They tested each other before combating in earnest. For a long time, they were equally matched. Larkin would show her a technique she hadn’t seen before. Anna would counter with one of her own long-forgotten moves. Around and around they went, their quarterstaffs whistling as wood cut through air, then cracking like thunder as they struck.
It dawned on her that he was still leading in this dance. Instead of waiting for his next advance, she improvised and moved swiftly against him. A slight upturn at the corner of his mouth was his only reaction. His counterblow was fluid.
He was forcing her to stretch her skills, and it felt good. When she smiled back, he showed, for the first time, a little surprise.
Around them, dusk crept in, and the azure sky darkened to the bruised-plum color that would herald the night. What would it be like to continue the bout forever? Advancing and blocking, she could see no end to it. And she wanted to win.
She thought of ways to gain the upper hand. It came to her that the one advantage she had over Larkin was not one of her strengths. Rather, her edge was his weakness: she was a woman, he was a man.
When next he advanced, she would be ready. Larkin brought the lower end of his staff up and forward. Anna purposely fumbled as she moved to block the blow.
“Oof,” she exhaled when his staff connected with her waist.
He dropped his guard and his staff. “Lady Aubrianne! Are you hurt?”
She thrust her quarterstaff between his calves and twisted the hawthorn stick sideways and up. With her stave behind one of his knees, she pushed against his other leg. Upsetting his balance was as easy as finding a fulcrum and lever. He landed with a thud. When he tried to raise his staff to block another strike, she stomped down on it and brought the end of her pole to rest under his chin.
For several seconds, they remained frozen, not speaking. And definitely not smiling. To win, she had had to resort to a ruse; her triumph tasted bittersweet. She whipped her quarterstaff away and held out her hand to help him to rise.
“You fought fairly, m’lady,” he stated, his words hitting the crux of her self-berating. “If attacked, you must use every weapon in your arsenal. Do not be ashamed; I’m not.”
She peered into the darkening forest to avoid his gaze.
• • •
After he gave her some time to think on his words, he approached her. “Have you forgotten the wager, m’lady? You have yet to name your prize. Truth be told, I am dearly sorry to have lost this match and the favor of your kiss.”
She had turned back to face him, and he gave her what he hoped was a devastating smile. More than ever, this woman intrigued him with her equal measures of strength and vulnerability. The spark from years ago had never been extinguished; it had only smoldered quietly. He’d been dreaming about her for years. Finally finding her, she exceeded his fantasies in every way.
“I make no claim, Larkin. I tricked you.” He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Under the circumstances, I forfeit my reward.”
“Still, a rematch might be in order,” he continued offhandedly. “I suppose that now only your husband will receive your favors.”
Once he spoke the words, he regretted them. His opinion of Lord Roger was that he was a cruel and arrogant man. Remembering the sneering lips and cold eyes and imagining him with Aubrianne was infuriating. She must have seen his ire, because she took a step back.
“My husband’s lips have never touched mine,” she averred. “Not even when we stood before God and were married.”
If she’d surprised him by winning the match, she stunned him with her words. Her disgust told him everything he needed to know: hers was worse than a loveless marriage; it was one filled with hatred.
And just like that, the final piece fell into place, and his heart felt whole for the first time in his life. He doubted not that eventually he and Lady Aubrianne—Anna, as he thought of her—would come together. But first, he needed her to remember him. He could deal with Roger later; the man’s days were numbered anyway.
• • •
Anna waited to see his shock that such a simple gesture as kissing had never passed between husband and wife. His surprise was much too fleeting.
She pulled her gaze away. Too late, she was trapped. Her only chance was to continue with false bravado. She countered with her coolest look, trying to match his smoldering eyes with an air of aloofness. He wasn’t fooled.
“As you won,” Larkin explained, eyes intent on hers, “you do not owe me a kiss. But you are required to claim a prize.”
“I say again,” she asserted with more courage than she felt, “I make no claim.” But she could not look away. His eyes were so magnetic that despite her retreat, she leaned a fraction closer.
His lips curved sensuously. He followed her, stalking, driving her so that she eventually backed into the canyon wall. A mere step separated their bodies. Her hands lifted reflexively to his chest, to push him away or simply to touch him, she did not know.
She felt his heartbeat, felt that it matched her own, as it had once before, years ago. Her dark stranger from the alcove. Her gaze flew to his.
“I would never renege on a bet, m’lady,” he whispered. “I offer you the same terms that I would have demanded from you, had you lost. A kiss.” He lowered his lips ever so slowly to hers, all the while looking into her eyes, giving her the strength that she needed. Their lips pressed together, tentatively at first, barely making contact.
She exhaled softly, and, as if it were the sign he needed, he pressed his lips again to her slightly parted ones and brushed them lightly against her skin. Lips against lips. Back and forth. Slowly. Gently. Until she joined him in the simple motion. When her lips parted, his tongue dipped between and entered the moist warmth of her mouth. Just barely.
