by Lynsay Sands
"Do you really think so?" Alice glanced around nervously. "Perhaps he merely came untied and wandered off."
"Nay. I tied him well. I was sure to tie them both well." Jonathan freed his mount, scowling around the area. "Someone has to have taken yours."
"Oh, dear." She glanced around the woods to the tree where her horse had been tied. "Well . . ." She brightened. "I can ride back with my uncle. They are waiting in the clearing, after all."
"Aye." Giving a nod, Jonathan put a foot in the stirrups of his horse. Alice turned to start back through the woods, but then she heard him call.
"What are you doing?"
Glancing back over her shoulder, she answered, "Heading back to the clearing to--" Her words were cut off as her foot was caught on a branch that sent her tumbling. Embarrassed and muttering, she quickly started to push herself onto her knees, then froze at the sight of a bit of blue cloth snagged on a branch near her face. It was the same blue as Lady Fairley's gown. A moment later she was caught under the arms and lifted unceremoniously to her feet.
"Are you all right?"
Alice glanced up in surprise at the concern in Lord Jonathan's voice. He wasn't looking at her; his gaze was traveling down her body in the wake of his hands as he checked her over to be sure she wasn't injured. She flushed at the familiar way his fingers skimmed over her, and took a quick step back, nearly tumbling again.
"I am fi-fine," she got out a little breathlessly as he caught her arms to steady her. "Really," Alice added when he continued to look concerned. After a brief pause, he swallowed and nodded, then turned to grab at the reins of his mount.
Her gaze moved distractedly back to the small swatch of blue cloth on the ground by her feet. She was about to draw Jonathan's attention to it, when she was suddenly caught by the waist and lifted onto his horse.
Alice promptly began to protest. "Oh, really, my lord. There is no need for us to ride. I can walk back to the clearing. I--"
At last she gave up her protests, mostly because he was ignoring her. He mounted in front of her and drew her hands around his waist.
"Hold on," he instructed.
Alice nodded against his back, breathing in deeply to try to steady her nerves. It was rather novel to be in such close proximity to a man. She had never done so before. Unmarried women were simply not allowed such familiarity. Of course, this was an unusual circumstance, and . . .
Her thoughts died as she breathed in the scent of him. He smelled of the woods and the river and . . . male. It was a surprisingly pleasant mix, she decided, breathing it in again as her fingers interlocked at his middle. Feeling the muscles of his stomach bunch and ripple, she flattened her fingers over them to get the full sensation, then, realizing what she was doing, stopped breathing in embarrassment. Her fingers stilled.
Of course, Alice couldn't go long holding her breath. She managed to do so for the short ride back to the clearing, but there the breath left her in a slow hiss. The place was empty. Lady Fairley and her uncle had not waited for them; they had apparently ridden on ahead. Alice recalled the small swatch of cloth she had spotted near the horses and pondered silently, wondering why Lady Fairley had been by the horses. Surely she hadn't untied Alice's mount and let it go? Had she really been so annoyed with Alice as to wish to have her walk back to the castle?
"Well, we shall have to ride quickly to catch up," Lord Jonathan said.
Alice glanced at the back of his head, then pressed close and held on tightly as he spurred his mount into a trot. She didn't hold her breath this time. Instead she sat, her breasts pressed against his back, her hands clutched at his front, breathing in deeply of his scent.
She was enjoying it so much, it took her most of the ride to realize that despite his words, Jonathan wasn't trying very hard to catch up to her uncle and his mother. He had the horse going at a trot, but a rather slow one, really. They had ridden here faster. She was so startled by the realization that she loosened her hold and started to pull away, but he stopped her by catching her hands with one of his own.
"You had best hold on," he said. "I would not wish to see you fall."
Alice wondered at the husky note to his voice, but decided to merely enjoy the ride. She relaxed against him.
Chapter Three
Jonathan managed to keep his smile in place as his toes were trampled by yet another dance partner, but only just. He could honestly say that even the siege of Calais, where he had suffered a wound to the stomach that had caused him immeasurable pain and nearly killed him, was preferable to this hell his mother had arranged.
