A warm, wool-clad rock cushioned Juliana’s head. The stone rose and fell in echo with the slow drum that beat beneath her ear. She opened one eye and looked out at the early dawn. Her head injury had rattled her brain. Everyone knew that rocks wore no wool. Nor did they act as cushions, move of their own volition, or emit quiet snores. And stones certainly did not beat drums.
She sat up, careful of her aching head and shoulder. She had been sleeping curled against Robert’s side. His chest cradled her head; his arm sheltered her back, and his heat warmed her body. When did he lie down? She recalled drifting off as he murmured some foolishness about protecting other women. Nonsense, Robert had no other women, had he? Unaccountably disturbed by the question, she shook away the idea. Not women but a rock—that’s what he had spoken of.
Well, she had certainly found a rock, only it was Robert. Was he hard like that all over? Nay, when he kissed her, his lips had been soft, though firm, like the flesh of ripe cherries, but the rest of him had seemed solid as the Northumbrian cliffs. She reached out a hand to touch the spot where her head had rested, curious to know how a man could be both soft and hard at the same time.
Her hand settled on the center of his chest, just below the place where his shirt fell open to reveal a few intriguing curls of dark hair. Her fingers twitched. Were those curls as silky as the ebon tresses atop his head?
Before she could do more than lift her palm, Robert’s sword-callused hand slammed down upon hers, anchoring her in place. “What do you do?”
Heat sizzled up her arm and flamed in her cheeks. What could she say? She had yielded to curiosity without a thought to the consequences. “I . . . I . . . ”
“Yes . . . ?” He raised a brow, and wild humor sparkled in his eyes.
“I but pushed against you to lift myself from the ground.”
“Lying is a sin, Juliana.”
“How dare you.” She tugged at her hand.
He refused to release her, twining his long fingers around her wrist instead and drawing her down to him. “I dare because you speak falsely.”
She lay at his side, her breasts pressed against his chest, her manacled hand atop his rib cage. Heat singed her cheeks. She should struggle, she thought, but did not. “You slept. You could not possibly know what I did.”
“I know you did not push. I would have felt the weight of it.” His other arm circled her back, his palm stroking her length.
“If you felt nothing, then I did nothing.” That tingling heat spread to her entire body. Her toes curled, and her thighs twitched.
He grinned. “I felt a great deal more than nothing, Juliana.” He loosed her wrist and slid his hand slowly up her arm, across her shoulder to tangle his fingers in the hair at her nape.
“How could you?”
“I am a very sensitive man.” His hand urged her head toward his.
She felt the brush of his lips on hers and released a small gasp. His tongue pierced the opening of her pursed mouth and swept its inner surface. The flavor of him filled her. Dear Lord in heaven, he was sweet; dark, hot, and sweet. A taste like none other in the world, and one she longed to savor.
She licked back at him. He groaned. Her world tilted and spun. Somehow the earth was at her back, and Robert lay over her. He slanted his head, deepening the kiss. She sucked on his lips, driving forward in pursuit of that elusive flavor.
His mouth left hers. Minute tremors trailed in the wake of his lips across her jaw and neck to her ear.
“Nay,” she protested, fisting her hands in his hair, attempting to draw him back, wanting his mouth on hers.
Then his teeth closed over her lobe, and she dissolved with a boneless shiver.
Hot air struck her breast, and tiny aches tugged at her nipples. She lifted her head to see Robert’s lips cover one hardened point. His tongue soothed the ache. Then he sucked, and the ache intensified. She dropped her head back with a groan.
“Please.”
Suddenly Robert stood above her. Astonishment riddled his features.
Bereft, she followed his appalled stare to her damp nipple. It glistened and shone in the sunlight. Shame invaded her, and she covered herself. He must think her wanton. Or perhaps her inexperience repelled him. How could she know? Why did he not say something? If he castigated her for lewd behavior, she could at least smile and tell him not to be so full of himself; he’d been just as lewd, if not more. But this silence devastated.
She dropped her gaze and righted her clothing, then made to push herself upright when she noticed his hand held out to her. She followed his arm upward, intending to look him in the face as she thanked him for his courtesy, but the bulge in his breeches arrested her glance. She knew enough from avoiding the knights in her uncle’s castle to recognize an aroused male when she saw one. His body, at least, wanted her, even if Robert’s actions spoke otherwise.
