Part 9 (1/2)

As she knelt before him, the temptation to show her what else he would have her do was great, but it was too soon for that. Instead, he let her stand, and she had already turned away when he said, ”There is one other thing.”

His hands spanned her waist. Her firm flesh warmed his hands immediately, and he pulled her close. Women, for him, were normally bits of pleasure, but the top of Alisoun's head reached almost to his nose and she spanned almost his whole length. He wanted to revel in her obvious surprise at his maneuver, but his training warned him he had best follow up his advantage at once.

Wrapping one arm around her back, he tipped her off balance. ”Alisoun?”

Totally unprepared, she looked up, and he kissed her.

Her cool, dry lips impressed him with their curiosity. Whether or not she admitted it, Alisoun wanted experience, but she positively hadn't had it yet.

He broke off the kiss. ”Hasn't anyone ever kissed you?”

”Not memorably.”

He digested that, then said, ”A challenge.” He bent over her again. ”The legendary mercenary David always accepts a challenge.”

Apparently she had second thoughts about her cooperation, for she turned her head away. He didn't care. Her cheek attracted him, as did her forehead and her lashes. Dark lashes, he noticed, and again he wondered if her hair was truly red. Everything about her tasted good, a little like heather. She still withheld her lips, but she wasn't clawing at his face or kneeing him in the groin, so he knew he didn't personally repulse her, and he could bank on that interest to give him a chance. He touched her lips with his tongue, then withdrew it. Her body tensed against his, and he felt her quick intake of breath.

”Don't be such a coward,” he whispered.

Speechless, she glared at him.

”But you're not a coward. You just want to know. I don't tell. I won't tell. Use me.” He smiled at her. ”I won't charge for this service.”

Somehow, reminding her that she was in charge freed her from that lingering stiffness. She didn't smile back-she hadn't lost that much propriety-but her lids fluttered, then closed, and she relaxed against him.

Her show of trust almost sent him groping for the bed, but she probably thought he was like this with every woman. Probably she underestimated her own potency, and the power of his knowing she would be his wife. Probably she hadn't even accepted his candidacy, but this cinched her fate. Aye, he wanted her lands, but he wanted her.

”Sir David?”

He caught her with her mouth open. His lips molded hers, his tongue thrust inside before she could change her mind. He tasted her shock, and realized she couldn't have changed her mind. She hadn't known what to expect. He wanted to breathe with her lungs, wanted to moan with her voice, but more than that, he wanted to connect with that kiss. That kiss sent her body arcing against his, brought him protectively over her. It was the best kiss of his life. It was...she fought him in a spasm, and he let her up for air.

Then he edged his knee between her legs and pressed her against it with his hand on her bottom. ”Now you kiss me.”

”What?” Her eyes opened, and she looked at him sleepily.

Immediately he imagined how she would appear after a night in his bed, and he rubbed his knee up and down, up and down. ”Kiss me.”

She understood without further elocution, and wet her lips with distracting resolve.

He was going to die of pleasure, and she hadn't even touched him yet.

Her breath reached him first. He inhaled the scent of mint, felt the first tingle of fever. Then her lips, then her teeth, then...oh, blessed day, her tongue met his. For one lucid moment, he remembered the tale his great-grandmother used to tell him. Then the hard slam of desire swept everything before it. He was lost in it, drowning in it, clutching at it, at her.

Probably only one sound could have brought him to the surface.

A giggle. A girl's high-pitched giggle.

He lifted his head, took a breath, opened his eyes, and found himself staring into Alisoun's bewildered gaze. The giggle from the great hall had been abruptly cut off. None of the serving folk or men-at-arms who broke their fasts peered into his chamber, but the damage had been done. Or was it a rescue? Had they been moving toward a cataclysm with no guidance and no forethought? Before he could gather his thoughts, Alisoun's calm facade fell into place. ”My thanks, Sir David. It's good to know I have hired a man experienced in every field.”

Irritated, he could only stare as she freed herself from his grip. How did she do that? How could she be trembling in his arms one moment, and indifferent the next? He wanted to grab her and shake her until the mask she wore fell away. Instead he watched as she glided away from him with her usual poise. He almost turned away from the sight of her. He almost missed it, but as she walked past the door, she staggered and caught at the frame.

