Authors: Teresa Medeiros
"Good God, woman! If your teeth don't make a racket, your bones do."
Rowena erupted from the pelts in a flurry of gold and sable. "Pray do forgive me, milord." Her talent for mockery provided the precise words she sought. "May-haps you'd prefer to chain me to your bed and force me to satisfy your darkest and most unnatural desires."
Gareth rubbed his already tousled hair. The words she hurled at him were his own, whispered to a lecherous old earl from London whose lady could be counted on to spread the malicious gossip to the four corners of the known world.
His mind keened a warning, but his hands ignored it as they cupped Rowena's neck and pulled her forward until only her palms pressed to his bare chest kept them from colliding.
" 'Tis a tempting invitation, milady, but we both know there would be no need of chains between us."
Rowena quailed before the devilish light in his eyes, wondering what idiocy had prompted her to taunt him. He was twice her opponent out of bed and even more her master in it. His hateful Elayne had trained him well. She dropped her gaze. Her hands looked stubby and ungraceful against the sleek fur of his chest.
Gareth's fingers tightened on her neck. Her meek acceptance of his bullying angered him more than rebellion. To him it spoke of a lifetime of acceptance of whatever foolish excuses her papa had chosen to offer.
He wanted to shake her. To urge her to speak up for herself, or even to strike out at him. He wanted to stir the spark of spirit he'd glimpsed so briefly in her complacent gaze. His hands itched to lay her back among the furs and slowly and patiently stir another spark into roaring flame. His own desire threatened to consume him as he buried his lips in the ethereal softness of her hair.
His harsh words echoed against her skull. "A peaceable sleep is all I desire. Is that so unnatural? Do I have to chain you to get it?"
"Nay, milord."
"Then roll over."
Rowena rolled over as if she half expected to feel the sting of his palm against her rump. Groaning silently, he slipped his arms around her waist. She sank into the warmth of his embrace without further protest.
Long after Rowena's shivers had stilled, she lay curled like a statue against the hard length of his body, basking in his nearness but afraid to stir lest she betray herself with a caress or word of folly in her sleep. Exhaustion finally steadied her breathing to the gentle rhythm of slumber. Gareth stared at the shadows of leaping firelight against the wall, his chin resting on her silky head, fearful of moving lest she realize he was not as frozen as he had believed. If Lindsey Fordyce did not come soon, 'twould be he who would need to be rescued from the silken snare of her embrace.
Somewhere in its cold heart, winter found a trace of mercy and sent a reprieve. Beneath the melting snow, the land waited, silent and sleeping. Black branches stood naked and stark against the gray sky. Winter stripped of snow was an ugly creature, plain but habitable. Several of the guests at Caerleon took their polite leave, including the woman who had pronounced the castle cursed. Others followed Blaine's obstinate example and stayed on, filling their days with wagers over chess and draughts and their nights draining Gareth's generous supply of ale.
The first day the list was no longer a sea of mud found Rowena and Marlys tilting at a battered quintain. Marlys flung herself on the back of her piebald mare and charged the scarred shield nailed to the post.
Her lance grazed the wooden shield, sending the quintain spinning. Rowena jumped up and down, clapping her hands, as Marlys guided her mount around the post before it could swing back and strike her. From where he sat on the gate, Blaine applauded dryly, though his eyes were not on Marlys, but Rowena.
Rowena's blond hair spilled over the stark black of garments that had once been Marlys's after they had been Gareth's for a very long time. The tunic hung well past her knees. Uneven patches dangled from tangled threads. She should have looked ridiculous, but her slender figure endowed the garments with an awkward grace like that of a regal jester, funny and heart-catching at the same time. Each time she jumped up and down, Blaine caught a milky glimpse of one knee within the torn hose. He was forced to shift his weight and cross his legs.
Rowena grabbed the shaggy mane before Marlys could finish dismounting and dragged herself on the horse's back.
