CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

William the Marshal’s confirmation came by way of a monk, who carried the message consisting of a single word Purbeck—from the earl’s temporary lodgings at Falaise Castle. FitzRandwulf’s party had already been in St. Malo a full day and had met with the captain of a small ship that same evening to arrange passage across the Channel.

It had taken two days to travel from Rennes to St. Malo, days of riding with aches and bruises, with broken bones and dark moods. Robin and Ariel were kept busy watching Dafydd ap Iorwerth, for he was not as much of a floppy puppy as his appearance had suggested. He had been fully prepared to leave Rennes the morning after their ignoble arrival, broken arm or not, and left little doubt he intended to keep to his saddle if he had to tie himself on.

Ariel had wakened with a blistering headache and no clear memory of anything that had happened after being clouted on the head. She might have remained blithely ignorant had she not had an early visit from her brother.

He had strode into her chamber unannounced, his one cheek and eye a massive purpling bruise, his nose swollen and decidedly to the left of straight.

“You should not cast stones before you see yourself in a glass,” he had remarked.

“I have no need to see myself. I can feel it ugly enough.” Henry had spared a glance for the blue and yellow goose egg she wore on her forehead, then helped himself to a chunk of cheese off the tray Robin had brought her earlier.

“You have heard, I gather, that the Cub has decided to rest here the day.”

“Because of Lord Dafydd’s arm?”

“Among other reasons,” Henry agreed. “I hope I was not one of those ‘other’ reasons. It was my head that was cracked not my rump—I am perfectly able to sit a horse.”

“He predicted you might say that,” Henry mused. “But alas, he was more concerned with the horses than he was with your head.”

“The horses?”

“The packhorses, to be precise. He must needs replace them. It seems the threat of plucking out eyes and hearts carries little weight in Rennes. The destriers would have been too difficult to conceal or dispose of, but the rouncies must have been stripped down and sold to harness before the tavern door swung fully shut.”

“They were stolen? With all of our supplies?”

“We were hardly expecting to walk into a nest of vipers.”

“Or the wrong nest, for that matter.”

“An easy mistake. Anyone could have made it.”

“But it was not anyone, dear brother, it was you. You who pride yourself on your cunning and quick wit. You who claim to be able to travel from one end of the realm to the other with only your shield and merciless eye for protection.”

His scowl returned. “I could have carved the lot to shreds easily—”

“Had you not been distracted. Indeed, your merciless eye was lodged so far down the wench’s bosom, it was a wonder it was not torn from the socket when you were attacked.”

Henry leaned over. “If you would care to exchange insults, sweet Ariel, harken back to where you were when the truncheons flew and the blood spattered. Under a table? In a corner? The darkest you could find? Here, I would have expected to see you in the thick of the fray, for all your practising and boasting.”

Ariel started to return his scowl, but the effort faltered. “In truth, I can remember very little of what happened inside the tavern … and nothing at all of this place,” she added, indicating the clean, tidy room.

“Nothing at all?” he repeated sceptically.

“Fragments only. Robin had to tell me most of what occurred at the first tavern, else I would have thought we came here by magic.”

“Magic,” he murmured. “I suppose some damosels would regard such a bold rescue as being magical—enough so to bind themselves in the rogue’s arms for a romantic ride to safety.”

“I would hardly call a wild dash through the streets romantic,” she said dryly. “Nor was I bound in his arms. I was in a faint.”

“And so you sought the strength of his lips to hold you up?” He saw her gather herself for a denial and wagged a finger. “Before you splutter needlessly, be advised I was standing right there”—he pointed—“in the doorway. I warrant it may be just as well I was, for neither one of you looked in too much of a hurry to take leave of the other.”

Ariel’s mouth dropped open. “I … was obviously not in my proper senses.”

“You will hear no argument from me. You will hear a warning, however. He is fire, Ariel, and if you dally with him, you will be burned.”

“Dally with him!” she exclaimed. “I have no intentions of dallying with him!”

“I am glad to hear it, for I would remind you the bloodlines of the De Glares are purer than some who would aspire to be kings and queens. FitzRandwulf may wear the black and gold of La Seyne Sur Mer, but he is a bastard and as such would only breed more bastards on whoever he takes to his bed.”

