Stuart, Elizabeth (9 page)

She
lifted her head. "You saw it?"

"No.
I was a bit busy, I'm afraid." He smiled wryly. "But the signs are
easy enough to read." One hand stroked the hair back from her face.
"You should never have had to do such as that. Before God, you should
never even have witnessed it! But I thank you, lass. I thank you for my
life."

He
tilted her face toward his. His eyes were alive with tenderness, his lips
half-parted, half-smiling.

Her
trembling eased, her breath caught, then steadied. Then he was lowering his
mouth to hers, his lips gently covering, warming, laying claim to her own.

His
hands cupped each side of her face, hands that had just killed in such a
terrifyingly competent manner, hands she now found could be so heartbreakingly
tender.

"Ah,
Jonet... lass," he whispered against her mouth.

She
was amazed to discover that words could be a caress. They flowed over her,
soothing, comforting, easing the hurt, banishing the memory.

He
kissed her again, and she didn't want it to end. The world slid away and there
was nothing but the warm feel of his mouth against hers, the comfort of his
powerful hands on her flesh.

She
refused to think, to fear. Her very existence seemed to fade as his warmth
eased into her, his strength fusing with hers, as his lips taught her the
exquisite wonder of a whole new kind of touching.

He
eased away reluctantly. "I could gladly stay and do this all day with you,
lass, but we'd best clean up and be away."

Clean
up...

Jonet
opened her eyes, scarcely aware she had closed them. The pleasurable languor
dissolved and the horror of what she had seen and done returned. But oddly
enough she could face it now as something that had to be borne.

Alexander
hadn't moved. He was only inches away and, with an effort, she controlled the
urge to reach out and touch him, to continue what he had begun. He was watching
her, one dark eyebrow quirked upward, questioning.

She
raised her chin, forcing a smile to cover the shattering effect of his kiss.
"Well, my lord, you've certainly a way of quieting hysterical women. Is
that included in a young man's studies these days along with Latin, mathematics
and geography?"

Laughter
flickered in his eyes. His mouth curled up in approval. "Aye, that it is,
lass, and always my favorite subject. I practiced night and day till I got it
right."

His
lazy self-assurance should have been galling, but instead Jonet found herself
fighting a grin. "Worked to exhaustion, I'm sure."

"Oh,
indeed." He swung to his feet and held down a hand. It was dirty and
bloodstained as was most of the test of him.

Unable
to repress a shudder, she looked down at herself. The damp shift clung to her
breasts, revealing a generous expanse of creamy, well-rounded flesh and the
shadowy outline of dark nipples against sheer cloth. "Holy Jesu!" she
gasped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'd forgot I'm not
dressed!"

"It's
only me, lass," he said softly. "And I think we've gone a little
beyond the proprieties."

"Not
that far!"

"Jonet,
there are four dead men over there. We came within a hair's breadth of being in
that condition ourselves. I'm a bit too thankful you're alive just now, to give
a damn what you're wearing." He grinned. "Of course give me a minute
to get over the shock and I assure you I'll be more attentive."

Unbelievably
Jonet found herself laughing. She was bloody and frightened and she'd just
killed a man, and she was sitting here with Alexander, fresh-kissed, in a
shocking state of undress. How was it that with him she could find humor in the
most terrible of circumstances, that she wasn't embarrassed even at this?
"Yes, thank God I'm not one of those voluptuous creatures with flesh
sagging about everywhere."

His
eyes sparkled at the remembered quip. "Yes, thank God." He turned
away, then spoke over one shoulder. "I'll fetch you a fresh shirt. Get
down to the water and wash your face and hands if you like. Just don't fall in.
We've had enough excitement for today."

Rising
on shaky legs, Jonet made her way through the bracken, careful not to look at
the bloodied battlefield to her rear. She knelt at the water's edge, thankful
the stream was too muddy to reveal her reflection.

She
scrubbed vigorously at her hands and arms, then splashed water over her face,
trying not to think of Alexander's kiss. It had been given strictly to calm and
console her. She'd best set no store by it. Still, a woman couldn't forget her
first kiss, and Alexander's had been, well...

She
frowned, trying to think exactly what his kiss had been like. Warm.
Pleasurable. Exhilarating in an unexpected sort of way. Satisfying and yet
promising at the same time. The word sensual came to mind and she decided it
fit. Alexander Hepburn was an extremely sensual man. In every sense of the
word.

And
for the first time, Jonet sensed there might just be something to what the
forthright Gwen had told her about, to that odd, intimate act between a man and
a woman making them one. She frowned again. With Alexander she could almost—

A
coarse homespun shirt dropped beside her. "Not much to look at but at
least it's clean and dry."

Jonet
gave a start of surprise and Alexander steadied her. "Sorry, lass. I
thought you heard me."

She
flushed, grabbing up the shirt and slipping it over her head. "I was...
thinking."

"I'll
just clean up a bit and we'll be on our way." He stood casually unlacing
his shirt, then dragged it over his head. She stared in amazement as his
well-muscled torso emerged. He knelt without a trace of self-consciousness,
plunging both arms into the water and washing away the evidence of the deadly
encounter of the last half hour.

Jonet
sat back on her heels and watched in fascination. She'd never seen a man
unclothed before. She wasn't embarrassed, just awed by the sheer physical
beauty of Alexander's form.

He
splashed water vigorously over his face and throat. His black hair was tousled
and damp. Water glistened on his powerful shoulders and dripped from the swirl
of dark hair on his chest.

She
felt an odd tightening in the depths of her belly, an unusual breathlessness
she couldn't account for.

His
beautiful eyes regarded her quizzically. "Something wrong, lass?"

