Sharon Schulze

by To Tame a Warrior's Heart

  A claw raked his face. The slash burned, lending him strength. Nicholas leaned his weight onto the wolf’s back, clamped his arm around its neck and slashed his knife across its throat.

  As a warm stream of blood poured over his arms and thighs, Nicholas felt the life drain from the beast. The body twitched once, then slumped in his grip. Dropping to his knees, he cast it aside.

  “Nicholas.” Tears streamed down Catrin’s face. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms about him, blood and all.

  Nicholas held her trembling body, shaking himself from exertion—or was it from relief? Careful of her wounds, he cradled her against him.

  “Did he harm you?” Her tears alarmed him. He hadn’t seen her cry, not through the pain she’d endured. That she would do so now concerned him.

  She cuddled closer. “No.” Shuddering harder, she looked down at the body, then buried her face against his bare shoulder. “A noise woke me. I thought it was Idris, but when I looked up, ’twas the wolf.” She raised her head and looked over his shoulder at the door. “There were others.” She tried to move from his arms. “Where is Idris? The mare…”

  He tightened his hold. “Several ran off, and Idris will keep them away.”

  Mumbling disjointed protests, she made as if to rise, but he refused to release her. “Hush, Catrin.” He wiped away her tears. “They’re fine. Idris can take care of himself, and I left the mare tied right outside.”

  Her skin felt soft beneath his fingertips, and her moist lips glistened in the fading light, tempting him. He couldn’t resist. He tilted her chin up with his free hand and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Her lips felt as delicate as they looked, like the petals of a rose. After a trifling hesitation they moved against his. He slid his hands from her face to cradle her head, sinking his fingers into her tangled curls.

  Catrin’s hands clung to his shoulders, moving against his skin in a delightful caress. Shivers glided over his back and chest in their wake.

  He drew a shaky breath and fought the urge burning through his veins—to lower her to the floor and ease his aching body. Instead, he contented himself with seducing her mouth.

  He hadn’t realized how enjoyable building that ache could be. Had his entire body become more sensitive, more attuned to Catrin? The slight increase in her breathing, the almost imperceptible tremor running along her skin…subtle signs of arousal he’d never noticed before.

  Catrin’s response vibrated through him, intensifying his own desire. He eased her closer, until her unbound breasts pressed into his chest. Only a single layer of cloth separated them, a barrier so thin it might as well not exist. He could almost—almost—imagine staying like this, savoring the exquisite sensation.

  But there were so many other possibilities to explore. Catrin’s hand crept into his hair, her fingertips kneading at his scalp. He drew a deep breath. The caress shimmered along his spine to settle into the growing heaviness in his loins. ’Twas a heady torture.

  When Nicholas’s tongue swept into Catrin’s mouth, it sent a bolt of heat quivering over her skin. She wanted to burrow closer, absorb him into her very being. Her tongue ventured out to imitate his, stroking his lips, savoring the difference in texture between his satiny mouth and whisker-stubbled face.

  A moan shuddered through him. Her heart tripped with pleasure.

  She had caused that sound—a reaction to her.

  Opening her eyes, she searched his face. His eyes were closed, and a flush rode high along his cheekbones. “Come back,” he whispered, his mouth seeking hers.

  Power surged through her, kindling a strange warmth deep within her. She could make this mighty warrior moan. She kissed him again, eager to see what he would do.

  Almost as though he sensed her gaze, his lashes swept open. Heat flooded her face as she stared into his eyes.

  She had considered violet a cool, emotionless shade; she would make that mistake no longer. Passion flared from Nicholas’s eyes, sending an answering fire surging through her.

  Something cold and wet touched her neck. “What was that?” She plastered herself more snugly against Nicholas.

  He looked over her shoulder and laughed. “Your dog is jealous.”

  Idris bumped Catrin on the arm with his nose, then shoved his head between them to lick her face. “Stop it, you slavering idiot!”

  “He’s only trying to stake his claim.” Nicholas reached up and rubbed Idris’s neck.

