Knight's Prize (5 page)

Gone
were the spectators at the fence.

Gone
was
Helena
.

Gone
were the tiltyard and the keep and all of Rivenloch.

The
only thing left was this kiss.

He
parted his mouth as if to taste her, grazing her bottom lip with his tongue
and sending a lightning strike of desire through her loins that turned her
knees to custard. 'Twas as if her very soul gasped, and the heat fortified her
passions even as it melted her bones. She clutched
Rand
's
tabard tighter, no longer to keep him near but to keep herself aright.

Sweet
Mary, this was divine. She never wanted this moment to end.

************************************

Rand
knew, when the dagger fell
from his limp fingers, he'd gone too far. He was fast losing control. This was
no way to gain the trust of the people of Rivenloch, by ravishing one of their
maidens. Especially when he'd claimed to be here to court Lady Meryl...
Marion
... Mirabel.

But
Lord, this wench's kiss was sweet. And wet. And hot. And arousing.

It
took all his strength of will to pull back, to break contact. When he did, the
hungry glaze over her smoky blue eyes and the inviting curve of her open mouth
made him long to assail her again.

But the
sharp length of steel that suddenly intruded to separate them brought him back
to his senses.

"By
Lucifer's ballocks, cease!"
Helena
commanded for the third time, narrowing suspicious eyes to glance back and
forth between them, finally focusing on the lass. "What do you think
you're doing? Do you know this man?"

The
lass, still swooning from the effect of their kiss, didn't answer at first.

Helena
thumped her on the
shoulder. "Do you
know
this man?"

The
maid blinked the mist from her eyes and raised her chin in defiance.
"Aye," she boldly lied.

"How?"

"I
met him..." Her voice was rough with desire, soft and ragged. "I met
him at the tournament."

Rand
was stunned speechless.
He'd never seen the maid before in his life. And she didn't have a face he'd
easily forget.

"He
told me he'd come back for me," she continued, "and as you can see,
he has."

A
faint
breeze could have knocked him over at that mom
ent
and
perchance taken
Helena
as well.
Helena
st
ood
with her
mouth
agape as the damsel looped an arm
possessively
through his and tugged him
away.

"Shall
we,
Rand
?"

If
Rand
’s
brains
hadn't
been scrambled by that soul-sear
ing kiss,
he
might have figured things
out before they were
halfway
across
the
field. When the truth finally
dawned on him,
 
he
stopped so abruptly in his
tracks that the lass colli
ded
with him. "You."

She glanced
up
at
him, her face deceptively sweet, her
gaze
deceptively wide.

A
glimmer
of
recognition crept into his eyes. "You're
the
wicked
lass from the woods."

She
raised innocent brows. "I don't know what you mean."

Wicked
and
deceitful.
He chuckled, then bent low to whisper, "How else would you know my
name?"

"Why,
sir," she murmured back, "I cared for you when you were injured at
the tournament. Do you not remember?"

Her
expression was perfectly guileless, but of course, she was lying. He'd never
come to the tournament.

He
fought back a grin. If she could bluff, so could he. "My brain
was
very
scrambled," he admitted.

They
resumed walking toward the gate, and he smiled, wondering if the little imp
made a habit of spying from the trees. Perchance she singled out eligible
bachelors so she could pounce on them before any other damsel had an
opportunity.

Not
that he minded. The lass was beautiful and charming, even if she was a
conniving sprite. Indeed, if the woman he'd come to court proved as hostile as
her sister Helena,
Rand
would gladly suffer
the attentions of this sprite instead for a few days. He might even take his
time hunting for the outlaw if it meant earning more of the damsel's unbridled
kisses.

But
as they passed the small audience gathered at the fence,
Rand
began to feel uneasy. Their looks weren't just curious glances, but
gape-mouthed, wide-eyed, gasping stares of disbelief.

And
suddenly a mortifying possibility wound its way into his thoughts.

This
was no ordinary lass. Not by the way she'd stood up to the lady of the castle.
And not by the attention she was getting now.

Almost
afraid to ask, he tentatively cleared his throat. "Forsooth, my lady, I
fear my fall in the melee left my wits quite addled. Will you remind me again
of your name?"

Her
forgiving smile didn't quite mask the irritation in her eyes. "Of
course," she said sweetly. " 'Tis Mirabel."

Rand
grimaced. He'd walked
straight into the little vixen's trap. "Lady Miriel?" he ventured.

"You
do
remember."

He
sighed. " 'Tis coming back to me now."

"Is
it? Well, I hope you won't forget it again if you're to court me."

