Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (29 page)

“You said you had information for me. Which is it? Information or another sad apology for

the truth you didn’t mean for me to hear?”

“Both, but I’ll start with the information, if you’ll let me.”

“Speak,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest.

She tried not to be distracted by the music still leaking from his headset. The next song

began:
It’s My Life
, by Talk Talk, one of the songs she had on a playlist. On housecleaning day, she’d play it again and again, dancing as she dusted and polished. An hour from now would she

still find the tune dance worthy or delete it from her playlist?

“Would you turn the music off? Please?”

He didn’t respond at first, eyes narrowed slightly as though he considered refusing before

he finally pressed the off button.

“You have something to say, say it and be done,” he said.

“I know who the French knight was that wounded you. Roger Louis Philippe Marchand.”

Stephen’s face remained an inscrutable mask. “Thank you for knowledge that has no

bearing on my life. Conversation over.” He started to put the earpieces in again, but Esme pulled his hands down.

“I said I’m here to do both, give the knight info and talk to you about what’s changed for

me.”

“Since you insist on enlightening me, where did you find the knight’s name?”

“You told me about the Coat of Arms he wore. I looked up French nobility of the time and

their heraldic symbols. Marchand was the Compte D’Honfleur. I—”

“I feel so much better now, knowing a high ranking noble did this.” He passed a hand over

his eyes. “As to the rest, what you didn’t know then but you claim to know now,” he scoffed and told her, “is not my concern.”

Deep down, Esme didn’t believe he was this unforgiving, or that he was so scornful of the

possibility that she had a change of heart. This was the price for hurting him, but the punishment he inflicted didn’t fit the crime. After all, blindness wasn’t his alone to adjust to. People close to him also had to adjust and on many levels. All she did was voice her worry, which she had a right to do. And damn it, if the roles were reversed, she’d at least hear him out.

Her patience snapped. “You talk big about chivalry and what an honorable man, let alone

a knight, should and shouldn’t do. Well Mr.
I’ve never
said something I regret
, cutting someone off without giving them a chance to be heard isn’t very chivalrous if you ask me,” she blurted in one breath. A feat she’d never be able to repeat. She came a frog’s hair close to apologizing for the outburst but didn’t think it would do much good.

Silence from him again. An expert at setting all her nerve endings on edge, she was glad

he couldn’t see the desperation she knew showed on her face.

“How did you know where to find me?” he finally asked.

“Shakira said you came here often. I know your attachment to Elysian Fields is deep.

When you weren’t home, I figured you’re still upset and this is where you gravitated to today.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Not at all?”

“Was I singing or crying when you found me?”

“Singing, but it was a sad song.”

“So,” he said with a short shrug. “Tell me about this change of yours.”

“I’d like to sit.”

“Fine.”

Afraid he’d shake off her help if she was too obvious with it, instead of looping her arm

through his she placed a tentative hand on his forearm. “There’s a nice spot a few feet away with a pad of fallen leaves.”

She led him to the base of an old oak. He patted down the length of the tree and sat with

his back pressed against the trunk. He unclipped the iPod from his belt, wrapped the cords from the headpiece around it and set the player to the side. He assumed a casual pose, one knee up, the other leg stretched out and his hands folded, resting on his stomach. He looked ready to doze off and she worried he might, just to be disagreeable.

Esme removed her riding helmet and hung it on the branch next to Monty.

She sat inches from him with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth

a little, mulling how to start, scared what she’d say wouldn’t matter.

“Do not say you are sorry again. I tire of hearing, blah, blah, and sorry, sorry.” He closed

his eyes and she worried he really was going to doze off before she finished. “Speak your piece.”

Where had he heard “blah, blah?” Curiosity danced in and out of her head.

“After I spent the night, I thought there was a chance I might become more than a tutor

and riding companion to you. In my head, I ran all these scenarios where you’d have to depend on me to the point where you’d need me present almost constantly.”

