Mystic Flame (Beyond Ontariese 4) (22 page)

Krak des Chevaliers

County of Tripoli, Palestine

March 1148

Fidgeting upon the wooden stool, Naomi
pushed a lock of long hair behind her ear and concentrated on the
manuscript page spread before her. Dust motes danced playfully in
the rapidly fading sunlight but she couldn’t allow herself to be
distracted. The familiar scent of ink and sandalwood soothed her,
helping her focus. She shifted the precious vellum folio to a
slightly different angle, catching what was left of the light.

To achieve true illumination, a scribe must
release light from within the text, not just decorate the margins.
Her design was intricate and interesting, but there was no spark or
inspiration. No illumination.

Naomi focused on the entwined figures
centered on the page and set her quill aside. Eve’s long hair
concealed everything but her slender limbs. Adam, on the other
hand, had only a strategically placed fig leaf to protect his
modesty.

“Perhaps without the leaf I could find
illumination,” Naomi muttered with a mischievous smile.

“I’d be willing to serve as your model.”

Naomi twirled about so suddenly she nearly
toppled from the stool. Stifling a startled gasp, she stumbled to
her feet, pretending the movement had been graceful.

Raising her gaze to the stranger’s face,
Naomi forgot her clever rejoinder. She forgot to breathe. She
forgot everything except the man standing near the doorway.

His features were harsh and angular yet so
incredibly beautiful he didn’t seem real. Bright with amusement and
speculation, his strange golden eyes captured her gaze
completely.

“Shall I disrobe?”

The smoky quality of his voice made Naomi
tingle. Sleek black hair had been pulled straight back from his
face and secured at the nape of his neck. Naomi wanted to trace the
slash of his black eyebrows and smooth the faint creases that
framed his extraordinary eyes. She wanted to test the resilience of
his mouth with her fingertips and…

What was wrong with her?

Shaking away the strange stupor, Naomi
forced herself to speak. “I’m not the scribe, my lord, so I require
no model.”

He walked toward her, his stride long and
lazy. “If you aren’t the scribe, what were you doing when I
arrived?”

Naomi quickly hid her ink-stained hand
behind her back. Her sandals scraped against the floorboards as she
moved away from the high, angled table. “I was admiring Brother
Gabriel’s work. He is the finest illuminator in the entire
order.”

After so many years, the deception shouldn’t
rankle, but it did. She hated the prejudice that required she deny
her accomplishments.

He glanced at the manuscript page then back
at her. Who was this man? His garments told her only that he was
wealthy. The plush, black velvet surcoat had been elaborately
embroidered in gold, and the gray tunic beneath was no less costly.
He wore no sword, but Naomi sensed the menace that hovered around
men of war.

“What business have you here?” she asked.
“Were you looking for Brother Gabriel?”

Before she realized his intention, he
reached behind her and grabbed her wrist. His touch sent shivers up
her arm and Naomi sucked in a ragged breath. Drawing her arm back
in front of her, he turned her hand this way and that, inspecting
the calluses and stains.

“You’re not a scribe?” he challenged
softly.

“The order has been charged with
illuminating the Holy Scripts, sir.” She avoided his gaze as she
continued her explanation. “Some learned men believe women do not
possess souls. Almighty God would never bestow talent and
inspiration on so lowly a creature. Only a man can be trusted to
script the Word of God.”

The stranger laughed and Naomi felt her
insides clench. He had been beautiful when he scowled. His appeal
now made her restless and…hot.

His thumb brushed over her wrist and his
gaze settled on her mouth. “Gabriel must have his hands full with
you about. Where is he?”

Naomi tried to draw her hand from his grasp
but he wouldn’t allow it. The soft stroke of his thumb made her
pulse jump and her skin flush. “What do you want with Brother
Gabriel?”

“What I want at the moment has nothing to do
with Gabriel.”

Her hand brushed against coarse stone. She’d
backed herself against the wall! Her heart fluttered and she found
it hard to swallow. “If you have business with—”

“What’s your name?” he interrupted.

