Chapter 18
Alissende felt a lurch of surprise as Damien cantered with her down the path of silk pavilions leading to their own…and then rode by the gold-and-blue tent they shared. She twisted halfway in his arms as they passed it, glancing behind him for an instant before swiveling her gaze up to meet his.
“I hate to mention the obvious, Damien,” she said, “but our pavilion is back there. And what is also peculiar, your squire Thomas is trailing us several lengths behind. Where are we going, pray tell, and why?”
He offered her naught but a smile, the expression sending a melting sensation through her at the same time that it made her want to kick her heel back into his shin.
“Patience, Alissende.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You shall see.”
She made a disgruntled sound that seemed to only make him smile more broadly before she faced forward again.
“I recall that you used to enjoy surprises,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath brushing over her ear sent a tingle through her.
“Perhaps.” She squirmed, her hips shifting against his groin as she sought a more comfortable position in the saddle.
Her unexpected movement made his breath catch, and his arm flexed against her belly, even as she added somewhat crossly, “But more oft than not that was because I was the one doing the surprising.”
“You have not lost your touch in that, lady,” he said on a laughing groan. “Pray take pity and cease wriggling like that. We’re almost there.”
They had left the main path a few moments earlier and passed through a wooded area before entering a cool, green glade bordered by a pond that sparkled in the sun.
“This is it,” he announced, reining in their mount.
“What?”
“Our destination.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent, helping her dismount before he began to stride away. Frustration bloomed as she glanced back toward the wood and then glared at him again. “Just where are you going, Damien de Ashby—and where is Thomas?”
Damien did not seem to notice her irritation, glancing over his shoulder and telling her as he approached the water, “I am going to bathe away the dirt of battle. And Thomas is standing guard at my command, just beyond the copse of trees we passed through earlier, to ensure that we are not disturbed.”
“Disturbed from what?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. This time her voice held enough of an edge, apparently, that Damien paused and turned around, smiling, though he was shaking his head.
“Ah, Alissende, try not to fret so. It is nothing disagreeable. I’ve arranged for us to share a light repast, away from prying eyes, if that meets with your approval.
You’ll find the basket and a large blanket right over there”—he pointed to a mossy area beneath a towering oak that spread its branches in a lush canopy above—“and if you’d consent to arrange the things while I clean up, I promise to show you my appreciation most thoroughly when I am through. ”
She just gaped at him. “You mean you planned this ahead of time? But how could you be certain of the battle’s outcome today? Or that you—or that I would even—?”
He shrugged. “I did not doubt my ability to match Hugh on the lists. It was your reaction afterward that I was not certain about.” He grinned. “I am glad I wagered correctly on that point.”
His teeth flashed white, and the expression on his face was both playful and devastatingly handsome.
But she had no time to form a reply, for at that moment he turned back toward the water and started pulling off pieces of his armor-plates and clothing, dropping them to the ground next to him.
In the space of a few heartbeats he stood completely naked at the edge of the pond, the sunlight washing over him in a play of gold and shadows.
Then, reaching into the long fronds near the water for something—a chunk of soap, she guessed when he straightened—he stretched his arms up and dove in, the sight of his powerful body as he moved nothing less than breathtaking.
She had actually stopped breathing, she realized, as she’d watched him disrobe; now she was forced to take in a deep breath as he resurfaced, giving a shout and brushing the wetness from his face before shaking his head to release a spray of glittering drops.
“It’s cold,” he called up to her, laughing.
“Do not linger too long, then.” She smiled back at him in spite of herself.
Something fluttered to life inside her when she looked at him, and the tingling up her spine made her wish she could simply stand there and watch him all day.
But he had asked her to ready the basket he had prepared, and she saw no reason not to comply with his request.
Trying to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand, she made a quick task of spreading out the blanket before preparing to empty the contents of the basket. But when she opened the woven lid, she frowned. What in heaven’s name…
Goose feathers?
A handful of long, silky plumes rested on top of what appeared to be a set of men’s garments.
