Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Alex slept well his first night home, glad to be in a bed and not on the ground. He woke with the memory of the kiss he had stolen from Merewyn. A very pleasant memory until he recalled her reaction. He might have acted too soon. Too, he must remember that she was the woman who, as a child, he had protected from the lust of others.
Her words of condemnation still rang in his ears. Was he so arrogant as to think he could have any woman? Possibly so. And Merewyn might fear becoming one of those nameless, faceless wenches and village girls he’d slept with on the way to becoming a knight, or the ladies who now willingly offered him their favors.
But she could never be one of those.
In the years she had been gone, she had grown into an alluring woman, but nothing like the women who typically came to his bed, experienced and willing.
She is an innocent.
He had an overwhelming desire to protect her, even from himself. But, as he determined to do so, the memory of the way she had responded to his kiss, a warm kitten in his arms, still lingered and his body stirred in response. Would she again open to his kiss? And if she did, would he take her as he wanted to or would he refrain with her innocence in mind?
His stomach growled, reminding him of other needs. Rising, he dressed in the shorter tunic he would wear to the sword fighting match .
After a hasty meal of bread and cheese and a few words with his father, he left the manor and strode through the palisade gate, drawn by the noise of people at play. Above him, the sun beamed down from a clear blue sky. The day would be warm.
Stretched out before him, covering the large expanse of green in front of the palisade, was a festival to rival those he had seen in Normandy. It appeared all of Talisand had arrived for the festivities.
To his right, the sword matches were just beginning. The clang of metal meeting metal resounded through the air as knights and men-at-arms tested their skill against each other in a circle set off by brightly colored pennons flapping in the breeze.
Alex looked briefly in that direction, noting Rory’s red head moving about as he squared off against the more senior Jamie. Alex would join them soon, but first he wanted to observe the archery contest. He had heard much about Merewyn’s skills. Now he would see them for himself.
Passing the huge blue and white pavilion raised against the summer sun where ale and honey wine would be served, he strode to where his mother stood at the edge of the crowd gathered to watch the archers, who were just stepping to the line.
“You are not competing?” he inquired.
She shot him a glance before turning back to watch the archers taking their stances. “Rising late, are you?”
“I was talking to Father about the summons I expect he will receive from the king,” he muttered. “You did not answer my question. Will you shoot?”
“Not today. I am more interested in seeing how Merewyn fares. She was my student before she was Rhodri’s. Did you know?”
“Nay, I did not.”
“’Twas after you left to squire in Rouen.”
He scanned the line of archers preparing to shoot. Merewyn’s fair hair, golden in the morning sun, was easy to spot where she stood at the line with three male archers. She had never appeared more beautiful even though she was, once again, garbed as the slender Welsh bowman, her hair confined to a single plait.
As one, the archers nocked their arrows, lifted their bows and pulled back the strings. The tension in the crowd was palpable as the archers narrowed their eyes on the target.
“Loose!” shouted an official.
The arrows flew with a great rushing sound. He had heard it often enough on the battlefield to find it familiar.
By the bright fletching of Merewyn’s arrow, Alex saw her arrow had hit the target dead center, as did the arrows of two others, both men.
He waited, knowing they would move the target back another twenty feet.
Father Bernard joined him and his mother. “Good day, my lady,” he said. “’Tis good to have you home, Sir Alex.” In his sixth decade, the priest who had taught them all to read, now had a tonsure of white hair. He was one of those priests who had married, but was now a widower, as much loved by the people of Talisand as Maugris.
“’Tis good to be back, Father.”
“Have you come to watch the archers?” his mother asked the old priest.
“I have,” he said with a grin. “The skill of the young woman returned from Wales is much spoken of.”
“You will enjoy seeing Merewyn shoot,” said the Lady of Talisand.
“As much as I used to delight in your skill with the bow, my lady?”
Alex was aware of the friendship between the priest who had blessed his parents’ marriage and his mother and had heard them teasing each other before.
“Mayhap more,” his mother said.
