Chapter Five
Benedick stood in front of the hearth, alternately craving and despising its heat. He needed to be cold. Cold and composed if he was to face the truth, and do so he must, no matter how much it disgusted him. Groaning, Benedick ran a hand through his hair and admitted the unthinkable to himself.
He lusted after his ward.
The dreams had come again last night, vague erotic visions of Noel beneath him, naked and sweet, filling him with warmth even as he filled her with his seed. Muttering a foul oath, Benedick slammed his fist against the stones. He had awakened this morning, bathed in his sweat, his body rigid and ready, only to grasp nothing but his blankets.
And, if the dreams weren’t bad enough, he had only to recall the reality that had taken place under the mistletoe. Not once, but twice had he lost himself in the taste and feel of Noel, forgetting his position, his decisions and all else, like a randy fool.
Things were getting out of hand, of that he was certain. The lesson he had sought to teach her had gone awry. Instead of backing away from his embrace, Noel now pursued him with renewed fervor. Benedick flushed at the thought. By faith, he was but a man, and flattered by her purpose, but he could not encourage her vain quest for marriage.
Although he wanted to protect her from the harsh truth, Benedick could only go so far without sacrificing them both to another, grimmer, reality. He knew it was better that she take the blow now than later, for each day she seemed to grow bolder and more determined.
The time had come to talk seriously with her. And Benedick could not do it in the hall, surrounded by the very essence of her, with the greenery, the mistletoe and the reminder of her Christmas wish everywhere. Nor did he care for the presence of others, especially Alard, with his perpetual smirk.
So he had ordered her to meet him here, in the great chamber. This morning, when the remnants of his dream drove him to urgency, it had seemed the only solution, for the old keep had no solar. But now, as Benedick glanced behind him, he noticed that the bed took up an inordinate amount of space, taunting him with the memories of his visions.
Swearing, he leaned his arm against the stones and laid his forehead against it. Rest and quiet. That is what he had sought here. Instead, he was plagued with a hall full of noisy celebrants during the day and sleepless nights fraught with phantoms. Perhaps he would never find surcease, Benedick thought sourly, because he so little deserved it.
“Benedick?”
Startled, Benedick raised his head to see his ward standing just inside the doorway. He had not heard her arrival, but that was not what struck him so forcefully. It was her use of his name, breathless and intimate upon her lips, that spread heat throughout his body. She had always called him “Sir Villiers” or “sir knight” before, and the gesture of familiarity echoed his dreams like a haunting refrain. He tensed, as if to battle, though he was not sure whether the war was against her or within himself.
As he watched, Noel began to shut the door, but he stopped her with a sharp grunt. Already he regretted his choice of location for their meeting; he did not want to be tempted further. “Leave it, for I would not cloister you here. I only wanted some privacy in which to talk.”
Her eyes were so blue and so full that Benedick nearly flinched at the sight. In them shone curiosity and sweetness and a gentleness such as he had never seen directed at himself. Faith, she was young and innocent!
Swearing, Benedick pushed off the wall. “I called you here to warn you that I will have no more displays like those under the mistletoe.” He turned away as the images of her softness and heat assailed him. Stepping toward the window, he leaned into the chill to cool his unwanted ardor.
“As your guardian, it is my responsibility to find you a husband, and I do not want you going soiled to him. If you must have twelve kisses because of some ridiculous tradition, then limit yourself to the children or Hardwin.” Anyone too young or old to respond, Benedick added silently.
“But—”
Benedick held up a hand, halting her protest. “I take full responsibility for my part in...things,” he said awkwardly. “However, these kisses are to be those of friendship, brief and chaste. Therefore, you will not seek them from me or any other man.”
“But I want to kiss you,” Noel replied in that breathless voice that tightened his body. “And it will not bother my husband, for it is you I will marry.”
“No.” It was a harsh exhalation, sharp and painful, as he turned on her. “This foolishness of Christmas wishes must cease,” he warned through gritted teeth.
Far from being frightened, Noel did not even look perturbed by his decree. “’Tis my wish to do with as I will,” she said with a smile. “You may be master of this keep, but you have no sway over the season’s magic.”
“Magic!” Benedick swore again and stepped toward the hearth. For a long moment, he stared into the fire, seeing ghosts in the wavering flames and blood in the red embers. “I am old and tired, Noel,” he said finally, “and not a fit husband for you.” Lost in thought, Benedick was not sure what he expected, but certainly not her light trill of laughter.
