by Joanne Rock
Revealing the embroidered gold brocade surcoat she wore beneath the cape she’d borrowed from her servant.
“I can explain,” she started, surprised to see the man’s eyes were not on the rich gown.
Instead, he stared at the ruby necklace she wore.
“There is no need,” he hissed. All trace of humor was gone. “I know exactly who you are.”
Her fingers scrambled for the wool cloak, yanking the material together. But it was too late. He knew that she’d lied and, by the ice in his blue gaze, she guessed he was not a man accustomed to deceit.
“Please, sir. My father will pay dearly for me—”
“As have I,” he muttered, clamping a hand under her jaw and tilting her face toward the sunlight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Matilda.”
She did not care for his tone or his use of her name. But something in his voice warned her to tread carefully.
“I am at a disadvantage.” She swallowed hard and prayed for courage. “It seems you know me, but I am not sure who you are.”
“No?” The mysterious knight brushed his fingers along her cheek, making far too free with her person. “Your father didn’t mention the name of the man who sent you the ruby necklace you wear?”
Matilda frowned. “The jewels were a gift from my father when I reached my nineteenth summer.”
“Nay.” His hand slid down her throat, burning a path along her skin despite the gentle touch. When he reached the barrier of the cloak, he parted it easily, allowing the spring breeze to tease the bare skin above her bodice. “The necklace was a gift from me. It served as the bride—price I paid for you a year ago.”
“Bride—price?” A shiver of unease skittered down her spine.
“Aye.” He eased back to capture her gaze with the twin blue flames of his eyes. “I am Simon of Longford. Your betrothed.”
Chapter Two
Matilda had known she was playing a dangerous game by sneaking away from Glen Rising. But she had expected retribution from her indulgent father, not this errant knight whose eyes roamed over her with a possessiveness that almost supported his outlandish claim.
“I have no betrothed.” She squirmed more urgently beneath him, needing to insert some space between them.
Besides, there was no sense pretending to be a serving girl anymore. Simon of Longford already knew her for a noblewoman. She would not lower herself to plead prettily for release again.
“Your father shook my hand on it last spring.” The knight rolled away from her and, standing, offered a hand to help her to her feet.
Matilda ignored it. She stood and shook out her skirts. Her body felt newly strange in the absence of his weight. Her skin cooled without him to warm her and she hugged her arms about herself to chase away the sensation.
“If that is true, why have you not come to claim me?” Her father had been known to act on impulse, so she did not entirely discount the man’s story. Her marriage had been a constant topic of discussion at Glen Rising ever since she’d turned eighteen summers, with every knight and man-at-arms offering her father an opinion on prospective husbands.
As her father’s only issue, Matilda’s union was of great importance to the people of Glen Rising, a fact that had been drummed into her head by nursemaids and tutors from the time she could walk.
“I have tried.” He whistled softly, as if calling to a horse or a falcon, though no animal appeared. “I am refused admittance to Glen Rising and my missives have been answered with terse replies that you are to be wed elsewhere and that I may keep the portion of the dowry I’ve already been given. It seems your father has decided he can contract a better alliance than my more humble means will allow.”
A shiver went through her at the man’s dark tone. Had her father taken this knight’s measure before he treated him so carelessly? And why hadn’t she been consulted prior to a betrothal?
“Humble?” Her hand went to the ruby necklace that the knight claimed to have given her. “The bride-price you say that you paid is hardly the possession of a pauper. The workmanship is exquisite.”
In truth, the jewels had enthralled her. She had always wondered about their origin, as her father had not fully answered her questions about where he’d obtained them.
“My grandfather brought the necklace back from Crusade.” He whistled once more, and now she felt the answering beat of hooves in the forest nearby. “It is meant to stay in my family.”
A huge warhorse emerged from the trees, the beast’s brown mane glossy in the sun. Behind the snorting destrier, a smaller gelding trotted. A gangly squire rode the other mount, his eyes wide as he took her in.
Matilda fingered the necklace while Simon greeted his squire. They exchanged whispered words while Matilda released the clasp on the jewels. When the cool weight rested in her hand, she neared the knight.
“My lord.” She waited for his attention while her alleged betrothed scraped a quill over parchment. “I return your generous gift and ask that you return me to Glen Rising in exchange. I will speak to my father about your arrangement. “
No bauble, no matter how beautiful, was worth chaining herself to a knight of her father’s ilk. She would not spend her life shackled to a man who thrived on battle and vice. While her father may have indulged his only daughter, in Matilda’s memory, he had never been kind to his wife. Before her death, her mother had confessed the loneliness that ate at a lady’s heart while her mate sought other women’s beds. She had warned Matilda of men’s idle flattery before marriage and coldhearted rejection after. Matilda would delay marriage for as long as possible.
“Your offer is kind.” Simon took the necklace and slid the heavy piece into a leather satchel strapped to his horse’s back. “But it is too late for that.”
