Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe

Rexanne Becnel (10 page)

BOOK: Rexanne Becnel

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Rhonwen patted the child’s knee. “You mustn’t worry
about him. Like you, I also have a brother, and I’ve found they’re never as mean as they pretend to be.”

“But your brother is younger than you,” Jasper put in. “Gwynnie and I know what it’s like to have older brothers, and you may trust me in this: They can be unruly devils. But I’ll protect you, Gwynnie. Come, sweetheart.” He opened his arms to her. “You look ready for a nap.”

“No. I don’t want a nap.”

“I’ll give you a ride on my shoulders,” he said, cocking his head and arching one dark brow.

A ride on his shoulders? Despite herself, Rhonwen was fascinated by the interplay between the little girl and Jasper, and she watched as Gwen slid down from Nesta’s lap and climbed into his. He put her on his shoulders, but when he stood to take her up to the nursery, she reached out to Rhonwen. “You come too,” she ordered. “You can tell me a story.”

“I can tell you a story,” Isolde offered, coming to stand beside Jasper.

“I know all your stories,” the younger child said. “I want a new one.”

“Isolde, you stay here and visit with Nesta,” Josselyn put in. “Let Rhonwen go up with Gwen this time.”

And with Jasper
.

Rhonwen heard the unsaid words and her flesh prickled at the prospect. Jasper said nothing, but his dark-lashed eyes managed nonetheless to transmit a message all their own.

Come upstairs with me, if you dare. Be alone with me, if only for a few, brief minutes. What have you to fear?

What indeed? Rhonwen did not want to think about that. Instead she bravely answered his challenge. “I believe I do know a story or two.”

The walls of Rosecliffe Castle were so thick that as they ascended the main curving stairs, the sounds of the great hall were quickly muffled. Though unnerved by Jasper’s nearness, Rhonwen managed to keep her wits well enough to observe her surroundings.

On the second floor an open balcony looked down on the hall. A door standing ajar revealed a sleeping chamber with a
massive curtained bed. The master’s chamber, Rhonwen assumed. The third level held three smaller chambers, one of them a nursery, and it was there Jasper headed. The stairs led farther, to another level above them—probably the roof or a wall walk. There were arrow slits and narrow shuttered windows at each level, but that could be observed from the outside too.

She committed everything to memory, though she wasn’t certain how helpful it would be. Then Gwen giggled and Rhonwen returned to the situation at hand.

Jasper sat Gwen upon a bed covered with a soft green woven blanket and a pair of plump pillows. Goose down. What a luxury, Rhonwen thought while the child removed her shoes. There were pegs on the wall holding fresh clothing, and a corner cupboard as well. Then Rhonwen felt Jasper’s steady gaze upon her and her eyes returned warily to him.

“She likes stories of dragons,” he said, studying her with undisguised warmth.

“So did I when I was younger.”

“And princesses. I like princesses too,” Gwen cried.

Grateful for the distraction, Rhonwen tore her gaze from Jasper’s compelling eyes. “Dragons and princesses. Let me think. Do I know such a story? Oh, I believe I do.” She smiled and sat down, then pulled then soft blanket over the child. “Once, long ago, in a faraway kingdom alongside a distant sea …”

Within minutes Gwendolyn was fast asleep. Rhonwen let her voice trail away, then for a long moment just sat there on the bed, gazing upon the child’s innocent face. Rosy cheeks, long fair lashes, and baby curls at her temples. She was so lovely Rhonwen’s heart ached. She’d known the child less than an hour, and yet her heart was already captured. How intensely Josselyn must love her!

“And then what happened?”

Rhonwen started at that low, masculine tone. When she turned her head, she realized Jasper was much nearer than before. “What do you mean?” she murmured, her eyes captured by his.

“What happens to the princess? The dragon has caught her fast in his clutches. What happens next?”

“He … he’s not really a dragon.”

