Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] (11 page)

“Well, Trevelyan?” Reece asked, his voice so stern and cold, she was almost sorry for the lad.

“We were settling something,” Trevelyan declared, swiping at the mud on his cheek with an even muddier hand.

“What have you got to fight about?” Reece asked with cool deliberation. “Whose fault it was that you both put that lad’s life at risk? As far as I’m concerned, you were equally to blame for that.”

Piers drew himself up. “I am willing to accept blame for my part in that,” he said. “Unlike
some
people, I can admit that I have been mistaken without making other people suffer for it.”

Trevelyan’s hands clenched. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said! Anne had to marry your brother and she was completely innocent.”

She should have guessed Piers would mention this, but she wished he hadn’t.

“Be quiet, the pair of you,” Reece said.

“But Reece, he’s insulting you!” Trevelyan protested.

“Then it is I who should take offense,” Reece replied, still just as calm and just as stern. “But I don’t. I don’t care
what
this lad thinks about me.”

Anne was glad Reece wasn’t offended, but she winced nonetheless. No young man wanted to hear that his opinion or his intended insult was considered unimportant.

“I do care about fighting,” Reece continued, “and I order you never to do it again. While you are in this company or at Castle Gervais, you are allies, not enemies.” He pointed at the nearby building. “Now get inside the inn, the both of you, or I’ll pick you up and carry you there.”

Anne could well believe him capable of doing so. Yet as impressive as his physical strength was, she was more impressed that he was not favoring his brother. He was treating the boys equally.

That reminded her of what he had said about his parents treating their children equally. Given
her
family, she had been somewhat skeptical. Now she could believe it—and envy him for it.

“I only spoke the truth!” Piers cried.

“Piers.” She said his name not loudly, but firmly. “Please do as he says.”

His face reddening with anger and wounded pride, her brother glared at her for a long moment as if he meant to disobey. Then he took a deep breath, and his
hands uncurled. “Very well, Anne. Because
you
ask me.”

With that, he stalked back to the inn.

“Trevelyan?” Reece said, one brow raised in query.

Trevelyan hesitated a moment, but he departed without another word, albeit sulking all the while.

Anne sighed and spoke without thinking. “This could be a very long journey.”

Reece looked startled, as if she had slapped him, and she chided herself for speaking.

But then he made a wry little smile. “It is obvious that unlike his older brothers, Piers has been taught some self-restraint. That must be your doing, or because of your example.”

She flushed at his compliment, and even more because of his approving expression. “I am hopeful your training will likewise prove beneficial.”

He took a step closer, his gaze growing more intense in a way that made her heart beat like the rapid flutter of the wings of a bird startled into flight. “Anne, I wish—”

Erwina came bustling around the corner. Anne started as if she’d been struck by an arrow, and Reece looked just as surprised.

“Ah, here you are, Sir Reece and his lady!” Erwina declared. “The meal will not be too long now, and there is bread and soup to begin.”

Reece nodded. “We are coming,” he said evenly, fortunately sparing Anne having to speak at all.

The woman grinned, a knowing and merry look in her eyes. “There’s no hurry. I hear you are newly
wedded,” she said with a wink before she hurried away.

Reece’s expression was unreadable. “We had best not linger, or it is likely there will be only carcasses of chicken left. Trevelyan eats enough for three.”

“So does Piers.”

Emboldened by that moment before Erwina interrupted, she let her gaze travel over his magnificent body. “And I daresay you did not get to be so tall and strong by fasting.”

He blushed as red as the trim on her gown as he turned and led the way around the corner of the building.

To think that her compliment had made such a warrior blush! Anne felt the most delightful, girlish urge to giggle as she followed him inside.

T
he next morning, Reece stifled a yawn, then marched up to Trev and Piers as they stood in the inn’s yard. They clutched stout sticks in place of real swords and looked refreshed after a full night’s contented sleep. Like them, he was stripped to the waist. Unlike them, he held his broadsword and after yet another restless night that had little to do with bedding down on the earthen floor of the inn, he was exhausted.