A bag of ripe strawberries was nestled inside the basket as well, it was true, but there was no explaining the clump of mint leaves or the small pot of what seemed to be some kind of liniment she discovered at the very bottom of the basket.
The only other consumable item she found was a sack of red wine. The rest was mystifying.
She’d knelt on the edge of the blanket and was readying to twist around and call to Damien for an explanation when he rushed up behind her in a laughing ambush, grabbing her and tumbling her onto the blanket before rolling half atop her.
He had dried himself off, it seemed, but apart from the warm sheen of sunlight burnishing his body, he was wearing… nothing.
She gave a little yelping gasp as he began unfastening the laces of her gown. Pressing her palms flat against his chest, she pushed, managing to move away from him just far enough that she could scowl up into his face.
“I demand that you stop, Damien de Ashby, until you explain what all of this is”—she gestured wildly to the contents of the basket, scattered next to them—“and just what exactly you are doing.”
Damien did stop for a moment then, taking in a steadying breath and realizing as he did so that he was enjoying this far more than he had a right to.
But he couldn’t help himself. She was so beautiful.
Even indignant as she was—perhaps especially because of it—she entranced him.
Her cheeks flushed a shade of rose no flower on earth could match for loveliness, and the delicate color highlighted the spark in her eyes and accented the glossy sweep of her dark hair.
Lifting his hand away from her back to stroke his fingertips along the side of her face, he smiled, experiencing a surge of unaccountable feeling as he looked upon her, something that welled up from a place he’d thought long dead and destroyed.
But it was there, he realized in shock, pulsing in wonderful, glorious life.
An emotion he’d thought never to feel again.
Sweet angels preserve him…
Doing his best to quell that sudden and astounding awareness, he swallowed hard and tried to steer his attention back to the more lighthearted banter they had been enjoying before.
“What I am doing,” he answered, his voice hoarse with all he was suppressing, “is attempting to disrobe you, Alissende. With your permission, of course. It will be difficult to do what else I have planned otherwise.”
“But—out here?” she whispered, sounding somewhat choked. Her eyes, though, sparkled with that light he remembered well—the impetuous, fun-loving glint that had entranced him from the very first time he’d seen her.
Damien tried to grin again, only to discover that his mouth wasn’t cooperating.
The strange, wobbling sensation in his lips made the expression that resulted lopsided, he was sure, in a way that was most distressing.
It took him a moment to pull himself together enough to speak again.
He would concentrate only upon the pleasure to be had right now, he told himself.
That and nothing more. He had to, God help him, for if he permitted himself to dwell on the inconceivable—that he had allowed himself to fall in love with Alissende all over again—it would drive him mad.
Clearing his throat, he made the effort to sound far more normal than he was feeling.
“We used to meet for our trysts long ago in the meadow beyond Seton Castle, sheltered by naught but the canopy of sky, sun, and a few trees. I recall those moments…fondly to say the least.” He managed to quirk his brow at her in what he hoped was a wicked way.
“Aside from that, Thomas is on guard, and I have a vow to fulfill. You will remember that I promised to extract triple payment from you, once I was able, for the tender torments you played upon me in our tent seven nights ago.”
She paused, smiling. “That you did.”
“And you admitted to trembling with dread at the prospect of it.”
“Aye, I do recall saying that.” Dropping her gaze to his mouth, she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, nearly undoing him with the innocent eroticism of the gesture.
“You are trembling now, are you not?” he asked huskily.
Alissende met his gaze once more, stealing his breath with the look in the violet-blue depths of her eyes. She swallowed. “Aye. But no more than you are, I think, my lord.”
“If I am, it is with desire for you, Alissende,” he whispered, abandoning all words, then, as he tipped his head to kiss her again.
Her mouth was soft. So soft and gentle beneath his. She tasted of honey and apples, and when she used the tip of her tongue to trace the outline of his lips, it unleashed a fierce wave of yearning that spilled through him and pooled in the heavy, demanding length of his erection.