After the Storm (20 page)

"A great deal more than that, actually."

"You have too much wealth, lady."

"Don't make it sound like an insult, Bas. I have to appear wealthy or this whole thing doesn't work."

He looked her over carefully, both below and above her belt. Her overdress was forest green, embroidered in brown and yellow bands, her dark hair was worn beneath a fresh linen veil. She wore rings and a necklace and he thought he caught the glint of a gold bracelet below the edge of her long sleeve. This was no appearance of wealth. Her abundant riches reminded him of why he hated her kind.

He stood slowly as he said, "Most women own a single dress in their whole lives. I've never seen you wear the same kirtle twice. Your wealth is an insult to every woman who has to toil for her livelihood."

Libby wished she'd kept her mouth shut about the belt. She knew this was no time to get into an argument about social injustice. "You're right," she told him.

"I have absolutely no business living in luxury while the poor starve."

His hands landed heavily on her shoulders. "Don't," he said, voice low and menacing, "patronize me."

Libby had had quite enough of men grabbing her, but for some reason she didn't find Bastien's touch threatening. Annoyingly possessive, perhaps, but nothing to be frightened of. He was a dangerous man and the threat was real, but she still wasn't frightened. She had a bone-deep confidence that the man wouldn't hurt Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

her. A confidence she had to admit was probably sheer wishful thinking on her part. Besides, they didn't have time for her to be afraid.

She was too annoyed at his bad attitude to try to convince him that she actually did agree with him. "Let go of me."

He smiled at the threat in her voice. "Or what?" The heat of her skin radiated warmth to his hands, warmth that spread the heat of desire through him. She smelled of crushed herbs and clean linen, heady and rich and inaccessible. But he was holding her between his hands, with her face defiantly turned up toward his. Temper lit her dark brown eyes, temper mixed with humor. He ran his thumbs along the line of her collarbone and he knew that her slight reaction was because she was ticklish, not because she was repulsed by his touch. He wondered how she'd react if he scrabbled his fingers down the length of her rib cage. Would she squirm and giggle and beg for mercy? Not that he had time for that sort of teasing play. He told himself he had no interest in it, either. Besides, how could he know if delicate Lady Isabeau was really ticklish?

Delicate Lady Isabeau brought her hands up and pushed hard against his chest.

"We don't have time for this," she said as Bastien stumbled back a step. "We have to go now."

He regained his balance and crossed his arms. "We? Where do you plan to go, lady?" Had she come to the church to pray and found him by accident? Or was she here with him by design? And what did her belt have to do with it? She had said something about her belt throbbing for him, hadn't she? He blinked as a twinge of pain pulsed in his temples. Perhaps it was better not to try to think about her odd words. "Well?" he demanded. "Where would you go but back to Lilydrake—and your betrothed's arms?"

"My betrothed's arms are presently asleep, along with the rest of him. And I'm getting out of here while the getting's good."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

She didn't suppose telling the outlaw that she had specifically planned to find him when she left Lilydrake would make any sense to him. She was supposed to be a demure and dutiful medieval lady. It was probably better to let him think he'd captured her so he could drag her off and hold her for ransom or something.

Of course, there was the possibility that he would knock her over the head, strip her of all her valuables and escape into the forest. He was no Robin Hood. She was taking a big gamble assuming that the man possessed an innate gallantry.

Still, he had risked his life to rescue his imprisoned men, and he hadn't harmed her the other times she'd encountered him, except for the matter of a small knife cut which really hadn't been his fault. Besides, if she was going to live up to her responsibility to help him she had to take the risk. She was just going to have to convince him that he wanted to take the risk of taking her with him. Perhaps playing to his pride would provoke the right response.

"I only stopped to say a quick prayer before I ride back for Wales," she told Bastien. "I'm running away," she confided. "I won't marry Rolf. You'd better run yourself. Say your prayers for your wife elsewhere, wolfshead, for you won't be safe here anymore. You can't defend yourself against a warrior like him. Surely Rolf will come looking for you if you lurk around Lilydrake looking for scraps from his midden."

She hoped she'd laid it on thick enough, though she thought she sounded stupid and insensitive. She needed the taunts about his wife and his ability to fight Rolf of Gesthowe to goad him into retaliating by taking her prisoner. She'd apologize later, after she'd helped him get his memory back. Right now they needed to get away from Lilydrake before the narcotics wore off her dinner guests.

"Run, wolfshead," she advised, and wondered what Bastien was doing in the church in the first place.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

So, she was trying to escape from Rolf of Gesthowe. He didn't blame her, but the fool woman would never make it far on her own. Rolf would find her, drag her back and then there'd be hell to pay. He had come to help her, but the impulse was trampled by her harsh words. She probably deserved whatever Gesthowe did to her, but he knew he couldn't allow anyone to mistreat her. Unless, of course, he was the one who did the mistreating. He smiled coldly at that thought.

