Мериел Фуллер – Captured by the Warrior (страница 4)

‘You need to understand, you need to listen to me…’ Her voice rang in his ears, scolding, reprimanding.

Self-restraint, laced tightly, unravelled. ‘Nay,’ he ground out dangerously, ‘you need to listen to me.’ His blond head dipped, one thick arm snared her waist, jamming her against the inflexible slab of his chest. His men cheered as he lowered his lips to hers, primitive, demanding, insistent.

He had meant to scare her, to stop that relentless tirade of speech that needled its way into his very soul, but the first touch of her soft sweet lips made him almost groan out loud with desire. Too long! He’d been too long without the pleasure of a woman. The gruelling days of battle, the dust, sweat and heat—all those memories faded, dwindled with the sweet smell of her skin, the luscious pliability of her slender frame hard up against his, the rounded swell of her bosom. Sweet Jesu! Desire rattled through his body, building steadily, inexorably.

Foolish! Foolish girl! Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Alice squeezed her eyes together, holding her body rigid as his lips came down over hers. She had a fleeting impression of wide green eyes, tanned ruddy skin, before his lips touched. Shock ricocheted through her veins at the impact, breath snatching in her throat as her heart thumped uncontrollably against her ribs. His mouth roamed against hers, wild, plundering; she crumpled against him, knees suddenly weak. Her mind scrambled, his lips luring her, drawing her towards the edge of a plunging abyss, a whispering place of tantalising promise, of…

‘Alice! Where are you? Alice…?’ A peevish, wheedling voice drifted over from the other side of the forest, calling.

Bastien tore himself away, breath ragged.

Alice reeled backwards, shaking, dazed. Senses shredded, she managed to lift one trembling finger towards Bastien, eyes hot with indignant accusation. ‘How dare you!’ she screeched at him, her mouth carrying the hot bruise of his kiss, her cheeks flushed with shame. ‘You insufferable pig! You tell me you’ll reprimand your men, and then you take advantage yourself! How dare you!’

‘Steady yourself, my lady.’ Bastien regarded her tensely. In truth, he was having trouble calming himself. He tipped his head on one side, listening. ‘Someone’s searching for you; go now.’

The deep cerulean pools of her eyes lobbed him one last stinging look, before she turned, stumbling away through the undergrowth towards her mother’s voice, veil sitting askew on her head.

‘Dear Lord, I thought she’d never stop!’ muttered one of his soldiers. ‘What a shame on such a beauty.’

Bastien followed the maid’s slender back retreating through the trees, her sparkling skirts flowing over the mossy ground. As soon as she was out of his sight, he told himself, he would forget her completely; women had no part to play in his life, especially bossy, unbearable girls who scarce came up to his shoulder. Women were of no importance, in his opinion. Not after what had happened with Katherine.

Chapter Two

Alice swept her eyes around the great hall at Abberley. Aye, it was all still there: the sumptuous intricacy of the huge tapestries hanging from floor to ceiling, concealing the uneven stone walls; the high dais at the far end where the King and Queen and their attending nobility sat above the murmured hubbub of people gathered together to eat. Pausing in the doorway, Alice attempted to draw some comfort from the familiar surroundings, but her perception seemed tarnished, different, somehow. She knew why—a pair of emerald-green eyes and a shock of tousled blond hair loomed with unnerving regularity across her vision, unsettling her normal confidence. Aye, and that kiss. That treacherous kiss.

Light filled the space, spilling out from a combination of rush torches slung into iron brackets along the walls, and a roaring fire. Soldiers and servants alike crammed along the wooden trestles in the main body of the hall, knives jamming into the large serving platters of steaming roast meat. There was Queen Margaret, her small neat head held erect and proud as she listened to a nobleman at her side, her eyes wide and intelligent as she nodded in agreement once or twice. The height of the table obscured the round smooth bump of her pregnancy. Alice liked the young Queen, drawn by Margaret’s ambition and vitality; it was said that she had enough energy for both herself and her husband. Of King Henry, there was no sign. He had recently become unwell, and was confined to his chambers to recover.

‘Alice!’ A fresh-faced young man moved across her line of vision. Edmund! A sense of relief flooded through her, his jovial expression for a moment shutting out her unpleasant memories of the journey. ‘Alice, did you not see me waving? I saved you a place beside me over there!’ His open, candid features searched her face.