Ariel was dumfounded. Almost speechless. “How … dare you even take it upon yourself to say such a thing!”

“I dare because we only have each other to watch out for, Ariel. I dare because I am the head of the De Clare family and, frankly, I would dare a great deal more to see our pennon flying over the ramparts of Cardigan Castle again.”

“Do you doubt I want the same thing? Have I not agreed to marry the very man who has the power to restore our family name to its proper place?”

“Indeed you have,” Henry agreed with quiet intensity. “And indeed you will, even if I have to gird you in an iron belt and tie you to my side every step of the way.”

Ariel’s response had been to heave the entire tray and its contents at his head, forcing him to duck back out the door.

And while Henry had not exactly girded her or tied her to his side, he had all but transformed himself into a hawk for the close and predatory watch he kept on her after that. He took precautions never to leave her alone with FitzRandwulf He even limited the time she spent in Robin’s company lest the lad boast of too many more of the Bastard’s accomplishments.

If Ariel objected to this new attentiveness on her brother’s part, she did not put voice to any complaints. She had been given more than just a knock on the head to think about and she was not altogether certain she trusted herself around FitzRandwulf.

Not that she would have known, by anything he said or did, that whatever intimacy they may or may not have shared had left a lasting impression. He was his usual cool, brusque self, preoccupied with finding horses and supplies to replace what they had lost, and then with speeding them on their way to St. Malo with no further delays or mishaps. Only at night, during the still, dark hours when the only sound was the beating of her own heart, was she aware of the slate gray eyes watching her across the fire. Then, if she still had reason to doubt the validity of what Henry had told her, she needed only to feel the warm wash of sensations sliding through her belly to know his concerns were real.

 

St. Malo was a crowded and busy port city. The smell of fish and salt water, canvas and wood rot, permeated everything.

It was also a secretive city, filled to the eaves with men who made their livings carrying other men back and forth to England who preferred to keep their travel arrangements to themselves. Fully a third of John’s meagre army had returned to England without the permission or knowledge of their captains. Another third waited in dirty taverns, rolling dice and hoping to win the price of a berth on board the next ship heading home. Voices in the shadows railed King John as a usurper, a liar, a foul murderer. There were brawls in the taverns and throats slit every night. Fevers ran high in favour of the rebel forces seeking to oust the Norman king from Brittany, and even humble pilgrims were not immune from the effects of widespread dissent, twice fielding sprays of rotten vegetables thrown by invisible hands.

FitzRandwulf’s party sought lodging at another inn that opened its doors wider to the words à outrance, and though the owners were neither as portly nor as amiable as the Gabinets, the rooms were clean, the food hearty, the ale strong and plentiful. Henry and Eduard wasted no time making arrangements for their crossing. Passage for the men and their horses was won at an exorbitant price, paid in silver to guarantee the captain would not sell their berths to others as eager to remove themselves from Brittany.

When the men returned to the inn for the evening meal, they behaved as if at least a portion of the weight on their shoulders had been lifted. It showed in the amount of ale they consumed with their food and in the light-hearted banter that flew across the platters of mutton, quail, fish, and legumes. Henry was so relaxed, his eye kept wandering to the shapely figure of the innkeeper’s daughter, who all but ignored him as she filled their tankards and carried the meal to and from the large dining table. His wandering eye became a general restlessness and, after Ariel declared her intentions to retire for the night, he confided he might partake of a walk to another tavern where the patrons were less solemn and the wenches less prone to keeping their thighs clamped together. It was their last night in Normandy, after all, and there was naught left to do but find their way to the docks before midnight the following eve.

Sedrick, heaving a sigh of vast indulgence, said he might as well accompany the randy young lord to save him from having his brains rattled again. Sparrow, declaring the pair of them needed watching, sharpened his eyes for mischief and followed after them. Neither Robin nor Dafydd ap Iorwerth expressed any further craving for adventure. The Welshman’s arm was healing, but painful, and he bid a weary good night to all and did not protest when Robin tucked himself under his arm and supported his weight up the stairs. They left Eduard brooding in front of the fire … where he was still to be found an hour or so later when Ariel descended from her room in search of a cup of honeyed milk.

