Kendra tossed her long auburn hair back from her shoulders and frowned up at him. "Give it a rest, will you?" she said crossly. "This is my dream and if I want to kiss you I will."
The man looked genuinely puzzled and took another step back from her. "You will not use your witch's wiles against me," he said.
Kendra stood, clutching the blanket to her chest, moving toward him with a slight roll to her hips. Boldly, she pushed aside the sharp sword he had raised to make a barrier between them. The knight stood openmouthed as she reached up and linked her arms behind his head. He was so tall she had to stand on tiptoe to curve her hands against the back of his neck, but she managed. The blanket slid to the ground behind her and his sudden intake of breath was quite gratifying. His eyes were golden—golden! Kendra felt laughter bubbling inside of her. Those eyes should have been the first giveaway she was dreaming. No one on earth had golden eyes!
"Do you have a name, Sir Knight?" she asked softly, wondering absently how a dream could feel so intensely cold.
"N-name?"
Navarre ran his tongue across his lips and saw the witch's gaze follow, her own mouth curved up in a satisfied smile as she pressed her lithe, naked body against him. He was being seduced—no, bewitched—by a woman who didn't even come up to his shoulder, by a woman he could crush with one hand, by a woman he suddenly wanted to possess with every fiber of his being.
"My name is Kendra. What's yours? You know, your name?" she said huskily, pulling his head down closer to hers. "You know, what your friends call you when you aren't busy slaying dragons?"
"Navarre," he whispered, then dropped his sword.
Kendra gasped as, with a groan, the man gathered her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. His lips devoured hers like a white-hot flame licking through a building made of straw. He swung his blanket around both of them, enclosing them in a tent of sudden heat as the mad knight possessed her mouth. From the way his hands were moving, Kendra realized he had no intention of stopping with a kiss, and that was just fine with her. She arched against him, pulling him closer, his touch sending tremors of desire coursing through her. His hands roamed over her body, caressing, stroking, and Kendra found herself responding with an eagerness that should have shamed her—even in a dream.
His tongue continued to warm her mouth as deft fingers moved over her body. Kendra had always prided herself on being broad-minded, liberal in her thinking, but the truth was she had grown up in a small Texas town where even sex after marriage seemed to have certain limitations. She had tried to shake off her inhibitions, but since James didn't seem to mind that she was often a little shy with him, she had settled into patterns of lovemaking that seldom changed.
As she stood clasped in a stranger's arms totally naked, Kendra felt a sudden freedom and exhilaration, and the hungry look in the knight's hooded eyes filled her with a heady sense of power she'd never known before. His hands moved over her, sliding down her back, cupping her buttocks, then around and up to caress her breasts.
"Like lily-white pomegranates," he whispered.
Kendra gasped as he bent his head and his hungry mouth moved to rake the tender skin that had for so long been neglected. Her eyes slid shut as a euphoric lethargy swept over her. She scarcely noticed when Navarre scooped her into his arms and lowered her to the earth, her blanket beneath them, his atop. She was conscious only of the incredible Utopia of feeling, of long dormant emotions breaking free as his lips, two searing flames, moved to caress her mouth once again.
Kendra clung to Navarre and suddenly she became the aggressor, as though to assert her own equality in their dance of passion. Her fingers tangled in his long, dark hair and she arched against him, her breath hot and fevered, her hands touching him intimately even as she was being touched. Kendra lifted her mouth to his throat, almost sobbing from the relief of being touched, of having someone hold her again, kiss her again, love her again. Then suddenly, the mad knight stopped. He drew back from her, staring down at her, his golden eyes confused, his face troubled.
Kendra smiled up at him and, lifting her heavy hair from beneath her, spread it behind her head like a waving, red-gold fan. She was freezing, but the fire between them was warmth enough. She reached for him, for her knight in shining armor, but he just stared at her, his eyes burning with an inner fire. He made no move to touch her again.
"What is it?" she said softly.
"This changes naught," Navarre said, his jaw tightening. "You are still my prisoner. You are still my enemy."
