Authors: Teresa Medeiros
Gareth looked as if she had struck him. He had steeled his heart against Rowena's meek acceptance of his will, the gentle reproach he knew he would find in her eyes. But Rowena in rebellion stirred something deep within him. With anger etched on her features, she looked half-child and half-faerie, caught but not tamed.
Furious tears sparkled in her eyes. "At least Papa would make a profit from me. You would give me away. Tell me, milord, is a castle payment enough for a good man to welcome another man's whore to his marriage bed?"
Gareth stood. Rowena broke into a sob and fled for the door. Before she could reach it, Gareth reached around her and slammed it in her face. His broad hands splayed on the door; his muscled arms on each side of her held her fast.
"What would you prefer, Rowena? Would you have me offer you my marriage bed? Is that what you wish for? To be the bride of the Lord of Caerleon. To languish beneath the sidelong glances of those who would watch your every move? To know each time you smiled at a squire or offered Blaine your kerchief as a favor, they would be wondering if that night would be the one when I would murder you in your bed?"
She braced her aching brow against the door as if she could stop his words from penetrating her mind.
Gareth's fingers dug into her shoulders. "Is that what you want, Rowena? To start from slumber each night, never knowing when the shadow of my blade might fall over you. To share your life with a murd—"
Rowena turned. She tangled her hands in his hair and dragged his lips down to hers, damming up his dark torrent of words before they could sweep her away. He groaned more in agony than pleasure as her kiss forced him to abandon his ruse of cruelty. His lips darted from her mouth to her throat to the ethereal softness of one earlobe. He dragged her against him, his gesture robbed of violence by her tender capitulation. He pressed himself to her, finding a plush hollow to match every straining angle of his body.
His mouth took hers again, finding within a wet, honeyed promise that tightened his groin until he thought it would splinter if he did not find release.
Rowena stared deep into his eyes, her gaze as fierce as his own. "Gareth, I love—"
He laid his hand over her lips. "Nay, Rowena. 'Tis a word for other men, not for me. Don't say it. Never."
She buried her lips against his palm, kissing him everywhere her mouth could reach as he carried her to the rug laid before the warm stones of the hearth. He was ready to do away with words and take their battle to a place where he was secure in the potency of his weapons. He laid his mouth over hers, muffling a cry even Dunnla would have heard through three feet of stone as his body told her what words could never say.
The white mist of dawn seeped through the arrow slits. Rowena nestled against Gareth as he carried her up the stairs. She was awake but not yet ready to surrender the night. Gareth's hair brushed her nose, its clean scent addling her until she was not sure if she was awake or asleep. She lay limp and pliant, her body a separate entity, enjoying sensations that required no thought or response. He slipped her beneath the downy softness of a pelt, fluffing the pillow behind her head, then he brought her wrist to bear against the softness of his beard.
She watched him dress from beneath her lashes, marveling at his animal grace as he stood naked, silhouetted against the hazy light. He cleaned his teeth with a cloth rubbed in soap and trimmed his beard with the razor edge of his misericord. He cast a last smoldering glance at her before slipping from the chamber.
After he was gone, Rowena rose and padded to the window. A cool breeze stirred her hair.
The Gareth that entered the courtyard might have been a different man from the one who had cradled her across his lap in the orchard yesterday and slathered her nose with kisses. His dark beard was clipped close to his chin. A belt of braided chain encircled the black linen of his surcoat. With each step, the scabbard of his broadsword clanked against muscular calves sheathed in hose as tight and immaculate as a second layer of skin.
There was a hesitancy to his movements as he slipped a parchment from his sleeve and handed it to the waiting herald. As the man and his companions mounted and rode through the bailey gate, Gareth lifted his hand. For a moment, Rowena thought he would call them back, but he did not. She took a step back as he lifted his haunted gaze to the window.
Rowena crept out of Gareth's chamber, a small trunk cradled under her arm. She closed her eyes and touched the splintered surface of Elayne's door. Creaking a protest, it yielded to the gentle pressure of her fingertips.
