CHAPTER ONE
Marcus smoothed his palms over the stone wall's
surface. Cleanly worked and neatly mortared, its facing
and joints offered no toe-holds for intruders who might
seek to scale it. That didn't surprise him, since this
thick curtain of rock protected one of crown's properties.
However, it also served as a barrier to some of
Marcus's property, and scale it he would. It had been many
years since he had played the thief, not since the hell of
his youth, but one never forgets such skills. This wall
would not keep him out.
He moved through the night, over to where the wall
curved around a corner of the garden it enclosed. Here the
flat stones could not be laid in straight courses and
their corners would protrude. The best masons would finish
the surface to be as smooth as on the straight sections of
wall, but most builders were not that fastidious. That was
something else that he knew a thing or two about from the
dark years of his youth.
His fingers swept the joints, and he found what he
needed. The jutting edges were shallow, but deep enough
for a body practiced in such things. Groping his way in
the silence, he climbed until he sat straddling the wall.
A convenient fruit tree grew near the corner, its branches
like silhouettes in the full moon's light. He jumped over
to it, his soft boots barely making a sound. With the
stealth of a cat, he lowered himself into the early autumn
smells that filled the garden.
He studied the bulk of the house, guessing how its
chambers were arranged. Would she be in the large one on
the second level, the one on the left indicated by two
windows rather than one?
The vaguest sound interrupted his inspection of the
building. He slid toward it along the wall until he could
see a section of the garden not shadowed by trees. The
bright moon displayed a little pool, its glittering
surface dotted with fallen leaves. A woman strolled along
the path surrounding it, pausing every now and then at
bushes to touch one of the late blooming roses.
Her unbound hair, darker than the night, fell around
her body, swaying with her step. She wore a straight, pale
flowing robe with long broad sleeves. It was the sort of
thing a woman might put on when she first rose from bed.
He could barely see patterns on it indicating rich
embroidery. The night was cool, but she did not seem to
notice that the thin fabric offered little warmth.
She moved toward him, close enough that he could see
her moonlit face. Pale of skin, and large in eyes and
mouth, it appeared mysterious, and matched the
descriptions he had been given. One of the knights who had
brought her from Wales had called her a moon goddess, and
the praise had been apt. Her subtle glow cast a spell on
the garden. And on him.
She paused in her stroll, not more than ten paces
from where he lurked in the shadows. "I know you are
there. Go back the way you came, and no one needs to know
that you dared such a thing."
Her voice was quiet and melodic, steady and
unfrightened. But then the princely blood that flowed in
her veins would neither quicken nor slow easily, for any
man or any danger.
"I know that you are there," she said again. "I can
smell that more than plants are in this garden."
He could smell her too. Something freshly earthy, a
memory of spring, floated on the small breeze along with
the scents of dying leaves and flowers.
He stepped away from the wall. She heard him, and
turned.
"Who are you? Not a thief, despite your furtive
arrival, if you make yourself known."
"Nay, not a thief."
"Whoever you are, it will go badly for you if you are
discovered here."
"For any man but me, maybe so. But something that is
mine is here. I am Marcus of Anglesmore."
She reacted. Barely, but it was there, a vague
stiffening. She gave him an encompassing glance, from head
to toes. "What is here is not yours."
"Nay, not yet. Soon, however, since the illness that
has confined you these last weeks is clearly over." There
had been no illness, of course. Only a long lie. He had
always suspected as much, and her barely clothed presence
in this chilled garden proved it.
She cocked her head, and regarded him as if she could
see him very clearly in the dim light. "It took you long
enough to decide to find out how serious this illness was.
Perhaps you do not welcome this either, and prayed the
malady was fatal."
Her perception surprised him, although he had never
prayed for her death. He simply had allowed the ruse to
continue until the insult it implied had conquered his
reticence.
He did not know why he had reacted so strongly
against the offer of this girl. After all, the marriage
promised power, and the favor of the King, and a chance to
prove Anglesmore's loyalty beyond any doubt. His response
had come from deep inside his soul, perhaps a rebellion by
the part of him that knew how to scale garden walls in the
night. It had made no sense, but still an inexplicable
resentment had seethed in him ever since hearing King
Edward's plan.
Until now.
He had hoped that seeing her would soothe that
rebellion, and it did. She was not childish, as he had
feared. She possessed a poise and confidence far beyond
her young years. She had not screamed for guards or her
women on discovering his intrusion.
