Chapter 8
The road had turned to mud that was thick as oat porridge and slowed their progress.
The pack mules balked and brayed when the mud became deep and the cats didn't like being jostled.
William was on his own crusade, determined to rectify his past mistakes and reach the town of Wakefair by nightfall.
Eventually the dirt road became rocky and drier, the mud only in ravines that dropped down from the highway.
They had been traveling for most of the day when the red knight appeared.
Like the black knight he sat upon a heavy warhorse with plain trappings and both his shield and plume were red.
The visor of his helm was already down, in challenging position.
He had no lance, only a sword, and he was blocking the narrow road.
William turned in his saddle. "Ride back to the center of the caravan! And woman!"
"Aye?"
"Do as I say this time!" He drew his sword and turned back.
The red knight charged.
William spurred his mount forward.
Seconds later they met on the narrow section of highway, met with a clash of sword blades, the power of which sent a familiar ringing up William's sword arm. He fought hard, but the knight's warhorse was hands higher than his smaller mount. His arm was fast tiring for trying to outmaneuver.
The red knight sliced his sword downward.
William kicked his foot out and knocked the knight from his horse.
The man landed on the edge of the roadway.
William leapt from his own mount, then smacked its hindquarter and sent it charging up the road.
Sword raised, he rounded the man's warhorse. The red knight had managed to stand and move from the narrow shoulder that separated road from ravine. A muffled curse came from inside the man’s helm.
The knight raised his sword . . .
. . . And Linnet screamed.
William froze and turned. The knight knocked his sword from his hand. William whipped around, a vile curse on his tongue.
The knight was ready. His mailed foot shot out. With the force of a catapult, he kicked William square in the belly and he doubled over and saw stars. A second later he tumbled backward and down the ravine.
Jagged rocks jabbed his shoulders, his back, his legs. He grunted. Bracken and sharp roots scratched his face and neck. He curled into a tight ball to keep from catching a limb and breaking bones.
Down he fell, faster and farther. Down, over more sharp granite edges and rough thorny bushes.
Down until a mud pit stopped him. He lay there, mud oozing around him, the world spinning, and more stars than Linnet could count shooting past his vision.
He didn't move for the longest time. He took one breath, then another, very slowly.
"William?" She was looking down from the edge of the roadside.
He opened his mouth.
"William, please. Answer me!"
He tried to speak. A moan came out.
"William? I'm coming down there."
"No!" he croaked.
Too late. Her muddy slippers crept over the edge and an instant later she was sliding down the hill on her backside, a fall of flaming red hair flying out behind her. "Ouch!"
He closed his eyes and mentally cursed.
"Oh!"
He heard the sound of tearing fabric.
"Heavens!"
Gravel rained down on him.
"Uh-oh!"
He could hear Linnet crashing through the bushes and winced.
Before he could take another breath, she hit him with a grunt.
He lay there, eyes closed, Linnet sprawled atop him.
Her chest and belly were pressed against his and her legs lay between his own.
He could feel her heart beating faster and louder than thundering horses.
Her nose was against his chest and her hair fanned out, twigs and leaves tangled in it.
Slowly she raised her head and shook it.
Leaves flew out and a twig slapped him in the chin.
She shoved her hair out of her face and stared down at him.
One small hand reached out to gently cup his cheek. "Are you terribly wounded?" she asked.
"Only my pride."
She whispered his name again, relief in her voice.
Her lips were there. An inch away. He told himself not yet.
But her body was soft and he wanted her.
God, how he wanted her! He relied on pure concentrated determination to control himself.
He closed his eyes, which only heightened his sense of smell, sound, and touch.
Other than sight, that left one more sensation—taste. How would she taste?
He opened his eyes. There were tears in hers.
Real tears. Worried tears. God's teeth. There was only so much a man could take.
His mouth was on hers an instant later, his hand splayed across the back of her head, holding her to him.
She went even softer against him, as if his kiss made her weak.
He stroked her lips with his tongue and she gave a quiet gasp of surprise.
His tongue sank into her sweet mouth, filled it, and the kiss was just as he'd thought.
She tasted of honey, of fire, and of everything he ever could need.
His other hand slid over her shoulder and slowly down her slim back to caress her bottom.
