Desire's Prize

by M. S. Laurens (Stephanie Laurens)

  “Until you came to your senses. Twas senseless to run so.” Alaun forced his fists to unclench. “I would have you think long on the danger you placed yourself in—and what would have befallen had I not been close behind.”

  The image of her struggling with the outlaw leader rose unbidden to his mind; with a muttered curse, he banished it, wishing he could thus easily rid himself of the helpless fear it evoked. He scowled. “You willfully laid a false trail—you did not flee in panic, lady.”

  She made no attempt to deny it.

  “I know not what maggot got into your head to push you to such a foolish start.” He considered demanding an explanation, then abruptly thrust all memory of the previous night aside. “But I tell you now, your actions were culpable! I have three men injured because of your crazed flight.”

  He swung about—and read the question writ large in her eyes. “Nay.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Their wounds are none of them serious, but tis no thanks to you. You know better than to ride alone, yet it seems you have done so before. Was that knave right in claiming twas so?”

  His gaze glittered, saber-sharp. Eloise bowed her head. “Aye.”

  His chest swelled. “By all the saints, woman!” The air between them vibrated, incredulity fanning his anger. “You’re intelligent and capable, yet in this respect you have behaved like the veriest widgeon! Apparently on a regular basis!”

  She bit her lip and fixed her gaze on her hands.

  “Your station alone makes you a target; your wealth makes you a rich prize. Think you there are not men aplenty who would risk their lives to gain such treasure?”

  “I had not previously realized…” She frowned. “Such as this morn has never before occurred. I did not imagine men—knights—were of such ilk.”

  “Aye, some are so. Twill be well for you do you remember it.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “But your ignorance suggests your father guarded you well—I would not have expected otherwise. Do you tell me you willfully disobeyed his orders to ride unescorted?”

  “Nay.” She raised her head. “There were no orders to disobey.”

  He narrowed his eyes even more. “He never knew?”

  She focused on the trees behind him. “I rode in the early morning—tis rare to meet others about. And that knave said rightly—twas never far from the castle.”

  “That fact does not excuse you.” Grimly, Alaun hung onto his temper. “Think you you could not have been grabbed by ruffians in the forest?”

  “I never rode in the forest alone.”

  Jaw clenched, he snarled, “Nor carried off by some knight?”

  His tone gave her pause. Fleetingly, she met his gaze, then lifted her chin. “It has been my experience that knights are rarely found abroad before dawn.”

  “Lady…” He let the word trail off in a warning growl. He took a turn about the clearing, then halted, hands on hips, before her. “Understand me, Eloise. While you remain in my care, you will not go abroad alone. You will keep to my side and ask permission to quit it. And you will accept with good grace whatever escort I deem fit.”

  Briefly, she met his gaze, then bowed her head. “Aye, lord.”

  Her meek response did nothing to appease his fury; he caught her chin and forced her head up until her gaze locked with his. A deep calmness stared back at him; he longed, just once, to shake it. She had caused him anguish unlike any he’d previously known—his nature demanded retribution.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You are a burden, lady.” Her dark gaze flickered, then became, if anything, even more impenetrable. Savage satisfaction beckoned. “As things stand, I am responsible for you—legally, morally, and by my vow to your father. I am bound by my honor to protect you—a widow wealthy enough to attract half the hedge-knights in England! Should harm come to you whilst in my care, twould be a stain on my honor I could never hope to expunge. Tis a bad enough position to find myself in, but to top it all, I now discover you are witless enough to go riding alone and plot to forsake my protection.”

  Her demeanor had changed; it was colder—haughty distance had crept in. He told himself he was glad. He released her. “Now that I have explained to you, lady, what a very great weight on my shoulders you are, can I hope that, in future, you will behave with greater sense?”

  For a moment, silence reigned, then, slowly, she rose, wrapping dignity like a cloak about her. Slim, slender, she faced him. “Aye, lord. I crave pardon for any inconvenience I have, through my unthoughtful actions, caused you. I pray you also to accept my humble thanks for your timely rescue of me this morn.”

