The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (15 page)

Never before had he thought simple words could wound his heart, but hell, his armor had disappeared. "You know little of what kind of man I am," he said, trying to make sure he kept breathing. In and out. In and out. "In fact, you met me only a week ago."

"But it has been a long week."

And soon she would be returned to Haldane. God, his chest hurt. "You know little of me," he said, wishing he could replace his armor.

She turned slightly, looking into his eyes, and suddenly he felt as if her very gaze had pierced his heart.

"Ye dunna believe ye are good?'' she asked.

"I'm a knight and therefore you are safe with me. I merely meant that you're too trusting, for you've not known me long enough to judge whether I am good or evil."

"Indeed?" she asked.

"Aye."

She smiled, just a corner of a smile as she faced forward again. "Then mayhap I merely meant yer physical attributes should not be wasted."

Did that mean what he thought it meant? Sweat rolled down his back.

"Ye are a great swordsman, sir," she said.

Oh. She was speaking of his swordsmanship.

"And ye defend those who are weaker than yourself," she continued. "Tis no small feat."

It was not his lot to be modest, but her words pricked his conscience. If she had seen into his lurid dreams last night she would not think so highly of him. "A monkey can hold a sword," he assured her.

"Ye found me," she said softly. "Though I tried to leave no trail, to lose all those who might follow, ye found me."

"Any hound can follow a trail."

"Ye protected wee Thomas."

"He's my lord's son."

"Ye bought the goat."

"But I dream of drowning her."

A smile flirted with her lips. "You are kind to your horse." Reaching forward, she placed a small, slim hand on Metde's neck. The charger snorted and shook his head, setting his mane to wagging.

"A steed is a valuable animal," Boden said, scowling at Mettle's comment. "Only a fool would treat him poorly."

"Ye loaned me your clothing," she countered.

Memories flooded over him. Her small bare feet, peeking out from beneath his garments. Her hair like molten gold, slick as golden ermine as she came into camp. Her legs bare as she rode before him, her cheek soft as a dream against his chest.

"Twas for my own protection I gave you the garments," he said. "Tis in my best interest to keep as many layers as possible upon your back."

She turned toward him. Their faces were only inches apart. Their breath mingled.

"And how am I to protect myself?" she whispered.

"I will protect you," he said, but who would protect him from her beauty?

"Ye cannot be with me every moment."

"Aye, I can."

She shook her head. She was breathing fast, her berry-bright lips parted. "I would not have ye scarred again. One more near miss and ye might well lose your leg."

Her words were very soft. Her lips so near. But suddenly her meaning permeated his mind.

"What?"

"What?" She sat very straight suddenly, and her eyes went wide.

"How did you know of my leg wound?"

"I... dreamt it."

"You dreamt I had a leg wound?" But he had seen her dreams, and none of them involved a leg wound.

"Aye." She blinked.

"Oh." He nodded once. She nodded back and turned abruptly away, her cheeks red as summer apples.

Sweet Saint Simeon! His body was stiff with rank desire. She'd watched him bathe in the nude!

Sara hummed quietly as she rocked Thomas in her arms. He was sleepy and limp, a still weight that filled her arms and her heart. He stared up at her, lids droopy over his dark, wise eyes. The sun sank over a world just as full and just as sleepy.

She sang a few words, humming and rocking until his eyelids slipped lower, covering the midnight blue windows to the freshness of his soul. Finding a sheltered spot on a bed of dry bracken, she laid Thomas upon it and stood, staring over the water that rustled and bustled past her. So fast.

Where was it going? And what of her with wee Thomas? What lay ahead? Downstream, Boden watered Mettle, then turned the steed loose.

What kind of man possessed that kind of loyalty from a steed, that he could trust him to come when needed? What kind of man would walk naked with the starlight shining like diamonds upon his wet skin?

Dear God, he was a thing of beauty. Suddenly she saw them walking together in the moonlight, their bodies bare, their fingers entwined. She lifted her face to his and he leaned close to kiss her— "The babe is asleep?"

"Ack!" She jumped backward when Boden spoke, crashing into a tree and feeling for all the world as if he had risen out of the earth in front of her feet.

He remained perfectly still, his dark face impassive. "Are you well?"

