“My father never beat me.”
“Nay?” He looked at her in unconcealed disbelief.
“Nay. I was ever quicker of foot.” She grinned.
As they drank the ale and idly talked, Botolf realized with a start of surprise that he felt remarkably comfortable with Saxan. So, too, did he easily indulge in a type of light nonsense he had never participated in before. He caught the look of speculation on his friends’ faces, but ignored them.
Roger and Wesley were as close to him as brothers. Usually he was able to tell them everything. If he had had too much to drink, he even told them things they did not particularly wish to hear. This time, however, he felt a strong desire to remain private. He was heartily enjoying the ease with which he could talk to Saxan, the strange yet strong feelings she stirred within him when she laughed or smiled; and, selfishly, he had no wish to share that with anyone. If nothing else, he wanted to consider the implications of these experiences before putting them into words.
Words came easily to him when, as they prepared to leave, Saxan led a large ebony stallion out of the stables. It was clear that she intended to ride the beast to Regenford. Botolf moved quickly to stop her as she started to mount. As he tightened his grip on her arm, he mused that even her anger was more like a man’s, lacking the pouting attitude too many women employed. It was an anger he felt more capable of dealing with. There was nothing he had to pander to.
“You cannot be thinking of riding this horse,” Botolf said.
“And why not?” she demanded.
“A slight girl like you upon such a strong beast? ’Tis absurd.”
“I rode him here,” she snapped.
“Then you are fortunate you did not break your fool neck.”
“Hah! I have been riding Midnight for years.”
“She has that, m’lord,” said Olan as he meandered up to them.
“Well, she will not ride him in my company,” Botolf declared with what even he recognized was a great deal of arrogance.
Saxan glared at him. “I will not, hmmm?”
“Nay, you will not.”
He caught her firmly around her tiny waist when she made a lunge for her horse, but she proved to be a difficult little bundle to hold. He was heartily glad that the cart was near. Saxan derided his character every step of the way. In retribution, Botolf tossed her into the conveyance with her brother Pitney and Lady Mary with a distinct lack of gentleness. He felt an even mixture of surprise and amusement at her volatility.
“Here is where you will ride, Mistress Todd,” he said. “A massive black stallion is no proper mount for a lady.”
“And just who calls me a lady?” she snapped, then cursed for that was not what she had meant to say.
“Very few, I suspect, but there is always hope.” He hid his grin by turning sharply, striding back to his horse.
Saxan had a great many things she wished to say; but, in deference to a shocked Lady Mary, she could only glare at Lord Botolf’s broad back. Her reticence brought a stifled laugh from her brother. Saxan ignored him, watching as Midnight was tied to the back of the cart. Assuming an air of docility, she sat back and began to plot her escape.
It was not until after their brief midday stop that Saxan saw her chance. Lady Mary was sleeping and none of the men riding near the cart were paying her any heed. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she urged Midnight to draw closer to her.
“You are going to break your stupid neck.”
She gave a start of surprise when her brother spoke, then flashed him a frown of annoyance. “Never.” She turned her attention back to Midnight. “I know what am doing. You just go back to sleep, Pitney.”
“Oh, nay, not until I have watched this.”
Ignoring him, she continued to coax her horse. Once the stallion reached a speed that kept its head nearly inside the cart, she untied his reins. She stood up as straight as she was able in the cramped space, took a deep breath, and leapt. Her landing on Midnight was far from perfect, but she managed to keep from hitting the ground. After a brief struggle, she was seated firmly on Midnight’s strong back. She quickly veered around the cart and spurred her mount into a gallop even as a cry went up.