  He blinked.

  “As for the rest,” she continued, “I sorrow that you find my care such an onerous weight, but would respectfully remind you twas not by my wish that you claimed such a prize—our relationship is no doing of mine. Should you wish to relieve yourself of a burden you clearly find irksome, you have only to give me escort to the nearest convent.”

  Frowning, he searched for the right words with which to correct her mistake.

  She looked down; her lids veiled her eyes. “I will hold myself ready to depart at any time, lord. I will not inflict my foolish presence on you any longer. Pray excuse me.” With a decorous nod, she started back to the road.

  His hands on his hips, Alaun watched her go. His fury was largely dissipated; the rest of his emotions were tied in knots and writhing.

  Narrowing his eyes, he uttered one, comprehensive, distinctly savage oath—then followed his prize back to the road.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The afternoon saw no easing in the oppressive silence engulfing the head of the column. Eloise rode on, her attention fixed in the distance; the set of her head and the rigidity of her spine succinctly conveyed her mood. Her face was as pale as marble; her expression had taken on a correspondingly stony chill. Alaun remained grumpily silent, irritatingly aware of the absence of the quick, sideways glances she’d cast him throughout the morn.

  They reached their campsite, nestled in the curve of a river, in late afternoon. The next hour went in the usual chaos as the wagons were positioned, tents erected, and cook fires started. Alaun withdrew with his sergeants to set the picket lines, leaving his prize under Roland’s watchful eye.

  Seated on a log, Eloise watched the noisy performance, unwillingly fascinated by the organization displayed by Montisfryn’s men. Horses were tethered in lines; grooms and squires scurried everywhere, ferrying weapons, chests, and pallets. The tents of Montisfryn’s household knights and men-at-arms clustered around his and Roland’s pavilions, close by the river.

  When the dust settled, she retired to Roland’s blue-and-white pavilion. There she remained as the sun slowly sank.

  Lying on the pallet, stubbornly ignoring the claustrophobic atmosphere, she idly picked at the supper she’d had Jenni fetch; she was determined to avoid Montisfryn come what may.

  She was only remaining with him until Hereford, anyway.

  The tent flap stirred; Jenni slipped in. Eloise raised a brow. “Well?”

  She’d noticed a deep pool in the river behind the pavilions. After due consideration, she’d sent Jenni to ask permission to use it; the saints only knew when next she would get a chance to bathe.

  “The lord said the pickets were stationed well beyond the other side, so the pool is safe to use.”

  “Good.” Eloise sat up, swung her feet to the grass and stood. “Bring a towel. We’ll go now—it’s already dark.”

  Swirling her cloak about her, she went to the tent flap. Pushing it aside, she looked out.

  A large fire blazed in the clearing before the tent. Men were gathered about it, eating and chatting, telling tales and bawdy jokes. Across the flames stood Montisfryn’s pavilion, the gold stripes dull in the firelight. The flap was only partially lifted; she couldn’t see inside.

  Between the two pavilions lay the track to the river. There were no men in that direction. She slipped out.

  *

  From his seat at the board in his
pavilion, Alaun saw Eloise’s shadow, along with that of her maid, thrown against Roland’s tent. He hesitated, then lifted one hand. Bilder hurried up. A few words sent Bilder out to the fire; he paused by Rovogatti, then the Genoese stood, nodded, and set out in the shadows’ wake.

  Seated opposite, Roland grinned. “Think a good soak will soften her up?”

  Alaun grunted.

  Roland wagged a chicken leg at him. “Your conversation has taken a decided turn for the worse. I wonder why?”

  The narrow-eyed glare Alaun directed across the table should have ended the conversation altogether.

  Roland’s grin only broadened. “I hesitate to mention it, given your mood, but has it occurred to you that it’s the devil’s own work to seduce a woman in a snit?”

  Alaun’s jaw nearly cracked. “Shut up.”

  Roland shrugged. “Just thought I should point that out.” His grin still in evidence, he attacked his chicken.

  Sunk in silence, Alaun toyed with his meal.