  She swiped her hand across her cheek. “That’s disgusting.”

  Nicholas grasped her about the waist and settled her in his lap. “He’s doing what I did. Did that disgust you?”

  Did he want to discuss this…now? She wasn’t ready for that.

  When she looked away and slipped from his grasp, he didn’t stop her. Instead he helped her settle on her pallet.

  “At least you didn’t drool on me,” she mumbled.

  An odd expression crossed his face as he looked at her. “’Twas a near thing.”

  She followed his gaze and looked down. Her gown had slipped low over her bosom. Her face heated—no wonder he stared! She tugged the fabric higher and pulled her cloak tight about her.

  A chill swept through her, washing away the pleasurable heat Nicholas had kindled. She must have been mad to let things go so far.

  From the moment Nicholas touched her, she had no control over the situation—

  No control over herself.

  She’d become a creature possessed by needs, needs she’d do well to ignore.

  Thank God Idris interrupted when he did. What had she been thinking, to fall into Nicholas’s embrace so easily?

  She hadn’t thought at all. In her relief that Nicholas had destroyed the wolf, she’d simply reacted. It seemed she could not trust herself in his presence.

  It would not do.

  She pushed the soft, wonderful, woman’s feelings deep and tried to bury them beneath her usual, prickly facade.

  She couldn’t do it.

  The sight of the wolf carcass sprawled on the floor sent a chill through her. “You might have been killed.” Her voice shook. She stared at the blood spattered across Nicholas’s arms and chest. Her stomach twisted, and dizziness washed over her. “’Twas my fault the wolf got into the cave.”

  Nicholas looked up. Where was the warrior now? He knew as well as anyone the unsteadiness that followed battle. Mayhap ’twas why she had allowed him to hold her.

  He shouldn’t assume ’twas anything more.

  After a swift look at her wan face, he turned his attention to cleaning the knife. “How is it your fault?” He stood and tucked the dagger into his waistband, frowning as he tugged at his blood-soaked chausses.

  “I wasn’t ready, hadn’t paid attention,” she said, her breathing uneven. “That cursed beast would have eaten me for his supper if you hadn’t come back when you did.”

  “Nay. You’d have taken care of him yourself if you had to.” This wasn’t like Catrin at all, he thought, concerned. Why didn’t she insult him for not being there when she needed him, or rage at him for taking advantage of her?

  He knelt beside her and drew her back into his arms, surprised when she offered no protest, no resistance. Instead she seemed to welcome his embrace, for she slid her arms around him in turn.

  Though he didn’t understand why she held him, nothing on earth could keep him from her now.

  God only knew how long such peace would last.

  Chapter Twelve

  They sat huddled together until it was nearly full night The fire had dwindled to little more than a heap of coals, and Nicholas could scarcely see. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep, comfortable with Catrin held snug in his arms.

  But a multitude of tasks awaited him. He fought the temptation of her embrace and tried to ease away, but she clung to him, her arms wound about him like a vine. “I have to get up,” he whispered into her hair. “Look, ’tis cold and dark—I need to build up the fire.”

  Murmuring drows
ily, she pressed closer to him. He slipped her arms from about his shoulders. “I brought you a surprise, if the wolves didn’t steal it. Come, milady, let me up. ’Twill take but a moment.”

  Finally, a sleepy smile curving her lips, she released him. He carried her closer to the fire and eased her back to rest against the wall. She felt limp, and he knew she’d lost weight. She needed to eat.

  At least now he had something substantial to feed her.

  He stirred up the coals, watching with satisfaction as the flames licked at the wood. By the time he got rid of the wolf and looked after the mare, the fire should be just right to roast a tender haunch of pig.

  He lit a torch and stuck it in the wall, then turned to discover Catrin watching him, an unfamiliar expression in her eyes.

  He pretended not to notice, for her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. There was a warmth in her gaze he’d never seen before.

