A Knight to Remember (7 page)

His level gaze held hers. His wide mouth slashed his face straight across. In a voice all the more convincing for its lack of emotion, he said, “I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m not going to let you get away. I will hold you until you respond or until both of us perish of hunger and thirst.”

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t possible. Someone would come looking for her. And lovers didn’t really die in each other’s arms, regardless of the romantic fables.

Yet looking at that hunting-mastiff expression he wore, she thought it just seemed easier to give in. Then it would be over, she’d be free, and he’d have his manhood back.

After all, that was what this was about, wasn’t it? A woman had defied him, and his fragile male pride had been shattered. Although he didn’t look shattered. He looked patient, and that was worse. She didn’t want to surrender, but she’d done a lot of things she didn’t want to in her life. That was, after all, a woman’s lot.

Resigned, she lifted her head off his arm and pressed her mouth to his.

“More.”

His lips moved against hers, and she told herself again she was resigned. But her hand had curled into a fist. Instead of using it as a weapon, she propped it under her head. With the other hand on his shoulder and her eyes wide open, she kissed him with her lips, then her tongue.

He opened for her easily, a studied contrast to her earlier resistance. But of course he would—he was getting his own way.

Resigned. She was resigned.

Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Has no one taught you better than that yet?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s more to this than stabbing a man with your tongue.”

Before she even thought she said, “But I’m so good at that.”

“Only when you talk.”

At some point, she must have put some space between them, because he pulled her close again and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t like the way he rose above her, dominating every space, but she was resigned to giving him his own way.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

She obeyed.

“Relax.”

She tried.

“Good, now learn.”

It was the kiss she’d dreamed of all those years ago. Intimate. The roughness of his tongue lapped at the tender tissues of her inner cheeks.

Passionate. His hands roamed her body, touching places so long untouched she might have been a virgin once more.

Playful. He nipped at her until she responded with a fight. Then he wrestled her into submission and kissed her some more.

She’d never before met a man who liked to kiss. When women talked, they agreed that kissing wasn’t pleasure for a man. Kissing was only waiting until the woman indicated her readiness to mate, and if the woman didn’t indicate readiness soon enough, then the man quickly suppressed the kissing. That had certainly been Edlyn’s experience.

But not with Hugh. Hugh kissed her mouth, her neck, each sharply angled plane of her face, and then her mouth again. He didn’t try to take off her clothes. He didn’t act impatient when she wanted more. In fact, he held her off with as close to a smile as she’d seen from him and said calmly, “I knew I could make you respond.”

Resigned? Had she thought herself resigned? She wasn’t resigned! She was angry. Abruptly, deeply furious. His smug comment did what nothing else had done. He had relaxed, the whoreson, and she brought up her knee so fast he didn’t have time to even attempt defense. One good strike, and she stood above him while he writhed on the floor.

Livid, panting with rage, she said, “I’ve already buried two husbands, but I’ll make an exception for you. If you ever touch me again, I’ll bury you before I ever wed you.”

“
A warrior should never
exalt in his victory, Wharton, before the enemy is completely disarmed.” Leaning heavily on the long table, Hugh made his way around the dispensary.

“Ye are wise as always, master.” Wharton danced around him, holding his arms out like an anxious parent with a toddler. “Don’t ye think it’s time t’ sit down?”

“’Tis a lesson I’ve had taught to me before, but never has it been illustrated as thoroughly as was done this day.”

“She’s a cruel woman, t’ have unmanned ye so,” Wharton said fiercely.

“Edlyn is a warrior-woman and worthy to bear my children.” Pausing in his perambulation around the room, Hugh spoke to Wharton in direct disapproval. “And she is your future mistress, so you will speak of her accordingly.”

Wharton wrestled with the concept of a woman with the power to direct him.

“In sooth, what she did and what she said did not matter. She gave me a great gift.” Hugh took a breath.
“She proved to me all my parts are functioning and I am going to live.”

“Women are good fer that, at least,” Wharton agreed. “Ye’ve been up longer tonight than last night, and last night longer than th’ night before. Shouldn’t ye rest now?”