At first, she did not see him, for his dark clothing blended perfectly with the shadows. Nor did he make any overt move to draw attention to himself, letting only his eyes follow her progress across the room.

She had indulged in a bath earlier that afternoon, scrubbing a week’s worth of sweat and pine sap out of her hair. Weary of braids and pins and pillowed felt hats, she had left it loose to dry and had caught the bulk of it at the nape of her neck with a scrap of linen. There were unruly sprays drifting around her temples and throat, a soft nimbus of bright red curls that glowed like a halo in the firelight. The bruise on her scalp was still visible although the angriest blue had started to fade. She wore a loose-fitting tunic made of fine camlet cloth—a deliberately feminine concession to the leggings and coarse linsey-woolsey she had worn all week. A modest enough fabric in daylight, it was rendered pale and luminous by the firelight, playing teasing tricks with shapes and shadows so that Eduard could feel his mouth going dry even without looking at anything lower than her collarbone.

An earthenware jug of mead stood on the table, left over from dinner. Ariel pondered it a moment before deciding it would be just as likely to help her sleep as warmed milk. It was while she was helping herself to a measure that she became aware of the silent figure seated in the shadows. She was quite proud of her ability to finish pouring the mead without spilling a drop. She was even able to set the jug aside and stare directly into the watching eyes as if she had known he was there all along.

FitzRandwulf did not call her bluff, nor did he question her presence or apologize for his own. He merely rose and selected another log to add to the fire.

He was out of armour, dressed comfortably in a long belted tunic and hose. His hair curled thick and glossy across the back of his neck, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders and to the way his gladiator’s muscles bulged and rippled with the motion of his arms.

Ariel took a sip of mead and waited.

He set the fresh log and took an iron rod to the embers, stirring and rearranging them so that sparks fountained in all directions and a cloud of smoke heaved out the wide opening. The log was dry and caught at once, with hungry red snakes of flame exploring the ridges and hollows, curling under the bark and hissing triumphantly over the discovery of some small burrowing creatures.

FitzRandwulf poked and stirred. When he realized she was probably not going to go away until he acknowledged her, the teal gray of his eyes turned and took a deliberately slow perusal of the fire-bleached tunic.

He had managed, since leaving Rennes, to keep his thoughts pure and his mind clear of any lingering images. There were moments, however, like this one. Moments that came out of nowhere and struck without warning. Moments when it would have been far safer for both of them if her hair had remained braided and her body armoured in filthy squire’s rags. Moments when she should have known when to look away and when it was safe to fill those sea-green eyes with challenges.

“Your brother would not be pleased to come in and find you here alone with me,” he said quietly. “My brother is not my keeper.”

“He is concerned for your welfare.”

“Are you so dangerous a man, my lord?”

“Some might think so.”

A warm, swimming sensation that had nothing to do with the fire or the mead coursed through her, catching at her breath, making the timbre of his voice seem to resonate to the tips of her toes. Power, and the ability to draw upon it at a moment’s notice, was apparent in every line of his body— more so as he straightened to his full height and stood towering over her in all his savage splendor, the amber glow of the fire beside him, a black void of shadow behind him.

“Should I think of you as a dangerous man?”

“That would depend, my lady.”

“On what?”

“On your definition of danger. For instance, I have had several cups of ale and am in no mood for exchanging gauntlets, yet you stand before me with the devil in your eye and, if I am not mistaken, a question scorching your tongue that will not give you any peace until it is asked and answered. If you ask it and you do not like my answer, then yes, it could be very dangerous … for both of us.”

“How do you know I have a specific question in mind?”

“Oh … a wild guess, I suppose. That and the fact you have been acting most decidedly saddle galled since we left Rennes.”

Ariel could not stop the flush from rising in her cheeks. She supposed she should have known Robin would share confidences with him, this despite the solemn promise he had exacted from her not to betray his revelation about FitzRandwulf’s dam.