She shifted her eyes to his face. “I am sorry, but—” she said in soft confusion.
He cut her off. “’Tis no need. We will not speak of it.”
“Thank you.” She took his hand and pulled herself upright. Not speak of what? The kiss, her behavior, her lack of experience, his part in all of those? What was she to make of a man whose body clearly announced his desires yet who consistently denied himself any fleshly pleasures?
• • •
Robert gave a grunt of acknowledgment, nodded, and strode away to his horse. Sweet Jesu, he had nearly ravished her. He kept his back to her, so she could not see how his hands trembled. She was an innocent, promised to another man, and he nearly stole her virtue. He hardly needed more evidence of the sinfulness that caused him daily anguish, but there it was.
Perhaps he could not escape the guilt and shame he carried because he deserved both. He was certainly guilty of abusing Juliana’s trust, to say nothing of Edward’s. Ah, her passionate murmurs and the sweet softness of her body. Yes, his shame was well-deserved.
Had Juliana not spoken, uttered that soft, rasping “please,” he might even now be locked deep inside her silken warmth. That he wanted to be there, joined with her in the most elemental manner, condemned him for a heedless villain. It must not happen again.
He cast a glance over his shoulder. She busied herself picking up the water flask and bundling it into her sack with the cloth he used earlier to clean her scrapes. He saddled the horse, thinking about the coming journey to England and being alone on the road with her for months. ’Twould be sheer torture. Saints! She was Edward’s cousin. If he could not gain control over his unruly passions, he was like to lose his head. A few moments in paradise might well be worth the loss. But what price would she pay? He was not willing to find out.
Perhaps they could find a caravan to travel with, or better yet, travel by ship. There was safety in numbers. “Are we ready to leave yet?” she spoke from beside him.
He restrained a startled leap, but his heart pounded. When had she gotten so close?
“Aye.” He took her bundle and placed it within a saddlebag. “Go stand on that rock, and I will lead the horse to you so you may mount.”
Juliana studied him for a long moment, then complied.
He knew ’twas poor courtesy on his part not to hand her up, but at the moment he dared not touch her. Look where the lightest stroke of her hand had led them earlier. With Juliana mounted, he set off, leading the horse to the east.
“Are you not going to ride?”
“Not now,” he growled. “’Twill be better if the horse does not have to carry both of us, especially if our pursuers find us and we must run again.”
“Then I should walk as well.”
“No!”
“But the horse . . . ”
“I said no, and that is the end of it.”
• • •
Juliana could see that Robert was troubled but could not guess what bothered him.
That his problem had to do with her was certain. No doubt he regretted the kisses they shared, yet he had seemed to enjoy touching her as much as she did him. Perhaps he feared Edward’s wrath for sharing intimacies with the king’s cousin. ’Twould be wise to fear Edward, but the king need never know that she and Robert kissed. Of a certainty, she never would speak of such wild pleasure. Edward would only know if Robert told, and she did not think her knight such a fool.
Which left her without any possible answer to the question of what disturbed Robert, hence she knew of no way to ease his distress.
They walked for half a day before coming to a small copse of trees surrounding the glimmer of sunlight on water. Robert held back in the rocks. “Stay here with the horse. I want to check for hidden dangers before we go down there.”
She nodded her agreement. They had seen water so infrequently that any oasis would lure travelers from all directions. Perhaps even their pursuers. Robert skulked off to her left—why did he not go straight to the trees? Finally it occurred to her that someone might be watching the copse for their approach. ’Twas what she would do, if she was searching for someone in this place.
She was hot and thirsty after the long ride and prayed that Robert would quickly find the water hole to be safe. Then she prayed for patience. She would forever regret any haste that led Basti’s men to recapture her.
Eventually, Robert returned. “All is secure. There are signs that a great many horses passed and drank here, but no indication anyone was left to watch. If we are quick, we can fill the flask and water skins before moving to a safer spot to rest.” He took up the destrier’s reins once more and set off.
