As the glittering wing of the acrobat’s sleeve vanished through the curtain, Lussac pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ Philippe quirked one eyebrow at his friend.
Lussac threw his linen napkin down on his empty plate. The pewter gleamed in the low candlelight. ‘I need some fresh air,’ he said. ‘I’m going outside for a bit. Coming?’
Phillipe shook his head, indicating the food left on his plate with a half-hearted smile. ‘No, I’ll finish this. Besides, I think there’s more of the show to come.’ He nodded across the hall at the acrobats crowding back into the hall, amidst cheers and clapping from the audience.
‘I’ve had enough.’
As Lussac slipped through a low door at the side of the high dais, Isabella turned ecstatically to the Earl. ‘Do you know her name?’ she asked, her eyes alight with excitement. ‘Where does she come from, who is she with? I have never seen such skill, such flexibility!’
‘My bailiff hires the entertainment,’ Thomas replied, his hands fluttering forwards in apology. ‘I will ask him for you.’
‘What a treat!’ Isabella smiled over at Roger. ‘Wasn’t she stunning? She made me quite forget my true purpose here.’
* * *
Body prickling with sweat from the exertion of her performance, Katerina’s fingers fumbled in the heavy folds of the curtain that separated the great hall from the square entrance area to the castle. Applause roared in her ears, people stamping their feet, clapping their approval at her back. Noticing her struggles to exit, a young knight standing to one side pulled back the thick, double-lined fabric, allowing her to slip into the cooler shadows of the entrance hall.
Once through the curtain, her fellow acrobats clustered around her, congratulations rising into the air. Muscles trembling, the back of her head throbbing from the earlier fall, Katerina smiled at their happy faces, their joy at another successful performance, and grabbed their hands as they reached out towards her in gestures of support.
‘You were fantastic,’ whispered Waleran, at the front of the group. ‘The Queen loved you.’ His brown eyes darted over her slim figure encased in the shining costume, the white mask obscuring her face. Katerina squeezed his hand, grateful for his words.
‘It’s a bit too early to celebrate.’ Big shoulders propped up against the wall, John boomed at them, ‘Come on, you still have to go out there and perform the finale.’ With an exaggerated groan, he levered his vast bulk forwards and began to shove the acrobats back through the curtain, out again to rapturous applause.
As the acrobats left to perform their finale, Katerina moved across the freezing flagstones, her feet in soft, calf-skin slippers making no sound as she stepped towards the huge entrance door. The circular metal door handle glinted in the meagre light.
‘Katerina!’ A hand clamped on her shoulder. John!
She spun slowly on one heel, hampered by weighty fingers crushing the fragile bones in her shoulder. ‘What is it?’ she asked, annoyed. ‘Surely you don’t have a problem with my performance?’ Rolling her shoulder forwards angrily, she tried to dislodge his heavy hold.
‘Nay, the crowd loved you.’ John replied bluntly. ‘But I need you to do something else for me.’
She tilted her head up at him, wishing she could remove the mask so her employer could see the look of defiance on her face. ‘You ask too much of me, John. I can do no more.’ Her body wilted with fatigue, sinews wrung out by the intricate moves. She needed to push her body through a series of stretches in order to avoid the muscles seizing up.
‘Not to perform! Nay, you misunderstand me!’ he hissed down at her, a fleck of spittle landing on her sleeve. ‘But while most of the castle was riveted by our performance—’ he jerked his square-shaped head towards the noise coming from the great hall ‘—I managed to slip down to the cellar and pilfer.’
‘Pilfer?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Here, take these back to the camp, will you?’ He pushed a couple of hessian sacks into her stomach, forcing her to grab hold of them. She staggered back beneath the bulky weight. ‘There’s enough food in there to feed us all for a couple of days, at least.’ Shoving her towards the arched entrance, he thumped his fleshy hand against the vertical planks, pushing the door open. ‘Get going, will you! Before someone notices!’
Clutching at the gaping bags, the contents threatening to spill out from the loose, gathered tops, Katerina lurched her way through the gap and out into the cool night air. After the intense heat of the hall, the cold pierced through the gauzy satin of her costume. Perspiration chilled rapidly on her skin and she shivered.