His shimmering gaze moved slowly over her
features. Naomi felt the caress like a physical touch. Coolness
from the stones at her back seeped through her clothing in sharp
contrast to the heat radiating from his body. She shivered,
shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I do not share my favors, sir. There are
women in the village who are willing to…accommodate your
needs.”

“What would you know of my needs?”

He sounded odd, as if she had struck some
dark, painful chord within him. Naomi’s chest tightened and her
heart pounded. “Nothing, my lord. I meant only to make clear that I
am not a harlot.”

He released her hand and moved in closer.
Pressing his palms against the wall, he caged her with his body. “I
would have your name, damsel.”

Fear welled within Naomi but she tried not
to panic. The scriptorium was high in a stone tower, secluded and
isolated. “Please, my lord. I didn’t mean to anger you.” She spoke
in a calm, even tone.

“I am not angry.”

But he looked angry. His golden eyes
glittered with determination and the set of his jaw seemed
dangerous. He was tall and broad, strong and menacing.

“Who are you?” His voice was barely more
than a whisper, his eyes searching.

“No one of consequence.” She pushed against
his chest, shocked by the inflexibility of his flesh. “Let me
go.”

He smiled slowly, provocatively. “I think
not on both accounts.”

Gideon stared down into the woman’s bright
blue eyes and felt his fangs lengthen. He quickly closed his mouth,
unwilling to reveal his true nature. He was hungry, but it had been
many weeks since he’d sought the comfort of a woman’s embrace. He
couldn’t decide if he wanted to penetrate her throat with his fangs
or feel her feminine core tighten around his shaft.

Perhaps he could have both.

He wrapped his arms around her slender form,
pressing her against his chest. She instinctively arched and
shoved. This only aligned their lower bodies more intimately. Her
eyes widened and the scent of fear exploded in his nose.

“Be still,” he commanded with his dark voice
and the flash of his eyes.

She went limp in his arms. Her eyes drifting
shut and Gideon chuckled. He hadn’t meant the compulsion to be
quite so powerful. Her head lolled back into the bend of his elbow,
exposing her neck and ending his mental debate. He would feed first
and then draw her back to awareness as he slowly seduced her
senses.

Burying his face in her throat, he inhaled
her scent. She smelled fresh and feminine with faint traces of fear
and—arousal? Gideon parted his lips and stroked his tongue along
her jugular, feeling the rhythmic pounding, the power and life.
Intoxicated by her scent, it took him a moment to recognize the
subtle sweetness of her taste.

Innocence.

With careful restraint, he pricked her skin
with his fangs and then quickly withdrew. He savored the rich
complexity of her blood. His heart hammered as her nature was
revealed. She was pure of heart. Selfless, devoted and true.

Dark hunger slashed through Gideon and he
groaned. The age-old battle within his spirit raged out of control,
driving the breath from his body and the strength from his legs. He
sank to his knees, maintaining his hold on the woman.

The shriveled remnants of his goodness
surged to life, reaching for her, crying out to her. But the evil
in him was just as strong. He wanted her as he had never wanted
anything or anyone. He threw back his head and roared. Anguish and
fury saturated the sound. He longed to drown in her innocence, to
gorge on her goodness until…until she was corrupted or dead?

Unsteady and shaken, he sat down on the
wood-planked floor and pulled her into his lap, cradling her in his
arms like a child. His hand trembled as he brushed the hair back
from her face. She looked no different than other humans. Still,
something about her held him back. His dark nature demanded that he
use her to sate this raw, burning hunger, but he couldn’t seem to
move.

She shifted within his arms and slowly
opened her eyes.

Fear erupted again. He could smell its acrid
stench, hear its relentless pounding, taste its bitterness—but it
had never been repulsive before.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I frightened you. You fainted.”

“I have never fainted.” She sounded
affronted as she sat up in his lap. She squirmed a bit and then
went very still, her hand splayed in the center of his chest.