Hoping to get out of sight of her pursuers, she raced down the road. She intended to slip into the wood lining the road. In its shadowy depths she felt she could successfully hide until Botolf and his men grew weary of searching for her. To her delight, a chance arrived after but a few moments of hard running as she went around a curve in the road. Veering sharply to the left, she hugged the neck of her horse as he galloped into the wood. She slowed his pace only a little so that Midnight could navigate the paths through the trees safely. Once she was sure she was far enough from the road to remain unseen, she reined her horse to a halt, dismounted, and secured his reins to a low branch. Silently, she made her way back to the edge of the road. The wide smile which curved her mouth as she watched her pursuers race by faded slightly when she failed to discern the figure of the earl amongst the riders.
Finally, shrugging, she wended her way back to her horse. She was deep in thought about when she should begin the long ride back to Wolfshead Hall, her gaze fixed upon the ground, when she realized her escape had not been successful. A pair of fine black boots planted firmly between her and Midnight entered her line of vision, telling her she had not been as clever as she had thought Slowly raising her gaze to meet his, she swallowed hard. The earl looked far angrier than she had anticipated or than he deserved to be. A quick glance around the looming Botolf revealed an intensely curious Wesley standing next to Midnight.
One more look at Botolf made Saxan decide that the cart with Lady Mary and Pitney was exactly where she wanted to be. It definitely looked safer, she mused, as she began to edge backwards. “Ah, well, I believe I will go back to the cart now.” She spun around and raced back through the wood.
“Watch the horses, Wesley,” Botolf ordered as he charged after Saxan.
Botolf was angry. He did not like his commands to be ignored, especially by some tiny silver-haired girl. He had suffered a deep concern for her safety and did not like the feeling. Although it was clear she could ride well, her method of mounting the horse had been recklessly dangerous as had been traveling alone through the woods. Beneath his anger swelled a growing admiration for her fleetness of foot. She just might have been telling the truth when she told him her father had never beaten her because she was too difficult to catch.
Just as Botolf began to think she could outrun him all the way back to the cart, she stumbled slightly as she ran out onto the road. He caught her, grabbing her around the waist. Their unchecked speed sent them crashing down onto the dusty byway. After a brief, furious tussle, Botolf pinned her firmly beneath him.
“I should beat you,” he said, struggling to ignore how her disheveled clothes revealed the gentle swells of high firm breasts and how they pressed against her jerkin as she fought to catch her breath.
“I should not bother, m’lord. I feel thoroughly beaten now. This ground is not soft.”
His anger began to ease, another more basic emotion replacing it as he became all too aware of the lithe frame sprawled beneath him in a highly suggestive position. “Oh? Strange, for I am quite comfortable.”
When he shifted his body slightly, Saxan swiftly realized what had replaced the anger in his dark eyes. “Methinks you may be a bit too comfortable, m’lord,” she whispered, wondering why the knowledge of his arousal should make her feel so warm, so strangely tense.
“And mayhap beating you is too harsh a punishment, but you should pay some forfeit for your disobedience.” He fixed his gaze upon her full mouth.
Saxan felt her blood quicken alarmingly as she realized what he intended to do. “A forfeit?”
“Just a small one,” he murmured as he gave in to the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
Warmth flooded Saxan’s body at the mere thought of Botolf giving her her first kiss. It was a warmth which rapidly, almost
frighteningly, increased when his well-shaped mouth covered hers. The feel of his lips, so soft and so gentle, belied the hardness often shown by his finely chiseled, thin-lipped mouth.
When he released her wrists to comb his fingers through her tousled hair, she curled her arms around his neck. Her whole body ached to attach itself to his. As he caressed her hair, his kiss grew more intense. Despite her total lack of experience, she welcomed that intensity.
Brushing feverish kisses over her cheeks, Botolf hoarsely commanded, “Part your lips, sweeting.”
“Like so?” she whispered as she obeyed.
“Aye, little one. Just like that.”
The first gentle proddings of his tongue made her shudder. Saxan heard a soft moan and realized it came from her. It blended perfectly with the deep, muted growl of pleasure that escaped Botolf. He slipped his mouth off hers, moving his kisses to her throat and the tender skin exposed by the open neck of her jerkin. She threaded her fingers in his thick black hair, tilting her head back in unconscious supplication.