“Good. I cannot wait to drink and rinse some of the dust from my face.”
There were no stones available among the trees, so Robert was forced to help her down. He removed his hands the moment her feet touched the ground. Did she repel him? Perhaps she was wrong that he had liked their touching. Perhaps she was losing her mind to obsess so much over such a little thing. Yet that kiss had not seemed little to her.
Therein lay the problem. If she had to choose at this moment between returning to the beguinage and more of Robert’s kisses, she very much thought she might choose the kisses. Was her dedication to the Beguine life so weak?
While Robert tended the horse, Juliana bent to the water and rinsed her face. The cool liquid trickled over her, bringing echoes of Robert’s lips. How could such miraculous caresses be wrong? Was not God the originator of all miracles? Was not the pleasure of touch a miracle? She had been overwhelmed by that pleasure.
She sat up and dried her face with a corner of her tunic. In Robert’s arms, she had thought only of seeking more, never of how that seeking might be perceived. Aye, she had yielded to temptation, but that did not make her evil, did it? Nor did she know for certain that Robert thought her evil. His actions did not indicate so, but his silence? How could she know what he thought if he did not speak? There was only one way to know.
Ask.
He brought the horse over and helped her mount. “Robert.”
His hands froze on her waist.
“Do you think me sinful?”
“What?” His fingers tightened, and she sucked in a gasp. He lifted her into the saddle.
“I believe you heard me.”
He released her, took up the reins, and started walking, his shoulders tight and his steps heavy, as if he would have each foot smash holes in the ground. “What kind of question is that?” he muttered after a while.
“The kind that says I value your opinion.”
He frowned. “My opinion is that your sin or lack of it is none of my business.”
While she pondered his reaction, the ground rose, and he began to climb. Stones and boulders littered the hillside.
“Do you blame me for tempting you to kiss me?” she asked.
Robert’s foot struck an embedded rock. He stumbled, yanking on the reins. The horse kicked out.
“Argh!” Her errant knight grasped his lower leg and tried to hold on to the horse at the same time. The destrier sidled away. The reins pulled taut. Robert wobbled on one foot. The steed threw his head to the side, jerking the reins free. Robert’s arms whirled crazily, and he toppled.
Surprised, Juliana watched as one of Edward Plantagenet’s most skilled knights crashed headfirst to the hard ground.
Her eyes widened as he rolled over, moaning. When he did not immediately get up, Juliana scrambled from the horse and ran to Robert’s side to place a comforting hand on his arm.
“How badly are you hurt?”
He shifted.
“Oh, Robert, your poor face.”
Blood trickled from his nose and a bruise blossomed over one eye. Scrapes decorated his cheek. She fished rags from her sack and ran for the water skin.
She dampened one scrap. “Here.” She handed him the compress. “Hold this over your eye.” She dampened another and made to staunch his bloody nose.
“Mmph.” He snatched the cloth from her. “Are you determined to kill me, woman?”
“Nay, I wish only to help.”
“Well, asking if I blame you for the kiss we shared is no help. So stop it.”
“How else am I to know what distresses you?”
“You could ask what distresses me.” The cloth he held to his nose muffled his speech.
“Would you tell me?”
“No!”
“See. That is why I asked specifically about our kiss.”
Robert peered at her with his uncovered eye. “You should ask no questions at all.”
“But . . . ”
“No. You trust too easily, milady. You allow strangers into your home at the risk of life and property. You barely hesitate to journey for a day or more with the first person to tell you a sorry tale. And had I not been available to accompany you, you no doubt would trust your person to the care of a man you scarcely know and a priest at that. Worse, you ask probing questions with every expectation of true answers. You are either the greatest fool alive or an utter innocent. Either way you need a keeper, until you learn more discretion.”
“Is that what you truly think?” Juliana sat back as if struck. His words hurt more than one of Uncle William’s blows. Since Robert had never lied to her, she must believe he meant what he said. His disapproval should not have mattered so much. One hand on his eye, the other on his nose, Robert struggled to his feet. “What I think is that Edward will be lucky if one of us does not kill the other before we get to England. Now, let us be on our way.” He took one step forward and sank to the ground with a groan.
