The Welsh Marches, 1222
Lady Alys Delamare slid her head out of the blanket and
greeted the brightening sky with relief. After a nigh
sleepless night — during which she'd scarce dared move
upon her pallet lest her maddeningly observant escort
notice her restlessness — she couldn't wait to be quit of
her bed and on the road once more.
Another day of their journey meant another day in the
company of the ever-irksome Sir Padrig ap Huw.
Yet it also brought her another day closer to bidding him
farewell.
"Twas a shame the nagging voice inside her head — speaking
for the part of her that took a reluctant pleasure in
Padrig's teasing ways — had taken on a sad tone at the
thought of their inevitable parting.
She'd plans for her life, plans that didn't include an
attractive young knight...no matter how appealing she
found him.
She peeked over at Padrig's bedroll. "Twas empty.
By the Virgin, she'd swear she'd heard him every time he'd
so much as shifted on the ground in the night! How had he
managed to rise without her noticing?
He's a skilled warrior! Who knows what the man is capable
of?
Alys squirmed free of her bedding and stood, tugging at
her twisted undertunic and giving a shimmy to settle the
garment. Ignoring the stout boots and bliaut on the ground
beside her, she edged around Marie, her maid, who
continued to snore unabated.
Mayhap Marie had drowned out the sound of Padrig's
leaving. She bit back a laugh. "Twas possible, for the
young woman could nigh wake the deaf at times, she made
such a racket.
Once away from Marie, Alys focused instead on the beauty
of the morning. Thick grass covered the clearing, soft and
cool beneath her bare feet. The sensation sent a shiver of
pleasure through her; she could scarce remember the last
time she'd had the chance to savor the feel of the earth
against her skin.
A smile on her lips, she crept from the clearing and,
following a faint path through the trees, entered the
forest.
Her unbound hair, mussed from sleep, caught in a low
branch. She paused to free herself, the fresh scent of
pine adding to her awareness of the world around her — and
of herself. She felt vividly alive, conscious of her body
in a strange new way.
Her senses alert, Alys heard water splashing. Following
the sound, she hurried along the path until she reached a
small pool surrounded by trees and rocks.
A pool occupied by a muscular, naked man.
He faced away from her, the water barely hiding his
buttocks. Moisture shimmered on his tanned skin,
accentuating his strong arms and back. He swept his hands
through his wet hair, smoothing it back to lie, dark and
wavy, to his shoulders.
She couldn't mistake that hair. "Twas Padrig. Blessed Mary
save her! She'd always thought him handsome, but she'd
never imagined he looked like this.
Her mouth dry and her gaze intent upon Padrig, Alys stole
closer to the edge of the pool. She'd no intention of
bringing this mesmerizing scene to an end any time soon by
catching his attention.
He stretched his arms over his head. The muscles in his
back and shoulders flexed, drawing her attention to
several dark, intricate designs on the smooth flesh of his
shoulders and upper arms.
They appeared to be drawn upon his skin. She'd never seen
such a thing — what could they be?
Padrig began to slowly walk away from her, toward the
other side of the narrow pool. Startled from her
fascination, Alys knew she should do something to make him
aware of her presence, but instead she lingered at the
edge of the forest, motionless and silent, to savor this
unexpected pleasure for as long as possible.
Padrig's lips curled in a smile as Alys continued to lurk
near the water on the other side of the pond. Her startled
gasp when she'd seen him would have given her away even if
he hadn't already heard her moving through the trees
lining the path. He should have spoken, or shifted deeper
into the water once he'd known she was there, but he
couldn't resist the provocation to tease her.
How far could he go, he wondered, before she'd do
something to let him know she was there?
He stretched his arms skyward and took another step away
from Alys and closer to the far edge of the pool. He had
to fight the temptation to turn around, to see the
expression on her face as she watched him. He could feel
her eyes upon him, the intensity of her gaze nigh a
physical caress over his flesh.
A caress that was causing an all-too-real reaction, he
noted wryly. Mayhap he'd better move into deeper water
after all; he didn't need to have her run screaming back
toward their campsite, sending her maid into a tizzy and
his men scrambling to protect her.
But what if she didn't react that way? For all he knew,
she might even now be removing her own clothing to join
him in the water....
Closing his eyes for a moment against the yearning that
image brought to mind, he reluctantly shifted his thoughts
instead to Lord Rannulf's reaction should Padrig take such
base advantage of a young lady in his care.
Jesu, had lust unbalanced his mind? Lady Alys was a
noblewoman — a virgin, he had no doubt.