She laid a careful hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her around the edges of the hall to an empty table, mindful that her mother was up on the top table, and would be watching. Maybe if Beatrice saw her with Edmund, it would shake off her mother’s current mood. When Alice had finally returned to the cart in the forest, Beatrice had been furious, berating her for keeping the entourage waiting. Alice, humbled by her encounter, had crept to a corner of the cart without a word. Now, as she met Edmund’s warm brown eyes, she hoped his easy companionship would drive away the bad memories.

‘Tell me, what was he like?’ Edmund asked softly at her side. At one-and-twenty winters he was the same age as her, his rounded features holding the pink bloom of youth.

Alice jumped, needles of fear firing through her, fingers curling around a floury bread roll on her platter. How did he know? she thought frantically, her scrambled brain trying to make sense of the question. An image of a strong, sinewy hand manacled around her own wrist intruded into her consciousness. A hard mouth upon her own.

Edmund nudged her with his elbow. ‘Sir Humphrey…Surely you haven’t forgotten about him already?’

‘Oh…yes!’ she gasped with relief, shaky laughter covering her confusion. ‘Oh, Edmund, he was well enough, but unfortunately for my dear mother, I wasn’t up to the mark, as usual.’

‘Well, thank the Lord for that,’ her companion breathed out. His plump fingers, whiter than her own, searched for Alice’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently. His shoulder nudged hers, close, insistent. ‘You know I’ve spoken to your parents…’

Alice’s heart flipped. Could she do this? Could she marry Edmund? Her eye searched along the row of nobles at the top table, found her mother’s anguished features, watching them. ‘I know, Edmund.’ She patted his arm, biting her lip.

‘You know I come into my inheritance soon; your parents would be well looked after.’ His brown eyes, riveted on hers, wavered momentarily, shifting to a point beyond her right shoulder.

‘Thomas…’ she breathed desperately, her toes curling in her shoes, as if providing a physical resistance. If Thomas came back, then he would provide for them, he would care for them in their old age. The responsibility on her to marry would lift, and she would have the freedom to do as she wished. But even as she had the thought, the small flame of hope in her belly flickered and died.

‘Marry me, Alice,’ Edmund urged, his voice low, persuasive. ‘I will look after you…and your parents.’ His white fingers curled possessively around her sleeve, his smooth chestnut hair flopping over his forehead.

Alice took a mouthful of bread, chewing slowly. She had known Edmund since late childhood, when his father had become a knight for the King and moved his family to live at Abberley under royal protection. She and Edmund had immediately liked each other: they shared the same interests, of music, art and culture. True, she also enjoyed being outside, riding or walking, as opposed to Edmund, who preferred to stay inside, but that seemed to be the only difference in them. He was kind, considerate and gentle, and, unlike many of the potential husbands her mother had introduced her to, the same age as she.

Beside her, Edmund watched her closely. If only the girl would agree! He had to physically prevent himself from drumming his fingers on the tablecloth, frustration mounting in his gullet. His uncle’s generous offer would not be around for ever; somehow, he had to persuade her. He knew her mother was willing—he had seen the flare of greed in her eyes on her return this evening when he mentioned the amount of money he would receive—now all that remained was to gain the agreement of this stubborn maid!

‘Am I such a bad prospect?’ he asked, holding one hand to his chest—a theatrical gesture of false sorrow. A huge sapphire ring glittered on his little finger.

Alice laughed. ‘Nay, you’re not.’ She took a deep gulp of wine, setting the goblet back on the table with studied determination, pulling her spine straight at the same time, making a decision. ‘I will marry you, Edmund.’

A heaviness weighed down Alice’s eyelids as she attempted to open them the following morning. Her sleep had been restless, worn through with the uneasy threads of half-snatched dreams, dreams fringed with the anxious memories of the day before. She had tossed and turned in the stuffy curtained interior of the four-poster bed, thumping the goose-down-filled pillow with an impatient regularity. Everything had become irritating: the crackle of straw in the mattress beneath her, the bunched lumpy feathers beneath her loosened hair, the shouts of the soldiers piercing her consciousness at some ungodly hour…