“No?” He moved nearer still. His knee brushed hers. She felt the warmth of his body across the scant inches that separated them.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Does he ever turn back into a man?”

Of course he did. And they both knew how. But if Rhonwen answered him …

The moment stretched out. Rhonwen stared into his eyes, so dark and yet so bright with promises she should not want to see. “How does she free him from his curse?” he persisted. “Show me, Rhonwen.”

She couldn’t show him. But neither could she turn away. Hating her weakness—and yearning for his strength—she closed her eyes, and when she did, he kissed her.

Somewhere beyond the window, a curlew called, its cry faint and poignant on the wind. Inside the chamber the only sounds were their breathing and the creaking of the bed as they shifted together. In Rhonwen’s head, however, her heart thundered, her blood roared, and alarm bells clamored their warning.

Stop! Beware! Take care!

Too late.

His mouth moved over hers as it had before, only this time he was more sure of himself. He’d learned how to please her that one time, and now he built upon that knowledge. He slid his lips back and forth, and when she arched against him for more, he nibbled on her lower lip. That made her want even more of the wonderful, terrifying sensations he roused in her.

As if he knew what she wanted, one of his hands curved around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. The other slid around her waist, pulling her fully against him. And in the midst of all that, his tongue slid between her lips.

She was utterly lost.

Was this how it was meant to be between a man and a woman? This wonderful drowning, this exquisite fire? She’d
heard women whisper about it, of course. How exciting. How thrilling. But there were other women who were not so eager. For them it was cruel and hurtful, and they dreaded it. But who could dread this?

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Rhonwen capitulated fully to the kiss. Her breasts flattened against his solid chest. Her lips fitted closer to his. Her arms filled with him, yet still she wanted more.

Then his tongue found hers—and pulled away—then found it again. The rhythm began, the erotic slide of his tongue seducing hers, an in and out that fired her blood to new heights. When he eased them back onto the bed alongside Gwen, she followed him down. When he thrust his hips up against her belly, she moaned.

Had that wanton sound come from her? Was she actually laying beside a man she hardly knew—an Englishman—and behaving like a harlot?

She tried to push away, but he rolled her over onto the thickly padded mattress—and nearly crushed Gwendolyn.

“Shh. Shh.” He hushed her protests before they began, pressing a finger to her lips. “Be still. We don’t want to awaken her.”

“Get off me,” she hissed, humiliated by her outrageous behavior.

“I will, I will,” he said. But instead of moving, he kissed her again, a hard, insistent, demanding kiss that robbed her of her breath and what little good sense she still possessed. Only when she was reduced to a puddle of heated emotion did he relent. He pulled back and stared deeply into her eyes. His voice was hoarse, but unlike her, he could at least still speak.

“Were we not chaperoned by this sleeping child, I would not release you, Rhonwen. I should not have released you before.” His breathing was labored. “Is that why you came here today, to finish what we began beside the river?”

Was that the reason? Rhonwen shook her head. Dear God, but she hoped not. “’Twas Josselyn insisted I come here. She implied that you would not be present.”

He chuckled. She felt it in every portion of her body. He
didn’t believe her! “I did
not
come here to see you, you great lummox.” She shoved at him but he did not move.

“Someone sent Gavin to fetch me.”

“Well, it was not I—Oh, no. She didn’t.”

“Josselyn.” He put the word to her thoughts, then laughed again, deeper this time. “Josselyn has deliberately thrown us together. Now, why would she do that?” He lowered his head as if to kiss her again, but she tilted her face aside.

“Let me up. Now.”

“One more kiss.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

To answer that would be to reveal too much. “What will Gwendolyn think if she awakens to find her beloved uncle attacking a woman in the nursery?”

He did not move, not for the longest time. She felt her heart thudding in her chest. Or was it his heart? She saw desire in his eyes and had to fight an answering desire in her own. Then slowly he pulled back and rolled to his side.