Ariel set her goblet on the table, hard enough to splash some of the contents over the rim. She turned on her heels, fully intending to make it another two days before she deigned to speak to him again, but instead, she stood in a glowing cloud of camlet and curled her hands into tense little fists.

“Why did you kiss me at the inn in Rennes?”

It was the question he had been expecting and he answered it so politely and with such smugness she wished she had the means to scar the other half of his face. “I was merely complying with a request, my lady.”

“A request? From who?”

“There were only the two of us in the room at the time,” he said evenly.

Ariel whirled around and gaped. “Are you suggesting … implying … I wanted you to kiss me?”

Eduard furled a brow. “I may behave like a rogue and a black-hearted bastard at times, but I am not in the habit of forcing myself on helpless women. On the other hand, if the request is thrust upon me, chivalry dictates I can hardly refuse.”

“Even if the woman making the request is not in her proper senses?”

Eduard shrugged and seemed to move closer though she could swear his feet had not. “I am hardly a qualified physic to know when a woman is in her proper senses or not—especially a woman who has made such a request before.”

Ariel suffered through another ruddy wave of heat. He was standing too close. His formidable upper torso was like a wall of muscle before her, making her feel small and insignificant, and distinctly at a disadvantage.

“Do you know Henry saw us?” she asked.

“He and I have already exchanged a word on the subject.”

“He exchanged more than that with me. He seems to be under the impression I may be developing certain … ill-advised urges … toward you.”

“I trust you corrected his impression.”

“I assured him—as I assure you now—he was mistaken. I have no urges. Not toward you … or any other man, for that matter.”

Eduard’s gaze took another long, slow slide downward, making her uncomfortably aware that he was aware of the sudden new shape her nipples had taken beneath the camlet.

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” he mused.

“Absolutely. Why, I could kiss you now and feel nothing whatsoever.”

His eyes rose to the challenge, and Ariel realized her mistake, too late to withdraw it. She did not want to look at him for fear he could see the confusion beginning to crowd her senses. She did not want to look away either, for his fine gray eyes were subtly telling her how beautiful she was, how he did not believe for the merest instant she was not feeling something.

“Such confidence could easily be put to the test,” he murmured. “At the same time, it would help me prove to myself that I was only offering my comfort and sympathy.”

“You … require such proof?” she asked on a half-breath.

“I require something to keep my thoughts pure and mine eyes elsewhere.”

This time she saw him move a step closer and she matched it with a step back. He lifted a hand and Ariel felt a gentle tugging at the nape of her neck, but reacted too slowly to stop him from tossing aside the scrap of linen that bound her hair. Her hands were cold, her feet hot. Spans of flesh everywhere on her body felt tight, stretched to the limit, as if the slightest touch would send her bursting out of her skin.

He had been drinking a fair amount of ale, she could smell it on each heated exhalation of air. It was not the ale speaking, however. It may have emboldened him to speak, but it was not the ale speaking.

“I … do not think it would be wise to try to prove anything right now,” she stammered, conscious of his fingers combing through her hair, spreading it across her shoulders. “It might be best if I just return to my room … and … and we forget the whole thing.”

Eduard smiled faintly. He coiled a shiny red ribbon of her hair around his fingers. The silky heat of it slithered over his skin and sent a surge of hot blood pulsating into flesh that was already growing thick and heavy in response to the dark green sparkle in her eyes. His body was responding to a woman’s challenge, but it was the plea of a child—a spoiled child accustomed to getting her way in all things—who suggested they could just walk away and forget.

“Go then,” he said quietly, dropping the strand of hair. “And do not fling any more of your righteous airs of presumption in my face, for I could make of you, here and now, a woman of very strong urges indeed.”

He started turning away and something made Ariel reach out to stop him. His face was unreadable in the guttering firelight, his thoughts untouchable, and Ariel imagined she saw a shiver of a warning in the small muscle that flexed his jaw.

Very deliberately, she laid both hands flat on his chest. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she spread her fingers wide and skimmed them steadfastly up to his shoulders. Using the heat of his own muscles to bolster her nerve, she pulled herself up on tiptoes and pressed her lips over his, holding them there for a count of several pounding heartbeats. She broke away just as slowly, just as deliberately, and wilted lightly back onto her heels again.

