Knight of My Dreams (5 page)

“You know, I believe I have had a wonderful idea,” Lady Fairley announced as Jonathan helped Alice refold the blanket upon which they'd sat. “Perhaps we could arrange a dance tonight. Invite all the eligible women. That way, you could make up your own mind as to who is fitting, Jonathan.”

Alice glanced at the knight to see how he took the suggestion. She was less than surprised to see it wasn't well. His eyes were wide with what appeared to be horror.

“Mother, may I suggest you not” he began, but Lady Fairley didn't let him get any farther.

“Thank you, son,” she said, taking the blanket he held. She slid it quickly back into the bag she had brought, then moved to reattach the bag to her saddle. “Now, you two had best go retrieve your mounts.”

Jonathan frowned, then nodded as he watched his mother settle on her horse. “Aye. We shall return directly.”

Alice remained silent as he took her arm and led her out of the clearing.

They had tied the steeds some distance from the spot where they had originally come to sit, and Alice realized now that Jonathan had not wanted the horses to alert the older couple to their presence. Of course, she hadn't known what he was up to at the time. He had ridden out hard from the palace, holding on to Alice's reins as if she might turn and ride back if he did not, then had suddenly stopped and cocked his head as if listening. After telling her to wait where she was, he had ridden off, leaving her alone for a few minutes. It was only after he'd reappeared, suggesting she dismount and proceeding to tie the horses to a tree branch, that he'd let her accompany him farther. He'd led her off through the bushes then to the spot he'd chosen from which to spy.

Alice's honest nature had balked at the infringement of their family members' privacy as soon as she'd realized Lord Jonathan's intent. In fact, she had been looking for an excuse to let the couple know of their presence when she rushed in to borrow the strawberries. Well, that, and she'd suddenly given in to a desire to see what Lord Jonathan would look like while she was feeding him.

At any rate, the upshot of their actions was that they had a bit of a walk before they reached the horses . . . or, to be more exact,
Jonathan's
horse. Her own appeared to be missing.

“What the devil?” Spotting the lone animal, Jonathan rushed forward through the trees. Alice was hard on his heels. Reaching his mount, the big man looked it over, then examined the branch where the stallion's reins were still tied. “Damn! Someone has stolen your horse.”

“Do you really think so?” Alice glanced around nervously. “Perhaps he merely came untied and wandered off.”

“Nay. I tied him well. I was sure to tie them both well.” Jonathan freed his mount, scowling around the area. “Someone has to have taken yours.”

“Oh, dear.” She glanced around the woods to the tree where her horse had been tied. “Well . . .” She brightened. “I can ride back with my uncle. They are waiting in the clearing, after all.”

“Aye.” Giving a nod, Jonathan put a foot in the stirrups of his horse. Alice turned to start back through the woods, but then she heard him call.

“What are you doing?”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she answered, “Heading back to the clearing to—” Her words were cut off as her foot was caught on a branch that sent her tumbling. Embarrassed and muttering, she quickly started to push herself onto her knees, then froze at the sight of a bit of blue cloth snagged on a branch near her face. It was the same blue as Lady Fairley's gown. A moment later she was caught under the arms and lifted unceremoniously to her feet.

“Are you all right?”

Alice glanced up in surprise at the concern in Lord Jonathan's voice. He wasn't looking at her; his gaze was traveling down her body in the wake of his hands as he checked her over to be sure she wasn't injured. She flushed at the familiar way his fingers skimmed over her, and took a quick step back, nearly tumbling again.

“I am fi-fine,” she got out a little breathlessly as he caught her arms to steady her. “Really,” Alice added when he continued to look concerned. After a brief pause, he swallowed and nodded, then turned to grab at the reins of his mount.

Her gaze moved distractedly back to the small swatch of blue cloth on the ground by her feet. She was about to draw Jonathan's attention to it, when she was suddenly caught by the waist and lifted onto his horse.

Alice promptly began to protest. “Oh, really, my lord. There is no need for us to ride. I can walk back to the clearing. I—”

At last she gave up her protests, mostly because he was ignoring her. He mounted in front of her and drew her hands around his waist.

