Sharon Schulze (18 page)

Of course, that meant no one would see a fire here, either. He’d been concerned the brightness and smoke of the torches and fire in the other chamber would be visible from outside. There was a sizeable opening high in the ceiling, but Dickon assured him he’d been lighting fires there every night, with no one the wiser.

Most likely ’twould only be visible to someone climbing atop the outcropping. Since that was unlikely, especially in the dark of night, they ought to be safe from discovery.

The smaller chamber where he was headed would be the perfect place to bring Alys. They’d have privacy, whether for talking, or for other, more interesting pastimes.

In addition, the surprising feature of this particular cave—a small, warm water pool—would likely appeal to Alys. She could bathe, and soak away some of her aches and pains.

The woman had been battered and dragged about under terrible circumstances, shot at and forced to do bloody work, all with nary a complaint.

Tomorrow he intended to leave here and trek back through the forest to l’Eau Clair, on foot, as swiftly as he could manage. ’Twas the closest place he could go for help. He’d rather leave her here, as he might do with Dickon and Rafe depending on the latter’s condition on the morrow, but he doubted she’d stay.

She’d become incredibly independent of late. Mayhap she’d always been that way and no one had noticed, but from what he’d observed, Alys would do whatever she wanted now. Given how upset she was that the rest of their party were trapped in Winterbrooke, he didn’t trust her to remain here, hidden in safety, until he returned with help.

He came to the end of the passageway. Dickon was correct. He couldn’t have missed this place.

The lad had piled dry brush and wood in a makeshift fire pit, ready to be set alight should the urge strike him to take a bath. Strange behavior from a lad who looked as though he’d not been near water in a year at least, but Padrig could only be grateful for Dickon’s forethought.

He rearranged the fuel a little and used the torch to light it. By the time he brought Alys here, it should be a cozy blaze.

He carried the torch near the pool next. The water looked clear, and hadn’t the foul smell such springs sometimes did, thank God.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to wash away the stink and dirt of the past few days?

The potential it presented for seduction had captured his notice, as well. ’Twas certainly large enough for two, he noted with a grin, should Alys be inclined to share.

Their brief time together at the pond earlier in the journey, before everything went awry, stood out in his memory as a particularly arousing experience.

And that had been when the water was chilly, they scarcely knew each other and they could have been discovered by his men or her maid at any moment!

What would it be like, to have the opportunity to share this warm, private place with Alys now that they knew each other better?

His body stirred at the possibilities that came effortlessly to mind….

If he was willing to risk his future, perhaps even his life, by becoming Alys’s lover.

He knew she was not for him. Not the way things stood at present, at any rate. He had nothing save his armor, weapons and horses, a paltry hoard of money and his position with the FitzCliffords. He could not offer Alys a home or a noble name, and his ties to the FitzCliffords were tenuous, to say the least. If he angered Lord Rannulf or Lord Connor, he could lose that advantage, as well.

What her father might do to the man who stole his daughter’s innocence, he didn’t know, but he doubted ’twould be anything good.

He bit back a humorless laugh. To make Lady Alys a part of his world presented just the sort of challenge he liked, the kind where the outcome looked bleak, but where with determination, he could triumph.

He’d faced down such trials all his life, with more successes than failures.

In an admittedly short time, Alys had become an essential part of his life. For something this important, he’d not permit himself to fail.

She’d noticed Dickon talking to Padrig and pointing down the tunnel soon after they’d arrived here, but hadn’t heard what the boy had said about it.

Alys glanced over at Rafe, who’d been quiet since they’d tended his back. ’Twas a wonder he was still awake, after all he’d been through. The past several days had been grueling. Most likely he was exhausted and in pain.

Silence from Rafe was so unusual, however, it made her uncomfortable.

“Where is Padrig going?” she asked, simply to start a conversation.

“What?” Grimacing, he shifted on the pallet to face her.

“I asked where Padrig was going.” She moved closer to Rafe, so he wouldn’t have to keep craning his neck to see her.

At least he was looking at her. Evidently he’d recovered from his shock over waking in her lap, she thought wryly.

“Answering nature’s call, I imagine,” he replied offhandedly. “He’ll be back soon, no doubt.” He reached beside him and came up with his precious flask of whiskey in his hand. Uncorking it, he gave it a shake, nodded, and held it out to her. “Care for some, milady? Works wonders against the damp of this place, as well as curing any manner of other problems.”

She shook her head. Lifting up slightly from the blankets, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. Making a sound of satisfaction, he rammed home the cork and settled himself back onto the pallet. “I swear I wouldn’t try to make you drink it, or to take anything more than a sip,” he assured her, his tone serious for once. “It might help you sleep, you know.”