She was not running away now, even knowing who he
was. That was a good sign.
Perhaps a very good sign.
He walked over to her. She took one step back, but no
more. He lifted a strand of her silky hair, and then
pushed all the tresses back over her shoulders so he could
see her face better. The moon's light did not illuminate
her much, and the subtle details were invisible, but he
could tell that his first impression, that she was
beautiful, had been correct.
"I find myself thinking that I should thank my king,"
he said.
"You can barely see me."
"I can see enough to know you are lovely."
"And that alone reassures you? You are a man easily
appeased, if a woman's beauty is enough to satisfy you."
"I see more than beauty, and I find myself pleased,
not appeased, that is all."
"Aye, the true prize is the land and wealth that go
with this marriage. A bride's beauty is merely a sweetmeat
added to a full meal. It is the way with such things, I
know. But the favor of a king always has its cost. Do you
understand the price of this banquet?"
He understood. But, oddly enough, that was not the
part that he had resented. "The duty that Edward gives me
is a small cost, and his to demand of me even without the
prize."
"With that duty goes danger."
"That is also the way with such things." He stepped
closer, and deeply inhaled her spring scent. Rich. Full of
sensual fertility and the delicate odors of flowers. It
reminded him of carefree days as a child, when the warmth
of May promised freedom and play and joy. "It is very
sweet of you to warn me, though." He touched her face, and
slowly skimmed his fingertips down the curving line of her
heart-shaped face.
Very little space separated them. He could decipher
the patterns on her robe now, and their intertwining
Celtic lines. She did not retreat from his touch, but
merely looked into his eyes. Hers were dark pools
glimmering like the pond at their feet. He felt a subtle
tremor beneath his fingers, but still she did not pull
away.
Something invisible and wordless passed between them.
A mutual sharpening of awareness. A recognition, and
acceptance, of what was to come. Images of that possession
entered his head, and the garden shrank to a very small
space fully occupied by a stark intimacy.
"I remind you of the danger for your own sake," she
said. Her words came low and halting, as if she knew that
what filled the air made everything else irrelevant. "It
would be a pity if the knight standing in front of me died
soon."
He smiled at her warning. Then again, perhaps it was
meant as a threat. Right now he didn't care which it had
been. His thoughts were on other things. He rested his
entire hand against the warmth of her face. She did not
pull away, and a heavy silence beat between them.
His thumb wandered to her lips, and brushed their
full, velvet swells. "Why do you dislike that notion? Does
the knight please you just as you please him?"
"You appear handsome enough, and not as brutish as I
expected."
"Not brutish at all with you, I promise. Here, I will
show you." He bent and kissed her alluring mouth.
She did not react with shock or surprise, but a small
hesitation stiffened her. Then a subtle yielding seemed to
sneak out before she could catch it. She might have lost a
debate before arguing very far.
He had intended it to be a small kiss, a gentle first
step to reassure her. Her acceptance served to fuel his
simmering blood, however, and the small kiss became a long
one. He took her face in both his hands and gently tasted
and nipped until a barely audible sigh breathed out of her
and into him.
He gazed at the face he held. Her expression, heavy
lidded and bright eyed, appeared unbearably sensual in the
moonlight. Desire began an fierce pounding through his
head and body and the same primitive excitement pulsed in
her. He felt it. He almost heard it. It flowed around them
and between them and in them, luxurious, tantalizing and
seductive.
He should leave. He should woo her slowly the way a
good man does his intended. He should not take advantage
of her ignorance, and her vulnerability after her first
kiss.
He knew full well how a chivalrous knight should
behave. Instead he pulled her into his arms.
Shock this time. Confusion. "I do not think . .."
He silenced her with another kiss, and caressed down
her back. She was naked beneath the thin gown, and the
feel of her feminine softness and warmth, of her full,
invisible curves, inflamed him. Her body moved in reaction
to his touch, both retreating and encouraging all at once.
He pressed her closer, enclosing her in his arms, and
turned his kisses to her neck. She gasped quick breaths, a
series of tiny, astonished announcements of delight.
And then, with a pliant stretch, she surrendered and
impulsively embraced him back.
She intoxicated him. Her scent, her body, the kiss
she returned, maddened him. In his mind he was already on
the ground with her, sliding the robe off, warming her
with his hands and mouth, covering her with his body.
