Authors: Susan Sizemore
fend off being romanced. She nodded to his invitation, and they walked hand in hand to the hall steps.
Once there, she remembered his cloak, and handed it to him. "My thanks, lady," he said. He put down
the basket and swirled the cape onto his shoulders. "Come, share this with me as well." He put his arm
around her shoulder. When they sat she was pressed close to his side, sharing the warmth of his body as
well as the cloak.
The moment Diane sat down all the work and stress nearly overwhelmed her. She was almost too
tired to eat. She almost wished he would feed her and save her all the work that went in to picking up a
piece of bread and bringing it to her mouth. She wished she could cuddle under Simon's arm, put her
head on his shoulder and cry, or just sleep. She ate the food he'd brought instead.
It was easier to eat than to think. Easier to be with Simon than to crawl into a lonely, uncomfortable
bed. He offered warmth and support and a companionable silence. Even if she could have spoken, she
wouldn't have. It was restful just to be. After she'd finished eating, she put her head on his shoulder. She
wasn't sure which of them gave the contented sigh. She didn't close her eyes, but looked up and started
counting stars. Soon the world boiled down to the fiery points of light overhead and the soft breathing of
the man beside her.
When she was nearly asleep, he said, "The fighting will be over tomorrow."
Diane wasn't sure how her left hand had crept up to rest over Simon's heart, but she snatched it away
as she sat up straight. Still in the circle of his arm, she bent her head back to look at him. Despite the
serenity of his expression she could see how tired he was. He was the one who should be sleeping and
not feeding and comforting her.
"By sunset Marbeau will be safe," he went on. He touched the tip of her nose with one finger. "All will
be well, little one." He gave a tired sigh. "Except for the granary that was burned, the livestock that was
stolen and the dead and wounded the raiders leave behind. We'll have more of theirs to bury than of our
own. That's what winning is, I suppose." He shook his head. "Never mind. I'm rambling."
She saw how tired he was, how worried. The man had all this responsibility and no one to help him
shoulder it. That was the downside to being lord of all he surveyed. She wished there was something she
could do to help.
The only thing that came to mind was to say, "Once upon a time, a war between many powers waged
outside the fortress of Casablanca."
This time, finally, as they sat huddled close together beneath Simon's cloak, she was able to tell the
story all the way through to the end.
Simon listened attentively, and gave a satisfied sigh when she was done. "Ilsa went with her husband,
then, and Rick and Louis went to fight these Nazi barbarians together. Good. It was the honorable thing
to do."
It was the male thing to do, Diane thought.
Perhaps the end of
Casablanca
was the right thing to do, maybe it was honorable, but nobody
came out of it happy. They just did their duty, all brave, and noble, and long-suffering, and everybody in
the audience cried. Well, it made a great story, maybe the best movie of all time, but it was just a movie.
How would it really go in the real world? she wondered.
Not that she had to worry about the real world, not with all the troubles here in Fantasyland. She
ought to get back to her patients. She hadn't noticed while she'd been talking, but the cold had managed
to seep through even Simon's cloak and her layers of clothes. The only thing keeping her warm was their
shared body heat. She yawned, and heard her jaw creak with the effort.
Simon brushed a hand across her cheek. "You're sleepy, and could use some wine to warm you, I'd
wager." He stood, and brought her to her feet with him. When she would have started back for the
church, he steered her toward the castle door. "We're both going to get a few hours comfortable rest,"
he told her. "Come along. There are others to see that the wounded are resting comfortably," he added
when she tried to pull away. "You can supervise the sickroom again in the morning."
She supposed he was right. By this time of night the day's work was really done. Most people were
asleep. She might as well catch a few hours rest while she could. So Diane nodded, and went with Simon
into the hall.
Inside, the fires were banked, and the members of the household not manning the defenses were
huddled together in warm, snoring clumps as close to the central hearth as they could get. He took her
hand and led her tired steps through this human obstacle course. They went up the stairs. Yves was
sleeping on the landing outside Simon's chamber. They stepped over him and went inside. It occurred to
Diane as the heavy door closed behind her that she should go up to Jacques's room to go to bed.
"Why disturb the old man?" Simon asked, sensing her hesitation.
Why, indeed?
There were lots of good reasons to leave. She couldn't think of any as she looked into Simon's eyes.
So she took off her cape, and followed him across the room to the big, curtained bed.
She drank down the cup of wine Simon poured for her from a silver flagon on a bedside table. It
warmed her, as Simon had promised. Or maybe the heat that spread through her was at the sight of
Simon's hard-muscled body as he stripped down to the linen breechcloth that passed for men's
underwear in this place.
The breechcloth came off as well, but she turned away before she saw him completely naked. Her
hands trembled a little as she put down the winecup. When she took her clothes off, she only managed to
get as far as the linen shift she wore under all the layers of wool. She wasn't quite ready to face Simon de
Argent with the vulnerability of being completely naked.
She was glad that the room was mostly dark as she stood with her back to the bed. There was a lit
hour candle on Simon's writing table in the corner by the window, the soft glow of the banked fire in the
grate, and one lone candle next to the wine flagon. The carefully polished silver gleamed almost gold in
the flicker of the candle flame.