A soldier stood guard outside the main door, pulling himself to attention as she appeared and nodded at her. ‘A fine show, miss,’ he congratulated her gruffly. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Er, no, thank you,’ she muttered hurriedly, acutely aware of the lumpy goods shifting inside the sacks: the loaves of bread, the meat and vegetables that John had stuffed firmly down. Flushing beneath her white leather mask, she prayed the soldier wouldn’t look inside. The unwieldy bags filled her vision; unable to see her way down the steps, she inched forwards, her toes in their thin silk slippers seeking the edge of the top step. Carefully, unable to grasp at the iron hand-rail for support, Katerina edged her way down beneath the soldier’s watchful eye.
She almost made it.
Constructed with a deeper drop than the rest, the bottom step caught her unawares; she reeled to one side, her balance thrown out by the heavy load, her arm banging painfully against the gritty castle wall. A large glistening ham plopped out from the one of the bags, landing with a thump on the cobbles.
‘Hey! Stop! What have you got there?’ the soldier’s voice shouted down at her.
Heart plummeting, she threw both bags down. The incriminating contents spilled out across the ground: parsnips, turnips, floury rounds of bread. Even without them, she would fail to cover the length of the inner bailey before the soldier caught up with her; it was a wide open space and he would gain on her easily. She needed to find a hiding place and fast.
Plunging down along the castle walls, Katerina turned a corner, around one of the turrets, seeking the shadows. The beads decorating her white leather mask, her costume, twinkled in the softening glow of the September moon as she flew along, her feet barely touching the ground. She gained a second turret, spinning around another corner, and cannoned into a tall, bulky shadow leaning up against the walls.
She had the briefest impression of deep-set, sparkling eyes, of a sculptured jaw, before her hands rose instinctively, frantically, pushing against the soft cloth of a tunic, against a hard, unyielding chest beneath, trying to lever herself away from the impact, to create some distance between herself and this...this stranger.
‘Let me pass!’ she gasped with a sob. ‘Let me go on!’
‘In a hurry, Silver Bird?’ The sarcastic tone cut through her panic. A familiar tone.
Her mouth opened in a dry scream of shock, and disbelief. The knight from the forest! Katerina recognised him instantly. The bulk of him. The smell of him. She backed away, hands fluttering up to her mask self-consciously, checking her disguise was still in place. Why, oh why, did it have to be him? The full, creamy-coloured orb of the moon washed his face with a pearly gleam, striking the high, rigid slash of his cheekbones, the strong upward curve of his dark brows. He stared down at her, his expression incisive, predatory, silver embroidery sparkling around the collar of his cloak, like clusters of stars.
‘I need to go,’ she muttered, attempting to slip around his substantial frame, head turned stubbornly away, ignoring him, trying to clamp down on the rivulets of fear that coursed her body, the heightened bump of her heart. She could not allow his presence to deflect her escape and beyond him, around the back of the keep, the shadows were dark, intense. She would hide there, until the soldiers becam
e bored of searching for her.
‘Nay.’ One lean hand snaked out, whipped around her forearm as she passed him. Her heart squeezed with trepidation; she stared in panic at the muscular fingers wrapped around her beaded sleeve, the cold causing her eyes to blur, shimmer.
‘Let go of me!’ Katerina hissed, jerking her arm downwards, to break his hold. Her feeble movement had no effect, merely ripping at the muscle in her shoulder.
‘That was quite a performance you gave in there.’ His voice, low and sensual, curled around her. Beneath the flimsy, slippery material, her soft flesh yielded beneath his strong grip.
‘I need to hide!’ She jogged her elbow angrily. She had to move out of view! Her costume gleamed out like a beacon of light, an iridescent bird pressed back against the dark towering walls.
‘Then you’re wearing the wrong clothes,’ he said. Before she could stop him, before she even had time to think, steady, decisive fingers pushed at the mask, peeling the leather back to reveal the full delicate beauty of her heart-shaped face, her alabaster skin, silky, exquisite. In the same movement, he plucked back the beaded hood of her tunic, dragging it from her neat, golden-spun hair.
‘So,’ Lussac breathed out slowly, ‘not just a serving girl after all. Is this your other job?’