She couldn’t catch her breath. She could only concentrate on the feel of him. She’d waited an eternity for this kiss. Her knees buckled, her lashes fluttered. He grasped her waist to support her. Without knowing it, her hands traveled from his chest, upward, to the back of his neck, to that place where his hairline met his nape and his curly black mop was softest. She never imagined a kiss could be so sweet.
• • •
“Breathe, Lady Aubrianne. Breathe,” he murmured against her lips. The feel of her fingers twining in his hair moved him more than any kiss could. Pressing his lips to hers again with more insistence, he resisted the urge to move his hands from their safe purchase on her waist.
“It is you, isn’t it?” she whispered, before her lips came alive, matching her need with his own. And as their kiss deepened, he found that he was the captured party, so entangled were her fingers in his hair. Even if he wanted to, he could not break away.
He moved closer to her, inching forward and pressing his legs against hers. Her hips shifted, and her entire body pressed against his length. They gasped as breast met chest. Their bodies were as sealed as their lips and desperate to merge closer.
He wanted to see her face. To discover if she truly remembered. He slowed the kiss. His tongue retreated, and he heard her moan in protest. She wasn’t ready to end the embrace, so he played with her lips, tugging at them with his own, pulling them softly with his teeth, before laying gentle kisses to the bruises on her face. With each pass, he broke the contact a little more. Her eyes fluttered open and met his.
“I wondered if you knew,” he murmured. “I’ve searched for you for years, and now I’ve finally found you.”
“Then kiss me again,” she said. And he did.
Chapter Thirty-Five—Trespasses and Confessions
As the sun dipped lower, the last bit of light filtering through the thickening canopy of trees faded. The campfire lent little illumination to the canyon floor. Mostly, it was the newly risen moon and stars that provided a soft glow to the evening.
Larkin walked over to where Aubrianne was tending to the mare. “How is she?”
“She’s sweating. But she’ll make it through the night. Won’t you,
Rina?” Rina pawed at the ground while Anna stood near her head. “Gilles gave me what remained of his provisions. There’s some bread and cheese, a few apples from last year’s harvest.”
Food was not exactly what he was hungry for, he thought ruefully, as she began whispering soothing words into the mare’s ear. “And I have Will’s lunch,” he managed. “What say you to a picnic, Anna?” She looked up, her eyes wide and full of sadness.
“It has been a long time since anyone called me Anna,” she explained with a tremor in her voice. “In fact, the last person to say it was my father when we parted on my wedding day.”
“Anna suits you.” He put his arm around her and walked her back to the fire. “But if it causes you pain, I won’t say it again.”
“No. I like it,” she replied with a soft voice full of longing for days lost. “I never much cared to be called Aubrianne—too formal. But Roger insisted, for just that reason.”
“We should sleep,” he suggested. “We can talk in the morning after we’ve both rested.” He knelt by her side and brushed her forehead with his lips, whispering goodnight. For a long while, he listened as her breathing slowed and evened. Then he too fell asleep, knowing his slumber would be light, leaving his senses attuned to any danger. It was very late when he opened his eyes and searched for Anna. She was asleep, peaceful, and he silently added more wood to the fire.
The night was clear, and though the moon had moved on from the slice of sky above their canyon, the stars were bright. With the fire, they offered enough light for him to make his way to check the horses. Tullian and Rabbit stood together.
Rina kept apart, regarding him patiently. “Keep an eye on things for me, will you, Rina?” The mare eyed him and snorted. Lark took it as a yes and left her to check Rabbit. He scratched his horse in his favorite places and then scratched Tullian where he had seen Anna do it. Suddenly, the ears of both horses pivoted.
The hair on Lark’s neck rose when he heard a muffled noise. Fool, he thought, to wake and leave the fire without arming himself. He hastened back as soundlessly as he’d left.
• • •
Anna’s senses prickled. She and Larkin were not alone in the canyon. She tried to locate him through slit eyes. He was gone. Feigning a restless sleep, she rolled to her side and listened for any noise that might give away the intruder’s location.
There. She heard it again. Coming from the direction where her feet pointed. Where was her knife? She chided herself for not taking her usual precautions. With the telltale sound of creaking boot leather, her focus sharpened.
A man, skulking toward the fire. Anna dove for the bag that held her knife and opened her mouth to shout Larkin’s name. Before a sound could escape, a hand clamped down on her lips while another grabbed her and yanked her to her feet. Stupid, she criticized herself, to have only focused on the threat she had heard. She should have realized that there was another man and that the predators would have split up. Her captor put her in a stranglehold while his hand covered her mouth and nose. She struggled to draw in air.
“Scream, and I’ll break your neck. Do you understand?” It was Roger. Anna nodded, and he moved his hand from her mouth and nose. As she sucked air back into her lungs, Roger gave her arm a vicious twist, pinning it behind her back.
He propelled her forward. Submissively, so as not to provoke him, she pleaded, “Stop this, please.” Gorman drew a dagger and sliced open her chemise. She died a thousand deaths as the vile beast groped at her.
