by Nicole Locke
‘I don’t like it when you do this.’
‘I’m not withholding anything. Nothing new... But it’s a reason I’m here.’
‘I should check on the boys,’ she said, although why she said it she didn’t know. She needed to hear what Balthus had to say. She suspected it had something to do with needing to ensure they were well.
‘They’re safe for now,’ Balthus said, ‘What I have to tell you won’t harm you...at least immediately.’
She blinked. ‘Are you going to harm me?’
‘Never.’
‘Ian?’
A twist of something in his eyes, and he shook his head. ‘Not my parents either, though I can’t guarantee with them. It’s why I’ve stayed.’
‘I thought they’d protect me because of the boys, their grandchildren.’
‘They might have once, but now it’s uncertain.’
‘Because I ran,’ she said.
A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘In part...’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
He straightened. ‘You are trusting me.’
His tone was incredulous, and perhaps at other times she’d feel sympathy for this man who wasn’t used to trust, but not now. ‘I’m trusting you less and less as this conversation continues.’
He pushed off the blankets and leaned his hip against the rack. ‘There’s no easy way to say all this. My parents want something the King of England wants.’
‘The throne?’
He chuckled. ‘True, but something else. You know how King Edward is obsessed with King Arthur and the Holy Grail, Excalibur and everything?’
‘I don’t blame him, I love those stories, too.’
‘There are other tales he’s obsessed with, as well. The Jewell of Kings.’
He looked at her as if she was supposed to say something, but she didn’t know what it could be. ‘It’s an ugly gem.’
‘Yes, but Reynold believes that it, along with the dagger it’s hidden in, plus some pieces of parchment, perhaps even a map, leads to a treasure.’
‘A legend with a treasure...’ she said.
‘Reynold’s been studying it and believes that the legend, that whomever holds the gem holds Scotland, actually has other meanings. That it hides a treasure large enough to control countries.’
‘That’s unbelievable. I’ve never heard of all that.’
‘You wouldn’t have. I don’t think it’s common knowledge, although soon it might be.’
‘Wait, are you telling me you think this legend, like King Arthur, is true?’
Balthus shrugged. ‘We want it in our possession, not our parents’.’
‘We? Your brothers are...going against your parents on this?’
A muscle spasmed in his jaw and he looked away. ‘Against the King, as well. We believe that that neither should have such power or such treasure.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Before you left. Reynold’s been working on the tale for years,’ he said. ‘Are you believing me?’
‘You’re frightening me, and the ramifications are severe. But pardon me if you think I’ll believe it safer in Warstone brothers’ hands than in the King of England’s.’
Balthus exhaled. ‘Reynold wants to gather all the information, treasure, gem, dagger, and then...bury them.’
She almost laughed. ‘That’s convenient as it’s already buried. I haven’t heard of any such... You’re saying that it’s true, that the gem is out there.’
‘Oddly, none of it is in our hands, but we know mostly who has the items. Reynold’s been writing letters trying persuade a certain Scottish clan...the Colquhouns...to our side.’
She took a step back. ‘I see why you believe I’d be harmed, but you said you wouldn’t do so. Even having this information puts myself, my boys, in harm’s way.’
‘I know, but you’re part of the solution.’
‘For whom? You, the King or the Warstones?’
He grinned. That rakish smile, the fanning of lines from his eyes and the grooves in his cheekbones went straight to her centre. ‘Clever.’
‘Compliments will get you nothing. Tell me.’
‘When you fled Forgotten Keep, you took several items.’
‘Anything that wasn’t pinned down.’
‘Were any of those items books or pieces of paper...perhaps a map?’
She stepped away then, clasped her arms around herself and began to pace.
Balthus knew not to lay a hand on her or say another word. He’d pushed her enough, but he silently willed her to understand the importance of what he’d told her, and that no matter how he felt about her, this part of the mission couldn’t be compromised. His heart, his life...those were forfeit anyway, but he needed to do a good deed for Reynold, and he wouldn’t fail.
‘You told me that you had other villages along the way that you paid in coin and in certain items. To make traps.’
‘You told me that was dangerous because I was subverting your parents’ control. All the while you’re doing it.’
She paced again, obviously frustrated at his comment. She had a right. It wasn’t fair, but it was also the truth.
‘You’re cold?’ he said.
‘We’ve been here a while.’
They had, he found it odd that they’d had this opportunity, but he begged all the heavens to make it last. Looking around, he found a smaller blanket and handed it to her.
Sweeping it over her shoulders, she glared, and paced again. ‘I’ve told you enough.’
‘We’re supposed to believe each other again.’
‘But to tell you where these villagers, coins, traps and items are puts me and them in jeopardy.’
‘They’re already in jeopardy.’
She adjusted the blanket. ‘Enough! Do you honestly believe I have it?’
‘Ian had it.’
‘All those artefacts he oversaw packing himself. If it was in Forgotten Keep, then he purposely put it...’ She paled.
‘My brother wasn’t unintelligent...except for underestimating you.’