Kendra smiled again and without a word, lifted her hand and caressed his inner thigh with her fingertips. With a groan, Navarre covered her mouth with his own, her body with his, and Kendra knew he was as lost as she was, lost to the heat driving him, lost to the enchantment weaving around them, lost to the fire burning between them.
Kendra closed her eyes. She wanted him, like nothing she had ever wanted before in her life. And because it was a dream, she could have him, in a way that in real life she would not allow.
Hot iron, she remembered suddenly with a gasp, as their flesh collided. Hot iron. Tears filled Kendra's eyes as she felt the burning flame that was Navarre begin to chase away the cold emptiness that had been her constant companion since James's death. Warmth, dark and desperate, danced through her veins and she clung to the knight, her hands caressing his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the skin, the scars that told too much and yet so little.
She opened her eyes and for a moment their gazes locked as something strangely tender passed between them. Navarre stopped his movement again, and Kendra felt bereft until a rough laugh brightened the harsh lines around his mouth. Then her face was between his hands and laughter was forgotten.
"Are you a witch?" Navarre whispered against her lips. "Tell me truly—are you in league with Richard and Locksley?"
She buried her hands in his hair and pressed his face next to hers, even as she laughed aloud. "Oh, my brave knight," she said softly, "if I were a witch, I would enchant you and bind you to me forever. I would keep you tethered to my bed and you would fulfill my every wish. Richard and Locksley could never compare to you."
Navarre jerked back from her embrace, and with a roar rolled away from her and sprang to his feet. Startled, Kendra raised up on her elbows, her expression one of bemusement.
"Wrong answer, huh?" She smiled. "Well, that's what I get for trying to be poetic. Now," she lifted her arms to him, "come back here. I'm freezing."
Navarre towered above her in all of his naked, outraged glory, his hands curled into fists at his side. "Witch!" he hissed. "Soon you will be warm enough, for you will burn when we reach Nottingham! I should have listened to my instincts—think you to ensorcell me by possessing my body? Or do you seek a child from me by which to bind my soul to yours?"
Kendra sat up, arms wrapped around herself as she shivered, her teeth beginning to chatter. "I am getting very tired of this. This is my dream and I would think I should be able to have things my way. So cooperate or I might just turn you into someone who will—like Mel Gibson."
Kendra started to laugh, but the laughter died in her throat as she saw Navarre's face pale at her words. His strong jaw tightened and the gold in his eyes burned, not with desire any longer, but with raw anger.
He stalked over to the fire where her clothing was stretched across rocks to dry, grabbed them, then turned and threw them in her face. "Dress, whore, before I end your worthless life."
Kendra's eyes flashed rebelliously and her chin lifted. "I am not a whore, or a witch."
The knight raised both dark brows and one corner of his lips lifted sardonically. "You've just admitted to being a witch and your wanton behavior proves you a whore as well. Now be silent before I finish what you started, in a manner which, I assure you, will leave no doubt in your mind who has been possessed."
Kendra glared up at him, then began jerking her clothes back on with quick, angry movements, thankful they were almost dry, as she grumbled to herself
. "Why can't I even have what I want in my own dreams?"
Navarre began pulling on his clothes, never taking his eyes from her. When she finished dressing, the woman stood, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with indignation. Navarre swallowed hard. The witch was even more alluring now as her azure eyes glimmered with anger instead of seduction. Navarre realized with a dawning comprehension that from now until they reached Nottingham he must guard himself every moment, or else kill the woman and be done with it.
He pressed his lips together grimly as he finished tying his leggings, remembering the way her gentle hands had worked a wondrous magic of their own without spells. He frowned as his desire quickened once again at the thought. To kill her would be the smartest thing to do, but to do so would be a mistake. Who knew what information she might have concerning Richard and Locksley's plans? Prince John would never forgive him if he killed her before questioning her thoroughly.
