by Julia Latham
At first, he did not see Diana, until Cicely helpfully said, “My sister is with your men-at-arms. She feels the dagger suits her best.”
And then Tom saw her, and his awareness focused and heightened. Though she was tall for a woman, the equal in height of several of the men, she had the slightest figure. She wore the breeches and leather jerkin of a soldier, which skimmed the trim curves of her body and ended at her mid-thigh. Her bright hair, bound to her head, was covered by a cap. The breeches emphasized the lean muscles of her thighs in a way he’d never seen on a woman before.
He inhaled sharply when he realized that she moved in a circle against his captain, Talbot. The man was a head taller, his shoulders twice the width of hers. Tom should not let himself be concerned, but he must have betrayed himself, for Cicely eyed him as she spoke.
“Fear not for my sister,” she said with exaggerated weariness. “She has been battling men her superior in size since childhood. She thrives on it. Why she would prefer this to the beauty of embroidery, I will never know.”
Cicely’s voice seemed to fade away. Tom’s breath caught with admiration as Talbot thrust his dagger forward, and Diana nimbly let it pass beneath her arm, delivering a hard elbow to Talbot’s chin. He staggered back and grinned with good nature at the cheers from Kirkby’s men.
At least Diana was battling a man who would respect her accomplishments. He could think of plenty of men who would not take well to being bested by a woman. As Tom continued to watch her feint and thrust, whirl and duck, he found himself growing more and more aroused. He told himself he was being a fool, that this woman put him in a dungeon, that she yet held secrets and meant to use them against him.
But those concerns seemed trivial to the thought of having her in his bed. And right there, regardless of her status as his adversary, Tom determined that he would have a willing Diana beneath him. He wanted those long muscular legs wrapped around him, to bury himself in the heat of her body.
“Lord Bannaster?”
He suddenly heard Cicely’s voice again, and realized that she was giving him a cool, penetrating look. He flashed her his most brilliant smile. “Aye, mistress?”
“You seemed…distant.”
“Our visit here has reminded me that it has been many weeks since I’ve trained properly. Your men are very skilled, and I am certain I will enjoy testing myself against them during my stay.”
“But…surely my sister has offended you. For that I ask forgiveness.”
“Her conduct does not reflect on you,” Tom said evasively. “We all do what we think we must. Yet…I do not understand how your sister was permitted to train with soldiers. Surely your mother had plenty for her daughters to do.”
“She did,” Cicely said.
Tom could see her grappling with what to say, and he thought perhaps that although Cicely considered her sister her adversary, she did not want to be too obvious—or too cruel.
“I will admit,” Cicely continued, “that my sister did all that my mother required.” She stopped, as if stunned to reveal something she hadn’t meant to. “But Diana is willful and stubborn. She was not content to master only a woman’s lot in life. She selfishly wanted more. Our brother, Archibald, caught her practicing with a dagger when she was twelve, and he thought he was being mocked. Such things came more difficultly to him, and he had to work hard to please our father, who did not often approve of him. To punish Archie for his anger at Diana, Father allowed her to train with the boys when her duties to Mother were finished.” She stopped and took a deep breath, as if shocked at all she’d said.
Tom glanced from her to Diana, better understanding the nuances of a family where a brother could send his sisters to a dilapidated castle, rather than see them properly wed. Winslow’s childhood jealousy of his sister had not abated, only altered as his power had grown.
“It sounds as if there was tension in your family,” Tom said, which was clearly an understatement. “Sorry I am to hear it.”
“Aye, my sister has never wanted to understand how her behavior affects us all.”
Tom rather thought their father’s childishness toward his son had much to do with it, but he was not about to say that. He turned back to watch Diana, who was being buckled into breast and back plates. He heard Cicely give a weary sigh. He knew she had wanted him to see what she considered her sister’s folly, but if he spent too much time here, she would become suspicious.
He did not want to reveal his obsession with Diana. She was a woman with secrets he had to discover, a challenger who needed besting. And as for Cicely—he didn’t know what she could be to him, but he would keep his options open. Reluctantly, he turned away from the tiltyard and continued his tour of Kirkby Keep.
Diana knew when Bannaster left the vicinity almost as well as she’d sensed his arrival. It had taken everything in her not to direct a challenging stare his way, or to let him know that she would not meekly accept his attempts at controlling her or the situation between them.
But this unusual fear she felt could easily debilitate her, if she wasn’t careful.
With a sword in her hand, she worked alone at the movements of combat, thrusting and parrying without an opponent, improving the strength in her arms and legs.
She did not know what Bannaster thought of her abilities, although when she’d bested him in the dungeon, she’d known he’d been impressed. Why did it matter to her what he thought? Angrily, she plunged her sword into a man-shaped target stuffed with hay. She had never cared what people thought of her strange proclivities for the manly arts. She had seldom given consideration to the need for a husband, so busy was she with the running of Kirkby Keep and her secret training as a Bladeswoman. She had never thought she would have a normal life.
So why did Bannaster’s arrival suddenly have her wondering if she could have a husband, considering the direction she’d gone with her life? She suddenly felt…disturbed and confused, as if her certainties were beginning to fade.
