Heart of a Knight (11 page)

And she stared back at him, her eyes full of some darkness he did not understand, some fear and some wish mingled in one. Slowly, he waded toward her, halting when the water reached his waist, and held out a hand.

She did not move, only looked at him: now at his face, his head, now his shoulders below wet cloth, and his arms, and his waist. He was grateful he had halted where he had, for she would have been alarmed indeed at the rest of him.

She crossed her arms protectively, and Thomas was sure she did not know that the pose made her breasts plump against her shift, and that now he could see an outline of her waist and hips, faintly, but defined. He wanted more than breathing to touch her.

But she was afraid of him. He saw it in her wary eyes and the downturned corners of her mouth and the hunching of her shoulders. He forced himself to smile. "Come, my lady. 'Tis a welcome feeling."

"Mayhap I should not. My hair will not dry, and I have naught to put on under my tunic if this grows wet."

"Am I so frightening?" he asked softly.

"Nay… I only…"

"I will not harm you, my lady. I will not touch you. By all I am, I swear it. I am only your brother, swimming here in this fine day, to keep you safe from harm." He put a palm flat against his chest. "I swear."

For one moment more, she hesitated, then suddenly rushed down the bank and into the water, leaping in a graceful arc into the deeper pool, submerging herself. She surfaced with a shout of laughter. "Oh! It is magnificent!"

Thomas had hoped the shift would be transparent when wet, but it was not, though it clung appealingly to beautifully uplifted breasts. He admired her happily, the clean shape of her head, and the neck as long and white as a swan's, and the rare joy in her eyes. Because he promised to act as protector and brother only, because he'd sworn not to touch her, he dived himself into the water, and came up splashing, to begin the play.

They lingered a long time in the water, until the sun fell dangerously low, warning of supper in the hall, and chores to be overseen. Thomas had spent the hours drifting, forgetting all but the beautiful lady who frolicked with him and teased and played like a girl. He suspected her youth had been too quickly taken from her, and was glad to be able to offer a little of it back again.

"We should return," she said, eyeing the sky.

"Aye," he agreed.

She shifted to look at him. She was submerged to her chin, and her hair floated around her on the water like some strange plant, moving on soft currents and with every small movement of her head. "I am loathe to do it."

Thomas chuckled. "As am I. 'Twill be cold when we get out."

"We must not get out at the same moment," she said seriously, her eyes wide in the piquant face. "Will you turn your back, sir, and allow me to dress?"

Thomas had been true to his vow not to touch her, but he did not vow this time. He simply turned his back and heard her move away, water sluicing away as she emerged.

When the sound said she'd reached the shore, he turned slightly to look over his shoulder, and the half-aroused member between his thighs leapt to full, alert hunger.

By the saints she was beautiful! The cloth clung to one buttock, fine and high, to the length of her spine, to the lower curve of a breast. He turned away, looking hard at the opposite bank, trying to think of anything else.

It seemed an eternity before she called, "I am finished, sir."

He regained control of his thoughts and unruly body parts, and turned in relief. She stood on the bank, bent forward to wring her hair. At her feet lay the discarded shift in a wet heap, and she'd donned the woolen tunic, though not yet the sur-coat that still hung with her belt on a tree branch. The pointed tips of her breasts showed clearly below the soft wool, and Thomas paused a moment in water to his waist. "Now you must give me the same consideration I gave you."

To his surprise, she grinned. "So modest a knight! Who has bathed this blushing male?"

"I have done it myself," he said, without thinking, and regretted it immediately.

One sleek brow rose. "How curious."

Fear pierced him, and to cover his mistake, he affected a bit of a swagger, moving out of the water boldly. "But if
you
wish to bathe me, I would welcome it."

She straightened as he walked out of the water, onto the bank, and a change came over her face—all expression bled away as she took him in, her eyes lingering at his chest, and groin and thighs. Bright spots of color bloomed suddenly on her white cheeks.

Pleased, Thomas grinned.

He spread his palms before him and wickedly said, "Shall I turn, my lady, so you may continue your perusal?"

Her head came up suddenly, and she stared at him wordlessly, obviously embarrassed. Then a smile spread over her pretty mouth. "You have your vanities, too, I see," she said, and put her back to him. "Dress quickly, sir, for we must return."

He chuckled and moved to his clothes. Remembering that he had peeked, he wondered if she would. Half turned toward her, he kept his eyelids low. As he shed the wet shirt and stood naked for one moment, he saw her glance over her shoulder, heard the quick intake of her breath, then she turned back hastily. His grin broadened.

Whistling, he donned his tunic. "Come, my lady," he said, picking up the basket. "Let's away."

As they ambled back through the forest, there fell a warm, companionable silence between them. Thomas felt pleasantly spent, and imagined a good meal and a simple evening in the hall. "Will you grant me another lesson in chess?" he asked.

"A lesson!" She rolled her eyes. "Rather you should teach me."

"Ah, nay. I was only lucky."

She took his arm, comfortably. "You must be of great benefit in the battles."

He shrugged, careful to answer neither one way or the other.

"Were you in France?"

"Nay." That was a simple enough answer.

"Ah, I'd forgotten. Your lands are hard on Scotland. That would be your realm. Were you there when they took the Bruce? I hear he lives now in the Tower."