She lurched away from the bed, but stopped at the door. He lay on the bed watching her, a man in repose, yet still the most dangerous man she’d ever seen. How was she to deal with him and the way he made her feel? Denial seemed her only choice.

“This should never have happened, and were it not for Josselyn’s interference, it would not have,” she vowed. Nervously she smoothed the front of her kirtle. “It will not happen again.”

“You think not?” He sat up; she backed up until she hit the door. But their eyes never broke contact. “The pull between us is a powerful one, Rhonwen. The day will come …” He let the rest trail away and Rhonwen shivered—in fear or awareness? She did not want to know.

“I bid you farewell.” She turned to go.

“When will I see you again?”

“Never.”

“What of your story? Gwen will want to hear more of the dragon and his lady.”

Gwendolyn. In the panic—and passion—that had gripped her, Rhonwen had completely forgotten her purpose here. Rhys was counting on her. She must not let him down even if her task grew more odious by the minute. “I will visit Gwendolyn again. But not if you are here,” she added. Then, like the coward she was, she fled.

Downstairs in the great hall, Nesta took one look at Rhonwen’s face, frowned, and stood. “P’rhaps we’d better be on our way. The … ah … the weather is turning, and anyway,” she told Josselyn, “the others will complain if I am not there to unpack when they return to Carreg Du. Are you ready, child?” she asked Rhonwen.

“Yes.”

“But you’ve just arrived,” Josselyn protested. Her gaze flitted from Rhonwen to the stairwell, then she smiled and looked back at Rhonwen again. “You must promise to return, Rhonwen. Now that you’ve seen how pleasant Rosecliffe Castle is, you must say you’ll come back.”

From the corner of her eye Rhonwen knew Jasper had entered the hall, but she refused to meet his gaze. “Perhaps I will,” she answered. Anything to speed her departure!

It was impossible to avoid Jasper, however, for he strolled along behind the group of women, then helped Nesta mount her horse. Before the two women could leave, another horse was led forward by a young page, a horse Rhonwen recognized.

“I’ll accompany you to Carreg Du,” he said. “It will be faster that way, and safer.” He held out a hand to Rhonwen. “Here, let me help you mount.”

“That’s … that’s not necessary,” she stammered.

“I wish to do this for you. It would be rude of you to decline.”

“Oh, do take him up on it,” Josselyn whispered in her ear. “Nesta will be beside you.”

Rhonwen shot her a baleful look. “Leave off this matchmaking, Josselyn,” she whispered. “It ill suits you and it will lead nowhere.” She turned her scowl on Jasper. “I’m walking.”

So she walked, leading Nesta’s horse, and beside her Jasper walked, leading his own. When Rhonwen was not forthcoming, he switched the focus of his conversation to Nesta. But his sidelong glances were at Rhonwen. His easy smiles were for Rhonwen, and though she tried to ignore them, it was hard.

“Dewey’s chest is constricted?” he asked Nesta.

“He complains, but it will improve when the days warm.”

“How does he find the new hound Rand brought to him?”

“Ah, that hound. He works with her daily.” The old woman chortled. “He is like a new mother with her first babe.”

Rhonwen knew what Jasper was trying to do. He meant to prove to her how solicitous the English were, how generous to the people they thought they had conquered.

“Enough of this,” she muttered in Welsh.

“I have not begun to have enough of you,” he answered, too low for Nesta to hear. Rhonwen wished she had not heard either, for the heated undercurrent in his voice was unnerving. That he used her own language made it doubly so.

Muttering a curse, she halted and turned to face him. “Go away, Englishman. You gain naught by pestering me with your attention. Now that we are beyond your town gates, we have no need of your company. Begone from here.”

“P’rhaps …” Nesta began, in a nervous, placating tone.

“P‘rhaps ’twould be for the best, Sir Jasper. Come along, Rhonwen. This old mare can carry your slight weight the rest of the way home.”

BOOK: Rexanne Becnel

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