To Capture Her Heart (14 page)

Gavin was momentarily relieved as the crushing weight on his ankle was lifted, but the relief was short lived as fear consumed him while he watched the walarute charging directly towards Gwendolyn. Acting fast, he grabbed his sword. By some miracle he was able to ignore the throbbing in his ankle as he hurtled forth, reaching the walarute just before it reached Gwendolyn.

A blind fury raged through him as well as a surge of protectiveness. He angrily brought his sword down into the walarute's side. The beast let out a blood-curdling shriek as it fell to the ground with a thump, causing the dust on the ground to billow up around them, a pool of bright red blood quickly forming beneath it, matting it's gnarled fur.

Chapter 17

A Besotted Fool

Gwendolyn nearly fainted as she watched Gavin crumple to the ground. The tension that had been straining her body the entire time Gavin had been fighting the walarute never left as she slid from her mount and ran to where he sat, clasping his ankle in pain.

“Let me check your ankle,” she said, her hands working furiously to unlace the ties of his boot.

“It hurts like hell, but I'm sure I'll be fine,” he replied through gritted teeth, hoping she wouldn't notice the extent of his pain.

“Nonsense, you very well could have broken something.”

Gavin stopped her shaking hands as they attempted to work on the laces. “I think you should check on Brigit. She looks worse off than I.”

Gwendolyn turned her head. Brigit was sitting deathly still atop her horse, her large mouth hanging wide open, tears coursing angrily down her cheeks.

Gwendolyn rose swiftly and went to the woman. “Brigit, come here. Let me assist you from your horse.”

Gwendolyn's hands went up to guide the portly woman to the ground. As soon her feet hit the ground, she took off sprinting towards Gavin.

Gwendolyn hollered after her, “Don't you dare hurt the man. He is injured!” But Brigit ignored her plea, running straight towards him and throwing her arms around his neck.

“You saved our lives,” she sobbed. “You saved us.”

Gwendolyn had not been expecting that at all. She froze, watching as Gavin's arms went timidly around the lady, returning her over eager embrace.

“Aye, I told you I would do my best,” he said awkwardly as she clung furiously to his neck. He looked up at Gwendolyn, the discomfort clearly written all over his face. He was pleading with his rich brown eyes, begging her to help get Brigit off of him.

Stepping forward, she pulled gently on Brigit's shoulder. “Indeed, we are grateful for Gavin's bravery. However, if you don't allow me to get the boot off of his foot, his ankle may swell, rendering it impossible.”

Brigit reluctantly pulled back, the ever-present scowl on her face was replaced with admiration. She was looking at Gavin with such hero worship it was almost laughable. Or at least it would be if Gwendolyn didn't feel the same. In that moment she was so grateful that her brother had sent him to protect her.

Gavin had the boot off of his foot in one swift movement and was touching the already bruised skin tenderly. She sat next to him and replaced his hands with hers on his foot. He grimaced as she poked and prodded, having to make sure that nothing was broken. In all truthfulness, it was a miracle that nothing was.

“You are very lucky. I think the extent of your damage will be some swelling and bruising. I can help you hobble over to the stream where you should soak your foot for a time in the cool water. It will help the swelling immensely.”

She rose and offered him her hand. “I think we should rest here for the night, that is if you think we will be safe.” She glanced at the dead walarute and shuddered.

“Aye, there won't be a safer place for us to stay. The scent of walarute blood acts as a deterrent to other walarutes. It signals to them that danger is about, warning them away. We shall let it continue to bleed out on the ground as a precaution then shall feast on its flesh for dinner.”

“You mean for us to eat the beast?” Brigit asked, the idea clearly displeasing her as her mouth puckered in distaste.

“Absolutely. It would be a great shame to let it go to waste. I promise you, you have never tasted such a delicacy before. The meat is the most tender to be found. You will like it immensely.”

Gavin wrapped one arm around Gwendolyn's neck then leaned on her for support. She tried to ignore the way his long fingers kept brushing up against the bare skin of her collarbone, causing a warm heat to swirl in her stomach. The only thing that distracted her more than his touch was the feel of his well-muscled physique under her hands as she held onto his waist.