Its curved surface mirrored Simon's movements as he came up behind her. She watched, almost as
though she were dreaming, as his hands touched her shoulders. He slipped his fingers beneath the
neckline of the shift and pushed it down over her arms. In a daze, she saw the reflection of her bared
breasts, and felt the tension that radiated out from hardened nipples. Her head fell back against his
matted chest as he lowered his lips to her throat.
The excitement that flamed through her as he kissed her wasn't from the wine.
He kissed her neck, her ear, her temple and jawline as his hands moved in small circles over her
shoulders and arms. He turned her to face him and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was delicate at first,
a whisper touch, an almost tentative trace of his tongue around the outline of her mouth. It was a
suggestion, an asking for permission.
She replied by pressing herself against his naked body. She put her hand on the back of his head,
tangled her fingers in his heavy hair and offered her open mouth to his exploration.
That the girl was willing, Simon had no doubt. That he wanted her, he had no doubt. His member was
hard and his mind was eager to cloud with passion. He wanted to take her, to forget himself for a while
between soft, womanly thighs. He tasted the eagerness in her kiss. Her tongue touched his, teased and
ravaged his mouth with the knowledge and needs of a woman. He responded with a heady moan. This
went faster than it should. This was not the way their first coupling should be. He was ready to go up in
flames, and take Diane with him.
He relished the knowledge that she was no untried maiden. She was showing him vividly that the fear
of a man's touch caused by Thierry had faded with the passing days. She might cry out when he entered
her, but it would not be in terror. He should take her in his arms and place her beneath him on the bed.
"I should bed you," he said, voice rough and breathless. He pressed his hardness against the soft curve
of her belly. "I want to bed you."
Who's trying to stop you?
she thought. Her insides were curled with desire. The fierce tension of
need was almost painful. She arched like a cat as Simon's hands stroked over her back and down her
sides.
Simon made himself step away before his lust became too great to control. "No."
He retreated a step further, and snatched up his under-tunic. He kept his gaze carefully away from her
naked breasts. Once his arousal was covered he made himself look only at her face. His groin ached, his
manhood demanded to have its way, but he refused to give in to his animal nature. He had a duty to treat
this woman as an object of chivalrous devotion, not a common whore.
If she was to fall in love and get her voice back, he must practice restraint.
"I haven't the will to make proper love tonight. It would be a fierce coupling," he told her as she turned
a confused look on him. "It's been too long. The fighting brings out the barbarian in me. It would be too
wild, and hedonistic. Like the rutting of animals. Hard and fast and —"
He frowned at her eager grin.
"Wicked and sinful," he went on.
Sounds good to me,
Diane thought. She took a step toward him.
He backed away. "Am I going to have to defend my virtue, woman?"
She nodded.
Then she stopped. If he didn't want to, he didn't want to. She remembered all those careful discussion
on sexual ethics in dorm rooms and office meetings, on TV ads and in coffeehouse pamphlets. No was
supposed to mean no, no matter what the gender of the person who said it.
Who'd have thought she'd need a lesson in political correctness from a guy who wore armor to work?
She turned her back to him and pulled her shift up from around her hips. If he didn't want to sleep with
her, fine. She'd go to sleep. The last thing she expected was for Simon to crawl in beside her and pull up
the covers a few minutes after she'd gotten into bed.
After Simon had watched Diane flounce across the room and settle herself on his thick, feather
mattress he poured himself a full cup of wine. She turned her back to him, and he turned his to her.
Desire still raged, but he drank it down. He forced it from his body, and to the back of his mind. He
considered using his hand to relieve his immediate problem, but chose not to embarrass himself, or the
girl, in that way. It took several deep drinks, and many deep breaths before he was able to calmly seek
the place beside her still form. He trusted to very real exhaustion as much as the strong drink to help him
to sleep.
When Simon didn't make any move toward her, Diane eventually relaxed. After a while she even
stopped being angry at him. She even smiled into the darkness as his deep, steady breathing told her he
was asleep. It took a few more minutes before she got over her embarrassment, and the sting of
rejection, to see the incident as endearing. Simon de Argent was not a pig. An efficient, cold-blooded
killer, maybe. A dictator, definitely. But he was not like any other man she'd ever known.
It was conceivable that she was beginning to care for him, a little. But she wasn't going to let herself fall
in love. That would be letting another person determine her destiny—al those talks and meetings and ads
and pamphlets had had plenty to say about that kind of codependent behavior, too.
Determination aside, she welcomed the closeness when he rolled over and into her embrace. She
stroked hair off his cheek and cradled his head on her modestly covered breasts. He smelled good, he
felt good, it felt reassuring to have someone beside her in the night. He obviously, if unconsciously, felt the
same way. If a cuddle was what it took to get him through the night, she thought, then she was happy to
oblige.
******************
possessively twined around her shoulders. He didn't think she intended for her warm palm and slightly
curled fingers to be so near his member, but the exciting sensation was more than pleasant. For a
moment, the burning pressure in his groin distracted him from the knowledge that he had a hand cupped
over one of her small breasts.
It seemed he'd woken up to the same situation he'd backed away from last night. He stared up at the
tapestry canopy over the bed and considered his choices. He could wake Diane with languorous kisses,
worship her body with his lips and hands, then make slow, passionate love to her. Or he could put on his