Chapter Thirteen

“Do not leave me.”

The words curled into Curlew’s ear even as the morning light teased his eyelids. He had slept long and deeply, and he had dreamed the most miraculous, wondrous dreams of darkness and loving. The Lady.

His eyes flew open to discover the sun well up, light filtering through a roof made of leaves, russet brown and gold, that turned the whole world amber.

Had he spoken the words or merely heard them in his mind, an echo of those the Lady had said to him last night? He could not tell, for tendrils of her spirit wrapped around him yet.

Ah, and Heron had not lied about the magnificence of it. How many times had they coupled before he fell asleep in her arms? Almost he could still feel her presence. Indeed, and swore he could.

Startled, he turned his head and looked at the woman who lay beside him. Awareness and disbelief hit him at once, a blow to the gut that stole all his breath. He sat up slowly, eyes wide and thoughts rushing.

She lay naked, curled on her side with her back touching him. Her hair, a glorious and tangled curtain, covered most of her from his gaze, but he had touched every part of her last night, of that he had no doubt. This, and no spirit Lady, was the woman he had loved so long and vigorously. By all that was holy, what had he done?

Aye, but the sight of her stole his wits and his sense, even now. Her hair, ashen in color, picked up the amber radiance of the forest. Her skin, milk white, bore a scattering of pale freckles. Curlew’s gaze traced the sweet curve of her buttocks, the even sweeter swell of one breast that peeked from the bend of her arm. She slept yet.

And who might she be? How had she come to the depths of Sherwood even as he lay waiting for Heron’s Lady to appear?

As if she felt his attention even in her sleep, she sighed and turned toward him. Curlew gasped again, for he saw none other than the lass who had run into him at Nottingham market, the one who had ridden past him on the forest road when he chased down the hart—Montfort’s daughter.

Oh, by the holy Green Man himself, he had deflowered the daughter of Asslicker’s head forester—for he remembered that part of it perfectly well. By his blood, he remembered every part of it.

She opened her eyes and he lost all his regret. His spirit rose and surged, and his flesh with it, so he became caught and helpless all over again.

She smiled.

Mischief lay in that smile and, somehow, innocence, and a woman’s knowing. Everything Sherwood had to give lay there, and everything it could take.

Curlew’s heart trembled and bounded, and ached in his chest.

“Lady,” he whispered.

“My Lord.” And hers was the voice from the dark that had curled through him as he plunged into her in rampant delight.

Her smile deepened into a lovely thing. She had dimples, and eyes the exact color of new leaves in the spring, speckled with flecks of gold and fringed with long, brown lashes. They captured Curlew and held him while she examined his very soul.

And what was he to say to her now? I thought you were someone else? Not a thing any woman wanted to hear following the intimacies they had shared. Indeed, her lips were still swollen from his kisses, and the tips of her lovely breasts, as well.

Ah, he would send her back to her father unharmed, yet he could never undo what he had done.

Before he could speak, she reached out with one hand and touched his face hesitantly, almost reverently. Her fingers slid across a cheek now rough with new beard, and her gentle touch slammed through him, setting every part of him alight.

He realized then that she could not have seen him either, last night. Why, then, had she come into his arms? He had been waiting for the Lady, but what could have brought her from Nottingham to the forest and led her to give herself to a stranger?

And why did her touch affect him so profoundly? Why, even now, did he ache to close his eyes and lean into her hand, lose himself to her presence?

By the Green Man’s horns, he needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to send her safe home.

He reached up and caught her hand. Her wrist felt fragile, and she let her fingers rest quietly in his. “How do you come here?” he asked. “What are you doing in Sherwood?”

Emotions chased their way across her face like light on water. He knew she considered many answers before she said, “I came to find you.”

“Why? What do you know of me?”

She shook her head. A tendril of wheaten hair slid across one breast and made him ache to touch. Her fingers twitched in his. “You are Curlew Champion.”

“Aye, so?” True, she had asked his name last night—he had supposed, then, that the Lady asked. That explained nothing.

Her gaze rested on his face, studied him intently, and moved slowly down his naked body, lingering on his chest before coming to rest upon the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Aye, well, nothing he could do about that—after last night she must know how her presence affected him.

He jostled her hand gently and her eyes returned to his. “How came you so far into the forest alone and in the dark? And why would you give yourself, so, to a stranger, met by chance?”

“Not to a stranger. To you.”