His bridal feast. That was what she called it. She had arranged for the celebration with the king, and now Jonathan was suffering through it. His first complaint was with the name. Shouldn't it be called the groom's feast? It was his feast, and he was the proposed groom, after all. Yet nay; his mother claimed it was to find him a bride; therefore it was his bridal feast.
Jonathan's face twisted with disgust. As silly as the name was, the actual event itself was worse. His mother had managed to finagle the use of the great hall in the palace. The king and queen were in attendance.
Jonathan's eyes slid unhappily to the glowering monarch and his wife. Edward had been sternly glaring, mostly at Jonathan, since arriving. He supposed it was to show how seriously His Majesty meant his orders to be taken. Jonathan was getting the message.
Another stomp on his toe drew his attention back to his dance partner. He sighed inwardly. The woman was myopic and a venerable four-and-thirty. Jonathan was thirty, himself, and so he supposed she was not that old--but she was well past the age considered prime for childbearing. She should have been crossed off the list at the picnic, but, in the end, no one had been crossed off that list. His mother had left the whole thing intact. Every woman at court was in attendance here tonight.
Looking around, Jonathan found his thoughts wandering to Alice and their ride back to the castle two days earlier. He instinctively sought the Houghton girl out where she stood with her mother, her uncle, and his own mother near the king and queen.
Much to Jonathan's surprise, he had found himself preoccupied with thoughts of the lass ever since that day. And not just any thoughts. He kept recalling her husky voice as she'd pressed that cool, sweet strawberry to his lips, could still smell the scent that had drifted off of her, ensnaring him in its erotic spell. And the vision he'd glimpsed of her delectable breasts, too, they kept rising before his eyes, blinding him to all else around him. Then, there were his sensual memories from their return trip that haunted him. If he concentrated, Jonathan would swear he could still feel her arms around his body and her breasts pressed against his back.
Yes, he had found himself undoubtedly aroused by that ride. His body had reacted to this girl as it had to no other, and that very fact had left him somewhat embarrassed and discomfited once they reached the stables. Jonathan had found himself avoiding Alice's gaze, as if she might read the less-than-sterling thoughts that had been tumbling through his mind. So he had done a fine job of avoiding her ever since.
It hadn't been difficult, he thought with sudden annoyance. The girl had hardly sought him out.
Another crunch of his toes drew Jonathan's attention back to the reel. Fortunately, the musicians ended the song, saving his dance partner from his exasperation. Gritting his teeth, he walked the lady back to her mother, then glanced around the waiting horde with a sigh. There were countless women in this room, and three men. Two, he corrected himself as his gaze slid to where the king had been standing just moments before. Having done his duty by making an appearance, Edward and his wife had apparently taken themselves off to more amusing entertainments than watching the Scourge of Crecy dance with more willing damsels than there'd been French at that victory.
Scowling at the thought, Jonathan let his gaze roam to Lord Houghton. As the only other man present, the old bugger might have lent some assistance with this mob, he thought with resentment. Instead, the velvet-clad old fop appeared glued
to his mother's side. Houghton had been hovering over Lady Fairley all night, leaving Jonathan to usher snaggletoothed female after nasty old crone onto the dance floor under the watchful gaze of some fifty want-to-be brides and their mamas, aunts, and other chaperones.
The two times he had dared beg for rest, returning to the trestle tables for his ale mug, he had found himself surrounded by that crowd of she-wolves. Subjected to their titterings and twitterings as they bombarded him with long, lavish dissertations on their skill at embroidery and such, despite his sore feet, Jonathan had quickly resorted each time to dancing again, simply to get away.
Becoming aware that his partnerless state was once again making him a target, and that the maternal swarm was closing in, Jonathan murmured his excuses to the nearest she-wolves and swiftly made his way to where his own mother, Alice, her uncle, and Lady Houghton stood. "Mother, may I--"
"Ah, Jonathan!" his mother interrupted gaily. "This is a wonderful success, do you not think?"