As the archers prepared to shoot, Alex, his mother and Father Bernard turned to watch. The arrows were loosed and once the target was examined, only Merewyn and one man’s arrows remained. The target was again moved farther away so that it was now standing amidst the trees.
“’Tis a long shot,” he said.
“Merewyn has hit targets farther away than that,” his mother noted in a calm voice.
With a “thwack”, Merewyn’s arrow hit the center of the target. The man’s arrow fell short. The archer offered his hand to her in congratulations as the crowd roared shouts of praise .
“The young woman is, indeed, skilled,” remarked Father Bernard.
Alex nodded in agreement. “I vow she is as good as you, Mother.”
“She is better, Alex. You will see.”
Alex returned his gaze to Merewyn as she handed her bow and arrows to a waiting attendant and swung onto the back of a white pony. She claimed only three arrows from the quiver he held out to her, grasping them in the same hand as her bow. With her free hand, she turned her pony toward the edge of the wide-open area while the servants set up two targets side by side, strips of wood standing like trees.
Knotting the pony’s reins, Merewyn laid them at the base of the horse’s neck. Using only her legs, as he did when commanding his destrier in battle, she trotted the mare forward and then urged the horse into a canter, circling once around the large meadow. With a “Hah!” she and the pony were racing at a full gallop.
A knot formed in Alex’s throat and the crowd held its breath as Merewyn raised her bow, nocked an arrow and, crossing before the targets, let the arrow fly. With a resounding “thump” the arrow hit the first target dead center.
Shouts of loud acclamation rose from the crowd as Merewyn slowed, patted the pony’s neck and began to circle again.
“I have never seen the like,” said Alex.
“Nor I,” said Father Bernard.
“She is not done yet,” said his lady mother, her voice filled with pride.
The crowd quieted as Merewyn again raced the pony in front of the targets, twisting lithely in the saddle to loose one arrow, then another. Two arrows smacked into the two targets in rapid succession.
The crowd erupted in shouts of praise.
Alex shook his head, amazed at the skill of this sprite of a woman who moved like the wind and contorted her body to wield her bow with deadly accuracy from the back of a galloping horse. Observing the way her slim thighs had gripped the pony’s flanks, in his mind he saw those same thighs wrapped around his body. Silently, he cursed himself for having such thoughts, especially in the presence of Talisand’s priest.
“William’s archers do not shoot from horses,” he said to his mother .
She returned him one of her knowing smiles that told him she was about to teach him a lesson. “Your father told me the Conqueror could draw a bow that no one else could wield while spurring his steed onward. The bow Rhodri designed for Merewyn may be smaller, but your father’s archers are still in awe of her.”
Remembering his king’s fondness for young men, Alex said, “’Tis best William Rufus not see her in the bowman’s garb.”
Father Bernard stifled a cough.
His mother shot him a puzzling look.
Unwilling to explain in a place where people could overhear, he turned his eyes back to Merewyn. She handed her bow to the waiting attendant and swung down from her saddle to stroke her pony’s neck.
“The mare was a gift from Rhodri,” his mother said. “Merewyn trained her in Wales and gave her the Welsh name Ceinder. The two have a strong attachment to each other, as you can see.” With a wistful sigh, she added, “I am so proud of Merewyn.”
“You have reason to be,” said Father Bernard. “The girl has overcome much to become the young woman she is today.” With those words, he wished them well and strolled away.
Alex considered the words of his mother and those of the good father. No other woman he knew, save his mother, had both ethereal beauty and a warrior’s spirit. Watching his mother walk to join Merewyn where she was accepting the congratulations of the other archers, he considered the two women were much alike. Both were intelligent, strong and well able to defend themselves.
***
Merewyn walked beside Lady Serena as they made their way to the tent where ale was being served. Cecily ran up to her. “You were wonderful! I want to be just like you when I grow up!” the small redhead proclaimed breathlessly.
