“Perhaps the men you saw did not seek us after all,” one of the monks said. Claude, the men had called him.
“Let us hope to God you are right,” Stephen said. “But until we board ship, we must assume they were and take the necessary precautions. For now, we continue to Hartley.”
Leaving Davy to help her and Marie mount, Stephen checked with each of the men, then gave the signal to move out. Once on the path, he dropped back to her side.
The afternoon sun drenched his profile in light. His silver-streaked hair fell away from his face, although a rebellious strand curled against his forehead. The two-day growth of beard cast a shadow along his strong jaw and chin, obliterating the cleft she remembered. In stark relief, a thin, white scar ran down his cheek, curved beneath his chin to the top of his neck. Too thin for a sword blade. A dagger, perhaps?
His once straight nose had developed a slight ridge in the top during the past months. It had to be from a break. And lines etched from the corner of his eye toward his temple. Slowly his full lower lip curved between his teeth and that hard jaw clenched.
Close as she rode, she caught the odor of dust, perspiration, and horse, underscored by a rich, earthy scent uniquely Stephen. For a moment her heart dipped in the old familiar way, but she pushed the emotion aside. It must be a temporary weakness brought on by the excitement of the morning. An excitement ending in this rapid push onward, apparently in an attempt to avoid confronting another party. But why?
Curiosity won, and she asked, “If you believe some enemy followed us, why did we not fight?”
He didn’t answer for a time, then, “Unless they made a move to attack, we couldn’t be certain they were not ordinary travelers. We never kill without provocation; they gave us none.” At last he looked at her. “Besides, our duty is to protect you, not expose you to harm.”
Then he did something totally unexpected. He smiled. It was quick, it was small, it was devastating. And it tore through her blood like aged wine. She shifted against the tingle. Her fingers trembled, but she managed to hold on to the reins. She could harden her heart against his insults, his indifference.
She was very afraid she had no defense against his smile.
****
The rush that accompanied danger still fizzed through Stephen’s blood. It made him forget caution; it made him dash in without fear of injury. And right now, it made him stupid. He wanted nothing more than to explore the sudden, intense connection he felt with the exasperating lady at his side.
“Were you not afraid back there, when trouble threatened?” He’d been surprised at the bravery she’d shown, the eagerness with which she joined in their flight. Not at all what he’d come to expect from pampered ladies. But he should have remembered his little shadow feared nothing. Except boredom. Perhaps the years hadn’t changed her all that much.
She pursed her lips. “No. I knew you’d keep us safe.” Then she smiled, and two dimples winked in her cheeks.
It hit him like a mace to the chest.
Desire whipped through him, as unexpected as it was unwanted. And what the hell was he doing feeling desire in the midst of a dangerous mission? Feeling the urge to gallop alongside her and kiss those dimples flat?
Damn. He stood in danger of forgetting how she irritated him. One brief exception to the rule didn’t change the game. He couldn’t let it. Blasted woman.
Riding near Evie left him angry as a wounded boar. And hard as a pike, curse her. He forced himself to recall some of her verbal prods. They left no doubt she thought him—what had she muttered?—an overbearing toad. If she thought him insistent the first two days of the journey, just wait. The most difficult part lay just ahead, in securing passage.
Time they came to an understanding. Tonight he’d warn her to keep her distance on the road. She needn’t know his frustration fed on his body’s reaction to her. If only he could forget it, himself.
Soon he made out a smattering of cottages that comprised Hartley village. William’s brother, Sir Armand, always welcomed the men, and Lady Joan guaranteed an ally for Evie.
Their reception proved all he hoped. Sir Armand greeted his former colleagues with warmth, then directed them to the barracks. Within moments, Lady Joan appeared at the door.
“Welcome,” she called, running down the steps, as enthusiastic as Stephen remembered.
Introductions barely left his mouth when she took Evie’s hands. “Oh, my dear, you must be exhausted. Come inside. And bring your maid. Warriors have no understanding of a lady’s needs.” Throwing a scant nod to Stephen, she ushered Evie and Marie inside.
