn’t strong enough to resist it.
Honor be damned. When he lowered his head, their kiss was as rough as the first one had been gentle. Rather than coaxing her lips apart, his tongue immediately captured her own as he pulled her toward him, melding her to his body.
At first tentative, Sara touched her to
ngue to his. Her willingness made his loins ache. They drank from each other, the kiss deepening. He wanted this woman, needed her as desperately as any other. But he wanted to be sure.
Pulling away, he cupped her face and looked down at her. Her expressive brown eyes, wide with awakening desire, looked straight into his soul.
Geoffrey reached up to caress her bottom lip, glistening from the remnants of their kiss, with his finger. He groaned aloud when she opened her mouth for him. Realizing she needed to be shown the ways of love, he brought her slender finger to his mouth and kissed it gently. Then he brought it into his mouth, touching his tongue to the tip. Without breaking her gaze, he closed his mouth around her finger, sucking, then pulled it out slowly before continuing the sensual assault, mimicking an act she did not yet understand.
As her breathing quickened and eyelids hooded with desire, he placed both of her hands around his neck for support.
He tried his damnedest to move slowly, knowing full well what he had planned next was well beyond Sara’s experience. But when she grabbed the hair at his neck, the hard-won restraint he’d spent his life honing deserted him in an instant. Kissing the sensitive lines of her collarbone, he glided his hand toward the neckline of her gown. She gave no protest when he inched it below her shoulder, so he eagerly tugged it even lower, revealing a thin shift below. He easily pushed aside the wide neck of the undergarment, revealing the perfectly shaped mound of her breast, which he’d spent more time imagining than he would care to admit.
Cupping her breast reverently, first with a light caress and then more firmly, he rolled its pink tip between his fingers. He closed his eyes at the sound of Sara’s half-sigh, half-groan. Memorizing the shape of her, he teased and tortured her before opening his eyes to see the object of his pleasure staring at him in wonder.
Knowing he was well beyond any measure of restraint, Geoffrey lowered his head and trailed a row of kisses down her neck toward that perfect warm flesh, so responsive to his touch. When his mouth found its destination, Geoffrey used every sensual skill he’d acquired to make Sara’s desire mimic his own.
The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 8