She glanced back at him in embarra.s.sment.

He pretended he hadn't seen it. But he now knew his plan. From now on, he would woo her and win her with kindness and patience. He would oil his tongue and court her, and before she knew it, she would be in the thrall of that fas.h.i.+onable romantic rot.

Perhaps he would have to shave, after all.

7.

”What's wrong with Sir Walter?” The spindle slowly spun and dropped as the weight on the end pulled the wool thin and Edlyn's fingers fought to twist thread from the fluffy ball of raw wool.

”Don't get it too thin,” Alisoun warned while she wondered how to answer. Everyone within the keep seemed to have a theory about Sir Walter's sudden tantrum this morning. With a calm she didn't feel, Alisoun said, ”Sir Walter apparently saw the enthusiasm with which I welcomed Sir David's embrace this morning, and responded poorly. I see now I should not have left the door open.”

Edlyn's eyes shone with excitement. ”Philippa says if you had shut the door you'd still be in there.”

Alisoun's hand jerked. The thread broke and the spindle hit the floor, and everyone in the great hall turned to look. ”Did she?” She hid the color that inched up her cheeks by leaning over to pick up the spindle. ”And what was the reaction to that?”

Hands freed of labor, Edlyn clasped them to her bosom. ”They say it would be so romantic if the fair maiden of George's Cross were wooed and won by the greatest mercenary in England.”

Unexpectedly, Alisoun almost laughed. ”I thought you weren't aware of Sir David's reputation.”

”They told me.”

They. Everyone in the castle had been gossiping about David. Alisoun corrected herself. Sir David. She'd already learned the danger of thinking of him in a too-familiar way. He responded in a too-familiar way.

Now she'd given them more to gossip about, and from what she'd learned of David, he would nurse that gossip until he'd achieved his objective or she'd thrown him out. And she couldn't throw him out.

Sliding the almost finished skein off the stick, she said, ”I'm a widow, and I let a man kiss me. That is surely not so unusual an event.”

Edlyn giggled. ”Not for anyone but you, my lady.”

Poking the unformed ball of wool, Alisoun found a strand and started another thread. The labor of making thread was every woman's constant companion, be she lady or serf. It took twelve spinners to keep up with one weaver, and Edlyn had never developed the dexterity for creating an even thread. So every rainy day, Alisoun took Edlyn into a corner of the great hall and taught her about thread, trying to prepare her for the role of lady of the castle. When she thought today of what she had to tell Edlyn, a sick feeling clogged her throat. Poor child.

Quickly she corrected herself. Lucky woman. Edlyn was a lucky woman, and it was Alisoun's glad duty to tell her so. She would do it...soon. Lanolin from the wool made Alisoun's fingers soft, experience made her fingers supple, and again she showed Edlyn how to hook the thread to the spindle. ”Twist it evenly,” she urged, then sat back to watch and think.

It had been stupid to go to Sir David's room alone, but she'd wanted to prove something to herself. She'd wanted to prove she could be with him, see him, and not become the incompetent of the night before.

Last night, she hadn't shown it, of course. She would never show such weakness. But his display of masculinity had shocked her in a t.i.tillating sort of way. She had wanted to stay and stare, and maybe wash him and see if it were possible that such a previously unimpressive appendage could grow yet bigger. That had been what had chased her from the room. Not fear or awe, but temptation.

”d.a.m.ned curiosity,” she whispered.

Edlyn kept her eyes on the thread, but she grinned.

The child was growing up. She was smart enough not to comment on Alisoun's chagrin, but still imprudent enough to think she could ask any question without chastis.e.m.e.nt. Alisoun had informed Edlyn's parents of her liveliness, accompanied by a suggestion that they chose her husband with an eye to his kindness and not just his wealth. Their reply had been waiting when she returned from Lancaster, and the tone had been ominous. No one wanted advice from the oldest virgin widow in England.

Edlyn reverted to her original subject with the tenacity of a puppy jerking on a meaty sinew. ”Sir Walter hasn't been as respectful as he used to be, ever since Philippa...”