The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (26 page)

"Nay! Please. Ye..." He what? He was beautiful? He was glorious? He felt like heaven when she rode him astride? And she was a slut.

"Nay!" His response was growled, and though she hadn't spoken aloud, he heard her thoughts.

"Don't say that!" he said, stepping forward.

"I said nothing."

"And yet it no longer matters," he said. "For I can see your thoughts."

"Then ye know I am sorry."

"Sweet Sara," he murmured, touching her cheek.

She covered his hand with hers, then backed away. ' 'I have no right to compromise your place with your lord because of my own needs."

"Your
needs?" He almost laughed. "Aye, twas a selfless thing I just did. And an onerous task.

But I'm willing to sacrifice myself again if needs be." He stepped eagerly forward.

She retreated just as quickly. "Please dunna be charming, Boden. Not now."

"And if I cannot help myself?"

"Please."

He sighed. "Then I will see to Mettle and the goat." He turned to find his clothes. There was a moment of silence.

"Ye will not," she said.

Her words stopped him in his tracks. "What?"

"Ye will not see to the animals," she explained.

"And may I ask why, Mistress Sara?"

She jostled the babe lightly. In the pink light of dawn her face looked as bright as a spring rose.

"I have done everything I know to heal ye. I will not let ye break open your wounds now."

He considered reminding her that it had not been long ago that she was not the least bit worried about his wounds. But such words would be foolhardy, for the woman who had reveled in his lovemaking was gone, slipped into the perfection of the night.

"Get back in bed," she ordered.

He lifted one brow at her. Frustration was building like a storm within him. It had been a long while since he'd taken orders from a woman. He didn't plan to begin again now. Crossing his arms against his chest, he glowered down at her, employing his darkest tone and expression. "Lest you forget, I am a knight, lady, fully grown, much exalted, and well dubbed. You will not be the one to send me hither and yon."

She stepped back a pace, seeming to shrink before his reprimand. She was, after all, not a large woman, but small, finely shaped, and very feminine. Perhaps he should not have been so harsh.

"Lest
you
forget, I have yer clothes?" she said, lifting the hose she had just received. "Or rather..." She stepped toward the window, and suddenly the garment was gone, dropped from sight. "I
did."

He raised his brows. "Why?" was the only word he managed.

"I have told ye. Ye will not open the wound. Not while I can prevent it."

"So I am to be held hostage in this room?"

"I will not have yer death on my hands, Sir Knight."

He stepped forward, unable to help himself. "And what would you have your hands on, Sara?''

She stepped away. "Ye are no gentleman."

He stepped closer still. "Tis no surprise to me."

"I must fetch milk!" she stammered, and shoving Thomas into Boden's arms, darted for the door.

"Sara!"

Her hand was on the door latch, and for a moment he thought she would flee. But she turned, her face ashen, her hand still gripping the door latch behind her. "I must leave before I am overly tempted again Boden. Twas wrong of us to do it once. Twould be doubly wrong to do it again."

"Maybe you're right," he said, holding the babe at arm's length. "But if you must rush off like this I would ask that you take some sort of weapon with you."

He watched her try to puzzle out his words.

"I would suggest taking Black Adder," he said, staring at her bared shoulders. "But if you insist on going out like that it's doubtful an entire regiment of soldiers could protect you from your admirers."

She glanced down at her pale shoulders, her draped body, her half bare legs. He watched her mouth form a silent "oh" before her bewildered gaze floated back to his face.

"Well, lass, which will it be?" he asked. And what the hell was he going to do with the baby while she was gone? "The gown or the sword?"

She blinked. Strange it was, to think she was the same woman with whom he had shared a bed only minutes before. Had she, or had she not scraped grooves into his chest while in the throes of passion?

"Ye must turn yer back," she said finally, but the words were very small.

He didn't smile, and was quite proud of that fact. Instead, he cocked his head to stare at her. "It seems that would be the gentlemanly thing to do," he said. "So I must refrain... since you said yourself that I am not of that exalted class."

"Surely we have sinned enough."

Had they? He watched her carefully. She was lovely beyond words. "In truth, lass," he murmured, "I have sinned a great deal in my life. Never did it feel like the night just past."