"Aye! Aye!" Except her heart had stopped and her lungs refused to draw a normal breath. "I just..." What the devil was wrong with her? What was she thinking, becoming so entranced with her lurid imaginings that she would forget the here and now—forget even to guard wee Thomas as he slept? "You startled me."

"Really?" His lips cocked upward a notch as he continued to watch her. "You didn't see me at the water's edge?"

Of course she had seen him, but suddenly he had disappeared into the realm of her imagination and she had joined him there. What was wrong with her? Her hands were sweaty, her knees knocked like chimes in the wind, and she felt very warm, as if Dragonheart was melting a hole in her chest.

She placed a hand to it, steadying herself. "Aye. I saw ye," she said. "I was simply thinking of other things." Please don't ask what those other things are, she silently pleaded. The heat from her chest crept upward, coloring her face with her risque thoughts.

"Tis hot," he said.

Dear God! Yes it was. "Aye."

He turned slightly away, showing her his profile, and for a shattered moment, she wondered if he did so to allow her time to collect her wits. Mayhap he was accustomed to rattling women so. "As a lad, I would swim with..." He stopped, looking across the narrow stream and seeming to see something she did not.

"Ye would swim with who?" she asked, and found for some inexplicable reason that she was holding her breath.

He glanced at her. For a moment it almost seemed as if she saw into his soul, but then the moment was gone. "I would swim alone," he said.

But he was a liar, and suddenly she knew it. "Who would ye swim with?" she asked again.

She watched him narrow his eyes and draw a breath.

"My brother's name was Edward. Sometimes we would swim together."

"A brother," she said, and in her mind's eye she could see both boys, just as they had appeared in her dream not so many nights before. Boden was there, but he was not the man of brawn and bravery she now desired. Instead, he was a boy that she would have cherished. A small, sun-darkened lad with a wayward lock of midnight hair and an amber gleam in his mischievous eyes.

"Older than ye, is he?" she said softly, no longer ashamed of her prior thoughts of him, but immersed in his memories.

For a moment, she thought he might turn his back on her, but instead, he squatted to lift a broken shell from the shore. "Aye. Older he was."

Was!
She remained silent for a moment, reading the nuances, the picture in his mind. "He is dead?" she asked softly.

"Aye." He didn't look up at her, but kept his gaze on the quicksilver tips of the rushing water as he tossed the shell into the soft waves. ' 'Twas a wager we made. Who could swim beneath the water's surface to the far side of the river. He had taught me to swim himself. Not many could, you know, and we were quite proud. He was stronger than I—a right stout lad, as Tanner was wont to say."

"Tanner?''

Their gazes met. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He turned back toward the water. "Edward was a strong swimmer," he repeated softly. "Stronger than I."

His tone was pensive, deep, making her want to reach out against her good sense and touch him.

But she kept her hands firmly at her side. "I am sorry," she said.

"Twas long ago and far away. And of little consequence now." He said the dark words dismissively and tossed another shattered shell to the waves.

But in her mind she saw the truth—a young boy upon the shore. He was breathing hard and fast.

At first he grinned down at the water, waiting for his brother to surface, waiting to rejoice his victory.

Dear God, she could see him in her mind, waiting long minutes, until he was chilled and scared and running like a frantic puppy up and down the shore, calling.

"I am sorry." Her voice caught. Tears burned her eyes, and one spilled, hot and painful down her cheek.

"Lady." He breathed the word as he stood and caught her tear on his knuckle. "You cry for Edward?''

"Nay." She closed her eyes and though she knew she should retreat, she could not help but brush her cheek against his hand. "I cry for a boy alone."

"Independence breeds strength," he said.

"Your parents?" Dragonheart felt warm beneath her fingers. When had she clasped it? "They were gone too?"

He drew a deep breath. "In truth, lass, I did not long mourn my father's death. Twould be a far stretch to say I was his favorite."

His fingers felt like a bit of velvet heaven against her cheek, igniting a small, warm flame beneath her skin. "But ye were yer mother's," she murmured, for surely no woman could disavow the boy's irresistible charm.

"I'd best see to a meal," he said.

But she reached out, touching his arm. "What of your mother?"