“I cannot rest just yet,” she told him. “Once Padrig returns, I’m to take the arrow from his shoulder.”

He chuckled. “I’d better save the rest o’ this for him, then. I vow he’ll need it.”

“I pray he doesn’t.” Though
she
might need a strong drink afterward.

Quiet footsteps echoing in the corridor heralded Padrig’s return. He emerged from the dark passageway without the bundle or the torch he’d taken with him when he left.

He approached them, pausing by the fire. “Are you certain you don’t mind keeping watch and tending the fire tonight?” he asked Rafe. He gestured toward the pile of dry sticks and branches placed within Rafe’s reach. “Dickon set his alarms, and we’ve plenty of wood here for the fire.”

“Nay, I don’t mind a bit.” Rafe pushed himself upright and, moving gingerly, propped his back against the wall. Snatching a blanket from his pallet, he bundled it up and stuffed it behind his head. “I got enough sleep today to last me for at least the next two.”

“Good.” Padrig took several unlit torches from a pile near the wall. “You should be all set here, then.” Some look that Alys couldn’t decipher passed between the two men. Rafe nodded once, and Padrig came to stand before her.

“Good luck,” Rafe said, though which one of them he addressed, she could not say. Turning away from them, he stared into the fire.

Padrig extended his hand to Alys. “Are you ready, milady?”

“I am, milord.” She laid her palm atop his. His warm, rough fingers closed about hers slowly, as solemnly as a vow.

Her heart beat faster at the passion in his eyes, the faint tremor in his hand as it clasped hers. For her this moment signaled an ending to old ways, and a new beginning she welcomed with open heart and open mind.

What, if anything, it meant to Padrig she would hopefully learn soon.

Smiling up at him, she let him help her to her feet and lead her from the cavern.

H
ands clasped, they walked in silence down the corridor. Alys could feel the weight of Padrig’s gaze moving over her in the shadowy light spilling into the passageway from somewhere up ahead. She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t know what to say.

’Twas a surprise to her, considering how easy it had been to be bold with him earlier.

In light of that boldness, he no doubt expected something different from her, as well.

A strange shyness washed through her. ’Twas not that she did not want what she’d hinted at before, but now that the point had arrived to make her imaginings real, she wanted to linger over every moment, savor every detail, create a memory to cherish all her life.

It might well be the only such memory she would ever have.

She wanted it to be wonderful.

She wanted it to last.

The real truth of it, though, was that she didn’t truly know what to do next.

Mayhap, the rational part of her mind scolded, ’twould be best if she simply turned round now and went back to the cavern, pretended she’d never wanted this.

Never wanted Padrig, nor a brief chance at a moment of happiness, had never dared to experience a pleasure she knew was a rare prize.

That was a coward’s way.

She’d not tread that path any longer. What she did this night could change her future, transform it into it something wonderful. Or to a life she’d hate.

Her parents could disown her, especially if their plans for her included a husband…. One she did not want.

The abbey would certainly not take her once she became damaged goods. However, that knowledge held no power over her any longer. As long as she could think, could feel, could record those thoughts and feelings in some manner, she was a writer. She needn’t join the abbey to prove that fact.

Nor could she take a nun’s vows under false pretenses. She’d not further endanger her soul with such lies.

She’d do what
she
wanted, take her life into her own hands.

She was willing to take the risk that ’twould not turn out so well, as long as she could have this night.

Her decision made, she tugged on Padrig’s hand as they neared the end of the corridor. The light was bright beyond this point, but here they were surrounded by a soft glow, perfect for sharing secrets and making plans.

Perhaps he misunderstood her hesitation, for he turned to face her and, releasing her left hand, carefully brought her right to his lips and kissed her fingers. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, sweeting,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she replied. She hadn’t expected to hear her voice quiver, to sound so faint. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Truly, Padrig, I’m not.”

He cupped her hand protectively within both of his. “You’re trembling.”

She leaned closer, brushed her lips across his. “So are you,” she murmured, “but I don’t think ’tis because you fear me.” The realization emboldened her, gave her the courage to lean into him.
Act now, talk later,
her heart told her head.

It did feel so right when they were together. Her heart light, she pressed her mouth more fully against his warm lips.

He returned the caress, then stepped back from her, releasing her right hand and once again twining his fingers with her left. “Come see what Dickon found,” he invited. He led her out of the corridor into another cavern, this one much smaller than the first.

He’d been busy in the brief time he’d been away, for there was a small fire flickering by the wall near the entrance, with a blanket spread out near its warmth.