Sunlight drifted through the shrouded windows. A faint demarcation in the dust marked where the mysterious coffer had rested. The chamber felt as empty and barren of life as a tomb. It had been a tomb for one woman, Rowena reminded herself. And whoever had made it so had left Gareth's name drawn in blood as a damning indictment. Her features hardened as she pulled the door shut.
She slipped down a back stairwell. The solar was empty, the fire's embers burned to ash.
She knelt before the table, finding the coffer exactly where Gareth had tucked it. Her finger traced the delicate rose etched in the pale pine. Gareth's hands had carved it. A Gareth whose eyes were bright and clear, unshadowed by the past. A Gareth whose smile was genuine, whose lips had never known a sneer. Rowena would have given ten years of her life to know that boy.
She lifted the lid, half prepared to find a nest of tiny bones resting in its satin-lined confines. A scrap of ivory lay against the worn satin, forlorn and harmless. Rowena picked it up, fearful of-finding a kerchief smothered in the delicate scent of rosemary. Her curious fingers plucked at the fragile silk as her hand smoothed the garment against her lap. It curled of its own volition around her fist and she saw it was not a kerchief at all but a tiny coif like a baby would wear, yellowed and stained with age.
Her hands tenderly folded the garment. She started to drop it back in the box, but after a moment's hesitation opened her own trunk and tucked it within, letting the lid fall shut before going to join the others on their journey to Ardendonne.
Deciding a meager horse would not be sufficient to carry all his trunks, Irwin had wheedled a rickety field cart out of Gridmore and heaped six trunks upon it. He straddled the topmost trunk, looking more like a rotund jester than a squire in alternating squares of plum and yellow. Unlike Little Freddie, Irwin's affections had been bought with several tunics, a silver buckler, and a fur cloak that was an exact replica of Gareth's. For a gold medallion and a signet ring, he would have traded Rowena and six more betrotheds had he possessed them. Little Freddie appeared to pluck Rowena's trunk out of her hand. She shaded her eyes against the morning sun, but saw no dark-garbed knight amongst the chaos.
Dunnla waddled past with a tray full of buttery rolls, the hem of her skirt caught in the mouth of a gray-blue hound. Rowena grabbed a roll. Steam poured from the crisp crust as she sank her teeth into it. She tore it in two and tossed the other half to Little Freddie.
"Thanks," he mumbled, averting his eyes.
The sun burnished his cap of hair to silver. His braies and tunic were a silvery green that suited his willowy figure to perfection. The hollow caves had disappeared from his cheeks.
Rowena's lips quirked at the sight of the jeweled hilt of a dagger protruding from his neat scabbard. She knew it had been a gift from Gareth. "Why are you not about your duties?"
"What duties?"
She took him by the shoulders, thinking how soon it would be that she would have to reach upward to do so. "You are a squire now. You should be seeing to your lord. Suppose he cannot gauntlet himself without your assistance?"
Little Freddie's jaw stuck out at a dangerous angle. "For all I care, he can hang himself. Did I ask for this bloody education?"
"Nay. But you'll have it anyway, won't you? Because I paid for it."
A shadow fell over them. Little Freddie lifted his gaze over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing to silver slits. "Mayhaps the price was too high."
Jerking out of her grasp, he stalked toward the stables. Rowena felt the possessive heat of Gareth's gauntleted hands before he laid them on her. He massaged her shoulders, his fingers bands of sun-warmed leather against her soft flesh.
"Do not rebuke the lad." His breath stirred the gossamer silk of her peach-colored veil. "He may be right."
Rowena did not resist as he eased her back against the muscled length of his body. Her rounded curves fit his hardness as well as his fingers fit the soft interior of his gauntlets. He rubbed his beard along her cheek, its teasing prick a caress that sent blood rushing to the nether reaches of her body. She was a breath away from feeling his lips graze the corner of her mouth when Folio's head appeared over his shoulder. The stallion butted his head against Gareth's cheek and Rowena shook herself as if awakening from a dream.
