Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior

by Glynnis Campbell

  Cambria screamed in outrage. How dare he humiliate her? She bucked in a frenzy to be free of him, nearly losing her balance and tumbling to the ground below. Then suddenly, beneath her kirtle, she felt the hard steel of his mail-covered hand against her naked bottom.

  “I should thrash you for your disobedience,” Holden bit out for her ears alone. “Would you like it done publicly or privately?”

  Her ears burned, but she stilled. The gauntlet sliding back down her thigh made her shiver.

  “Guy!” Holden called.

  “My lord,” Guy boomed smugly. “I regret I’m the one to bring news of your wife’s treachery to your notice.”

  Holden lifted a brow. Guy didn’t sound sorry in the least. In fact, Guy hadn’t trusted Cambria Gavin since the day she’d allied herself with those Scots rebels to take him hostage.

  “She admitted she missed her mark when she hit Owen,” Guy added. “I believe, my lord, she was aiming for you.”

  “She did miss her mark.” He grimly nodded his head. “But her arrow wasn’t meant for me. She was aiming for Owen. She intended, I’m sure, to pierce the bastard’s black heart.”

  Guy sputtered like a sail with the wind knocked out of it. “Owen?”

  “Aye. He’s your traitor.”

  “The one who had you waylaid in the forest?”

  “No doubt. Since that failed, he was apparently trying to kill me on the battlefield.”

  The others who heard began to mutter amongst themselves.

  “Then she shot to save your life, not to take it?” Guy scowled, as if he’d been told he’d just swallowed a bug.

  “Aye,” Holden answered, loud enough for all to hear.

  For the sake of the Gavin name and the name of de Ware, he had to assure the accuracy of the account. Gossips were probably wagging their tongues in the king’s ear even now. He pulled Cambria up to sit before him, while his steed danced in protest at the movement.

  “My brave wife acted to save my life,” he announced. “The Gavins have truly shown their loyalty this day.” A cheer arose from the soldiers. In the uproar, he leaned down to Guy and gave a quick command. “Take two others and see if you can find Owen. He can’t have gone far with that wound. And someone alert the king.”

  Guy nodded and, drawing his blade, left to comply.

  Holden wheeled his mount to duck into a more private section of the wood. He said nothing as they traveled the winding path, too wounded by Cambria’s disobedience—nay, not only her disobedience, but her mistrust. Didn’t she think he could defend himself against one attacker? He flinched as his new injury gave him a stinging reminder of what a single attacker had just cost him. Damn the wench, she unmanned him with her lack of faith.

  He reined in abruptly, and Cambria nearly fell against Ariel’s neck. This spot seemed secluded enough, he thought sardonically, far from the eyes and ears of those who might object to him thrashing his wife.

  Then he sighed. He wearily slid the mail coif back from his head. He was fooling himself. He’d never lay a hand on Cambria. True, the short ride hadn’t cooled his temper much, but he was capable of confining his violence to his own imagination.

  “I commanded you to stay in camp,” he said, turning her face toward him.

  “You’d be dead now if I had,” she argued, jerking away.

  He swore. “Don’t you think I can defend myself? I knew Owen was there. I’ve fought him a hundred times. I know his weaknesses. I saw the blow before it was struck. If you’d left it to me, I would have easily turned his blade aside. And he wouldn’t have escaped.”

  “What? You allowed him to escape?”

  His eyes narrowed as quickly as clouds gathering for a storm. “In my concern for you, milady,” he bit out, insulted, “I understandably let my attention slip.”

  After a moment of fuming silence, she grumbled, “The arrow was meant for his heart.”

  “You missed by more than a foot,” he replied, raising a brow. “I suppose I should be thankful to be alive.”

  “It was a flawed shaft. It was the fletcher’s fault.”

  He refused to be distracted by her flimsy excuses. “Your fletcher isn’t the only one to blame. You disobeyed me and—“

  “I saved your life!” she cried. “You said it yourself.”

  “You endangered my life!” he roared back. Ariel bristled at the sudden noise.

