Autumn Lord (32 page)

France. Instead, Simon had chosen her. He'd chosen love over duty, and he was in trouble because of it.

"It's all my fault," Diane told the horse, and wiped tears off her face. She was very nearly blinded as

the tears continued to fall. Her moistened cheeks burned painfully in the cold wind. "If Simon survives,"

she vowed, "I'll make it up to him somehow. I'll make him happy. I swear to God I'll make him happy. I'll

never leave him. I won't let anyone hurt him. Somehow."

She found a dirt track and turned onto it, making a guess about which way was west. The temptation

was to go back to Simon's side. She fought it and went on—only to ride straight into a group of warriors

watering their horses as she reached a stream.

One of the men grabbed her horse's reins before she could turn and flee.

Another man planted himself in front of her on the narrow path. "Hold! Who are you?"

Diane nearly fainted with reaction as she recognized the man. Since she didn't have the time or luxury

for fainting, she threw back her hood and shouted, "Joscelin, Simon's being attacked!"

The young knight peered at her out of narrowed eyes. "Diane?"

"Simon and his men are fighting in a clearing back that way. They're outnumbered two to one by—"

"You can speak?" Joscelin looked stunned, and not a little frightened. His men milled around her as he

continued to stare at her.

"I can speak." She leaned forward over the neck of her horse, and spoke, slowly and carefully. "Get

going. Your liege lord needs you, Joscelin. Right now."

"It's a miracle."

"Yes," she agreed. "We'll discuss it when you get back."

His face lit with a sudden smile. "You're back! You can speak!"

"Lord Simon," she replied, "needs your strong right arm, fair sir." Joscelin liked that sort of language.

"Of course," he said, with a decisive nod.

He quickly mounted his horse and ordered his men back along the way she'd come. He left one man

to guide her to Marbeau. Diane counted eight horsemen, plus some foot soldiers as Joscelin's patrol

hurried off.

She just hoped the reinforcements didn't come too late.

******************

Diane rushed from the warmth of the hearth and into Simon's open arms. She'd been standing by the

fire for hours. Not even Jacques had been able to get her to leave the great hall. She knew Simon would

come there first when he came home. So, she waited for him there.

When his arms closed around her she was nearly crushed, and she didn't mind a bit. She was holding

him as hard and tight as she could. People gathered curiously around them in the hall, but she paid them

no mind.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," she told him. "Never, ever again." Then she remembered

that he'd been in a battle and held him out at arm's length to look at him. "Are you hurt? Are you all

right?"

His eyes glittered with merriment. "Do you have boiling water ready?"

"Of course. Where are you wounded?"

"I'm not."

"But you need boiling—"

"I just want a bath, darling."

Diane very nearly collapsed with relief. "Don't scare me like that!"

He drew her to him and put his arm around her shoulders. "Come and help me bathe."

She wanted nothing more than to get him alone, but hesitated and looked around as other men

followed Simon into the hall. "The wounded?"

"The dead are in the chapel," he told her, and urged her toward the stairs. "There are no wounded."

"You won?"

"We lost fewer men," he answered. "We're within the protection of my stronghold."

She hated the fact that he was being equivocal. She hated thinking that he'd won one battle, but that he

was still at war. She didn't want him to be harm's way ever again. She didn't know what she could do

about it, so she relaxed against him and went with him up the stairs to his chamber.

Simon called for a bath as they went, and servants scurried ahead of them to prepare it. A warming

blaze roared in the fireplace by the time they arrived. Candles illuminated the room, the bed was turned

down, revealing fresh linens. Water soon steamed in the copper tub.

Simon swept Diane into a passionate kiss the moment the door closed behind the servants. Her lips

were so sweet, pliant and demanding at once. Her mouth tasted of strong wine that brought him back to

life. His weariness faded with the intoxication of her kiss. Her fingers combed through his tangled hair.

When they caught in a snarl the slight pain brought him back to himself. He stepped back.

"How can you bear my stench?" he asked her. He unfastened his cloak and let it drop to the floor. His

surcoat followed. "Help me with this." Diane assisted him in tugging off the heavy chain mail coat. It

chinked and clattered as it joined his outer clothes on the rushes. Diane's fingers then worked nimbly at

the ties of the padded shirt that came off next. Beneath that was his linen undertunic, and, finally, bare

skin.

Diane didn't stop when she found his flesh. Her hands continued to roam over his chest and back and

shoulders. She stroked him from his belly up to his throat and back down again. Her fingers trailed fire.

Simon threw his head back and let them roam at will wherever they would. He wasn't quite sure how

long it was before she had him completely naked, or how the operation was accomplished. He did know

that he no longer craved a bath. All he wanted was her.

She still took him by the hand and led him to the tub. "I want you clean all over," she said with a smile

that tantalized and promised all at once.

"Then I'll have you in here with me," he told her as he settled into the herb-scented, wondrously hot

water.

She handed him a pot of soap and a washcloth. He used them without paying much attention to what

he did while he watched her undress. He was sweating from more than just the near-scalding water by

the time she stood unclothed before him. Her youthful flesh looked like it had been coated in honey. He

longed to lick her all over, to have the honey-taste of her on his tongue.

Diane loved the way Simon looked at her when she was naked, with an admiration that was close to

worship. Not to mention hot-eyed lust. No one had ever made her feel so female, so wanted, and so

wanton. Wanton. What a wonderful, medieval word. She said it aloud.

