Claire Delacroix (21 page)

On the other hand, a murderer - or so it always seemed to me - is another manner of man, one with a thread of viciousness or evil, a reckless man. Gawain was not reckless or vicious, it was clear, nor was he inclined to violence.

You may think it odd, but I found his confession reassuring. I had thought Gawain carefree and frivolous, a man concerned solely with his own survival and comfort. I was glad to know that he was man, as I knew men - that he was unafraid to wield his blade but did so with temperance.

Gawain continued in that casual manner. “The repercussions for murder are too dire for my taste so, as a rule, I avoid it. Murder tends to agitate the common people, as you have witnessed this very day, which interferes with my labor.”

“But if you did not kill Fergus, then what did your missive to me mean?”

“Ah!” I heard the scuff of his boots upon stone as he paced the width of the chamber, paused, then sauntered back to my side. “In the name of chivalry, I grant you the chance to rescind your demand for honesty, for you may not like my reply.”

“I would hold you to your pledge.”

“Very well.” Gawain tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch sure and warm. “I have dreamed of you, Evangeline.” His voice was low and intimate, seductive. I shivered anew at his sudden proximity

He was a thief, I reminded myself, an untrustworthy scoundrel even if the most alluring man that ever I had met. Despite my own reminder, my mouth went dry.

“I have remembered you over and over again.” Gawain seemed as surprised by this as I was, and I guessed it was not common for him to think of a woman once he had savored her charms. A dangerous thrill went through me, though I knew such a man as he was not wrought for me.

He might have been the serpent in the garden, beguiling Eve with what she most wished to hear, with false promises of what could be. I knew this, knew I should not listen, but could not halt myself.

Then Gawain’s fingertip touched my cheek and a shiver roiled over my flesh. As much as I would have liked to step away, I found myself powerless from the caress of that single finger. “I was convinced that you could not possibly choose to abide here,” he whispered. “I was certain that you merely wished to be persuaded to leave this wretched place…”

“Inverfyre is beautiful!”

“If cold and impoverished and lacking in what some might consider essential amenities,” he added, clearly unpersuaded. “I thought that you protested overmuch at my offer to take you south when last we met.” That fingertip traced a beguiling path to my ear, then down the side of my throat. I leaned my head back, suddenly unable to draw a full breath, and he traced the outline of the hollow of my throat.

I swallowed and he quickly kissed that hollow, his kiss searing my flesh. My resolve wavered. It seemed foolish to protest his amorous assault.

“I merely intended to return to Inverfyre and repeat my offer,” he whispered, his lips somehow having landed on the tender place beneath my ear. “Perhaps somewhat more persuasively.” He kissed my earlobe and my knees nigh melted at the sweet heat of his touch.

His words only gradually made sense to me, and when they did, I ducked the caress of his fingertip and lips. “You meant only that I should flee to be your whore until you tire of me.”

Gawain clicked his tongue. “It sounds so vulgar put thus.”

“It is a vulgar offer.”

“While death in Inverfyre’s aptly named Hole is so much more civilized?” He was close enough that I could see his brow arch high. I spun away from his wry tone - and the temptation he offered - and paced the width of the cell and back.

“Dungeons are not meant to be hospitable places,” I informed him. “If I could only escape, I could fetch Adaira and have her tell the truth of what happened. If only she granted her testimony, the true murderer could be uncovered…”

“Why would any heed her pledge?”

“What would they not? She would be telling the truth!”

“Ah, Evangeline.” Gawain chuckled and I imagined that he shook his head ruefully. “If I understand correctly, this Adaira is an old woman who lives in the woods, perhaps a healer.”

“Yes, a healer, an alewife, a wise woman. What matter?”

His chuckle came again, though this time it was low and affectionate. I could find no mockery within it. “Can you not see, Evangeline, how very convenient it is to be rid of you?”

“No!”

“Releasing you, or giving credence to any evidence that you might muster, could only put any man’s claim to Inverfyre in jeopardy. I predict that you will be left to rot in this charming chamber.”

“They could not,” I fumed. “They would not.”

“They have,” Gawain interrupted flatly.

Indeed, they had. I was trapped in the dungeon of my grandsire’s construction and unlikely to ever be invited to depart it alive. They would let me die. Alasdair and Fergus’ other kin only wanted Inverfyre, a holding to which they had no right but one they could make their own by force.

Without me, without my inevitable protest to the king, they possessed my family holding without contest.

My son would die before he even came to light.

* * *

“But that is not fair!” I cried, knowing how little that mattered but vexed all the same.

“Perhaps you now understand why I have little interest in what is right and legal - it is seldom fair.”

I clenched my fists in outrage, not liking my powerlessness a whit. “If only we could escape! Then justice could be served. I could send word to the king. I could muster troops. I could…” I scrabbled ineffectively at the rock face, but it was impossible to catch a grip, precisely as my forebear had planned.

I spun upon Gawain in annoyance. “What pathetic manner of thief are you that you cannot steal us away from this place?”

Again I heard the smile in his voice. “It is not a question of whether I can pick that excuse for a lock, my Evangeline, it is a question of when it would be best to do so. Captors, in my experience, like to gloat.”

He could pick the lock.

I stared in Gawain’s direction, aghast, even as the lock was turned and the door high above flung open. The finger of light that fell into the Hole gave me a glimpse of Gawain’s confident smile - and no doubt he had an eyeful of my gaping astonishment - before Fiona shouted with glee.

“I have a gift for you, my fine lady,” she sneered, then hurled the contents of a bucket into the dungeon.

Gawain moved like lightning. He seized my wrist and pulled me out of the way, when I might have stood there like a startled hare. He folded me against his heat and backed me into the wall beneath the door.

