Once Upon a Knight

by Jackie Ivie

“I was na’ dreaming,” he said again in a tense tone that made her shiver.

  “I am rather grateful that you have a home, and that ’tis of a large size.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “This gives me hope that there are women there. For only women ken how to make a house a home.”

  “I have sisters—” He caught his words, and Sybil nearly giggled again at the consternation on his face. “How do you ken all of this?”

  “I doona’ ken anything. I make a guess. I keep embroidering on it. And then I wait for the answers. You are giving them to me. With every spoken word…and every unspoken one.” She lowered her voice at the end of her sentence and watched him flinch ever so slightly. That gave her the answer.

  “Unspoken…words?” he asked.

  “Everyone gives clues to what they really feel and what they really mean. They do it all the time, Vincent.” She had to pause for a moment to suffer a blush at saying his name. It reminded her too vividly of when she’d last been saying it. And why.

  He was moving then, pushing himself back into a sitting position with one crooked leg upward. He had his arms looped about the raised knee and was creating a dark well of shadow at his buttocks that drew her eye. Sybil swallowed the excess moisture in her mouth as she glanced there. She wondered if he did it on purpose and then just asked it.

  “Did what?” he asked.

  “Put yourself on display.”

  “Display?” he asked.

  “Aye.” She nodded.

  “For what reason? And to what effect?”

  Sybil swallowed. “To silence me.”

  He huffed out what sounded like amusement. Since his back was to the remnants of their bonfire, she couldn’t tell the exact nature of his expression. Her mind filled it in for her. He was smiling.

  “Naught silences you, Wife. Naught.”

  Sybil returned the smile and then sobered. “You are entertaining, but you are ever that.”

  “Entertaining?” he asked.

  “Aye. Everywhere you go, there is a spark. You entertain. Easily and without thought. ’Tis like magic. You arrive somewhere, and everything changes. I doona’ ken yet what it is or how you do it, but I am intrigued.”

  “Intrigued?” he asked, and he was lowering his voice exactly like she had and gaining the exact same thing as Sybil pulsed. She was overheated as well, and knew a blush was the cause. She settled for nodding to his question.

  “In what way?”

  “I doona’ play…the games…men and women…play,” she told him and couldn’t prevent the way her words trembled.

  “Games?” he asked.

  “You ken what I speak of. You’re a master of it…as well as the other.” Now she knew she was blushing.

  She got a flash of teeth as he grinned. “Go on,” he said finally.

  Sybil cleared her throat. “I canna’ see your face,” she told him.

  “This is important?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “The words one speaks are always open to question. Sometimes they match the actions. Ofttimes they do not. Do you ken of what I speak?”

  He nodded.

  “Will you move so I can see your face?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can use more than what I can hear when I listen to you.”

  “Is this another trick?” he asked.

  “I doona’ trick.”

  He snorted. “Now your words doona’ match your actions. You trick others ceaselessly. Endlessly.”

  She shook her head. “I simply watch and listen, and speak about my knowledge when I need to. Sometimes what I believe changes. Sometimes it does na’.”

  “You forgot to add the potions you use,” he replied.

  Sybil had to look aside.

  “I ken exactly what you mean about what one hears na’ matching what really is,” he said.

  Sybil rarely had her words turned on her so effectively. She didn’t know what to reply. “This is na’ fair,” she finally said in the silence.

  “Fair?”

  “You can see all of me. I doona’ have the same benefit.”

  “So?”

  “You wish a battle of wits or na?”

  Vincent had to be grinning. It sounded in his voice. “I do,” he replied.

  “A cheated win is nae win,” she told him.

  “’Tis still a win.”

  “Is it?” she asked, and held her breath while she waited.

  Vincent cocked his head to one side. “We’ll both move. To the side. That way we’ll both have the same…benefit.”

  Sybil managed to keep the satisfaction deep. It probably sounded in her exhalation, but he wasn’t an expert at reading such yet. He possessed honor and integrity. Deep. They were buried, but still there. She closed her eyes and watched the dwarfish, black shadow-man of her vision enlarge slightly and gain a bit of substance. She didn’t even feel the wagon moving as he shifted sideways.

  “You are na’ moving,” he said nearly at her ear.

  Sybil slit her eyes open at the same time as her fingers unwrapped the rest of the bedding from about her. Then she was crawling to a spot at the tailgate of the wagon when a hand wrapped about her wrist, stopping her.

  “Doona’ move so far away,” he said.

  “Why na’?”

  He started sliding his hand up her arms, moving her sleeves as he went.

  “Because I dinna’ grant you such.”

  “Grant it, then.” It wasn’t possible to continue speaking if he insisted on using his thumb and fingers in a caressive fashion.

  “Nae.”

  “Why na’?” Her breath was coming in shorter panting motions.

  “Because I want you close.”

  “Why?” She was still in a crouch, stopped midmovement and waiting breathlessly for what he might say, doing her best to ignore the hypnotic motion of his fingers on the soft flesh of her upper arm.

  “Are we using honesty in this battle of wits?” he asked. “Right here and right now?”