“Robert! What’s wrong?”
“My ankle. The horse kicked it when I tripped on that cursed rock.”
“Let me see.” She made to remove his boot.
“Nay,” he snapped. “Leave it.” His tone gentled when she backed away. “If I take the boot off, the ankle may swell. I might not get the boot back on again.”
He had a point. “Then let me help you to the horse.”
Robert studied the distance to the animal and the surrounding terrain. “Better to bring the beast here. Even if you could get me to him, there is nothing there to help me mount, and you cannot do that yourself. I must have twice your weight, if not more.”
“Well enough.” She nodded and went for the horse. That Robert was willing to ride meant he was truly hurt. What would she do if the monk and his men found them before they got to the beguinage?
When she returned, Robert stood unsteadily balanced atop a large stone. He dropped his hands from his face and tucked the compresses inside his sleeve. “Hold his head.”
She did her best to anchor the horse in place, speaking calmly to the animal and stroking its neck in reassurance.
Robert completed the awkward business of mounting with only one good foot, then held his hand out for her.
“I will walk.” If he could make sacrifices for her good, she could do the same for him.
“No, while I am injured ’tis important that we make all possible speed. We will go faster if we both ride. The horse can rest after dark when we stop for the night.”
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Robert had suffered much, and a concession from her could not hurt. She grasped his hand and swung up onto the horse’s rump.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She gripped the cantle and settled herself firmly against the saddle. “Aye.”
• • •
By sundown, the crags and rocks had become gently rolling hills covered with low brush and dotted with trees. They had seen an occasional field in the distance but had deliberately avoided any contact with people. As the light dimmed, Robert pulled the horse to a stop beside a fallen tree in a small clearing.
“You will have to get down first and hold the horse.”
Juliana slid to the ground and walked to the destrier’s head. She moved as if she ached in every joint. If the horse decided to bolt, Robert knew she could not prevent it. ’Twas no alternative. His throbbing ankle protested at the least pressure.
He dismounted with some difficulty. Juliana busied herself with the horse. Next she set up a ring of stones and started a small fire.
Robert sat on the fallen tree, feeling useless and ashamed. He had been trained to pay attention to his surroundings. Every knight’s survival depended on the ability to quickly observe and correctly assess any situation. How did Juliana so distract him that he failed to see the stone? He deserved kicking for such rank carelessness.
He might excuse his lapse if he had been looking at Juliana. Her beauty was enough to distract the sun. But he had not been looking at her. He had been leading the gelding over rocky ground, and she had asked that appalling question.
Do you blame me . . . ?
His head had filled with instant images of the caresses they had shared that morning and more—what he would like to have done had he not come to his senses.
Hers were the most passionate kisses he’d ever known. How could he possibly blame her? Skin more smooth than the rarest silk. Breasts more downy than any pillow. Lips more lush than the ripest berries. A touch that set him mindless with need and longing. A scent that twisted his heart and loins. Courage that surpassed every woman he had known and many a knight. A solid belief in the goodness of mankind. A fundamental honesty and dedication that drew him as readily as her beauty.
She would linger in his soul for the rest of his days. And his life would be hell. He knew—if she did not—that those kisses were not her fault but his. That base part of him yearned to touch this most precious of women.
“Thank you.”
“What for?” he growled. Robert tried to shake his head clear. Not only could he never touch her again, but he must find a way not to think of her. Impossible when she would be his constant companion for the long journey to England.
She stood in front of him, that sweet, infernal smile upon her face, her shoulders tense, and her hands folded before her in the manner that told him she struggled to remain calm. “I thanked you for your rescue.”
“Hmpf. You seemed to be doing quite well on your own.”
“We both know the mare I borrowed was tiring. Had you not taken me onto your mount, my recapture was a certainty.”
Robert shrugged. “’Twould have been much more difficult, if not impossible, to aid you had you not been able to grasp hold of me and help me lift you from your horse to mine.”
“Verily?” The tension left her shoulders, and she sat beside him. Her arm brushed his.
“Verily. Now, cease this twaddle of thanks. I did nothing but improve your chances of success.”
“Then I thank you for that.”
