Bessie Read online

  Oh!

  Enough rumination. She had an assignation to attend! A handsome man to entice. A bit of flirtation to ensue. Bessie picked up a cloak, and swirled it about before she donned it. And then she turned back to Roberta.

  “Besides, he isn’t betraying his wife. He’s meeting with her. He just doesn’t know it, yet.”

  “He’s enjoining a clandestine meeting. With a stranger. Oh, Bess. Bess. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “I was right about the joust, wasn’t I?”

  “Make-believe isn’t reality.”

  “You are right. I am thinking it is better. Don’t wait up for me. I may be late.”

  Bessie blew the woman a kiss and turned before Roberta’s attitude rubbed off.

  ~ ~ ~

  The stables were warm, smelled of horses, and seemed to have as many torches lit as the main house did. Bessie had never visited the stables at night. It felt strange. Eerie. She pulled her cloak closer about her and looked for Aaron-Run’s stall.

  “You came!”

  Strong arms wrapped about her from behind and pulled her into the blackness of an unlit area. Bessie’s voice caught in her throat in a scream, while her heart continued hammering even after she recognized the voice.

  “I thought something might prevent you. Perhaps...you have a husband?”

  He spun her neatly in his arms, capturing her hands against his chest. Bessie’s eyes widened.

  Lighting from outside the stall barely lit his features. Her own were dark. Devon had pulled his hair back into a queue. It made his features look more chiseled than before. She’d no idea his eyelashes were so long, either. Their shadow reached to the bottoms of his cheeks and carved an arch over his nose.

  She could have swooned at his handsomeness. Any village maiden would have.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “And little ones, too? Surely your husband keeps your belly filled with a babe?”

  “My husband never touches me.”

  He frowned, whether at her whisper, or the content of her words.

  “The man is a sightless fool.”

  Devon pulled her upward, bent his head and touched his mouth to hers. And the world stopped. Spun crazily. Re-righted. A shockwave of reaction hit her breast. Her legs. Her toes. She moaned, her lips parted, and he slipped his tongue against her inner upper lip. Liquid warmth ran her spine and came right back up to her breast.

  Bessie started trembling. It was too soon. Altogether startling. And beyond amazing. She’d no idea a kiss felt like this!

  Devon lifted his head and regarded her for long moments.

  “You needn’t fear me, little one. I shall do no more than replace the ribbon as I requested. Unless you ask more of me.”

  Bessie couldn’t answer. She was using a whisper, but couldn’t even find that faculty at the moment.

  “You will let me know?”

  “What?” She didn’t have to remember to whisper. Her voice was missing.

  “If you’ll be asking for more.”

  “I—”

  Devon narrowed his eyes as he regarded her. That expression carried even more impact. Bessie was having difficulty finding words, let along voicing them, and the way he studied her made it worse. Her mouth went dry. An obstruction formed in her throat. And her heart started hitting away at it.

  “We need more light. Hold to me. I’ll find a brighter spot.”

  How was she to do anything but, since he lifted her with one arm and simply carried her? She was small. He was strong. And this demonstration did stranger things to her pulse than before. She clenched her fingers about folds of his tunic as he walked.

  “I was afraid you’d demur. Fail to meet with me. And now that you are here, I’m a-feared that you’ll disappear.”

  He was speaking to the region beside her ear as he walked. The slight breeze from his breath teased and tickled, causing a riot of gooseflesh along her skin. She shut her eyes, and breathed deeply. He smelled wondrous. She knew he’d bathed after the joust, this time in warmed, scented water. He’d done it with MacClaren’s aid. He hadn’t wanted his wife near him.

  She wondered why the bath water hadn’t disguised his particular scent. That was rather unfair.

  “Ah. Yes. This is much better.”

  Bessie’s eyes opened. She felt him swing a gate shut before putting his leg on one of the rungs. He settled her onto his thigh, bringing her head level with his. She was alone with him. Touching him. And quivering in place. She couldn’t even look at him!

