The Protector (10 page)

He had never seen her in a gown before. That must account for his scrutiny. “Getting used to woman's things.” She reached for one of the veils and folded it. “It really is a chore.”

He joined her in stacking the thin cloths. “Most ladies have servants to help them.”

“I could arrange that. But there was only one old one left trained as a woman's maid after the death, and I gave her to Catherine. I don't like having servants underfoot anyway. They never leave a woman alone. They are always there.” She got up and returned the veils to their chest.

“And why are you getting used to woman's things?”

She crouched and rummaged through the chest, searching for her mother's silver chain. “Well, as for the gown, I expect that I will be wearing them again soon. Walking with all of this fabric takes a certain knack, and I've lost it.”

He came and stood over her. His leg almost touched her shoulder. She grew very alert to that.

“And the rest? The hair and jewelry?”

She rose and faced him. “I am confident that God is with us and that we will win this ordeal with Gurwant. But I should be prepared to negotiate terms with him, if it should come to that.” She made a gesture at herself. “It occurs to me that if it does come to that, I might get further if I dress thus.”

He stepped back a pace and examined her. “I assume
that you have already decided your terms. If it comes to that.”

She licked her lips and knew that she was blushing again. She really felt very inadequate dressed like this. She wasn't very good at being a woman, and all of the gowns and veils in the world wouldn't hide that. But Gurwant wanted the estate, not her. The clothes would just be a bid not to antagonize him.

“What terms will you ask for?”

“I will ask that all of the knights, your men, and Catherine and Josce be allowed to leave the castle and estate. I will ask for the protection of my people and the town from pillage.”

“What of yourself ? What terms will you negotiate for yourself ?”

“Nothing. He would not honor them even if he agreed.” She walked to the hearth. It was one thing to go over this in her mind and another to talk about it. It seemed more real, and more possible, when she talked about it.

“So, you have decided that you will submit to him. If it comes to that, of course.”

“I said nothing of submission.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “It is a long way from my gallery to the rocks below.”

He was behind her in a flash, his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “You cannot be serious. You cannot be planning to throw yourself from the gallery.”

It had been a mistake to say that. She would never get any of them to leave if they thought she was planning such a thing. “Throw myself ? Nay, I was thinking more in terms of pushing Gurwant.”

He obviously thought that murder in a just cause was preferable to suicide, for he let his hands drop. “I think that by the morrow we will not be so outnumbered. I spoke with a German knight at the parlay and let him know about the recent plague outbreak here. I will be surprised if at least ten of them do not drift away during the night. I have no doubt that they are brave, but you cannot fight the plague with a sword.”

He was clever. Probably the cleverest person she had ever met. And so handsome. She was always aware of that, but tonight she found herself especially noticing the beautiful planes of his face and the lean strong lines of the body that she knew better than a maid ought. Maybe it was the clothes. Perhaps wearing a woman's stupid gown caused her to think like a stupid woman.

“That is welcome news.” She flounced her skirt. “Then I don't need to practice with the gown yet.”

“Nay, your precautions are sensible. You are just going about it wrong. If it comes to it, if you have to negotiate with Gurwant, you do not go dressed like that.”

“Should I go in armor? In a tunic and hose? What is wrong with how I am dressed?”

“You do not negotiate with a man dressed like a nun. Is that gown from the convent? It is too much like a robe, and at least twenty years out of fashion. Now gowns have less fabric.”

He stepped toward her. “Here, I will show you.” He gathered the material of the dress on either side of her until the folds fell along the swells of her body. “Surely the servants could cut some of this away.”

She looked down. The lines of her breasts and hips were vaguely visible. “More like Catherine's gowns, you mean.”

“Even hers are fuller than the style I speak of.”

“How do you know so much about women's clothes?”

He angled back to see the effect he had created. “I did live at court, where such things are major topics. Also, my sister married a mercer.”