With no further explanation, he went back to writing his missive. Unaccustomed to being ignored, she looked helplessly from the man to his squire. Seeing the boy’s gawking stare, she hoped for an ally. Checking to see that Simon did not observe her, she mouthed a message she hoped the boy would understand.
Help me.
The plea had been silent. So Simon’s sudden snarl took her by surprise.
“Leave the boy out of it.” The stern words resulted in the boy looking away hastily.
Before she could formulate another plan, Simon rolled the missive and handed it to the squire.
“Take this to Glen Rising and wait for a response,” he directed. “I will not barter.”
The lanky man-child gave a brief nod and kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse. As she watched her last hope of escape ride away, she heard Simon mounting his warhorse behind her. She arched her neck to peer up at him.
“What are you doing?” Cold dread pooled in her belly as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting him in shadows.
She would be missed at the keep soon. Her father would be frantic. The three suitors who were visiting Glen Rising would be livid to arrive at sup and find her space vacant. And while she regretted displeasing her sire, she could not find the conscience to care about abandoning the beastly men who had come to court her.
“I am holding you captive until your father enforces the bridal contract.” He stated the words that devastated her with cool dispassion.
“Nay.” The denial was delivered from her lips with a desperation unbecoming of a lady. But her knees weakened beneath her and her world crumbled all around. “I have already wed another.”
The lie was easily uttered.
But if it gave Simon of Longford pause, he did not show it. Nudging the destrier toward her, he reached an arm down to clamp around her waist and pluck her from the ground. She was seated across his lap in no time, her hip bouncing against his thigh as he urged the horse faster.
“If that poor bastard cannot protect you,” he spoke softly against the veil of her hair over one ear, “then he does not deserve you.”
* * *
An hour later, Simon’s captive glared at him from her perch near t
he hearth.
He’d made camp with Will at the crumbling cottage earlier in the week. So it was easy enough to bring Matilda here while William rode to her father with a missive demanding the rest of her dowry.
Possibly, her father would unleash the full force of his armed men to find his missing daughter, but Simon did not think so. Possession was the better part of the law when it came to a maid. He did not believe for a moment that she had wed another. He knew from the watch he’d kept that no priest had visited the walls. Besides, none of the earl’s guests had departed, which told Simon that all the suitors must still believe they had a chance of securing Matilda for themselves.
Or so he hoped. Stealing another’s man’s wife was a far greater crime than taking a maid once promised to him.
Now, a fire burned in the rough stone hearth of a dusty cottage. Will had swept the dirt floor clean, but an earthy smell had pervaded the place until the sweet smoke of apple wood curled up through the roof of the single room. Matilda sat on her cloak spread over the smooth river stones surrounding the fire. Her rich brocade skirts pooled around her. She’d removed the humble boots she had worn and now he caught glimpses of stockinged feet when she shifted.
He sat across from her, the room so small their feet almost touched as night began to fall.
“I demand to know what you wrote to my father.” She tucked her toes under the surcoat, flipping the hem underneath her feet to secure it. Or maybe she just wanted to put another barrier between them.
He had not touched her since the short ride to the cottage, but heat lingered between them in spite of his restraint. She might not understand the tension that threaded the air, but he guessed that she felt it too.
Simon paused in the carving of a wooden horse for his daughter, resting his knife on his chest while he sprawled back on a heather tick he’d used for a bed. The scent of straw and dried flowers wafted up through the rough cotton cover whenever he moved.
“I told him you will remain a maid until midnight.” Idly, he smoothed the dust from the wooden toy while he watched Matilda. “If the rest of your dowry is not delivered to Longford by then, we won’t have the benefit of a priest for the inevitable union.”
Her eyes went wide as she absorbed the implications. He’d never been a man to frighten a woman, but Matilda and her family had deceived him grievously. Her father had forsworn himself to promise the lady to anyone else and Simon could not afford to play the games of Glen Rising any longer.
“But I told you, I am already wed.” Her gray gaze flitted about the room, probably looking for an escape. “You have sent your demands to the wrong man.”
He had to admire her composure considering the consequences he had just made clear. He spied no hint of tears, no sign of fainting. Her fabrication about a husband was a bold stroke of bluffing.
“If you are married, the groom must still be under your father’s roof. I’m sure the earl will share our happy news with him.”
“Have you no shame?” She tightened her arms around her waist.
“Some would say it is your father who should be ashamed for promising you to me, then dangling you like a tournament prize beneath the noses of the wealthiest men in the land.” He picked up the wooden horse to study it in the light of the fire, remembering how saddened Rowena had been this past winter when she learned her new mother would not arrive after Yule as she had been promised.
All children were hurt by broken vows, and Rowena more than most.
“I’m sure he had a reason,” Matilda confessed quietly.
“Is that an admission?” Straightening, he sat up on the tick, his knee bumping hers until she shifted away.
His blood had not settled since he had lain upon her earlier, his body still keenly aware of hers. Though her beauty attracted him, it was her bold spirit that called to him most. How had such a woman avoided marriage so long?
