Authors: The Maiden Warrior
Her eyes stung, and the awful choking feeling filled her throat. As always, she tried to answer the woman’s call, but the words strangled before they reached her mouth. She thrust forward one gauntleted arm, moving aside a branch thick with rain-drenched leaves…
And saw her.
She floated in the cool shaft of moonlight, her form pale, her delicate hands reaching out to Gwynne. She was so beautiful. Long, golden hair cascaded past her hips from the jeweled circlet she wore on her brow; her white gown glowed in the moonlight, lustrous and pristine.
Pristine.
Gwynne frowned in confusion. There was no blood; the crimson stains that usually besprinkled the material of her gown had somehow vanished. The woman held one hand up to her throat, the gaping slash that typically disfigured her there covered now with clean strips of linen.
Her face looked calm as she reached out to Gwynne, still unable to speak, but nodding and expressing volumes nonetheless with her beautiful eyes
…
Gwynne jerked awake, her mind still spinning with the remnants of the dream. It had been different—so different from ever before—but why? In all the years that she’d been plagued by it, beginning with that very first time, the night after she’d begun her training as the Dark Legend, it had always been the same. The woman floated before her, bloodied and ravaged, her throat slit, her life flow spilling onto her gown as she reached out to Gwynne, begging for help.
But not this time…
Shaking her head, Gwynne leaned back on her pillow and tried to make sense of it. Why was the woman changed now—her wounds wrapped and the viciousness of her attack hidden from the eye? Why had she looked so calm and nodded her head that way?
The questions prickled through Gwynne’s brain, a mystery with no easy solution; they left her fitful and restless, allowing her to fall into uneasy slumber again only after hours of mulling—not until dawn began painting hues of shimmering rose and gold across the delicate canvas of the sky.
Aidan grabbed the long-handled curry brush and stalked ahead of Kevyn into the stable, waving away the boys who jumped to their feet at his entrance.
“Do you wish your steed saddled, milord?” young Davey Gilbert asked, trying to sound manly, as befitted his position as head stable boy; he stood as straight as he could, as he hurriedly brushed straw from his breeches.
“Nay, lad. I’ve no need of your services this afternoon. All of you have my leave to go to the pond for an hour’s fishing or other sport, if you like.”
Several of the boys whooped their enthusiasm, while Davey gave a jerky bow and smiled wide enough to make the freckles on his cheeks nearly disappear. “Aye—thank you, milord! I’ll have the lads back in plenty of time.” With another quick salute, he turned and ran, still grinning, through the open stable door.
Aidan felt Kevyn’s heavy gaze and heard the tread of his steps behind him as he walked the remaining distance to Revolution’s stall. He resisted saying anything, knowing that it would be futile. Kevyn wasn’t about to give up; if Aidan had learned anything about him in the years they’d fought together in their battles against the Welsh, it was that his friend’s present silence was bound to be temporary.
As the son of a minor nobleman who lived a league east of Dunston, Kevyn was used to speaking up for himself and his ideas; he’d had to, having little other clout in terms of power and gold. His persistence—and his dogged loyalty to those who befriended him—were what had brought him to the more prosperous station in life that he enjoyed now.
Revolution began to make low noises in his throat and to toss his head as he sensed the approach of the two men. With a soothing murmur, Aidan held out his hand and the massive steed instantly quieted, calmed by his master’s voice and scent. In the next instant, Aidan had stepped in next to him to brush him, keeping his gaze studiously on the task at hand rather than on Kevyn, who leaned on the wooden rail of the stall.
“I’ve never pretended to understand your motives, Aidan,” Kevyn finally said, his thick blond brows knitting together as he frowned at him. “But what I’m saying has nothing to do with censuring you for them.”
“Nay? Last I knew, you were telling me that I’m a fool to be taking an hour each noontime to teach Gwynne court
dancing.” Aidan picked up the pace of his brushing, determined not to get into this again with his friend, whose opinion he normally valued above anyone’s but his own.
Kevyn shook his head, looking like he was losing the battle for patience. “I was simply trying to give you some advice on making Gwynne remember her past with you—if that’s still what you want.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s what I want,” Aidan said tightly, surprised that he hadn’t been able to deny outright his own feeling in the matter. “It’s the only honorable thing for me to do. I have no other option.”
“Then you’re going about it all wrong.”
“What?” Aidan stopped what he was doing to glare at Kevyn. “Since when have you become an expert on handling women?”
Shrugging, Kevyn answered, “I’m not making claim to that, but I do know something of the ways to soften a woman’s heart.” He gave a small smile. “At least, that’s what Ailyse says.”