  After a suitable interlude, Roland asked, “So, are we heading home at speed?”

  Alaun shook his head. He’d been wrestling with the question for hours; with a select detachment of knights, he could have his prize safe in his stronghold within a few days. The column would take ten or more days to cover the same distance; staying with it was a risk, one he felt compelled to take.

  He drained his goblet. “There’ll be a list of duties as long as my sword awaiting my return. I’ll be busy for weeks.” By remaining with the train, he could devote the next ten days to securing his prize.

  Roland’s eyes flew wide. “By St. George and all the saints—this grows serious! I’ve never known you rate a woman so high.”

  Alaun scowled. “Given the position I wish her to fill, a little time seems a worthwhile investment.”

  “Ah—so the lion hasn’t grown spots?”

  “Nay, tis merely temporary. Once I have her safely wed, life will be normal once more.” He certainly hoped so. He shifted restlessly, vainly trying to ease the tightness in his groin.

  The thought of yet another night of enforced abstinence had him gritting his teeth. His wandering gaze met Roland’s—and suddenly it was all too much. With a growl, he stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Don’t get your feet wet.”

  Alaun pretended he hadn’t heard. He circled the campfire, pausing long enough to share a jest with his men. Drifting into the shadows, he found the track leading to the river.

  He was almost upon Rovogatti, quietly chatting with the maid, before the Genoese knew he was there. The fact did not perturb him; few men moved as silently as he. He dismissed both maid and guard, irritated by the robin’s scandalized face. He only wanted to talk to the woman—in private, without others looking on. While Rovogatti and the robin retreated to the campfire, Alaun followed the track on to the water’s edge.

  The pool was bathed in shadow and moonlight, patches of silver rippling into dim darkness. He found Eloise’s clothes in a neat pile on the lush grass by the bank, a linen towel set ready beside it. Across the top of the pile was draped a delicate chemise.

  For a long moment, he stared at it, trying to keep his mind from consciously acknowledging what the sight meant.

  He failed. Completely.

  Drawing a slow, deep breath, he fought to contain the compulsive, impatient beat in his blood. His eyes searched the pool; she was there, cavorting in deep water. Silver gilded her arms as she lifted them to smooth back her hair. Her face, uptilted, was serene and mysterious.

  Then she smiled and dove beneath the surface; smooth feminine curves flashed, shimmered briefly, then disappeared. Mesmerized, he stood, still and silent, held captive in the dimness.

  Calm, freed of restraint, Eloise twirled in the cool, clear water. The gentle current drew her troubles from her, leaving her refreshed; the ageless murmur of the river comforted her, easing her mind of its cares, reminding her of how short life was and how essentially earthy its pleasures. Floating into a patch of moonlight, she stretched up one arm, smiling delightedly at the silver droplets that hung from her fingertips, moonlight trapped for an instant in their quivering hearts before they fell to join the river once more.

  Still smiling, she turned and languidly stroked to shore. The river had stolen her inhibitions, a fact the chill invading her limbs called to mind. She should have kept on her chemise, for modesty’s sake if nothing else, though what defense she would gain from drenched linen she’d never understood. And she would still have had to strip off the wet garment and dry herself; it was one of those social decrees that made no practical sense.

  The river bottom sloped upward to the bank; she came to her feet and waded the last yards, the water at her knees. Five feet from the bank, she stopped to squeeze the water from her hair, still in braids about her ears.

  In the shadows fifteen feet away, Alaun stood transfixed. A vise had closed about his chest; every breath was an effort. Not realizing the water was so shallow, he had waited, intending to speak once she had swum to the bank—before she’d left the cover of the night dark water. Now, she stood before him, bathed in moonlight, her skin pearlescent in the soft glow. She was a goddess risen from the river, a being of exquisite beauty and timeless fascination.

  She was the embodiment of his most primitive dreams. His eyes devoured her, feasting on the ripe curves of full breasts above a neat waist, on the generous lines of hips and sleek thighs outlining the cradle in which he ached to lie.

  She looked up—straight at him.

