Dance of Desire (27 page)

The familiar scent of lemon and spices enveloped Rexana. Coaxed. Tantalized.

Tansy used Fane's soap.

Rexana's belly tightened. She would smell him on her skin for the rest of the day. The clever woman branded her with his scent. Had Fane asked her to?

She scooted out of reach. "There is no other soap?"

"Only the coarse one the servants use. '
Tis
not fit
ta
use on
yer
delicate skin." Tansy's brow creased with a puzzled frown. "Ye do not like this one, milady? '
Tis
'is lordship's, and a fine quality."

Goose bumps prickled on Rexana's skin. She tried to ignore the image of Fane sliding into the tub beside her. Of his tanned hand touching her damp skin. Of his mouth, lowering to hers for a kiss. "The scent is a man's, not a lady's."

Tansy's eyes glowed with years of womanly wisdom. "Ye want a perfume
ta
entice 'is lordship? Next market day, I will send one of the girls
ta
buy ye some pretty
smellin
' soaps. Mayhap
gilly
-flower or lavender?"

"Aye," Rexana said.

"Very well, milady." Her lips pursed, Tansy resumed scrubbing.

Smothering a groan, Rexana closed her eyes, blocked the soap's scent from her mind, and focused on finishing her bath as quickly as possible.

Fane sensed the moment Rexana stepped into the bailey. Just as he relayed final orders to Kester, awareness thrummed through Fane's body. His words vanished mid-sentence. He turned, slowly, to look toward the forebuilding.

Rexana stood with one hand on the open door. The morning sunlight seemed to brighten, as though she were a precious jewel which caught its light. The breeze stirred her loose, damp hair and the hem of her cinnamon colored gown. Dogs barked across the bailey and, as she turned to glance in their direction, the sapphire on her finger glowed.

Warmth rushed through him. Appreciation. Lust.

Now, and forever, lovely Rexana would belong to him.

Kester cleared his throat.

Without looking back, Fane muttered, "You know what to do?"

"Aye, milord. I will get the information you seek."

"Good. I await word of your findings," Fane said. Today, in keeping with his pledge to Rexana, Kester and the men-at-arms would question the local tavern owners and cotters about Rudd.

Yet, when the men returned, Fane expected the evidence to prove not that Rudd was guiltless, but that he was involved in the rebellion.

As Rexana watched the dogs chasing a stick, she tucked hair behind her ear. Fane felt the gesture like a caress upon his skin. His gut tightened. Whatever his men found, he would not allow her brother's actions to undermine her budding sexual interest or the rich, soul-deep love the marriage promised.

He would not allow her untamed passions to wither like a thirsty flower.

Fane headed toward her, gravel skidding under his boots. With each stride, his anticipation heightened. Rexana still had not seen him. She now seemed to be assessing the bailey and its slate-roofed buildings and working servants. Her gaze shifted to the children splashing in a pool of muddy water by the well, and her mouth softened into a smile.

As he approached, her gaze darted to him. She stiffened, as though she gathered up her fortitude like a battle shield.

He pretended not to notice. "You look well, love. You enjoyed your bath?"

She nodded. "Tansy will draw yours, when you are ready."

"I will bathe now. I do not wish to delay our departure."

Rexana turned more fully toward him. Sunlight played over her cheek and her lips' rosy sweetness. "Where will we ride?"

He smiled. "A special place."
A place where you and I can be alone. A place where I can woo you, and begin to sway your heart. A place where you will become mine.

"While I bathe, will you go to the kitchens? The cook is waiting. He will show you the cooking area and storerooms, then will ask your favorite dishes so he may prepare them. He also has a package waiting for us." Holding her gaze, Fane raised her fingers to his mouth to place a slow, wet kiss on her palm. "I will meet you at the stables."

She shuddered and withdrew her hand. "Very well."

Mischief pricked him. He wanted to see her eyes flash with spirit. To see her cheeks
pinken
with awareness. To prove she was not immune to her desire.

He trailed his fingers across her shoulder, was rewarded by her ragged intake of breath. "Before you go," he murmured, "we must seal our arrangement. I shall kiss you."

A faint grin curved her lips. "I am out of kisses today."

Before he could draw her into his arms and prove her wrong, she spun away and headed across the bailey.

He laughed. "We shall see," he called after her.

She flicked her hand at him, as though whatever tactics he tried, he would not be able to change her mind. As his laugher faded, he folded his arms over his chest. Leaned a shoulder against the
forebuilding's
rough wall. Watched sunlight dance over her hair and her hips sway beneath the well-cut silk.

Pleasure stirred within his soul. Knowingly or not, she had taunted him. Challenged him. Dared him to try to get another kiss.

He intended to have it.

And a whole lot more.

Rexana fingered hair from her brow
and looked out across the fields that stretched either side of the road like folds of sumptuous green silk. A stream glinted amongst the grass and wildflowers. Excitement quickened her pulse. What a glorious place. She itched to jump from the mare's saddle and run to the sparkling water. To plunge her hands into the swollen pool caught between large rocks. To lie back in the cornflowers and daisies and feel the sun shine on her face.

As though sensing her mood, Fane swiveled in his saddle to look back at her. "This place pleases you?"

She nodded eagerly.

He smiled. "I thought you would like it. We will stop at the stream."

As he turned to relay orders to the guards riding ahead and behind them, Rexana glanced back at the fields. His gaze had held a heat even bolder than the sun's, a fire that had rippled through her like light on water. Would she ever become immune to his sinful looks?

Birds twittered from the grove of aspen and birch ahead. The bright song called to her. Tugged at the wildness in her soul. The part of her that vowed she would never belong to Fane.

She tightened her grip on her mare's reins. "I will meet you at the stream," she called.

Fane looked over his shoulder. "Rexana?"

She kicked her heels into her mount's sides. The horse bolted, plunging into the sea of grasses, flowers, and floating dandelion spores. With a delighted laugh, Rexana bent against the horse's damp neck and let the animal canter.

Grasses swished against her ankles and her
bliaut's
hem. Seed pods snapped. Yellow butterflies and honeybees whizzed into the air. Rudd's brooch, pinned to her bliaut, thumped against her skin. With her palm, she pressed it against her heart. She inhaled the scents of crushed grass and rich earth and sighed with pleasure.

Filtering out the meadow sounds, she listened. She expected to hear Fane's bellow. Anticipated the thunder of his destrier's hooves as he pursued her. Yet, she heard only her own rasped breaths and the mare's pounding
hoofbeats
. She shrugged off unexpected disappointment.

With encouraging words and pats, she guided the horse to the stream bank. Drawing the sweat-lathered animal to a halt, she dismounted, then led it down to the water for a drink. The muddy shore was sprinkled with stones, worn smooth as old coins. The horse walked into the shallows and drank. Loosening her hold on the reins a fraction, Rexana stooped to pick up a pale pink rock. It glittered in the sun's light, as though peppered with stars.

Hoofbeats
and a horse's breathy snort came from behind her. She glanced at the field. Fane rode toward her. Alone. The guards, she noted with a quick glance, stood in the birch's shade and watched the road.

She braced herself against the fury she expected to see in Fane's gaze. Yet, he regarded her with wry amusement. Before his mount even came to a complete halt, he kicked his leg over and slid from its back.

He landed in the grass with effortless grace. The grace of a hardened warrior who had spent half of his life upon a horse, and who knew victory in battle. The grace of a man who believed himself in complete control of a situation.

Fane caught his horse's reins. As he led the destrier down to the stream, his boots crunched on the stones. The huge beast splashed into the water beside the mare, bent its head, and drank.