“My strength returns every day tenfold.” Cautiously, Hugh pushed himself away from the table and lifted his arms. The skin pulled but not unduly. Edlyn had taken the stitches out the previous day, and even she had seemed stunned by his improvement. “Let us not forget, Wharton, Lady Edlyn’s herbal skill brought me back from the dead.”

“Don’t say that, master.” Wharton shivered. “’Tisn’t natural.”

“I remember,” Hugh insisted. “I was lying there behind the oven. I couldn’t open my eyes. I could barely breathe. Then I smelled something, and it smelled like…like the odor of a fresh destrier before battle, or like chain mail when it has been oiled. I wanted to breathe it in. I wanted to grow strong on the odor.” He clenched his fist, and his gaze grew distant. “Then the bandage became soft and warm, like well-rubbed leather, the kind I have my gauntlets made of.”

“Ye were dreaming, master.” Wharton’s assurance faded as Hugh turned his glare on him. “Weren’t ye?”

“I know a dream, and I know reality, and this…this was both.” Hugh considered. “Or neither. But it was real.”

“Aye, master.” Wary and confused, Wharton asked, “What else happened?”

“Taste. I could taste it.”

“Taste what?”

“Taste her.”

“Lady Edlyn?” Wharton scrambled backward.
“She thrust herself into yer mouth while ye were sleeping?” He thought. “Or whatever ye were doing?”

“Of course not, you dolt. It wasn’t like that at all!” Wharton was a loyal servant, but sometimes his ignorance amazed Hugh. Yet trying to explain seemed hazardous at best. “Flavor burst on my tongue, a flavor such as I’ve never tasted before. I wanted to savor it. I wanted more and ever more. And I knew it was the flavor of Lady Edlyn.”

Wharton shivered. “’Tis ungodly what ye’re saying. Has she bewitched ye?”

Slowly, reserving his strength, Hugh moved toward the door. “For what purpose?”

“Ye say ye will wed her.”

“So I will.” Hugh caught the jamb and swung the door wide to let in the night.

“’Tis not necessary. Ye can have her fer less than that.”

Jolted, Hugh remembered how Edlyn had doubted men and their honor. “What is your thought?”

“There’s none here t’ compete fer her. Just take her!”

Carefully, so Wharton would never suggest such a thing again, Hugh turned to his man. “That would be the act of a knave, indeed, and I will slit the throat of any man who suggests I am a knave.”

Wharton’s eyes bulged, and he audibly gulped. “Of a certainty, master. I meant that ye have no competition, so ye may wed her as ye wish.”

“I thought you meant that.” Hugh smiled, but he kept his gaze level and icy. “Although there is no competition for her, the lack of competition doesn’t lessen my appetite.”

“But…why her?” Wharton couldn’t hold in his cry of frustration, right from his wizened heart. “Why do ye wish t’ wed her?”

After due consideration, Hugh decided Wharton deserved some explanation. “She is in desperate straits here, and I feel a sense of responsibility.”

Wharton freely gave the benefit of his advice. “Give her money.”

“But I need a wife.”

“A young wife,” Wharton countered.

“An experienced wife, one who can manage my estates with a sure hand until I have learned everything a mercenary knight needs to be a noble lord.”

“Aye, a wife should be of use to her husband.” Wharton easily comprehended that. “But she talks ugly t’ ye.”

“I will sweeten her disposition with myself.” Indeed, Hugh looked forward to that.

“She doesn’t want t’ marry ye.”

“So you think Edlyn is a woman who knows what is best for her?”

Wharton’s reaction was automatic and unthinking. “O’ course not!”

Hugh hid his half-smile. “Nor do I. She is an exemplary woman, but she’s only a woman, and she’ll only be happy when she accepts the guidance of a man. Men are, by definition, the wiser gender.”

Wharton clearly itched to argue, but how could he? Every word Hugh said was true. Wharton bobbed and bowed, and satisfied he had squelched his servant’s little insolence, Hugh stepped outside.

