Lady Of Lyonsbridge

Alyce was embarrassed to admit to herself that she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She’d been unable to get Thomas’s brief kiss out of her mind, and, though she knew it was a scandalous desire for a well-bred maiden, she wanted another sample. And she wasn’t about to let some fast-wilting flowers stand in her way. “Never mind,” she said, bending down to deposit the bouquet on the ground. “They’ll be fine right here until we’re ready to leave.”

Thomas’s smile of satisfaction was confirmation that she was acting like a village hussy, but she didn’t care as he put his arms around her again and lowered his lips to hers. Unlike the brief kiss of the previous evening, this one was slow and deep. His mouth gently melded with hers, warm and moist, then opened to urge a more ardent joining. For several moments, Alyce lost track of everything that surrounded them. She could no longer smell the dry grass of the meadow or hear the horses’ impatient huffing. Her entire world was centered in Thomas’s kiss.

He gave a little groan of pleasure as he drew away. Closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers, he murmured, “By the rood, Rose, I’ve never in my life tasted anything so sweet.”

Her arms had crept around his neck and they tightened at his words. He sounded utterly sincere. Thomas Havilland was obviously a practiced gallant, but there was a note in his declaration that rang true. Of course, the notion was absurd. He had kissed many women. In his eyes, she was just a servant on whom he could practice his skill at flirtation. And he was obviously hungry for a woman after a dreary campaign.

She put the thought into words. “You say that you’ve been away from home for a long time, Sir Thomas. No doubt the slightest attention from an English maid would seem wondrous to you.”

He loosened his hold on her and answered slowly, “Nay. I’ll admit I’ve had few kisses over these past months, but this is something…” His voice trailed off.

His expression was genuinely puzzled, and Alyce was tempted to believe that he had indeed found the kisses as compelling as she had. Unconsciously, she tilted her face, and he accepted the mute offer by kissing her again. This time she didn’t know how many minutes transpired before he pulled away with a deep, ragged breath.

“You’ve bewitched me, Rose. Or have you fed me one of old Maeve’s love potions?” When she flushed, he laughed and added, “No matter. I’m not objecting. But you must know ’tis dangerous to incite a man’s passions.”

Alyce knew no such thing, but his teasing expression did not look the least dangerous, so she smiled back at him. What would a lady’s maid say at this juncture? she wondered. Daringly, she tried, “Fie on you, sir, if you think I need a potion to do the job.”

His expression changed once again, and this time she did glimpse danger in his hooded gaze and the flare of his nostrils. In one fluid motion he scooped her up into his arms and began walking toward the copse of trees at the far end of the meadow. It was some distance, but he carried her easily, without so much as breathing hard. It was Alyce’s chest that was rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.

He reached the trees and gave her a hard, quick kiss. “In truth, I judged Sherborne a modest place when we rode in, sweetheart. I never thought to find such riches here.”

Her insides were churning. Though inexperienced, she knew enough to realize that Thomas was intending to move beyond flirtatious kisses. Part of her wanted to let him continue. His kisses had been exciting, and her untutored body wanted to learn what further wizardry he could show her.

He laid her gently on a mound of soft grass at the base of an ash tree and knelt beside her, looking down. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then his hand moved down to sculpt her breast through the thick cloth of her dress. “Shall I free you of these wrappings?” he asked.

With sudden panic, Alyce brushed aside his hand and sat straight up as if stung by a bee. What had possessed her? The knight might think her a serving wench, but she was not one. She was the lady of Sherborne Castle, in liege to the king of England. Neither her fate nor her body were her own. “I can’t do this,” she said stiffly.

At first Thomas seemed to think it all part of the game. He took her shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her nose. “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmured. “We’ll be careful.”

She had only the vaguest notion what he meant by those words, but she knew that no amount of care could make it all right for the lady Alyce of Sherborne to lie with a wandering knight. She pushed him back. “Nay, you don’t understand. I must return to the castle. Please.”

The touch of alarm in her tone seemed to reach him. He pulled his arms away and let them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said stiffly. “It seemed that you were willing.”

She bit her lip and found it still sensitive from his kisses. “Aye,” she said miserably. “That is…nay. I hold you no blame, Sir Thomas. ’Twas my fault for acting recklessly.”

If he was disappointed or angry, it did not show in his expression. He smiled. “Perhaps I went too quickly, sweetling. The fault was not in your actions but in your beauty and sweetness. I didn’t mean to press you, but you made me quite lose my head.”

She realized that after the bold way she had acted, she should be grateful for his easy acceptance of her change of heart. “Thank you,” she said.

He stood and held out his hand. “Come, let’s see if any of our flowers survived, to take back to your mistress.”

Feeling a little shaky, Alyce accepted his hand to help her up, but dropped it immediately when she was on her feet. She was quiet as they made their way back to the horses. He helped her mount, then quickly gathered the scattered blossoms and got on his own horse.