Her curly-haired companions, Tibby and Ancel, caught up with her, nodding their agreement. Ancel was the youngest of the three at only eight summers, but no less enthusiastic.
Cecily gazed up at Lady Serena, the child’s red hair falling about her small shoulders. “Will you teach me, too?” she pleaded .
Lady Serena paused. “Heaven help me if you ever take up the bow, Cecily. Your mother would never forgive me.”
“I did not begin so young,” Merewyn said to the girl. “You have many years to learn.”
The boys shrugged, but Cecily’s lips formed a pout. Merewyn knew the girl would not let Lady Serena’s words get in her way should she want to learn. In Cecily, Merewyn recognized a spirit like her own.
As they neared the tent, the smell of fresh-baked tarts wafted through the air. “Tarts!” shouted Tibby. With that, the three children scampered off in search of their favorite treat. Merewyn watched them for a moment, wistful at the idea of children of her own. ’Twas a dream she did not expect to see realized.
“Little Cecily is correct,” said Lady Serena. “You did well today.”
Merewyn was not unhappy with her performance but she wanted to do better next time. “Thank you, my lady. Mayhap next time I can add another arrow. What do you think?”
“You could do it, I’ve no doubt. Did Rhodri teach you the feat?”
“Nay, Rhodri’s archers fight from the trees, not from a galloping horse. ’Twas another.” Lady Serena looked at her expectantly. “Owain, a prince of Powys and a good friend.”
They entered the tent and accepted cups of ale, then took them outside to stand under the trees where there was shade and privacy.
“I expect Rhodri had you following his archers all over the Welsh mountains,” said Lady Serena.
“Not at first.” Merewyn laughed, remembering Rhodri’s worries. “He was afraid if anything happened to me you would take up your bow against him.”
“And so I would have, the scoundrel. It is well you are home, for I think ’tis time you became a lady.”
Merewyn was about to object that it seemed unlikely she would ever be considered a lady. She was not even the daughter of one of Talisand’s knights. Serena must have seen Merewyn’s doubt but misunderstood its cause.
“I, too, had to give up a man’s tunic and hosen when I became Ren’s wife. The day draws near when we must find you a husband. It will help if you dress in a manner to attract one. Do any of my husband’s men appeal?”
Only one man appealed to Merewyn and she was certain he was not among those Lady Serena would list as potential suitors. “Nay.”
“Well, you have been home only a short while. Time will show you the one. Meanwhile, I have been thinking that when the king summons my lord to the meeting of his barons, you and I should go along. I had little respect for the first William and mayhap I will have less for this one, but you have seen so little of England outside of Talisand, I would have you go.”
Merewyn had never been to London and she admired Lady Serena. To be with her on such an adventure would be a great pleasure. “I would gladly go with you, my lady.” But Lady Serena’s hopes for her might be too high. Could she ever leave behind her past? Would the king’s court be filled with those who would think less of her for it?
Lady Serena must have read her thoughts. “Do not think of the past, Merewyn. Your beginning does not have to define you. ’Tis the woman you have become that is important. You have grown into an intelligent, spirited young woman. It will be important for you to be accepted at the king’s court as one who has the favor of Talisand’s lord. ’Tis even possible you will find a suitor there among the king’s knights.”
Merewyn returned Serena a tentative smile. She would find no suitor at the king’s court and she still had reservations about appearing at the king’s palace. “I do not know how to behave before the king.”
“But surely you do,” Lady Serena insisted. “Emma raised you in your early years and she is a highborn lady. Her father was one of King Harold’s nobles before the Normans came. I know she taught you French.”
“Aye, I can speak the Norman tongue.”
“And you were with Rhodri for six years,” Lady Serena continued. “Did not his wife, Fia, tutor you in the ways of a lady? And were you not accepted in Rhodri’s court?”
“Yea, but that was Wales.”