The man was hard; a solid wall of muscles that she could feel ripple beneath her hand with every step he took. She selfishly wished the stream was further away so she could hold onto him a while longer.

He stumbled slightly as she helped him to sit on the ground. She bent over to roll his hose up before placing his foot into the stream. “Brigit and I will set up camp while you rest a spell.”

“Nay,” he objected. “That is not a job for a woman.”

Gwendolyn looked at him defiantly. “Nor is it a job for a man who can hardly walk without assistance. Try not to choke on your pride, as you do as I say, and sit here soaking your foot. We will do what we can.”

Before he could object further, she had returned to Brigit and began unloading their packs. As they started setting up the small canvas tents they brought for shelter, Gwendolyn began regretting her confidence in her ability to be of any help. She had never set up a tent before and the sorry looking mass of canvas was evidence of that.

Stomping her foot in frustration, her head snapped up as she heard an amused chuckle behind her.

Gavin was standing a few feet away.

“You aren't supposed to be walking by yourself,” she scolded.

He took a few wobbly steps forward in protest. “'Tis feeling much better. Besides, I couldn't stand to watch the tents suffer much longer. Let me help you.”

Her pride almost prevented her from allowing him, but finally she gave in, handing him the dratted canvas. Within minutes he had both tents standing, making it look embarrassingly easy.

“Mayhap your gift is erecting tents,” she teased.

“And clearly 'tis not yours,” he joked back before walking towards the dead walarute and pulling a flask from his pouch and filling it with the animal's blood.

Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose. “What are you doing?”

“Storing some of this blood to take with us. If we smear it around our camp in the future it will warn other walarutes away. I'd rather not have to fight another one on this journey, no matter how tasty its flesh is.”

Gwendolyn shuddered. She agreed.

By the time that the walarute had been skinned and butchered and roasted over the fire, darkness had settled upon the forest. Gavin was right—the walarute was divine. The tender meat melted in Gwendolyn's mouth, the rich taste unlike any she had ever experienced.  Brigit moaned with delight with every bite she took.

Ever since witnessing Gavin slay the beast, Brigit's attitude had completely changed towards him and she was acting curiously like a besotted fool. After finishing her third helping of the meat, she leaned back and patted her rotund belly, glancing at Gavin with a twinkle in her eye.

“You will make a mighty fine catch someday,” she said boldly.

Gavin blushed.

“Don't be so modest,” she reprimanded. “Don't you agree Gwendolyn? Any man who can fight like he does is a sight to behold. Not to mention the way his muscles rippled in his arms as he wielded his sword. And that flowing hair just begs to be caressed. If I was a few years younger...” she trailed off dreamily.

Gwendolyn looked at Gavin with amusement as Brigit listed off his many assets as if he weren't sitting right beside her. His cheeks had darkened from pink to a deep shade of red, and she thought it highly amusing to watch him squirm under Brigit's praise.

“Come child, certainly you must agree with me,” Brigit urged, elbowing Gwendolyn's side.

Of course Gwendolyn agreed, for hadn't she been admiring his muscles earlier that day as well? She wasn't sure she wanted to admit it. But on the other hand, if she denied it, she would appear insulting and she'd be lying to boot. She opted for changing the subject. Rising, she took each of their metal plates and went and rinsed them in the stream.

When she returned to the fire, Brigit was snoring loudly, her chin resting on her ample bosom. “Should we wake her?” she asked Gavin.

“Nay, I'm much enjoying the silence. Before she vexed me to no end, and now her praise is thoroughly embarrassing me. I'm not sure which side of her I find most displeasing.”

Gwendolyn lowered herself to the log she was using as a seat. “If you are not careful, you may find yourself returning to Herfordshire Castle with a wife.”

“A wife?” he asked with distaste.

“Aye, a wife. Brigit can be very convincing when she wants to be and it's clear she is already half in love with you.” She was teasing him, of course, but the scowl on his face indicated he wasn't amused.

“I will never take a wife, and certainly not one old enough to be my mother.”

The shadows from the fire danced across his chiseled face that was illuminated slightly by the moonlight. Gwendolyn suddenly felt bold. “So you prefer your women young and with curves,” she said, alluding to their encounter in the maze. “What else do you prefer?”