Still holding her hand, he led her past the fire, where he took up two torches, paused to light them, and led her into the shadowed depths of the room. The light spread to the edges of the area, revealing a small pool of water.

Alys moved closer, drawn by the thought of bathing away the last days’ dirt.

And, truth be told, sorely tempted by the enticing notion of sharing the small pool with Padrig.

The water was clear, and appeared deep enough to sit in. “’Tis probably cold as an icy mountain spring,”
she said. “Though it might be worth the chill, simply to be clean.”

“Touch it and see,” Padrig suggested. Suspicious, she glanced over her shoulder at him. His smile hinted at secrets and promises, making her heartbeat race.

If they got into the water with him smiling like that, she doubted she’d even notice the cold!

Alys leaned down and trailed her hand over the surface.

’Twas warm, almost hot!

She whirled to face him, and found him right behind her. His blue eyes alight with mischief, he caught hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth. He trailed his tongue along one wet finger, then nipped at the tip of it, sending a bolt of heat shooting from her hand straight to her heart.

Sucking in a breath, she dragged her finger over his mouth, savoring the sensual contrast of his soft lips with the very different texture of the soft, dark whiskers around them.

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, a fiery passion glowed in their depths. “Will you bathe with me, Alys?” Catching hold of her hand, he pressed it to his cheek. “It needn’t be anything more than that, if you choose. I’ll even leave you to bathe alone if you wish,” he offered, then added with a wry laugh, “Though ’twould likely kill me to do so.”

“What of your wound?” she asked, caressing his jaw before trailing her hand over to his shoulder. That was a sobering thought, though it did little to cool her ardor. “I must attend to that before anything else.”

“I doubt ’tis so deep you’d need to stitch it,” he said. “I’ll need to remove my hauberk either way. Once it’s off, you can see what needs to be done.” He reached out
and smoothed her hair away from her face. “What say you, milady? Shall I join you, or shall I simply attend you as you bathe?” He smiled. “I warn you now, I expect my injury to have raised me to great heights in your favor. Don’t think to cheat me of my due.”

“You shall always have my favor,” she vowed, meaning every word. “But first, let’s see to your injury before we make any other plans.”

Padrig had to be content with her promise for now. However, the instant they were through dealing with wounds and injuries, both of theirs, for he’d like to see how Alys fared in that area, as well, the time for caution would be past.

He prayed she’d come to him, join herself with him body and soul.

If she would not, he would honor her decision…though he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to do so with good grace.

Lady Alys Delamare, he feared, held the power to turn him into a howling fool.

At her request he removed the binding on her arm, giving her more freedom of movement. Not that she’d want to use her right arm much. It was going to be painful for many days to come.

In turn, she helped him divest himself of the tools of his profession. Never had removing his sword belt been invested with so much promise as when Alys slowly unbuckled the heavy leather and slid it from his waist. His mail coif he’d worn pushed down about his neck for the last several days; Alys slipped her hand beneath the heavy mesh and soothed his flesh with her touch even as she helped him take it off.

The simplest touch of her hand, the brush of her hair over his skin sent fire and ice flowing through him to settle as an ever-growing passion in his loins.

He couldn’t blame his sensitivity to her touch on having been too long without a woman’s touch. Though it had been months since he’d last been with a woman, he’d never in his life felt such yearning as this.

It wasn’t the fact that Alys was a woman that made him want her, ’twas that she was
the
woman, the only woman with the power to make him ache for passion, for tenderness…for love.

“Almost done,” she told him, giving his boot a tug to remove it and tossing it aside with its mate. She reached down and caught the hem of his hauberk in her hand. He bent at the waist to let the weight of the mail pull off the heavy garment. “Careful,” she warned, trying unsuccessfully to hold up the area where the arrow had penetrated.

The chopped-off bit of shaft caught in the mail as the hauberk fell off, tugging the arrowhead free of his flesh. “By Christ’s bones,” he growled as the burning sensation spread across his back and down his arm.

He let the mail drop to the floor, tugged off the padded shirt he wore beneath it and straightened. Alys had already moved behind him. She gasped, and hurried to grab a cloth from the supplies he’d left by the fire.

“’Tis bleeding,” she told him. She dabbed at the warm trickle of blood running down his back, following its path with the cloth. “This will hurt, I expect.” She pressed the cloth hard over the wound.

He clenched his teeth, but in truth, the worst of the pain was already past. ’Twas a great relief to no longer have the metal poking into his flesh, gouging at him every time the shortened shaft caught in the links of mail.