Lady Serena gave an uncharacteristic snort. “From what I have heard, there is more dignity in Rhodri’s court than in William’s, but we shall see. I have not joined my husband in his visits to London since William Rufus was crowned four years ago. It is past time I do so. Now that I think of it, Alex’s foster father, the Earl of Chester, will be there. Mayhap I can convince my husband to call upon the earl and his countess on our way south. You would enjoy Ermentrude.”
When they had finished their ale and Lady Serena bid her good day, Merewyn bent to retrieve her quiver of arrows and saw a man’s shoes in front of her eyes. Raising her gaze, she took in the long hosen-clad male legs with cross straps of leather, a dark blue tunic and, finally, as she stood, a smiling Alexander with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you avoiding me, mistress?” His manner was teasing but she detected a hint of annoyance in his voice. In truth, she had been avoiding him, embarrassed by his kiss in the stables and her reaction to it. But she would never admit it. “I was shooting in the archery contest.”
“I know. I was watching. Your talent with a bow rivals that of my lady mother.”
“It was Lady Serena who first taught me, but I do not consider myself her equal.”
“You are modest. ’Tis a fine virtue for a woman, but in this case, mayhap misplaced. My mother claims your skill with a bow exceeds her own. After seeing you shoot from your pony, I would not say her nay. Nor, I suspect, would anyone at Talisand.”
Merewyn smiled at his words, for against her better judgment, it pleased her to think he had watched her and admired her skill. “You do not think it unseemly?” She cared desperately that he should approve. But no matter his reaction, she would never give up the weapon that made her safe.
“How could I when they still tell the stories of my own mother donning a lad’s clothing and killing a Norman knight with her arrow to save my father? Still, I prefer you in the gown you wore last eve. ’Twas very becoming.”
His gray eyes bore into hers and she knew he was remembering not her gown but their kiss. So intense was his gaze, she had to look away, her cheeks flaming. “Thank you.”
When she returned her attention to him, he was looking toward the clearing where the sword fighting was taking place. “My match is about to begin. I hope you will attend.” Without waiting for an answer, he bowed and left her, striding toward the area set off by pennons .
Merewyn followed slowly, watching until he reached the roped off area. She wanted to observe his skill, for she had heard he was accomplished with a blade. Even at thirteen summers, he had wielded both fist and sword well. What was he like now?
By the time she arrived, Alex was facing off with Jamie. The two knights circled each other, their swords drawn and faces set in determination.
Even in the shade of the tall oaks, the air was overwarm. Neither man wore mail or helm, only a short tunic over hosen. Alex had confined his long black hair to his nape with a leather cord. Already his forehead beaded with sweat.
Seeing Lora watching from the other side of the clearing, Merewyn went to join her.
“First blood and not much of it,” the Lord of Talisand, overseeing the match, reminded the knights, “and no hits above the shoulders.”
A crowd of men gathered around, shouting encouragement to their favorite, eager to see the Red Wolf’s son fighting the captain of the house knights.
Jamie moved first with a downward strike, but Alex quickly blocked the blade with an upward thrust. The older knight had powerful arms and a decade more experience than Alex. Jamie’s skill had been honed in sparring with the Red Wolf nearly every day. But Alex, with his agile strength, moved gracefully, more like an animal than a man, allowing him to avoid the older knight’s blade with his quick twists and turns.
After that, the blows came in rapid succession, steel meeting steel, as the two opponents forced each other back and forth over the uneven ground.
Alex’s blade slid along the edge of Jamie’s sword, the shrieking metal setting Merewyn’s nerves on end. It was not a real battle but close enough for her to hear in her mind the sounds of many swords clashing. She could easily imagine Alex as he might be in battle: his powerful muscles flexing with every slash of his sword, his black hair flying about his shoulders and the look on his face one of dangerous intent.
Alex suddenly twisted around so fast he was a blur, his blade striking Jamie’s twice before it stilled. Given the startled look on Jamie’s face, Merewyn was certain he had not expected the move. The men watching shouted their approval. Neither had they. She glanced up at Alex’s father whose face bore a grin. Had he taught Alex the move?