“Hold on,” he instructed.

Alice nodded against his back, breathing in deeply to try to steady her nerves. It was rather novel to be in such close proximity to a man. She had never done so before. Unmarried women were simply not allowed such familiarity. Of course, this was an unusual circumstance, and . . .

Her thoughts died as she breathed in the scent of him. He smelled of the woods and the river and . . . male. It was a surprisingly pleasant mix, she decided, breathing it in again as her fingers interlocked at his middle. Feeling the muscles of his stomach bunch and ripple, she flattened her fingers over them to get the full sensation, then, realizing what she was doing, stopped breathing in embarrassment. Her fingers stilled.

Of course, Alice couldn't go long holding her breath. She managed to do so for the short ride back to the clearing, but there the breath left her in a slow hiss. The place was empty. Lady Fairley and her uncle had not waited for them; they had apparently ridden on ahead. Alice recalled the small swatch of cloth she had spotted near the horses and pondered silently, wondering why Lady Fairley had been by the horses. Surely
she
hadn't untied Alice's mount and let it go? Had she really been so annoyed with Alice as to wish to have her walk back to the castle?

“Well, we shall have to ride quickly to catch up,” Lord Jonathan said.

Alice glanced at the back of his head, then pressed close and held on tightly as he spurred his mount into a trot. She didn't hold her breath this time. Instead she sat, her breasts pressed against his back, her hands clutched at his front, breathing in deeply of his scent.

She was enjoying it so much, it took her most of the ride to realize that despite his words, Jonathan wasn't trying very hard to catch up to her uncle and his mother. He had the horse going at a trot, but a rather slow one, really. They had ridden here faster. She was so startled by the realization that she loosened her hold and started to pull away, but he stopped her by catching her hands with one of his own.

“You had best hold on,” he said. “I would not wish to see you fall.”

Alice wondered at the husky note to his voice, but decided to merely enjoy the ride. She relaxed against him.

J
onathan managed to keep his smile in place as his toes were trampled by yet another dance partner, but only just. He could honestly say that even the siege of Calais, where he had suffered a wound to the stomach that had caused him immeasurable pain and nearly killed him, was preferable to this hell his mother had arranged.

His bridal feast. That was what she called it. She had arranged for the celebration with the king, and now Jonathan was suffering through it. His first complaint was with the name. Shouldn't it be called the groom's feast? It was
his
feast, and
he
was the proposed groom, after all. Yet nay; his mother claimed it was to find him a bride; therefore it was his bridal feast.

Jonathan's face twisted with disgust. As silly as the name was, the actual event itself was worse. His mother had managed to finagle the use of the great hall in the palace. The king and queen were in attendance.

Jonathan's eyes slid unhappily to the glowering monarch and his wife. Edward had been sternly glaring, mostly at Jonathan, since arriving. He supposed it was to show how seriously His Majesty meant his orders to be taken. Jonathan was getting the message.

Another stomp on his toe drew his attention back to his dance partner. He sighed inwardly. The woman was myopic and a venerable four-and-thirty. Jonathan was thirty, himself, and so he supposed she was not
that
old—but she was well past the age considered prime for childbearing. She should have been crossed off the list at the picnic, but, in the end, no one had been crossed off that list. His mother had left the whole thing intact. Every woman at court was in attendance here tonight.

Looking around, Jonathan found his thoughts wandering to Alice and their ride back to the castle two days earlier. He instinctively sought the Houghton girl out where she stood with her mother, her uncle, and his own mother near the king and queen.

Much to Jonathan's surprise, he had found himself preoccupied with thoughts of the lass ever since that day. And not just any thoughts. He kept recalling her husky voice as she'd pressed that cool, sweet strawberry to his lips, could still smell the scent that had drifted off of her, ensnaring him in its erotic spell. And the vision he'd glimpsed of her delectable breasts, too, they kept rising before his eyes, blinding him to all else around him. Then, there were his sensual memories from their return trip that haunted him. If he concentrated, Jonathan would swear he could still feel her arms around his body and her breasts pressed against his back.