She remained silent on the ride back to the castle, confused at her actions and at how fast things had progressed between her and Thomas. Didn’t she have enough problems, she asked herself angrily, without losing all vestige of good sense because a handsome knight wooed her with pretty words?

As they dismounted, he asked about seeing her at dinner. He seemed a little hurt by her swift change of mood, but she didn’t trust herself enough to spend more time with him to soothe his feelings. She gave a vague answer, then handed him the reins to her mount and bolted for the security of the castle.

“Thomas, you were the one who said we shouldn’t tarry long at any place lest Dunstan get wind of our movements. If he and Prince John learn that we are collecting the ransom for Richard, they’ll have their dogs on us in an instant.”

This time Kenton had recruited assistance in arguing with his leader. Harry the Stout had joined them at the table, along with a third knight whom the men had dubbed Martin the Reaper. Unlike Harry, Martin’s nickname had nothing to do with his appearance. The phrase came from the number of Saladin’s legions Martin had mowed down in battle.

“Kenton’s right,” Martin said, sober in spite of the pitcher of ale he had single-handedly consumed. “’Tis time we leave here before word of our presence spreads. We’ve already judged this castle too poor to contribute to our cause. By all accounts the lady has not even the money to buy herself free from her marriage duty to the king’s choice.”

“To Prince John’s choice, according to her serving woman,” Thomas corrected. “Which happens to be none other than Dunstan himself. Does it seem right to you that we should leave the poor woman to that kind of fate? Haven’t we all taken an oath of chivalry to aid damsels in need?”

Harry wiped the grease from his mouth as he threw the leg bone of a rabbit down on the table. “I’ve no warm feelings toward the lady of Sherborne after our treatment at her hands. She near killed us. I say let Dunstan have her.”

“Aye,” Martin agreed. “Our duty is to Richard and none other.”

Kenton was watching Thomas with a puzzled expression. “’Tis not like you to be so reckless over a pretty face, Thomas. Let’s be about our business. When Richard is free, you can come back for this servant wench if you fancy her so.”

Thomas looked around the table at his men. He sympathized with their confusion. In fact, he shared it. He could not explain even to himself why the lady of Sherborne’s maid had so captured him. He only knew that when she had not come to join them for supper, the stab of disappointment had been every bit as sharp as the Saracen knife that had nearly taken his life in battle.

Damn Richard for getting himself into yet another muddle, he thought with uncharacteristic churlishness. Thomas knew that his loyalty was to his king, but he simply could not ride away without seeing Rose again.

He stood. “I can’t believe that one more day in this place will jeopardize our mission. The men can use the time to rest and repair their equipment. I feel an obligation to seek an audience with this Lady Alyce, to see that she is not being forced into a match that is abhorrent to her.”

“And if she is?” Kenton asked.

Thomas shrugged. “As you say, our mission is clear, but since Dunstan is Richard’s enemy, we may be of some service to the lady in the performing of it.”

“So ’tis the lady you wish to see, not her servant?” Kenton asked without hiding his skepticism.

“I’ll see them both,” Thomas answered. He looked at each of his men in turn, but none of them spoke. Thomas Brand was normally a mild-mannered fellow and a warm friend, but they’d learned from experience not to oppose him when his expression tightened and his tone turned to steel.

Kenton was brave enough to shake his head in disapproval, but even he remained silent as Thomas strode away toward the stairs to the upper floor.

He had been joking when he’d accused Rose of using one of old Maeve’s love potions, but by the time Thomas reached the door of Lady Alyce’s bedchamber, he’d begun to wonder if there might be some truth to his charge. The need to see her again was like a fire in his gut.

Light shone around the door, encouragement enough for him to knock. If the lady Alyce was still in her sickbed, perhaps Rose was attending her and would open the door to him. Then he would insist on a few moments of her time to apologize for having upset her out in the meadow that morning.

Unlike the other night, when his anger and worry over his sick men had made him pound until the rafters shook, he tapped lightly. With luck, the mistress would be asleep and Rose would be free to leave with him.

His heart leaped when Rose opened the door. “Oh!” she said, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I thought it was Lettie.”

He gave her his most charming smile. “I hope ’tis not a disappointment. I missed you at the dinner table.” When she continued to look upset, he grew more serious. “I need to talk with you, Rose. Please hear me out.”

“I…’tis late,” she said weakly.

“Aye, but I’ve little time. My men are anxious to be about their duties, and I’d not leave Sherborne without settling this thing between us.”

She was holding the door halfway shut, but he angled himself to look into the room over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the reclusive lady Alyce. To his surprise, the room seemed to be empty. “Where’s your mistress?” he asked with a frown.

She relaxed her hold on the door and stepped back to reveal the empty room. “She went to the garderobe, if you must know. But she’ll return any minute, and she won’t be at all happy to find you here.”

He moved toward her, forcing her to take a step backward into the room. “I’ll explain that her maid has put a spell on me and drawn me here against my will.”

Rose smiled, but still seemed ill at ease. “Please leave, Thomas. I’m sorry, but there can be nothing more between us.”