“Pleasant,” was her analysis, given with only the barest tremor undermining her voice. “But rather too soured by ale for my liking. Perhaps another time, when there is nothing clouding your senses …?”

He raised a hand, startling her smugness into a faltering silence as he brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. The pad of his thumb stroked across the fullness of her lower lip, resting there while his fingers curved under her chin and started to tilt her face upward. His mouth began its descent and Ariel tried to pull back, but the heat of his hand shifted lower onto her neck, skimming around until it was pushing into the curling mass of her hair. She could not move in any direction but that of his choosing, and he chose to hold her steady a scant inch from his mouth.

The blush in her cheeks grew hotter and to her utter mortification she began to tremble. Her eyes began to shimmer with a film of silvery tears and her lips quivered apart as the tremors of shock shivered through her limbs, her breasts, her belly. She stood transfixed, doubting she could have moved even if he had set her free, and she realized the best she could hope for was to emerge with some shred of pride intact.

If he allowed it.

Ariel gasped as his mouth closed the gap between them, his lips slanting hard and full over hers. It was not so much a kiss as it was a claim, a warning not unlike the one her brother had given her about playing with fire. FitzRandwulf was fire. He was heat and flame and slow, hot breaths that scorched her cheeks and flooded her body with liquid incandescence.

She groaned as his lips forced hers wider apart and his tongue thrust past the barrier of her teeth. The bitter tang of ale gave way to the sinfully bold taste and feel of a man whose power she had already acknowledged to be formidable and uncompromising. Her body betrayed her, weakening with each deep, wet thrust so that her hands closed around fistfuls of his shirt and her breasts pressed shamelessly into a heated wall of muscle.

He was fire and she was flaming gloriously under his searing assault.

Streaks of sensations brought on by his hands, his lips, his tongue started to sweep through her, hot and icy, sharp and sweet, fierce and tender all at the same time. Her entire body seemed to be shivering, shuddering under a deluge of bright, burning sparks and she began to kiss him back, welcoming each bold stroke of his tongue, feeling the raw, primitive rhythm repeat itself in the staggeringly explicit ache that throbbed to life in her loins. His hands slid down from the tangle of her hair and pressed into the small of her back, coaxing her even closer, inviting her to share even more shocking intimacies.

Eduard kissed her until her mouth was chafed and swollen, then sent his lips chasing down the strained arch of her throat. Her skin was smooth and warm, the flesh so white against the tanned darkness of his own, it looked like cream. Like a big, hungry cat he lapped at the fluttering pulsebeat in the crook of her neck, then sent his tongue swirling into the pink shell of her ear. He could feel the deep, wracking shudders of pleasure that shook her with each nuzzling caress, and he was aware of the dangers of continuing … but she was all heat and soft, gasping wonderment, and he was as hungry to feel her lushness crushing against him as she was to feel the lushness spread and shimmer throughout her whole body. Her arousal was like an intoxicant in his blood, far more potent than any amount of ale he could have consumed and he wanted to drink his fill of her before the sobering effects of reality intruded.

Reality tried to intrude when his lips encountered the laces joining the edges of her bodice. The camlet was thin and airy and molded easily to her breasts as he stroked his hands around their fullness. The pebble-hard buds of her nipples strained against the cloth, shadows beneath the whiteness, and it would have taken a far stronger man than he to ignore their pleas to be set free. It took only a few swift tugs of his fingers to unfasten the laces and push the offending wings of camlet aside. He caught at his breath and ran his hand over the smooth surface of her skin, circling his palm around the cool heaviness of her breast before he lifted the puckered crown to his mouth.