The grate of the closing gate vibrated through Stephen. For a moment he slumped in the saddle. The safety he felt was an illusion. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever feel safe again. He dismounted to find Armand watching, eyes solemn. Stephen tossed the reins to a stable lad then, with unspoken understanding of men who’d defeated death together, they started for the hall. Stephen kept the pace slow to match Armand’s limp. Explanations could wait.
****
“I’m so pleased you broke your journey here, Lady Evelynn.” Lady Joan’s soft voice and sincerity put Evie at ease. “Visitors come so seldom and never someone I can talk with. Please sit, have some wine. Your chamber will be ready soon.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.” Evie sank onto the chair. “Ah, a solid surface. You can’t imagine my gratitude.”
Lady Joan chuckled. “If you travel with Sir Stephen, I can. The man’s definition of slow is anything under a gallop.”
Evie’s surprised glance met the other lady’s laughing gaze. “You know Sir Stephen?”
The humor died. “My lord owes him his life. Armand was a Brother, before the Dragon’s men took a mace to his knees.” Lady Joan paused, eyes wary. “Are you well acquainted with Sir Stephen?”
“I’ve known him for many years,” Evie answered. “He and my brother are friends.”
Her hostess exhaled, her face losing its sudden tightness. “Good. Then you know of the Phoenix Brotherhood. I feared I’d revealed something I should not.”
Evie’s heart pounded. She knew nothing of this
brotherhood
. But perhaps it explained Stephen’s actions.
The noisy entrance of the two men saved her from an outright lie. Sir Armand smiled at his wife in obvious affection. Lady Joan’s face bloomed pink. Longing for such a marriage knifed through Evie. She glanced away. And caught Stephen’s glare.
The smoldering intensity of his eyes held her. Awareness sizzled between them; she raised her chin in challenge. The noise of the busy chamber faded as she focused on that soft, warm mouth. Her breath dipped at the memory of their one kiss. So long ago. A lifetime.
She could feel his lips now. They’d been hard at first, then soft, mobile, heating her blood. Her breasts tingled. Then she recalled the taunting words. He’d laughed. Called her a child. Her stomach plummeted at the memory; her cheeks burned in mortification.
With a jerk of her head, she looked away. She must keep reminding herself she’d outgrown the fascination with Stephen, forget today. Her self-respect demanded no less. She didn’t want a man who dismissed her as useless or silly. Evie blinked and sighed.
“Would you like to rest for a few minutes, my dear?” Lady Joan asked. “Sir Stephen, please sit. I will speak with the cook as soon as I show Lady Evelynn to the bedchamber.”
“Allow me,” Stephen called. “I believe I remember the way.”
Evie swung around to find Stephen looming. Ignoring his outstretched arm, she clenched her teeth and swept ahead.
Gaze riveted on the rough stone steps, she halted at a turn of the stairway. The narrow passage lay dim ahead, dotted here and there with flickering light. If they continued like this, he’d watch her stumble over every step.
She turned. “You seem familiar with this hall. Please precede me. I’ve found darkness covers unsuspected pitfalls.”
Stephen frowned but continued down the passage. A tall, thick candle smoked bravely on its perch along the stone wall. Its flame cast dancing shadows that outlined his form. When had he removed his chainmail? She stared as he strode ahead.
His shoulders seemed wider in the narrow space; the muscles in his arms bunched as if he clenched them. A battered black leather belt wrapped his tunic at a narrow waist.
The heavy odor of tallow fought with the tang of damp stone, but beneath them lurked a darker fragrance. She inhaled a whiff of musky spice. A shiver snaked through her.
She longed to step close, trace her hands around his ribs, lay her cheek… Dear heaven. She pressed cool hands to her burning face.
Soon he halted at a door. With a flick of the hand, he pushed it open then stood so she must brush against him to enter.
Her heart skipped, but he’d not have the satisfaction of knowing it. “Thank you, Sir Stephen.”
She anchored her hands in each other, fearful they would develop minds of their own and stray onto the wide chest inches from her face. Shallow breaths, she told herself, stepping past.
He leaned against the door, arms crossed. His dark brows lowered; his glowing eyes narrowed. “Why are you not wed?”
She gasped at his insolence, and any temptation she’d felt evaporated.
“Such an ancient age you are. What, ten and nine? All your friends must be mothers many times over.”