"Sir..."

"Boden," he corrected.

"Sir Boden." It was interesting to watch her draw herself up, as if gathering her dignity like a hen might gather her chicks. "Ye must look away while I dress."

"I cannot," he said, and turning slightly, he seated himself on the bed, only wincing a little, though the pain was sufficient. Thomas was heavier than Boden would have thought and it was quite tiring holding him upright under his arms. Besides which, the babe didn't look all that happy. So he turned Thomas about and settled him onto his hale thigh so that they could both watch Sara.

"I am completely undisciplined in this regard, for I cannot turn away."

Her lips moved for an instant before she found any words. "Well, try."

He laughed. "If you had left me my clothes I would milk the goat myself. But..." He shrugged, enjoying himself. "As it stands, I have nothing to do but sit here and watch you."

Her color had changed from the hue of a rosy sunrise to that of a ripened apple. How low, exactly, would that color reach?

"Please, sir," she murmured.

He felt himself weaken. But damn it—she'd stabbed him, lied to him, burned his thigh, then seduced him; she owed him this. It was shaky logic at best, but he was sticking with it. "Oh!" he said, suddenly remembering another of her sins against him. "And you insisted that I couldn't see you bathe, and then you watched me. When I was bathing in the river you watched me."

She remained very still. Her face couldn't get any redder. Even her ears were bright. How charming. "I did not say I was strong. Indeed, I am weak."

"Weak!" he scoffed. "You tied me to the bed, woman. You burned my leg!"

"Twas for yer own good."

He smiled. "And this is for my own good too."

Thomas giggled, seeming to applaud his outstanding male logic. Sara scowled at them, first at Boden then at the babe.

"Tis my due," Boden said. "Look on it as a debt owed."

"I cannot."

Thomas whimpered.

"The babe is hungry," Boden said.

She glanced at Thomas, at Boden, at the baby, and then, to his utter surprise, she dropped the blanket from her body.

Air whipped from Boden's lungs. True, he had seen her naked, but his mind had been dulled with drugs. Indeed, mayhap it still was, for surely nothing could be so lovely as she seemed. Nothing could be so alluring, he thought, but in a moment, she had grabbed her gown from the floor and snatched it over her head.

The sun dimmed. Thomas cried. Boden sighed as she slipped into her shoes and retrieved the kettle. "If you insist on going," he began, then cleared his throat and paused.

She turned at the door.

"Could you take the beast a bit of a treat? He'll sulk if you don't."

She raised her brows at him.

"Mettle," he explained, feeling foolish and refusing to meet her gaze. "He likes bread."

The air was still heavy with rain, and dark clouds hung low over the green hills that surrounded Cheswick. A young boy pulled a cart piled high with soiled straw. The pungent smell of cow manure wafted up. Across the rutted, muddy street, a soldier flirted with a weaver.

Sara hurried on toward the stable at the back of the inn. The door creaked open beneath her hand. Mettle whickered from his stall, the noise low and homey. He thrust his Roman nose over the Dutch door, his long ears pricked forward, his black eyes greedy.

Hurrying down the dirt aisle, Sara offered him the bread, then stepped inside the box while he munched.

"Lonely?" she asked him. "Your master wanted to come." The huge horse stared at her balefully as if doubting her words, then nudged her arm, begging for more. Opening her hand, Sara showed him her empty palm, but he nudged her again, so she reached up to scratch his ear. Mettle sighed heavily, cocked a gigantic hip, and closed his eyes.

Sara smiled. To a stranger he may well look like the ultimate war horse, invincible and independent. But if you knew him well he was much like his master. Mettle dropped his head even lower as his prickly upper wiggled in time with the movement of her 'hand.

"'E likes attention."

Sara jumped at the words.

"Sorry t' scare ye." said the speaker, taking a scant step back from the stall door. He was a skinny lad with straw-colored hair, a pimpled complexion, and one hand tucked into the belt of his tunic.

"Nay. I am but fidgety," Sara said. "Mettle is doing well?"

"Is that his name?"

"Aye."

The lad bobbed a nod and stepped closer to the stall again. "He eats good and... well bless me," he said, gazing into the box. "Where'd the goat come from?"