His tongue traced silky, wet patterns over her skin and Ariel nearly crumpled to her knees under the stunning torrent of heat that poured into her belly and loins. His lips closed around her nipple and her body spasmed with the shock, with the pleasure. His tongue and lips suckled more of her, all of her that he could hold into the well of his mouth and she cried out, arching her head back in a violent, shiny whiplash of colour. He sank down onto his knees and she did not think to stop him. She thought only to press her body closer as he lavished her breasts with warm, ravaging caresses, and she became like quicksilver in his hands, hot and eager, eager and willing, willing and wanting …

For the first time, Eduard made a sound. It was muffled, distorted by the pliant sweetness of her flesh and by the taut edges of camlet that intruded on his senses again. He had not expected to lose his own grasp on reality. He had intended to kiss her just long enough and purposefully enough to frighten her into understanding this was no game they were playing. He had not expected it to go beyond a stern lesson against challenging him to any more tests. He most definitely had not expected to end up on his knees before her, his body fevered with needs.

But he was on his knees, drowning in the clean, womanly scent of her flesh. There were no more laces to unfasten, but the temptation was there, just below the gentle curve of her belly—another shadow beneath the pale cloth, outlining the triangle of fiery red down that cushioned his lips and teased his senses with images of delicate pink folds and sleek, mother-of-pearl surfaces.

Eduard pressed another groan into the juncture of her thighs and felt his noble intentions shudder away beneath his lips. He could feel the tension in her limbs and in the trembling tips of her fingers as they pushed into his hair, too shocked to know what he was doing, but telling him she did not want him to stop.

A curse sent his hands stroking down to the hem of her tunic, lifting it as he dragged his palms up the lithe, supple length of her calves and thighs. He lightly feathered the velvety flesh of her inner thighs, still expecting—hoping?—she would jerk away in alarm or maidenly decency, but he had taught the lesson too well and she had not the strength or the will to defy him.

Ariel’s hand clutched at his shoulders. Waves of shame, hot and fierce, swept through her only to be chastened by the hotter, wilder urges he had promised, and she moved with the sliding pressure of his fingertips; she strained into their deft, sure explorations and she melted around the slow, deep incursions that brought her shivering, trembling down onto the hearth beside him. She clung to his shoulders, his mouth. She panted against his husky, whispered assurances that in no way prepared her for the rush of brilliant, searing ecstasy that flared through her body.

Eduard knew, and it was both his torment and his pleasure to watch her, to hold her as her body stiffened and writhed in his arms. He kissed her almost breathless, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her cries. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, his strokes slowing only when her tremors started to fade and the drenching heat of her threatened to strip him of the last shreds of control. He had no choice then but to withdraw everything—his hands, his lips, his body. Especially his body, for it could not be trusted with any further contact, not unless that contact was full and complete in every way.

He stood, lifting her with him, but when she would have leaned forward into his embrace, he backed away, steeling himself against the wide, dark incomprehension in her eyes. Dazed by what she had just experienced, Ariel started to take an unsteady step after him, but he held out a hand to stop her —a hand that shook visibly with the effort it was taking to deny her.

“Eduard—?”

She had never called him by his Christian name before and the sound of it only made the fist clench tighter in his groin. Making matters worse, her tunic gaped open from throat to waist, revealing flesh as pale as moonlight save for the two pinkened buds of her breasts. Her hair was tumbled and wild, framing the beauty of a face that would probably haunt him now until he drew his last breath.

“Eduard … what is it? Is it something I have done?”

“No,” he rasped. “No, it is nothing you have done.”

“Then what—?”

“Cover yourself,” he pleaded in a whisper, turning his face into the safety of the shadows. “For the love of God, cover yourself.”

Ariel’s body still burned, still throbbed with a tense, tight feeling she did not understand. She did not understand his anger either, for had she not reacted just the way he had said she would react? Had he not discovered and unleashed more womanly urges than she had even known she possessed? The slick proof of them was on the hand he still held out to keep her at arm’s length. It was in the wetness that streaked her thighs and in the shifting, slithering ribbons of heat that continued to curl through her flesh as if he was still there, pleasuring her. As if she wanted even more of him there, thick and thrusting and hard.

Colour flamed in her cheeks as she looked down and saw how brazenly she stood before him. She had wanted to come away with some of her pride intact, but she had shivered it all away in the cradle of his arms.

“Jesu,” she whispered. “Sweet Jesu, what have I done?”