Navarre ran one hand through his long, dark hair. It was obvious that someone else was going to have to do the questioning. He couldn't trust himself around her. Even now, fully clothed and with six feet between them, he felt the desire wrapping itself around him, twisting his insides as though they were as supple as the mass of tangled auburn curls she was trying to braid. She lifted her gaze to meet his and Navarre narrowed his eyes as the force of her power hit him again.
"I want to know who you are," he said. "Who you are, where you come from and whom you are working for."
Kendra sighed and dropped her hands to her lap in resignation. "My name is Kendra O'Brien, I'm from New York, I'm a reporter and I work for my uncle who is the editor of the New York Chronicle."
"Chronicle?" Navarre frowned at her. "A chronicler? What do you mean? Are you a scribe then?"
"A scribe, yes, that's what I am, a scribe."
"What value is a scribe to Richard?" he muttered to himself as he paced around the small area. "How does his salvation lie in one that knows how to write?" Navarre shook his head. Then he glanced down at her, his eyes keen. "But I do ken what destruction you have brought with you." He lifted his hand to the bandage on his arm. "What manner of weapon did you burn me with? With what spell do you control it?"
"I'm tired of this dream," Kendra said, moving closer to the fire. "I need to get out of it." When he continued to stare down at her, a puzzled expression on her face, Kendra released her breath explosively. "I say, fair knight, I need to rest awhile and I am freezing."
Navarre strode over to his horse and jerked another rolled up blanket from behind the saddle. "Here, lie down," he ordered, "and take your rest. We ride at dusk. Do not think to overcome me with your spells again. You may be Richard's salvation, or his destruction, but you are still mortal. And do not think you have escaped from my questions. You will answer them, eventually."
"Why," Kendra muttered as she plopped herself down in the dirt, "why couldn't I have at least conjured up a mattress and pillow in this dream?" She pulled the rough blanket around her and put her satchel bag under her head for a pillow, then looked up and saw the fire in the knight's eyes quicken at her words. "Sorry," she corrected herself, "I didn't mean to use the word 'conjure'—maybe 'created' would be less dangerous around you."
Navarre picked up his sword from the place he had dropped it. "There is one Creator," he said with disdain. "Even a witch would not dare to compare herself to Him."
"I didn't mean—oh, what's the use?" Kendra jerked the blanket around her shoulders and tried to get comfortable on me rough bed of dirt and rock. This was the way most of her dreams ended, she reminded herself. She lost the guy and went to sleep. Then when she awoke again, she was truly awake. Maybe all this nonsense meant that back in the real world she was beginning to fight her way back from the state of unconsciousness to which the lightning—or whatever—had plunged her. With a sigh, Kendra closed her eyes.
Navarre stretched out a few feet away from the woman, feeling spent and troubled. Who was she really? And what was the sorcerous weapon she had wielded against him? He wanted to examine the metal thing again, but mere would be time enough the next day, time enough to force her to show him how it worked. He watched the rise and fall of Kendra's chest as she slipped into sleep, watched and envied her cheeks the touch of the long eyelashes against the skin. How would it have been, he wondered, if he had not stopped their joining? How would it have been to experience the full consummate fire of their union? Angrily, he shook the thought away.
He watched the woman for quite a while, expecting some last-ditch attempt at escape, but finally he decided she was, indeed, doing as he had bid her. Even witches needed sleep he supposed. Only after her breathing slowed did he allow himself to relax. At nightfall they would journey on to Nottingham and once there, he would him her over to the sheriff and be done with her. Navarre was unable to suppress a shudder as he envisioned what his friend, the sheriff, would do to the beautiful witch. What had she said her name was?
Kendra.
Resolutely, Navarre cleared his mind, determined to dispel the ridiculous feeling that he should protect this woman who had injured him, who had tried to ensorcell him, this fascinating woman who was his enemy, and England's. He should tie her but somehow could not bring himself to, which of course, was even more proof of her power. The throbbing in his loins had not ceased entirely since he had pushed her away from him, and he burned with the want of her. A sudden, paralyzing thought seized him.