  Where was her courage?

  She didn’t recognize his tunic. It wasn’t elaborate, such as Stansbury would have ordered. Nor, was it being worn properly. Devon’s collar gaped open to mid-chest. The material looked to be soft leather. She should be certain. Her hands were still holding the material. She was having trouble with her fingers. They were clenched to each side of him, one in front and one at his back. She had to consciously unfasten them. She focused on the movement. First, to releasing her right hand. Then the left.

  “Look at me. Please? You are so lovely. So...beauteous. You’ve no idea what you do with those chestnut-colored eyes.”

  “You shouldn’t...say such things.” Even whispered, her voice carried a tremor. And he wanted her to look at him? She’d faint.

  “Why not? Who is to say me nay? I’ve a victory under my belt, a beauteous wench in my arms, and all night to play. I see no reason to keep silent.”

  Bessie gasped, her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. She barely had time to control the expression as he put a hand beneath her chin and forced her head up to face him.

  “I didn’t realize until now that you’d eyes of such warm brown. I knew you had hair like fire. Now, the entire countryside knows it as well. It was like a beacon today from the midst of them. Did you know that?”

  She couldn’t avoid answering this time. Not when he cocked his head and waited.

  She nodded.

  “You wished me to notice you, didn’t you? I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from you. Come along. Please? Don’t be stingy with your words.”

  A slight smile played at the side of his mouth. He was right, she was being stingy. He had every reason for his arrogance. It was maddening, and it was wholly exciting at the same time.

  She nodded again.

  She didn’t have time to catch a breath before Devon grunted and pulled her to him. Bessie should have put more material at her breast if she didn’t want to know what his hard chest felt like. Devon wasn’t going to be denied. She sensed it as his lips took hers again, shoved hers open, and this time he flicked his tongue against hers. Realms of sensation swelled and crested, and pinged and stung.

  But it was wrong. Bessie put her hands to his shoulders, and shoved.

  Devon was trembling as he released her. The chest before her eyes filled and exhaled with deep breaths, sending a rush of air onto her. It startled. Frightened.

  She dared a glance.

  His upper lip was lifted, his eyes narrowed. He’d dipped his head a fraction, to look at her through his upper lashes. Bessie tried to slide back from him, but he held her fast with one arm about her waist.

  “You play with fire, wench. I am not certain I like it.”

  “Forgive me,” she whispered.

  He yanked her back into contact with him. Bessie cried out. Oh, no! Roberta had been right. She was going to get ravished by her own husband!

  Devon lowered his head to her neck, placed a kiss to her skin and started sucking as he moved upward. Toward an ear. Along her jaw. His lips sent sensation flickering before them. Bessie fought the sensation. She clenched her thighs together, slammed her lips shut against the moans, and focused on the torch.

  Nothing worked.

  Her soft cry seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. Devon slid his mouth along her shoulder, pushing her blouse out of his way as he went. At the exact same time, he was sliding his other hand along her ankle and up her calf. It startled
. Shocked. And then it terrified.

  “Wait! Please! I can’t let you—! Stop! Oh, please?”

  She’d ceased whispering. Her voice didn’t sound normal, anyway. It was too breathless and filled with anguish. It had stopped his foray beneath her skirt. His hand was embedded between her knees as he regarded her from the end of her shoulder. And then he asked one word.

  “Why?”

  “You’re wed! You have a wife and—”

  “Would that my wife was as winsome! I’d grace her bed all night, if she were.”

  “But...you said—. You promised! Have you no honor?”

  Tears were starting. Bessie couldn’t believe it. She sniffed rapidly and blinked even quicker. And somehow managed to stave them off.

  He lifted his head and sent a lengthy, loud sigh into existence. When he spoke, it wasn’t in her direction. It was to the other side of the stall.

  “I’ve honor enough, my lovely one. And I did promise. Would that I hadn’t. I wouldn’t be standing here, swallowing need and unable to do a thing about it.”

