Forcing herself to concentrate, the dagger a heavy, awkward weapon when held near the pointed, sharp tip, Nicole gingerly removed the offensive piece of wood without provoking further bloodshed.
Pleased, she looked up, intending to proclaim victory. The hearth’s flames danced in Rhodri’s brown eyes. Fascinated, she forgot to gloat.
“Nicely done,” he said, nearly echoing the words uttered before each of their kisses today.
Dare she claim another kiss as reward for removing a sliver? Silly notion.
“I have had practice. At Bledloe, I spent the greater part of my day in the infirmary, treating ills and burns. Removing the occasional splinter.”
“And you enjoyed it?”
She laughed lightly. “For the most part. ’Twas better than spending more time on my knees in the chapel.”
He smiled, his expression a mix of confusion and wonder. “What manner of woman have you become, Nicole de Leon?”
“Not so different from any other.”
“Does any other have the bearing of a Pendragon princess, with the body of a goddess? You possess uncommon hearing and a healer’s touch.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers skimming her skin so tenderly she almost melted. “Yet you retain a touch of the hoyden’s spirit. ’Tis a captivating combination.”
She was inordinately flattered at the variety and sincerity of his compliments. But then, Rhodri was a bard. He’d trained for many years in the use of words, of poetry. Still, the hoyden he apparently admired was both aroused and curious.
“Even though I cannot cook?”
“The gruel was not so bad. Perhaps there is yet hope.”
Nicole couldn’t say who leaned forward first, and she didn’t much care. Their lips met and eyes closed, and her presence of mind lasted only long enough to drop the dagger before flinging her arms over Rhodri’s shoulders.
She savored the sweet, stunning force of his long, lingering kiss and rejoiced in the security and danger of his powerful arms enveloping her. She felt on the edge of a cliff, her footing precarious, and she was precisely where she wanted to be, knowing deep in her soul that Rhodri wouldn’t allow her to fall.
He broke the kiss and promptly rose to his feet. Nicole sensed his urgent retreat and wanted to pull him back.
Rhodri towered over her, his eyes dark with the same desire that raged in her woman’s places. “’Tis a long, hard walk to Glenvair,” he said raggedly. “Best you get some sleep, princess.”
Then he grabbed the bucket and walked out the door, leaving her achingly restless in the half-circle of firelight.
She wanted to be angry at him for not fulfilling her wishes, but she couldn’t, realizing Rhodri had saved them from a tumble into an abyss. He’d done the honorable thing by her, and she should admire his restraint.
Still, as she curled up on the bearskin to attempt to sleep, Nicole fantasized about tumbling naked on the fur with Rhodri, in most unprincess-like abandon, at the moment quite willing to explore an abyss.
Come home, Nicole. Come home to Camelen.
Unmercifully wrenched from a beguiling fantasy, Nicole resisted the impelling urge to raise her defenses. This was the second time William had taken her by surprise. Again his voice was calm, the order given without his usual rancor.
’Twas the strangest feeling to
want
to talk to her brother.
You must give me a reason, William. I do not willingly follow your orders, as you should be well aware.
Silence.
He’d treated her this meanly and unfairly before, when he’d ordered her to leave the abbey. She disliked it as much now as she did then.
If you do not give me a reason, you cannot expect me to obey. Why should I go home?
Again William didn’t answer. But then, she knew precisely what he wanted her to do, if not the reason for this second oddly given command.
I will not kill Alberic! I shall refuse every time. If you wish me to come home to help you move beyond this world, I shall try. Are you ready to move on?
He answered her question with silence.
I
s it done yet?” Nicole asked.
Rhodri smiled at the longing in her voice, sharing her impatience. He gave the rabbit, speared on a stout stick, another turn over the small fire before glancing her way.
Nicole sat cross-legged on the brown woolen blanket taken from the hunting lodge. For the past three days, she’d used the blanket as a cloak during the day and then rolled up in it at night. Alone. As she would tonight, too. No matter how much he wished otherwise.
“Almost done,” he said, hearing his stomach growl in earnest appreciation for victuals other than apples plucked from orchards they’d passed or berries picked from patches alongside the road. A road they were still avoiding, for the most part, because Rhodri wasn’t yet confident he and Nicole were out of reach of the earl’s patrols.