“
Ailyse
?” Aidan stood straight up, making Revolution snort and stamp at his sudden movement. Aidan quieted him with a few pats and an apple he pulled from the fold of his tunic. “Ailyse the laundress?” he asked, astonished at Kevyn’s matter-of-fact revelation. He couldn’t help but envision the woman, a good-natured widow from the next village, whose buxom curves and sunny, welcoming personality attracted a great deal of attention from men of all ranks. She was comely in an untamed sort of way, with a shock of russet hair that she favored wearing tied in a velvet ribbon she’d received from a noble lover years ago.
“Ailyse is a remarkable woman,” Kevyn said, moving away from the rail to step into the stall’s opening, “with a warm and generous heart.”
“I wasn’t aware that her heart was considered one of her more notable assets,” Aidan said. He joined Kevyn
outside the paddock after patting Revolution’s shoulder one last time.
“Be that as it may,” Kevyn said archly, “she’s seen fit to share with me some of the secrets to winning women over.”
“Is that so? And what, pray tell, might they be?” Aidan was thoroughly amused now; he leaned his elbow against the wall and awaited the fall of Kevyn’s pearls of wisdom.
Appearing to ignore his friend’s gibing tone, Kevyn said, “’Tis wise to try to
talk
with a woman you wish to entice romantically—or in your case, a woman you hope will remember her romantic past with you.”
“Talk? That’s one of the big secrets?” Aidan shook his head and laughed again, moving toward the tack room to get Revolution’s bridle. “I’m afraid you’ve been duped, my friend. I talk to Gwynne every day and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”
“Discussion of arms, warfare, and rebellion don’t quite qualify.”
Aidan sent him a sardonic look. “’Tis
she
who initiates talk of that sort between us.” When Kevyn said no more, Aidan crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “All right, then. What topics should I be broaching with the recalcitrant Lady Gwynne?”
“Something deeper. Something she would consider meaningful,” Kevyn answered, looking pleased to be asked for his opinion on the matter.
“Such as?”
“Her heart’s desires. What she fears, what she enjoys doing…the things that make her happy. Try to get her to open up to you.”
Aidan’s jaw might have dropped if he was the kind of man prone to such displays. “You’re jesting,” he said at last, almost choking on the words. “You must be jesting. I’m fairly certain that the only opening up Gwynne is in
terested in doing right now involves her blade and my skull.”
Kevyn scowled again, as he had when they’d first come into the stable. “It worked with me, I tell you. Ailyse found me very attractive after I asked such questions of her. She said it showed that I appreciated women and their finer feelings.”
Aidan made a scoffing sound in his throat. “That I might believe. But Gwynne is an entirely different case from Ailyse—or any other woman, for that matter. What works with them won’t work with her.”
“What will, then?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Aidan finally confessed, turning to inspect the remainder of Revolution’s tack.
“Well, I can tell you one thing: you won’t have much success with this dancing ploy you’ve come up with.”
“Ah, so you’re a soothsayer, now, in addition to being the world’s greatest lover?”
Kevyn just shook his head and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “Anyone with eyes can see what the outcome will be.” He gave Aidan a pointed look. “Did you ever dance with Gwynne back then, when the two of you courted and betrothed yourselves to each other?”
Aidan frowned and glanced away, busying himself with polishing the iron bit-piece of Revolution’s bridle. “Nay. We were forced to see each other in secret; my father never would have approved of our union, and we knew it.”
“Then the dancing doesn’t have much chance at achieving your goal of making her remember you. ’Tis possible, perhaps, to entice her physically with it, but once she realizes what you’re doing and how you’re making her feel—if you’re lucky enough to inspire such a renewed attraction—” he raised his brows, making Aidan want to pummel him, “she’s liable to withdraw from you.”
Aidan knew that his expression revealed far more than he would have wished when Kevyn pushed away from the wall, shaking his head and making a clicking sound with his tongue. “I see. She’s already done that, has she?”
“Nay,” Aidan retorted, feeling more than a little defensive. “Not exactly, anyway.”
“What happened, then?” Kevyn asked, bending over to pick up a girth strap Aidan had dropped, to hang it back on the wall.
“Nothing,” Aidan admitted. “We spent a painful, silent hour dancing.”
“Aye, that’s what I predicted.”
“Not entirely. It was in the moments
before
the lesson began, when we were alone…God help me, Kev, but it was like the last twelve years had never happened. She accused me of spying on her, but she was secretly flattered by the idea—enough to make her blush as she said it. And then we almost kissed…”
“Almost?”