"Wanton."

He held a hand out to her. "So you are. So am I. Come here."

The tub wasn't big. There wasn't really room for both of them. She didn't mind the intimate contact of

his wet skin against hers at all as she slid into the water with him. His hard-muscled flesh was slippery

with soap. She rubbed against him, then ran her hands over her body. His hands followed where she led.

She cupped water in her palms and spilled it over her breasts and his chest. The wetness and soft

soap made their bodies slippery, smooth and slick where they rubbed together. The contact was electric.

The tension delicious. The act of washing each other turned into a slow, sensual dance.

When they climbed unsteadily out of the tub, all Simon wanted was to carry Diane to the bed and

have her. They dripped water onto the floor as they moved, cool now from their having spent too long at

loveplay. Fortunately, warm air circulated in the room from the fireplace. Candlelight danced around

them, reminding Simon of the night they'd spent in his tent. That had been a perfect night. This would be

another.

"I want to give you beautiful nights," he told her. "To save up memories for when—"

Diane kissed him before he could finish, and he was glad. He had to wrap a cocoon of protection

around her, to arrange their time together so that she would come away from it without regrets.

His only regret a few moments later was when Diane moved away from him. He put a hand out to

stop her, but she avoided his touch, and went down on her knees before him.

"What's this?" he asked, breathless with his need for her. "Doing homage to your lord at such a time?

Come to bed and do me service there. I'll—"

When her lips touched his erection he ran out of words.

A moment later he could manage no more sound than a strangled, "Ah—!"

This was homage indeed, given with her soft lips and flickering tongue. He had never felt anything like

this before. He had heard of this erotic practice, but had never before experienced it.

He closed his eyes, and all the world was centered in his groin.

Then she took the entire length of him into her mouth.

"Holy Mother!"

His hips bucked and his hands tangled in her hair as sweet tension built and built in his groin.

Then she pulled away. He wanted to scream.

She yanked him down onto her instead, wrapped her legs around his waist and guided his throbbing

member inside her. He roared as need drove him hard and fast, and brought him to a shattering climax.

No woman had ever given herself so completely, so freely.

When he collapsed onto her, spent and weary, all he could do was teil her, "I love you," over and

over, and then babble nonsense like a youth with his first maiden.

At some point, he thought he promised her the moon, the stars, and all he owned if she'd only stay

with him forever and a day.

Much later, they got up, found the bed, and she taught him how to pleasure her in the same way she'd

satisfied him.

"Christmas in ]anuary? You're kidding.
"

"Joking?" Jacques asked. "No, of course not."

Diane looked down at Simon from where she perched on the edge of his chair. "When did Christmas

get to be in January?"

He took a sip of wine, and passed the goblet to her. "When did it get to be at any other time?"

Diane carefully turned the goblet so that she drank from where Simon's lips had touched. It was

unsanitary, but she'd learned that this was a very romantic way of showing affection here. She

remembered how offended she'd been the first time Simon had tried to share a cup with her. She

chuckled at how oblivious she'd been to the flirting signals when he was trying to court her.

"Christmas," she said after she'd taken a sip of wine, "is on December twenty-fifth."

"January sixth," Simon promptly answered.

She touched his shoulder, then played with a shining lock of his hair. The glow from the fireplace

made it look like pure gold. "If you say so."

"The question is," Jacques said, from his seat on the other side of the fireplace, "are the two of you

going to come out of this room long enough to celebrate the holiday?"

Simon exchanged a look with Diane. She giggled, and he felt himself flush like a lad. "I have been

making the occasional appearance in hall," he pointed out to the wizard. "And at fighting practice."

Jacques took a chunk of cheese from the tray Yves held out. He chewed thoughtfully, and all the

while eyed them with a teasing glint in his eyes. "As little as possible in the last fifteen days," he said after

he'd swallowed. He made a show of looking around. "I don't know what you find so interesting in here."

"It's something you placed in here yourself," Simon told the wizard. Jacques gave a satisfied nod.

Simon touched Diane's hand, and they shared a warm smile. "Something so precious, I have to keep it

close by and sheltered," he added.

He waved Yves away when the servant offered him the food. The servant turned deferentially to

Diane.

"Thanks," she said, and placed slivers of cheese and meat between slices of bread she'd toasted over

the fire.

It pleased Simon that Yves smiled at her when she spoke to him. Yves moved back into the shadows

after Diane finished making what she called a sandwich. Simon always trusted Yves to be there, waiting

to serve. He was a good man. Simon hoped he would be loyal to Diane in the future. For Simon was

formulating a plan of setting her up in a small household of her own.

Not that he had mentioned this to Diane yet. He and Diane had talked of little, and much, as the deep

days of winter passed. He had tuned his lute, and played and sang to her. She had told him stories. They

learned about each other's lives, and he avoided speaking of the future. They had the warmth of the fire

and the bed, and each other. They had made love endlessly, and every hour had been precious.

Even though he had invited Jacques to join them for dinner tonight, he resented the old man's intrusion

on their idyll. "I suppose you want to have a Christmas feast?"

"Of course." Jacques rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I'm like a child, I know, but I do love

parties."

"Me too," Diane declared as she swallowed the last bite of her sandwich. "I love the whole Christmas

package—the tree, the presents, the lights and carols."

"What?" Simon and Jacques asked together.

Diane leaned back against the chair as she looked from one blank face to the other. "Okay." Not only