The damn patrols were persistent, and Rhodri wasn’t sure whom the earl wanted to get his hands on more—him for having the audacity to kidnap Nicole, or Nicole, so he could hand her over to King Stephen’s choice for her husband.
Nicole, most likely. A Pendragon princess would be the more valuable prize to an earl who wished to remain in his king’s good graces.
Fortunately, they hadn’t seen a patrol since yester noon, making this small fire somewhat safe, not only to roast the meat but to keep away the beasts of the forest. They’d been blessed so far to find shelter along the way, but tonight there was no lodge, barn, or cave in sight, so they must spend the night in the forest. He’d seen no sign of wolves or bears in the area, but that didn’t mean the beasts didn’t lurk nearby.
“How much longer?” she asked, still eyeing the roasting rabbit with a desirous look nearly as intense as she’d cast Rhodri’s way a few nights ago.
He again turned the stick, trying not to remember Nicole’s unveiled hunger and passionate kiss, or how he’d come within a hair’s width of succumbing to her blatant invitation for a tumble on the hearthstones.
Or on the bearskin.
The tantalizing image of Nicole sprawled naked on a bearskin still stiffened his rod to aching readiness. ’Twas why he’d rarely come within an arm’s length of her for three days and three long, cold, restless nights. As now. She sat within reach of the fire’s warmth, so he’d scrunched down on the opposite side.
Determined to put out of mind the knowledge that Nicole might allow him full liberties with that sweet body of hers—because he damn well shouldn’t be itching to run his hands all over her creamy skin, to suckle at her high, proud breasts, or to bury his aching cock within her heated female sheath—he forced his attention back to the roasting rabbit.
“Soon. Give me your dagger.”
From her boot she pulled out her brother’s dagger, which he’d given back to her before leaving the hunting lodge. With the innate grace of a princess, she rose from the blanket and came toward him, holding out the weapon. He took it, careful to avoid touching her hand.
After several pokes into the meat to check for a thorough roasting, he sliced off a chunk and dropped it into Nicole’s outstretched palm. Laughing lightly, smiling hugely, she juggled the hot offering from palm to palm before lifting it with delicate fingertips to place the welcome fare between her eager lips.
Rhodri inwardly shivered at her mew of pleasure, knowing beyond doubt he could evoke that same cry of satisfaction from her in an entirely different way.
“Oh, Rhodri, that is utterly without compare. I daresay I have never had better.”
Hell’s bells, he had to cease comparing her every movement or utterance to coupling or he would go mad.
“More?” he asked.
“Certes,” she said eagerly.
Damn, it was tempting to tease her, to make her suffer just a little for all the suffering she caused him. Make her hunger as he hungered.
But this was food, not sex. One did not tease with the nourishment they both needed to remain strong for the hard days of walking still ahead of them. So he cut off another chunk for her, then a chunk for himself.
Nicole had the right of it. The rabbit was flavorsome and might well be the last satisfying meal they would enjoy for several days.
With his knees beginning to feel the strain, Rhodri stood up, and side by side they greedily ate rabbit.
“I do not suppose,” she said between bites, “’tis possible to snare a dove or two.”
“Not likely, and a dovecote would be more risky to filch from than an apple orchard.”
“A swan, or heron?”
“One needs a hawk or falcon to hunt the bigger birds, unless you are of a mind to wade into a pond and attempt to pounce on one.”
She sighed. “That would depend upon how hungry I am.”
He supposed she had the right of that, too. If desperate for food, a man, or woman, would go to great lengths to procure whatever morsel could be found, including poaching.
Having no idea whose land they camped on, Rhodri wasn’t sure if he’d committed that grievous offense when snaring the rabbit. Norman lords were protective of their hunting grounds and had no qualms about hanging poachers.
But he and Nicole needed to eat and must forage for whatever they found available. Given the circumstances, Rhodri thought they’d done rather well.
“Do you tire of apples already?”