‘I don’t have anything here...a few coins...but it’s not safe to travel with items anymore. Not without protection and...’ Her eyes were wide and incredulous. Annoyed. ‘Is that what your chasing me about the country has been about? Some foolish legend?’
‘At least you know of it.’
‘Your parents weren’t quiet about it,’ she blurted.
‘My parents.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Your brother.’
That was worse. ‘Which was it, my parents or my brother? Neither is safe. What are you not telling me? If any of them told you about it, then you are in danger. They’ll do anything to stop you.’
‘It’s nothing that you need to worry about.’
He stepped closer to her. ‘It is.’
‘Why?’
There was only one answer to this. The wrong one, but one he couldn’t seem to help. He took another step closer. ‘I think you know why.’
‘Because I healed your arm?’
He shouldn’t push it. He shouldn’t, but he would, because he always wanted to. ‘Think a little after that.’
When there was a slight flush to her neck. He wanted to bury his nose there, scrape his teeth, and taste the heat.
‘You mentioned it,’ she blurted.
That pulled him up from his actions and his thoughts. ‘What?’
‘When you were feverish. You mentioned many matters actually. I did say you might regret it.’
He felt the blood drain from his face. ‘What else did I say?’
‘Words. You weren’t coherent. I...kept everyone away when you were like that.’
He’d thank her, but her voice, the way she held herself was so careful. Her worry to
ld him what he should have guessed. ‘Ian told you, didn’t he? In his sleep.’
She pressed her lips.
‘He used to sleep talk. We all knew this weakness of his.’
‘I don’t want to tell you...that’s...’
‘Did he say anything more personal than what I confessed to you when I was recovering?’
‘No.’
‘What I said was personal, wasn’t it? Not about a legend at all.’
She fully blushed. It was he who should have. He’d been obsessed with this woman all his life. Judging from her trapped expression, she was begging him to change the subject, but there was only one conversation he wanted to have. He took a step away from the blankets and towards her.
Her eyes widened.
‘I’ll help you,’ she said.
No. She wasn’t escaping from him that easily. He took another step.
‘I think I know where it is. I put all the books and scrolls in one place.’
‘That’s good. When do we go?’
‘A few days. I think the others understand why you want them to tear down the wall but support the trenches. It may take more instruction, however, and...’
She shifted as if wanting to take another step back. It only heightened his need to possess, to chase her. They were closer, but not close enough. She clutched the blanket around her shoulders; all he wanted to do was rip it from her.
‘Séverine,’ he warned.
She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
A half step more and he caught her gently at her nape. He was aware of the way her eyes had darkened, the slight panting of her breath through her lips that had parted a bit more. The way he could feel, under his thumb, the fluttering of her heart.
The way she smelled of thyme and sunshine.
His own body reacted, the flush of heat, the palm touching her nape suddenly damp, the thundering of his heart. And his breath that wasn’t anything as light as hers.
She didn’t move. She didn’t move when everything inside him wanted her not to. She quivered under his palm as if his just standing here...breathing with her...was something affecting her as much as he was affected.
Could she be as affected?
‘Can’t I say now what I didn’t intend to then?’ he asked. ‘What I said when I was feverish, when all I felt and heard was you. When you called to me and pulled me from the dark?’
‘No,’ she whispered, immediate and sure. But there was a tremor behind her rushed voice, a flutter of her lashes, the tug inward of her lower lip. Minute changes in her wide green eyes, a pleading, but he knew they were not because she wanted him to heed her blurted denial of what was between them but because...because she felt the affinity between them, too. Because as much as he wanted to say the words to her, so there was no doubt how he felt, there was a part of her that wanted to hear it.
Her gaze roved his expression from his eyes to his lips, lingered there before stuttering back up, and he knew with certainty that Séverine wanted him, too.
‘Very well.’ He cupped his hand to the back of her nape, tilted her chin just so...just right, and kissed her. When she leaned into him, darted her tongue against his, he tightened his hand, stepped between her legs. And he kissed her more. A long-awaited kiss of years of want and wonder, of weeks of acute need. He drowned in the sensations, the length of her against him, lean, long limbs stiff with surprise, then pliant, wrapping around him, one hand gripping his arm, the other biting her nails into his shoulder. The sensation of kissing her, his tongue stroking hers, deepening the kiss before tearing free and pressing hot kisses on her lips, nips from his teeth, tongue. Just needing a taste of her, to saturate the emptiness inside with the thyme in her hair, the sunshine clinging to her skin. The scent of her, the one he’d never realised had haunted him, that he craved.
‘Say no,’ he growled. ‘Tell me to stop.’
In the periphery was the shifting of horses, the smell of hay, of old wood damp with rain, but his world had narrowed to her. Stealing his arm around the small of her back, he pressed close, frustration at the distance forced by his bound arm, by the clothing they wore.
Her arm wrapped more tightly around his shoulders, and with a low primitive growl he splayed his fingers lower yet to feel the curve, the sway, to gain more purchase to press her tighter yet.