She moaned against the strength of his tongue.
He held her hard against him and rolled with her, pressing her back into the soft mud, his mouth taking hers sweetly but firmly, mimicking the way he wanted to take her body—in long, slow strokes that lasted forever.
With her beneath him he pressed closer, feeling her sink into the mud but not caring, because she moaned against his mouth and gripped his shoulders.
She didn't push him away. She held him fast and kept her mouth open, her curious tongue moving in answer to his.
He shifted his hips, rocking slowly against her in a steady rhythm as old as time.
It was happening too fast. Too strong. Too out of control.
He fought with himself, fought his primal urge and reason.
He drew his mouth away, his breath coming as fast as his passion did.
He looked down into those eyes, those wild golden eyes that looked up at him with such pure wonder.
He wanted to show her what loving was, what a man and woman could be.
He wanted to love her for all the days and nights left in this lonely lifetime. He wanted to die inside this woman.
But even in his heat of passion he wouldn't take her in the mud. He moved off her and she looked up at him with a look that was half-puzzled, half-hurt. "Here." He offered her his hand and helped her up.
She looked everywhere but at him. They were covered in mud and briars and damp grass.
He started back up the hillside, gripping onto the bushes as he tried to get a foothold. Again he gave her his hand. "Come," he told her. "I'll help you." She placed her hand in his, but he slipped and so did his grip on her hand.
Down they went again. He grabbed a bush and only fell to his knees. He heard a shriek and looked behind him.
She hadn't been so lucky. She was lying facedown in the thickest pool of mud in the ravine. Very slowly she pushed herself up.
Two bright and surprised yellow eyes stared at him from a brown face dripping in mud.
He burst out laughing. Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, resting her arms on her knees. He watched the mud drip from hair, nose, everywhere.
"You look like a sow," he told her honestly, not realizing that this was a stupid time for male honesty.
The mud ball hit him square in the face.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he roared and swiped at the mud.
She gave him a honeyed smile and threw another handful. Now she was laughing, laughing hard and flinging mud at him so quickly he would never have thought she could move that fast.
"Here!" she shouted. "Catch!" She hit him square in the forehead.
He sprang from the hillside and tackled her. They rolled together in the mud, Linnet shrieking while he tried to rub more mud in her face.
A few minutes later they both lay on their backs in the mud, a truce called. She was still laughing. "You didn't play fair, William. You're stronger than I." She slapped a muddy hand on her chest and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "I am a puny and weak woman."
He snorted. "Puny and weak. Ha! We could have used you at the siege of Acre, Linnet. I would have put you in charge of the catapult."
She smiled. "That is the first time you have ever called me by my name."
He hadn't realized he'd done so.
She reached over and touched him on the shoulder. "I prefer Linnet to sow."
He grinned, then stood and eyed the hillside. A second later he swept her into his arms and carried he through the ravine, heading for a place where the hill side wasn't so steep.
"William! Put me down!"
"Stop squirming and let me carry your 'puny' self."
He tossed her and grinned when she shrieked. Finally, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.
And he liked it so much that he carried her all the way up the hill...the long way.
He had never laughed with a woman like he had with Linnet.
‘Twas a strange feeling to call a woman friend.
But that was how he felt about her. Aside from her beauty, aside from her charm and the odd hold she seemed to have over him, aside from the passion she could spark in him with only a touch or a look, William actually liked her. He liked being with her.
They spent the next few nights staying in inns, each in their own room, a place where Linnet could have the comforts he should have thought of to begin with, baths, clean beds, warm food.
And he was loathe to admit it but he had missed her at night.
He missed sleeping next to her, missed her piling enough covers atop her to thaw Hinterland, missed her punching the pillows and tossing and turning until he had to talk with her if he ever wanted to get a wink of sleep.
He missed her incessant chatter about the night sky and stars and the shapes they form.
He missed waking and watching her sleep.
He didn't miss the cats. That was his one peaceful thought. Some of the animals were with her, some were boarded at the inn's stables.
They were two days ride from the abbey when he heard of the fair. 'Twas midsummer's eve and the town of Noddington was having a fair—a grand event if all they had heard was true.
He had one day and one night left to win her.
So he took her to the Midsummer's Fair.