Mary Reed McCall (10 page)

Instinctively, she nestled into his embrace, wanting to feel all of him, and as she did, her breasts rubbed with tingling heat against the solid expanse of his chest. In the next instant his hands were touching her there, warm and firm as they slid around one gentle curve, stroking…gliding to cup her in his palm and brush his thumb across the sensitive peak of flesh straining against the fabric of her clothing. His touch made her shudder with pleasure, consuming her with an aching need for something more.

She moaned as they kept kissing, reaching to pull him closer, wanting something she couldn’t name, and not
thinking, not allowing herself to consider anything but how good, how right this felt…

“Ah, Gwynne…love, you haven’t forgotten. I knew you hadn’t forgotten,” Aidan breathed against her mouth, closing his eyes and pressing his brow to hers, even as he continued to caress her.

She stiffened suddenly, something jarring her from the marvelous fog of sensation that had enfolded her. It was the endearment he’d murmured; it yanked her back and slammed her down into cold, hard reality, making the dream of Aidan’s touch splinter around her into a thousand shards of glass.

She wasn’t anyone’s love.

Nay, she was the Dark Legend, mighty warrior and leader of her people in their bloody conflict against England. Welsh rebel. Outlaw to the English Crown. And here she was, stretched out on a blanket and kissing Aidan de Brice, the Scourge of Wales. Their most bitter enemy.

Her
enemy.

What in heaven’s name had she been thinking…?

“Nay,” she gasped, sitting up and jerking to her feet, before stumbling back from him. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”

She shook her head, the only sound coming from the strained breaths she took as she tried to hold herself rigid against the pain. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she turned and ran toward the sheltering trees, not caring that he saw her weakness, not caring about anything but getting away. All she knew was that she had to go—had to get as far away as she could from Aidan de Brice and the desperate wanting that filled her whenever she was near him.

For she knew suddenly and without a doubt that if she didn’t, she might very well lose herself in his arms forever.

Aidan watched her go, aching to run after her but knowing he couldn’t. His heart thundered and his mind
burned with the enormity of what had just happened—of how he’d felt when they’d kissed and he’d held her again at long last.

After twelve desolate years…

Ah, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it. Not now.
Not ever
. He had his duty to think about—his honor and his responsibility to his family.

But he had felt it. It had been there as always before. The rightness, the connection between them, like the perfect melding of two separate souls.

He sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, feeling the pleasure and pain of it sweep through him in waves. There was no denying it. After all this time, it was still there, as potent and intoxicating as if they’d never been apart.

God in heaven, help him…

Because he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do now.

Diana crouched in the brush beyond the clearing, her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed in rage as she watched Gwynne disappear into the forest that led to Dunston. Damn her, she’d been kissing her brother—practically
fornicating
, the harlot!

She began to calculate the damage, desperate to wrest a solution from this unbearable situation. It was disastrous, that’s what it was. Swinging her gaze back to Aidan, Diana saw that he hadn’t moved from the position he’d been in when Gwynne jumped up and ran. But then she looked at his face, and his expression sent her reeling anew…

The fool. The poor, wretched fool
. He was in
love
with her. He’d actually allowed himself to fall in love with that hateful Welsh creature.

Nausea rolled in Diana’s belly, and she sat back, feeling as if her limbs had turned to lead. What was he thinking? She jammed her fists into the tops of her thighs,
biting her lips to keep from screaming out her rage and frustration.

This was it; he was going to ruin her—he was going to ruin them all. Father’s shame had been bad enough, but at least they’d managed to salvage some self-respect, thanks to their own innocence and the hard work they’d done to rebuild their status in the years since. But if Aidan refused to go through with his marriage to Helene because of
this
insanity, it would mean another scandal to sully the family’s reputation.

It would mean that she might as well give up any hope of becoming Hugh Valmont’s socially prominent wife.

Gritting her teeth, Diana pushed herself to her feet and set into motion. She wasn’t going to accept this without a fight. Not by half. She might be naught but Aidan’s younger sister—a female with no say and no real rights in what would happen, even in her own life—but she still had resources. Aye, she’d need to be clever about it, as women always did, but she was going to take action.