“Nay.” She shook her head. “I do not know of any betrothal arrangement my father made, but he has been working tirelessly to see me settled happily.”
“He works tirelessly to please you, while you roam the countryside alone and elude all his efforts?” He set his knife on the floor and balanced the horse on top of the blade.
Would such a selfish young woman be a tender mother for a child as gentle hearted as Rowena? he had once heard a story of Matilda’s generosity when she took in the village’s dying wise woman and cared for the lady until her passing, a tale that had made him seek out her father in the first place as it boded well for the caring nature he sought in a bride. Had the story been a fiction created by some enthralled troubadour who sought to honor her reputation?
“That is not...entirely true.” She picked at the hem of her skirt, her restless feet once again freed of the fabric. “My father believes that wealth should be enough to please any bride. I have no wish to grow old beside a warrior whose fortune comes from conquering others.”
“Who would you have then? A minstrel? Or a life amid the pigs as a farmer’s wife?” He feared both possibilities for Rowena if he was not constantly vigilant. But even those fates would be better than having her condition revealed to the king. “Perhaps you hope to take a nun’s vows?”
“Never,” she bit out with a fire that pleased him. A silken blond lock fell forward in front of her shoulder, the strands resting on a bare expanse of skin visible above the bodice of her gown. “Why can’t I have a husband who is well settled and will not wander? A man whose fortune is secure and does not constantly seek to make war?”
“You seek a mate who possesses both passion and compassion.” He studied her in the firelight and imagined the taste of her on his lips. “Requirements that should not be so hard to fill. Especially given the number of guests your father has entertained at Glen Rising this year.”
He had heard rumors of the earl’s efforts to find a husband for his daughter and could not believe his ears for the first few months. By the time the snow fell, he’d begun writing to Matilda’s father to discover the truth. The silence had told him the man played him false. The only thing that might account for it was Simon’s falling favor with the king. But why had the earl not contacted him to discuss the matter or break the contract?
“Men know nothing about what I want.”
“Not even your new husband?” He wanted to lift the lock of hair from her shoulder and smooth it back with the rest, if only so that it would stop distracting him as it skimmed the high curve of her breast. “I am glad to hear he does not please you.”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink evident even in the firelight.
“Can we forget about him for a moment?”
“I would like nothing better.” He wanted to be the one to put that high color in her cheeks. And not because he’d caught her in a lie.
“Sir, please stop.” She tucked her feet beneath her, putting her silk-covered toes out of sight once again.
“Stop what? I have kept a respectable distance for nearly an hour at least.” He held his hands up to demonstrate his innocence.
“Your words confuse me.” She frowned, as if she was not happy with the answer. “Nay. You fluster me with your questions and accusations. And I’ve no wish to speak of passion with a man who threatens me.”
“I’ve hardly threatened you.”
Her hands fisted on her hips, her shoulders straightening. “You speak of stealing my...my—” She swallowed hard. “My virtue.”
“You asked what I wrote to your father,” he explained reasonably. “I told you. That does not mean I will act on it. I explained back on the hillside that there will be no—er—invasion unless you welcome it.” He sucked in a breath despite the tightness in his chest. He leaned closer, wanting to have the scent of her in his nose. “I’m surprised you don’t recall that conversation.”
Heaven knew, the moment was imprinted vividly on his memory. But that was when his thigh had pinned hers to the ground, his hips snug against her softness. He relived the feel of her in his mind,
remembering the way her breath had caught when he’d unfastened her cloak and let the fabric fall away from her body.
“I remember.” Her voice cracked on a dry note and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t know if you would honor your word. Thank you.”
“Passion and compassion.” He smoothed a finger across the rich gold embroidery on a white strip of ribbon at the hem of her gown. He did not slip beneath the hem, not even a little. But he liked imagining that moment. “You will find I am capable of both.”
Her gray gaze tracked the progress of his touch along the ribbon. Did that small movement rouse her half as much as it did him? He had come to Glen Rising to seek a suitable mother for Rowena and a dowry to reinforce his keep. Not for a moment had he imagined finding an untried maid who could heat his blood the way she did now.
“I will not discover any such thing.” She yanked her skirt out of his grip, successfully dislodging his finger but exposing an ankle and part of a slender calf. “I will suffer your unwanted attention until you deliver me home.”
Who did she remind that his attention was unwanted? Him? Or her?
He had no intention of returning her to her father under any circumstances, but he did not bother explaining that now. He had no desire to argue with Matilda.
Quite the opposite. He wanted to set free the heat that sparked inside her. To reveal the source of her flustered feelings.
“I have a game we could play to pass the time,” he offered, mentally running through a list of things she might find entertaining.
The first five—make that ten—ideas that came to mind involved removing clothing, so he ignored them.
The same way she seemed to ignore his suggestion.
“Matilda,” he coaxed, tugging the hem of her dress to get her attention. “Wouldn’t it be better to seek some diversion to pass the hours?”