Yes, he had found himself undoubtedly aroused by that ride. His body had reacted to this girl as it had to no other, and that very fact had left him somewhat embarrassed and discomfited once they reached the stables. Jonathan had found himself avoiding Alice's gaze, as if she might read the less-than-sterling thoughts that had been tumbling through his mind. So he had done a fine job of avoiding her ever since.

It hadn't been difficult, he thought with sudden annoyance. The girl had hardly sought him out.

Another crunch of his toes drew Jonathan's attention back to the reel. Fortunately, the musicians ended the song, saving his dance partner from his exasperation. Gritting his teeth, he walked the lady back to her mother, then glanced around the waiting horde with a sigh. There were countless women in this room, and three men. Two, he corrected himself as his gaze slid to where the king had been standing just moments before. Having done his duty by making an appearance, Edward and his wife had apparently taken themselves off to more amusing entertainments than watching the Scourge of Crécy dance with more willing damsels than there'd been French at that victory.

Scowling at the thought, Jonathan let his gaze roam to Lord Houghton. As the only other man present, the old bugger might have lent some assistance with this mob, he thought with resentment. Instead, the velvet-clad old fop appeared glued to his mother's side. Houghton had been hovering over Lady Fairley all night, leaving Jonathan to usher snaggletoothed female after nasty old crone onto the dance floor under the watchful gaze of some fifty want-to-be brides and their mamas, aunts, and other chaperones.

The two times he had dared beg for rest, returning to the trestle tables for his ale mug, he had found himself surrounded by that crowd of she-wolves. Subjected to their titterings and twitterings as they bombarded him with long, lavish dissertations on their skill at embroidery and such, despite his sore feet, Jonathan had quickly resorted each time to dancing again, simply to get away.

Becoming aware that his partnerless state was once again making him a target, and that the maternal swarm was closing in, Jonathan murmured his excuses to the nearest she-wolves and swiftly made his way to where his own mother, Alice, her uncle, and Lady Houghton stood. “Mother, may I—”

“Ah, Jonathan!” his mother interrupted gaily. “This is a wonderful success, do you not think?”

“Nay, I
do not
think,” he snapped, which, wiped the self-satisfied expression off her face.

“What?” she asked in injured tones. “But it is working beautifully.”

“Nay. It is working horribly,” he corrected.

“But—”

“Mother, there are at least one hundred and fifty women here.”

“Well, aye,” she agreed soothingly. “But only fifty of them are really of any concern; the rest are merely here to chaperon the girls.”

“Still, fifty women and one man are not exactly even odds, are they?”

“Oh, Jonathan,” she pshawed. “You are a warrior. Surely you can handle this gaggle of females. Besides, you are not the only man here; Lord Houghton is in attendance.” She pointed that out and moved closer to the man, running her hand down his arm in a possessive manner that made Jonathan's skin crawl.

Jonathan snapped, “Well, he may as well not be for all the good he is doing.”

“Jonathan!” Lady Fairley turned, obviously shocked by her son's bad manners.

He was beyond tact. “Do not ‘Jonathan' me. Lord Houghton has been standing here slobbering over you all evening while I have had my feet danced off, my toes crushed, my ears talked away, my best tunic stained by several clumsy wenches too busy blabbing to watch where they were going, and . . .” He paused to sniff experimentally in Alice's direction, then said in a snarl, “And damned if my sense of smell has not been ruined by the rank bodies or overindulgence in perfume by half of the noblewomen of London!”

A
lice bit her lip at Lord Jonathan's outburst, her urge to laugh nearly overwhelming her. She peered curiously at Lady Fairley to see what the woman's reaction to this would be. Margaret of Fairley stood for a moment, mouth agape; then, much to Alice's amazement, her face crumpled like a child's.

“You never appreciate
anything
I do for you, Jonathan. Here I worked so hard at getting permission to hold a feast for you—you know the king feels indebted to you if he'll arrange for this—then attaining the room, arranging the food and drink and inviting everyone, and all you can do is—”