Her One Desire Page 9

  Thinking the dark might steal her senses when she awoke, he replaced the candle in the wall sconce with a tallow he lit in the corridor. The small chamber filled with light, casting a glow over his angel, who looked seductively disheveled. Dark red waves fell over the pillow, and her pursed lips resembled the look of a satisfied woman. One long leg had wormed its way out from beneath the coverlet and her pale undername had crawled clear to her hip.

  Broc’s eyes drank in every curve from her ankle, alongside her calf, and locked on the top of her thigh. He angled his body to get a peek at her sweetly rounded backside. His already stiff cock gave a little kick. He jerked upright, stepped to her side of the bed, and shook her shoulder. “Lizbeth, wake up.” Her hands rose out of the covers and stretched high above her head. With feline grace, she arched her back and moaned. The laces of her undertunic had loosened in her sleep and now rode low enough to expose the soft outer ring of her nipple.

  Devil take it! He wanted to taste her. He wanted to slide his tongue over the velvety texture until her nipple hardened between his teeth. His heart pounded against his tender ribs. Saliva thickened around his tongue. He licked his lips and swallowed. He had to physically and mentally stop himself from bending down and taking her into his mouth. Why did everyone have to be so damned naked? Not trusting himself to even touch her shoulder again, he bent over her and blew in her face. “Lizbeth, wake up. I need ye.”

  “Ohhh … Broc, I need you, too.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her mouth. She suckled his bottom lip between her teeth and whimpered. He braced himself overtop her with two fists on either side of her waist. His mind yelled at him to pull away, but his mouth completely disregarded the command. He nibbled her lips, tasting the sweet nectar she unknowingly offered and knew in that moment he would always crave more. She’d used his given name. The fact she’d even been dreaming about him made her lips all the more difficult to leave. His conscience pushed to the forefront. He wasn’t the type of man who wanted stolen kisses. He peeled her arms from his neck and raised the hem of her undertunic with his thumb and forefinger, then waited for her to ground herself in her surroundings.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She looked confused and out of sorts, but not afraid. “Did you just kiss me?” “Nay. Ye just kissed me.”

  Her fingers touched her wet lips; her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Why?”

  “I suspect ye were having a right fine dream about your lover,” Broc teased, trying to save her from embarrassment. “I have no lover.”

  “Mayhap ye should take one. Tis a shame to waste all that passion in a cloister. I lived in a religious community for two years and nigh lost half my senses.”

  Lizbeth cocked her head, obviously stupefied by his suggestion.

  “Did you wake me to talk about entering the church?”

  “Nay. I have your satchels, and I need your help.”

  “Do ye want me to check the stitching?”

  “I want ye to mix up a potion.” He grabbed her hand and

  pulled her from the bed, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She wavered. He gripped her around the waist, supporting her weight from behind until she could manage the task on her own. Every second he held her was another second he held his breath. Two days, he reminded himself and wondered if he could hold his breath all the way to Yorkshire. “I fear I cannot walk.”

  “Work the kinks from your legs, angel. We’ve work to do.” He left her side and retrieved her damp garments from the peg. He tossed the stiff bodice on the bed, pulled her skirts apart, and widened the opening of the waist of her underskirt. He bent on one knee and waited for her.

  She didn’t move.

  He glanced up at her. “Step in.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m dressing ye.”

  “I can dress myself.”

  “Think ye I have time for this argument again? Step in.

  Twill be quicker if I assist ye.”

  With one hand on his shoulder for support, she dipped her toes into the opening. He pulled the skirt over her hips and tied it with remarkable speed. He focused on his mission and damned the nervous boy inside him for allowing his hands to tremble. He snatched up her bodice and experienced a brief moment of relief when she willingly punched her fists through the openings.

  “Is there something amiss, m’lord?” She stood stock-still while he tied the laces. He didn’t respond immediately. The sooner he got the lass dressed, the sooner he could quit ogling her tempting curves beneath her thin undertunic. “Not yet. Do ye have the herbs to make the tincture ye put on your father’s whip? The one that steals a man’s legs?”