“Suffocate you.”

“Yes, and the more I dwelled on them, the more I questioned
my
ability to cope. I

questioned whether
my
failure wouldn’t cause me to place blame elsewhere, meaning on you.”

“Like that day, I’m still blind, still reliant on occasion on a sighted person. That won’t

change.”

“Right. It’s the ‘on occasion’ part I didn’t factor in to my worries. Once I let go of the
me
issue and looked at the situation with an objective eye, I realized I’d been foolish. You fight for your independence every day in every way and I respect and admire that effort. I don’t know

why I had such tunnel vision. I’m...” she almost said, I’m sorry. “I am ashamed for being self-

centered and stupid.”

She reached over and laid her palm on his thigh. “You spoke of being a boon companion to

me. I’m not sure what boon companion entails. I don’t know if it means just friends or something more. The idea of the latter is especially appealing. Either way, I’m asking for your forgiveness.”

He opened his eyes and turned to her, a puzzled look on his face. “I’m confused.”

She braced for him to say no and offer a painful list of reasons why.

“You speak like you wish me to court you...or more,” he said with some hesitation.

“I do and I prefer the ‘or more.’”

Confusion still clouded his expression. “What do you mean by ‘or more?’”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“’Tis best to confirm.” His gazed dropped to where her hand rested on his thigh and back

up. “And Tony is happy with sharing you?”

“Tony is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Don’t look so suspicious. I didn’t kill him.” The expression on his face was priceless.

Esme momentarily considered taking a picture with her cell phone. But to retrieve it would intrude on the moment. She hoped she was on the road to forgiveness and didn’t want to break the

momentum. “I dumped him as the Americans say, told him we were—”

“You need not go on, I catch your meaning. When? Was it the night you came to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Did he harm you? You must tell me if he did. I will see him undone for it. I grow

more adept with each judo lesson. I’m not afraid to throw the gauntlet down and challenge him.”

Her heart leaped. His concern had to be a good sign. “No. He didn’t harm me.”

“For his sake, this is good. As for his absence, that is good for me as I’d rather not share,

if
I decide to pursue the ‘or more.’ Along that line, tell me what you wish to do next.”

She moved closer until their thighs touched and tightened her hand on his leg. “You. I want

to do you next.”

“’Do me?’ By ‘do me’ you mean make love to me?”

“Yes.”

“Making love doesn’t make us a couple. What if afterward I chose not to forgive you?

What if I take advantage of your favors today and walk away?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic half smile empty of any warmth. “Then, I am

yours foolish, foolish lady.”

He turned his head to face forward. With his legs positioned the way they were, he

wondered how she’d find comfort and ease in seducing him.

Her arm brushed his chest as she leaned across him and with a firm hand pushed his

raised knee down. When she started to move away, she angled herself and the unmistakable

softness of breast trailed over him. He stirred and grew hard at the touch of her fingernails

dragging along the zipper of his jods, then lingering to gently rub lower. She slid her hand up, squeezed him and then released but her hand remained on his bulging erection. Lust fired through him. His thighs opened wider and he pressed against her palm. He sucked in a long hiss of air and his head snapped back hard on the tree’s trunk. The pain unheeded as he unbuckled his belt and

unzipped. He wanted, no needed for her to feel him skin to skin.

She pulled her hand from his when he tried to slip it into his underwear.

With the long campaign in France, months went by without a lady’s touch. His heart raced

from Esme’s brief caresses. Embarrassed by his clumsy lack of control, Stephen took a deep

breath, counted to five, and then exhaled slowly. He refused to pant like a hunting hound weak

from the chase in front of her. Not yet. No doubt she’d bring him to a point where he wouldn’t

give a whit what he looked like.

The kiss he thought she’d deliver next didn’t happen. He sensed her standing. Her body

heat warmed his upper arm she stood so close. She placed her booted foot lightly on his thigh.

