Fane chuckled.
Refusing to look at him, she stomped back to the water’s edge to glare down at her reflection. She wrenched up her bliaut’s hem to keep it out of the mud, hunched down, and rinsed her shaking hands.
“Come, Rexana,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Shall we call a truce and eat?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Fane lead his horse up alongside hers. After giving the beast a pat on the neck, he reached for the bulging sack tied to the saddle.
She stood, drying her hands on her skirts.
When he glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in expectation of an answer, a little voice inside her sighed. She couldn’t easily forget his arrogant words. Yet, the morn’s ride and fresh air had given her an appetite. She nodded.
Fane strode up to where the grass met the stream bank. She followed. He reached into the sack, withdrew a woolen blanket, then spread it on the grass. They could still see the guards, she realized, but also enjoy the beauty of the stream, the rocks, and the endless fields. She hugged her arms over her chest and squeezed. How lovely.
Fane dropped down onto the blanket. He stretched one muscled leg out and bent the other. Resting an elbow on his raised knee, he looked inside the bag. He whistled. “I hope you are hungry.”
She knelt on the blanket’s edge. “Cook would not tell me what he stuffed into the sack. He said he was forbidden.”
A grin curved Fane’s mouth. “I threatened him with a wretched punishment if he told you.”
“Why would you wish harm upon that poor man?” She frowned. “What did you threaten him with?”
“Ten poisonous spiders in his bed.”
She shrieked. “How could you?”
“Rexana, I tease you.”
He patted her arm. Sensation buzzed across her skin. Swift. Undeniable.
“I did order him not to tell you, though,” Fane said, as though she hadn’t jumped at his touch. “I did not want him to ruin the surprise.”
She busied her fingers with smoothing her skirts around her legs. “Surprise?”
“I asked him to prepare foods with more . . . bite than usual. I did not think you would mind a culinary challenge.”
Mischief gleamed in Fane’s eyes. He looked like a cheeky little boy with a sack full of naughty secrets. She couldn’t keep from laughing.
“I do enjoy a challenge, milord.” She grinned. “Let me see what you have.”
“First, you must promise to have a taste.”
Warning stirred inside her. She sensed he spoke of more than food. Yet, with the sun warming her back and the sweet whisper of wind through the long grass, she couldn’t deny the wild urge to play along with him.
If she grew weary of his game, she could simply walk away to explore the stream, and leave him to his meal.
“I promise,” she said.
He winked. “I hoped you would not disappoint me.”
Reaching into the sack, he took out cloth-wrapped bundles. She lifted the fabric from the treasures inside. Honey-glazed dates sprinkled with cloves and ginger. Roasted chicken encrusted with fat lumps of garlic. Meat pies dusted with cinnamon and herbs. A loaf of rye bread. And figs.
She inhaled the heady aroma. “You woo me with spices?”
“Amongst other temptations.”
Her heart fluttered. She cast him a quick glance, but he’d turned his attentions to the wine flask at the bottom of the sack. With a snap, the flask opened.
He offered it to her. “Drink?”
She shook her head. “I will eat first.” The voice inside her applauded her restraint. She would be wise to get fare in her belly, so the wine didn’t addle her senses.
Or sway her reason.
Rexana took a meat pie and bit into the flaky crust. Fane’s gaze fixed upon her mouth. He stared as though he, too, tasted the light, buttery pastry, chicken, and spicy gravy flooding her tongue. Disquiet tingled through her. She touched a finger to the corner of her mouth. Caught a stray bit of pastry.
“Allow me.”
Before she could wipe her finger on a cloth, Fane caught her hand. Drew it to his mouth. His breath warmed her fingertips. She tensed . . . yet somehow, couldn’t pull away. He smiled before he licked her finger clean. “Delicious,” he murmured, then released her hand.
Her breath shivered from her lips. Awareness whooshed through her, from the tips of her fingers to the secret place between her thighs. She could scarcely keep her eyelids from sweeping shut. Saints above, did he know he had this effect upon her? Did he woo her with his tongue, as well as the fare?