Her legs carried her swiftly back to the castle, her movements jerky with the fury driving her. She needed to set several plans into motion in the next few days, the first of which she could initiate right now. The others would have to wait a bit, until she found the means to make them happen most effectively, but the first would be easy to bring to fruition.

Because she was going to march into her chamber right this minute and prepare a parchment filled to the brim with concern—a message full of anguish and sorrow and love for her poor brother Aidan, who was obviously suffering from the effects of too much war and not enough tender care, begging the recipient to come quickly to help bring him to himself again…

And she was going to send it to Helene.

“I
need to talk to you.”

Dafydd turned away from the line he’d been setting in the water, obviously surprised at Gwynne seeking him out so early in the morning. “Aye, Chwedl,” he said in that even, quiet way of his. “What is it?”

Covering the remaining distance to her bodyguard, Gwynne crossed her arms and looked out toward the pond, watching the rising sun reflected on its rippling surface though its brightness made her tired eyes ache anew.

“I have a request to make of you, Dafydd. ’Twill seem odd at first, I warrant, knowing me as you do, but ’tis vital for the continued safety of our mission here.”

“It sounds important.” He draped his line over a forked stick that he’d dug into the bank. “Tell me what you wish, and it will be done.” Gwynne would have smiled in gratitude if she didn’t
feel like her face might crack from the strain. Instead, she leaned over to pick up a pebble that had been rubbed smooth by the constant lapping of the waters. Rolling it between her fingers, she paused, knowing that once she crossed this threshold, there would be no going back. She glanced up to meet Dafydd’s gaze.

“I want you to accompany me whenever I am with de Brice. Any time I must meet with him, I want you there as well.”

The older man paused before answering, “Of course,
Chwedl
. I am yours to command, as always.” He gestured to a boulder jutting from the bank, inviting her to sit as he added, “But why the change? Has the Englishman been threatening you again?”

“Not exactly,” Gwynne said, stiffening with the memory of yesterday morn. “’Tis only that I—I don’t wish to be alone with him if I can help it.”

Dafydd didn’t respond, and after a moment, she glanced sideways at him, trying to gauge his reaction. His face remained impassive but for a tiny frown that had etched itself between his brows.

“You are concerned, I can see,” she said, sitting on the rock and leaning her forearms on her knees. “Aye, well I don’t blame you. ’Twill be a most tedious duty, I am sure. Perhaps I should ask Owin to alternate with you.”

“Nay, ’tis not that,” he admitted as he sat next to her, though he still looked uneasy. “’Tis just that—well, I cannot help but wonder…” He paused, then shook his head.

“Nay, never mind.”

“Cannot help but wonder what?”

He studied her for a moment. “You are my commander,
Chwedl
, and I will follow you anywhere, you know that. But I cannot help wondering if there isn’t something more to your request. Something that comes not just from de
Brice’s actions, but from your own feelings as well.” He swallowed. “Feelings that perhaps you are finding…difficult to resolve.”

Now it was her turn to remain silent, though her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile as she looked away. It was painful enough to admit her weakness to herself; she could never burden Dafydd with it.

But ’twas true, the confusing feelings had eaten away at her bit by bit at Dunston, her guilt rising to unbearable proportions in the hours since she’d been fool enough to kiss Aidan. She’d spent the entire night unable to sleep for the agonizing thoughts and worries that swirled through her brain—realizing, finally, that the pull between what she was, and what she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wanting, wouldn’t ever be made whole. Understanding that had hurt, as much as if someone were digging the point of a blade right into her heart.

And that was why she was doing something about it, she told herself. Right now.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Dafydd,” Gwynne answered at last, her voice husky around the lump in her throat. “De Brice is our enemy—he is
my
enemy—and I know my mission here. I will not fail it. I just need your help in order to do that.”

Dafydd kept looking at her for a moment before nodding once and turning his face again to the pond before them. She did the same, calling on whatever peace she could find to seep into her body and soul. They sat together in the early morning calm, listening to the water ripple over stones at the entrance of the spring and watching the swishing dance of leaves overhead.

Dafydd broke the silence first, his voice quiet as he glanced to her. “
Chwedl
, I want you to know that you are not alone in this. Owin and I—we both want to help you in any way we can.”