What was wrong with her? She captured one man in a dungeon, and suddenly her life’s goals seemed upended? Or was she simply afraid that when he finally decided to punish her, any chance of a normal life would be gone? She took out her confusion on the target, hacking and thrusting until both arms ached from her occasional two-handed grasp. Her face ran with perspiration, even in the winter’s cold.
“Mistress Diana?”
Catching her breath on a grunt, she pulled her sword free and without thinking, turned to face the person who’d called her. Her captain of the guard, Nashe, took a quick backward step away from her sword.
Diana lowered the point. “Forgive me, Nashe. You needed me?”
His craggy, homely features were crinkled in worry. “Ye seem rather…focused on your trainin’, mistress. Is somethin’ amiss?”
To Diana’s surprise, her other soldiers and knights were trying too hard not to stare at her. Bannaster’s men were openly gaping.
“Nay, I simply felt the need to test my strength,” she said, straightening and handing him her sword. “But I am finished for the day. Would you have this cleaned and returned to my chambers?”
“Aye, mistress.”
Diana couldn’t miss the curious light in his eyes, but she ignored it, turning and crossing through the mud of the tiltyard. She’d performed for Cicely’s demonstration, and although she felt no embarrassment at being Bannaster’s entertainment for the day, she didn’t understand what she’d felt as he’d watched her. She’d wanted him to see her skill. Why would she care about his opinion?
Deep in thought, she crossed the great hall, staring at the floor, speaking to no one. She ascended to her bedchamber, where hot water was already waiting in a bucket. Her staff was well trained, she thought, trying to shake off her strange mood. They knew she preferred to bathe at night, so they only left washing supplies for her after she trained.
But today would have been a day for a bath, Diana thought, gingerly removing her mud-caked garments. She had taken severa
l falls, and her clothing had paid the price. Not to mention her new bruises.
Placing a wide basin near the fire, she stood in it, washing her face and body with a soapy facecloth, before pouring warm water down her to rinse. Even near the hearth, she shivered with the cold. As soon as she could, she wrapped a clean linen about her body and began to scrub the dirt from her arms. When she was bending over, working on her particularly muddy calf, she heard the door open and close.
Without turning her head, she said, “Mary, I might need more water. I am rather filthy this day.”
A masculine voice said, “Give me the cloth. I’m told that I’m good at scrubbing.”
Diana straightened so quickly she almost lost her balance, and even then had to grab at the cloth, which was coming loose at her bosom. Bannaster leaned back against the door, grinning at her, his gaze moving with deliberation down her body.
Never in her life had she felt so exposed and vulnerable, and the fear was as metallic as blood in her mouth. Here in her own castle, she’d forgotten her League training, and thought herself far too secure to take precautions against an intruder. Her lapse in judgment had her once more alone with Bannaster, giving him the edge. She didn’t try to cover herself, which would have been a sign of weakness. All she had left was a pride she didn’t know if she was entitled to feel.
“Leave my bedchamber immediately,” she said in a cold voice.
“I do not wish to.”
But at least he hadn’t yet moved toward her. “Surely you need to be at my sister’s beck and call.”
He arched a dark brow but did not lose that infernal grin. She had meant to make him seem unmanly, but instead had made herself seem almost—jealous, and he knew it. Damn him.
He gave a soft laugh and slowly walked forward, moving sinuously, gracefully, a man in control of every muscle. She suddenly wondered what it would be like to face him on the tiltyard, to test her strength against his.
She hated the heat that burned in her, the way she wanted to press her thighs together, not in fear, but against the strange, slow throbbing that had begun in the very core of her. She couldn’t let him see his affect on her, so she straightened her shoulders and let him look, knowing there was just a thin, precarious cloth between her and complete nudity.
“If I recall,” he began in a conversational tone, as he strolled in a circle around her, “when I was in the dungeon, I was the one doing the washing while you watched.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “You forget the fact that you took delight in stripping before me in an unwelcome manner, forcing me to view what should be done alone. And once again, today you betray your vulgar sensibilities by invading a lady’s privacy. Do not think you can blackmail me into returning your attentions. I would rot in the dungeon first.”
He was getting too close to her as he moved about her. She could feel the brush of his upper arm against her shoulder, the lower edge of his tunic against the cloth that covered her.
“Get away from me,” she said in a soft, deadly voice, trying to keep from pleading. “If you think my lack of garments will keep me from throwing you out on your ass in disgrace, then—”
“And then everyone will know that we were alone together. Would you be trying to force me into marriage?”
“I would not marry you if you were—”
“You mistake my intentions, Diana,” he interrupted mildly, coming to a stop before her. “I watched you battle men today, and I was quite impressed with your skill. Yet such training must take a toll on a woman’s delicate skin, and I can now see that it has.”
She gave a deep sigh as she restrained her temper, loosening the cloth too much at her breasts. She was forced tighten it again, and it felt like too revealing of a movement. “What are you talking about, Bannaster?”
He touched her shoulder with one finger, and she almost hit him to counter the way her skin seemed to tingle. But then she realized he was tracing a faint scar.