She brought her hands upwards, slim fingers clutching around his with anguish, hot tears of frustration welling in her eyes. The warm muscle of his hands pressed into the sensitive curve of her palm; she dropped her hands immediately, stung by the intensity of his touch. A lick of heat curled oddly in the pit of her stomach.
‘I don’t have time for this!’ She glanced frantically behind her.
‘What are you running from?’ His tone was underscored with steel.
She heard the soldiers’ clustered shouts from around the corner, gathering momentum. Her heart sank. ‘It’s too late,’ she murmured, chewing nervously on the fullness of her bottom lip. ‘There’s no point in running now.’ Her body wilted, strength leaching from her limbs, but she raised her chin up, tilting her head proudly. ‘No matter. I’m sure I’ll manage to extricate myself from this situation. I usually do.’ Doubt clouded her tone, as if she couldn’t quite convince herself of that certainty.
A lock of hair, silvered in moonlight, had escaped from the mound of braids pinned tight against her scalp, falling across her cheek. Without thinking, Lussac smoothed the velvet coil back behind her ear, savouring the fine softness, a silken thread between the rough pads of his fingertips. Desire punched him, deep in his gut—powerful, swift.
‘Come here,’ he said roughly. He spun her around, swiftly, so her back was against the wall.
‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked, keenly aware that he had moved much, much closer. The heft of his shoulders blotted out the vast expanse of star-studded sky. The wall pressed into her spine, the lightweight fabric of her outfit rustling against the rough-hewn stone. Her arms dropped, hands flailing by her sides.
‘Saving your skin,’ Lussac murmured.
‘I can look after myself,’ Katerina shot back hurriedly, senses scrabbling as his head dipped. ‘Nay,’ she stuttered out, ‘this is not the way...’ Her breath emerged in truncated gasps, floundering; her heart fluttered...with fear?
‘It is the only way,’ Lussac muttered.
He told himself her expression alone had motivated him, for the maid possessed the appearance of someone who was utterly alone in the world, an overwhelming sadness tingeing her exquisite features. He had recognised that fleeting, haunted look, identified with it, the look of someone compelled to rely completely on their own resources, their own resilience. The maid was exhausted; even he could recognise the blue shadows beneath her eyes. Pity, not lust, propelled him to kiss her; in all honesty, she was the last person he would desire: a raging spitfire with a temper to match, scant flesh on her bones. He wanted to help her, he told himself, that was all. But since when had he wanted to help anyone?
At the implacable press of his lips, her hands whirled upwards, shocked, trying to push against his chest, to gain some distance between them. Her body squirmed. His big hands cradled her face, stilling her, thumbs pulsing warmly against her flaming cheeks. Heat surged through her chest, her stomach, her loins. As his lips played against hers, dancing along the delicate seam of her tightly closed mouth, she heard the soldiers call out to him and her cheeks flamed once more at the indecency of their shouts. This was outrageous! He’d reduced her to the level of a common whore!
The soldiers moved away from them, their bawdy teasing drifting on the breeze, but Lussac barely noticed. The faint awareness that he should end the kiss now, that the ruse had worked, tickled at his conscious mind. The thought was an unnecessary irritant; he dismissed it, flicking it away like a fly on the window-pane. The maid tasted of roses, this silver girl who could swing through the air with ease, a sweet powerful nectar that twisted around his senses, winching him in, stronger, closer. Bracing his sturdy frame against her, he curved his big arms around her back, lifting the lithe fragility of her body against him. At the intimate, shuddering impact of his body, Katerina gasped, hands clutching at his bulky shoulders for support. Her feet swung inches from the ground. Against her lips, he smiled, his tongue delving into the warm recesses of her open, unsuspecting mouth. Exhilaration, boiling, spiking, swept through her, a thrill of pleasure as his tongue entwined with hers; and for one single precious moment, she forgot who she was, and where she was, surrendering to the astonishing sensations coursing through her body.
And then it was over.
Wrenching his mouth from hers, Lussac stepped back, his breathing hoarse, ragged. Unsupported, her limbs strangely weak, fluid, Katerina flopped back against the solid stone, bracing herself against the wall with flat palms. Like a piece of linen cloth forced through the mangle, a strange, wrung-out sensation gripped her body. Her lips burned.