Then Gorman’s dagger slipped between the laces of her breeches and the fabric fell away. She was completely bared to his grasping paws and struggled to get away, but her husband’s hold on her was too strong. “I beg you, Roger, don’t let Gorman do this.” And for a second, after he released her, Anna thought perhaps he would do just that. Instead, he shoved her forward. The last glimpse she had of her husband as Gorman wrestled her to the ground was of his twisted face gleaming in anticipation. She understood then and there that this would be the last time she would be abused. Roger was finished with her. But she would not go without a fight; she would inflict as much damage as she could. And so she thrashed, bit, and kicked.
• • •
Lark crept back to the campfire, his eyes and ears alert to anything that might give away an intruder’s position. There was nothing. Crouching, he inched forward. When Anna cried out again, he sprang forward, ready to kill with his bare hands if necessary. There was no one else in the camp save Anna.
She was dreaming. He rushed to her side. “No, please, no. Keep him away!” she keened. “Roger, no. I’m begging you.” Her face was contorted in pain and rage and fear. It was too much. He grabbed her shoulders, but she sat up with a jolt, her eyelids squeezed shut, lashing out, scratching and hitting, all the while screaming “No!” over and over.
“Anna, open your eyes. Open your eyes!” he ordered.
She fought against him with every bit of strength that she possessed. She came close to tearing his flesh with her teeth. Lark moved behind her and crisscrossed her arms in front of her. His grip was firm but gentle, and he drew her to his chest. He called her name again and again, until she collapsed against him.
“Where did you go, Larkin?” she whispered. “I called for you.”
“Anna, it was just a dream,” he soothed.
“Just a dream,” she panted weakly.
“A nightmare,” he amended. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything hurt you. I promised you, remember?” He rocked her gently but didn’t loosen his hold. “Only a dream.”
“A dream…” she echoed, still dazed.
“Can you remember what it was about?” he asked. “It might help to talk it through.”
She took her time before answering. Lark waited as well, afraid of hearing what she would say but knowing he would listen. “Remember it? I don’t have to try,” she finally said. “It’s easy to remember one’s own life.”
Lark wasn’t sure what her dream entailed, but from what she had screamed in the throes of her nightmare, he had a good idea. He forced his bile down. “What did he do to you, Anna?”
• • •
Anna didn’t want to tell him but found that she couldn’t prevent herself. With a great sob, she answered, “Whatever he wanted. Oh God, Larkin, he did whatever he wanted.”
And once she began, she couldn’t stop. She told him about her wedding night and then all that followed. She told him of Roger’s escalating cruelty and his efforts to break her as if she were an animal. “He used those words: ‘I’ll enjoy breaking you, Aubrianne.’ I thought that he had won his sick game,” she said with a sigh. “He didn’t win. He never can now. You changed that, Larkin. Our kiss changed that. I don’t know what will happen upon my return, but I do know he will never put his hands on me again. He’ll never break me.”
“I will kill him,” Lark vowed. “As soon as we return, I will kill him.”
She scrambled away from him, evading his hands as he tried to draw her back. He would never understand. She’d been stupid to tell him so much; she should have stopped herself. He spoke of killing Roger as if it were nothing to him. What gall, she thought. Killing Roger was not his right. And once back at the keep, she would follow through with her original plan. The only difference: she would stay and face the consequences.
He dropped his hands to his sides, and Anna could tell that he was struggling to check his anger. “Why didn’t you leave him? Baldric, the King, your family would’ve—”
She lifted her hand. “No, Larkin. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It was a mistake to burden you.”
“Anna?”
“I need to check Rina,” she stated, shutting her heart away from him. She left him alone by the fire and walked to her only solace over the last three years: the horses.
Rina nickered at her approach. “Not long now, is it?” Anna murmured. She smoothed her hand down Rina’s side, holding it against the mare’s abdomen and waiting for the telltale tightening o
f muscles that would indicate a contraction. When it came, she began to count. Rina turned her head to nudge her. The next spasm was a long time coming.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Rina-girl. You’ll be fine until then.” The mare shook her head, twisting and shaking her mane like a wet dog.
Anna went next to Tullian and Rabbit; both were alert. Then she left them, too, unable for the first time in her life to find peace with her horses.
She wasn’t ready to go back to the fire and face Larkin. So she followed the brook back to the entrance of the canyon. The stone slab had cooled since the sun’s rays had kissed it. She sat upon it, easing herself back. There was comfort to be found in the dense strength of the rock.
And because her instincts clamored for her to curl into a ball and hide, Anna stretched out her legs and tilted her chin to the night sky and its thousand glittering stars. She remembered sobbing while Larkin had held her. Now she only wept. It was only after her eyes were dry that she decided to return to camp.
She stood and smoothed her clothing, wiped her face with her sleeve, and turned to the faint light of the fire. Larkin was leaning against a tree not six paces from where she’d rested.
He said not a word as she walked toward him. Only as she passed did he push away from the tree. His fingers found hers, and she looked down in surprise as her own laced together with his. They walked back to the camp in silence.
Larkin did not stop where his bedding was laid out, but walked with Anna to her spread. He sat down and pulled her to him. She was too exhausted to push him away and drifted once again into his waiting arms. They fit as perfectly together as a boot to stirrup. Her back rested against his beating heart, his cheek pressed against her ear.
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