If Lord Rannulf didn't have his head for such insolence —
or some other part of him a bit lower, he thought with a
chuckle — the lady's father would certainly take exception
should Padrig attempt to steal her innocence.
Pah, as if Lady Alys would want the likes of him anyway!
Though her continued silence did make him wonder what she
was about.
Unable to resist one last taunt, Padrig took a step back,
until the water covered him to just above his hips, and
turned.
"Can I help you with something, milady?" he asked
evenly. "Twas difficult to maintain a neutral air once he
saw Alys, however. The mere sight of her sleep-tousled
hair, combined with the way the soft fabric of her gown
clung to her lissome form, sent his body into instant
rebellion against his strength of will. The expression on
her face — soft, curious, her gaze intense as it grazed
over him — was impossible to ignore. Despite his attempt
at restraint, he could not suppress an equally heated
response.
He moved deeper into the water at once, lest he flaunt his
reaction to her; he'd no wish to embarrass her or himself.
She wet her lips with her tongue and raised her hand to
smooth down her dark chestnut hair, a tide of color
tinting her cheeks. "Nay, sir," she replied, her gaze
meeting his with a hint of challenge. "I was simply
curious. I wished to explore a bit before we resume our
journey."
"And was your curiosity satisfied, milady?" he asked. Her
lips curved into a faint smile. "Not yet, Sir Padrig." She
moved closer to the water's edge. "Though I believe if I'm
patient enough it will be."
Padrig drew in a deep breath and reminded himself she was
an innocent maiden who didn't realize how her actions and
words might be interpreted. Though he willed himself to
cool down, his body would not obey. "Twas a miracle the
water around him hadn't begun to boil from the heat
pouring through him!
How could he make her leave? "Tis said that patience is a
virtue, milady. I've no doubt you're a virtuous lass —"
"Tis also said that virtue is its own reward," she pointed
out. She stepped onto the rock-strewn rim of the pool, her
bare feet shifting on the slippery stones. "I'm not
certain I believe 'tis true, though. Have you ever noticed
that the most virtuous people you meet seem the least
happy?"
Aye, he could not disagree with that. He closed his eyes
for a moment as memories swept through him. His own
mother, Lord rest her, had been an intensely virtuous
woman — yet to her, life had been a constant misery of
disappointment and sorrow. No one and nothing could ever
meet her standards; he'd stopped trying when he'd scarce
the years or wisdom to understand the impossibility of it.
Only by the grace of God — and his cousin Lady Catrin —
had he escaped that torment.
He'd often wondered, in the years since his mother's
death, if she'd simply died of frustration that the world
fell short of her measure.
While he'd been momentarily lost in the shadows of the
past, Lady Alys had made her way around the pond. Her gown
hiked up to her knees, she waded through the shallows, her
face alight and her lips curled into a win-some smile that
set his heartbeat racing.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. By the rood, but he
wished he were dressed! He felt at a distinct
disadvantage, trapped here in the water while Lady Alys,
all unknowing, tempted him nigh beyond endurance. The
gauzy fabric of her gown — naught more than her
undertunic, he'd vow — clung to her where she'd got it
wet, the thin material outlining her curves and heating
his blood further.
His mouth dry, his mind numb, Padrig sought in vain for
the words to deliver himself from this situation. In her
innocent dishabille Lady Alys was seduction personified;
now that he'd seen her thus, he doubted he'd ever again be
able to treat her with the deference a lady of her station
deserved.
"The water is so soothing," she said, ignoring his
question.
Soothing? Was she mad?
He drew in a deep breath. There was nothing soothing about
the look in her eyes — no, nor little of the innocent,
either, he noted.
His pulse thrummed harder. Damn the woman! She knew
precisely the effect she was causing, he'd warrant.
Damn him, for finding that truth so exciting. He took a
step back, in the futile hope of hiding his rampaging body.
"Lady Alys —" His voice sounded strange even to his own
ears.
"Aye, Sir Padrig?" she asked, her tone light with
merriment as she followed him. "Was there something you
wanted of me?"
He bit back a groan. "Go back to the camp," he said flatly.
The glow of mirth brightening her eyes faded, replaced by
embarrassment. A bright tide of pink swept up her face and
she looked away from him.
"Milady —" He'd not meant to upset her, only to bring a
halt to her teasing before it went too far.
Her shoulders set in a rigid line, Lady Alys spun on her
heel, lost her footing, and, letting out a shriek, came
tumbling into Padrig's arms.