“Nay, but I cannot help wishing the next apple was sliced, mixed with sugar and cinnamon, and baked into a pastry. That may be the first thing I ask of Uncle Connor, to have his cook bake a huge pastry, filled with apples and almonds. And I intend to eat the
whole
of it while still warm!” She held up a hand to refuse another slice of rabbit. “You eat the rest.”
Given her wish for an abundance of victuals, her refusal struck him as odd.
“You are sated?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Not hardly, but I did notice you have been serving me the bigger slices. You are larger than I and must be strong enough to wield a sword in our defense if needs be. I will not usurp your share.”
Rhodri hadn’t thought she’d noticed, and damn, she shouldn’t be in a position where she didn’t know whence would come her next meal, or if she would eat at all. She shouldn’t have to plow her way through underbrush or sleep on the hard ground with naught but a blanket for her pallet.
This wasn’t the way he’d planned to take Nicole to Wales.
They should be on horseback, able to use the road without fear of a patrol overtaking them. She should have proper shelter at night, either in an abbey or inn, with a bowl of stew, hunk of bread, and goblet of wine provided as her supper. She should be wearing her own cloak for warmth, not a blanket.
To assuage a small portion of his guilt, he again held out a large slice of meat.
“One more piece,” he insisted.
She folded her arms, adding to the strain of the snugly laced gown across her breasts, forcing him to wrestle with another shot of lust.
“I am content!” she adamantly declared.
Obstinate woman.
“Well, I am not content. If you grow faint with hunger, you will slow us down and make us easier prey for the earl’s patrols.”
Her brow furrowed with ire. “I have managed to keep up with you thus far, have I not?”
Rhodri decided not to remind Nicole of her less-than-outstanding efforts in leaping logs. “Your success thus far has naught to do with what might happen on the morrow. Eat.”
She cast her gaze heavenward in an appeal for forbearance, exposing the length of her creamy white throat, before begrudgingly relenting. “I will make you a bargain. I shall eat one more piece, then the bones are yours to gnaw on.”
“Agreed.”
Nicole snatched up the meat and popped it into her mouth. She swallowed, then made him rue the impulse to force her to bend to his will.
She licked the juice from her fingertips, one at a time, swirling her pretty pink tongue in an erotic circular motion over each tip.
The tip of his cock fair begged for such exquisite treatment. Rhodri stifled a groan and gnawed hard on the bones.
Rolled up in a blanket on unyielding ground, Nicole woke to the soft, lilting sound of Rhodri’s harp.
’Twas still dark, but from eight years of residing in an abbey, she sensed that bells throughout the kingdom would soon ring matins, calling the clergy to the first prayers of the day.
She smiled, thinking Mother Abbess would be delighted to know that something of clerical life still affected Nicole. Then she frowned, wondering if Rhodri had slept as yet.
She understood his need to sleep lightly, to stand guard. Her father had once boasted that his soldiers were so well trained they could sleep with their eyes open—surely a falsehood, but not far from the truth. She imagined Rhodri had slept lightly these past nights, an easier thing to do when in a lodge or cave, where he must guard only a single entrance.
He sat two paces away, the harp’s sack and the sword he’d won away from the guard in Oxford between them.
Though the fire had burned low, it cast enough light for her to study the face of the man with whom she shared this adventure.
He’d scraped off his facial hair, allowing her to see him as she had when he’d arrived at the abbey. In profile, the jut of his rugged jaw was more pronounced. His full lips were pursed in concentration. His nose was well formed. And a hank of raven hair hung forward on his high brow.
Rhodri ap Dafydd was one of the most handsome men she’d ever set eyes on. And, God’s truth, she’d discovered she was as weak willed as the lowliest of women whenever she peered too long into his entrancing eyes.
A craving for more than kisses burned low in her belly and made her squirm. He noticed that moment of discomfort and ceased playing.
“Beg pardon, Nicole. I did not mean to wake you.”
“’Tis not all your doing. I was primed for waking. The bell for matins will ring soon. Truth to tell, I rather like waking to the harp over a bell.”
“Ah.”
She rose up on an elbow.
“You play beautifully, Rhodri. Your father would be proud of how you honor his harp.”
He ran a hand along the frame’s curve in both a loving and respectful fashion, much the way he would touch a woman—or so she imagined. Much the way she wanted him to touch
her.