Candle in the Window (13 page)

Pulling one hand out of her cover, she shook her
finger right beneath his nose. “He was worried when I had him
strip you. He thought I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off
a naked man, but I assured him my intentions were pure. Do you
quarrel with me?”

“Ah.” He sighed. He caught the finger
that waved too close and folded it among its fellows. “I
could never quarrel with you.” His hand moved to her wrist,
and he pulled her arm out straight, ignoring the jerks she used to
regain possession. “But I’m glad to hear you resisted
your pure intentions.”

She could hear the smile grow in his voice, and it
infuriated her. “I may have resisted my pure intentions last
night.” She jumped with the application of his open mouth to
the pit of her elbow. “Stop that!”

“Go on, scold me,” he said against the
tender skin, and the hairs rose on her arm in blatant reaction.
“I’m listening.”

“But those intentions are clear this
morning!” She flung
her arm back, and he
let it go with no struggle, and the blanket swung back to expose
more than half her body. “You rogue!” she cried, as he
caught her bared waist and tumbled her backwards across the pallet.
“Do you think you can insult me and then,” she gasped
as his body followed her down, “then attack me?”

“Attack is a drastic word.” Deftly, he
untangled all of her limbs from the blanket. “I’m going
to strongly persuade you.”

“To do what?” Frost coated her
features, and her freed hands bobbed to his chest to protest his
encroachment.

“I just want you to kiss me.”

“Kiss you? You insinuated—” She
put a little pressure against him and grimaced. As easy to lever a
boulder with a twig.

“I’m sorry.” His fingers brushed
her rib cage and pranced away. “I’m sorry. I’m a
jealous fool.”

“You’re a man.” Loathing dripped,
scorn withered. She was good with nuances of voice.

They were wasted on William, who with abominable
cheerfulness admitted, “Guilty as charged. I’m only a
man, and you must make allowances for my pigheaded,” a daring
caress to her stomach, “asinine,” a tender squeeze on
the lobe of her ear, “positively loathsome doubts about you
and that stupid little whine-tit.”

He tickled her ribs and her hands flew off his
chest and snatched at his hands, which eluded her by spreading out
in a
Y
. She braced herself, but his
upper body landed on her gently. “Muscle control,” he
grunted.

She could ignore him, surrounding her with massive
masculinity, but she wondered how to recover her hands, squashed
between their bodies. Dignity seemed to elude her under
William’s influence, and she said, “That stupid little
whine-tit, as you call him, brought food and
water and bandages. You ought to be grateful.”

“Oh, I am,” he breathed against her
neck.

“Grateful that Bronnie—” His
tunic provided a sweep of soft cloth that moved against her.
“Bronnie….”

His tongue outlined the rosy shell of her ear, and
the wet temptation halted her thought processes.

He whispered, “I’m sorry for my lunacy.
I know you too well to seriously suspect you of misdeed. ’Tis
my own damaged self-esteem that spoke so rashly.”

The warm draft affected her auditory perceptions,
creating a loss of crucial resentment. The movement of his lips
against her skin felt too good; what could he do with a full attack
on her senses? “You base, proud tottyhead,” she
murmured, and he slid his mouth across her cheek, surprising her
with a light kiss, as he had promised the night before. So close to
her, she felt his grin stretch his muscles and bathe her with
sunshine.

“At last we agree.”

His contagious grin affected her mouth and she knew
her rancor had lost the battle. She pecked a kiss onto his nose, on
his cheek, on his chin, and she heard danger rumble in his chest.
His lips coaxed her until she opened and let him in. Shyly, she
returned his surge of tongue with quick touches of her own. That
seemed to ignite him, for the body above her heated and he wiggled
one knee between hers. In the cradle of her hips, she encountered
his tumescence and it gave her hope for another skirmish. His
marvelous vehicle had carried her away last night. She squirmed to
accommodate him, hoping to roam with him this morning.

So when he lifted his head, she murmured in
protest, and his most unromantic “Sh!” hurt her freshly
created confidence. Then she heard it, too: the scrape of a key in
the lock.