What mischief she intended he had no idea, but he trusted her. Had a man put a boot anywhere on Stephen, he’d have been on his feet in a thrice in challenge.

“Help me get my boots off.”

Stephen unlaced the first and grasped the heel tight. “Step back as I tug.”

“I’ll lose my balance without something to hold onto. Right now I’m using the tree trunk.”

He stood and stepped in front of her. “Lean against the trunk and put your foot between

my knees. I’ll pull them both off that way,” he told her, mourning the loss when part of his rock hard erection ebbed.

“Like shoeing a horse,” she said.

“Something like that.”

Once he had both boots off, he moved away.

“Don’t sit down. Stay standing.”

Something soft fell to the ground. The leaves rustled beneath her feet followed by the

sound of a zipper being either done up or going down. A moment later Esme closed the short

distance between them and began unbuttoning his shirt. When she finished, she peeled it off him and tossed it aside.

“You should be naked. I am,” she said and brought his hands up to cup her breasts.

He’d have thought stripping out of her clothes where privacy wasn’t guaranteed out of

character. “Do you do this often, run naked that is?”

“Never,” she said and kissed the scar on his chin.

A spark of conceit flared learning she’d done this for him alone.

The breeze rippled through the trees, strands of her fine hair tickled his nose. The gust

continued on to ruffle his chest hair and her nipples peaked.

“You’re cold.”

She gripped the waistband of his jods and licked the hollow below his Adam’s Apple

before nuzzling his neck. Her breath warm on his skin, she murmured, “Not that cold. It’s you,

your touch.”

Nestled in his hands, her breasts rose and fell with the words. He closed his eyes,

visualizing the shaded rosiness of her nipples and the lighter pink of the flesh around them. Silken in his palms, the tender undersides were soft and weighty like ripe fruit. A tiny whimper escaped her as the back of his fingers feathered over the sides and the tops, teasing, enticing.

“Stephen,” she whispered when he bent to taste her.

The kiss started at the sensitive curve of her ear, his lips grazing the delicate shell, teeth

nipping on her lobe, and then moving in an ever so slow pace down her to the delicious skin below.

She shivered and melted into him, pressing her body to his, nails digging into his chest.

The journey had just begun. He’d drive her mad, mad as she thought him. Each tiny bump

of gooseflesh would know his lips, his tongue, and his depth of desire. With lips and tongue he forged a sensual path down her creamy throat, nipping here and there to leave his mark. A pinky-red signature left on her unseen but known to him, a reminder of what he would do to her today.

He paused over the tiny vein that pulsed with pleasure and anticipation under his lips. He dropped his hands from her breasts and gripped her ass, drawing her tight against him.

“My turn.” She planted a kiss on the only soft spot on the palm of his sword hand. Such a

small thing yet so erotic, it set his blood ablaze.

She leaned back and cradling his head hard, her fingers fisted around a handful of hair, she

dragged him to her for a violent kiss. After a brief, but intense duel of tongues struggling for dominance, Stephen surrendered. She had after all said she wanted to ‘do him.’

The kiss shocked and intoxicated. None he’d experienced compared. The widows at court

who seduced him as often as he did them, kissed well but never with such pure lust, such

abandon. The bawds he’d engaged for an evening’s pleasure also kissed well, but never fully,

never with true passion.

Esme angled her head this way and that, searching the deepest recesses of his mouth, her

tongue gamboling over teeth and gums, sucking, taking his air and giving hers in return. Hot. Wet.

Just like in another place to taste, to lick, to make weep for him.

She lifted a leg high, encircled his thigh and rode his erection, rubbing the sweet spot

between her legs along the length of him.

He moaned at the explosion of raw need powering through him. Breaking the kiss, he

pulled her hands from his face and pushed them down to his hips. “Free me.”

She lowered her leg and tugged his unzipped jods down to the top of his thighs. His

erection jutted out into the softness of her belly eliciting another moan from him and her.