  Only then did Cambria glance at the blood upon his shoulder where the mail had been severed. He was satisfied by a sharp intake of breath from her.

  “Aye, this is the price I paid for worrying about your hide instead of mine.” He winced as his mail rubbed against the slash. “You’ve done a foolish thing, Cambria.”

  “Foolish?”

  “Aye. Didn’t you think how it might look to have two brothers dead by your hand?”

  “But I didn’t kill—“

  “There’s no proof you didn’t kill Roger, other than your word,” he said frankly. “There may never be enough proof.” He rubbed a weary hand over his chin. “Look. You’re making it difficult for me to protect you. From now on, I want you to stay away from Owen. I command it.”

  She folded her arms across her bosom. “You’re making it difficult for me to protect my clan. I command you to stay away from Owen as well.”

  He felt his anger dissolve like salt in water as she stared up at him with her elfin eyes. She might be a stubborn witch, but what she did, she did out of loyalty. After a moment, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Agreed.”

  When he took Cambria back to his pavilion, he set a guard at the entrance. He let her believe he didn’t trust her to stay inside, but in truth, the guard was there to keep intruders out. He wouldn’t rest easy until Owen was captured.

  As expected, the gossip reached the king before he did, and Holden was subjected to Edward’s interest in the intriguing, romantic tale of his Scots wife defending him against her own people. Holden didn’t have the heart to correct the story’s inaccuracies, argue about Cambria’s less than pure motives, or mention that it was a Fitzroi she had shot. The king, delighted by what sounded like the stuff of a jongleur’s ballad, made him promise to bring the “Heroine of Halidon” into his presence on the morrow.

  Cambria paced inside Holden’s pavilion, wearing down the nap of his rug. In the silence of solitude, images of Halidon returned to haunt her, like the nightmares slithering through her sleep lately. She murmured psalms to herself all afternoon, trying to keep her mind busy, attempting to distract herself from too much introspection. She would have given anything for a book or a game of chess, even with Sir Guy, something to take her mind off what she’d seen today.

  She flopped down onto the pallet and closed her eyes. Still she saw the gaping wounds of beardless boys. She sat up again, rubbed the anxious wrinkles from her forehead, and began to study the design worked into the carpet.

  It was the color of the sanguine battlefield.

  A servant brought her roast for supper, but her dagger hand trembled as she cut into it, remembering the wounds inflicted at Halidon. Even the dark wine filling her cup resembled blood pooling beneath slain knights.

  At long last, with the dropping of night’s hood, she was mercifully blind to the horrors of the day. She lit no candles, lest their light encroach on her hard-earned peace, and soon repose found her in the formless country between thought and dreams.

  The rise of Halidon lay before her again. Cambria moved her mouth in the soundless protest of nightmares as her feet were drawn inexorably toward it. She shut her eyes against the sight, but the vision remained.

  The dream was the same as before, but starker, clearer, rendered with details gleaned from the actual skirmish. The refuse of mass slaughter stretched as far as she could see—thousands of bodies strewn about as carelessly as rags, the once fine wool plaids stained with blood and mud. Far off, the high keening of widows rose on the air, at odds with the pleased chuckles from English knights nearby. The coppery smell of fres
h wounds was strong in her nostrils, and her stomach lurched dangerously. She glanced down at her hands. They were drenched with blood. Frantically, she wiped them on her skirts, to no avail. The widows’ song blew through her soul like a melancholy wind, and the English laughter grew louder. She rubbed and rubbed her hands, but the blood wouldn’t come off, and the Englishmen kept laughing and laughing…

  “Murderers!” she screamed.

  Cambria’s moan brought Holden instantly to her side. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her, coming to bed so late, but it appeared her dreams had done that already. His candle cast a halo of golden light around her as he jostled her arm, trying to wake her.

  Her eyes flew wide, and she drew back as if he’d burned her. “Murder!” she hissed in horror. “What the English did, it was murder!”

  He gripped her shoulder to try to calm her, but she flung her arm wide, knocking the candle from his grasp. It guttered and extinguished itself, plunging the pavilion into darkness.