Outside. He hadn’t been outside since the day of the battle. He’d been stuck in that stuffy dispensary, dying in slow degrees until Edlyn had worked a miracle. And she
had
worked a miracle. He remembered little of his illness, but he remembered that.

Now the stone wall around the garden protected him from anyone who might be out so late. The night
air smelled as sweet as freedom, and he squinted up at the sky overlaid with clouds. The rain, more than a mist yet less than a shower, wet his face. He had heard it on the thatch earlier, but knowing and experiencing were two different things.

Fearing to leave his master out in his weakened state, Wharton shuffled out to stand beside him. Wharton hated water of all kinds. He said it would kill a man to drink it and wither his cock if he washed in it, so Hugh took a fiendish delight in keeping him wet.

“Lady Edlyn seems rather”—Wharton trod carefully in view of Hugh’s previous displeasure—“different than yer usual fare.”

“How so?”

“She’s old.”

“Twenty-eight, if I did my numbers correctly, and handsome still.”

“Ye deserve a virgin in yer wedding bed.”

“Deserve?” Hugh barked a laugh, then held his side until the pain faded. “Did I deserve to almost die?”

“Nay, master!” Wharton coughed pathetically, trying without words to indicate the dreaded lung disease that would afflict him if they remained in the mist any longer.

Hugh ignored him. “Deserve has nothing to do with the trials and rewards of life.”

“If ye take Lady Edlyn t’ be your wife, I know which she will be.”

“A trial?” Hugh walked a little farther into the garden. The night was as dark as any Hugh had ever seen. The clouds blocked all light from the stars. Unlit and silent, the abbey waited for the dawn.

The scent of burnet warned him he’d wandered off the trail, and he moved hastily back on the hay-strewn path. Edlyn, he knew, would not thank him for crushing
the new plants that she’d sown. “Aye, she’ll be that. The world had not yet tested the Edlyn I knew at George’s Cross, and she looked at me with an adoring countenance. This Edlyn will fight—she has fought—for what is due her.”

Wharton followed Hugh, staying carefully on the straw to avoid the mud. “Fighting’s not attractive in a woman.”

Hugh had agreed with Wharton at one time, and that time had been only a fortnight previously. Now it seemed long ago, and he didn’t understand Wharton’s hesitation. “What good is a woman who can’t defend what is hers?”

Driven beyond courtesy, Wharton said, “She doesn’t like ye.”

“She’s a challenge,” Hugh agreed.

“She doesn’t care fer invalids. She thinks a man flat on his back inferior t’ a man who stands steady on his two feet.”

In the safety of the darkness, Hugh allowed himself a smile. “I thought of that, but I can’t believe it. She is so sensible, so matter-of-fact, so strong, she must be able to recognize strength in others.”

“She is strong.” Wharton obviously considered this to her detriment. “She lifted ye when ye were unconscious.”

“That’s not what I meant, but aye, she has strong arms and good hands.” Her nails she kept short, the better to work with. Her long fingers and blunt palms were capable and expressive, and Hugh had found himself watching those hands and wondering whether they would be capable and expressive when she thrashed beneath him on a mat or in a bed.

“Ye like ’em delicate,” Wharton reminded him.

“Delicate doesn’t interest me now.” Dismissing his
former requirements, Hugh finger-combed the beard on his jaw as he thought. “I have the strength, and she doesn’t seem to know the role I have taken in the management of the kingdom, so her indifference must have its origins in another source.”

“When she knows who ye are, she’ll snuggle up fast enough.”

“You think the widow of the earl of Jagger will want me?” Hugh laughed without humor. “She’ll spit on me when she discovers the truth.”

“Mayhap.” Wharton sounded cheered. “Why, if that is true, ye’ll not convince her t’ wed ye.”

“She doesn’t have to know before the swearing.”

“Ye’ve got t’ give yer name.”

“She knows my name. She doesn’t know my title.” He could almost feel Wharton jump as the idea struck him. “And I would take it ill if she discovered it too soon.”