Let her fear him. She deserved to learn a few lessons in humility.

And while she learned, he could get her safely away from the real danger that threatened her. Not that he would let her know he was helping her. She'd think she had some power over him then. She'd try to use him, and he wouldn't allow that. No, he would take her into the forest, keep her for himself, and somehow she would repay him for all he'd lost at Lilydrake. She'd be his and no one else's.

Again, it would not do to tell her so.

He grabbed her by the arms again. "I'll go," he told her, "and you'll come with me." He held her fast when she tried to pull away this time. "No more games, no weakness. You're my prisoner, Isabeau of Lilydrake, until I ransom you back to your rightful lord."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Chapter 11

"We
could have
taken the horse," Libby complained as she walked along the track in front of Bastien. The bundle she carried wrapped in her cloak was heavy.

"Horses are too easy to track," he answered. "Too noisy, and too expensive to keep. They're rather like a noblewoman, that way."

"Thank you." Why had she wanted to help him? she wondered. Responsibility, she reminded herself. She wondered how she should start, what the best tactic for treatment was. She knew that very little except returning to this time period had worked on her, and she still only had a few tantalizing bits of her past back.

A few memories were better than none. If Bastien only recalled part of his missing life at least he might be able to come to peace with himself. She suspected from the restless anger that seemed to consume him that he desperately needed some peace.

She didn't know how much time they'd have together, so she might as well make a start. She kept walking, not turning to look at him as she said, "You have to forgive yourself. That's the first thing they told me. It wasn't your fault."

Bastien had no idea what the woman was talking about. Her words, coming out of the quiet darkness of the forest, were like the voice of his own conscience.

They'd walked in silence while the night darkened around them. He'd grown comfortable with no more than the sound of her footsteps, with watching the outline of her shape before him and the contact of his hand on her shoulder to Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

guide her. Her words effectively shook him out of his complacent mood.

"I'm not a priest," he told her. "Granting forgiveness isn't my occupation."

"You aren't listening to me, Bastien." She stopped, and he bumped into her.

His arms went around her waist. He pulled her close without thinking. He felt a shiver run through her as he leaned his head down to whisper close to her ear. "I don't want to listen. I'd rather do this." He kissed the side of her neck.

"Don't," she said, but her breath came quicker and she tilted her head so his lips could explore her throat more easily. She didn't object when his hand cupped her breast.

The forest enveloped them like a black cloak. There was only the sound of their breathing and the heat of their bodies in all the world. Bastien was aware of the distant call of a nightbird and the thin trickling of a nearby rill, but nothing was real to him but the woman he held. She felt like salvation and forgiveness, for nothing had been real to him for a long time. He let time stand still, hot velvet darkness envelop them. He didn't move. He barely touched her, his hand hovered, his lips brushed her skin, desire built, and he just drank in the reality of the moment.

Then she stomped on his foot, and that was real, too.

"Ow!"

She whirled away from him. "I said don't, and I meant don't."

"You didn't mean it very much."

Since it was the truth, Libby decided not to argue with him about it. She picked up the bundle she didn't remember having dropped. "Don't you want to make camp, or something? It's dark out here."

"And the spoiled lady is tired, no doubt," was his sarcastic reply.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

She didn't argue about that comment, either. "Yes. And hungry."

And not just for dinner. Her skin was still sensitized with arousal where he'd been touching it. The warmth of his body had permeated through her clothes and into her nerve endings. She was almost painfully aware of his presence. She'd very nearly not been able to pull away from him. This was not a good beginning if she was going to be running around in the woods with him for the next few days. She couldn't let herself get physically involved with this man.

"Get moving."

His gruff command helped steel her resolve against wanting him, a little. She would have to keep reminding herself that he hated all she supposedly stood for.

Instead of obeying, she looked around, not that there was much to see. They were near a stream, but the ground was thick with trees and low bushes. "We need to find a clearing."

"No."

"Why not? Aren't you tired and hungry? Why don't you go shoot a rabbit or something while I—"

"I'm not your servant, woman."

The man was
so
class-conscious. "Bas—"

"Keep walking. There's an abandoned hut not far from here," he added before she could argue any more. "We'll sleep there."

"Fine," she grumbled.

She settled her bundle over her shoulder and moved forward. They continued on in a silence that grew more tense by the moment, until he finally took her arm and led her toward what she at first thought was an overgrown mound of earth. It turned out to be a low hut. He pushed her inside, where it was completely dark and something squeaked in protest at the human intrusion.