Her hand on his shoulder, Alys turned him toward the light and stood on tiptoe to examine the cut. “How does it look?” he asked, peering back and trying without success to see her face. “It feels better already.”

She pressed the cloth against the wound once more, raised her head to meet his gaze and smiled. “I don’t believe I’ll be practicing my left-handed stitchery upon you tonight,” she told him. “For which you’re exceedingly thankful, I’m sure.”

“No more than you are, I imagine.”

“You’ve scars enough already,” she said, smoothing her hand over a long, thin mark that ran over his other shoulder from his neck to his armpit. Her attention caught by the dark markings near the arrow wound, she traced her finger lightly over the design. “What is this?” she asked. “I’ve not seen its like before.”

He reached for her hand and drew her around so she could see his face. “’Tis an old Celtic tribal marking. I got it while I was in Ireland.”

“How was it made?”

He laughed. “You really don’t want to know.”

She followed the pattern with her fingertip, careful to avoid the wound. “Did it hurt?” She couldn’t explain her curiosity about the marking, but she found the contrast of the marking against his tanned skin compelling somehow.

“Let’s just say that vast amounts of ale were consumed before, during and after.” He tried to peer over his shoulder to look at the wound. “Though I doubt it hurt as much as some of the injuries I’ve had.”

She gazed at the assortment of scars. “Some of them look like they were bad—worse than this one,” she added, gently pressing the cloth to the cut.

“Is it bleeding still?” he asked. “You don’t need to bandage it, do you?”

“Nay.” Relieved, and eager to move on to other, more satisfying things, she slipped her hand free of his and pressed her palm onto his chest, over his heart.

Padrig heard the way her voice trembled a bit, as did her warm hand against his skin. ’Twas clear she had other things on her mind than his tattoo, thank God.

“I’ll do it later,” she said, her gaze steady and sure. “After we’ve bathed.”

Padrig felt his entire body relax for the first time in days. Some parts of it, at any rate. He cupped her chin in his hand and bent to brush a kiss along her cheekbone. “Have we time for more lessons, do you think?” he murmured. He skimmed his other hand up the middle of her torso, his knuckles brushing lightly over her breast, before pausing to untie the lacing of her gown. He loosened the material, and trailed his fingers over the soft skin of her throat. Pausing where her blood pulsed swiftly at the side of her neck, he bent to nuzzle the delicate spot. “We may need to practice what we’ve already learned, before we move on to something new.”

Her fingers spread out on his chest, her nails pressing lightly into his flesh. “’Twould be best to do so,” she agreed. When she tilted her head back, he nudged open the neckline of her gown farther still, until he could trace his mouth over the tender skin he’d revealed.

Her shiver of reaction sent a similar response thrumming through him. Moaning, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight. “Where
did
we leave off this morn?”

Alys moved her hands lightly over his skin, spreading warmth everywhere she touched him, sensitizing his flesh so that even the slight brush of her hair over his
arms and chest sent fire flowing through his blood. “I cannot recall where we stopped.” She laid her cheek over his heart and laughed. “But I believe we started with you teaching me how lovers kiss.”

His heart beat faster. “Show me, Alys,” he murmured. He loosened his hold upon her and, cradling her jaw in his hand, bent to gently taste her lips. “Do you remember how?”

She raised her hand to trail her fingertips over his mouth. “How could I forget?”

She’d forgotten nothing. Indeed, her kisses were every bit as overwhelming now. Nay, even more so than they had been before.

She lured Padrig into a sensual web with the mere brush of her lips over his. She’d been an apt pupil, for she’d taken what he’d taught her and elaborated upon it, drawing him to her with an intangible force he’d no will nor desire to resist.

Yet though her caresses might be daring in one so untutored, there was nothing blatant about them. Her touch held an innocence, an honesty and simple pleasure he found enchanting.

Their kisses grew more heated and she clung to him, her body trembling slightly.

While he’d like to believe ’twas solely a reaction to his touch, he feared it could also be the result of a long and exhausting travail.

There was no reason they must remain on their feet, however. Not when there were so many other possibilities to explore.

“Here, love, ’tis time for the next lesson,” he whispered. He slipped out of her arms. “Wait here.”

Alys stood quietly waiting, watching as he crossed
the chamber, threw more wood on the fire and picked up the blanket.

The weight of her gaze lent speed to his movements. Returning to the pool, he shoved his hauberk and weapons aside and spread out the blanket on the stone floor next to the shimmering water.

He took her by the hand. “Your bower, milady,” he said as he helped her to sit on the blanket. He bowed low before her. “Consider me your most humble and loyal servant.”