Children cheered from the sidelines. Cecily jumped up and down, flanked by her two companions. Alex’s younger brother, Tibby, watched Alex closely, his admiration for his older brother shining in his eyes.
Jamie paused and Alex shot a glance to where Merewyn stood next to Lora. Taking advantage of the lapse, Jamie swung hard, forcing Alex to block the blade close to his body. It appeared Alex would prevail, but suddenly he stumbled and went down.
***
The tip of Jamie’s sword pressed into Alex’s chest. A bit more pressure and it would pierce his tunic and draw blood.
“Yield, Alex.”
He smiled up at the blond knight. “Aye, ’tis your win, Jamie.” The older knight offered Alex his hand and he took it.
“You are being very gracious about this loss, Alex.”
“Mayhap, but I expect a rematch and soon,” said Alex. They laughed about their various moves as they strode from the clearing. Once Jamie left him, his two friends rushed to his side, incredulous looks on their faces.
“What was that ?” Rory questioned. “You never lose your footing, no matter the ground.”
“Yea,” said Guy, his forehead furrowed. “I have never seen you clumsy afore this.” The younger knight furrowed his brow at Alex’s amused grin. “Are you ill?”
Alex laughed. “Nay.” Speaking under his breath, he confided, “Jamie might have won without my help, but ’twas my intention to assure he did.”
His friends stared back at him, open-mouthed. “Why?” they asked as one.
He raised his brows. “Have you not observed Jamie is smitten with Lora but she pays him little attention? When I saw Lora closely watching, I thought to give Jamie a boost in her eyes.”
“Ah,” said Rory. “I begin to understand. ’Twas great-hearted of you. But your lord father will think you are slipping.”
“Nay, he will not,” said Alex. “After I’ve defeated the two of you,” he said with a grin, “I will meet him.”
“Ho! The arrogance of our leader!” cried Rory.
“Then let the next match be mine!” said Guy.
“You shall have it,” said Alex, a slow smile crossing his face. Guy was the youngest of Talisand’s knights. His most difficult tests lay ahead of him and Alex was glad to show him the way.
In the next two rounds, Alex defeated his friends. Guy had learned much in Normandy but his lesser experience showed in the end. Rory made a single error that Alex quickly seized upon.
When he finally challenged his father, Alex was winded, but determined. He approached the Lord of Talisand who stood observing the remaining matches. “’Tis you I would next lock swords with, Father.”
The Red Wolf turned to face him, proud, erect and secure in his ability. His reputation on the battlefield was legendary even before Alex was born. His chestnut hair was now streaked with gray and framed a lined face that bore witness to the decades he had served the Conqueror.
“Are you certain you do not need a brief rest to recover?” his father asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“Hardly. And do not go easy on me, Father. I would have a real test of my skill. We’ve not sparred since I left for Normandy.”
The Red Wolf returned him a predatory gaze. “Very well.”
The crowd’s conversation faded to a hushed silence as father and son faced off in the center of the clearing, circling each other slowly. Alex reminded himself of his father’s reputation. He might limp at times from the old riding accident, but as he circled Alex, ’twas not apparent.
Gray eyes met gray eyes as each took the other’s measure. Alex had been schooled by his father not to be hasty but to consider the other man’s moves before attacking. Hence, they continued to circle, eyes narrowed, each waiting for the other to strike. Alex was determined to be patient.
“I suppose I must begin this,” his father said in a low voice, “else we will be here all day. And your mother watches with a worried face from the sidelines as it is.”
The Red Wolf stepped back and with a powerful arc of his sword sending flashes of light into the air, brought his blade down hard upon Alex’s sword raised in defense.
As one, the crowd inhaled, the air hissing through their teeth.
The blow sent a wave of shock through Alex’s arm, but he held firm. “You will not end it so easily, Father. I have grown stronger.”
His father grinned back. “I have noticed.”