Botolf thought it strange that her eloquent act of acquiescence was what helped him gain some semblance of composure. Gritting his teeth, he moved so that he was only half-sprawled on top of her. He dredged up every ounce of his willpower in an attempt to regain full control of his body. It was not easy when she kept looking at him, her rich, sapphire eyes afire with passion.
Even knowledge of her total innocence did not make reining in his rampant desire easy. Saxan had a fire within her, a flame that responded to his touch. He was consumed with a desire to taste its depth. Now was not the time, however, and the middle of the road to Regenford was certainly not the place.
“The kiss is over?” she whispered, her voice thick and husky.
“That was more kiss than I had meant to take.” He gently brushed strands of her brilliant hair from her flushed face, noting how his hand shook. “Child, do you know how near I am to taking you right here upon this road?”
“Someone would come,” was all she said.
“No doubt. That thought was not our salvation, however,” he commented as he stood, helping her to her feet.
He said no more and, to her disgust, Saxan could think of nothing else to say either. He took her back to the horses in silence. He sent Wesley to tell the others that Saxan had been found so they could start on their way again. Botolf mounted his horse, set her before him, and took up Midnight’s reins to lead the animal. She cursed a wordless oath when, once they rejoined the entourage, he had Midnight tethered behind the supply wagon and set her back in the cart. She realized she had used up her only chance to escape.
When they camped for the night, Saxan retired early. Her mind was full of what had occurred between her and Botolf. She found it difficult to sit amongst him and his people while memories of the kiss they had shared tormented her. Ignoring the bedding laid out for her, she stripped to her underclothes and slid in next to Pitney. She wanted to tell her brother about her first kiss, but she also wanted to keep it to herself. Feeling his warm, breathing body next to her eased the last of her fears that he was lost to her. Despite the disturbing experiences of the day, that was enough to help her go to sleep.
Botolf noticed the deep frown on his mother’s face as she joined him by the fire. “Is something wrong?”
“ ’Tis probably silly of me,” Lady Mary mumbled even as she led her son to the cart she shared with Pitney and Saxan. “After all, they are brother and sister.”
Looking at the sleeping pair, Botolf smiled crookedly. He recognized the twinge of jealousy that struck him as he saw the way Saxan was so comfortably curled up in Pitney’s arms. “They are twins, Mother. They shared a womb. I do not believe any two people can be closer.”
“Of course, you are right.” She smiled. “They look like sweet babes.”
They did, but Botolf said, “One of those babes saved my life at the risk of his own.”
“And the other tried to take your life. I still find that hard to believe.”
“Your surprise could be no greater than mine, but they are tightly bound and her grief ran too deep for mere weeping. I can understand that. ’Tis why I take no action against her for what she tried to do. And none of my people expect me to. Nay, for all those two look like the sweetest of babes while they sleep, they are not children. Pitney is now a knight I know will serve me well. Saxan, well, in her still lurks the child, but she is a woman ripe for marriage.” He turned to walk back to the fire, adding quietly, “More than ripe. I will send for Lord Todd, her brother, as soon as we reach Regenford. He is the one I must speak to,” he mused aloud, flashing a quick smile toward his gaping mother.
Four
“If you are set in your mind about my teaching the girl a few courtly ways, mayhap you should speak to her,” Lady Mary said to her son as he directed the breaking of camp. “We will reach Regenford on the morrow, and she still thinks she will be traveling on to Wolfshead Hall.”
“You are right, Mother. ’Tis past time to speak to her. Where has the wench disappeared to?”
“Mistress Todd walked toward the river with her cousins a few moments ago.”
Before his mother had finished, Botolf strode toward the river. Despite knowing about Saxan’s eccentricities and those of her large family, he was still shocked by the sight that met his eyes at the water’s edge. Even if she, Olan, and Kenelm were cousins, it did not seem right for her to romp in the water with them in such a state of dishabille. She wore a boy’s braies and a shirt; her cousins wore only their braies. Trying not to be too judgmental, Botolf crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against a thick, old oak, and waited for the three to finish their play.