  Then Cambria began to alternately sob and curse. She pummeled his bare chest, hard. He pressed his palm carefully over her mouth to muffle her cries and, guarding his injured shoulder as best he could, let her strike him.

  He knew what she was doing. He’d seen it in green knights before, knights exposed to the horrors of war for the first time. All the fury, fear, and despair of battle stayed bottled up inside until it could find an appropriate outlet. For some, it was the lists, the tourneys, the harmless duels fought for honor and a lady’s favor. Others found it at the bottom of a jack of ale or in the arms of a whore. But Cambria had no such outlet. So he let her vent her anguish and helplessness on his own body.

  After several moments, when her blows subsided and he could feel wet, warm tears on his hand, he leaned over her, speaking in gentle, controlled tones.

  “It’s over, Cambria,” he said softly. “Their souls are at peace now.” He squeezed her shoulder. “The Scots knew the cost. All men know the price of battle. It’s not pretty. At times, it’s not even noble. But it’s the way of war.” He enclosed her hand in his own. Her fingers were callused, the nails bitten to the quick, but her hand was much smaller than one would expect, just as her heart was much softer. “Did you dream of the battle?”

  She nodded. He could feel the tension in her, her brave attempts to stop the telltale hitching in her chest, and it clutched at his heart. He longed to take her into his arms, the way he’d wanted to comfort that wretched wildcat. But she was the Gavin. She was the laird. And lairds probably didn’t cry. For her pride’s sake, he’d ignore her tears.

  He reached out and absently rubbed a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger. “Tell me about your father.”

  She was silent so long that he thought she’d drifted off to sleep. When she spoke at last, her voice was quiet, tentative.

  “He was a great laird. He loved Blackhaugh. He loved the land, and he loved the clan. He loved my mother so much that he never took another to wife…even though it left me as sole heir. He taught me everything—hunting, hawking, and ha-…” She sniffed. “Swordfighting. He bought me a palfrey when I was three years old and taught me to lead cattle raids when I was eleven.” She gave a little laugh. “I remember my first raid. I was so excited and proud riding up to Blackhaugh with a dozen stolen cows that my father didn’t have the heart to tell me they were Gavin cattle.”

  He chuckled. He’d never led a cattle raid, but he’d gotten into plenty of mischief as a boy. “Your father must have been a great man.”

  She sniffled. “I miss him,” she murmured. “I miss him.” And then she dissolved into tears.

  A deep sigh emptied Holden’s chest. With one hand, he reached out and caressed the back of her head, and with the other, he pulled her slowly up to him in a gentle embrace. He murmured assurances to her as he placed her head against his good shoulder, rocking her back and forth a long while.

  At what point the change happened, he wasn’t sure. Gradually Cambria’s soft weeping at his throat turned to kisses she bestowed there. His stroking of her hair took on a sensuous design. He took her chin in his hand and kissed the salty tears from her face. She touched her mouth to his with the delicacy of mist kissing the surface of a loch.

  And then, emboldened, Cambria took his face in both her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a kiss of absolution, he sensed, a bittersweet attempt to eradicate the nightmare of Halidon and her father’s loss. A tortured groan slipped from his throat.

  His will was too weak. If she continued, he’d do things she would regret on the morrow. He couldn’t let her go on. He couldn’t endure another night like the last one, fanning the flames of her lust while denying his own. He put an end to the kiss by covering her eager lips with his fingers.

  His gesture did nothing to dim her smoldering desire. She ran her palms across his chest as if she sought a way to his heart. He caught her stray hands and pushed them away.

  “Nay,” he said thickly. “I…want you too much.” A wave of desire coursed through his loins, lending proof to his words. “I won’t be able to stop myself this time. I’m sorry.”

  Cambria swallowed hard. Curse her promise, curse her pride, curse her marriage of political convenience, she wanted Holden. And, she decided, calling upon her renowned Gavin stubbornness, she’d be damned if she’d take no for an answer. Before she could change her mind, she began to push down the coverlet between them.