The Red Wolf tapped the end of Alex’s blade, testing his reaction. Alex did not leap into the void, but waited until the opening he had wanted appeared. With quick reflexes, he slashed his sword first right and then left, the sound of clashing blades loud in the clearing. He had not confused his father, as he had hoped, but he’d gained movement forward nonetheless.
Striking again and again, he drove the Red Wolf back, but the older knight recovered and came at him with another powerful blow.
Their swords crossed, bringing their faces close together over the blades, two pairs of gray eyes shooting sparks at each other, their chests heaving short breaths.
Another long round of their clashing blades followed, at the end of which, his father loudly proclaimed, “I declare a tie!” Stepping back, he raised his sword in front of his face, pointing the tip to the sky, a signal the match was concluded.
“A tie it is,” said Alex, sheathing his sword and bowing before the knight he respected above all others. If he had to stand in anyone’s shadow he wanted it to be this man’s.
The crowd seemed to approve. Loud shouts of praise were followed by “Ale for Talisand’s wolves!”
His father laughed. Wrapping his arm around Alex’s shoulder, he led him to the blue and white tent. “’Tis time you had your own banner, Son. What do you say to a black wolf?”
“Aye,” said Alex, accepting the large cup overflowing with amber liquid. “Mayhap on a crimson field.”
His father smiled his approval. “So be it!”
Joined by their fellow knights and men-at-arms, expounding on the fine points of the morning’s contests, Alex and his friends happily imbibed the ale that was set before them. It was another hour before they left for the hall, Alex’s steps unsteady and his speech slurred. But it had been a good day and he regretted naught of it.
At the door of the hall, he waved off his two friends and headed for the manor, his only thought a comfortable bed where he might sleep for a few hours before the evening meal.
***
After the matches were finished, Merewyn and Lora walked along the bank of the River Lune speaking as two friends long separated. It was one of several conversations they had enjoyed in the months since Merewyn had been back, most of them concerning changes at Talisand.
In her hand, Merewyn still carried her bow, hardly aware of it or the quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder.
“Tell me more about Wales,” Lora asked. “You seem so different since your return.”
Images of warriors clad in brown and green flickered in Merewyn’s mind. “They are fierce in a fight, each one skilled with a bow. Few of the women seek to have such skill, but they did not discourage my interest. Rhodri’s encouragement and his approval gained me a place among them.”
“Why did it mean so much to you to go? I missed your company.”
“I had to go, Lora. I wanted to be able to protect myself. You know what I faced here. And you know the stories about Lady Serena as well as I. Imagining her dressed in an archer’s clothing, killing a Norman knight to save the Red Wolf, I wanted to be like her.”
“You very nearly are. The men now speak of you with admiration.”
Merewyn smiled to herself. “Mayhap they will respect the bow where they did not respect the girl and stay away.”
“You want the men to stay away?” Lora asked, a look of disbelief on her face.
“Aye.” Most of them . She would not speak of her feelings for Alex she kept locked in her heart or the change that had occurred in her thinking about him. Turning her friend’s attention to the match, she said, “The sword fighting was exciting, do you not agree?”
“I liked the fight between Earl Renaud and his son. Except for the years that separate them, the two fight in similar fashion. Alex was so… powerful. ”
Merewyn had hoped Lora would speak of Jamie, but having seen her watching Alex, she was not surprised this contest had drawn her friend’s attention. The Red Wolf had seen many battles and his experience showed in his practiced moves and his powerful strikes, but Alex’s skill did nearly equal that of his father. “’Twas exciting to see them spar, even frightening, but there were other matches. Did you not think Jamie did well?”
The dark-haired daughter of Sir Alain smoothed the skirt of her leaf green gown, while appearing to ponder the question. She stood taller than Merewyn, her height gained from her father, the huge knight who carried the Red Wolf’s banner.
“He won,” Lora finally said, “but only because Alex stumbled, else it might have ended differently.”
Merewyn wanted her friend to see the good in the golden-haired English knight who, like Merewyn, had been taken under Lady Serena’s wing. “Earl Renaud has much confidence in Jamie,” she said. “’Tis an honor to be named captain of the house knights.”