She flinched as he repeated the foolish words she’d spoken before. Why, now, did he choose to be cruel? The unfairness of his unexpected attack left her numb.
Slapping a hand against the wooden planks, he leaned forward. “Your brother’s failed his duty to find you a husband. Why? Have you followed one too many men onto lonely rooftops?”
Her heart clenched at his unkind words. Of all things he might say, this she would never have expected. “Get out of my chamber,” she choked.
“Not before I warn you.” He leaned in, his voice menacing. “Stop interfering on this trip. Keep away from my men and keep away from me. I have enough trouble without your pranks.”
His unfair accusations devastated her. He had no right to berate her this way. And—oh, curses—her throat clogged with tears. She would not let them out. She would not.
She tried to shove the door, but a sword-roughened hand wrapped around the edge and shoved back. He surged inside. Paused. Surprise flared in his eyes as his finger brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Damn,” he growled, flung an arm around her waist, and jerked her close.
His mouth was hard and careless, not at all as she remembered. In spite of her best efforts at control, another tear slid from the corner of her eye. It trickled down the side of her nose onto his cheek.
The moment the moisture touched him, his lips gentled, slanted against hers, coaxing a response. His other arm slid across her shoulders to press her against him. Beneath her fingers—how did they get to be flat against his chest?—his muscles flexed. A half-hearted attempt to push away simply brought her closer.
An iron hardness prodded her belly, and she rose to her toes, seeking something. She didn’t know what. She only knew her body ached below that hardness.
A low moan rumbled in his throat. His hand slid from her shoulder to the neckline of her gown. Two fingers stroked low into the valley between her breasts. She shivered.
Oh, no. It happened again. Evie pounded against his shoulders. He lifted his head, his hooded gaze filled with an unreadable expression. It was gone in an instant, and his mouth twisted in a bitter smile so unlike the earlier one. He stepped back through the still-open door.
He turned. “Rest well, little Evie. And”—his knuckle pecked the wood—“bar this. You never know what danger roams unfamiliar corridors.”
Oh, how she wanted to slap that beautiful face. But he disappeared down the passage before she managed to move. She fought back a moan and fisted her hands. Mary’s tears! She’d melted at one touch from his deceitful lips. What happened to her new-found resolve?
Blinking hard, Evie pressed her fists against her stomach. She’d not allow one more drop of moisture to pop from her eyes because of him. She slammed home the wooden bar. From this moment on, Stephen of Rively could burn in hell, and she wouldn’t offer him a cool drink.
Stephen attacked the narrow, curving stairway two steps at a time. Why the hell had he kissed her? Did he never learn with the blasted lady? He’d intended to issue a warning, no more. For her own safety. God knew the dangers they’d face before they found a ship to cross the Narrow Sea, and he had no confidence the band of mercenaries spotted this morning wouldn’t pick up their party’s trail later. If they were after him, she might easily be harmed in a confrontation.
His cruel words had been meant to anger her enough to ensure she stayed away from him for the rest of the journey. Judging by her expression as he left, they’d succeeded.
But she’d looked so surprised. So hurt, with her wide eyes batting back tears. And failing. One touch to her soft, wet cheek and the next thing he knew—Christ’s chains, what a kiss. Little Evelynn of Chauvere pricked his skin like winter sleet. He had only to glimpse her and his determination evaporated like water over flames.
Little Evelynn. Ha. She’d matured since he’d last seen her. The budding beauty he’d glimpsed at Giles’ wedding had blossomed, and his hands ached to mold her lush breasts and rounded hips. God, she was lovely. Her appeal differed from the sultry Saracen women he’d seen and the pampered glamour of those further to the East.
Her chestnut hair gleamed with gold and red highlights. A smattering of freckles danced across her nose and cheeks, and her smiles glowed with wonder. She had an open innocence that called on a man’s goodness.
He had no goodness left.
A lady required permanence, something he could never offer. That’s why he’d damn well best avoid her.
He leaped the bottom three steps into the hall. Armand and William talked at one of the tables; Lady Joan had disappeared. Just as well. He couldn’t summon courtesy right now. He strode out the door, across the bailey to the garrison quarters on the ground floor of the gate tower. From previous visits, he knew where the men lodged.