  ’Twas truly surprising, considering his present state. Filthy, blood-smeared and rank, he could scarcely stand himself. Perhaps he should bathe in the stream—the cold water would be welcome to cool his blood.

  He rubbed his fingers over the raspy beginning of a beard. The dagger would serve as a razor—no sense scraping Catrin’s delicate skin…

  He had no sense at all.

  Have I gone mad?

  An icy flood of reason rushed through him, ebbing the still-warm glow of desire until nothing was left but selfdisgust. In the past he’d scoffed at any man who let his rod rule his brain. Now he seemed in danger of making the same mistake.

  He needed a cold bath, all right. He only hoped ’twould jolt some sense into him.

  He grabbed the wolf by the hind legs and dragged it from the cave.

  “Don’t be long,” Catrin called after him.

  Completely uncertain how to deal with her, Nicholas fled the cave.

  Catrin awoke to the ambrosial smell of roast pork.

  “Decided to join us?” Nicholas asked, his voice curiously flat.

  “Is that real food I smell?” She untangled herself from her cloak and shoved it aside. When she sat up, a groan escaped her lips before she could hold back the sound. Earlier she’d felt little pain; her attention had been on simply staying alive. Now she would pay. She felt as if she’d been beaten, and her wounds pulsed with a fiery throb.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she shifted until she could rest one shoulder against the wall.

  Nicholas brought her water. “Do you want the powder mixed into this?”

  She shuddered at the thought of enduring more of the potion-induced sleep. “Nay. Sometimes it gives me bad dreams.”

  “This is no dream, I assure you.” He moved back to the fire and turned the meat. Fat crackled and snapped as it dripped into the flames, making her mouth water. “It’s nearly ready.”

  He handed her a damp cloth to wipe her face and hands. “How do you feel—truly?”

  She darted a look at his face. He didn’t meet her gaze, his expression one of studied indifference.

  Good. Perhaps he was as ready as she to forget their earlier madness. “As well as you’d expect, after the past few days.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Why did he continue to press her? “I feel like something scraped from beneath the wheels of a baggage wain—after ten teams of oxen trod over me.” She scrubbed at her face with the rag. “And I smell worse than the bottom of a midden.” She flung the cloth at him. “Satisfied?”

  He snatched the rag out of the air, a grin lighting his face. “Not quite…but getting closer.” His smile disappeared as swiftly as it came, his expression settling again into the distant look his face had worn before. “I asked for a reason. I traveled far today, into an area that seemed familiar. I believe we’re not far from my keep at Ashby.”

  “Ashby is yours?” She hadn’t realized that. But then, she knew little about Nicholas Talbot—save how he made her feel.

  He glanced away. “Aye.”

  “You could be right. Is that where you were headed when we were set upon?” She had wondered what he was doing, wandering the Welsh countryside on his own.

  “No. King John sent me to see Llywelyn. Otherwise I would have stayed at l’Eau Clair until after my godchild’s birth. I’ve not been to Ashby in a long time.” He looked grim. “I’d rather not go there now, either, but we need better food and shelter than we have here. And your wounds should be examined by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  “Could we try for l’Eau Clair? I promised Gillian I would be there to deliver the babe. That’s where I was going.”

  “Nay, Ashby is closer. And we aren’t as likely to run into our attackers. I’d rather not face them now, unprepared. I’ll deal with them later,” he vowed.

  Catrin stared down at her fingers, knotted together in her lap. “Ian said he’d escort me to l’Eau Clair, but I refused to wait. All those lives lost—their deaths are my fault.”

  “Did you know you’d be attacked on the journey?”

  Her head jerked up. “Of course not!”

  “Then how is it your fault?” he asked impatiently. “People are beset by robbers everywhere. ’Twas just your misfortune that they were an overeager lot. Mayhap they panicked when your guards fought back.”

  A huge lump settled into Catrin’s throat; she could scarcely speak. “Nay. ’Twas me they wanted.”

  “What?”