“If you must.” Unable to bear the sight of her and not touch her, he shifted away slightly and looked at the small blaze she had set within a tall ring of rocks. The stones blocked all but the tiniest glow of the fire from sight.
“Why are you reluctant to accept my thanks?”
“I am not reluctant.”
“But you are. This is the third time I have thanked you for your aid, and you have rejected my thanks every time. Unless steeped in sin, even the lowest of creatures deserves gratitude for actions on behalf of another. From the way you act, one might think some dire stain marred your soul.”
Not about to confirm her suspicions thus frightening her out of her wits, Robert ignored the issue.
An awkward silence fell.
Juliana shook her head, then rose abruptly. “I had best tend our dinner or we shall go hungry this night.”
“I have a small pot and some dried meat in my saddlebags.”
“Excellent. While you were resting, I gathered some roots and herbs that resemble those I used in Ghent. With your meat to flavor them, we will have a hearty soup in no time.”
Quite a bit longer than “no time” passed before she brought the pot to him from the fire. He ate hungrily, then watched as she finished the soup with more delicate sips.
When the pot was empty, she took some of the water and walked to the edge of their camp where she used sand, the water, and a rag from her sack to clean the pot.
Robert twisted on his makeshift seat. He had a problem and could think of no way to resolve it. How did a man ask a woman’s aid when he needed to relieve himself? If he had been among men, he would not have bothered asking for help. Men injured in battle pissed wherever they could. The uninjured understood and simply moved away from the smell to a cleaner place in camp. He could hardly follow that example now. What to do?
“Here.” She held a long, solid stick out to him.
He gave only a small start at the sound of her voice in his ear. He was becoming accustomed to having her interrupt his thoughts. “What is this?”
“A walking stick. I thought . . . you might . . . that is . . . ” Warmth flared on her cheeks in the glow cast by the fire.
She had anticipated his problem.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the stick to lever himself upward. He hobbled off to take care of his most pressing need. When he returned, Juliana lay huddled next to the dying fire. He draped his cloak over her, then settled on the opposite side of the stone circle as far from her as he could get and still remain near the flame.
Water splashing in his face woke him. It was raining. Sometime during the dark hours clouds had covered the sky, so ’twas still dark but not totally black. Dawn simply could not pierce the obscuring clouds. He used the stick to haul himself upright and made his way to Juliana. She stirred and woke before he got to her.
“It is raining.”
“Are you certain, milady?” He grinned at her statement of the obvious.
“What else would you call this flood from the heavens?”
“God’s mercy upon a dry and thirsty land.” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I suppose so.” She smiled. “Though thanks to God’s mercy, I am now covered in mud instead of dust.”
“A priest at Edward’s court used to tell the pages when they sinned that God’s mercy would wash them clean. If this rain keeps up, t’will, no doubt, wash us clean as well.”
She laughed. The sound stroked over his ears and skin like a lover’s touch. Heaven help the poor Scot’s laird destined to marry her. If she laughed even once, he would forever act the jester to be able to hear that trill again.
Robert turned as quickly as his sprained ankle would allow. “Let us be on our way.”
She came up beside him. Her hands held the dripping bundle of things they had used in the night past. “Aye. ’Tis no sense in letting a little wet halt our progress,” she agreed. She held the horse while Robert wrestled himself into the saddle. He held out his arm, and she mounted behind him as she had yesterday.
They set off at an easy pace, the destrier squelching through puddles with all the poise of a young child.
As the day passed, the downpour lessened to occasional spits and spats of rain but never completely stopped. Farms and other buildings showed more frequently. The muddy track began to resemble a road. Toward noon, Robert asked Juliana to remove two hard biscuits from his saddlebags. The rain softened the rock-like bread just enough for it to be edible.
She washed down the last of her biscuit with some water and passed the skin to him. They had been riding for a long time without a break. “When will we stop to rest?” she wondered aloud.
He guided the horse around a large clump of bushes. Before them lay the remains of a Roman road. “I believe this road will take us to Palermo. If we do not stop, we shall arrive at the beguinage before dark.”
Soon he would be able to escape the sweet torture of her presence for a short time. He must use that solitude to armor his foolish heart against the hours spent with her on the journey to England.