  Holden sucked in a quick breath when he realized what her overture meant. He hoped she realized what she was doing. He rolled back slowly while she moved the furs out of the way, as if moving too fast might give her second thoughts. He didn’t want to frighten her. He prayed he had the control not to hurt her. Suddenly, absurdly, he felt as awkward as an untried youth.

  Cambria’s hands found him in the dark. His body was magnificent, proud, lean, contoured as flawlessly as a fine blade. She shivered as her forearm brushed the bold manifestation of his desire that seemed to her a brazen lance. The implication gave her pause, but she was committed now, and she wouldn’t retreat from the challenge she’d issued. With clumsy fingers, she began to pick at the back laces of her kirtle.

  Holden retrieved his dagger form the swordbelt beside the pallet and sliced the laces neatly. The garment dropped from her shoulders like a dying rose, and she willingly, breathlessly removed her linen underclothing, baring her body.

  Holden cradled her face in his hands. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, and she responded with a ferocity that nearly unleashed his own tempered passions. She was like soft, warm velvet against his body, and the sweet, smoky smell of her hair and the weak moans in the back of her throat were calling him to answer. He knew the answer, longed to give it, but couldn’t, not yet.

  “I’ve given you my word,” he murmured against her cheek. “I won’t consummate this marriage until you wish it so.”

  Cambria trembled in his arms. The silence between them grew as taut as the long, last moment before the release of an arrow from a bow.

  “I wish it,” she finally whispered, “I wish it so.”

  Holden wiped the sweat from his lip, and then lowered her to the pallet. It would cost him much to subdue his own desires as he worked to satisfy hers. Her responsiveness had the power to intoxicate them both. He had to bear in mind that this wanton vixen was still a virgin. She’d require patience.

  He hovered over her, kissed her eyes, her hair, her fingertips, shuddered when her hands unabashedly reached up to explore his body. With a helpless groan, he bent and captured a succulent nipple in his mouth. She moaned beneath him, brazenly lifting her hips to contact his. He gasped, and then stifled the sound, suckling at her breast like a starving man. His fingers traced a leisurely path up to the juncture of her thighs, and he pulled gently at the hair there. Moving upward again, he kissed her open mouth, letting his tongue dance with hers and graze the edges of her teeth. At last he eased his large body down over hers, covering her completely.

  Cambria strained instinctiv
ely upward against him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, overcome by the sensation of the powerful muscles enveloping her, the full, warm shaft brushing her skin. His hands found hers, locking her fingers in a gentle bondage.

  “Easy, little sprite,” he said huskily against her ear as he bent his head to kiss between her breasts and lower, to her navel.

  She stiffened with a faint protest and tried in vain to extract her fingers from his. Surely he didn’t mean to… Ah God, she could feel his breath upon her woman’s curls. His mouth nuzzled her, and she cried out, squeezing his fingers. He moved between her thighs, and when his tongue grazed her flesh, she turned her head onto her shoulder, squirming in sweet distress. Again and again his tongue lapped at her, savoring her like honey from the comb. She could feel her face turn to flame, but not for the world did she wish him to stop.

  Holden had to stop. He was in danger of losing control. Breathing raggedly, he placed a single, final kiss upon the soft, dark flower of her blossoming womanhood, and then kissed his way to her mouth.

  Cambria was astonished by her own pleasant, musky taste on his lips, and she let her tongue venture into his mouth, trailing across the rims of his teeth and lapping at his tongue. As she explored, he released her hands and placed his palm against the wet curls between her legs. She writhed against him, wanting more, aching with a hunger she didn’t understand. He stroked her with a moist finger, edging more and more deeply into her while his thumb stroked delicately above. She rocked her hips in a steady rhythm, counter to his movements. The pressure was exhilarating, and she couldn’t stop the cries that came to her lips.

  The sounds she made almost drove Holden over the edge of desire. While one hand continued to pleasure her, he tenderly wiped the beads of perspiration from her brow with the other.

  “Cambria,” he said hoarsely, “I must cause you…pain…this first time. I don’t wish to, but I will. It will be brief, I promise, and then you’ll never endure it again.”