His breath hitched as he stared at her, his brown eyes intense. She wanted so badly to reach up and run her hand along the stubble across his jaw. Her fingers itched to be wrapped up in his golden hair.

Gavin hesitated to respond. “I like classically beautiful women with dark, silky hair. Women with expressive eyes that flash with emotion. And her lips...it's very important that they are full and kissable.”

Gwendolyn bristled. “You have just described my sister-in-law Rosalind.”

Gavin laughed, sliding closer to her. “Nay, I have just described you.”

Her eyes must have betrayed her longing, for before she knew it, his head was lowering towards hers. She licked her lips in nervous anticipation, unsure if he was really going to kiss her or not. She didn't have long to wonder before he was pressing his lips against hers, softly yet firmly. His lips were warm from the fire, causing her own fire to light within.

Just as she was about to reach her hand up and touch his face, he pulled away. “Hmmm...I'd say that your lips pass the test. They are very kissable. Now let me feel if your hair is as silky as it looks.”

She nodded, unable to speak as one of his strong hands wound gently through her hair. Her scalp tingled; her chest was on fire, and she wasn't sure what it meant. All she knew was that she didn't want him to stop. Feeling brave, she reached up and twined her hands into his hair, sliding them through the thick mass before rubbing her hand along his jaw, towards his chin.

Gavin groaned. Pulling her close to him he breathed, “Kiss me,” before claiming her mouth once again.

This kiss was different than the first. A passion was building between them that neither of them could deny. His lips were demanding, urgent. He shoved both hands to the side of her head, clasping them tightly into her hair. She reached her arms up and attempted to steady herself by placing her hands on his shoulders, but when his arms wandered down to the small of her back, she went weak, collapsing into his embrace.

He held onto her so tightly, partaking of her kisses as if they were life sustaining air. When he nipped gently at her ear with his teeth, she shivered.

He groaned.

And Brigit snored so loudly it caused both of them to break apart and look around guiltily to see if they had been caught. Fortunately for them, Brigit slept on.

Gwendolyn rose and straightened her gown, looking down so she wouldn't have to make eye contact with Gavin. What had just happened between them was no innocent thing. But what did it mean? She wasn't sure.

“I better retire for the night,” she said, her eyes still downcast.

“Gwendolyn,” Gavin said softly, reaching for her. She stepped out of his grasp and turned to wake Brigit. She couldn't let herself back into his arms, for she wasn't sure she could control herself if she did.

She needed sleep, she told herself, then she'd be able to think rationally. But as she slid onto the furs piled up inside the tent and relived Gavin's scorching kisses, she was convinced she'd never think clearly again.

Chapter 18

The Magic Festival

Despite the pain in his foot, Gavin had risen and taken down his tent long before the women ever awoke. Truth be told, he had hardly slept the entire night. Each time he fell asleep, he was haunted with sultry dreams of Gwendolyn.

He'd awaken, his body taught, ever aware that the object of his dreams lay only a few feet away. It was pure torture. Mayhap he had made a mistake by kissing her, though he knew if the opportunity presented itself once more, he'd do it again. And though he knew that he could not, would not pursue the bewitching girl, he reasoned to himself that it was harmless to flirt with her a bit.

Limping over to the stream, he splashed water on his face in an attempt to cool his body's rising temperature. Not even Clarice had been able to stir his blood like the enchanting Gwendolyn did. Rising, he felt eyes burning into him. It was a feeling he had learned to decipher in his training as a defender. He quickly turned, expecting to see Gwendolyn or mayhap Brigit, for he had caught her staring at him in a very unsettling way several times since the walarute attack, but was perplexed when he saw no one there. Perhaps his instincts were getting rusty, he reasoned.

Unwilling to wait any longer, he walked over to the last remaining tent and shook the fabric violently. “Wake up you two, we need to get going.”

Gwendolyn stuck her head out of the opening, her hair mused wildly and her lips invitingly puffy from sleep, or was that from his kiss? “Whatever is the rush?”

“We will never get to the festival if we don't get a move on it,” he replied a little too brusquely. He'd go out of his mind if he had to sit around with nothing to distract him from thoughts of her.