Despite his best efforts, and especially at night, he simply could not rid his mind of Anne. The scent of roses that seemed a part of her. The way she would gracefully and absently move back her scarf or veil when it brushed her cheek. The gentle curve of that same cheek, as well as the rosy bloom of her tempting lips. The arch of her brow. The line of her jaw.

The other curves of her shapely figure.

Last night, like every night on their journey, it was all he could do not to march up the wooden steps of
the inn and kick open the door to Anne’s chamber, then demand…ask…beg for his rights as her husband.

Instead, he had forced himself to think of all the drills his father had ever used from easiest to most difficult, then the names of all the men in the garrison of Castle Gervais, as well as all their horses. Then he started in on the dogs. Finally he dozed off, but it was more like a nap than a night’s sleep. This morning, after again waking at dawn, he had decided to begin the training of Piers Delasaine before the women awakened. He hadn’t meant to rouse Trev, too, but since he had, he would have them both practice and learn. Surely that would help cleanse his mind of Anne and tire him so that he could rest better tonight. It should also lessen the energy Trev and Piers seemed determined to expend in rivalry and racing.

“Hold your sword up to protect your face,” he chided his brother, showing Trev how he wanted him to hold his sword in front of his chest. “And don’t just be dancing around for the sake of moving. You should be watching your opponent, too.”

Next, he faced Piers. “You must not stand so still. You are like a target on a field.”

“I’ll get weary jumping around like a flea,” Piers muttered.

“What would you rather be, weary or dead?” Reece countered. “You don’t have to flitter about like Trev here. Just don’t stand there like you’re waiting for somebody to make a statue of you. Bob, sway,
bend,” he commanded, showing Piers what he wanted him to do.

Finished for the moment, he straightened and retreated out of the way of their weapons.

“Keep your eyes open and your wits sharp!” he ordered as a final instruction. “Both of you,
watch
your opponent. Now begin again.”

He studied his charges as they started to circle one another. Trev was holding his sword better; Piers was trying to move. Obviously it was difficult for the boy to overcome the notion that simply ringing down blows any and every way possible would lead to victory. However, he was clearly an intelligent lad capable of learning, so Reece had hope he would soon learn to be more mobile.

Piers was also surprisingly strong. He probably should have expected such brute strength from a Delasaine, yet it was surprising nonetheless, given the lad’s wiry build.

He wondered how strong Anne was. How muscular her bare arms might be…or her bare legs…as they wrapped around his naked body and held him tight and tighter as he thrust—

A delicate little cough sounded behind him. A ladylike cough.

He whirled around to find Anne standing there, looking as fresh and pretty as the first rosy bud of spring. He felt like a demon of lust to be having such thoughts about a virginal young woman—who was
staring at him as if she had never seen a man’s bare chest before.

Blushing like a boy caught bathing naked in the river by the village girls, he snatched up his tunic and pulled it over his head. “What are you doing here?”

“I wondered where Piers was.”

Not him. Of course not him. She wasn’t his mother to keep watch over him, or even a wife, really, either.

“Does this mean we can stop?” Trev demanded, panting. “My arms are nearly dead as it is.”

“Is there food yet, Anne?” Piers asked eagerly, and Reece felt a little stab of envy at his easy manner with her.

“Almost. You should wash first.” She looked at Reece. “If they are dismissed?”

When Reece nodded, Piers let out a whoop and tossed his stick onto the woodpile where Reece had found them. Trevelyan did likewise, minus the whoop, and then both of them ran into the inn.

They made it another race, and they reached the door simultaneously. Both tried to get through it at the same time. Piers shoved Trevelyan out of the way. Not to be outdone, Trevelyan stuck out his foot and tried to trip Piers, who managed to leap nimbly over the obstacle.

“I hope you’re right and this will end when we reach your home,” Anne said with a sigh.

