Heart of a Knight (10 page)

His face was still.

Lyssa shook her head with a smile. "I jest, sir. You think yourself a lowly knight, but I think you a pleasant companion." She sighed. "I've spent the morning with a bevy of women who sang your praises to the heavens, and even had two storm away from my solar in fits of jealousy. I blamed you for ruining the peace." She inclined her head. "I suppose you cannot help it if besotted women swoon behind you at every turn."

"'Tis a curse not all men could bear," he said mockingly.

She tucked her hand at the bend of his arm, forcing herself to ignore the hard round of muscle that made her fingers feel like tiny twigs. "Let us go, then, before the light fades."

As they took a path from the south wall into the forest, Thomas said, "Tell me, Lady Elizabeth, how it was to grow up in this place, with the king as your cousin. Did he ever come here?"

Lyssa smiled. "He did. I loved him greatly." She stepped over a pronged branch, lifting her skirts to keep them free. "He is very handsome, and I thought he was made from the sun when I was small, so noble and proud on his horse, and all the pipes and fanfare when he arrived. We ate very well when the king came, even if it was a poor season, with many special treats they saved only for him. And he is fond of children, so he brought presents from court for me—a special pair of slippers or some bauble for my hair."

"He sounds kind. I had not thought a king would be kind."

"'Tis not a very great virtue in a king."

He glanced down at her. "No."

The forest was still and smelled of sap and spice and generations of leaves that made a carpet beneath their feet. Light dappled through the overhanging greenery in gold swathes, and dust danced in the fingers of sunshine. Lyssa felt the vague disquiet of the morning leave her. "Once," she said, "I saved the king's life—or so he says."

"Now there's a tale I'd hear."

"It isn't a very grand story. Because everyone made such a fuss when he came, I brought him presents as well. A handful of wilting flowers or a pretty rock I'd found by the river. But once, it was the feather of a free hawk, and it pleased him very much. He said it would bring him special luck in the hunt, and put it in his hat before the party went out."

"Ah. That is a special gift. Hawks are wise creatures."

"When they came back, Edward told a dramatic tale of a boar, injured but not yet dead, who'd gored one man and came after him. There was no escape, and although the other men had tried, the creature was crazed."

"There's no animal more terrifying. Have you ever seen one?"

"Only to eat it," she said with a light smile.

"Go on. What magic saved the king?"

"No magic. A hole in the forest floor. The beast ran into it, and tumbled and broke its legs. But Edward told all it was my feather that saved him."

"No wonder you are fond of him."

"Aye." She sighed. "As long as he finds me no husband, I will be fonder."

"You do not wish to marry again?"

"I found no joy in it," she said simply. "And I am certain I wish to take no more children into my care. Isobel and Robert have been difficult for me."

He paused to step over a fallen tree, and turned to hold a hand out to Lyssa. "Do you not wish for babes of your own?" There was a faint melancholy to his words.

"Once, I did." She considered. "Mayhap, I still do, in the odd moment, but not enough to—" she halted abruptly, realizing that she confided too freely in this stranger.

But Thomas was astute. "Not enough to bed another husband?"

She lifted a shoulder in agreement.

He extended his hand then, to help her over the tree. Lyssa hesitated, then moved forward and allowed him to put his hands on her waist, and lift her clear of the log as easily as if she were a kitten. For one breath, while she was in the air, she looked down and saw that his eyes were the color of sapphires, that deep, pure, bottomless blue, and his hair spilled backward from his face, glinting in a ray of sunlight. Her heart caught. As he set her down, his thumb brushed the side of her ribs, and a kindling tingle moved through her lower belly. It surprised her enough that she stared up at him, wondering—

"My lady?" Thomas asked.

Lyssa shook her head. "You lifted me as if I were a child. I have known many knights, but few of your size."

He inclined his head, and bent to pick up the basket. "Ever have I been so. I know not how it would be to be so small as you."

"Is your father large, sir?"

"He was. 'Tis his mail and helmet I wear. 'Twas made in Spain for my grandfather."

"Is all your family gone, then?"

A faint hesitation, so faint she might not have noticed it but for the sudden color in his cheeks, punctured the air before he spoke. "Aye," he said gruffly. "In all the manor and village, only Alice and I were standing when the plague left us."

Lyssa thought she should remember something about that. Some detail that was not quite right, but it eluded her. "Did you lose a wife?"

"Nay." He lifted a hand to point to an open grove nestled at the edge of the river, the banks lined with bushes. The river glittered green and gold in the warm afternoon. "There are your berries."