  It wasn’t her eyes that warned Eloise he was there; by sight, he was no more than a shadow among many, so perfectly still she would never have seen him if he hadn’t seen her. His gaze gave him away, touching her with fingers of flame.

  She didn’t react as she, or he, expected.

  Instead, she returned his gaze calmly, and shook the last drops from her braids. With neither sight nor sound to guide her, she nevertheless sensed she held him enthralled, trapped in a web she’d unwittingly spun.

  And he was burning. For her.

  She could feel his heat reaching for her, the dragon’s fire in his eyes as enticing as any caress. There was no sense in any foolish show of modesty, in trying to hide from his gaze. He knew her by now; she was imprinted on his mind, on his senses.

  He wanted her. Badly.

  Power flowed through her, potent, undeniable, an age-old sensation that had never before been hers. It filled her, completed her, strengthened her—and compelled her. A long shiver—of need, of anticipation—rippled through her.

  “Lady, come out. Or you’ll freeze.” The words were strained, his voice deep and grating. His body was tensed, muscles locked, all but quivering.

  She wasn’t cold—could not be cold, not while she basked in his golden gaze. “I’ll come out if you turn around.”

  The flames she’d seen before in his eyes had to be blazing fiercely; she wanted to see them again, even though she suspected only one thing could reduce such a blaze to embers.

  Another long shiver shook her.

  Dragging in a breath, Alaun held it, and turned, the most difficult maneuver of his life. He was shaking—with need, with lust, with burning desire—all balanced on the knife-edge of control. He had never felt so in thrall to a woman, so completely at her mercy. He’d intended to conquer, but found himself the conquered. His mind was not coping with the reversal at all well.

  “You have my back, lady. Now get dry and get dressed.” Given the current uncertainties in their relationship, that was unquestionably the safest course.

  Eloise grinned at the growled command. Wading to the bank, she stepped onto the grass. She should have swooned, or, at the very least, been thrown into totally flustered disarray, but she wasn’t the swooning or flustering sort. And being viewed by Montisfryn had been a great deal more pleasant than standing naked before her husband, as she’d been forced so often to do.

  Scooping up the towel, she applied it to her dripp
ing braids, squeezing to drain enough water to stop them constantly wetting her. Then she shook out the towel—and realized her mistake. The towel was saturated. Grimacing, she rubbed at her skin, removing the drops, but leaving it damp.

  Then she struggled into her chemise. “Why are you here?”

  Hands on his hips, he was staring at the trees. “Twould be well, lady, if you would remember you will never again be entirely out of my sight.”

  It was just as well, she decided, that he couldn’t see her smirk. Tying the ribbons of her chemise, she glanced down to see it dampening, already clinging to her skin. She reached for her cote. “Aye, but why did you come to find me? You knew what I was about.”

  “I wish to speak with you.”

  “About what?” She hauled her cote over her head, then freed the skirts from her damp shoulders.

  “You know well what matter lies between us.”

  “Nay.” She struggled to force her damp arms into the tight sleeves. “You will have to explain it to me. I am, after all, only a witless woman who is so foolish I am naught but a burden to my lord.”

  His fists, at his sides, clenched tightly. “Lady…”

  “Aye, lord?” Looking down, she started lacing her gown. Her fingers were cold; the laces kept slipping from her grasp.

  A muttered expletive fell on her ears.

  “You, lady, are no more witless than I—and you know well you are a burden I will yield to no man.”

  Those words, she decided, were amongst the sweetest she’d ever heard. His tone, of course, left much to be desired. “Indeed, lord?”

  Glaring at the trees, Alaun refused to reply. “Have you not finished yet, woman? I like not talking to the trees.”

  “Nay. My fingers are too cold.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. She’d only managed the first two crosses of her lacings; her cote gaped open from her waist upward. Given all he’d seen, all he’d touched the previous night… “Here. Let me.”

  Eloise blinked as his hands appeared at her waist and took the laces from her chilled fingers. She glanced up and met his gaze. She smiled briefly, then looked down.