A sound of want from her that poured lust hotly through his blood until he was a man consumed, and he noticed too late the shift away of her hips, the tips of her fingers rasping a release of his collar. Alerting his body that she was pulling away.
Desperate hunger compelled him to duck his head, to grasp the last moment between them. A flick of his tongue against the delicate spot beneath her chin, a nip to her ear. One slow meaningful kiss to the corner of her mouth. She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed, the scrape of his stubble marking her delicate complexion, her lips swollen from the pressure of pulling her tighter.
Balthus stepped back, just when Séverine did. His hip hit against the blanket rack and he leaned against it for something to steady himself. Waiting for her to strike him across the jaw, to hurl the words they needed to hear, to watch in agony as she turned away to leave him behind.
Her breath was shallow, as quick as his own that sawed through his lungs. As he tried to cool his need for her, his eyes greedily soaked her in. Slowly, never taking her eyes away from his, she unlaced the ties at her side. He shuddered, her lips curved, and her gown dropped. He swiped a blanket off the rack and threw it to their feet to add to the one that must have fallen from her shoulders when he first clutched her close.
Grabbing her wrist that clenched her chemise, he raised the limb to his lips and nipped along the curve to her elbow, pulling her closer with each taste, ducking his head and inhaling along the delicate cords in her neck. She took advantage of their proximity, and her feather-light fingertips played with the linen tied at his neck, then danced along his collar bone, his shoulder, palming flesh that mere weeks ago had been in agony.
Her movements were slight, nothing more than brushes of one finger, then another that dipped into the hollow of his throat and then behind his ear. Touches that he felt everywhere until they spiralled, heat heavier and heavier until his desire pooled lower and slowed down. While he secured her arms around him, thrust his knee between her legs, and lowered them both to the floor, his balance secure, perfect, because she was in his arms.
Still, he relished the widening of her eyes, the slight whimper of her worry that the movement would hurt him somehow. The only way it would was if she stepped away again, and he would ensure that wouldn’t happen. Not until she was his in some permanent way.
Shuffling her chemise up and over her legs, his weight over her, his mouth once again capturing her lips, the sounds she made as his hand travelled from her thigh, over her hip and to her belly. To circle a finger around her navel and then trail it between her breasts.
He tugged on her lower lip, pulled it into his mouth and suckled gently as he trailed his fingers under her bunched chemise up over one nipple and then the other. The frustration built for her as her hips rocked, for him as he wished his other limb to be unbound so he could anchor them together. To feel, not only see, the tension in her body grow. Groaning against her lips, he shifted his own weight so that his body was there for her to rock against, to ease the ache he created.
And she did, stopping and shuddering as she realised what he had done. He hissed out a breath as he ripped his mouth from hers and kissed everywhere the chemise didn’t cover, his hand roaming and caressing her breasts, pebbling her flesh.
‘Balthus!’ she cried, her hands caressing his shoulders, her nails scraping across his linen tunic.
He cursed as his hips went forward, and he lost his balance. Until he had no choice but to go forward or pull back. Needing her permission for either choi
ce. It was her choice. His choice was hers.
‘Séverine, tell me.’ He bit and swiped his tongue along the curve of her ear.
With a knowing gleam in her eyes, she shifted until she was completely under him. His reason scattered; his need increased. Dropping his head into the angle of her neck and shoulder, he helplessly thrust once, twice. Unable, unwilling, to stop the instinct that she yield to him. Raising himself up on one arm, he gazed down at the woman who’d captured his imagination. His heart sprawled beneath him, and he murmured words of her strength, her beauty, and his frustration at her chemise that thwarted his touch. But he shook his head when she gripped his tunic.
‘Not yet,’ he murmured. Not ever. As much as he wanted her, he didn’t deserve her. This time was for her.
He sat up, and gradually, achingly, let his eyes roam down her body where her legs were sprawled around him, where she was wet and wanting.
‘So beautiful,’ he said. ‘Whenever you blushed, I wondered about the colour of your flesh here.’ He circled his thumbs around her plump lips. ‘Never in my imagination did I imagine how exquisite you’d be.’
Letting his hand wander, he stroked along her inner thighs around her hips, a pattern he repeated with no shape or purpose other than to touch, to feel. Her own hands suddenly sneaked under his short tunic and swept across his stomach, causing the muscles to contract, his balls to tighten, and on a strangled moan he stopped her questing touch. Shifting his weight away from her hands, he cupped one knee and raised it to her hip, opening her up even more. Her breath hitched, her hands dropped to the blanket and clutched there.
Then he smiled.
Séverine both feared and exulted in Balthus’s burning grey gaze. Wicked, tender touches. Callused gentle caresses. Her body didn’t know how to react. To stay still and beckon or move to demand more. All she knew was that she could deny this man nothing. For to deny him would be to deny herself, too. Never could she have expected this from him. Never this night near horse stalls on rough wool blankets as he released her leg and smiled more. Then, with more light than darkness, he cupped her other knee and bent it towards her chest, too.