Lora tossed her thick hair behind her. The sun glistening in the long strands made them appear like burnt umber. It was not difficult to imagine why Jamie was so enamored of her. And Lora had a good heart, using her knowledge of herbs, gained from her mother, for others.
“Jamie is an honorable knight,” Lora admitted. “But I have known him all my life. He was already the Red Wolf’s squire when I was born.”
Merewyn laughed. “Yea, but he is not old. Have you never asked yourself why such a well-favored knight is unwed?”
“I just assumed ’twas because of his service to Talisand’s lord.”
Merewyn shook her head. “Nay, I think not.” She fingered her bow, wondering if she should say the words that were on her tongue. Mayhap they would help Lora see the prize that was hers to claim. “The man is too shy to speak his heart, but you can see his words in his eyes.” Meeting her friend’s dark gaze, she said, “’Tis you, Lora. Whenever you are near him, he looks nowhere else.”
Lora stared at her with a perplexed expression.
“Aye,” said Merewyn, “I was right in thinking you were unaware. I only tell you so that you do not discourage Jamie overmuch.”
“Jamie? Interested in—” Her words trailed off as she looked toward the grass growing at the edge of the river.
Merewyn put her arm around her friend. “To win the affection of one like Jamie is not a small thing. There are many women at Talisand who would gladly have him, but he waits for you.”
Lora’s eyes filled with tears and she turned and hugged Merewyn. “Thank you.”
It pleased Merewyn to realize she had done the right thing in speaking to her friend. “Go tell him how well he did today and see his eyes light like the sun.”
Lora nodded and hurried back toward the palisade gate.
Merewyn walked on by herself for a while, enjoying the sun-filled afternoon and the peaceful flow of the river, remembering the match between Alex and his father. Deep in her thoughts, she nearly bumped into Maugris, who suddenly appeared in front of her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I did not see you.”
The old seer greeted her with a smile. “Good day to you, Mistress Merewyn. I see you still carry your bow and wear the apparel of one of Rhodri’s archers. Your shooting today amazed all.”
“You are kind to say so, Maugris.”
She meant to pass by, but he held up a hand. “A word if I might.”
“Of course,” she said turning to face him.
“Remember, the archer controls the bow and not the bow the archer.”
She blinked twice. Whatever does that mean? The wise one was known to speak in riddles and this bit of advice was beyond her understanding. Did he know of her conversations with her bow? After all, he knew things no one else did.
At her puzzling look, Maugris smiled, his face a sea of wrinkles and his blue eyes twinkling. “Do not discount the words of an old man. I have faith in you,” he said as he turned to go.
“I will try and remember that,” she said to his back. What vision had he seen that caused him to speak so?
Still pondering his words, Merewyn strolled back to the manor and climbed the stairs to her chamber, thinking to please Lady Serena by changing into a gown for what would likely be another feast, this one to celebrate the tournament’s champions .
She entered the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her, and set her bow and arrows on the table. “You did well today,” she muttered to her bow, “but you need not look so smug.” She walked to the window and threw open the shutters. The afternoon sun flooded the chamber and a pleasant breeze caressed her face as she looked beyond the river curling around the palisade to the green hills beyond.
Turning into the chamber, she froze. On the far side of the chamber, asleep on her bed was Alex, curled up on top of the furs with his back to her, his long black hair free of its leather tie a dark cloud on her pillow. The sunlight falling on his long lean body made her think of a sleeping Hercules.
She looked toward her bow. Silently, it warned, “Do not trust him! Remember his reputation.” The bow spoke the truth. She could not allow anyone to find him here for they would think the worst. And if he remained in her bed she might be tempted to succumb to his seductive charm.
Walking to the bed, she gently prodded his still form. “Alex, what are you doing here?” she whispered, afraid someone might hear. “You must leave!”
Alex rolled over to face her, one gray eye barely opening under a dark arched brow. “Have you come to join me?”