Her cheeks flamed as she saw Irwin gaping at them from the cart. Big Freddie drew a brush down a sorrel's coat, his face hidden by the horse's flank. A rush of shyness flooded Rowena at the memory of her uninhibited response to Gareth's lovemaking in the night.
She hid her discomfort by stretching out a hand to caress Folio's neck. Black and silver ribbons had been lovingly entwined in the horse's flowing white mane.
" 'Twas your brother's doing," Gareth said.
The stallion nuzzled her palm, searching for a carrot. "Does it please you?" she asked.
"Not as well as you do."
Marlys cantered into the bailey, a moldy knapsack thrown over one shoulder.
"At this rate, Blaine will die of old age before we reach his keep, brother." Marlys nudged her mount forward. Rowena had to make a quick hop backward to keep from having her toes broken. "What's it to be, Gareth? Will you mount your bitch or mount your stallion?"
Before Gareth could reply, Marlys wheeled the mare around and shoved it between Dunnla and the hound.
Dunnla shook her fist at the air. "Keep that hairy beast away from me!" It was impossible to tell if she meant Marlys or the horse.
Rowena stared after Marlys, feeling a pang of regret. It seemed their stilted camaraderie was now a thing of the past.
Gareth mounted and stretched out his gauntleted arm to her. "Shall we ride?" His eyes sparkled in the sunshine like wind-polished diamonds.
Rowena peered around the bailey to find Big Freddie and Little Freddie mounting their horses. "I had thought to have a mount of my own."
"No need for it. Folio can bear us both."
Rowena slanted a look at him from beneath her lashes. She could not resist his challenge without looking a prim fool.
She took his hand and found herself astride Folio, her back pressed to Gareth's chest. He slapped the reins on Folio's neck, sending the bells on the stallion's bridle into a jingling carol. Irwin's cart trundled behind as they trotted through the gates, leaving Dunnla beating the hound with a spoon and Gridmore blissfully waving at the moat.
The world had awakened while they slept. A mist of green crept over the ancient forest, coaxing a tiny linnet into trilling song. Buds hung like beads in quicksilver branches. Unable to resist the yellow bells, Rowena caught a spray of wild forsythia as they passed. She rubbed the velvety petals beneath her nose, then sniffed back a sneeze.
Her pulse tattooed a warning as Gareth allowed Folio to fall behind the others. He plucked the blossom from her hand and gently trailed it from her temple to her throat, leaving a trail of glittering fairy dust.
Her voice dripped innocence. "Tell me, milord. Do your plans include marrying me to a man jovial enough to tolerate your continued visits to my bedchamber?"
Gareth stiffened. He crumpled the flowers and let them fall beneath the horse's hooves before kicking the stallion into a gallop. Rowena would have been unseated were it not for Gareth's unrelenting arm around her waist. They cantered past the others and were the first to burst into a sun-spaked meadow purple with a dusting of wildflowers. Rowena leaned her head against Gareth's shoulder, her relief colored by bewildering disappointment.
Unable to resist the seduction of the sun-warmed wind, Rowena slipped the gilt circlet over her head and removed her veil. Before she could get a grip on it, the wisp of silk went fluttering upward, sailing on the air currents like an elusive feather. Her cry of dismay was drowned out by Gareth's guttural command as he spurred Folio faster, flattening the greening grasses. Her breath caught in her throat as he hauled back the reins. The blue sky tilted. Folio's hooves flailed at the air. Gareth shot out a hand and caught the veil in his fist.
Folio's hooves crashed down. At a cluck from Gareth, the stallion folded his knees and sank into a bow, tossing his silky mane.
Rowena clung to the knob of the saddle to keep from sliding down his sleek neck. "Methinks the horse has prettier manners than his master, milord."
"Only when he has a comely lady to impress."
A shift of his knees brought the horse to a standing position. His gauntleted fingers smoothed the veil over the back of his hand with infinite tenderness. The scrape of leather against silk sent a shiver down Rowena's spine. She reached for the veil.