“How did you do this?” he asked.
She twitched her shoulder away and stepped out of the basin. Though her wet feet stood on the carpet, the cold made gooseflesh rise. She knew Bannaster did not miss the way her nipples now tightened against the cloth, but she would not let herself turn away from him. She had to meet an enemy face on.
Though she did not owe him an answer, she would rather keep him focused on her very unfeminine skills. “A dagger slipped between the plates of my armor.”
If he decided to press their intimacy further, she could not have him thrown out, not with what he knew about her. It would be a challenge to distract and defeat him every time they were alone.
And she rose to every challenge, especially with him. She did not want to think what that said about her.
“It does not look like they burned the wound closed,” he said, still staring at her shoulder.
Or from so close, was he able to look down on her breasts?
“My mother stitched it.”
“I imagine she never thought she’d be healing her daughter from such a wound.”
She caught herself before she could flinch. Though her mother had obeyed her husband’s word, Diana had known her mother disapproved and worried for her. What would she say now? Sometimes the ache of her absence struck Diana so forcefully, it almost took her breath.
She was relieved when Bannaster started to circle her again.
“Leave now, Bannaster, so that I can dress.”
“I am not stopping you.”
The amusement in his voice grated on her.
“I am only looking at the marks on your body. There is a terrible bruise on the back of your arm.”
It was a strain to ignore his brief touch on the bruise. “Courtesy of your man, Talbot,” she said dryly.
“Ah, he has done much the same to me. But surely your brother must have inflicted worse, when you were first allowed on the tiltyard.”
She briefly closed her eyes. He was not content to disturb her every sense with his nearness, he wanted to get into her mind, too.
“Cicely surely spoke of this already,” she said. “She would not be able to resist telling you about how I came to behave like a man.”
“That you and Winslow did not get along? That your father used you to punish your brother? Aye, she told me.”
She felt his fingertips low on her calf, and she was so surprised she could not hide her gasp. But she would not flee. She kicked back, but he eluded her.
“It little mattered to me what my father’s motives were,” she said between gritted teeth. “And Archie was a fool for thinking my goals had anything to do with him. I needed to test myself, to learn what I wanted. But Archie could not see that, because he always thought his needs were all that mattered.”
“Were not your needs all that mattered to you?”
She glared at him. “I did not deliberately hurt others to achieve them. Did you not once share my goals? And did not your brother’s suffering free you to pursue them?”
He was facing her now, studying her impassively. “Your mother wasn’t hurt by your unladylike dreams, Diana?”
She flinched. “And your brother’s death conveniently freed you to pursue yours.”
They stared hotly into each other’s eyes, and Diana, stunned, could not imagine what had gotten into her. Her killing of his brother had freed him from his brother’s yoke. How could she taunt him with the suspicions of being a murderer that he’d had to live with these last six years? But he made her lose control, forget everything but sparring with him.
Then he was circling her again, coming to stand behind her. “I do not mean to fight with you like this. I simply was curious about what marks the life you’ve chosen have left on your body.”
“I care not what a man thinks of me.”
“Not even a man who might be your husband?”
She frowned at him over her shoulder. “You do not want to marry me.”
“I did not mean myself, of course,” he said with gre
at innocence, touching his chest in self-deprecation. “But someday, you will reveal yourself to your husband.”
She deliberately faced forward again, as if his presence behind her back did not threaten her. “I do not plan to marry, but if I did, the man I chose would accept me as I am.”
“You do not plan to marry?”
She could hear the real surprise in his voice, and she realized she had betrayed too much. He would wonder at her goals, and she could not have him discovering whom she worked for.
“Then it is the nunnery for you?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “Nay, wait, you must mean to spend your days as a maiden aunt in the home of your sister.”
Her body trembled with anger, her fists clenched.
“There is another wound here,” he said in a deep voice, his breath on the back of her neck, where several curls fell from her upswept hair.
His fingers ran along the top edge of the cloth, then dipped beneath. Diana lost her control and swung her elbow back, but this time he must have expected her reaction, for he caught her elbow, swung her about and pinned her arms behind her. She was pressed hard to his chest, and she realized as she struggled that the cloth about her body had come loose. He held her too close for it to fall, but her right breast was naked, pressed flat against the fine garments covering his chest.
For a silent moment, the only sound was their harsh breathing as they struggled against each other. When she tried to kick him, he lifted her off the ground so that her legs swung uselessly, her blows glancing off him rather than hurting him. He held her arms on just this side of pain, and to her shock, he began to bend her ever so slowly backward, forcing her head to drop back, revealing the vulnerable length of her neck, her bare shoulders—and her naked breast.
She ceased her useless struggles. The air was cool on her damp flesh. She couldn’t take a deep enough breath, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but submit. And it was so wildly exciting that she was overwhelmed, overcome, caught in the raw feelings that only he had ever brought out of her.
She felt his hot breath only a moment before he licked a wet path across her nipple. The shock of pleasure made her jerk in his arms, sending mild pain through her shoulders, and a deeper, fiery arrow into her belly, where their hips were so tight together they could have been mated.