He smelled of ale and his words were slurred. Drunk . She might have known he and his friends would be celebrating the matches they’d won. Did he even know where he was? “Alex, you are in my bed, not your own.”
He closed his eye and sighed contentedly. “I am merely resting and I like it here.” He rubbed his cheek against her pillow. “It smells very pleasant.”
His measured breathing told her he had gone back to sleep.
She took in his masculine form. Even at rest he appeared formidable and so sensual that a part of her wanted to crawl in beside him. Shaking off the scandalous thought, she shook his shoulder. “You must wake up!”
This time both his eyes opened and he reached for her, his powerful arms pulling her onto the bed and drawing her tightly against him. “I do like you in your bowman’s attire,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like a field of flowers.”
She tried to wiggle free of his embrace but his strength held her to him. “Alex! Stop this at once.”
“Do not scold, Merewyn,” he said, tightening his grip and brushing his lips over her neck. “I like having you here. So soft. Can you not stay?”
It would have been laughable had she not been concerned about what others might think and where this could lead if she did not stop him. “This is my bed, not yours, you fool!”
Ignoring her protest, he rolled on top of her and brought his mouth down upon hers. The moment his warm lips kissed her, she forgot her scolding. She could not bring herself to refuse what she had longed for. He tasted of ale, his warm lips easing hers apart. Slipping in his tongue, he gently explored her mouth. ’Twas alarming and wonderful at the same time. Small ripples of pleasure coursed through her and an ache formed deep in her woman’s center. With any other man she would have reached for her bow, but this was Alex. She did not fear him, as she would have another man.
She threaded her fingers through his thick raven hair, finally able to touch what she had so long admired. In a moment, she would pull away, she told herself.
He wiggled his hips until they parted her thighs. His hard arousal pressed between her legs, moving against her woman’s flesh. Only his hosen and hers separated them. “I want you, Merewyn.”
He knows who I am ! Reason came back to her. She would have to be the one to stop this. Reining in the passion rising within her, she placed her hands on his shoulders and hissed, “Off! You must get off! This is unseemly.”
He took her hands from his shoulders and raised them above her head, threading his fingers through hers. Pinned by his body and secured by his hands, she could not move.
His mouth sought the tender flesh of her neck where he trailed kisses down her throat, the stubble on his chin tickling her sensitive skin.
“You do not want me to get off, I can tell,” he muttered. His speech was still slurred and she was not certain he was fully awake. But when his hips pressed into her causing her to sink deeper into the soft bed cushion, desire threatened to intoxicate her as surely as the ale had robbed him of his wits. “You are so warm and soft and smell so good,” he murmured against her throat.
His words roused her from the fog into which she was slipping. “And you smell like the bottom of an ale barrel,” she said shortly. Afraid she would soon succumb to his seduction if she did not move this instant, she brought her mouth to his ear. “Alex, ’tis my bed you are in and you were not invited.”
She must have reached him in his stupor, for he raised his head, looked into her eyes and blinked. “Not invited?”
“Nay,” she insisted as firmly as she could, meeting his startled gaze.
“Oh.” Shaking his head, he let go of her hands and pushed his weight from her to sit on the bed, leaving her aching and wanting for his touch, but resolved to see him gone.
As soon as she was free of his body, she pulled her legs beneath her and scrambled back away from him on the bed.
He flung his legs over the side and turned to look back at her, blinking again as if trying to focus. Casting a glance around the chamber, he spoke in a clear voice. “’Tis not mine.”
“I have been trying to tell you that, you drunken sot.” She was not really angry with him. Drunk, he had stumbled into the wrong chamber, but his nearness had stirred her senses, his kisses made her want more and her heart hammered in her chest with the excitement of touching him as a lover might.
With a deep sigh, he got to his feet and walked to the door. Turning to look at her, he said, “You are beautiful when disheveled, Merewyn, but ’tis quite apparent I am not wanted.”
He opened the door to leave and she bit her lip to keep from speaking.
He could not have been more wrong.