"Nay, I do not think," he snapped, which, wiped the self-satisfied expression off her face.
"What?" she asked in injured tones. "But it is working beautifully."
"Nay. It is working horribly," he corrected.
"But--"
"Mother, there are at least one hundred and fifty women here."
"Well, aye," she agreed soothingly. "But only fifty of them are really of any concern; the rest are merely here to chaperon the girls."
"Still, fifty women and one man are not exactly even odds, are they?"
"Oh, Jonathan," she pshawed. "You are a warrior. Surely you can handle this gaggle of females. Besides, you are not the only man here; Lord Houghton is in attendance." She pointed that out and moved closer to the man, running her hand down his arm in a possessive manner that made Jonathan's skin crawl.
Jonathan snapped, "Well, he may as well not be for all the good he is doing."
"Jonathan!" Lady Fairley turned, obviously shocked by her son's bad manners.
He was beyond tact. "Do not 'Jonathan' me. Lord Houghton has been standing here slobbering over you all evening while I have had my feet danced off, my toes crushed, my ears talked away, my best tunic stained by several clumsy wenches too busy blabbing to watch where they were going, and . . ." He paused to sniff experimentally in Alice's direction, then said in a snarl, "And damned if my sense of smell has not been ruined by the rank bodies or overindulgence in perfume by half of the noblewomen of London!"
Alice bit her lip at Lord Jonathan's outburst, her urge to laugh nearly overwhelming her. She peered curiously at Lady Fairley to see what the woman's reaction to this would be. Margaret of Fairley stood for a moment, mouth agape; then, much to Alice's amazement, her face crumpled like a child's.
"You never appreciate anything I do for you, Jonathan. Here I worked so hard at getting permission to hold a feast for you--you know the king feels indebted to you if he'll arrange for this--then attaining the room, arranging the food and drink and inviting everyone, and all you can do is--"
"Oh, I am sure your son appreciates your efforts, my lady," Alice found herself stepping in to say. Guilt had washed over the man's face. "I think he is merely stating that he is a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps 'tis expecting a lot from him to entertain so many women at once. Mayhap 'twould have been better had you invited some men to help with this endeavor."
"Exactly," Lord Jonathan said. "Finally, a woman with some sense."
"Are you suggesting that I have no sense?" Lady Fairley asked with icy politeness. Alice nearly laughed aloud at the poleaxed look on the knight's face.
"Nay, nay," he began quickly. "Of course not, Mother. I never meant to suggest--"
When Lady Fairley opened her mouth in what Alice suspected would be a furious blasting, she couldn't stop herself from intervening again. "I am sure he meant no insult, my lady. It is obvious he is quite worn out from doing his duty this evening and is not thinking straight. Perhaps it would be best if he were to take a stroll in the night air and let his thoughts clear."
"Aye." Jonathan leaped at the proffered escape. Yet, rather than simply slipping away, as she expected, he latched on to her hand and drew her with him. "A little walk through the gardens will be of great assistance in reviving me."
"Oh, but I do not--" Alice protested as he drew her away from the great hall.
"Come. Your presence will keep those other women from following to harass me," he insisted.
As he pulled her along behind him, Alice made a face at his back, but there seemed little use in arguing. Besides, she too was quite ready to get out of the feast. This had been a terribly boring evening for her; standing on the sidelines, watching Jonathan dance with a multitude of ladies. The entire time she was recalling how it had felt to be pressed close to his body, and the scent of him as they had ridden back to court after the picnic.
Alice sighed as those memories enveloped her again. They had a nasty tendency of doing so these last two days, and she didn't at all understand why. She had never before had such problems, never before been plagued by the memory of any single event, but it seemed these days her mind was constantly full of Jonathan and their time together.
"Thank the Lord."
Alice was drawn from her thoughts to find that they had finally made their way outside. Falling into step beside him, she breathed in deeply of the night air and felt herself relax. It was only then that she realized she had been rather stiff and tense all evening. She'd found it irritating to watch Jonathan trip about with all his whirling maidens. Some part of her had even thought it terribly unfair that he hadn't asked her to dance, at least once. . . .