  “You forced me!”

  He turned to her and his eyebrows rose. “I’ve done little. A bit of enticing. A flicker of flame to a candle wick. It’s my cursed luck that you won’t allow me to finish.”

  “You’ll not touch me?”

  “’Tis a strange request, when you’re atop my leg as you ask it.”

  “Put me down, then.”

  “Oh. I think not.”

  Bessie sniffed again. “But...you promised.”

  “I said I’d not to do anything against your wishes. Unless you ask it. I didn’t promise not to touch you. I still have to return your ribbon. To right about here.”

  He slid a finger along her lower leg. Bessie gasped.

  “Remember?”

  “Keep it,” she answered.

  “I’ve one chance to make you mine, and you deny me?”

  She looked down to stop the cry that filled her heart. Her chest. It reached her belly. And then her entire body. She was amazed nothing sounded. She spent several moments wrapping the hurt and disillusionment about her, swallowing the bitter taste. She looked back to him and swallowed hard.

  “I’ll never be yours,” she told him and lifted her chin.

  “Why did you come, then?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve...a way with men. You seemed...easy.”

  He lifted her from his leg with hands that trembled. He set her on her feet. Then, he backed from her, placing his face in shadow. Bessie could sense emotion. It was anger, and it was palpable.

  “You play with me?” he asked.

  “I wanted to see if you were as they say. The Hildebrands are said to be the faithless sort.”

  “I’ve none to be faithful to.”

  That hurt. Bessie caught a breath and concentrated on the torch beside his head. Even so, she stammered her next question. “You’ve...no wife?”

  “Very few know of it, yet, but yes, I am wed. I was given to the queen’s ward not two days ago. She wasn’t my choice. Nor am I her choice for a husband. And that brings me to us. The right here. And the right now.”

  “Perhaps you are not quite...as desirable as you seem to think.”

  “I’ve a wife that insults me. Why would I stay and listen to such from you?”

  “No one asked you to. Go to her. Mayhap she’ll want you.”

  “Are you saying you don’t?”

  It was getting more difficult to address him the longer they spoke. Devon’s growl warned her. He’d stepped closer, too, while the torch cast a shadow that overtook the area. His emotions heated up the area. Bessie was amazed she didn’t fling herself at him.

  Her mind might find him detestable, but her body was definitely giving her trouble. Every bit of her skin felt awakened. Alert. Excited. And nothing she said covered it over or made it go away.

  If they touched, she’d never be able to keep up the pretense.

  “I...must go, my lord. Thank you for wearing my favor at the joust. Keep it as a token.”

  “A token of what?”

  He stepped closer. Light from another source caught his face, illuminating it for her. Everything on her reacted, lurching slightly toward him. Rapt. Needy. He was so handsome. So very masculine. So...perfect. And all of that hid such loathsomeness. She’d brought it into the light and now she had to face it. She’d guessed at his lack of character.

  Well.

  Now she had proof.

  “A woman...who turned you down.”

  Bessie replied before she lost every vestige of honor and reached for him. She didn’t have time to work the gate, so she hitched her skirts and climbed it, instead. She was amazed she actually kept her grip. Devon grabbed for her, ripping material as she dropped onto the other side. She rolled quickly to her feet, but he hadn’t given chase. He was watching her from over the top rung.

  The stall doors separated them, but it was nothing. Bessie realized that as she watched Devon’s chest rise and fall.

  “At least tell me your name,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “So my dreams have one.”

  “Your wife owns your dreams, Sir Knight. Good night. And good bye.”

  Bessie wrapped her arms about her to keep the misery inside. She raced the halls, climbed the stairs, her arms clenched about her middle the entire time. She’d never felt such gut-clenching emotion. There was just one thing to do about it, too. Handle it, just as she’d done every other experience. Deny it. And force it away. If she refused to accept this sensation as pain, then it didn’t exist. It had always worked before. She was counting on that now.