  Her gaze shifted to the bed, where her satchels lay. “I do. But the mixture can be lethal if mixed improperly. I would know who you intend to use it on before I agree to assist you.”

  “The guards.” Invigorated by his plan, Broc rubbed his hands together. Lizbeth agreed with one nod and set to work. He watched her mix the herbs with the utmost respect for her skill and intelligence. Grandmum had spent her life dabbling in medicines, most of which never helped. He knew firsthand Lizbeth’s potions worked.

  ‘Twas a shame her talents were wasted in the Tower.

  Her fingers worked the pestle around the mortar until she achieved a fine powder. “Your attention is setting my nerves on edge. Mayhap you could fetch that pitcher of water.”

  While she poured the powder in the pitcher, he held his breath, not taking the chance of inhaling the dust. ‘”Tis done. Enough for five men.”

  “Gather your things and finish dressing. Dinnae leave this chamber until I return.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Broc repeated his earlier steps to Smitt’s chamber, fully prepared this time for the naked beauty who answered his knock. He flashed her a flirtatious smile. “Want to earn a few extra coins, lass?”

  Her eyes lit up and the black rotten grin she gave Broc made him take a step backward to regroup. Smitt came to the door dressed and alert. “Who are we killing?”

  “No one.” Broc entered the chamber, far too small for four people, and set the pitcher on the cuttie stool. He pulled seven coins from his doublet and tossed them on the bed. Focusing his attention on the other girl, who thankfully wore a thin wrapper, he pointed at the coins. “There is a ducat for each guard ye manage to get a cup of this drink down, one of whom is in the stable. The two groats are for the delivery of two guards’ garments. Are ye interested?”

  The girl nodded her head. “ ‘Twill be my pleasure.”

  Broc and Smitt followed the two girls down the corridor and waited outside the guards’

  chambers. The door Smitt stood beside opened first. A hand popped out delivering the first pile of garments. Not long after, the woman Broc had followed mimicked the action. The girl stepped out. “The drink. Tis a poison?”

  Broc couldn’t prevent the memory her question solicited. “Nay. ‘Tis not a poison, but a product of mercy. Divide the drink five ways. Can ye count?”

  “Aye, sir.” She flashed him another ugly smile. “Five coins, five drinks, five guards. I’ll tend the man in the stable myself and have Ulna deliver the other four. Thank ye, sir. Your coin is most appreciated.”

  Broc gave Smitt orders to head for the knoll while he fetched Lizbeth from her chamber. He opened the door and found her sitting on the bed, holding her satchels. She looked up at him, her golden eyes filled with a trust he couldn’t begin to understand. But he wouldn’t fail her.

  Not her.

  He extended his hand, palm up. “Come, Lizbeth.” She stood and placed her hand in his as if they’d known each other a lifetime and allowed him to lead her out of the inn. When he pulled her toward the knoll instead of the stable, she hesitated, but didn’t release his hand. Truth was, her hold tightened. “Where are we going?”

  He motioned toward the crest of the hill where the silhouettes often awaiting horses blackened in front of a pink dawn.

  “What are you about, m’l
ord?”

  He pulled her in front of him and raised her knuckles to his lips. “I believe ye are worth saving, Lizbeth Ives. I am escorting ye to Middleham Castle in Yorkshire as Sir Julian Ascott, guard and noble servant to the King of England. I haven’t the same faith as ye regarding the Duke of Gloucester’s benevolence, and I’ve no intention of sending ye into his domain alone.”

  Chapter 9

  Lizzy s legs spread wide around the belly of her steed. She didn’t know why Lord Maxwell put her on the largest of the stolen horses, but the strained muscles in her thighs already burned, and they’d only been astride a few hours. She watched him trade their original mounts to a tenant landlord for food and coin, then divided the fare among John, Smitt, and Celeste. He swaggered toward her, possessing a noble air which had naught to do with the stolen garments he wore. A crimson satin doublet embroidered with golden suns stretched around his broad shoulders and tight black trews emphasized every angle in his muscular thighs. For reasons unbeknownst to her, all the man had to do was breathe in her direction and her breasts stood at attention.