  “Anything else would be cheating,” she whispered.

  He nodded slightly. The movement made dark pools out of where his eyes were, and then he blinked. The length of his eyelashes was easily noted on the highlighted eye as he looked back at her. That look sent shivers all over her, until they centered right at her breasts.

  “Then I have to admit that I doona’ ken why I want you near me. I only know that I do.”

  Sybil sat, putting her at arm’s length to him, since that was the extent he was stretched as he continued to hold to her.

  “Right here?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then let go.”

  He shook his head.

  “Why na’?”

  “Because…touch has more voice to it than words sometimes.”

  Sybil smiled in delight. “You ken this? Already?”

  “I’ve practiced much of what you say. I just hadn’t given it thought afore. Nor had I considered it a contest. I am doing both of these now.”

  Sybil scooted a little closer and put out her hands. “Then hold to my hands instead. Gift me the same.”

  He didn’t answer, but he slid his hand back down her arm, leaving a trail of heat, until he had her hand within his. The other hand he held out and allowed Sybil to clasp hers about it, making it equal.

  “You will na’ be able to hide from me if you do this,” she whispered.

  “And if you make that motion with your mouth again, you will na’ be wasting time on words with it,” he replied.

  Sybil gasped, and jerked slightly. He grinned at that.

  “You will na’ be able to hide much, either,” he said.

  She raised her gaze from the merriment on his features and looked deep into what she could see of his eyes. He’d been so gifted by the fates! To have such Viking-like features, and yet devil-dark eyes? She wondered how many women he’d held enthralled with a look…just as he was her.

  �
��My grandmother was a Donal,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The Donal clan is large. It’s rich. Has many distinctive features. One of these is dark eyes. Verra dark eyes, the color of damp, dark peat.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  “You were wondering at the why of it.”

  Sybil’s eyes went so wide, they mirrored her mouth.

  “Am I right?” he asked.

  “Right?”

  “I took a guess. Just as you do. You were looking at me with such a strange expression, I decided the why of it could be my coloring. I asked. I got my answer from things you dinna’ say. Tell me I’m right.”

  “You’re right,” she replied.

  He smiled, and it was such a solid smile that Sybil returned it. “Just as I am right about this horde outside being your clansmen.”

  He stiffened slightly, and his smile started to fade.

  “They wear blue and black plaid, as is true of all Clan Donal. Even you. But these men have a wide stripe of green added to their sett. This makes it different. This is the sett of Clan Danzel. Am I right?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you are their laird.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Sybil took a deep breath and told him how she’d come to her conclusion. “These men appeared from out of the woods. By the weariness about them, they’d traveled a great distance. They were looking for something or someone…of importance. Their actions told me whom.”

  “What actions?” he asked with a rasp to his voice.

  “Their greeting. The celebrations. This many clansmen would only spend this much effort and celebrate this fully if they had found someone as important as their laird. And that has to be you. True?”

  He nodded. He might not be noticing it, but he was starting to tremble. The hands holding hers were vibrating ever so slightly. Sybil didn’t remark on it, in the event he managed to control it better. She simply sat quietly and waited for what he would say.

  “I have decided the why of our wedding,” he said finally, surprising her enough that her back straightened.

  “You have?” she asked.

  “We are wed…because you set it up that way,” he remarked and then tilted his head and pursed his lips in a way that caught a bit of light on one side and riveted her eyes.

  “I did?” she whispered.

  “Oh. Aye. You put it into play the moment you saw me.”

  “Na’ quite.” Sybil couldn’t help it. Her cheeks couldn’t hold the smile.

  “Then it was the moment you saw…all of me,” he amended.

  She couldn’t answer that! The image he was putting in her mind was too vivid. It was making her heart pick up momentum, and her breathing quicken. It was doing worse things to her throat and mouth, where everything went dry and tight.

  “This is the reason you spelled me. You desired me, and only me. You still do.”

  His voice had an indefinable quality that was searching out all her erotic areas and making a thumping start that was transferring to her limbs and making her hands tremble worse than his. Sybil had to narrow her eyes and focus on her breathing. The man really was a master. He was also a musician to his core. He could bring emotions to bear with just the sound of his voice!

  “I wed with you because I dreaded the alternative,” she replied finally.

  He began running his thumb along the pulse point of her wrist, knowing instantly how her heartbeat had elevated.

  “And because you desired this alternative,” he said.

  She couldn’t think if he continued the caress! Sybil licked her dry lips with a drier tongue and gained herself nothing to mute the throb of sensation that was centered on the play of his thumb and radiating outward.

  “The Danzel clan lost their laird…because he ran away,” she said finally.

  The thumb stopped. Everything on him went to the same statuelike stillness.

  “You dinna’ wish the responsibility of such a position,” she continued.

  It was the wrong guess. She knew it as he relaxed so slightly that if she hadn’t been holding to him, she’d have missed it. She had to try something different.

  “You dinna’ wish to wed where they said you must.”

  It was another wrong guess. She knew it even before he eased out the withheld breath.

  “Or…you left because you were forced to?”