Kissing her still, he lifted her in his arms and carried
her to a bench near the wall.
He settled her on his lap, swearing he would only
dally a bit more and then take his leave. But the feel of
her on his thighs and the new closeness of her body, so
available beneath the thin robe, defeated that moment of
good sense. Nor did she resist. The kisses turned mutual
and hot and savage. Passion made her wild and her abandon
became audible. For an instant, no more, she hesitated one
last time when he slid his tongue into the moist warmth of
her mouth.
He wanted more. Everything. Now. He caressed to her
stomach, then higher to the swell of her full breast.
A startled, muffled cry escaped her. She broke the
kiss, gasping for breath, and leaned away as she shook her
head. It looked less like a denial than that she sought to
clear her thoughts.
"This is wrong. A mistake," she whispered.
He eased her closer again while he smoothed his
fingers over her breast's tip. Its erotic peak hardened
more at his touch. "It is permitted. We will marry soon."
"Nay, we will not."
She disentangled from his embrace, jumped from his
lap, and began to run away. He grabbed for her, but caught
only a thick strand of trailing hair. Still, it stopped
her. She froze, her back to him, her shoulders still
trembling from the passion they had shared.
"Come back to me. You know that you want to."
"What I want is a small thing in this. In all of
this."
"Not to me. Making you want me, and then fulfilling
your desire, will give me great pleasure when we are wed."
"You and I will never wed."
"We will. Very soon. I will not permit more delay now
that I know what is waiting."
She glanced over her shoulder. "It must have been the
full moon. It makes some women mad."
"Nay, it was the pleasure. That too makes some women
mad, and you are one of them. If Edward had not given you
to me, I would fight to claim you now anyway."
She walked away. It made her hair yank in his hand,
and he released it.
She gave him one last look. "Now the moon is making
you mad. The King's man should not be swayed so easily by
a few kisses in a garden."
Nesta rose from her bed, sleepless again. Naked, she
walked to the window and peered down at the spot where she
had recently behaved very stupidly.
She should stay away from moonlit gardens. They kept
getting her into trouble.
Marcus would return in the morning. She did not doubt
that. He would come, and demand entry, and no tale of
illness would work this time. He would come to speak of
the betrothal, or just to woo his lady, but he would be
here all the same.
That was going to complicate things.
A muffled sound distracted her, and she turned to the
bed. A dark head rose and darker eyes blinked away
sleep. "Are you awake still?"
"Aye. Go back to sleep," Nesta said.
"You should put on a robe, or wrap yourself in a
blanket."
"I do not feel the cold as most others do. You know
that."
"Still, you might take ill. That would be a fine
thing, and hard to explain a real illness after this long
false one. And it might keep us here."
"Nothing will keep us here."
The head sank back into its pillow. "I have been told
that he is very handsome."
"Not handsome enough. No English knight would be."
A deep yawn filled the chamber. Nesta turned back to
the window. In her mind's eye she saw a man standing near
the pool, tall and strong and young, with an stimulating
vitality in his aura. Aye, very handsome, and exciting
enough to take her breath away and turn her knees to
water. But still, not handsome enough.
It had been her own fault, what had happened down
there. She should have screamed when she heard the
stranger in the garden. But the punishment for such a
trespass would be severe, and she did not like the thought
of bringing it on some poor soul who might only seek to
steal a few apples to ease his hunger.
Only it had been no poor soul, and a very different
hunger that she had confronted.
Her fingers drifted to her mouth, and the memory of
those kisses filled her mind and body. Titillating
sensations crawled deeply in her again. A mistake to
permit that, but who ever expected him to be so bold? Or
so compelling as he approached her with command and
confidence, the moon finding lights in his dark blond hair
and the depths of his dark eyes captivating her.
Nay, it had been the moon's fault too, not just hers.
And the garden, and the night. There was danger in the
beauty of such places. They seemed removed from the world,
and full of a magic that made people do unthinkable
things.
He would come in the morning, eager to see her in the
light of day. And he would see her, because she did not
have time to escape by then.
She imagined that meeting.
Perhaps she had not been so stupid after all. He had
said that he would not delay any longer with this
marriage, but tomorrow would change his mind. After he saw
her, really saw her, it would take a few days at least for
him to accommodate himself to this marriage again.
And before he had done so, she would be gone.