He saw the furrow of concern on her brow. He also realized that she looked as weary as he felt. He won
dered if she had had trouble sleeping, too, and if for a similar reason.

Then she turned to him with a look of such desperation on her face, he was shocked. “Sir Reece, what will happen when we reach Castle Gervais? I hardly think your parents will be glad to learn that we are wed.”

She was right, of course, and he had been wondering the same thing.

He slowly let out his breath and leaned back against the wall of the kitchen, giving himself time to think. “After I introduce you to my parents, I will explain what happened and how the situation will be remedied.”

“You make it sound very simple.”

He did, and he knew far better than she that it was not going to be an easy thing to confess his folly, especially to his father. But there was nothing else to be done. “There is no need for you to fear, Anne. This was not your fault, and I will make that clear.”

He frowned. “I should warn you, though, that my father is like a dog whose bark is worse than his bite—except that he doesn’t bark. Well, not often. He will stare at you a good deal, though, I expect, and his stares can be…well, they can make you feel as if your whole soul is an open scroll to him and to try to keep a secret rank foolishness.”

Which, if his son was anything to go by, would be bad enough,
Anne thought. She was glad to have this opportunity to speak with him about arriving at his
family’s home—something that was troubling her more and more as they got closer to it—but so far, she was not particularly comforted by anything Reece had said.

“You need have no qualms about my mother. She is a very kind and gentle lady who mothers everybody she meets. She’ll be good to you, I’m sure, no matter what.”

He sounded so certain of that, she felt a little better.

“And my sisters are from home visiting friends.”

“Sisters?”
She had not heard anything about sisters.

“I suppose Trev’s been too busy trying to get Lisette’s attention and arguing with Piers to tell you about them.”

“
You
might have told me about them.”

“I’ve been distracted. By my wound.” He stared at the ground at his feet, and she was suddenly reminded of Piers when she would chastise him for something when he was little, and Piers didn’t want to confess.

“What are they like?” she asked, deciding not to chide him more. “I find it difficult to imagine your sisters. You are so…”

Her voice died as he slowly tilted his head and raised his eyes to regard her. “I am so what?”

“Masculine.”

She saw the little start he gave and his lack of vanity delighted her, making her glad she had confessed that.

“I have two sisters,” he said, choosing not to respond to her compliment. “Roanna was born after me, then Freya after Gervais. They look like my mother, so they do not much resemble me or my brothers. Gervais, Trev and I take after our father.”

He studied her some more. “You do not look at all like your brothers.”

“I look like my mother.”

“Your mother was a beauty, then, too?”

“Yes,” she replied, although she did not wish to talk about her mother’s unhappy existence married to Rannulf Delasaine, or her death.

“How fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” she repeated. “It is the only thing people notice about me, or value me for. Damon and Benedict ignored me until I was twelve. I was a skinny little girl, with eyes and mouth that were too large, and I could do as I pleased when I wasn’t looking after Piers. But then there came the day when Damon looked at me as if he suddenly realized he had been overlooking a chest of gold or a piece of fine jewelry. My life has not been the same since. It’s as though I have been imprisoned and will never be free again.”

“Piers clearly values you for more than your looks,” he noted after a moment’s silence.

“I am the closest thing to a mother he has known.”

“And you have done a fine job raising him. It’s obvious that he has been taught better than your half brothers, and I assume it’s your influence that’s responsible for the difference.”

His words thrilled her as no compliment to her face or form ever had. “I hope your father’s training will likewise prove beneficial.”

His gray eyes flickered with a fleeting emotion that looked surprisingly like wistfulness, if a knight like him could be wistful. “We should go inside. We have been too long here already.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Neither moved, as motionless as one of the stones in the wall behind them.

He leaned forward. Thrilled beyond measure, hoping he was going to kiss her again, she held her breath as he gently took hold of her shoulders. Then he pulled her close and brushed his lips over hers.

