A firm hand over her mouth squelched the scream bubbling
from her throat. Alyson froze, knowing from the size of the
man’s body pressed against her that it was useless to
struggle. Her brain fought to find a reasonable excuse to
relay to her master.
“Sssh, I mean you no harm. Promise that you will not
scream and I will remove my hand.”
His voice spawned a shiver across her shoulders. She
nodded, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Alyson
waited as he eased his hand away, his other however, still
held her firm around her waist.
“First, I must ask you. Are you a spy for the Saxon?”
His voice was firm.
Alyson’s throat grew parched from fear. “Nay,” she
managed to squeak. The warmth of his embrace was not like
any she’d known, her insides quivered with familiarity.
Though she’d yet to see the face of her captor, she knew
already it was the man she was sent to speak to.
“If you try to run, I will call my men. Do you
understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered and as he dropped his hand, she
turned to face him. “Do you think I would work for the
general and spy for the enemy?” The sting of his words
wounded her honor.
“My apologies, milady. Then with any luck, perhaps your
coming to my room is for more personal reasons?” He slid
the back of his knuckles down her cheek.
She was almost bewitched by his swaggering confidence
and horseshit. She batted his hand away. “On the contrary,
milord, you are lucky that I did not draw my blade thinking
that you were a Saxon invader. What purposes have you for
sneaking around in the dark?” she demanded.
He chuckled low. “Good lady, these are my quarters, are
they not?” He waited a heartbeat before he spoke again. “Do
you carry a blade in truth?”
She stepped into a swathe of clear moonlight and hiked
up her skirts to show him the blade tied to her
leg. “Rarely do I say what I do not mean, milord.”
He lifted his hands in defense, but his white smile
showed in the shadows. “You have no further need to
convince me. Now, if you are not a spy, nor here for…well,
reasons that I must say I am saddened by, then why do you
sneak into my chambers at such great risk?”
“I was instructed to speak with you.” She saw his smile
vanish, his expression bathed by the moon, turned serious.
“From whom do you receive your instruction?” he asked
searching her face.
Alyson averted her eyes from his steady gaze and
searched what to say to him. “Come, sit here beside me and
let me see your hand.” She drew him to a stone bench just
outside his room.
“You want to see my hands?” The Roman asked, his eyes
alert to the garden around them. “You are becoming a more
curious woman, with each passing moment.”
“You must believe me. Back there in the garden, when you
grabbed my arm. There was great magic in your touch.” There
was barely enough room for the two of them on the small
bench. She took his hand, palm up and placed it on her lap.
“I think you would find greater pleasure were my hand
turned over,” he stated leaning close, providing her with a
charming grin.
“Assuming that you think you know what gives me
pleasure, milord?” she asked, guarding herself to his
bewitching advances. He bore a magnetism that was hard to
ignore, no doubt part of his skillful leadership
capabilities. That thought reminded her of why she’d been
sent. He was far too easy to fantasize about and seated
here at his side made the temptation even greater.
“Forgive me, milady. But do I detect a challenge in your
response?”
“Did you not believe me when I tell you I’ve been sent
to speak with you?”
“To be truthful, when a beautiful woman appears in the
middle of the night in my bedroom, my thoughts do not turn
speaking.” He squeezed her hand.
“Listen to me well. This is about you, your future. It
has nothing at all to do with me, other than to be the
messenger for the gods.”