Aidan grimaced, remembering. “Aye, almost. The girls came into the clearing then, and by the time I’d gotten them settled, Gwynne had retreated to what you were just talking about. Cold and distant—and angry, like she was the day I tracked her into the mountains and made her come back here with me.”
Kevyn shook his head, making that annoying clicking sound again. “Take my advice, friend. Keep the dancing if you must, but try something more besides. Something that you used to do together, that might spark her memory of you.”
Aidan frowned again, stilling as he considered Kevyn’s suggestion.
Something she used to do with him
…
The memories came gradually at first, then harder and faster, causing the bittersweet pain he was learning to expect whenever he remembered what he’d shared with
Gwynne. ’Twas the same rush of hurt that always held him back from looking into the old wooden chest that sat in the corner of his solar; he’d thought Gwynne dead the last time, when more than a year ago, he’d opened the lid to peer at the precious objects inside. He’d been biding his time since then, and even more so in the past weeks, uncertain of how he would react to the trunk’s contents, now that he knew she was alive.
But Kevyn’s suggestion initiated a sense of excitement and hope, dispelling some of the pain. There was something more he could do, perhaps, to make Gwynne remember him. Aye, it just might work.
He turned to his friend, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him growl and return a good-natured shove.
“Kev,” he said, grinning, “it’ll take some preparation, but I’m going to try what you suggested—because even though it doesn’t happen too often, this time I think you might actually be right.”
G
wynne stamped through the underbrush on her way to the glen, kicking stones out of her way and grumbling to herself. How dared Aidan summon her like this, at this time of the day? Their cursed dancing lesson—their fourth so far—wasn’t until this afternoon, yet he’d had old Alana send her out here instead of completing her normal morning training in feminine skills.
If she’d been allowed to escape the old woman’s penetrating gaze and gentle instruction for any other reason, she’d have been glad for it, but as it stood, this reprieve was worse by far. It always took so much energy to appear impassive when she was with Aidan.
Lugh
, every minute in his presence was more difficult than she’d ever thought it could be. Especially after what had happened during that first lesson…
Unbidden, the memory of their almost-kiss came again, sweeping over Gwynne with surprising intensity. Tingles raced up her spine at the remembered feeling of
his mouth so close to hers—of his warmth and his seductive gaze on her. Shaking her head, she gave a little growl of frustration and jerked to a halt. She had to pull herself together before she reached the glen. ’Twas bad enough that she’d need to face Aidan at all, without revealing how disturbed she was that he filled her every waking moment.
Closing her eyes, Gwynne clenched her fists and breathed slowly in. She could do this. Aidan de Brice, handsome and persuasive as he might be, was but a man. She’d faced countless others like him without so much as blinking an eye, even when she knew it would be necessary to kill them. At least she didn’t need to muster that kind of steel will toward de Brice.
Not yet, anyway.
Ignoring the jolt of pain that shot through her at the mere thought of facing him again in a life and death battle someday, Gwynne stilled her thoughts as she strode the remaining twenty paces to the glen. What he had in mind for her this morning was anyone’s guess. Perhaps a little sparring match out of the sight of prying eyes to remind them both of what they really were—and weren’t—to each other. A sardonic smile twisted her mouth, but she found that she felt no real pleasure in the thought.
Finally, she approached the spot, but right at the edge of the clearing she paused, wanting to catch at least a glimpse of Aidan before he saw her, in hopes of getting better bearings on his intent. With a stealth born of years of practice, she lifted her arm and silently pushed a branch sideways to peer unseen into the lush glade. What greeted her gaze nearly made her stop breathing.
Aidan reclined on his back just to the right of where they’d done their dancing the day before, his hands cupped behind his head and his eyes closed to the sun beaming down on him. A bleached linen cloth was spread beneath him, and a basket rested at his side. Just behind
him lay a finely polished lute with inlaid flowers traveling along the edge in a beautiful outline.
He looked, for all intents and purposes, like a noble gallant awaiting the arrival of his ladylove for an intimate rendezvous. Gwynne swallowed hard, a sudden lump unexpectedly filling her throat.
Lugh’s bones, what was she supposed to do now?
She was so startled at the peaceful scene he’d created that she did the unthinkable, shifting her weight without paying attention to her surroundings; her movement caused a twig beneath her foot to snap with a resounding crack. Such a stupid error would have had fatal results in the midst of an ambush—and she wasn’t so sure that the consequences were going to be any less damaging now. But there was no turning back. Wincing, she stepped into the clearing, just as Aidan sat up and looked in her direction, a smile edging his lips.