"Suit yourself, Lady Precious." Marlys gave Rowena's rump a hearty shove, then jerked her tunic down. "Beware creeping garments. Blaine's tongue has wrapped itself around the fencepost."
Her words were just loud enough to carry across the list. Blaine waited until Rowena was facing the quintain before giving Marlys a friendly smile and an unfriendly gesture. Marlys slapped a lance in Rowena's palm. Rowena lowered her head, frowning with concentration. Her booted feet dug into the mare's sides. The horse surged forward. The shield flew toward her as if she were standing still and the quintain moving. Her lance struck the red heart painted in the center of the shield with an enviable thud.
She raised the lance in a salute of triumph and cantered around the quintain. She was a hoofbeat away from being clear of the careening post when she saw the dark figure standing behind Blaine. Her knees tightened convulsively, bringing the mare to a dead halt. The quintain slammed into her back, neatly unseating her.
Blaine leaped off the fence, but it was Gareth who reached her first. His hand gently cupped her neck, feeling for lumps beneath her hair. She tried to draw in a breath but could not; her lungs had gone hollow and empty. She blinked up into Gareth's eyes,unable to speak or stir. Two other pairs of eyes joined his.
"Knocked the breath out of her," Marlys pronounced from somewhere above. "No need for the last rites yet. If the priest would come to Caerleon, that is. The vicious bastard's done it to me many a time."
It took Rowena a foggy moment to realize Marlys was referring to the quintain, not the priest. Marlys struck the shield a savage blow of revenge.
Blaine's eyes burned an indignant brown next to Gareth's. " 'Tis your fault for letting the child amuse herself with this hoyden."
"Safer for her to amuse herself with Marlys than with you," Gareth retorted.
He caught Rowena's arms and lifted her to her feet. By that time she had gathered enough breath to speak and enough humiliation to wish she hadn't any breath at all.
"I am all right," she rasped. Her head ached and her mouth tasted like old blood, but she would not have confessed it for the world. She jerked out of Gareth's grip and brushed herself off with jerky motions.
Gareth frowned. Blaine hid a smile behind his hand. "I came to inform you all that I've planned a feast for the morrow," Gareth said gruffly.
Blaine snorted. "
You've
planned a feast?"
"Aye, my gallant friend. Since certain guests whose names will remain unmentioned show no sign of taking their leave from my castle, I've decided to invite some civilized folk of my own. I will expect to see each of you in the great hall tomorrow night."
Gareth's sweeping gaze ended its sweep on Rowena. For a moment, she thought he would speak, but he did not. She stroked the horse's quivering withers, hiding her blush. Gareth turned on his heel without another word and strode out of the list. Rowena led the mare into the stables, murmuring soft words into her mane.
Marlys squinted into the sunless sky. "Those two creep off to bed earlier than anyone else at Caerleon.How is it that they awake with such foul tempers and dark circles under their eyes?"
Blaine growled at her under his breath. Marlys ducked his slap with a laugh that was almost girlish.
When a rap sounded on her door that evening, Rowena dropped the braid she was tidying. A vision of the hand on the other side of the door quickened her breathing. Powerful knuckles, laced with pale scars and dusted with dark hair. The knock sounded again.
"Enter," she said.
She rose as Gareth's dark presence filled the doorway. Their eyes met, and Rowena's cheeks flooded with a heat she despised. There was a difference to his gaze tonight. The cool distance was gone, replaced by something assessing and almost predatory. His smile did not reassure her.
He hefted an object of shimmering gold in one hand. "I brought you an adornment for your kirtle."
Rowena stood mesmerized by his bright, dark gaze as he slipped behind her. His strange excitement was almost palpable. Her lashes swept downward as his arms moved around her waist without touching her. She caught her breath at the sight of emeralds and amethysts sparkling up at her from a girdle of the finest gold. As he prepared to lower it to her hips, she caught his wrists in her hands.
"I've no need for such finery, milord. I have none of my own and would prefer not to wear someone else's."
Gareth paused. His lips brushed the nape of her neck in a gesture as unconscious as the emotion that prompted it. Rowena shivered.