Had he stopped their lovemaking too late? Had the partial possession of their passion resulted in his total enchantment? With an oath Navarre rose and began to pace around the crag. One thing was certain, he must stay awake, and he must not allow the witch to touch him again. He moved to his horse's side and for a moment leaned his head against Kamir's rough mane. His arm pained him but it was nothing compared to the burning need inside of him.
Even now, the memory of her skin against his, her touch, the smell of her hair, made him want to turn and take her in his arms.
He lifted his head. He was a soldier, used to facing grim realities. Somehow the auburn-haired witch had enchanted him, and somehow he must find a way to quench the fire in his loins. He groaned softly. Even now he felt fear wash over him. He must not allow her to control him, and yet, he was just a man. If she indeed were a sorceress, this searing, overwhelming desire she had created inside of him might forever rule his destiny, place him at her beck and call. What was it she had said—"I would enchant you and bind you to me forever, I would tether you to my bed and you would fulfill my every wish."
Navarre pressed his lips tightly together as his fingers unconsciously reached up to brush against the crude bandage she had tied around his wound. If he could not conquer these feelings, this fervent desire, there would be no other alternative—the woman must die.
Kendra awoke with a smile on her face. She didn't open her eyes right away because she wanted to savor the sensual aftermath of the very intense, highly remarkable dream. It had seemed so real, so vivid, and had starred none other than herself and a huge, handsome hunk of a knight in shining armor.
She shifted in the bed and winced as her body ached in protest, then she shivered as a cold gust of air swept over her. Moving restlessly, she felt the roughness of the blanket against her skin and decided drowsily to change hotels as soon as possible. Granted, she'd had a wonderful dream, but sleeping in this bed was like sleeping on rocks and the blankets were awful, not to mention the lack of heat and—
Kendra opened her eyes. Six feet away lay a man, broad-shouldered, dark-haired. He lay with his eyes closed but she knew they were as golden as the sun that even now was setting quickly below the distant horizon. Navarre. The knight in her dream. She squinted, her memory returning swiftly. The haze that had permeated her vision ever since the storm had knocked her senseless, was gone. Nothing marred her view of the handsome man who, in her dream, had almost ravished her on the ground.
On the ground. Kendra sat up, a twig beneath her leg bitin
g sharply into her skin. She stared around her. The crag. The campfire. Navarre. Kendra passed a shaky hand across her eyes, then smiled hesitantly. Of course—she was still asleep. She'd had many dreams within dreams in her life. That would explain the fact that it was the middle of winter when it should be summer and that a mad knight had captured her. Of course it was a dream.
Sure, O'Brien, she scoffed at herself, feeling a rush of fear sweep over her as she slowly stood and moved toward the sleeping man. When did you ever have a dream like this?
"This is no dream," she whispered, feeling the blood rush away from her head and the strength from her legs. She sat down, quietly, quickly, where she stood.
What have I done, what have I done, what have I done? The frantic thought echoed through her mind. This was not a dream. This was real. That meant yesterday had been real as well. She had almost made love to a man holding her hostage, a man who thought he was a knight!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Kendra ran her tongue across her lips and tried to bring her racing thoughts back under control.
All right, so it isn't a dream. It's real. He's real. No harm done. No harm done? Are you crazy O'Brien? Count yourself lucky he didn't decide to go through with it, although given how far you actually went can you honestly say you didn't make love?
Kendra felt a quick flush of shame and fear warm her cheeks, but she pushed away the emotions. There was no time for such considerations as pride or modesty. She had to get away from this lunatic. He had become quite violent toward the end of their encounter. She grimaced. What was it he had kept yelling at her? Something about being a witch. Who was he? What did he want? Those were the questions she had to find an answer for.
Kendra knew she had made enemies on her way to the top of the investigative reporting racket, enemies who might pay someone to get rid of her. Or was this man working on his own? Even now a ransom note might be winging its way to Mac in New York, demanding a few hundred thousand dollars for her safe return. Or perhaps "Navarre" was involved in some sort of terrorist activity and wanted to exchange her for a political prisoner. It wouldn't be the first time.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 6