“Lass, you make no sense.” And he found it difficult to think clearly when he wanted so badly to take her again, to run his palms over those luscious breasts and those smooth buttocks, to taste every part of her. “Does your father know where you are?”

Her eyes clouded. They reflected her emotions the way a forest pool mirrored the sky. “Nay.”

“He will be fretful and searching for you, will he not? With you gone all the night—”

“You do not understand. I could not stay in Nottingham.”

“He has never used you ill,” Curlew declared. “He seems a decent man.”

“He is a very good man, and I have tried him much.” White teeth caught at her lush, lower lip. “Indeed, I think I have run him out of patience with me.”

“A father’s patience is right near limitless.” At least, that had been Curlew’s experience. His own father had rarely, if ever, lost his temper with his family.

“Aye,” she agreed, “yet I have exhausted even that.” Again, her eyes caught at Curlew’s. “I am not so good a daughter as he deserves.”

Curlew’s heart wanted to protest it, but had he not seen her running unfettered in Nottingham? And was she not here, so, with him now?

Awkwardly, he said, “I am sorry, lass, for what passed between us last night.”

“Are you!”

“Had I known who you are—”

“You never asked.”

“I know that, and I regret—”

“Why did you take me, then?”

“How could I refuse?” he returned helplessly. Surely she saw his condition now, just from being near her. How to tell the lass he had come looking for magic and found her instead? How to explain the way she affected him when even he did not understand?

She said defiantly, “I regret nothing. You ask how I came here last night—I tell you, I was led. Oh, aye, it began in flight. I ran away, not toward. But once within the forest, once the dark came down, I followed—but I do not even know what it was. A flicker of light, like memory, or like a wisp of song. I know that makes no sense, but ’twas as if a presence went before me and beckoned me on. It led me straight to you.”

The breath caught in Curlew’s chest. Deep magic, indeed. But why? It could not have been meant merely for his pleasure, for only look at the tangle in which it had landed him. Was he to send Montfort’s daughter back to him plucked?

“From what did you run?” he asked gently.

“My father plans to marry me to one of his foresters, a brute called Roderick Havers. He thinks that will put an end to my disobedience. Havers will discipline me, right enough. He means to use a strap.”

Curlew felt the impact of those words all through his body. That anyone should harm one precious hair of her, or one freckle—nay, and it would not be, not while he drew breath.

Defiance and triumph mixed together in her face. “Havers said he would not have me if I came to our marriage bed ruined.”

“Ah, and so you chose me for the job.”

“The darkness chose you, and blessed good fortune. I would not change a thing.”

Aye, Curlew thought ruefully, and she could not be ruined more completely than at his hands last night. And if he sent her home with his child in her belly, what then? He realized, with a shock, he did not even know her given name.

A bit brusquely he said, “Gather up your clothing, lass. Cover yourself. You must go home.”

“Nay.”

“Do not be daft. Of course you must. Your father will be beside himself.”

“You promised.”

“Eh?”

Stubborn light flashed in her eyes. “You gave a vow last night that you would never send me away from you.”

Had he? Dismay crashed down upon Curlew like a hurled stone. But he had thought she was the Lady, asking from him a vow of devotion. He did not know he spoke words to a mortal woman.

He got to his feet, heedless of his nakedness, and began collecting her shed garments and thrusting them at her.

“To be sure, you will go home.”

“Nottingham is not my home.” She tipped back her head to look at him. “I belong nowhere, except maybe here with you.”

Curlew shook his head violently. He turned from her and took up his own clothing, pulled his sark over his head even as she watched, donned his leather tunic, then slid into his leather leggings.

“Master Curlew?”

He turned back to her swiftly. She sat with her chemise clutched to those tantalizing breasts, her eyes wide with inquiry.

“Listen to me, Mistress Montfort. You are not for me, nor I for you.”

“But last night—”

“Despite last night.” In spite of the wonder and magic of it, the undeniable sense of rightness. “For I have a destiny before me, one I cannot escape, and would not if I could. I regret, but you have chosen the wrong man.”

She got to her feet, her clothing still caught against her. The autumn sun, filtering through the leaves, warmed her hair to amber-gold. “I do not believe that.”

“You must. Now dress yourself. I will see you safe to the edge of the forest.”

She did not move. Like a goddess she stood and looked at him with defiance.

Curlew felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy for Montfort. Who could fail to love this lass, or be driven beyond endurance by her?

“Please,” he said.

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I regret, my lord, I would do most anything to please you. Anything but that.”