He stood very close to her, and the hands that grasped the fabric rested lightly on her hips. An unsettling excitement scurried through her. She tensed to keep from shivering. Her subtle flex was a reaction, however, and she knew, she just knew, that he noticed it.

She hid her embarrassment in a display of examining the gown. “I see what you mean. I should have the gown altered. Just in case.” She pulled the material from his hands and made to move away.

He would not let her go. His left hand slid firmly up her back to hold her in place. His manner quickly changed, and there was no deference in the way he stood with her now. He looked into her eyes, and she saw a deep fire in his own. His jaw and mouth were set in firm lines. His expression made her breath catch.

He glanced up. With a quick pull he whisked the veil from her head. She watched it float to the floor as his fingers removed the pins that held her hair. Her curls began tumbling down, grateful to be free.

“Also, when a woman goes to negotiate with a man, she does not hide her glory.” His fingers stretched along her scalp, searching for the last of the pins, sending wonderful sensations down the flesh of her face and neck. “We are weak in this one thing, and inclined to be most generous when we are most pleased.”

He took a handful of curls and held them to his face, smelling their scent. The gesture pulled her closer to him. “When did you cut it? At the abbey, or because of your illness?”

Her voice almost wouldn't come to her. “The abbey.”

“It is beautiful. Never cut it again.”

But we always cut it at the abbey, she wanted to explain. Only this time the words truly would not come, because he was looking at her again, his eyes searching hers for something as they sparkled. Suddenly the abbey was a thousand miles away and her return there a lifetime in the future.

He had been playful when he redesigned her dress, but the laughter had disappeared and his expression had turned fiery-eyed and severe. She should push him away, but she could not. She felt his hand burning on her back, and her own body waiting, achingly alive, for something to happen. It seemed a long time that they stood thus, slightly stiff and apart.

He looked to her neck. “And that lacing was never meant to be so tight, strangling you.”

She watched wide-eyed as his fingers slowly pulled at the tie and then, level by level, dragged the laces open. Their snaking movements matched the exciting spirals winding down her body. He did it very slowly, very deliberately, as if he knew how it was affecting her.

The heel of his palm rested above her breasts as the fingers did their work. When he finished he did not move his hand, but left it there, his fingertips lightly stroking the line of skin he had revealed.

His touch felt so wonderful. Exciting and comforting, dangerous and reassuring, all at the same time. They still stood slightly apart and only his hands touched her, but a power flowed from him and engulfed her and her awareness dimmed of everything but him and his touch and her own painful anticipation.

She looked up at him. His jaw clenched.

“When you negotiate with a man, never look at him
thus,” he warned quietly. “He will see it as a challenge, and feel the need to put you in a woman's place.”

“And what place is that?”

“This.” With a quick movement he pulled her forward and molded her against his strength and heat.

She fought the overwhelming reaction of her body, but the hands that she raised to push him away suddenly grasped his shoulders as tightly as he held her. She gave up her will then, and her self to his control.

His fingers separated the cloth where they had un-laced her, and he lowered his mouth to her exposed skin. His gentle kisses shot hot bolts through her and she gasped and gripped his shoulders tighter. He stroked his fingers into her hair and held her head as he brought his lips to hers.

It was her first real kiss, and it completely undid her. It took her to the stars somewhere, far from La Roche de Roald and its troubles. No one existed but this man who filled her with such stunning sensations.

The kiss was soft as he brushed her lips with his own and nibbled gently at the corners of her mouth. But then the pressure became more insistent and his embrace more demanding as he pressed her body against his until her breasts felt the tense muscles in his chest. He ran his tongue over her lips and she instinctively opened to him and he was in her then, rubbing against her palate, sending marvelous tremors through her.

His mouth moved slowly to her neck and ears before returning to her lips in a demanding, hungry way. His hands began caressing her, moving over her back, wandering down to her hips. Waves of pleasure eddied out from his touch.