  Her chamber was empty. Heaven-sent. Bessie shut both doors and slammed the bolts into place, fighting sobs that were a physical presence. At least she had time before facing Roberta and her questions on the morrow.

  But she didn’t know how she’d ever face Devon again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “So tell me, what do you know of love?”

  Bessie choked and looked away. It was three leagues to Hilde Castle from Stansbury Hall, but the journey was already unbearable. Every time Devon opened his mouth, he made it more so.

  “Come now. Surely, you’ve felt the emotion. You must have cared for one of your husbands, at least. Come along. Answer. I vow, your silence is worse than your words.”

  “I can’t believe I heard that a-right, my lord.”

  “It’s true, although I’d not thought it possible. You’ll not hold that against me, too, will you?”

  “I’ve held nothing against you.”

  “You’ve been sitting in a huff of temper since we started. I’ve been trying to draw you out for ages.”

  “Perhaps if you spoke of something other than your win at the tourney, I’d have replied sooner.”

  “You refer to this?”

  Devon lifted his fist, where an emerald green ribbon was twisted about his hand.

  Bessie choked again. She was lucky the creaking of the carriage on deep ruts disguised it.

  “I’m pleased to note you’re staying within character, Devon. Why didn’t you just give the girl back her ribbon and have done with it?”

  “You saw her, then?”

  “I did attend. Of course, I saw her. Everyone did. That was quite a display. Her husband has his hands full.”

  “Aye. That it was.”

  Devon sighed, lost in his thoughts. Bessie bit back a retort. He’d been trying to pull her into an argument all morning. He’d not been successful until now. Damn him, anyway for mentioning love! What could she possibly know of it?

  That it hurt like needles stabbing at her breast?

  “As to the why of keeping it? Well. She told me to. Last night. It’s a souvenir, Mistress. I’d as lief part with it as my sword.”

  “If you have to have such entertainments, Devon, couldn’t you keep them to yourself? I’m afraid I find you rather boring.”

  “I thought you’d not allow another woman near me. Is your spell f
ailing?”

  “I set no spell, and I’m no witch. I’ve tired of telling you of it, too. I’ve tired of this entire journey.”

  The carriage went into a large dip, flinging Bessie at Devon. She cried out as everything spun. He caught her deftly and twisted her into his lap. He was laughing, too.

  Bessie shut her eyes, but when she opened them, nothing had changed. She had to accept that it was his arms beneath her knees and behind her back, effectively folding her right into an embrace against his chest.

  “I think I like this dress better than the brown. This one, at least, shows some feminine curves. I am most appreciative.”

  He was looking at her bosom. Bessie blushed, the color reaching exactly where he looked. There wasn’t any way to disguise it.

  “You can unhand me now. The carriage has righted.”

  “Are you certain you’ve recovered?”

  The fine netting she’d hastily sewn for a veil wasn’t as thick as the old one. Bessie didn’t dare stay close to him. If she could see this well through the mesh, there was no telling what he was discovering for himself.

  “I was never in need of recovery, my lord. I save that for vapid females half my age.”

  “That would make them about ten. I believe I maligned you on that score. I’d apologize, but then again. You allowed it.”

  “How—do you know that?”

  “Sir Gadfly apprised me of it. At the tourney. He’s fond of you. He told me of that, too.”

  “Set me back on my bench.” To her own ears, her voice sounded tight and shocked.

  “I had to unseat him at the tourney. Especially after you gave him your favor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What else did you expect me to do after that?”

  “Sir Geoffrey was astride Aaron-Run?”

  “You know the name of the horse he rode, too?”

  “I uh...thought...it was you.”

  The area about Devon’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “In that event, you’re forgiven for giving him the ribbon.”

  “Set me on my own bench. Now.”

  “You’re very used to getting your own way, aren’t you? You don’t even bother to ask.”

  “Please, set me on my own bench.”

  “Why? Don’t you like it in my arms?”