He tightened his jaw, then relaxed marginally and shrugged. "I fear I wasn't very brave when I learned she had left. Edward was the brave one."

"Nay," Sara said in absolute disbelief. "She didna leave ye. No woman could leave such a bonny lad."

His face was tense, as if he, too, felt the pulse of her emotion. "Why do you think I was a bonny lad?" he whispered.

Time hung suspended.

"I watched ye by the water in the moonlight," she whispered. "Never have I seen anything more beautiful."

So he'd been right. She admitted it. But now he wished she hadn't, for there hadn't been a moment of the afternoon when he had thought of anything else, when he had not fantasized about her standing on the sand, watching him.

"I am sorry," she whispered, and he couldn't help but draw her into his arms.

For a moment he did nothing but hold her. She leaned against him, snug in his arms, her tears hot against his chest.

"Don't cry, lady," he said and gently, ever so gently, he kissed the top of her head.

She felt narrow and soft in his arms, slim and fragile, and when she lifted her face, he could do nothing but kiss her.

Emotion seared. Thoughts strained. Every element of earth and sky stood still as their lips met and their souls swirled—as if all of nature had held its breath waiting for this moment. His hand slipped beneath the thistledown weight of her hair, scooping about her neck, pulling her closer. She felt like sunlight against his bare chest. She smelled like heaven. The cape fell away, baring the smooth, glassy length of her neck. He kissed her there, drinking in her flesh, and she clung to him, needy, needed. Warm and cool, and strong and delicate.

Her fingers splayed across his back, pulling him closer still. He found her mouth again. Need roared through him, tightening every muscle, punctuating each movement. Desire consumed him, driving him on. His hands trembled lower, down her legs. Her waist was taut and narrow and her buttocks, when he cupped them, were firm and round.

He should stop! He must stop! But suddenly he felt her hands on his back, pulling him closer.

Their lips met again in a clashing kiss. Fire screamed between them.

She wanted him. Dear lord, he didn't know how this could be, but she did. Her kiss seared his soul. Her hands were quick and eager. But his own feelings were far beyond that—beyond want and well into the realm of irrepressible need.

Dear Lord, he would surely sear to ashes if—

"Thomas!" She ended the kiss with a gasp, and suddenly, as if the child were in another world, he realized that the babe was squawking. "He is crying!"

So? he wanted to ask, but suddenly she wrenched herself from his arms and sprinted across the turf to lift the baby into her arms.

Somehow Boden managed to control his body, to remain where he was, to do nothing but watch her. In his mind, he knew it was best that she called a halt. He may think chivalrous love an idiotic thing. He may think pining for a lady from afar, crafting poems to her beauty, dreaming hopelessly of her in his sleep, was foolishness. But it was far smarter than the alternative. Only a dolt would lay with his lord's mistress. Only a
suicidal
dolt.

And yet death might be worth the heaven she could give him. Mayhap twas time to admit what he was—not a gentleman at all.

"Twas naught but a bit of a belly ache," she interrupted abruptly, patting the babe's back and rocking slightly. "He will be well soon."

"Sara." Boden's voice sounded pleading to his own ears.

"Please! Dunna say it. Tis my own fault. I dunna..." She paused for a moment. "I dunna know what is wrong with me. I can but apologize."

"Apologize?" He let out a careful breath, trying to relax. "And me, I was thinking of falling on my knees and thanking you."

She smiled, though she didn't look at him. "You must think me wanton."

"Hardly that," he said, and took a step toward her.

But she lifted a hand, and in that moment, he realized it shook. With what? Fear? Passion?

Dear God, it would be nice to think it was passion.

"I am sorry," she said, and turning away, hurried into the woods.

The night was endless. Every noise disturbed him, and every time he woke it was to look across the embers of the fire into Sara's eyes.

He hurt. Not his arm, where she had stabbed him, not his leg, where the Welshman had wounded him. But his heart, and his soul and every muscle that screamed to take her back in his arms.

What the hell was the matter with him? He may not be a well-educated man, but life had taught him a few things. First and foremost, he knew he would be a fool to cross his lord. Especially when it came to this woman, who the duke thought himself in love with. Such an action could get a man killed —or worse.