But suddenly, Lyssa did not care as much about the berries as the water itself. "Tall Mary and I used to swim here. Do you swim, sir?"

"I do."

Lyssa bit her lip, thinking of the way the cool water would feel on her sticky skin, and the glorious feeling of weightlessness the water gave. "Let's pick the berries quickly," she said decisively, "and then we might swim for a little."

One dark brow rose. "Swim?"

Warming to the idea, Lyssa said, "Aye. I'll wear my shift, and you may wear your shirt, so it will be nothing untoward."

He bowed. "I am ever your servant, milady."

  6

Thomas had not seen
the lady so animated. As they collected berries, quickly filling the basket with plentiful fruit, she laughed and chattered, and told him stories of life in the castle when she was a girl. It was a new side of her, this youthful, laughing woman, who seemed more a village maid than a widow with the care of stepchildren and a castle and the weight of the great plague behind her. Her fingers turned purple with fruit, which she ate freely, sucking fingers happily to get the crushed seeds. It was a gesture that might have been cunning in Isobel, but reeked of sensual innocence in Elizabeth.

Which made her all the more desirable. He shifted his gaze, plucking fruit as quickly as he was able, wondering how he would bear the temptation of swimming with her. And what she would do with her hair, and if she would let him kiss her if he tried.

There were few women who had tempted him so mightily. And none whom he had resisted so completely. She was too high born for his blood, and untouchable for that, but there was more, too. Her sweetness was not feigned. She held a simple, clean gusto for living that was as innocent as it was precious. He could not imagine how a husband of any caliber could have held her and let her remain so innocent, but there was no denying it. She seemed as oblivious to seduction as a babe.

As she bent to pluck a section of the bush clean, Thomas admired her from half-closed lids. Her hair, so long and dark, shining in its wrapping of velvet ribbons, her slim, small form, her pert red mouth. He longed to explore her, touch every inch of that hair, and those breasts, and suckle those lips.

But he would not. Honor did he have.

"That's enough," she said, and he saw the basket was full. "Shall we swim, fair knight?" Her smile was mischievous and he had not the heart to refuse.

"Aye."

They walked to the edge of the river, where the water eddied into a broad, quiet pool. A current moved through it, for it was fresh and smelled of copper and greenery. "This is a rare place," he said, pleased. "You swam with Tall Mary?"

Lyssa put the basket down and took the ribbons from her hair. "She taught me." A troubled expression flickered over her face. "Once, we were very close."

In her voice, he heard the sorrow she felt for that lost friendship. It pierced him, for he knew he had a part in the distance between them. Last night, he had turned Mary from his door as gently as he was able, but it had wounded her. And Thomas knew Lyssa would pay the price, for Mary was wise and knew without his saying that his eye had strayed elsewhere.

Elsewhere. To this noble beauty who unwound the ribbons from her hair and let them fall. He was transfixed as the weight of her hair came loose, silky and dark, moving as if it were alive over her back and hips, and farther still, almost to her knees.

"You have fine hair, my lady," he said, and his voice sounded rougher than he would have wished.

"And I am vain about it," she said with a grin, and moved her head, setting it to life once again. She closed her eyes, as if it gave her pleasure.

Thomas felt blood gathering in his thighs and groin, and to distract himself, he pulled the tunic over his head, leaving his shirt. Made of tightly woven fabric, it covered him loosely to his knees. He sat to remove his shoes, trying not to watch as Lyssa slipped from her surcoat and hung it on a tree, then took off the simply woven girdle she wore. The shape of her body was hidden by the fall of hair, but his mind offered snippets of possibility.

Firmly, he shifted his gaze, and barefoot, made his way to the water, leaving her to remove whatever was left without his lustful gaze.

He waded in, finding to his pleasure that the wide pool was deeper than it looked. At the center, water lapped about his chest, almost to his shoul-ders, and most of it was only a little shallower. It was cool and smelled sweet, and brought back memories of his home. Diving under, he wet his head simply for the feeling of cold fingers over his scalp, and emerged, splashing, to see Lyssa on the bank, clad only in her shift and her hair.

All the day, he'd tried to keep himself from staring at her, struggling to remember to be a chivalrous knight of the sort she must be used to. But he could no more have looked away now than cut out his own tongue.

Against the backdrop of forest greenery, with the sunlight streaming down to gild her, she looked as if she might have stepped out of a fairy ring for the sole purpose of stealing men's souls. Her shift was fine gauze, and covered her only in a way that revealed all the more—the shape of slim thighs and the high points of her breasts, and the beauty of her graceful shoulders.