"This girdle has belonged to no one but you." Ignoring her protest, he lowered the gilded weight to her hips. His deft fingers brushed the small of her back as he hooked the clasp. Rowena wondered if he was lying.
His warm hands grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. She stared up into the shadows of his face, finding an uneasy heat in his tightened jaw, his arched brows. Without a word, he untied the thongs binding her braids and dragged his fingers through each plait until her hair lay in a shining curtain around her shoulders.
"Wear your hair loose tonight." His words were soft, his tone of command unmistakable.
He turned at the door with a frown, then closed the door behind him. Was it a shadow of regret she had seen in his eyes? Rowena wondered.
Rowena tripped over a silver chain stretched taut across the lowest stair. She followed it to its source and clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a shriek. A toothless bear sat beside the stairs, his furry legs spread on the stones like a child playing ball. A veiled wimple sat atop his shaggy head. At second glance, the bear did not look nearly so fierce—only mangy and somewhat embarrassed. A dwarf cavorted on the other side of the stairs. He held the chain up so a line of ladies could pass beneath its links, then dove under one of their skirts. They scattered, squealing with delight. Mortimer's steady strumming drowned out all but the most determined shouts of laughter.
As Rowena passed a trestle table laden with food, she plucked a dripping honeycomb from a bowl and tossed it to the bear, remembering what it felt like to be alone and hungry at such a feast. He caught it between his clumsy paws and sat happily sucking the honey from its combs.
Rowena tucked her fingers in her mouth and lapped at the lingering sweetness. She met Gareth's gaze across the teeming hall. A shock as warm and brilliant as lightning passed between them. Warmth flooded her body. The word she had sought for the change in him rose unbidden to her mind.
Possession.
It was written in his eyes, in every elegant line of his being. For some unknown reason, Sir Gareth of Caer-leon had chosen to play lord of the manor that night.
He sat at the end of the hall with one foot propped in a massive carved chair Rowena had never noticed before. The thronelike seat would have dwarfed a lesser man, but its graceful curves only enhanced the edge of dangerous masculinity held in check by Gareth. He was garbed all in black threaded with silver. The king of the underworld himself could not have looked more regal and striking than Gareth at that moment. When he cocked his head at her, she floated to him as if she were his Persephone, bound by an invisible chain.
Rowena felt other eyes on her as she picked her way through the dancers. She curtsied before Gareth and felt the shimmering weight of her hair on her shoulders. He brought her hand to his lips. Instead of kissing her palm, his tongue curled between her fingers as he licked away the last trace of honey.
"My sweet," he murmured. Rowena pulled her hand back, as shocked as if he had bitten her. Most nights went by without one word of acknowledgment from him.
A cushion spread with furs lay at Gareth's feet. He indicated it with a mocking nod and Rowena sank down, fearing him for a new reason. Her pounding heart confirmed that she would never have the strength to resist a genuine attempt at seduction.
Afraid to turn and meet his gaze, Rowena studied the faces she did not recognize. Two very familiar faces danced to a halt in front of them. Blaine bowed. The Lady Alise gripped his arm as if he might somehow slide out of her grasp.
"You have outdone yourself, Gareth," Blaine said with an admiring glance around the hall.
"Nonsense. I've outdone you. 'Tis what truly vexes you," Gareth replied.
Blaine lifted a hand in a masculine salute. "Look. There by the door. Sir Martain, the Earl of Gloucester giggling with Marlys. And there is Baron Medford prowling around the pudding. I half expect the door to fly open and the king to stroll in."
"Edward is in France. He sent his regrets." Gareth plucked a goblet off a passing tray. "However, you will find the Prince of Wales in the midst of the hot cockles game."
Blaine paled with envy as his gaze followed Gareth's to a willowy young man with his head resting on a lady's lap. Nothing was visible beneath his blindfold but a mass of frizzy blond curls. Black and white squares checkered his surcoat, making Rowena dizzy to look at him.