  “Someone hired them to kill me, or take me captive.” The doubt in his eyes acted as salt upon her lacerated emotions; her only outlet was anger. “Do you doubt me? I heard them say it.” She dashed away an errant tear. “Just before they debated whether to use my body to appease their appetites before they left.”

  “Foul knaves.” The lean planes of his face settled into a warrior’s mask. “Who would want you dead?”

  “Any number of people, I’m sure,” she said bitterly. “You’re not the only person I irritate.”

  His smile surprised her. “I wouldn’t call it irritation, exactly.” His expression became serious once more. “Besides, that’s no reason to kill someone. At least the bandits were unsuccessful, thank God.”

  “Whether they killed me or not is unimportant. But the others who were killed—their deaths matter. There was a boy, Padrig. He was a good lad. Rannulf said he’d train him, let him be his squire.”

  “I didn’t see a boy’s body among the dead.”

  “Before they got to us I sent him for help, but I doubt he knew where to go. I hope someone finds him before he comes to harm. He didn’t deserve this, any more than the guards did. They were good men, with wives and families.” Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She swiped them away. “I failed them by my selfishness. They were doing their duty, obeying my orders. I failed in my duty to them.”

  Nicholas came closer and tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away. “Nay, don’t comfort me. This pain is no more than I deserve.”

  “At least allow me to look at your injuries,” he said quietly. “Will you let me do that? You needn’t refuse to care for yourself in punishment for what happened.”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “I’m not.” His hand settled on her shoulder, offered comfort. Catrin shrugged it away. “I honor your concern for your people.”

  His sympathy was unbearable, reminding her of her folly. “Let me be,” she snarled, striking out at him with her fist. She connected hard with his face.

  Pressing her throbbing hand against her lips, Catrin watched in horror as the area around Nicholas’s left eye began to swell.

  “I’m sorry, Nicholas.” Never had she meant an apology more. The area where she hit him had already begun to discolor, a dark purple bruise rising to mar the flesh beneath his left eye.

  Ignoring the injury, he glared at her. “Why, Catrin? I meant you no harm. I only wished to comfort you.”

  Flames flared up around the roasting pork, and he snatched it from the fire and set it aside. “Sometimes when I’m around yo
u I feel like this piece of meat If I come too close to you, you scorch me with your anger, an anger I don’t understand.”

  Leaving the fire, he sat near her, forcing her to face him—and his words. “What is it about me that provokes you?” he asked, his eyes intent “You judged me and found me lacking the first moment we met. Nothing you’ve said or done since has shown that your opinion has changed, unless ’twas for the worse.” His gaze shifted from hers and he toyed with the lacings of his shirt.

  He lowered his hands to rest upon his thighs. “Likely there’s little that’s good in me. But why do I anger you?” She felt his question—and his confusion—to her very soul.

  But Catrin didn’t want to lay bare her darkest secrets, her deepest shame.

  How dare he ask for the weapons to destroy her?

  As was her habit when threatened, she kindled the anger burning within, summoned her temper to a fiery conflagration. But as she gazed at the intensity in Nicholas’s expression, all his attention centered on her, an icy douche of self-reproach doused her anger, leaving in its wake the bitter ashes of shame.

  She lowered her gaze, stripped naked without the cloak of anger to protect her. Once she pushed the haze of ill temper aside, the meaning of his words finally seeped through. “How can you say there’s little good in you? You’ve the patience of a saint, to suffer my provocation without strangling me. And you saved my life, at the risk of your own—for which I thank you. These are the actions of a decent man.”

  Nicholas’s gaze shifted to hers, then slid away. The arrogant Lord Nicholas Talbot, uncomfortable with praise? Catrin reached out and touched his cheek, turning him toward her. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Don’t.” He jerked away from her hand when she would have held his face still.

  “Nicholas?” She reached out and stroked her palm across his cheek, noticing for the first time that the skin beneath her hand was now smooth shaven. Along with everything else he’d accomplished while she slept, he must have shaved, as well.

  But he still refused to meet her gaze. It seemed he had troubles of his own.