Just so she could compare it to how it felt to hold him on horseback, she assured herself quickly. But Alice knew that wasn't true. A part of her was quite unhappy that she wasn't under consideration to be Lord Jonathan's bride, and she couldn't help but wonder why. Not to mention that she couldn't understand why his mother seemed to like her fine when Jonathan wasn't around but showed definite signs of annoyance whenever he was in her company.
"Watch your step."
Alice jerked her attention back to where she was walking, just barely managing to avoid stepping in a dark mass of something unpleasant.
"Where are we going?" She glanced around a bit anxiously. Normally she would not be alone like this with a man. Even the son of a family friend. Actually, now that she thought of it, she was flummoxed that her mother wasn't trailing behind, acting as chaperon. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that no, there was no one following, and yes, they were definitely alone. Most unusual, she decided with confusion.
"The stables."
Alice turned her attention forward again at that answer.
"Why?"
"I thought we might go for a ride."
Alice brightened at the thought--sitting behind him again, her arms around him, their bodies pressed close together--then caught back her enthusiasm. Firstly, he likely intended her to be on her own mount. Second, it was not very safe to ride at night. A horse could easily make a misstep and be injured. Also, this simply was not a good idea. What if someone caught them out here? What would people think of her virtue?
Sensing her resistance, and that this time it was a true resistance, Lord Jonathan paused to glance back at her. Her solemn expression seemed to jog his memory about propriety, and he sighed unhappily. "I suppose a ride is out of the question."
"Aye," Alice quietly agreed.
He nodded in resignation. "I just thought it would be nice to ride with you again. I enjoyed it the other day."
Alice blinked at that awkward admission. He wasn't looking at her when he said it; his gaze actually danced everywhere but on her, still, it took her a moment to recognize his sudden shyness, and to realize that he was sincere in his claim. He had enjoyed their ride as much as she had!
"Perhaps . . ." she began, then paused. He was finally looking at her, and his gaze was trained on her mouth. It caused an odd tingling to start in her lips, and breathlessness ov
ercame her. She could not have spoken had she wished. When he started to sway nearer, Alice felt her ability to breathe evaporate altogether. She was absolutely, positively certain he was about to kiss her. She allowed herself to sway toward him in response.
"Jonathan! Oh, there you are! I told James I thought you had gone this way."
Alice and Jonathan leaped guiltily apart and swung around. Lady Fairley and Alice's uncle were approaching through the darkness.
"Mother." The word was almost a groan on Jonathan's lips. Alice could sympathize completely. She felt rather like making a similar noise herself at the moment. His mouth had been so close to hers that she had felt his breath on her tender, tingling lips. But that promise was apparently not to be fulfilled tonight.
"I have decided to forgive you," Lady Fairley announced. She reached them and slid her arm through her son's. "In fact, I have decided you may even be somewhat . . . well, not completely wrong about tonight's endeavor."
"Oh?" The knight definitely sounded wary, Alice thought distractedly. Her uncle silently drew her hand onto his arm and they followed Lady Fairley and her son back from the stables.
"Aye," Alice heard Margaret say. "In fact, I have decided to have another feast."
"Another one?" Lord Jonathan came to an abrupt halt.
"Aye. Another one." His mother laughed at his obvious horror and drew his arm back under hers to drag him along. She added gaily, "Two, in fact. Now I just have to speak to the king."
While Jonathan had spent the two days between the picnic and yestereve's feast avoiding Alice and the confusing feelings she stirred in him, the first thing he did upon awakening this morning was to go in search of her. He found the girl breaking her fast in the great hall, where it appeared almost every other guest at court was also eating. The room was overflowing with people, and the benches groaned under the weight of their numbers.
Alice sat at one of the upper tables, her mother on one side, a leering ogre Jonathan didn't know on her other. Striding forward, he managed, with a scowl and an elbow, to make the fellow, one who sat entirely too close to Alice, shift over enough to allow him to squeeze between them.