“Ah, you’ve arrived at last.” He shaded his eyes in order to see her as she approached. When he lowered his hand, it was to gesture to the edge of the woodland from which she’d come. “Hiding there, were you?” he cajoled. “I should have expected as much. You always liked to keep me guessing when we were younger, especially if we’d arranged one of our secret meetings.”
She frowned at the twinge his words sent through her; something in her head swirled, unbalancing her as a shadow voice rang out in her memory—Aidan’s voice, only from another time and place:
“Gwynne, are you here? Gwynne, answer me!”
An image of bright sunlight and falling flower petals followed, catching her off guard and befuddling her senses, making that strange sensation sizzle through her brain again, as if she stood poised at the brink of something important. Something she couldn’t quite grasp…
Biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from displaying her confused emotions, Gwynne raised her brow and managed to ask dryly, “If we were so close all those years ago, why did we meet in secret? Why not let the whole world know of our feelings for each other?”
“Because you were a humble Welsh lass and I was heir to an English Earldom,” Aidan answered, his smile a little less bright. “My father would have been furious.”
“Aye, well, mine would have been as well, if it were true, instead of a fantasy you’ve created in your own mind.” She pursed her lips. “Speaking of your imagination, how is the dissolution of our supposed union coming along?”
“You had no father then,” Aidan answered, quite obviously avoiding her question. “None that you knew of, anyway,” he added, when she glared at him. Then he shrugged and gave her a charmingly lopsided smile, spreading his hands in front of himself. “But enough of all that. What say you? Will you sit and join me?”
“Not until you answer my question.”
“What question?”
Gwynne folded her arms across her chest. “I want to know how the dissolution of this betrothal you claim between us is coming along—and whether or not I’ll have the good fortune to leave England sooner than I’d anticipated.”
Aidan’s expression didn’t change. “’Tis all going exactly as planned—so nay, you’ll not be leaving before the agreed upon three months have elapsed.” He slid over and patted the blanket next to him. “Now, will you come and sit here with me?”
“Why?” she demanded, cocking her hands on her hips in what she hoped was a decidedly unfeminine pose.
“I did go through a good deal of trouble to arrange this
repast for us,” he said, seeming nonplussed as he gestured to the basket, overflowing with what appeared to be bread, some berries, a round of cheese, and a skin of wine.
She jutted out her chin, determined to stand firm. “For what possible purpose, de Brice? We’re enemies—the leaders of two opposing armies. These—these kinds of
niceties,
” she grated, her voice rising with her own sense of weakness as she gestured to the things surrounding him, “aren’t part of what I agreed to when I came to England with you!”
“Heaven forbid me. I was simply trying to give you a respite from what I know must be tedious lessons of comportment with Alana,” he said, shaking his head and leaning his forearm on his knee to gaze up at her. “I thought you might take pleasure in a summer day out in the fresh air doing nothing but sitting and perhaps eating—a chance to enjoy yourself for once. ’Twas nothing more than that, I assure you.”
Whatever part of her she’d managed to keep firm until now turned completely to jelly at the warmth in his velvet gaze. She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides.
“Fine,” she growled in defeat, slumping to a cross-legged position next to him. It appeared that he’d won this round, at least, of their battle of wills.
After a length of silence spent trying to ignore the fact that Aidan continued to look intently at her, Gwynne finally muttered, “If we’re going to be eating together, then you might as well get on with it and pass me the bread. I’m famished.”
He laughed aloud, and she twisted to look at him before she remembered that meeting his gaze again would probably be a mistake. A fluttering sensation erupted in her belly at his expression; his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way that always made her want to smile; but it was
the look in them—the deep appreciation, the welcoming and accepting of her—that nearly did her in.
“What do you find so entertaining?” she managed to ask.
“Ah, Gwynne, I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m beginning to understand you. And I rather like that feeling.”
Mortified to feel the heat rise in her cheeks, she scowled and looked down to her hands, which, to her horror, were folded in her lap like any proper lady’s.
Lugh’s head
. Deliberately changing her position, she reached for the basket and began to drag it toward her.
“Allow me,” Aidan said, gripping its handle and stopping it in its tracks. Then, flipping the lid open the rest of the way, he gestured to the contents with chivalrous flair.
“Would you care for some wine with your bread? Perhaps a wedge of cheese?”