‘How dare you kiss me like that!’ she flung at him, across the tense, icy silence. But her accusation sounded feeble, pathetic, like a mewl of a half-drowned kitten.
‘Saved your skin, didn’t I?’ he growled at her, mouth tense, unsmiling. ‘Now make yourself scarce, before those soldiers come back!’
Legs wobbling, shaking from the impact of his kiss, Katerina scuttled away from him, her lips bruised, scorched by the powerful imprint of his mouth. Embarrassment painted her cheeks, flagged red, but her body danced with a spiralling, flickering, new-born flame of desire.
She tucked her head down in shame and ran.
Chapter Six
All night the wind thrashed tirelessly against the loose canvas of Katerina’s tent, driving into the sagging cloth to curve it inwards, before sucking backwards quickly to release the fabric with a short, thwacking sound. The women of the troupe, ten or so, slept together in one tent, their rounded bodies rolled into threadbare blankets, rough, scratchy wool tickling their gently perspiring flesh through thin chemises. Old rugs had been thrown down to provide an insulating layer between the cold grass and the sleeping inmates, but in some places were so worn that the thick, grey warp threads were clearly visible.
The relentless noise of the wind kept Katerina awake. She tossed and turned, desperate to find that sweet spot where sleep would claim her and send her into blessed unconsciousness. She longed for it. The cracking of the wind, the fingers of cold creeping up into her aching body from the ground, the muttered snoring of the women around her—all seemed to conspire to keep her awake. Exhaustion clawed at her body, her limbs floppy with tiredness, and yet her mind, her mind seemed alive, dancing with tingling awareness and excitement. The memory of that kiss, the knock of his sturdy frame against hers jolting every nerve-ending in her body to screaming awareness... Nay! She must drive the memory out, extinguish the vivid colour of the image: the lean planes of his face coming down to meet hers, the strong cradle of his forearms against her back...his tongue aga
inst hers.
Katerina wrenched at her blanket, twisting it around her body tightly, furiously. Nobody had told her a kiss could be like that. Innocent in the ways of the marriage bed, she had been unprepared, overwhelmed by his devastating nearness. The women in the troupe told her stories, of course, and recounted their various liaisons with the opposite sex; she wasn’t completely in the dark. But in all her one-and-twenty winters, she had never been kissed on the mouth like that, never been held hard up against a man’s body with all its shocking intensity.
The bristly blanket itched the side of her neck; extricating one hand, she scratched at her skin, frowning. She would do well to remember the stranger’s brutal dismissal, the sudden shadowing of his eyes. To him, the kiss was nothing, meant nothing, a mere diversion at the end of an evening. Maybe he had intended to help her, after all, to save her from a tricky situation. With his sparkling blue eyes, and bold, impassive stare, the man was an enigma, a man she sincerely hoped never to encounter again.
* * *
‘Katerina! Are you awake?’
Nay, was it morning already? Katerina groaned, turning over on to her back. The air in the tent was hot, heavy, stifling with the smell of female perspiration. A heavy grittiness dragged at her eyes, as if filled with sand. Somehow, at some point, in that long drawn-out, noisy night, she had slept. Yet now, as she opened her eyes blearily, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her mind yawned with tiredness as pinpricks of sunlight pierced the holes in the canvas, sending needles of light shafting down to the mounds of sleeping bodies.
Sitting up, long amber braids falling forwards over her shoulders, Katerina noticed the empty spaces in the tent; some women were already up, busying themselves with the morning chores: lighting the fire, heating up the huge bowl of pottage, a thick soup of oats and vegetables which would feed them all. The blanket fell from her shoulders, revealing the simple T shape of her linen chemise which doubled as a nightgown, billowing out over her slim frame. A vague dissatisfaction niggled at her conscience and she cast her eyes sideways, nose wrinkling with annoyance. Every night, after a performance, she would shake her costume out carefully, checking for any rips or tears, before packing it away in her scuffed leather satchel. Now she stared at the shining bundle thrown carelessly at the edge of the tent, the mask perched on top at a jaunty angle. What was happening to her? What had happened to her to make her throw her costume to one side as if it meant nothing? The costume was her livelihood; it was everything, her whole existence.
The Knight's Fugitive Lady Page 6