  “Ye will eat whilst we ride.” He handed Lizzy a chunk of demain bread, dried mutton, and a flask of watered mead. “Aye, m’lord,” she agreed, knowing he would force her otherwise.

  After a quick check of the horse s hooves, he stood at the beast’s nose and stroked its muzzle. He peeked at her through inky lashes with the shy look of a boy, but his wandering eyes belonged to a man, for his gaze sent jolts of heat up her spine.

  “He is a powerful steed. Think ye can ride him the remainder of the day?”

  Nay. She redirected his question with one of her own so she wouldn’t have to lie. “Why am I astride the biggest horse?”

  “He is the fastest. In the event of an attack, I want ye to be able to escape,” he explained and mounted a horse four hands shorter than hers.

  I would prefer to ride with you, she admitted silently, but forced the valiant smile he undoubtedly searched for and picked at the bread.

  “If we ride all day, we will be outside Yorkshire by nightfall.” He spurred his steed forward. “I will take ye to your duke on the morrow.”

  Her heart fell a little. His vow to protect her would be served once she settled things with the king’s brother. There would be no reason for Lord Maxwell to remain behind. Living out her days at Fountains Abbey may have once sounded glorious, but now seemed as lonely as her life in London.

  John and Smitt, outfitted the same as Lord Maxwell, followed atop two black steeds on blankets decorated with gold cart wheels. They guarded her like noble knights of the throne, and Celeste played the role of her lady’s maid. They were a small cavalcade traveling in disguise to Middleham Castle.

  A flock of blackbirds passed in the east in a ribbon that swooped over the valley. A raven broke free of the medley and followed their progress for hours beneath a sun far hotter than April was accustomed. No breeze passed through the air, and the weight of her gown was just another suffocating burden for her to bear.

  Determined to prove her vitality, Lizzy refused to show signs of fatigue this day. They traveled little on the open road, staying mainly to the riverbanks and timberland. Every village they approached gave Lord Maxwell the opportunity to inquire about her wellbeing. He watched her with a predator’s eye, circling her like the alpha of their pack. Late afternoon, he cantered up beside her. “Do ye wish to stop, Lizbeth?”

  “Do not stop on my account, m’lord. I’m quite right,” she lied. Not that it mattered. If he decided to rein in, she wouldn’t be able to get off the horse. The aches in her thighs and lower back had turned to numbness hours before. This was her punishment for putting the tincture on Father’s whip.

  “Are ye certain? Even Smitt is starting to fade. We can press on to another village, but I dinnae think Celeste can last that long.”

  “Tell me you do not suggest we rein in for the night. Outside?” She searched overhead for a glimpse of an early moon. The silver arc hanging low would provide little light.

  “Have you tents?”

  He shot her the look he used when her remarks were less than intelligent. “Nay, Your Majesty. We have no tents.” He knew her fears, yet he mocked her. She raised her chin a notch, strengthening her resolve. “Have you a particular place in mind?”

  “There is a loch at the bottom of the next foothill.” He leaned forward, bending awkwardly to see her face. “As you wish, m’lord.” She trotted forward, giving him no time to see the sting of tears his mockery produced. A valley hidden by woodland came into view. A small brook bled into a dark lake surrounded by the most beautiful array of flowers to grace her eyes. Thousands of floral species: roses, lilies, wood violets, and some she didn’t recognize at this distance. Excitement gave her stamina. The click of her tongue and a pat on her horse’s backside set the stallion racing down the side of the knoll. She could pick one of each, mayhap more, and take them to the abbey. She inhaled their powerful scent and decided to mix a unique fragrance for the prioress. The stallion came to a sudden halt at the water’s edge, pulling Lizzy from her frivolous thoughts and sending her heart into her throat. Its front hooves rose off the ground and then splashed in unison. She eased him backward, not daring to look at the dark water. His tail thrashed side to side in agitation, slapping her like little whips. More than anxious to get off the beast, Lizzy rose up in the stirrups, but her muscles quivered and pain raced up her spine. She plopped back atop the horse’s back with a thud and wiggled her toes inside her boots, then rotated her ankles. She flexed the muscles in her aching thighs and rocked side to side to get the blood flowing in her hips. Obviously unconcerned about the situation, the horse dipped low to drink and threw her slightly off balance. While managing to slip one boot from the stirrup, the rumble of hooves hummed behind her. “God’s hooks, woman! Are ye touched in the head? Ye could have ran your mount straight into the damned loch. These animals are trained to follow instructions. They are warhorses. Your gown would have pulled you under. Foolish, insufferable woman. What were ye thinking? Lizbeth, answer me! Why are ye not speaking?”