“I would hardly call six and twenty ready for the grave,” she replied. “And you seemed lively enough last night”
Benedick shuddered as her words reached out and caressed him, her voice threaded with both shyness and seduction. He slanted her a hard, warning glance. “I am a man, as any other, so do not tempt me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but it was not fear Benedick saw on her face, and he nearly groaned aloud at the desire, fresh and newly minted, that transformed her features. “Noel,” he whispered roughly, turning back to the fire. “You are young, vibrant and good—and deserving of the same.” Although Benedick had thought them often enough, the words stuck in his throat.
“Perhaps I could just share some of my own abundance,” she replied softly. Seriously.
Benedick bit back an oath. “You little fool! You have no idea who I am or what I have done! I am a bastard born. I fought my way up from nothing, and once attached to a household, I got ahead by fighting harder, better, fiercer than those who trained with me. I have hired myself out to battle every since. Sometimes I can even remember their faces, these dead men. And for what were they murdered, an acre of dirt? A rich man’s greed?” he muttered.
Without waiting for her reply, he continued on, forcing himself to speak plainly. “I don’t know what you imagine a knight’s world to be, but I have made my living...I earned this keep...by killing, Noel. That’s what I do.”
Finally, Benedick turned to face her, prepared for the retreat he expected, telling himself it was for the best. But Noel did not flinch. No horror or revulsion showed on her lovely features, just a somber aspect that he rarely saw, along with that confounded gentleness.
“Not anymore,” she said softly.
Although the absolution she gave him threatened to undo him, Benedick schooled himself to reveal nothing. But when she stepped forward, he panicked. Somehow, he knew that if she touched him, he was lost and all his fine resolutions with him. Without looking at her, he moved past her to the door only to pause on the threshold.
“As your guardian, I am ordering you to obey me,” he said, assuming the harsh tone he had often used with his men. Turning his head, he regarded her with a bleak coldness that no hearth could ease. “No more kisses, Noel. No more gifts,” he said firmly.
“And no more wishes,” he concluded.
Noel watched him go, hugging herself against the sudden chill. When she glanced around, searching for the source of the draft, she found none. And then she knew: it had emanated from her knight.
Benedick’s prohibitions hung heavy in the air, air redolent with the smell of greenery, and Noel smiled shakily when she noticed that he had not torn down the branch she had placed over the door. Christmas magic. It seemed to flicker before her eyes, struggling to life, and Noel sighed wistfully. It had better be powerful this year to combat Benedick’s stubborn refusals.
It could be worse, Noel told herself with her usual optimism. At least he had not found fault with her. He had not claimed that she was ugly or ill-mannered or repulsive, and she would not have believed him, if he had. Benedick might have contempt for her youth, but Noel was old enough to sense that he was attracted to her. His kisses had proved it.
Noel shivered, suddenly warm again, as she remembered the feel of his hard body pressed close, the gentle touch of his callused hand against her cheek, the fantastic pleasure of his mouth upon hers. And Benedick had been just as moved as she, for she had heard his rapid breathing and a stark groan that had made her shudder with delight.
The first kiss was so startling in its revelations that Noel had not been sure of his attachment, but she had come away more certain the second time. Smiling at her first, heady surge of feminine power, Noel brightened. Oh, she had been daring last night all right, but obviously she had pressed Benedick too far, too fast.
Now what?
Noel’s smile faded when she realized that she could more easily change his opinion about her than about himself. For it was himself Benedick had maligned. Unfairly, Noel knew. No wonder this man seemed so different from the young warrior she had met. Benedick was tired, not in body but in spirit, and Noel knew that such wounds were less easily cured.
Yet she had no doubt that she could do it, if he let her. Even now, she ached to go after him, to put her arms around him and give him the comfort he so desperately needed. But not yet. He looked to be a man already pushed to his limits. She would have to give him some time, but that was something of which she possessed very little.
There were only eight days until Epiphany, and then both her time and her wish would run out.
Benedick tried to concentrate on the accounts in front of him, but he kept wondering where Noel was and what she was doing. Since she given him neither kisses nor gifts for the past few days, he should have been well pleased that she was finally obeying his dicta.
Only he wasn’t.
In fact, he was like a man bedeviled. Befuddled by lack of sleep, he increasingly felt as if he were no longer in control of himself. Even as he counted the days until he would be free of her, Benedick sought her out, drinking in her presence like a thirsty peasant. She alternately enthralled and dismayed him until he knew not what to think—or to feel.
Now, poised over his books, he thought he could smell her perfume, the fresh, clean scent of her, and he drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Perhaps his mind, unused to such things as leisure time and plaguing dreams, had begun playing tricks on him.
“Benedick?”