For the first time, Sara noticed Tilly, happily munching Mettle's tail in the dark recesses of the stall. She winced. "We'd best get her out of there."

The lad opened the door, stepped inside, and after a moment of chasing Tilly about in circles, dragged her out by the frayed end of the rope still tied around her neck. "I had her tethered down the way. I swear I did."

Sara eyed Mettle's tail and sighed. "I dunna doubt it atall. Might ye hold her while I milk her?"

she asked.

The boy had seen perhaps ten and six years and seemed eager enough to spend his time in her company.

Tilly, however, was not at all content to be parted from Mettle, so in the end, they put her back in the charger's stall and milked her there. Once finished, the lad insisted on carrying the bucket back to the inn for Sara.

He stood at the door looking nervous and eager. ' 'Will y' be staying long in Cheswick?" he asked.

Had she ever been so young? Sara wondered. "Nay, we shall be moving on as soon as my...

husband is mended," she said.

"Oh." His expression proved his disappointment at her marital state, but in a moment he brightened. "Mayhap I will see you in the stable this eveningtide."

"Aye," she said and turned away. Her husband! She felt her face burn with the necessary lie and the memory of. the night before. How could she have been so wanton? she wondered as she ascended the stairs of the inn. Had she no morals at all? She was supposed to be a lady. Twas her identity for as long as she could recall. And he... he was a knight of the very man whose child she guarded. How had she let herself be so carried away? Never had she been so tempted by a masculine form. She was no great beauty, she was no silly lass. She was Sara of the Forbes, and long ago she had learned her place in life, nurturer, friend, confidante.

Remembering Boden's hose that she had tossed from the window, Sara turned and hurried back down the stairs to retrieve them. Finally, she reached the door to her shared room and stopped, drawing a deep breath and trying to calm her breathing and steady her mind.

Twas not like her to abandon herself merely for the wild, lecherous pleasures of sex.

Therefore, it must have been Fiona's drug. True, he had affected her strongly before, for he was beautiful. Her heart twisted. Longing lodged there. But she would not think of him. She would not be tempted again, just because his chest was like granite and his arms like heaven. Just because the night past was, without a doubt, the most beautiful of her life.

She drew another careful breath and found that the milk was sloshing gently with her emotions.

Dear Lord, she had to get a grip on herself. So every time she touched him her stomach did flips and her heart tried to leap from her chest. Twas only physical attraction. Nothing more.

Convinced, her hands nearly steady, she opened the door.

Sir Boden Blackblade lay on the bed with nothing but a blanket wrapped about his waist. His lips were slightly parted as he slept, and his chest, that great, muscled expanse of flesh, was bare, rising and falling. And snuggled against it, like a tiny, helpless kitten, slept Thomas with his fingers wrapped tight in a blue-black band of Boden's hair.

Raw emotion swamped Sara. For a moment it all seemed real.
Her
baby,
her
husband!

Everything... nay, perhaps even
more
than she had ever wanted.

Moments ticked by. Reality trickled in. Pain, sweet with longing, filled her. She could not have them both. Indeed, she would be truly lucky if she were not left entirely alone. But she had made a vow, and she would do everything in her power to keep the baby safe. She must be wise and strong.

And she must leave Boden at the first possible opportunity before it was too late.

Forcing herself across the room, Sara retrieved her feeding gourd and poured milk into its battered bowl. Then, with her heart in her throat, she bent to lift Thomas from the bed.

Boden immediately opened his eyes. Their gazes met.

"You've returned." His voice was husky, deep.

"Aye." She settled Thomas absently into her arms, then tried and failed to concentrate on the child.

Boden sat up, his knees bent, his bare feet flat on the mattress. She saw him wince at the pain in his thigh and felt her heart lurch.

"Ye should lie down," she murmured.

Thomas awoke with a whimper. She pressed the gourd gently to his lips and he fell to feeding.

"I dreamt." It was all Boden said for a moment, but his gaze didn't leave hers. "I dreamt that you were mine."

Her heart pounded like running hooves in her chest, but she dare not show it. How did their thoughts meld as they did? Twas too frightening. "But I am not," she whispered.