William leaped up. “Stupid idiot,” he
complained, and lifted her to a sitting position, swaddling her in
the blanket. As he tucked it under her chin, he noticed the trail
of a tear down her cheek and wiped it with his thumb. “Not
you, love, I was talking about me. Don’t cry, my indomitable
one, I need you to be strong now.”

The door swung open as he spoke, and he twisted
toward the man who stood in the doorway. He wanted to speak his
name, but the masquerade of blindness suited him now; it gave him a
vulnerability that would destroy the inhibitions of the slightly
built man who gloated with such humor.

“My dear guests!” said Arthur, his
frisky voice grinding on William’s nerves. “Lord
William of Miraval and,” his eyes bugged in open avarice as
he surveyed the lady’s tumbled state, “Lady
Saura.”

“Of Roget,” she reminded him.

Relieved to see she had gathered her blanket and
her invisible cloak of dignity tight around her, William rose to
his feet. “Ah. ’Tis Arthur. To what do we owe this
unexpected hospitality?” Arthur, he was pleased to see, took
one step back in reaction to William’s commanding size, and
then one step forward in the press of men behind him. Whipping his
voice into scorn, he added, “And how many men do you need to
help you enforce your hospitality on one blind man and his
woman?”

Arthur’s stature was always a sore spot to
him, and he reacted as William knew he would. “Go, go.”
He waved his men out the door, glanced back at William, and pulled
two armed hulks back in. “There, we’re alone
now.”

“Exactly so,” William agreed, cursing
his bad luck. He would have laughed at Arthur’s cowardice, at
his ignorance about what a blind man could know, but the situation
reeked of deceit and destruction. The fragile, vivid woman
Arthur ogled with such rapacity depended on him. Of
all the people to have kidnapped him, Arthur was the worst.
Flighty, vindictive, impossible to question because of his
lightness of mind. It would take all his wit and skill to save
Saura from ruin. Fixing a vacant gaze in his eyes, he asked,
“What do you want?”

“Why, nothing.” Arthur simpered in
expectant pleasure. “Only your lands and wealth and all those
other things.”

Arthur smiled at Saura, noting the flush of her
cheek, the bright sparkle in her eyes, the rosy blush of her
well-kissed lips.

William’s hands itched to slap him.
“How?” he boomed, and Arthur twitched his attention
back. “How do you propose to do that?”

“Well, we were going to do it with your
little accident, but I told him it would never work. You’re
too damned tough. But it did blind you, and that made this whole
game a little easier.”

“Game?”

“Your kidnapping! He’s received my
message by now. He’ll be so surprised!”

“Aye. When he gets here, he’ll be
horribly surprised.” William stroked his hand over his beard,
and wondered who “he” was. And more important:
“When do you expect him?”

“Soon, I would think. I got the message from
the mercenary yesterday afternoon. It has taken them days and days
to get close to you but I sent a message to him immediately. I
boarded the boat last night to get here. I couldn’t wait to
see you. Oh, William, this is so much fun! I’ve never been in
on a plot before, much less actually thought of one.”

“Didn’t he think of this
plan?”

“Nay.” Arthur shrugged petulantly,
impatient at being interrupted and not wanting to discuss the
omnipotent “he.” “He wants to think of
everything. He thinks I’m stupid, but I showed
him.”

“Who is he?” William asked.

Arthur waggled his hands. “Nay, I’m not
going to tell you. I want to see your face when he gets here. Your
expression will almost be payment enough for the hardships
you’ve put me through.”

“But I won’t know him,” Saura
interrupted. “What’s his name?”

William cursed silently as Arthur’s attention
switched back to her. “A woman as lovely as yourself
shouldn’t concern herself with such trivial
details.”

“As trivial as who’s going to kill
me?” she asked bluntly.

“He’s not going to kill you.”

“Well, somebody’s got to do it,”
she snapped. “Is it you?”

“Nay.” Arthur took one step closer to
the pallet. “I’m sure we’ll work something
out.”

“Soft as butter where women are concerned.
And as slippery,” William said with contempt. “Be
advised, your friend won’t be pleased about having you kidnap
Lady Saura.”

“Well, William, what else could I
do?”

“You could have had her left on Burke
land.” William saw the slide of Arthur’s eyes as he
contemplated the tousled woman, already naked, already on the
palliasse. “Or was it simply the thrill of using my
woman?”