She frowned, uncomfortable as always with overt gestures of kindness or understanding.

“I was there all those years ago when you first began your warrior’s training at Prince Owain’s command,” Dafydd continued, apparently undaunted by either her expression or her silence, “and I have watched you and served proudly with you in the years since.” He glanced down at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. “It cannot be easy for you, this path you walk in life. But know that I will back you in anything that comes your way,
Chwedl
. This I swear as a warrior—and as a friend.”

She looked at him for a while without speaking, the burning ache blooming again behind her eyes, before she managed to nod and glance away.

Gazing back at the water, she swallowed hard against the thickness that would not subside in her throat, wishing that what Dafydd said were true—that she could have a friend to share the burden of loneliness that was her life. He meant well, she knew that, but what he’d offered couldn’t be. There was no one like her on this earth. She was an anomaly, a freak of nature.

A Legend reborn.

Yesterday, she’d allowed herself to fantasize for one brief moment that she was naught but a woman like any other, free to enjoy Aidan’s kisses—free to feel heated passions and simple pleasures. But it had been only a fantasy. What had happened between them had brought her nothing but more pain and conflict, and she’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime.

A lifetime that was more than half a blank to her…

“Did you mean it when you said you would aid me in any way you could?” she asked Dafydd, careful to keep both her emotions and her voice in check.

“Aye, without hesitation.”

“Then answer me this: do you know aught about my
early life? Anything about the person I was before Marrok brought me home?”

Dafydd frowned, shaking his head. “Nay. Nothing more than that you were stolen away at birth, and your mother, the princess, died shortly after.” His frown deepened. “It took Prince Owain fourteen years to find you. You had been badly injured and had no memory when you came to us. Only the signs made it clear to everyone that you were his child—the Dark Legend. Once you finally embraced that truth, ’twas easier for us all.”

“Aye, easier,” Gwynne murmured. She brushed her hand over the spot just beneath her collarbone—the spot bearing the uniquely shaped birthmark that, along with her silver eyes and ebony hair, had proclaimed her to be the Legend reborn. She clenched her jaw, her mouth as dry as dust. Acceptance of her sacred duty had come at a bitter price. Bitter, indeed.

“Answer me one last question, Dafydd,” she said, fisting her hand as she brought it down from where it had rested on her chest.

“Anything,
Chwedl
.”

“Do you think that de Brice is telling the truth? When he claims that he knew me during those lost years…when he claims that he loved—” she stopped and gritted her teeth, “—that we were betrothed…is he speaking true?”

Dafydd’s face twisted in sympathy, his eyes reflecting a pain that she refused to acknowledge in herself. “That I do not know,
Chwedl
.”

“Neither do I,” she said, trying to block out the tender agony. “And I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure that I never find out.”

“What in bloody blazes is your henchman doing, standing over there in the trees and looking as if he’d like
to skewer me through?” Aidan scowled as he pressed his palm against Gwynne’s to guide her through the next dance step.

“I asked him to come.”

“Why?”

Her chin lifted, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on a spot just beyond his shoulder; it maddened him, though he said nothing, waiting for her answer. When she still hadn’t responded after three more steps and a gracefully completed circle around him, his annoyance pitched higher, and he drawled, “What, does he crave a bit of dancing himself? It can be arranged, you know.”

That got her to look at him.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered. “’Tis bad enough that I suffer this humiliation. There’s no need to make Dafydd endure it as well.”

“I’ll wager you’ll be glad that you learned these dances in a few days’ time.”

“Why?”

Aidan continued through another step, breathing in the delicate scent of her hair and reveling in the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. But he kept silent, looking past her and humming along with Clara’s piped tune.

“I said
why,
de Brice?” Gwynne demanded, stopping in mid-step and planting her hands on her hips.

“Ah, so bad manners are allowed only if you exhibit them, I gather?”

She glared at him for a moment before making a grumbling noise and turning on her heel to stalk to the edge of the glen, mumbling something about shade and a drink of water.