Mumbling some sort of response, Gwynne scowled and looked down at her hands again; they seemed clumsy and useless, suddenly—a feeling she couldn’t ever remember having about them when they were wrapped around the hilt of her sword. Giving up, she folded them again on her lap, casting a sidelong warning look at Aidan when he dared to continue smiling.
“You seem awfully pleased with yourself today,” she ground out, taking the slice of bread with cheese that he offered her.
“I’m enjoying the day, with all its infinite possibilities,” he answered, seeming to pierce her again with that meaningful gaze of his. “Is that so wrong?”
“Nay, I suppose not,” she admitted finally, taking a bite of her food. “’Tis wise to take pleasure in what comes our way, never knowing which day will be our last.”
“Ah. Spoken as a true warrior.”
She looked over at him quickly, to see if he mocked her. His expression showed no trace of derision—just the opposite, in fact. She finished chewing and swallowed, before setting the bread down. “A warrior’s life is all I know, de Brice. Anything that happened, anything I was before that time is a blank for me. I remember none of it.”
“But I do,” he said quietly. “And I’d be happy to share it with you—to help you remember it if only you’ll let me, Gwynne.”
She remained silent, uncertain how to answer through the familiar pain that filled her at the thought of once again owning such knowledge about herself. “I don’t want to remember,” she said at last. “’Tis too difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because—” She broke off, trying to harness her feelings. Aidan was the last man on earth who should be privy to her innermost secrets. “Nay,” she said, scowling. “’Tis not something I wish to discuss.”
“Why, Gwynne?” he demanded. “Why won’t you let me help you remember?”
She bit her lip, holding herself stiff and still against the feelings coursing through her. But then he touched her hand, and the floodgate seemed to burst, the words spilling from her almost of their own accord.
“Damn it, Aidan! I don’t want to know because it’s not who I am anymore—can’t you understand that? From as far back as I can remember, it was hammered into me that I was born to be the one and only salvation for all of Wales. I cannot be the Dark Legend and a woman too!”
She sucked in her breath when he grasped both her hands now, pulling her around and making her look at him. What she saw in his eyes pushed her emotions higher, making her heart race and her throat feel tight.
“But it
is
part of you, Gwynne. You are a woman as much as I am a man. To continue to fight that fact is futile and destructive.”
She tried to look away again, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions sweeping through her, but he wouldn’t allow it. He released one of her hands to grip her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his. “You feel something for me, Gwynne. You remember something. Deep in your heart you know I’m not imagining all that happened between us—you know it!”
Taking her by surprise, he stroked his fingers softly down the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, feeling the pain caused by his gentle touch gradually subside and shift into a yearning that blossomed like wildfire, consuming every fiber of her being.
He leaned closer, his breath warm and moist against her lips as he murmured, “Somewhere inside your soul you do remember me—and by God, I know that you remember this.”
His lips brushed hers, gently at first, then harder and more demanding. He slanted his mouth down, his tongue flicking inside, and a soft, guttural sound rose up from a place deep within her. Heat bloomed in her belly as they kissed, the hum of pleasure swelling until it converged into a tingling river of sensation that shot down the length of her spine to the tips of her fingers and toes.
Her hands seemed to lift to his arms with a will of their own, clenching into his shirt, feeling the hard contours of his muscles flex beneath her touch, all while he kept kissing her, over and over.
Oh God, she was falling away, losing herself in the glorious taste of him, the magnificent feel and warmth of him. He slipped his arms low around her back, his palms cradling her, stroking her rhythmically. And still he kept
kissing her, his mouth hot and insistent, yet at the same time achingly tender against hers. All her senses felt aflame, swirling up to overwhelm her and making something inside coil tighter as he eased her down onto the linen cloth next to him.
“Gwynne,” he whispered into her ear as he trailed kisses from that sensitive spot there to the place just beneath her jaw. “’Tis so sweet, Gwynne. So good…”
She gasped with the pleasure of it and the feel of him pressed against her; her body arched, her eyes fluttering shut and her head tipping back as he dragged his mouth with sweet seduction down the length of her throat. As if spurred on by the languid remnants of some nearly forgotten dream, her hands drifted to his face, her fingertips threading through the hair at his brow before trailing down the strong lines of his cheek and jaw.
When she did that, he lifted his head, and she saw a flicker of surprise in the depths of his eyes, blended with fierce, stark need—an intensity of feeling that took her breath away. He took her mouth once more, and Gwynne cried out softly, kissing him back, giving herself over to sensation and the pure, unfettered passion that his touch, his nearness, sent coursing through her.