  Though startled by the intensity of his tone, his concern touched her. “Because you have yet to stop yelling long enough for me to speak. Pray forgive me for stealing your years. I wanted to pick a few flowers before dark settled in.” She sounded like a pathetic little girl.

  He slapped his hand over his eyes and rubbed his temples. “If ye were in such a haste, why are ye still astride your mount?”

  “I’m taking in the view. ‘Tis lovely,” she lied.

  He snorted. “Ye cannae get off your horse, can ye?” She shook her head, embarrassed by her frailty. Holding the reins, she focused on the moss bordering the lake. A frog winked at her with both eyes, then disappeared into the blackness.

  Lord Maxwell snapped his neck, then dismounted with a grunt and flipped the leather straps over the ears of his horse. The beast immediately bent to drink. A slight limp troubled Lord Maxwell’s right leg as he approached her and eased her stallion’s hooves from the edge of the water. Encircling her waist with his hands, he pulled her from the horse and set her on the ground.

  She grabbed hold of his forearms and stared at his chest.

  “Please do not let go yet.”

  “Ye gave me a fright.” His pale shirt, loosely laced, rose and fell with his heavy breathing.

  “Twas not my intention.”

  He lessened his hold. “Think ye can walk?”

  She sagged. “I s’pose I will eventually.”

  In one swift motion, he plucked her off the ground, one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees. The movement caused a flutter in her stomach.

  “Where are the others?”

  He turned back toward the lake and squinted. “Looks like they are getting Celeste off her horse.”

  Lizzy studied the scene, feeling only slightly frail now.

  “Why are they way over there?”

  “The water is shallow on the other side.” H
e set her down on a bed of silky grasses beneath the canopy of a white willow. “I will get your legs working; then ye can pick your flowers, aye?”

  “Thank you.” She laid back, not caring that her knees weren’t touching, and thinking they probably never would again. Nor did she protest when he removed her boots and stockings. He worked the same magic as he had the night before, rolling her muscles until the aches thawed and the tingles ceased; then she let him continue simply for enjoyment. She draped her arm over her eyes and hoped he couldn’t see how much he stirred her, how much her heart did a little dance when he looked at her, and how her skin pebbled when she thought of him.

  ‘Twas a shame she would never know a man’s touch. There was so much inside her she wanted to share. Before she could wallow in self-pity, a little voice inside her suggested she let Lord Maxwell touch her. She smiled, knowing that voice belonged to Edlynn.

  “Why are ye smiling?” He sprawled out beside her and propped up on one arm.

  “Edlynn is talking to me.” She stared up at the weeping branches and inhaled the beauty of this place, curiously aware of the heat of his body beside her.

  “And what is Edlynn saying to ye?” He plucked a foxtail and drew it across her collarbone.

  She swished the tickle weed away, eager to play his game. “She is a lewd old woman. Your ears would turn to ash if you heard the things Edlynn says to me.”

  “Now ye have my interests. What did she say?” The backs of his fingers hovered beside her face.

  She wanted him to touch her. She near ached for it. Did she dare share her thoughts, her desires? Would he reject her? “Edlynn told me to laugh more. Play more.” “Play?

  Mayhap your auld friend has a suggestion?” Lizzy pulled her brows together, acting like there was someone in her head telling her secrets. She purposely widened her eyes and made an O shape with her mouth, overdramatizing the scene in her head. “Oh, Edlynn. You are a very wicked woman. You should not say such things.” He laughed at her theatrics. A booming belly laugh accompanied his comely smile and emphasized his dimples. “Ye are wowf.”