"By
my spurs, I will not," he vowed. Nor would he forget that earthshaking
kiss. And now, since she'd given him leave to woo her, he looked forward to
many more. Indeed, this mission might turn out far less unpleasant than he'd
expected.

************************************

Miriel's
heart was pounding. Not from the heady thrill of standing up to
Helena
. Not because she'd
shocked the castle folk by walking past with a strange man upon her arm. Nay,
her blood pumped through her veins with alarming fervor from the stranger's
kiss.

Lord,
what had she been thinking? She
hadn't
been thinking. Like
impulsive
Helena
,
she'd acted with no regard for the consequences of her actions. If she'd known
how weak-kneed and flutter-hearted one kiss would leave her, she'd have never
done it.

Of
course, she didn't intend to let him court her for long. Sir Rand was a
completely unsuitable suitor. The knave's proclamations of love were as suspect
as his account of the tournament. She
would
send him away.

In a
day or two.

After
she discovered what he'd been doing in the forest.

By
then, mayhap she'd have tired of his kisses anyway.

She
hoped so. Sweet Mary, even now the gentle caress of his mouth lingered on her
lips, making her yearn for more.

"Allow
me," he murmured.

Oh,
aye, she'd allow him, she thought dreamily.

But
he only meant to open the gate of the practice field for her. With a polite
bow, he pushed the hinged wattle aside.

As
they passed the stables, Miriel was half-tempted to lead him inside. There in
the sweet straw they might find a quiet, dark corner in which to resume their
kissing and, thus, her questioning.

But
as luck would have it, they'd already been spotted by more obstructionists.
Striding purposefully toward them across the courtyard was Deirdre, accompanied
by her husband, Pagan, and Colin,
Helena
's
betrothed.

"Hold
there!" Pagan barked.

Deirdre
gave him a sharp elbow, and he softened his tone. "If you please, Lady
Miriel," he amended.

Miriel
had no choice but to wait while the three of them ambled up, their curiosity as
apparent as Deirdre's thickening belly.

"Who
is this?" Pagan demanded, narrowing his gray-green eyes to study
Rand
as if he were a strange and unwelcome bug.

Rand
had much better manners. He
extended his hand and gave a slight nod. "My lord, I am Sir Rand of
Morbroch."

"Morbroch?"
Pagan grunted with his usual eloquence. "Morbroch who attended the
tournament?"

Rand
nodded again.

"Hmph.
I don't remember you from the games."

Colin
chimed in, "He wasn't in the joust." His green eyes twinkled
cheerily. "I remember all the contenders in the joust."

Deirdre
squinted pensively while she nibbled on a crust of pandemain. " 'Twasn't
the archery either."

"Nay,"
Colin agreed, arching a proud black brow to add, "My Helena won the
archery."

Pagan
scowled and placed a threatening hand atop the pommel of his sheathed sword.
"By what right do you lay a hand on Lady Miriel?"

Miriel
felt Rand tense beside her, and her ire rose. Pagan had served as lord of the
castle less than a year, and yet he'd quickly adopted an imperious attitude.

She
smiled as sweetly as she could manage under the circumstances and gave Rand's
arm a doting squeeze, as if he were a favorite cousin.

"Do
none of you remember Rand?" She glanced at them expectantly. "Well, I
suppose that's no surprise."

Then
she gazed fondly into Rand's exquisite eyes and explained to him, "You
see, Lord Pagan
was
terribly
distracted, it being his first tournament at Rivenloch. Sir Colin? He was
half-blind with his affection for my sister, Helena. And Deirdre...
well..." She confided in a whisper. "She
is
with
child." Then she tapped her forehead, indicating that Deirdre's condition
might have addled her brain.

"What?"
Deirdre squeaked.

Before
her sister could whip out a weapon and challenge her for the insult, Miriel
ran a finger affectionately along Rand's sleeve. "But
I
couldn't possibly
forget Sir Rand. He was injured in the first melee, you see, knocked witless. I
took care of him in the Morbroch pavilion. We became... friends."

To
her satisfaction, Rand followed her lead. "Great friends," he said,
giving her a wink. "Forsooth, I believe this lovely damsel saved my
life."

Pagan
wasn't swayed in the least by their touching story. "Why have you come
back?"

Rand
hesitated only a heartbeat. "Miriel, my sweet, did you not tell
them?"

She
smiled weakly. By the Rood! What was he up to?

Clucking
his tongue, he covered her hand on his arm with his own. "My timid little
angel." Then he told the others, "Lady Miriel asked that I return to
court her."

"What?"
Pagan blurted.

Miriel
held her breath.