Wharton mumbled something as his relish faded, and Hugh took a breath. His plan seemed riddled with hazards, but as always he rose to any reasonable challenge. He hadn’t reached his present pinnacle by seeking fights in every cobweb-laden corner, of course. He planned his campaigns with meticulous care, then fought with wild abandon to win.

He was in the planning stages now. He would fight later. And he would have to fight, he was sure. Wharton might dismiss Edlyn’s resentment. Wharton might imagine she would find contentment with his money and his position, but Hugh didn’t think so. Hugh recognized the barriers she had erected and gave them his proper respect.

Nevertheless, he lived to knock down barriers.

“This whole affair smacks of madness,” Wharton said.

Hugh knew what Wharton meant. Hugh liked women, but they’d always been easy to leave. Give him his sword and his destrier, and he would be happy. “Maybe it’s the onset of age,” he suggested. “The compulsion to sow my seed and see it grow before it’s too late.”

“Young virgin,” Wharton said under his breath.

Hugh heard it, of course. “Lady Edlyn can bear my children, and she’s proven her fruitfulness. Ah!” He slashed the air with his hand. “Enough discussion.”

Edlyn showed him no wiles. She was as far from a coquette as any woman could be. It wasn’t the compulsion to breed that drew him to Edlyn, it was Edlyn herself.

He suspected the nuns all wore the same thing Edlyn wore—a shapeless cotte over a well-tied shift. The holy women probably prayed their rough clothing would discourage lustful thoughts from the men in their infirmary, but in Edlyn’s case, at least, it didn’t work.

How could it? She had a body that would make an angel discard his wings. Burned into Hugh’s mind with the fire of fever was the memory of her breasts, the golden skin of the firm mounds, the soft nipples begging to be stroked. Whenever he saw those now-covered breasts, he observed avidly, seeing the way they lifted the material, the way they flowed when she lifted her arms to reach something from the top shelf.

Her breasts alone had healed him.

Her waist and hips had performed their own miracles. She had a way of walking that challenged him. He’d never met a woman with talking hips before, but sometime, somewhere, Edlyn had acquired them.
Rise
! her hips commanded.
Come and capture me
.

And of course he did rise, although not to his feet.

He hadn’t seen anything of her legs, but he knew the challenge must originate there, between them. After all, he had been lying on the floor, and from there he could see her ankles at any time. Strong ankles. Slender ankles. Ankles that were connected to the rest of her and to the feet she so often bared for his enjoyment. Aye, Edlyn didn’t seem to think bare feet were arousing, but every time she slipped off her shoes and padded around the dispensary, it made him think she had performed the first step of intimacy with him.

She had a nice face, too.

But those eyes…if he were a superstitious man, he would be stringing garlic and hoping to ward off the curse of those green eyes.

And she did curse him. That he never questioned.

“When ye heard her while she was healing ye—what was she saying?” Wharton asked.

“Something about our childhood together.” Hugh frowned. “Something about…a barn.” He shook his head. “The exact words escape me.”

“Long as it wasn’t some witchy incantation,” Wharton retorted.

“Not that. Never that.” Hugh was firm. “She did say something important, nonetheless. I’ll think of it, don’t worry.”

“Can we go in now, master?” Wharton asked. “I can hear th’ fairies awhispering under that oak.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Ye never hear anything.” Wharton sounded peeved. “Ye’re blessed by th’ fairies, that’s why.”

Actually, Hugh did hear them. Slight voices that could easily be mistaken for the rustle of leaves. But he never admitted
that
to anyone.

“So can we go in?” Wharton did a good imitation of a man about to expire from wheezing.

“Soon.” Hugh stared at the darkest corner of the garden where he knew the oak stood. Slowly he moved toward it, keeping to the paths as best he could. The fairies whispered of enchantment; he countered with logic. “A brush with death brought me here, and I found a childhood comrade in dire need. She saved my life, and I’ll rescue her from the wretched circumstances into which she’s fallen. You’ll see, she’ll be grateful to be living her old life once again. I recognize the hand of providence in my life, and her appearance here could be nothing less.”