  He lowered his jaw just slightly and regarded her through lashes that were adding to the vacuity of his expression. Sybil’s heart was pounding hard enough to choke her, and she knew she was getting close. And getting scared.

  “Who would have that much power over you?” She whispered the question.

  He swallowed. She watched the reaction in his lower jaw and his throat as he did it. And then he changed everything.

  “You dinna’ need to spell me,” he said finally.

  “W-what?” Sybil stuttered the word.

  “I was already overcome and hampered at thoughts of you.”

  She didn’t have a reply. She blinked. Nothing changed. He was saying words that didn’t match the stonelike look of him. She frowned slightly.

  “I was hard put to keep my hands from you. You dinna’ need to take my will from me with your potion.”

  “You…were?” She wasn’t hiding the astonishment. She was afraid he’d spot it. It was in her voice, and it was in the jerky motion of her entire frame.

  “It should na’ be that hard to decide. You’re a comely wench, and I’m a man who is appreciative of such things.”

  He’d called her comely. Her entire frame pulsed at that wording. No one had ever thought her comely. Or, if they had, they’d kept it secret. He’d also turned his hands, matching his palms against each of hers. That area was sending off enough sparks it should have eclipsed the fire’s efforts from outside their wagon. It should have been doing something other than diverting her, while he didn’t seem to have changed. Sybil lifted a brow and regarded him. In this battle of wits, he was definitely a worthy opponent. Where she used instinct and observation, he used sensual emotion and the power of his voice. She cleared her throat.

  “You ran from your clan because something happened. Something so vast and so horrid…that you buried it. Deep. Inside.”

  He sucked in a breath and held it. Sybil kept talking despite the heavy sound of her own pulse through her ears. There was no description for the look he was giving her.

  “Perhaps you made a vow. This is why you will na’ answer.”

  He flipped onto his back, rolled, and then he was shoving his feet out the opening at the end of their tent, making the wood supports bow further with the strength he was using on the fabric. Then he was on the ground and regarding her through the tent opening. Sybil hadn’t had time to take another breath at the speed with which he moved. She’d never seen anything like it. With such ability, he’d be amazing in any fight, on any turf.

  “This battle…is over.”

  He said it from between clenched teeth, if the sound of it was any indication, and then he spun and strode from her. Sybil watched as stepped around sleeping forms until he reached the forest edge. Then he was pushing the low-hanging branches from his path with an arm showing the emotion he’d tried to keep from her. She knew exactly what it was, too.

  Pain.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Anger was the most destructive force in the world. Followed by revenge. Vincent had learned that years earlier. Vengeance was powerful, but it could be ignored. Not anger. Anger had to be tempered and managed. Daily. Vincent forced the anger out of his body with every step he pounded into the sod beneath him, denting some of it as he went although it was too dim to see it clearly. He didn’t dare stay in the vicinity. She’d know too well how she’d won.

  He knew the best way to lose at anything—especially a battle of wits—was to let emotion take over. Any emotion. That’s why he’d been using his sexual expertise. But she’d won. Again. The fac
t it was his own fault made it even more chaffing.

  He knew better than to let anger get the best of him, and yet the enchantress he’d wed managed to bring him to that emotion so easily, it was appalling. That brought more anger to the surface. Anger at himself. Anger at circumstances. Anger at what had happened eleven years ago, and anger that it wasn’t staying buried.

  Vincent broke into a jog when he got to the moors, setting a pace that had him dancing over the more visible holes. His mind was elsewhere the entire time. He didn’t notice the distance, the chill, or the wolf running at his right flank. When he reached the dark span of beach circling the loch, he broke into a run. He was an expert at controlling situations. He was an expert at emotions. That’s how he survived. One could only survive in the world he lived in by being one step ahead and keeping one’s head.

  He’d just never run across someone like Sybil.

  That woman seemed immune to the sensual emotions he was trying to arouse, immune to his presence. Most women shivered when near him; he was used to creating breathlessness over eye contact. He didn’t know what had gone wrong. He was the breathless one. And worst of all, this Sybil was even immune to the vibrations he’d suffered. This was not happening. It couldn’t be. Vincent was the master at keeping his emotions in check, and yet she’d won.

  Again.

  The anger intensified, turning into a heated thing of heft and weight in the pit of his belly and making him even angrier over that. Vincent ran fully and didn’t stop until his chest burned with the volume of air he was sucking in and breathing out. Waif looked winded but stayed just within sight.

  That was bothersome.

  “Why are…you here?” Vincent yelled it in the wolf’s direction, pausing for breath midway. “She still worries over an escape? There’s nae need. She already has me—”

  That’s when it hit him. He wasn’t near her, and he hadn’t gotten her to break the spell she’d cast on him yet. He didn’t bother checking for the status, size or weight or any difference. It would waste time. He broke back into a run before he reached the moor.

  The sound of splashing drew her. Sybil snuck a little closer, going to her knees in order to peer beneath the lowest-hanging bits of forest fringe. She knew it was going to be Vincent. He’d looked to be needing a cold dousing when he’d bolted from her.