He lost most of his carefully contrived control the moment the three stepped out of the water. The cousins were totally unaware of the immodesty of Saxan’s drenched attire. He wished he could be as unmoved by the sight of her small, perfectly formed breasts clearly outlined by the thin, wet cloth. Botolf needed to take several deep breaths before he could regain enough composure to step closer to them.
“Is it time to leave, m’lord?” Kenelm asked, startled by his liege’s sudden appearance.
“Aye, nearly. With your permission, I would like to have a word with Mistress Todd—alone,” he added firmly.
“Oh, aye, of course,” replied Kenelm as he hurried to tug on his clothes. “Come along, Olan.”
Botolf wondered if it were blind trust or just plain stupidity that caused the two youths to walk away, still tugging on their clothes, and leave him alone with their lovely, half-dressed cousin. There were no black rumors about him, but he felt Saxan’s kinsmen should have been more cautious. It was evident that they simply did not see the danger, that they did not see their cousin and childhood playmate as a desirable woman.
Looking at Saxan, Botolf fervently wished that he did not either. Saxan stood only steps away, brushing out her wet hair and cursing every tangle. She eyed him with a hint of curiosity, unconscious of her attire and how it might affect a man. Botolf found it impossible not to look at her lovely breasts or to try and measure her tiny waist with his eyes. He could not stop himself from thinking about how it would feel to stroke her gently rounded hips and have her slender, well-formed legs wrapped around him as they sought their pleasure.
“Will you put your clothes on?” he demanded suddenly, his voice hoarse and strained.
Saxan was startled and a little frightened by his harsh, angry tone. She glanced down at herself and nearly groaned at how inadequately she was covered. She was almost naked. For the first time in her life, she tasted shame and found it painful. A deep blush burned her cheeks as she stumbled to her clothes. When she reached for her tunic, Botolf covered her hand with his. Saxan was unable to look at him and crouched by her clothes.
“Look at me, Saxan,” he ordered as he knelt by her side.
Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.
He cupped her chin in his hand, gently but firmly forcing her to face h
im. “I apologize. I did not mean to make you feel so ashamed.”
“There is no need to ask my pardon. Shamed is exactly what I should feel.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I have no sense of what is right.”
“You judge yourself much too harshly. I think you have a deep sense of what is right in all that truly matters.” Although it sorely tried his hard-won control, he helped her get dressed. “ ’Tis but the refinements you lack. I have known this from the moment I met you, and I was wrong to speak as I did.”
“Then why did you?” she asked with a hint of annoyance.
“My dear, wide-eyed child, I am neither your brother nor your cousin.” He smiled faintly at her look of confusion. “I do not see you as a mere kinswoman or an old playmate, but as a woman.”
“Oh.” She blushed again, obeying his silent command to stay seated at his side on the riverbank once she was completely dressed.
“Aye—oh. I am certain that, considering the kinsmen you live with, you know how matters can be betwixt a man and a woman.”
“But, you are the earl, my liege lord.”
“I am first and foremost a man, Saxan. You may give me as many titles and honors as you wish, but I am still just a man. If that is not enough, I am also a man who has been without a woman for a very long time.”
“Oh,” she whispered, making the short sound into two syllables.
Botolf chuckled. “I have never heard that small sound given such a depth of meaning before.” He was pleased to see her bright, easy smile.
“Since I was with my cousins I fear I gave my attire little thought,” she murmured. “I have had few dealings with men other than my kinsmen.”
“And that is one of the matters I wish to discuss with you.”
“Are you going to tell me about men?”
When he saw her impish look, he gave her a mock scowl. “Be silent, wench. S‘truth, you no doubt know more about men than ’tis wise for any woman to know. Nay, I wish to speak about your lack of training in the ways and manners expected of a lady of your breeding. Nay, do not look at me so.”
Only For You Page 6