The slops splashed noisily against the far wall, the smell enough to curdle milk. I buried my nose in Gawain’s shoulder and inhaled hungrily of his scent instead.

I forgot completely about the slops.

Fiona laughed and locked the door with gusto. She whistled merrily as she left us trapped, no doubt swinging her bucket as she trudged back to the hall.

I did not push Gawain away. The tickle in my belly that had awakened with first sight of him grew to a roar. I could feel the muscles of his back beneath my hands, feel the strength of his thighs against mine. My battle against temptation was well and truly lost.

“Evangeline,” Gawain whispered, a throaty purr that melted the last of my resistance. There was desire in his whisper and in his chausses. Perhaps he found his desire for me as unexpected and fathomless as I found mine for him.

I felt gloriously, vibrantly alive, as I had when we met afore. I turned my face slightly and let my lips graze Gawain’s neck, boldly touched my lips to his mouth. He shivered and I could not have cared less about Fiona.

“It never serves one to be absent when the captor comes to check on their prey,” Gawain murmured into my hair. His breath made my flesh tingle and the heat that only he could kindle spread through me. “Escaping too soon can oft lead to unfortunate results.”

“Like?”

“A more doughty prison, one which cannot be so readily conquered when the time is right.”

I shivered despite myself, though more from the antics of his tongue than the import of his words. “My grandfather used to execute criminals who survived a fortnight in the Hole.”

“Ah,” Gawain breathed, kissing me in a most satisfying way. He was thorough about his kisses, as if there was naught else of any import in all of Christendom. He did not hasten, he savored each kiss as if it might be the very last he ever tasted.

Indeed, when he finished his languid kiss, I was persuaded to his perspective. I felt rumpled and sampled, awakened and not nearly sated.

I dared in the darkness to caress him. Gawain caught his breath and I chuckled, even more delighted with my effect upon him when he spoke in a strained voice.

“In my experience,” he said carefully, “a public execution is quite difficult to escape.”

I unlaced his chausses slowly, teasing him all the while. He was neither shocked by my audacity or disapproving of it. He merely let me do as I would with him. It was exhilarating. “But you have escaped one?”

“Only once.” I could see the shadow of his features and guessed that his eyes were twinkling with mischief. “I have learned caution since my younger days.”

“Indeed?” I lifted my skirts and pressed myself against his nakedness. He caught my buttocks in his hands and lifted me against him, backing me again into the wall.

“Indeed.” Gawain kissed me soundly then, surprising me with his ardor. I found myself arching closer, knotting my hands in the golden silk of his hair. The darkness gave me license to unleash my desire.

“Indeed,” he whispered. “For example, I do not, in general, seduce married women.”

“You seduced me.”

“No.” Gawain chuckled as his wicked fingers worked the laces loose on the sides of my kirtle. One hand slipped beneath the wool and I gasped as his hand closed over my breast. “You seduced me, Evangeline. Twice, and most satisfactorily on both occasions.” He teased my nipple to a peak with ease.

I arched my back toward him. “You clearly intend to seduce me now,” I teased.

His smile flashed. “But you are a widow now, Evangeline, not a wife,” he murmured, his lips hovering the breadth of a finger above mine.

“Suddenly, you are a man of principle?”

“I have always been a man of principle.” Again, the breath of his laughter touched my cheek. “My principles, however, are not always those shared by other men.”

I was seized by an abrupt curiosity about his life and his principles, his loves - beyond sun-baked Sicily - and his deepest desires, but Gawain kissed me with such expertise that I said nothing. I could do nothing, nothing but gasp into his kiss, nothing but surrender to the ardor between us.

“We must do something to pass the time until they are sleepy with confidence and ale.” Gawain murmured against my throat, then his lips closed over my nipple. I moaned at the caress of his tongue and gathered his hair into my fists. He halted, tormenting me, and I heard the teasing laughter in his voice. “Unless you have another suggestion?”

“A game of chess, perhaps?” I suggested mischievously.

He seemed to ponder the prospect, then I felt him shake his head. “Too dark. And I suspect I would lose. I could not bear to lose a game on what might be my last night alive.”

“Then we should choose some deed in which we both shall win.”

“Precisely. As I was suggesting…” He caught me closer and kissed me so soundly that I fair forgot my name.

When he lifted his lips from mine, I held him close, suddenly fearful. “We could fail to escape, despite your confidence, or their plans could be other than you anticipate,” I said, wishing he would argue but knowing he would not. “We could be caught while escaping and killed immediately.”

“We could indeed. Our scheme is not without danger.”

I was not so cavalier about this as he sounded. “This truly might be the last night that ever we face, Gawain.” I caressed his cheek as he had so oft touched mine, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip. “What better way to spend it than in pleasure?”

“I knew you were a lady in pursuit of my own heart,” Gawain said with approval. He kissed me deeply again and I responded in kind, welcoming all he had to share.

* * *

XI

I awakened to the sound of rushing water. I was disoriented for a moment, so lost in a haze of pleasure that I did not remember where I was. The darkness did little to aid my orientation.

Then Gawain swore close by my ear and I remembered everything. It was the silky fur lining of his cloak that cosseted me, the strength of his arm that surrounded me.

“There is water pouring into this cursed place!” he cried, then I felt him shift beside me. He leapt to his feet, then scooped me up into his arms, his cloak still wrapped around me. My feet were wet, as were my hips and the wool of my kirtle that had lain beneath me. I could smell the dank water gathering on the stone floor, hear it running, feel its chill.

“It must be raining,” I said as calmly as I could. My heart was racing, for I knew very well what fate lay ahead. Panic would serve us poorly, for only our wits could save us now.