“You have done nothing,” he said bluntly. “And will do nothing, by the mercy of that same sweet God, so long as you do not put us to any more tests of willpower. You are still a virgin, still in possession of your groom’s honour.”

In a flush of mortification, Ariel hastened to lace the front of her tunic. Her fingers were trembling so badly she could not manage the task and at one point she thought she saw Eduard relent and step forward to offer assistance. The look of utter and complete horror on her face stopped him, and he retreated to the far side of the hearth, then into the heavier shadows beyond the glowing circle of firelight.

“Forgive me, Lady Ariel,” he said hoarsely. “This … should not have happened.”

She bowed her head over her laces again, twisting them with more prejudice than they deserved. “It was not all your fault,” she said tersely. “I could have stopped you.”

“No,” he said succinctly. “You could not have stopped me. I was determined to prove as much, was I not?”

Ariel pressed her lips together, tasting him. “You would not have been so determined to do so if I had not goaded you.”

“Again,” he muttered.

“Again,” she admitted.

After struggling a few more seconds with laces that refused to untangle, she gave them an exasperated tug and flung her arms down by her sides. This time, when Eduard emerged from the shadows, she did not stop him. She did not even look up at him.

It was just as bad, keeping her eyes cast downward, for she was given no choice but to watch the long, blunt-tipped fingers try to resolve the knotted thongs. It was worse knowing that at least one of those very capable hands was the cause of all the damp stirrings she felt inside, and she blinked too late to stop the single fat tear from escaping her lashes. It splashed squarely on his hand, bringing an abrupt halt to what he was doing, and for a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. They barely breathed.

The smallest hint of a tremor took the purpose out of Eduard’s hands and they went limp around the crumpled laces. Ariel felt another tear slide down her cheek and she heard the slow release of the breath he had been holding. Whether it was because he could sense what she was wishing for, or because he just needed the same thing, he opened his arms and wrapped them around her, drawing her gently into his embrace, holding her closer than she had ever been held before.

“Ariel,” he whispered. “Ariel, you must believe I did not intend any of this to happen.”

“It w-was not all y-your fault,” she insisted softly, burying her face in the warm curve of his shoulder. Her arms circled his waist and her hands were spread flat on the broad slabs of muscle that armoured his back; she shamelessly drew on his heat and strength, rejoicing in the loud hammering of his heart within the chamber of his chest. She closed her eyes to savour the moment, wondering if one so exquisite would ever come upon her again.

The moment and the closeness had to end, of course, but it was accomplished with less abruptness than their previous parting … and still with the nuisance of her laces to deal with. This time, however, she was less reluctant to look up into his face while he worked, and it was to her advantage that she could study all the planes and angles from a strangely new perspective.

The inflexible line of his mouth and jaw was suddenly revealed to be very flexible indeed, his mouth generously shaped, fuller on the bottom than on top, and textured with finely etched lines that flattened when he smiled and deepened when he scowled. It was a mouth that knew how to give a woman pleasure, knew tenderness and seduction, knew how to offer more than barbs and jests.

The fire cast a reddish glow on the strong column of his neck and on the straight, almost patrician nose. It was a very noble nose, she decided, augmented by eyebrows that were thick and dark enough to join in a single line when he frowned. Intimidating, she thought, unless those creases and furrows were caused by uncertainty and indecision.

The scar was still an unavoidable detriment to his laying waste to a score of women’s hearts. She suspected he did not weep for the loss, but used their aversion to his own advantage, keeping everyone at a safe distance who might otherwise want to know too many of the secrets he kept locked inside.

His eyes were by far his most unnerving feature as well as his most formidable weapon. They could reduce a woman’s pity to ashes on a single glance, or freeze her warmest intentions without ever giving her a reason why. Long-lashed and deep-set, they held more secrets than she would ever know, more loneliness than he would ever reveal. A trait they appeared to share, Ariel concluded, since she had never felt more lonely or abandoned as she did when his hands finished their task and dropped away.

“Have you not had your fill of questions answered?” he mused, aware of how closely she had been studying him.

“I only have one more,” she said quietly. “Why did you stop?”

“You wanted more?” he asked, attempting a wry smile. “Rather greedy of you, I must say.”