At the sound of her voice calling his name, Benedick looked up, both relieved that she was not a figment of his imagination and dismayed by his body’s swift reaction to the sight of her. His gaze rode up her gown, searching the opening of her fur cloak for the lemon silk below, then traveled up her slender throat to her lovely face. She was smiling, and a familiar warmth gathered in his chest and traveled outward as if Noel herself had gathered him close.
“Come now, put away those dry books, for ’tis a holiday. It snowed during the night, and now we are off to gambol and skate upon the pond,” she said.
“What?” Blinking to clear his thoughts, Benedick could not believe he had heard her correctly, but then very little of what Noel said seemed to make sense to him.
“Come skating with us,” she said, holding up a set of animal bones that had been fashioned into slender points. “The water is frozen over, the sky has cleared, and it is fine weather to be out and about. ’Tis tradition,” she said. Her innocent eyes were wide and sparkling, as if she thoroughly enjoyed teasing him, and Benedick scowled, prepared to deny her when Alard appeared. Dressed for the cold weather and moving entirely too close to Noel, he obviously intended to go with her. Benedick realized he would have to assign the errant youth more duties, at least until Epiphany.
“Saint Norbert’s knee! You’ll never get Benedick to come with us,” his squire said. “He doesn’t know how to have any fun!”
Fun. Benedick snorted in contempt. His life had ever been one of struggle and battle, not holidays and their requisite foolishness. He had no time for such nonsense, and he opened his mouth to tell Alard so, but the sight of the two of them together stopped his pithy retort. He liked not the cozy friendship between them, especially after he had warned his squire away from his ward. Perhaps he would join them, if only to keep an eye on the insolent Alard.
“He knows how to play,” Noel replied in a breathy tone that made Benedick glance at her sharply. Coming around the table, she took his hand, tugging on him, as usual. “He has been too busy being brave and valorous, but now that he is home to stay, he can enjoy himself.”
Benedick refrained from pointing out that his idea of enjoyment was rest and warmth and quiet, not a deliberate trek into the cold. He let her pull him to his feet, his hand unaccountably loath to slip from hers, and lead him across the hall, but he drew the line at sliding around some pond like an unruly child.
“I will not skate,” he said.
“Oh, very well, just come along then. It’s too stuffy to remain inside on such a beautiful day!” Noel replied. Before he knew it, Alard had tossed him his cloak and disappeared out the doors, along with another youth.
Noel led him a different direction, into the garden, where the herbs Hardwin claimed she had planted lay covered with snow. A tall ash lifted its black branches into the sky, and bushes and benches were softened by their white covering.
“If you will not skate, then you must take the consequences,” Benedick heard Noel say from behind him. Then suddenly he felt a smack upon his shoulder. He turned his head to see flakes of white falling from his cloak. Had she struck him?
“Come now, surely you know how to make snowballs?” she said. She had pulled on her gloves and was patting something between her hands. “Now, watch carefully,” she instructed. When the lump was small and hard, she tossed it at the low stone wall.
She missed, her attempt landing in a clump of dry stalks of vegetation before the stones. Despite himself, Benedick laughed at her efforts. She turned to him, arms crossed in front of her, her toe tapping into the white around their feet. “I suppose you can do better?”
With a snort, Benedick reached down, palmed the snow and struck the center of the wall in one swift movement.
“Humph. Not bad for a beginner,” she said. With a flash of even teeth, she smiled up at him, then reached down for another attempt. Benedick tried not to notice the way strands of gold escaped the hood of her cloak or the unconscious grace of her movements. Or the sweet curve of her behind when she bent.
Her second ball landed short of the first, and Benedick found himself wondering what the devil he was doing. He had come along ostensibly to watch Alard, who was nowhere in sight. “This is a pointless exercise,” he said gruffly, jerking his attention away from the sway of her hips.
“It is not,” she argued. “Can’t it qualify as some sort of knightly practice?”
Benedick thought of his kind of practice—killing—and grimaced. “Yes, ofttimes in the thick of battle did we pelt the enemy with balls of snow,” he muttered.
Noel’s trilling laughter told him she was not offended by his sarcasm. “We’ll need a big target,” she said, looking about the small garden. “Turn around.”
Automatically Benedick let her hands guide him, so that she stood behind him, then he jerked in surprise when he felt a hard whack on his back. Obviously she planned to use him as the “big target.”
Slowly turning, he prepared to berate her for such childish nonsense, but she was giggling with delight, her blue eyes sparkling, her grin so bright that he was struck dumb. Enchanted, more likely. He scowled.
“Come now, sir knight! Can you do as well?” For a moment, all Benedick could do was survey the tempting sight she presented, all pink-cheeked and fresh, lifting her skirt to expose one slender, curved ankle before disappearing behind the large ash.