With effort, she finished chewing the mouthful of pie. She struggled to control her rampant imagination, which had leapt from him suckling her fingers to pressing her down in the grass and kissing her witless.
Shame on her foolishness. Fane might have licked her fingers because, in the east, this was considered a courtesy between husband and wife.
Or, he tried to seduce her.
She didn’t understand him well enough to know for certain.
Rexana dared another bite of the delicious pie, careful this time not to miss a bit. He smiled, dragged hair from his eyes, then studied the unwrapped bundles.
“What shall I eat first?” he said, as though to himself. “Chicken? Dates? Mayhap a little fig?”
His sensuous voice resonated through her. An icy tingle pooled in her belly as she fought a delicious shudder. Did he woo her with clever words too? Did he infer he wished to taste more than her fingers, or did her imagination again cloud her judgment? “Since the figs are sweet,” she said, proud of her unwavering voice, “mayhap you should eat those last?”
“My thoughts exactly.” With a brazen grin, he picked up a chicken leg and tore off a strip of meat with his teeth.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip. The devilment in his gaze had sharpened. He had a definite purpose to his teasing. Why did he look at her as though he found her more tempting than all of the delicacies spread out before him? Did he?
His lips moved as he chewed. Sensual, firm lips, shiny from the moist chicken. He bit down again on the meat, his bite deft. Elegant. Restrained. Not at all the way she imagined an uncivilized barbarian ate. Uncertainty swept through her. She forced her gaze from his tantalizing mouth that tempted her to lean over and kiss him, and nibbled the pie.
She’d dined with many nobles of rank, including Garmonn, at her parents’ feasts. Few had eaten with the courtesy Fane showed at this simple picnic. And Garmonn . . . She closed her eyes against a memory. He’d delighted in playing with the fare while boasting to Rudd how much he could stuff into his mouth all at once.
Once, Garmonn had choked on an enormous mouthful of stewed cabbage and had turned a violent purple color before he’d spewed the mangled shreds all over the table. Rudd had laughed. Her parents—a blessing upon their departed souls—had ordered fresh table linens and dismissed the incident as the unfortunate result of poorly cooked cabbage.
Raising her lashes, she cast Fane a glance. How little she knew of him. Yet, she couldn’t imagine him gorging himself or making a public spectacle of retching.
As though sensing her gaze, he tossed aside the gnawed chicken bone and looked up. He gestured to the blanket. “You like the fare?”
“Aye, milord.”
“Why do you not eat, then?” He pushed the bread toward her. “We cannot let Cook’s work go to waste.”
She laughed. “I doubt you will allow that to happen.”
“True.” His eyes softened with a hint of admiration. “I am glad that this meal pleases you, as it does me.”
“Indeed, I enjoy learning what pleases my husband.” As soon as the words left her lips, she gasped. She hadn’t meant to sound so provocative. As though she tried to woo him.
His brows raised in unquestionable interest.
“I mean,” she added, unable to defray a blush, “what fare pleases you. Spicy. Not spicy. Sweet. As lady of Tangston, I expect my duties will include ordering the food, wine, a
nd spices.” Before she embarrassed herself further, she bit off a gigantic mouthful of pie.
Fane tore off a chunk of bread. “Your duties may well include such things. Yet, your words raise an interesting point. I would like to know what pleases my wife.”
She swallowed. “Oh.” Traitorous warmth, licking through her like greedy flames, thawed the icy pool in her belly. Your kisses please me, her mind cooed. Your touch pleases me. Your wet tongue upon my fingers—
She looked at the horses and schooled her bawdy thoughts.
“Horse rides,” she said, “They please me.”
“Ah.” He chewed the bread. “And?”
Her frantic gaze darted about the meadow. She wouldn’t betray her lustful thoughts or yield to the reckless impulses taunting her. Not when she must remain virgin. “Flowers,” she said brightly. “All kinds. Especially roses.”
“You have a romantic heart. Good.”