“You assure me I am still a virgin. Did you deny yourself the pleasure of taking my maidenhead because you wished to prove yourself so much more able to resist earthly urges than I … or because you deemed it to be of so little value to anyone other than a Welsh brigand?”

He stared at her until her knees threatened to buckle beneath her and Ariel thought: definitely ashes. Ashes and ice, because he does not know whether he should hate me … or pity me.

“Your uncle places a very high value on more than just your virginity,” he said flatly.

“Ahh yes, the oath he made you swear … to deliver me to my groom unhurt, unblemished, untouched …” She paused and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “But it would seem, since I have been hurt—with the result that I do bear a blemish—and I have been somewhat touched … would not all three parts of your oath appear to have already been broken?”

“They may have been bent slightly, but not broken. Not entirely.”

“Such a noble distinction.”

“Nonetheless, a distinction worth maintaining. A man’s sworn oath is the foundation of his honour. How much would you trust me if I paid so little heed to the difference between the bending and the breaking of vows?”

“No less than I trust you now,” she said simply. “With my life.”

She had startled him. She could see it in the silvery depths of his eyes and in the absolute stillness of the powerful body. She also thought she could see, as suddenly and as clearly as if someone had blown a film of dust off her eyes, that it was not the vow to her uncle he was intent upon preserving so much as it was the vow he had made to another.

“It is because of her, isn’t it?” she asked slowly. “Because of the vow you made to her.”

Eduard frowned and the intensity of his gaze faltered under a wave of genuine confusion. “Who …?”

“Her. The woman who is luring you back to England! Are her charms so much more desirable than mine, or is it just her jewelry that attracts you?” She did not wait for an answer, but paced to the hearth and stood trembling in front of the bright flames, unaware that in doing so, her tunic became all but transparent. “You did not seem to be a man governed by wealth or greed, but I suppose I must be proven wrong in this aspect of your character too.”

Eduard’s eyes narrowed. His flesh was still thick and hot and pulsing with hunger for this woman, yet his hands were aching to reach out and shake her. It was not the first time the two desires had overlapped, and not the least of the reasons why he considered the thinking processes of most women to be far beyond his mortal comprehension.

“Might I know the reason why my character has so suddenly fallen into decline?”

“You lied to me about not having a lady love. And lest you try to shrug me off again, I will tell you I have seen the ring you wear next to your heart. I saw it the first morning, by the river.”

A reflexive reaction sent Eduard’s hand toward his breast; the look on Ariel’s face halted it midway there.

“Is the pearl you are going to steal for her?” she asked quietly, “Or is it just something you planned to pick up along the way?”

Eduard began to understand—at least he hoped he did— and he might have smiled if Ariel had not been trying to look so hard as if his answers did not matter.

“So now I am a thief as well?” he asked gently. “God’s truth, I have tumbled from grace, have I not?”

“Do you deny you have been plotting with my brother and Sedrick to steal a valuable jewel the king now has in his possession? A pearl to be precise. And again, it would not be worth the waste of breath to say nay, for I heard the three of you whispering about it one night. About stealing the pearl out from under the king’s nose. Those were the very words I heard.”

“Were you never taught the evils of eavesdropping?”

“Were you not concerned the evils of theft and skullduggery might tend to strain your vaunted code of honour?”

“My honour would be strained more if I were to stand by and do nothing,” he said evenly.

“You are speaking in riddles again, sir,” she accused.

“And you are speaking in ignorance. Ignorance,” he said on a gust, “that has gone on long enough, methinks. If you will bring yourself away from the fire and sit with me a moment, I will tell you everything you should have known before we ever embarked from Amboise.”

“Including her name?”

Eduard’s gaze followed Ariel’s to the deep vee of his tunic where a wink of gold peeped through the mat of coarse chest hairs.

“Her name is Eleanor. As it happens, she is also the selfsame lady who is known to many as the Pearl of Brittany.”

“The Pearl of—” Ariel’s eyes widened. “Surely you do not mean—”

“The Princess Eleanor of Brittany, my lady. The only Pearl we would, any of us, be willing to go to such measures to steal from the king’s clutches.”