Desire, penned up like an animal in a cage, burst into vibrant, undeniable life. She was helpless to fight it. She didn’t want to fight it.

He responded as quickly as fire to dry thatch. In spite of all his talk about an annulment, he wanted her as much as she craved him. His powerful arms encircled her and held her against his warrior’s body as if he, too, had been waiting days for just this moment, this privacy, this intimacy. He deepened the kiss and thrust his tongue into her willing mouth.

He might take her here and now, and she would let him. By the saints, she would—and it would not have anything to do with what Damon demanded of her.

Tasting, savoring, her hips grinding with slow deliberation against him, she ran her hands through his long hair and along the breadth of his shoulders. Gasp
ing for breath, she arched as his mouth slid with devastating leisure along the curve of her neck, then lower.

His hand gently kneaded her breast, the simple action arousing her to new heights of dizzying need. She gripped his shoulders tight as her whole body felt heavy with yearning, the pulse of desire throbbing through her body.

She pressed her hips against him again, reveling in his arousal, an answering moistness blossoming between her thighs.

Leaning forward, she slid her mouth down the strong column of his neck. A low groan rolled deep in his throat, the primitive sound inspiring her heated exploration.

His hand found her breasts again. She whimpered, her lips against the soft hair of his chest, as he brushed her hardened nipple with his thumb.

Then suddenly he went still. “Anne!”

Her name was a word of warning and condemnation combined, as if this was somehow her fault.

“I did not ask you to kiss me!” she cried, anger and despair mixing in equal measure within her. “I never invited your embrace.”

He ran his hand through his long hair. “I know. Forgive me. I am…it is my fault. Only mine.”

With that, he turned on his heel and marched toward the inn, leaving her alone in the yard.

“So you think I am right, then?” Gervais demanded. “Damon Delasaine
is
conspiring against Henry.”

He was seated across the table from Blaidd and Kynan Morgan in a dark and secluded corner, in one of the taverns in the village of Winchester near the river. This place was outside the palace, and Gervais felt better having a confidential conversation away from the court, and curious courtiers.

The wick of the oil lamp on the table spluttered and flickered, and reeked of sheep tallow. There were a few other customers, merchants and tradesmen who had finished the day’s toil, but they were wary of men like Fitzroy and the Morgans, for everything about them proclaimed that they were knights.

The only person who approached was the serving wench, a buxom, plump woman no longer young but clearly appreciative of noble custom, and comely young men. She stared at Blaidd, and even when she was busy with her other customers, her gaze strayed their way.

“Aye, I think you’ve hit the target, although sorry I am to say it,” Blaidd answered in a confidential whisper and with a mournful nod.

His hands wrapped around his cup of ale, Kynan also nodded. “He’s up to
something,
that one.”

“He’s up to seducing the queen,” Blaidd quietly and firmly said, with obvious disgust. “About as subtly as a battering ram, too. A boy barely out of his nursemaid’s arms could do better.”

“You don’t think he’ll succeed then?” Gervais demanded.

“God save you, no!” Blaidd replied. “She’s playing it careful, is all, neither encouraging nor discouraging.” He shook his head and frowned. “I think she finds his antics amusing, or flattering, or it gives her something to do while the king’s away. Once Henry has returned, Delasaine will find a cooler climate in the court.”

“Unless Henry decides what Damon’s been up to is treasonous,” Gervais said.

Blaidd grinned at that. “He won’t, for then he’d have to accuse Eleanor, too, and he won’t want to do that. Nor should he. I tell you, she’s enjoying the man’s attention, but no more.”

“I wish I could be as certain as you!”

Kynan chuckled. “If Blaidd says there’s nothing serious between them, I think you can take his word. An expert on women is my brother.”

Gervais did not smile. “Aye, I suppose you are. But even if Damon Delasaine thought he was winning the queen’s affection, that doesn’t explain why he seems so damnably smug every time he looks at me at court or in the hall. I mean, does he really think he’s as good as in the queen’s bed already?”