Annoyed at himself for gawking like a dim-witted lad at her antics, Benedick skimmed some snow off a bush and packed it tightly. The minute she stuck her head from behind the tree, he tossed it. Unfortunately, she, too, was armed, and he got it right in the chest.
Her aim was improving.
As Benedick stood there listening to the sound of her laughter, he knew just how ridiculous it was to participate in her follies. He ought to quit now, regain his dwindling dignity as head of the household and return to his account books. His body was well past the age for games and his soul had never embraced frivolity, yet a flash of her blue eyes, daring him to play with her, made him linger.
She peeked out again, volleying another ball in his direction and Benedick took off after her, catching the edge of her cloak. She escaped with a whirl and a giggle and tossed snow into his hair. It felt good, cold and invigorating, and he lunged after her.
Grabbing only at air, Benedick heard himself laugh, and the discovery made him light-headed. And lighthearted. As he put up an arm to shield his face from a flying ball, he felt young again, as if she had infused him with an energy that gave him a different past and a new future. For once, Benedick forgot all else. He just wanted to reach out and seize the moment. Seize her...
Another miss, and he had her, his fingers closing around the soft fur of her cloak and reeling her in like a fish on a line. Grinning, he hefted a fistful of the chilly flakes in one hand, and watched her laughing protests as she tried to escape. Then, suddenly, she surprised him by falling backward as if in a swoon.
Leaning, Benedick caught her with one arm and stared into her delicate face, concerned. Then her lashes fluttered open. “I surrender,” she teased with a smile. Disgusted, he dropped her, squealing, onto the soft snow, but she grabbed his cloak and pulled him down on top of her. Automatically Benedick put down his hands to take some of his weight, as she chuckled beneath him. He was a heavy man and would not hurt her, even in jest.
Noel apparently had no such qualms, for she managed to tug strands of his long hair to drag his face closer. “Got you!” she cried delightedly. Although it pained him not, that slight jerk went deeper than his scalp. Benedick felt as if something shifted deep inside him as he looked down at her. Her lashes glistened wetly, her eyes glittered with mischief and her pink lips were parted in a soft smile. Flexing his elbows, he let his chest come to rest against hers, reveling in the gentle give of her breasts.
She did not look alarmed. Nor did she eye him with lascivious intent. Her clear gaze met his with a sweetness that made his throat ache, and somehow one of her gloved palms came to rest against his cheek. “Benedick,” she whispered.
He wanted her. Not just her body, but Noel, every bit of her, until he possessed her light, her joy, her very soul. Pressing his sudden hardness into the juncture of her thighs, Benedick took her mouth with his own, and the ensuing heat threatened to melt the snow that surrounded them. It went deeper than the kiss and the alignment of their bodies to his very heart, as if it, too, had been covered in ice.
And Noel was skating on it.
Benedick felt her fingers curl into his hair, heard the tiny sound she made, and knew the heady wonder of pleasing her. He brushed his lips against her cheek and her moist lashes and licked away a snowflake that had settled on her brow. She shuddered beneath him.
“Benedick,” she murmured, and he pressed his face against her white throat, seized with desire so strong that it made him weak, a need that surpassed the physical. Here, at last, was the haven he had so long been searching for, and he knew that if he would let her, Noel would welcome him home at last.
But he could not let her.
He was too old to change, too grim to romp in the snow, too coarse to give her what she deserved. The knowledge made Benedick lift his head and, with great force of will, he eased away from his ward. Below him, Noel blinked dreamily, her eyes drowsy with longing and gentleness and something else that he had never seen.
Benedick stared, and for one brief moment, he was tempted to believe in all of it: Christmas magic and wishes and even love, that most elusive of prizes. But he knew better. Rising to his feet, he pulled Noel with him and dusted off her cloak. Despite her protests, he sent her inside to dry, while he walked away, drinking in the fresh air in an effort to clear his mind.
He called for his mount to be readied and charged off across the white ground as if fleeing his own keep. And maybe he was. When he finally reined in the massive destrier, Benedick began to feel more in control of himself. This was a world he knew, of horses and hard riding, not tenderness.
Scowling, he paused to examine his behavior toward his ward, and found himself wanting. He ought to be discouraging her youthful fancies, not giving in to them and his own lecherous leanings. He was no better than his father!
Except it hadn’t felt like that at all.
Benedick shook his head. Lust was a part of it, to be sure, but there was so much else that he did not even begin to understand. All his fine intentions and logical arguments faded away when he saw Noel, when he held her, and then...she became the beacon for a new world, shining and bright and beckoning.