He followed her to the spot, calling out to the girls that they were going to take a break. Groaning, Clara and Ella put down their pipes and fell backward in mock exaspera
tion. But soon they began to frolic in the high grasses around them, ripping up great handfuls to sprinkle over each other and giggling at the results before they raced down the path to their favorite playing spot near the pond.

When she was finished drinking and had handed him the water-skin, Aidan took a swallow and then glanced again toward Dafydd, who still watched them intently.

“So, are you going to tell me why he’s here?”

“That depends on whether or not you’re going to tell me why I’ll be glad that I can muddle through a few dance steps.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “You first.”

She slid her gaze from his. “He’s here because I’ve ordered him to accompany me wherever I go from now on.”

The jolt of displeasure Aidan felt quickly melted into a shock of realization—and then triumph. “My, my, my…” He grinned as he folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. “I always knew my kiss could make women swoon, but this exceeds even my own expectations.”

She fixed him with a glare. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Of course it does.” He went still, leaning closer to her to whisper, “You don’t trust yourself to be alone with me.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Oh, no, it’s not.” He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying her outraged expression. “Though I never thought I’d see the day when the mighty warrior would run away from a challenge.” He shook his head, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “’Tis a shame to see you hiding behind one of your men.”

“You’re insane.”

“Nay—only truthful.”

“Is everything all right here,
Chwedl
?”

Aidan had been so caught up in teasing her, that he
hadn’t noticed Dafydd’s approach. Now her bodyguard stood only a few paces away, his beefy arms akimbo as he stared evenly at them.

“Everything is fine,” Gwynne answered through gritted teeth, unsuccessfully trying to hide her flushed face. “De Brice here was just going to tell me why I would find myself glad to have learned these ridiculous dance steps.” She directed a warning look at him. “
Weren’t
you, de Brice?”

“Oh, aye—something like that,” he agreed, nodding.

She cleared her throat and turned away, the rosy hue of her cheeks intensifying. Obviously trying to avoid looking at him, she bent to fiddle with the basket he’d brought to keep the water-skins cool. Dafydd scowled, moving to her side to help her find what she sought, only to back away, frowning, when he realized that the basket was empty.

Deciding that she might appreciate it if he covered for her, Aidan pulled open a sack that was lying nearby, reached in, and grabbed an apple. “Is this what you were looking for?” he asked, tossing it to her when she straightened at his question.

She caught it with a look of surprise, glancing from the apple to him, before she was able to gather her wits enough to paste on a placid expression and say serenely, “Aye, thank you. I was feeling a bit hungry.”

She met his gaze as she lifted the fruit to her mouth, clearly annoyed at his amusement, but unable to call him on it without giving herself away. Taking a large bite, she chewed with deliberation before swallowing and lifting her brow. “So…? Are you going to enlighten us?”

“
Hmmmm
?” he murmured, entranced by the tiny drop of juice that clung to her lower lip.

She must have felt the focus of his stare, because she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and flushed
again, frowning. “Why, exactly, am I going to be glad to have learned these dances?”

“Oh, aye—of course.” Inclining his head, he smiled again and announced gallantly, “You, my lady, will be attending a gathering of nobles, to be held six days hence. For your entertainment there will tumbling fools, music, an array of delicacies, story-telling…and, of course, dancing.”

“Why?”

He was taken aback for a moment. “Well, for the pleasure of it, of course. The neighboring gentry plan such festivities regularly—only this time they’re calling for it to be at Dunston, since they have all heard rumor of your arrival and wish to meet you.”

“
What
?” She looked to Dafydd, her expression a mixture of dismay and shock. “What is he talking about?”

Her bodyguard shrugged. “’Tis beyond me—though I’ve never understood the English.”

Aidan made a sound of disbelief, laughing, “I’d almost believe that neither of you has ever attended a celebration of this kind before.”

“We’ve had plenty of experience with feasting, de Brice, but ’twas always for a good reason—like to mark a victory in battle over our enemies,” Gwynne said, directing a pointed stare at him. “We don’t waste our energy by indulging in dances and silly games whenever the mood strikes.”

“Then I’m afraid you don’t know what you’ve missed,” he answered, ignoring her gibe. “It promises to be an enjoyable evening, and you will have the chance to display your dancing talents before all who attend.”