His throat tightened, and no words at all would squeeze through to his lips. Memories, from childhood on, of senseless battles on the border, and soldiers trampling through the peasant's fields, and stealing women as they wished, poured into his mind. "I have no love of the border wars," he finally said. "But, aye, I was there when they took the youth." At least it was no lie.

But he had no wish to speak of battles. To distract her, he said, "Tell me of Tall Mary and you. Did not your families protest the love between you?"

She shook her head. "We knew when we might be together and when we could not." That same troubled gaze furrowed her brow. "'Twas simpler then."

"Some blame lies with me, in your troubles with her."

If he'd thought her naive, she now proved him wrong. Wryly she lifted her gaze. "I know."

They seemed of one mind as they paused then, below the giant, spreading boughs of an oak. Thomas looked down into her face, that sweet, intelligent face, so close it would be very simple to bend and taste her mouth. "I did not intend to wound her," he said.

Her hand lingered on his arm, and he felt her fingers move restlessly over the muscle in his upper arm, as if she did not know she did it. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth, back to his eyes. "You have bewitched them all, Lord Thomas," she said lightly. "All the women in the village, and Alice, who sings your praises to the very sun, and Nurse."

"And you, my lady?" he asked quietly.

She
did
not answer for a long moment, and Thomas grew aware of the movement of her breasts below the shift, and the faintly hurried sound of her breath. A wealth of things crossed her face. Had she been anyone else, he might have pulled her to him then, kissed that smooth brow and the straight nose, and both of her eyelids, in prelude to taking her mouth, and plundering it, and drawing forth a cry of need.

But, although he felt the ethereal spirit of desire tangling around them, setting the very air to dancing, he did not move.

At last, Lady Elizabeth broke the spell. She cocked her head and made a mocking survey of his body. "I will admit that you are most splendidly made, like a stallion." Humor glittered in her eyes. "But I am not bewitched."

This time there was no mistaking the bawdiness that she only hinted at hitherto. And yet, elsewise, she seemed as uninitiated as a girl. "You are a puzzle." he said aloud.

"Because I am able to resist you?"

He laughed. "Nay. Other things."

"Pray, sir, what things?"

But Thomas only shook his head, and tucking her arm into his elbow more firmly, he began to walk again. "There is time enough to name them."

Isobel napped in a pool of sunlight that fell upon the bed she shared with Nurse, who had gone off to do some errand, even though she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Isobel.

Ordinarily, Isobel would have taken the chance to run down to the bailey, or off to the village on some slim excuse, to flirt with the peasant she'd kissed in the woods. But today she was ill-tempered and the sun coaxed her, like a cat, to nap.

And into her sleeping mind crept dreams. She dreamt she was at court in a fine velvet gown, bowing low to the king and queen, and dreamt of tying her scarf around the sleeve of a knight with a vague blurry face for a tournament. She dreamt she saw him astride, youthful and strong, waving to her as he went to the lists.

She dreamt of hands, stroking her body, and lips upon her mouth, and heat between her thighs, and dreamt she ached for something. In her dream, she opened her eyes to see who so skillfully touched her, and it was Thomas, nude and smiling, his splendid hands roving over her in delight.

And as dreams will, the scene shifted, and again she dreamed of kisses. A certain kiss, from the mouth of a man she could not see. A perfect kiss, a perfect mouth molded to the shape of her own, a mouth that knew what hers wished.

Abruptly, she awoke. She was alone in a pool of light. Blinking sleepily, she touched her mouth. The dream lover with the perfect mouth had kissed her in her dreams before, many times. She sometimes thought it was the dream that drove her. If she could find that man who kissed her that way, she could be happy.

With a sigh, she got up and moved toward the embrasure, to breathe of fresh air. With a fuzzy mind, she gazed out on the view.

And straightened, crisply awake.

Two figures crossed the mown field that edged the forest. Dark Thomas was recognizable by his size and coloring even at such a distance, and the woman walking close beside him could only be Lyssa. No one else had such hair.

A tight flame flickered in Isobel's chest as she watched them, coming closer, through the gate, into the bailey, almost directly below her window. Now she saw they both had wet hair, and they were laughing together about something.

And more—for the first time, Isobel saw that her stepmother was quite beautiful when she laughed. She was too skinny, and had no chest, and seemed to have no understanding of what pleased a man, but Thomas seemed not to mind.

Oh, it was not to be
borne
! It was not fair. At last there was a man worthy of lsobel's beauty, a man whose dark strength would complement her fairness, a man who walked as if the world belonged to him, a man whose eyes would see deep into a woman's heart to give her all she needed, all she would ever wish.

Narrowing her eyes, Isobel watched the pair climb the steps to the hall and disappear within.

In fierce resolve, Isobel vowed she would not let Lyssa take him. With a toss of her head, she began to plan. For the first time in her life, she realized less would be more, that she would have to tread very carefully to get what she wanted—not a man to tease, but a man in her bed.

They all said she needed a husband. She had no lands to claim, no estate of great import for the king to worry over. If she married a little beneath her, to a man of such obvious other powers, no one would fault her.

Yes, a husband she needed.

And Thomas he would be.

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