Her long chestnut hair was tousled, a stray
wisp curled against her cheek. She stared up at him with the
biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and Gideon knew he would not
ravish her. Seduction, on the other hand, was still a very real
possibility.

“Did you pretend to faint so I’d take you in
my arms?”

Her eyes lit with indignation and Gideon
smiled, his hunger controlled again, at least for the present.

“Why would I need such a ploy?”

“Because you’re not yet ready to admit you
want me, even to yourself.”

She laughed and the hand resting against his
chest began to push. “Are you always so arrogant?”

He couldn’t bring himself to let her go. Her
rounded bottom was doing cruel things to him, yet he ached with the
need to touch her. Taste her. “Kiss me and I’ll release you.”
If
you still want to be released once my mouth is moving upon
yours.

Naomi felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden.
“I shall scream and you’ll be forced to let me go.”

“Forced by whom? This chamber is far from
the domestic range. We are quite alone.”

She didn’t move, could scarcely breathe.

Brushing his warm fingers against her cheek,
he tucked a curl behind her ear. “Let me taste your mouth. I only
want a taste.”

She rubbed her palm against his chest,
fascinated by the unyielding shape beneath the soft material. Why
was she still sitting here? He wasn’t really restraining her.

This man was the personification of her
darkest fantasies, the elusive, mysterious something that other
people whispered about. He was potent, powerful and yet
incomprehensible.

His mouth covered hers, driving all rational
thought from her mind. She felt the heated slide of his lips and
trembled. She felt the sensual glide of his tongue and groaned. His
mouth moved over and against hers, his tongue touched and
tasted.

She found his sleek hair and sank her
fingers into the cool strands. His fingers were in her hair too.
She felt his hand close into a fist, carefully controlling her. He
tilted her head and his mouth fit more tightly over hers, guiding
her lips farther apart.

She accepted the bold thrust of his tongue
with a little gasp. Overwhelmed and intoxicated, she felt
completely out of control. He was taking too much, moving too fast.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only yield to his
passion.

Fear found its way through the haze as he
deepened the kiss. He was aggressive now, demanding, his mouth
plundering the depths of hers. Naomi shoved against his chest and
tore her mouth away.

“More, Naomi, give me more,” he growled.

His arms tightened, dragging her flush
against his chest. Naomi turned her face away as his words
registered. “You called me Naomi.”

“Is there some other name you’d prefer?”

His mouth moved to the underside of her jaw
and slide along her throat. Shoving hard against his chest, she
tried to think, to understand what he was doing to her. He had
demanded her name, but she hadn’t told him.

Scrambling off his lap, she scurried to the
other side of the chamber. “How do you know my name?”

For a moment he sat there staring at her
over his shoulder. Then in one fluid motion, he gained his feet and
stalked toward her. “You told me your name.”

She felt compelled to look at him, to stare
into his eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze. “Nay, sir, I did
not.”

He stood directly across the table from her.
It was no real protection. He could easily shove it aside. She
sneaked a glance at his face. He was looking at the manuscript
page, his expression inscrutable.

“Where will I find Gabriel?”

His voice softly demanded the information
and Naomi felt the urge to blurt out his location. “What do you
want with Brother Gabriel?”

“Where will I find him?”

He looked up and their gazes locked before
she dragged hers away. Naomi felt hot and then cold. “I’ve no idea.
You need to inquire with the castellan. His name is Brother
Aaron.”

Suddenly he was beside her, his palms
framing her face, and Naomi had no choice but to meet his
penetrating stare. “What is Gabriel to you?”

She struggled against the need to tell him
every detail of her relationship with Brother Gabriel. Keeping her
mouth firmly closed, Naomi fought the bizarre compulsion. Never
would she do anything that would endanger her mentor and closest
friend, but the need to speak became overwhelming.

“He is a member of the Holy Order of St.
John. Surely you knew that before you came here.”

“What is he to
you
?”

Stubbornly closing her eyes, she allowed
Brother Gabriel’s kind, serene face to form within her mind,
driving back the dark compulsion. “Why have you detained me?”