Arthur began to laugh, trying to be sophisticated
and succeeding only in sounding high-strung. “Could you have
done better?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done
anything so dishonorable.”

William’s flat statement infuriated Arthur,
and the soft
laughter stopped. “Of course
not. You’re so damned honorable it sickens me. We all used to
laugh about you behind our hands, about what a fantastic, godly
knight you were and how you never stooped to rape or lie and how
you never slapped your servants or picked on us squires.”

“Actually, I have slapped my servants for
good cause, and as for not picking on my squires, ’tis not a
mistake I’ll make again, if this is the result.”

“Don’t fret, my high and mighty Lord
William, you will never have squires again. You’re blind,
remember? You’re going to be dead, remember?”

“Nay, you hadn’t told me that part,
yet,” William rumbled.

“Aye, and as your dear friends, we’ll
go to comfort your father, and in no time we’ll be sitting on
your bench, drinking out of your goblet.”

“I doubt that.” William’s voice
resounded with confidence. “You haven’t the courage to
kill me, nor the stalwart strength to take my place.”

“Your father will be so
distraught.”

“My father’s not a mewling fool! Do you
think he hasn’t mourned his failure to implant in you the
seeds of chivalry? You’d be the last—”

“You puff your chest like a pigeon, so proud
of your puny wit!” Arthur stripped off his surcoat and tossed
it into the corner. “I’m going to have that woman
you’ve already warmed for me! You’re going to die and
the crows will pick at your body.”

He flung himself at Saura, knocking her backwards
against the wall, and her small cry was engulfed by the roar of
rage from William. Arthur dared! Two steps took William to the
pallet, two hands seized Arthur and turned him. When Arthur’s
eyes had widened to the point of terror, William said
with harsh conviction, “But I can see. I can
see you, you sniveling little worm.”

The guards, frozen by the turn of events, rushed
them at his words. William grasped Arthur by the neck and the seat,
and raised him above his head and heaved him like a dog at the
rushing guards. That body, inert with shock, flung them against the
wall with a crash of tremendous proportion. It resounded in the
little room and brought the slam of guards’ armor from
outside the door. William was there before them, wedging the spike
of the iron candle stand into the wood. One guard inside began to
struggle to his feet, but as William raised a stool over his head
he prudently dropped back to the floor and played dead.

“Clever man,” William approved, and
stepped over the bodies to Saura. “How is your head?”
Before she could answer, he said, “Here are your clothes. Let
me help you.” He raised her to her feet and with the
impersonal touch of a eunuch. “I’ll not make the same
mistake again.”

He pulled her cotte over her head and she objected,
“My chainse!”

“No time.” He laced it tightly, trying
to cover as much of her bared skin as he could. “I’m
the stupid idiot who didn’t have you dressed when Arthur
arrived. Patience!” he called to the pounding on the door.
“I’ll not compound that mistake when his accomplice
arrives. We must leave before reinforcements come to finish
Arthur’s pitiable job.”

“I’ll not argue that.” She wiped
her hands on her skirt, the hands that still felt the pebbled feel
of Arthur’s acne-pocked skin. “But how will we leave
with the guards at the door? And what’s happened to
Arthur?”

“He’s dead.” He answered the last
question first. “Broken neck. Didn’t you hear it crack?
And we’ll walk out of here.
Arthur’s servants are nothing if not disloyal,
they’ll scatter like mice freed from a trap. Where are your
shoes?”

“Back at Fyngre Brook.”

“Then we’ll have to have horses,”
he decided, folding the blankets and tucking them under his
arm.

“Aren’t you going to do anything for
Arthur?” Saura asked, bewildered by William’s hurry, by
his callous pronouncement of death.

That got his attention. “Do anything for him?
God’s teeth, I can’t kill him more than once, much as I
would like to. Do you realize what he was going to do? Besides rape
you, which means nothing more than pissing to him? He was going to
kill you for making the mistake of associating with me.” He
stopped tugging the candle stand out of the door and walked back to
grasp her shoulders and shake her. “What foolish fancy made
you speak to him? I’d tried to keep his attention focused on
me, and you blundered into our conversation.”