She
didn't even try an evasion. "You must know I've never seen anything quite
like this before."

He
grinned. "Look your fill... but then it's turnabout."

She
smiled, thankful for the humor they shared. It took the edge from moments like
this, made them more bearable. "Ah, but I'm afraid I've nothing near so
magnificent to show."

The
smile remained, but his eyes narrowed, darkening with a look that sent that odd
feeling coiling through her again. But this time it was lower, more intense.

"Someone
has done a terrible job with your education, lass," he said softly.
"I'd tell you more, but the pleasure's too great in finding a lovely woman
who's not unbearably haughty. I've no wish to ruin it.

"Now,
hand me that shirt. We'd best be off in case those gentlemen have any friends
to come looking for them."

Moments
later Alexander had fetched the horses and they were ready to ride. Jonet cast
an uneasy look at the bodies sprawled across the hill. "Shouldn't we bury
them or something?"

Alexander
shook his head. "They were carrion when they were breathing, they may as
well be carrion now. I'll not waste my sweat, or what's more valuable, our
time, on the like."

"Oh."

He
sent her a sharp look. "Does that shock you, lass?"

"A
little. I thought even on battlefields enemies buried the dead."

"On
battlefields men fight honorably... more or less. The dead are no less dead,
but they deserve a burial with a few words said over them if there's time. But
those four—"

He
turned in the saddle, his eyes wandering over the men. "They were pariahs,
outcasts even from the outlaw bands who roam here. They would have used you
till you were half-dead, then killed us both for amusement whether we'd paid
for our freedom or not. Believe me, lass, I've dealt with the like, both here
and on the Continent. You can't bargain with an animal."

Jonet
drew a deep breath and nodded. "I know. I just feel... uncomfortable about
it."

"You're
outside the walls of Beryl now. Whatever you've been taught about honor, it
doesn't apply."

She
thought for a moment. Robert Maxwell lived by an unchanging code no matter the
circumstances. He would live by it and probably die by it as well. "I
suppose not."

Alexander
reined over beside her. "In a handful of days your world's been turned
upside down. I understand that, Jonet. But you'd best realize that it's apt to
get worse before it gets better."

He
smiled somewhat distantly. "You've a good head on your shoulders. You'll
come out ahead somehow. And one day you'll be telling your grandchildren how
you threw convention to the winds and rode off across Scotland with a terrible
rogue and ended up saving his life."

His
words brought a sharp pang. This time with Alexander would soon be over. There
would be the reunion with her uncle, a voyage to France, and then life at the
French court until they could return to Scotland. She should have been excited
at the prospect, should have been looking forward to it now. But somehow she
wasn't.

She
forced a smile. "And you'll be telling yours about the foolish lass who
stumbled into your life one dark night and brought you no end of trouble. If
you even remember."

"Oh,
I'll remember. I'll never forget the prettiest green-eyed lad a man ever rode
with."

The
words were said teasingly, but his eyes were serious. "We'd best be on our
way now, Jonet. It'll be sundown in a couple of hours and Grant'll be turning
the whole of Northumberland upside down for us."

They
rode until it was too dark to see, and Alexander called a halt. "We'll
wait till the moon's well up and give the horses a rest in the process. I'd
hate to be forced into another run now." He swung down from his mount and
turned to give Jonet a hand.

"Does
Grant know where to find us?" she asked.

"More
or less. There's a place we planned to meet up. We'd have made it a half hour
ago if it hadn't been for our importunate friends."

He
kept a hand on her arm, guiding her to a grassy seat in the shadowy darkness
beneath a tree. He turned back to the horses, gathering up blankets, food and a
flask that he had in his pack.

"Alex?"

"Yes,
lass."

She
hesitated. "Have you... killed men before?"

He
spread out the blanket and dropped down beside her. "Aye."

Of
course he'd killed before. He was good at it. "In battle?"

"Sometimes."

She
hesitated again, afraid he might laugh at her. "Does it... ever bother
you?"

"Sometimes,"
he said again quietly. "Sometimes, when it's a waste. When it needn't have
happened. Other times it doesn't trouble me a bit. Like today."

"You'll
think I'm foolish, but I... I keep remembering it," she began in a rush.
"The way it felt. The way it sounded. The look and... and, oh God, the
smell!"

The
afternoon's horror returned and she found she was breathing rapidly, clenching
and unclenching her fists. "I... I keep thinking, what if they'd killed
you? If it had been you lying there with half your neck chopped away. Or... or
if Robert might already be dead."

She
stared at the darkening sky, at the last flush of rose in the western heavens.
Robert's face swam before her and she blinked once and then again as the color
blurred, blood-red, through her tears. "They behead traitors, don't
they?"

Alexander
slid an arm about her, drawing her against his shoulder as he leaned back on
the tree. "I was thinking we'd need this about now," he said calmly,
pressing the flask into her hand. "Here, lass, take a swallow. A small
one, mind, else you'll be sorry. It's not wine."

She
did as she was told, barely restraining a gasp as a fiery liquid tore down her
throat.

"Another,"
he ordered. "It won't taste so bad."

She
took a second hesitant sip, and a third, then handed it back to him. Oddly
enough he was right. The liquor wasn't quite as bad going down, and it left a
warm, tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Taking
a deep breath, she got her voice under control. "Is this the second lesson
in quieting hysterical women?"

He
took a pull at the flask. "Aye."

"What's
the third?"

"Be
patient, lass. If it's needed I'll show you."

Slowly
she began to relax. His shoulder was an amazingly comfortable pillow, his arm
cradling her waist felt warm and secure. She'd come a long way from the proper
maid who'd left Beryl, for strangely enough it seemed right.