She thought that they were as close as humanly
possible, but then he ran his hands over her bottom and pulled her to his hips. She felt his arousal pressing against her, and the reality of what it meant made her tense.

He sensed it and paused, looking down at her, absorbing her with his blazing eyes, claiming a part of her that no one else ever had. “Do not be afraid. I will never hurt you.” One hand moved up her body in a long, sinuous caress. His fingers splayed across her midriff and finally closed on her breast.

She wasn't prepared for the intensity of the pleasure. She cried out a gasp that brought his mouth over hers again. His fingers found her nipple through the soft material and gently rubbed. An oblivious madness fogged her mind and she clung to him fiercely, aware only of the heat of his mouth, the pleasure at her breast, and the ache growing low in her belly.

His fingers played at her in wonderful ways, increasing the pleasure to something sharp and tight and needful. She opened her eyes to see him watching as she reacted to each new caress. She reached up and felt the warmth of his face.

“Aye,” he said, as if her touch had asked a question or led him to a decision. He gave her a possessive kiss. As it lengthened and deepened, his hand slid down the length of her body. He began stroking her thigh, skimming up the skirt of her gown.

She pressed into that exciting, exploring touch. A thrilling expectation spread through her hips and thighs. His hand exposed her skin and its rough warmth smoothed her thigh and she groaned softly in relief. His own deep sigh responded and he pulled her closer while he caressed up to the swell of her bottom.

A physical, throbbing desire burst low inside her,
making her frantic. She grabbed at his head and showered kisses on his face and neck. She rocked her body into his. In her delirium she silently urged that tantalizing, wandering touch toward the center of the torture hidden between her legs.

And then, suddenly, a sound from another world broke into her awareness and she tumbled from the stars. She landed disoriented and confused in front of the hearth of her chamber in La Roche de Roald.

He wrapped his arms around her breathless body.

“Finally, I have your attention,” Ascanio said from behind her. He sounded exasperated. “Have you two gone mad?”

Anna buried her head in Morvan's neck. Dear saints, how long had Ascanio been there?

“Leave us, priest,” Morvan said.

“I don't think so. And it is not the priest who stops you, Morvan, but the knight who sees all too well the lady's precarious position.”

Need still racked her body. All the same, her senses returned. She looked up at Morvan and saw his furious glare. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Ascanio standing legs apart and arms stiff by his sides, ready to fight if he had to.

She pushed against Morvan's embrace. “You must go.”

The glare turned on her, but faded quickly. He looked down at her, then kissed her softly. His arms fell away, and he strode from the chamber.

She fell to a heap on the floor, crossed her legs beneath her, and stared at the fire in the hearth. The room throbbed with silence.

“The door was left open,” Ascanio finally said. “The servant returned and saw you, then came for me.”

“She will gossip.”

“I will see that she does not. I will threaten her with eternal damnation. That usually works.”

A sensual stupor full of Morvan's presence still filled her. She wanted to preserve it for a while. “If you are waiting for me to confess, come back tomorrow.”

“Actually, I am waiting to make sure he does not return. A man like Morvan is not accustomed to denial. Besides, you have nothing to confess. It was not your will at work here.”

Nay, it hadn't been her will. She had possessed no will. None at all. He had absorbed it, overpowered it, stripped it from her as neatly as he had removed her veil. She didn't care about that now, but she suspected that quite soon she would decide that she hadn't liked that part of it.

“I'm sorry that you came,” she admitted.

He knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. She continued gazing into the mesmerizing flickering flames, so like the lights in those black eyes.

“Anna, I do not seek to prevent you from knowing a woman's feelings. If you choose the abbey, it should not be out of ignorance. But your position here is a delicate one. If your people know that you bed a knight whom you cannot marry, it will change how they see everything about you. You can only flaunt so many customs before they turn on you.”

She faced him, and at once lost the phantom arms that had continued to hold her.

“Anna, do you think that you want this man? Would you marry him if you could?”