“Also swimming.” Rexana stared down at the stream’s blue-green pool. “’Tis wondrous to splash in cool water on a scorching summer’s day.”
“You can swim?”
She smiled at the incredulity in Fane’s voice. “I learned when I was a child. My parents did not know until years later.” With a soft laugh, she added, “My mother would have screeched in horror to see me frolicking in the water wearing only my shift. I always made sure my hair was dry and braided again before I returned to the keep.”
His jaw tautened mid-chew. His gaze flicked over her once, as though he imagined her clad in the wet slip of linen. “If your parents did not teach you to swim, who did?”
“Rudd.”
Fane’s lips curled. “I should have guessed.”
His gritty tone pricked her unease. She remembered the brooch pinned to her bliaut and resisted the urge to touch it. “Rudd taught me many things, including how to ride a horse without a saddle, and to hold a dagger.”
“A dagger?” Fane threw up his hands. “Why? You wished to do battle like a man?”
“We cut up sticks, then made boats to float on the water. I was glad to do more with my hands than straighten my skirts or push a needle through silk.”
His eyes narrowing, Fane leaned toward her. “Your brother has been a disruptive influence for years, it seems.”
Air shot from her lungs. The last bite of pie fell from her hand and landed on the blanket. “My brother is an intelligent young lord who—”
“He is a hellion.”
She fought to restrain her rising temper. “Rudd is headstrong and . . . outspoken, aye, but he was not always so. He was very close to my father. He grieved terribly when my parents died.”
“You did not?”
The healing wound deep inside her hurt. She fought tears, while forcing calmness she didn’t feel into her tone. “He is still my brother. I have no other family left.” Her chin tipped up a notch. “’Twould please me above all else, milord, to see him.”
Fane looked across the meadow. His gaze darkened to the murky brown of a fathomless pool. She sensed his fierce resistance to the idea, and the anger simmering within him.
“Please,” she whispered.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Nay.”
“I must know Rudd is all right. That he is not hurt. That he has enough to eat. That he has a blanket at night to ward off the dungeon’s chill.”
“He is not harmed. He is being treated well enough.”
She choked back a scathing retort. She would gain naught by shrieking, crying, and insisting upon Rudd’s innocence. She must approach this disagreement with care. With civility.
As she swept crumbs from her skirts, she said, “Were you not a prisoner once? I have heard the tales. I have seen your scars.”
A growl rumbled between his teeth. His steel-hard gaze flicked back to her. “Beware, love. You tread a forbidden path.”
“Do I?” Her body quivered like a frightened hare’s, but still she plunged ahead. “Would you not have been grateful to see your family? For a visitor to soothe your fears, and reassure you when you thought your cause was lost?”
His expression clouded with warning. “Enough.”
“Would you not—”
“I said enough, wife.”
His voice’s desperate edge silenced her. Touched her, with a raw potency she didn’t expect.
The set of his jaw held grief and self-condemnation. She’d wounded him. What had she said to affect him so? What memories, buried within his soul, had she awakened? Somehow, she’d roused the demons lurking inside him.
She touched his arm. “Fane?”
He shook off her hand, tossed aside the bread, then picked up the wine flask. “I will not discuss my imprisonment. Do not compare my experiences with your brother’s. I did not conspire against my king.”
“Neither did Rudd.”
Fane shook his head and exhaled a hissed breath, as though he struggled to leash a curt reply.
Tension hummed in the air between them.
Tension, aye, but also a seething undercurrent of desire.
Even in this fragile moment, desire drew her to him. Yearning tugged at her conscience. Challenged her quest to stay pure. Challenged who she really was, and what she had vowed.
Her stomach did a sickening turn. How could she want Fane, when he refused to let her see Rudd? How could she even think of lying with Fane, in hopes of changing his mind?
Huffing a breath, she shoved to her feet.
“You have eaten your fill, love?”
“I am no longer hungry.” Ignoring his offer of wine, she shook the last crumbs from her gown and stomped into the sea of grass.
“Rexana.”
She paused in a swath of daisies, her back to him. “Aye?”
“I will . . . consider . . . your request.”
Her pulse kicked against her ribs. Joy and anticipation rushed through her. Her hands fisted into her wrinkled skirts as she blinked away the first sting of tears. “I thank you, husband. Your consideration pleases me.”
Your consideration pleases me.
Rexana’s words circled in Fane’s mind like hunting hawks. He scowled, tipped his head back, and downed a mouthful of wine. The tart liquid rushed down his throat and burned all the way down to his gut. A distinctly uncomfortable experience. Yet thankfully, it robbed his attention from his throbbing loins.
The battle of words hadn’t driven an anvil between them, as Rexana may have expected or even intended. It had only whittled away the restraints he’d managed to impose upon his sensual hunger. Ah, God. Such a fine line lay between the past and the present. Between restraint and mindless intent. Between anger and desire.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. What irony. He sat among a tantalizing orgy of food, yet he starved. Craved. Wanted.
He stared at Rexana, strolling through the grass toward the stream. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight, a luxurious fall of golden honey-brown. His fingers itched to plunge into her silky tresses and haul her back against him. To turn her around and cup her head. To hold her firm, while his lips and tongue showed her exactly what in hellfire pleased him.
Swatting aside a gnat, he drank again. He couldn’t take his gaze off her. Her body swayed with each stride, a natural movement, as though she intuitively sensed the rhythm of the breeze through the grass. She had moved with such grace when she’d danced for him in veils, bells, and smoky shadow.
A shiver ran through him. If he closed his eyes, revived that titillating memory, he could still see her lithe body arching, spinning, and swaying, a look of pure abandon on her face.
Leaning forward, he watched her step down onto the stony bank. She hesitated, then headed toward the large stones half submerged in the water.
Caution flickered at the back of his mind. He dismissed it. Foolish to worry about her, when she seemed capable of taking care of herself.
He set down the flask, then began to rewrap the fare. None of it would go to waste. Memories of old women and children begging for scraps in the squ
alid eastern markets still haunted his dreams. The leftover food would feed Tangston’s beggars.
Or even the traitors in the dungeon.
His fingers tightened on the linen enfolding the chicken. He’d been right to deny Rexana a visit. Of course he had. She wouldn’t appreciate his reasons, even if he explained that he was required, as High Sheriff, to deal harshly with suspected criminals.
Would she call him barbaric, for using the prospect of a visit from her as leverage to make her stubborn brother confess? Nay, she would call him heartless, manipulative, and cruel. Yet, she knew naught of real cruelty, of stinging whips, gouging metal instruments, and taunts that would strain even a holy saint’s sanity. Indeed, he would have lost his mind, if not for Leila’s visits and her healing touch.
A shudder crawled down Fane’s spine. He would never apply brutal torture to prisoners in his dungeon. That meant he must use other means of persuasion, including denial of what his prisoners wanted most.
Rexana now stood on the third rock, peering down into the water, one hand pressed to her bodice. She touched that wretched brooch. She wore the gold arrow every day. It seemed to mean more to her than her own happiness.
“I will have you, Rexana,” he said under his breath. “I will.”
He reached for the saddlebag, shoving in the chicken and the stoppered wine flask. As he reached for the figs, water plunked behind him—the sound of a small stone plummeting into the pool.
Rexana shrieked. “Nay. Oh, nay!”
Her distress slashed through Fane like a double-edged knife. He shoved to his feet, one hand on his dagger’s jeweled hilt. Danger? The meadow seemed deserted. The guards hadn’t shouted a warning.
She was down on all fours on the rock, her face close to the water. Her body shook as though she barely had the strength to stand.
“Rexana?” He tore through the grass, smashing stalks and daisies. A bee hurtled over his head, its drone as sharp as a whizzing arrow.
She plunged her arm into the pool. Soaked her silk bodice up to her shoulder. Grabbed for an object in the water.
“Rexana!”
Daring Damsels Page 49
